ULYSSES

by James Joyce

-- I --

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl oflather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. Heheld the bowl aloft and intoned:

--_Introibo ad altare Dei_. 

Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called out coarsely:

--Come up, Kinch! Come up, you fearful jesuit!

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced aboutand blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and theawaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he benttowards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throatand shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leanedhis arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shakinggurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the lightuntonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak. 

Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered thebowl smartly. 

--Back to barracks! he said sternly. 

He added in a preacher's tone:

--For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and souland blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. Onemoment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all. 

He peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then pausedawhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and therewith gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answeredthrough the calm. 

--Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch offthe current, will you?

He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gatheringabout his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face andsullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips. 

--The 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 himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearilyhalfway and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still ashe propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl andlathered cheeks and neck. 

Buck Mulligan's gay voice went on. 

--My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has aHellenic ring, hasn't it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork outtwenty quid?

He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:

--Will he come? The jejune jesuit!

Ceasing, he began to shave with care. 

--Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly. 

--Yes, my love?

--How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?

Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder. 

--God, isn't he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He thinksyou're not a gentleman. God, these bloody English! Bursting with moneyand indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus, youhave the real Oxford manner. He can't make you out. O, my name for youis the best: Kinch, the knife-blade. 

He shaved warily over his chin. 

--He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where ishis guncase?

--A woful lunatic! Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?

--I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the darkwith a man I don't know raving and moaning to himself about shooting ablack panther. You saved men from drowning. I'm not a hero, however. Ifhe stays on here I am off. 

Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped downfrom his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily. 

--Scutter! he cried thickly. 

He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen's upperpocket, said:

--Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor. 

Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner adirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly. Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:

--The bard's noserag! A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen. You can almost taste it, can't you?

He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fairoakpale hair stirring slightly. 

--God! he said quietly. Isn't the sea what Algy calls it: a greatsweet mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. _Epi oinopaponton_. Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks! I must teach you. You must read themin 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 lookeddown on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbourmouth ofKingstown. 

--Our mighty mother! Buck Mulligan said. 

He turned abruptly his grey searching eyes from the sea to Stephen'sface. 

--The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That's why she won'tlet me have anything to do with you. 

--Someone killed her, Stephen said gloomily. 

--You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying motherasked you, Buck Mulligan said. I'm hyperborean as much as you. But tothink of your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down andpray for her. And you refused. There is something sinister in you. . . 

He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. A tolerantsmile curled his lips. 

--But a lovely mummer! he murmured to himself. Kinch, the loveliestmummer of them all!

He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously. 

Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm againsthis 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, ina dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within itsloose brown graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, herbreath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour ofwetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as agreat sweet mother by the wellfed voice beside him. The ring of bayand skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china hadstood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she hadtorn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting. 

Buck Mulligan wiped again his razorblade. 

--Ah, poor dogsbody! he said in a kind voice. I must give you a shirtand a few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks?

--They fit well enough, Stephen answered. 

Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his underlip. 

--The mockery of it, he said contentedly. Secondleg they should be. Godknows what poxy bowsy left them off. I have a lovely pair with a hairstripe, grey. You'll look spiffing in them. I'm not joking, Kinch. Youlook damn well when you're dressed. 

--Thanks, Stephen said. I can't wear them if they are grey. 

--He can't wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror. Etiquette is etiquette. He kills his mother but he can't wear greytrousers. 

He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt thesmooth skin. 

Stephen turned his gaze from the sea and to the plump face with itssmokeblue mobile eyes. 

--That fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said Buck Mulligan, says you have g. P. I. He's up in Dottyville with Connolly Norman. Generalparalysis of the insane!

He swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the tidings abroadin sunlight now radiant on the sea. His curling shaven lips laughed andthe edges of his white glittering teeth. Laughter seized all his strongwellknit trunk. 

--Look at yourself, he said, you dreadful bard!

Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft bya crooked crack. Hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose thisface for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too. 

--I pinched it out of the skivvy's room, Buck Mulligan said. It does herall right. The aunt always keeps plainlooking servants for Malachi. Leadhim not into temptation. And her name is Ursula. 

Laughing again, he brought the mirror away from Stephen's peering eyes. 

--The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a mirror, he said. IfWilde were only alive to see you!

Drawing back and pointing, Stephen said with bitterness:

--It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking-glass of a servant. 

Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen's and walked with himround the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where hehad thrust them. 

--It's 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 lancet of my art as I fear that of his. Thecold steelpen. 

--Cracked lookingglass of a servant! Tell that to the oxy chapdownstairs and touch him for a guinea. He's stinking with money andthinks you're not a gentleman. His old fellow made his tin by sellingjalap to Zulus or some bloody swindle or other. God, Kinch, if you and Icould only work together we might do something for the island. Helleniseit. 

Cranly's arm. His arm. 

--And to think of your having to beg from these swine. I'm the only onethat knows what you are. Why don't you trust me more? What have youup your nose against me? Is it Haines? If he makes any noise here I'llbring down Seymour and we'll give him a ragging worse than they gaveClive Kempthorpe. 

Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. Palefaces:they hold their ribs with laughter, one clasping another. O, I shallexpire! Break the news to her gently, Aubrey! I shall die! With slitribbons of his shirt whipping the air he hops and hobbles round thetable, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with thetailor's shears. A scared calf's face gilded with marmalade. I don'twant to be debagged! Don't you play the giddy ox with me!

Shouts from the open window startling evening in the quadrangle. A deafgardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, pushes his moweron the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms. 

To ourselves. . . New paganism. . . Omphalos. 

--Let him stay, Stephen said. There's nothing wrong with him except atnight. 

--Then what is it? Buck Mulligan asked impatiently. Cough it up. I'mquite frank with you. What have you against me now?

They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on thewater like the snout of a sleeping whale. Stephen freed his arm quietly. 

--Do you wish me to tell you? he asked. 

--Yes, what is it? Buck Mulligan answered. I don't remember anything. 

He looked in Stephen's face as he spoke. A light wind passed his brow, fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points ofanxiety in his eyes. 

Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said:

--Do you remember the first day I went to your house after my mother'sdeath?

Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said:

--What? Where? I can't remember anything. I remember only ideas andsensations. Why? What happened in the name of God?

--You were making tea, Stephen said, and went across the landing toget more hot water. Your mother and some visitor came out of thedrawingroom. She asked you who was in your room. 

--Yes? Buck Mulligan said. What did I say? I forget. 

--You said, Stephen answered, _O, it's only Dedalus whose mother isbeastly dead. _

A flush which made him seem younger and more engaging rose to BuckMulligan's cheek. 

--Did I say that? he asked. Well? What harm is that?

He shook his constraint from him nervously. 

--And what is death, he asked, your mother's or yours or my own? Yousaw only your mother die. I see them pop off every day in the Mater andRichmond and cut up into tripes in the dissectingroom. It's a beastlything and nothing else. It simply doesn't matter. You wouldn't kneeldown to pray for your mother on her deathbed when she asked you. Why?Because you have the cursed jesuit strain in you, only it's injected thewrong way. To me it's all a mockery and beastly. Her cerebral lobesare not functioning. She calls the doctor sir Peter Teazle and picksbuttercups off the quilt. Humour her till it's over. You crossed herlast wish in death and yet you sulk with me because I don't whinge likesome hired mute from Lalouette's. Absurd! I suppose I did say it. Ididn't mean to offend the memory of your mother. 

He had spoken himself into boldness. Stephen, shielding the gapingwounds which the words had left in his heart, said very coldly:

--I am not thinking of the offence to my mother. 

--Of what then? Buck Mulligan asked. 

--Of the offence to me, Stephen answered. 

Buck Mulligan swung round on his heel. 

--O, 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 grewdim. Pulses were beating in his eyes, veiling their sight, and he feltthe fever of his cheeks. 

A voice within the tower called loudly:

--Are you up there, Mulligan?

--I'm coming, Buck Mulligan answered. 

He turned towards Stephen and said:

--Look at the sea. What does it care about offences? Chuck Loyola, Kinch, and come on down. The Sassenach wants his morning rashers. 

His head halted again for a moment at the top of the staircase, levelwith the roof:

--Don't mope over it all day, he said. I'm inconsequent. Give up themoody brooding. 

His head vanished but the drone of his descending voice boomed out ofthe stairhead:

 _And no more turn aside and brood Upon love's bitter mystery For Fergus rules the brazen cars. _

Woodshadows floated silently by through the morning peace from thestairhead seaward where he gazed. Inshore and farther out the mirror ofwater whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. White breast ofthe dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking theharpstrings, merging their twining chords. Wavewhite wedded wordsshimmering on the dim tide. 

A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly, shadowing the bay indeeper green. It lay beneath him, a bowl of bitter waters. Fergus' song:I sang it alone in the house, holding down the long dark chords. Herdoor was open: she wanted to hear my music. Silent with awe and pityI went to her bedside. She was crying in her wretched bed. For thosewords, Stephen: love's 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 sunnywindow of her house when she was a girl. She heard old Royce sing in thepantomime 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 hisbrooding brain. Her glass of water from the kitchen tap when she hadapproached the sacrament. A cored apple, filled with brown sugar, roasting for her at the hob on a dark autumn evening. Her shapelyfingernails reddened by the blood of squashed lice from the children'sshirts. 

In a dream, silently, she had come to him, her wasted body within itsloose 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 mealone. The ghostcandle to light her agony. Ghostly light on the torturedface. Her hoarse loud breath rattling in horror, while all prayed ontheir knees. Her eyes on me to strike me down. _Liliata rutilantium teconfessorum turma circumdet: iubilantium te virginum chorus excipiat. _

Ghoul! Chewer of corpses!

No, mother! Let me be and let me live. 

--Kinch ahoy!

Buck Mulligan's voice sang from within the tower. It came nearer up thestaircase, calling again. Stephen, still trembling at his soul's cry, heard warm running sunlight and in the air behind him friendly words. 

--Dedalus, come down, like a good mosey. Breakfast is ready. Haines isapologising for waking us last night. It's all right. 

--I'm coming, Stephen said, turning. 

--Do, for Jesus' sake, Buck Mulligan said. For my sake and for all oursakes. 

His head disappeared and reappeared. 

--I told him your symbol of Irish art. He says it's very clever. Touchhim for a quid, will you? A guinea, I mean. 

--I get paid this morning, Stephen said. 

--The school kip? Buck Mulligan said. How much? Four quid? Lend us one. 

--If you want it, Stephen said. 

--Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan cried with delight. We'llhave a glorious drunk to astonish the druidy druids. Four omnipotentsovereigns. 

He flung up his hands and tramped down the stone stairs, singing out oftune with a Cockney accent:

 _O, won't we have a merry time, Drinking whisky, beer and wine! On coronation, Coronation day! O, won't we have a merry time On coronation day!_

Warm sunshine merrying over the sea. The nickel shavingbowl shone, forgotten, on the parapet. Why should I bring it down? Or leave it thereall day, forgotten friendship?

He went over to it, held it in his hands awhile, feeling its coolness, smelling the clammy slaver of the lather in which the brush was stuck. So I carried the boat of incense then at Clongowes. I am another now andyet the same. A servant too. A server of a servant. 

In the gloomy domed livingroom of the tower Buck Mulligan's gowned formmoved briskly to and fro about the hearth, hiding and revealing itsyellow glow. Two shafts of soft daylight fell across the flagged floorfrom the high barbacans: and at the meeting of their rays a cloud ofcoalsmoke and fumes of fried grease floated, turning. 

--We'll be choked, Buck Mulligan said. Haines, open that door, will you?

Stephen laid the shavingbowl on the locker. A tall figure rose from thehammock where it had been sitting, went to the doorway and pulled openthe inner doors. 

--Have you the key? a voice asked. 

--Dedalus has it, Buck Mulligan said. Janey Mack, I'm choked!

He howled, without looking up from the fire:

--Kinch!

--It's in the lock, Stephen said, coming forward. 

The key scraped round harshly twice and, when the heavy door had beenset ajar, welcome light and bright air entered. Haines stood at thedoorway, looking out. Stephen haled his upended valise to the table andsat down to wait. Buck Mulligan tossed the fry on to the dish besidehim. Then he carried the dish and a large teapot over to the table, setthem down heavily and sighed with relief. 

--I'm melting, he said, as the candle remarked when. . . But, hush! Not aword more on that subject! Kinch, wake up! Bread, butter, honey. Haines, come in. The grub is ready. Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts. Where's the sugar? O, jay, there's no milk. 

Stephen fetched the loaf and the pot of honey and the buttercooler fromthe locker. Buck Mulligan sat down in a sudden pet. 

--What sort of a kip is this? he said. I told her to come after eight. 

--We can drink it black, Stephen said thirstily. There's a lemon in thelocker. 

--O, damn you and your Paris fads! Buck Mulligan said. I want Sandycovemilk. 

Haines came in from the doorway and said quietly:

--That woman is coming up with the milk. 

--The blessings of God on you! Buck Mulligan cried, jumping up from hischair. Sit down. Pour out the tea there. The sugar is in the bag. Here, I can't go fumbling at the damned eggs. 

He hacked through the fry on the dish and slapped it out on threeplates, saying:

--_In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. _

Haines sat down to pour out the tea. 

--I'm giving you two lumps each, he said. But, I say, Mulligan, you domake strong tea, don't you?

Buck Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the loaf, said in an old woman'swheedling voice:

--When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said. And when Imakes water I makes water. 

--By Jove, it is tea, Haines said. 

Buck Mulligan went on hewing and wheedling:

--_So I do, Mrs Cahill, _ says she. _Begob, ma'am, _ says Mrs Cahill, _Godsend you don't make them in the one pot. _

He lunged towards his messmates in turn a thick slice of bread, impaledon his knife. 

--That's folk, he said very earnestly, for your book, Haines. Fivelines of text and ten pages of notes about the folk and the fishgods ofDundrum. Printed by the weird sisters in the year of the big wind. 

He turned to Stephen and asked in a fine puzzled voice, lifting hisbrows:

--Can you recall, brother, is mother Grogan's tea and water pot spokenof in the Mabinogion or is it in the Upanishads?

--I doubt it, said Stephen gravely. 

--Do you now? Buck Mulligan said in the same tone. Your reasons, pray?

--I fancy, Stephen said as he ate, it did not exist in or out of theMabinogion. Mother Grogan was, one imagines, a kinswoman of Mary Ann. 

Buck Mulligan's face smiled with delight. 

--Charming! he said in a finical sweet voice, showing his white teethand blinking his eyes pleasantly. Do you think she was? Quite charming!

Then, suddenly overclouding all his features, he growled in a hoarsenedrasping voice as he hewed again vigorously at the loaf:

 _--For old Mary Ann She doesn't care a damn. But, hising up her petticoats. . . _

He crammed his mouth with fry and munched and droned. 

The doorway was darkened by an entering form. 

--The milk, sir!

--Come in, ma'am, Mulligan said. Kinch, get the jug. 

An old woman came forward and stood by Stephen's elbow. 

--That's a lovely morning, sir, she said. Glory be to God. 

--To whom? Mulligan said, glancing at her. Ah, to be sure!

Stephen reached back and took the milkjug from the locker. 

--The islanders, Mulligan said to Haines casually, speak frequently ofthe collector of prepuces. 

--How much, sir? asked the old woman. 

--A quart, Stephen said. 

He watched her pour into the measure and thence into the jug rich whitemilk, not hers. Old shrunken paps. She poured again a measureful anda tilly. Old and secret she had entered from a morning world, maybea 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 hertoadstool, her wrinkled fingers quick at the squirting dugs. They lowedabout her whom they knew, dewsilky cattle. Silk of the kine and poor oldwoman, names given her in old times. A wandering crone, lowly form ofan immortal serving her conqueror and her gay betrayer, their commoncuckquean, a messenger from the secret morning. To serve or to upbraid, whether he could not tell: but scorned to beg her favour. 

--It is indeed, ma'am, Buck Mulligan said, pouring milk into their cups. 

--Taste it, sir, she said. 

He drank at her bidding. 

--If we could live on good food like that, he said to her somewhatloudly, we wouldn't have the country full of rotten teeth and rottenguts. Living in a bogswamp, eating cheap food and the streets paved withdust, horsedung and consumptives' spits. 

--Are you a medical student, sir? the old woman asked. 

--I am, ma'am, Buck Mulligan answered. 

--Look at that now, she said. 

Stephen listened in scornful silence. She bows her old head to a voicethat speaks to her loudly, her bonesetter, her medicineman: me sheslights. To the voice that will shrive and oil for the grave all thereis of her but her woman's unclean loins, of man's flesh made not inGod's likeness, the serpent's prey. And to the loud voice that now bidsher be silent with wondering unsteady eyes. 

--Do you understand what he says? Stephen asked her. 

--Is it French you are talking, sir? the old woman said to Haines. 

Haines spoke to her again a longer speech, confidently. 

--Irish, Buck Mulligan said. Is there Gaelic on you?

--I thought it was Irish, she said, by the sound of it. Are you from thewest, sir?

--I am an Englishman, Haines answered. 

--He's English, Buck Mulligan said, and he thinks we ought to speakIrish in Ireland. 

--Sure we ought to, the old woman said, and I'm ashamed I don't speakthe language myself. I'm told it's a grand language by them that knows. 

--Grand is no name for it, said Buck Mulligan. Wonderful entirely. Fillus out some more tea, Kinch. Would you like a cup, ma'am?

--No, thank you, sir, the old woman said, slipping the ring of themilkcan on her forearm and about to go. 

Haines said to her:

--Have you your bill? We had better pay her, Mulligan, hadn't we?

Stephen filled again the three cups. 

--Bill, sir? she said, halting. Well, it's seven mornings a pint attwopence is seven twos is a shilling and twopence over and these threemornings a quart at fourpence is three quarts is a shilling. That's ashilling and one and two is two and two, sir. 

Buck Mulligan sighed and, having filled his mouth with a crust thicklybuttered on both sides, stretched forth his legs and began to search histrouser pockets. 

--Pay up and look pleasant, Haines said to him, smiling. 

Stephen filled a third cup, a spoonful of tea colouring faintly thethick rich milk. Buck Mulligan brought up a florin, twisted it round inhis fingers and cried:

--A miracle!

He passed it along the table towards the old woman, saying:

--Ask nothing more of me, sweet. All I can give you I give. 

Stephen laid the coin in her uneager hand. 

--We'll owe twopence, he said. 

--Time enough, sir, she said, taking the coin. Time enough. Goodmorning, sir. 

She curtseyed and went out, followed by Buck Mulligan's tender chant:

 _--Heart of my heart, were it more, More would be laid at your feet. _

He turned to Stephen and said:

--Seriously, Dedalus. I'm stony. Hurry out to your school kip and bringus back some money. Today the bards must drink and junket. Irelandexpects that every man this day will do his duty. 

--That reminds me, Haines said, rising, that I have to visit yournational library today. 

--Our swim first, Buck Mulligan said. 

He turned to Stephen and asked blandly:

--Is this the day for your monthly wash, Kinch?

Then he said to Haines:

--The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month. 

--All Ireland is washed by the gulfstream, Stephen said as he let honeytrickle over a slice of the loaf. 

Haines from the corner where he was knotting easily a scarf about theloose collar of his tennis shirt spoke:

--I 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 here's a spot. 

--That one about the cracked lookingglass of a servant being the symbolof Irish art is deuced good. 

Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen's foot under the table and said with warmthof tone:

--Wait till you hear him on Hamlet, Haines. 

--Well, I mean it, Haines said, still speaking to Stephen. I was justthinking of it when that poor old creature came in. 

--Would I make any money by it? Stephen asked. 

Haines laughed and, as he took his soft grey hat from the holdfast ofthe hammock, said:

--I don't know, I'm sure. 

He strolled out to the doorway. Buck Mulligan bent across to Stephen andsaid with coarse vigour:

--You put your hoof in it now. What did you say that for?

--Well? Stephen said. The problem is to get money. From whom? From themilkwoman or from him. It's a toss up, I think. 

--I blow him out about you, Buck Mulligan said, and then you come alongwith your lousy leer and your gloomy jesuit jibes. 

--I see little hope, Stephen said, from her or from him. 

Buck Mulligan sighed tragically and laid his hand on Stephen's arm. 

--From me, Kinch, he said. 

In a suddenly changed tone he added:

--To tell you the God's truth I think you're right. Damn all else theyare good for. Why don't you play them as I do? To hell with them all. Let us get out of the kip. 

He stood up, gravely ungirdled and disrobed himself of his gown, sayingresignedly:

--Mulligan is stripped of his garments. 

He emptied his pockets on to the table. 

--There's 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 andrummaged in his trunk while he called for a clean handkerchief. God, we'll simply have to dress the character. I want puce gloves andgreen boots. Contradiction. Do I contradict myself? Very well then, Icontradict myself. Mercurial Malachi. A limp black missile flew out ofhis talking hands. 

--And there's your Latin quarter hat, he said. 

Stephen picked it up and put it on. Haines called to them from thedoorway:

--Are you coming, you fellows?

--I'm ready, Buck Mulligan answered, going towards the door. Come out, Kinch. You have eaten all we left, I suppose. Resigned he passed outwith grave words and gait, saying, wellnigh with sorrow:

--And going forth he met Butterly. 

Stephen, taking his ashplant from its leaningplace, followed them outand, as they went down the ladder, pulled to the slow iron door andlocked it. He put the huge key in his inner pocket. 

At the foot of the ladder Buck Mulligan asked:

--Did you bring the key?

--I have it, Stephen said, preceding them. 

He walked on. Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan club with his heavybathtowel the leader shoots of ferns or grasses. 

--Down, sir! How dare you, sir!

Haines asked:

--Do you pay rent for this tower?

--Twelve quid, Buck Mulligan said. 

--To the secretary of state for war, Stephen added over his shoulder. 

They halted while Haines surveyed the tower and said at last:

--Rather bleak in wintertime, I should say. Martello you call it?

--Billy Pitt had them built, Buck Mulligan said, when the French were onthe sea. But ours is the _omphalos_. 

--What is your idea of Hamlet? Haines asked Stephen. 

--No, no, Buck Mulligan shouted in pain. I'm not equal to Thomas Aquinasand the fiftyfive reasons he has made out to prop it up. Wait till Ihave a few pints in me first. 

He turned to Stephen, saying, as he pulled down neatly the peaks of hisprimrose waistcoat:

--You couldn't manage it under three pints, Kinch, could you?

--It has waited so long, Stephen said listlessly, it can wait longer. 

--You pique my curiosity, Haines said amiably. Is it some paradox?

--Pooh! Buck Mulligan said. We have grown out of Wilde and paradoxes. It's quite simple. He proves by algebra that Hamlet's grandson isShakespeare's grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his ownfather. 

--What? Haines said, beginning to point at Stephen. He himself?

Buck Mulligan slung his towel stolewise round his neck and, bending inloose laughter, said to Stephen's ear:

--O, shade of Kinch the elder! Japhet in search of a father!

--We're always tired in the morning, Stephen said to Haines. And it israther long to tell. 

Buck Mulligan, walking forward again, raised his hands. 

--The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue of Dedalus, he said. 

--I mean to say, Haines explained to Stephen as they followed, thistower and these cliffs here remind me somehow of Elsinore. _That beetleso'er his base into the sea, _ isn't it?

Buck Mulligan turned suddenly for an instant towards Stephen but didnot speak. In the bright silent instant Stephen saw his own image incheap dusty mourning between their gay attires. 

--It's a wonderful tale, Haines said, bringing them to halt again. 

Eyes, pale as the sea the wind had freshened, paler, firm and prudent. The seas' ruler, he gazed southward over the bay, empty save for thesmokeplume of the mailboat vague on the bright skyline and a sailtacking by the Muglins. 

--I read a theological interpretation of it somewhere, he said bemused. The Father and the Son idea. The Son striving to be atoned with theFather. 

Buck Mulligan at once put on a blithe broadly smiling face. He lookedat them, his wellshaped mouth open happily, his eyes, from which he hadsuddenly withdrawn all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety. He moveda doll's head to and fro, the brims of his Panama hat quivering, andbegan to chant in a quiet happy foolish voice:

 _--I'm the queerest young fellow that ever you heard. My mother's a jew, my father's a bird. With Joseph the joiner I cannot agree. So here's to disciples and Calvary. _

He held up a forefinger of warning. 

 _--If anyone thinks that I amn't divine He'll get no free drinks when I'm making the wine But have to drink water and wish it were plain That i make when the wine becomes water again. _

He tugged swiftly at Stephen's ashplant in farewell and, running forwardto a brow of the cliff, fluttered his hands at his sides like fins orwings of one about to rise in the air, and chanted:

 _--Goodbye, now, goodbye! Write down all I said And tell Tom, Dick and Harry I rose from the dead. What's bred in the bone cannot fail me to fly And Olivet's breezy. . . Goodbye, now, goodbye!_

He capered before them down towards the fortyfoot hole, fluttering hiswinglike hands, leaping nimbly, Mercury's hat quivering in the freshwind that bore back to them his brief birdsweet cries. 

Haines, who had been laughing guardedly, walked on beside Stephen andsaid:

--We oughtn't to laugh, I suppose. He's rather blasphemous. I'm not abeliever myself, that is to say. Still his gaiety takes the harm out ofit somehow, doesn't it? What did he call it? Joseph the Joiner?

--The ballad of joking Jesus, Stephen answered. 

--O, Haines said, you have heard it before?

--Three times a day, after meals, Stephen said drily. 

--You're not a believer, are you? Haines asked. I mean, a believer inthe narrow sense of the word. Creation from nothing and miracles and apersonal God. 

--There's only one sense of the word, it seems to me, Stephen said. 

Haines stopped to take out a smooth silver case in which twinkled agreen stone. He sprang it open with his thumb and offered it. 

--Thank you, Stephen said, taking a cigarette. 

Haines helped himself and snapped the case to. He put it back in hissidepocket and took from his waistcoatpocket a nickel tinderbox, sprangit open too, and, having lit his cigarette, held the flaming spunktowards Stephen in the shell of his hands. 

--Yes, of course, he said, as they went on again. Either you believeor you don't, isn't it? Personally I couldn't stomach that idea of apersonal God. You don't stand for that, I suppose?

--You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horribleexample of free thought. 

He walked on, waiting to be spoken to, trailing his ashplant by hisside. Its ferrule followed lightly on the path, squealing at his heels. My familiar, after me, calling, Steeeeeeeeeeeephen! A wavering linealong 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 saltbread. Give him the key too. All. He will ask for it. That was in hiseyes. 

--After all, Haines began. . . 

Stephen turned and saw that the cold gaze which had measured him was notall unkind. 

--After all, I should think you are able to free yourself. You are yourown master, it seems to me. 

--I am a servant of two masters, Stephen said, an English and anItalian. 

--Italian? Haines said. 

A crazy queen, old and jealous. Kneel down before me. 

--And a third, Stephen said, there is who wants me for odd jobs. 

--Italian? Haines said again. What do you mean?

--The imperial British state, Stephen answered, his colour rising, andthe holy Roman catholic and apostolic church. 

Haines detached from his underlip some fibres of tobacco before hespoke. 

--I can quite understand that, he said calmly. An Irishman must thinklike that, I daresay. We feel in England that we have treated you ratherunfairly. It seems history is to blame. 

The proud potent titles clanged over Stephen's memory the triumphof their brazen bells: _et unam sanctam catholicam et apostolicamecclesiam:_ the slow growth and change of rite and dogma like his ownrare thoughts, a chemistry of stars. Symbol of the apostles in themass for pope Marcellus, the voices blended, singing alone loud inaffirmation: and behind their chant the vigilant angel of the churchmilitant disarmed and menaced her heresiarchs. A horde of heresiesfleeing with mitres awry: Photius and the brood of mockers ofwhom Mulligan was one, and Arius, warring his life long upon theconsubstantiality of the Son with the Father, and Valentine, spurningChrist's terrene body, and the subtle African heresiarch Sabellius whoheld that the Father was Himself His own Son. Words Mulligan had spokena moment since in mockery to the stranger. Idle mockery. The voidawaits surely all them that weave the wind: a menace, a disarming and aworsting from those embattled angels of the church, Michael's host, who defend her ever in the hour of conflict with their lances and theirshields. 

Hear, hear! Prolonged applause. _Zut! Nom de Dieu!_

--Of course I'm a Britisher, Haines's voice said, and I feel as one. Idon't want to see my country fall into the hands of German jews either. That's our national problem, I'm afraid, just now. 

Two men stood at the verge of the cliff, watching: businessman, boatman. 

--She's making for Bullock harbour. 

The boatman nodded towards the north of the bay with some disdain. 

--There's five fathoms out there, he said. It'll be swept up that waywhen the tide comes in about one. It's nine days today. 

The man that was drowned. A sail veering about the blank bay waitingfor 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 ona stone, in shirtsleeves, his unclipped tie rippling over his shoulder. A young man clinging to a spur of rock near him, moved slowly frogwisehis green legs in the deep jelly of the water. 

--Is the brother with you, Malachi?

--Down in Westmeath. With the Bannons. 

--Still there? I got a card from Bannon. Says he found a sweet youngthing down there. Photo girl he calls her. 

--Snapshot, eh? Brief exposure. 

Buck Mulligan sat down to unlace his boots. An elderly man shot up nearthe 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, waterrilling over his chest and paunch and spilling jets out of his blacksagging loincloth. 

Buck Mulligan made way for him to scramble past and, glancing at Hainesand Stephen, crossed himself piously with his thumbnail at brow and lipsand breastbone. 

--Seymour's back in town, the young man said, grasping again his spur ofrock. Chucked medicine and going in for the army. 

--Ah, go to God! Buck Mulligan said. 

--Going over next week to stew. You know that red Carlisle girl, Lily?

--Yes. 

--Spooning with him last night on the pier. The father is rotto withmoney. 

--Is she up the pole?

--Better ask Seymour that. 

--Seymour a bleeding officer! Buck Mulligan said. 

He nodded to himself as he drew off his trousers and stood up, sayingtritely:

--Redheaded women buck like goats. 

He broke off in alarm, feeling his side under his flapping shirt. 

--My twelfth rib is gone, he cried. I'm the _Uebermensch. _ ToothlessKinch and I, the supermen. 

He struggled out of his shirt and flung it behind him to where hisclothes lay. 

--Are you going in here, Malachi?

--Yes. Make room in the bed. 

The young man shoved himself backward through the water and reachedthe middle of the creek in two long clean strokes. Haines sat down on astone, smoking. 

--Are you not coming in? Buck Mulligan asked. 

--Later on, Haines said. Not on my breakfast. 

Stephen turned away. 

--I'm going, Mulligan, he said. 

--Give us that key, Kinch, Buck Mulligan said, to keep my chemise flat. 

Stephen handed him the key. Buck Mulligan laid it across his heapedclothes. 

--And twopence, he said, for a pint. Throw it there. 

Stephen threw two pennies on the soft heap. Dressing, undressing. BuckMulligan erect, with joined hands before him, said solemnly:

--He who stealeth from the poor lendeth to the Lord. Thus spakeZarathustra. 

His plump body plunged. 

--We'll see you again, Haines said, turning as Stephen walked up thepath and smiling at wild Irish. 

Horn of a bull, hoof of a horse, smile of a Saxon. 

--The Ship, Buck Mulligan cried. Half twelve. 

--Good, Stephen said. 

He walked along the upwardcurving path. 

 _Liliata rutilantium. Turma circumdet. Iubilantium te virginum. _

The priest's grey nimbus in a niche where he dressed discreetly. I willnot sleep here tonight. Home also I cannot go. 

A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from the sea. Turningthe curve he waved his hand. It called again. A sleek brown head, aseal's, far out on the water, round. 

Usurper. 

--You, Cochrane, what city sent for him?

--Tarentum, sir. 

--Very good. Well?

--There was a battle, sir. 

--Very good. Where?

The boy's blank face asked the blank window. 

Fabled by the daughters of memory. And yet it was in some way if not asmemory fabled it. A phrase, then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wingsof excess. I hear the ruin of all space, shattered glass and topplingmasonry, and time one livid final flame. What's left us then?

--I forget the place, sir. 279 B. C. 

--Asculum, Stephen said, glancing at the name and date in thegorescarred book. 

--Yes, sir. And he said: _Another victory like that and we are donefor. _

That phrase the world had remembered. A dull ease of the mind. Froma hill above a corpsestrewn plain a general speaking to his officers, leaned upon his spear. Any general to any officers. They lend ear. 

--You, Armstrong, Stephen said. What was the end of Pyrrhus?

--End of Pyrrhus, sir?

--I know, sir. Ask me, sir, Comyn said. 

--Wait. You, Armstrong. Do you know anything about Pyrrhus?

A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrong's satchel. He curled thembetween his palms at whiles and swallowed them softly. Crumbs adhered tothe tissue of his lips. A sweetened boy's breath. Welloff people, proudthat their eldest son was in the navy. Vico road, Dalkey. 

--Pyrrhus, sir? Pyrrhus, a pier. 

All laughed. Mirthless high malicious laughter. Armstrong looked roundat his classmates, silly glee in profile. In a moment they will laughmore loudly, aware of my lack of rule and of the fees their papas pay. 

--Tell me now, Stephen said, poking the boy's shoulder with the book, what is a pier. 

--A pier, sir, Armstrong said. A thing out in the water. A kind of abridge. Kingstown pier, sir. 

Some laughed again: mirthless but with meaning. Two in the back benchwhispered. Yes. They knew: had never learned nor ever been innocent. All. With envy he watched their faces: Edith, Ethel, Gerty, Lily. Theirlikes: their breaths, too, sweetened with tea and jam, their braceletstittering in the struggle. 

--Kingstown pier, Stephen said. Yes, a disappointed bridge. 

The words troubled their gaze. 

--How, sir? Comyn asked. A bridge is across a river. 

For Haines's chapbook. No-one here to hear. Tonight deftly amid wilddrink and talk, to pierce the polished mail of his mind. What then? Ajester at the court of his master, indulged and disesteemed, winning aclement master's praise. Why had they chosen all that part? Not whollyfor the smooth caress. For them too history was a tale like any othertoo often heard, their land a pawnshop. 

Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar notbeen knifed to death. They are not to be thought away. Time hasbranded them and fettered they are lodged in the room of the infinitepossibilities they have ousted. But can those have been possible seeingthat they never were? Or was that only possible which came to pass?Weave, weaver of the wind. 

--Tell us a story, sir. 

--O, do, sir. A ghoststory. 

--Where do you begin in this? Stephen asked, opening another book. 

-_-Weep no more, _ Comyn said. 

--Go on then, Talbot. 

--And the story, sir?

--After, Stephen said. Go on, Talbot. 

A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the breastworkof his satchel. He recited jerks of verse with odd glances at the text:

 _--Weep 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. Aristotle's phrase formed itself within the gabbled verses and floatedout into the studious silence of the library of Saint Genevieve where hehad read, sheltered from the sin of Paris, night by night. By his elbowa delicate Siamese conned a handbook of strategy. Fed and feeding brainsabout me: under glowlamps, impaled, with faintly beating feelers: andin my mind's darkness a sloth of the underworld, reluctant, shy ofbrightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. Thought is the thought ofthought. Tranquil brightness. The soul is in a manner all that is: thesoul is the form of forms. Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form offorms. 

Talbot repeated:

 _--Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Through the dear might. . . _

--Turn over, Stephen said quietly. I don't see anything. 

--What, sir? Talbot asked simply, bending forward. 

His hand turned the page over. He leaned back and went on again, havingjust remembered. Of him that walked the waves. Here also over thesecraven hearts his shadow lies and on the scoffer's heart and lips andon mine. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a coin of thetribute. To Caesar what is Caesar's, to God what is God's. A longlook from dark eyes, a riddling sentence to be woven and woven on thechurch's looms. Ay. 

 _Riddle me, riddle me, randy ro. My father gave me seeds to sow. _

Talbot slid his closed book into his satchel. 

--Have I heard all? Stephen asked. 

--Yes, sir. Hockey at ten, sir. 

--Half day, sir. Thursday. 

--Who can answer a riddle? Stephen asked. 

They bundled their books away, pencils clacking, pages rustling. Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all gabblinggaily:

--A riddle, sir? Ask me, sir. 

--O, ask me, sir. 

--A hard one, sir. 

--This is the riddle, Stephen said:

 _The cock crew, The sky was blue: The bells in heaven Were striking eleven. 'Tis time for this poor soul To go to heaven. _

What is that?

--What, sir?

--Again, sir. We didn't hear. 

Their eyes grew bigger as the lines were repeated. After a silenceCochrane said:

--What is it, sir? We give it up. 

Stephen, his throat itching, answered:

--The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. 

He stood up and gave a shout of nervous laughter to which their criesechoed dismay. 

A stick struck the door and a voice in the corridor called:

--Hockey!

They broke asunder, sidling out of their benches, leaping them. Quicklythey were gone and from the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks andclamour of their boots and tongues. 

Sargent who alone had lingered came forward slowly, showing an opencopybook. His thick hair and scraggy neck gave witness of unreadinessand through his misty glasses weak eyes looked up pleading. On hischeek, dull and bloodless, a soft stain of ink lay, dateshaped, recentand damp as a snail's 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 withblind loops and a blot. Cyril Sargent: his name and seal. 

--Mr Deasy told me to write them out all again, he said, and show themto you, sir. 

Stephen touched the edges of the book. Futility. 

--Do you understand how to do them now? he asked. 

--Numbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered. Mr Deasy said I was tocopy them off the board, sir. 

--Can you do them yourself? Stephen asked. 

--No, sir. 

Ugly and futile: lean neck and thick hair and a stain of ink, a snail'sbed. 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 drainedfrom her own. Was that then real? The only true thing in life? Hismother's prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. She was no more: the trembling skeleton of a twig burnt in the fire, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. She had saved him from beingtrampled underfoot and had gone, scarcely having been. A poor soulgone to heaven: and on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reekof 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 algebrathat Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather. Sargent peered askancethrough his slanted glasses. Hockeysticks rattled in the lumberroom: thehollow knock of a ball and calls from the field. 

Across the page the symbols moved in grave morrice, in the mummery oftheir letters, wearing quaint caps of squares and cubes. Give hands, traverse, bow to partner: so: imps of fancy of the Moors. Gone too fromthe world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and movement, flashing in their mocking mirrors the obscure soul of the world, adarkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend. 

--Do you understand now? Can you work the second for yourself?

--Yes, sir. 

In long shaky strokes Sargent copied the data. Waiting always for a wordof help his hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a faint hue ofshame flickering behind his dull skin. _Amor matris:_ subjective andobjective genitive. With her weak blood and wheysour milk she had fedhim and hid from sight of others his swaddling bands. 

Like him was I, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness. Mychildhood bends beside me. Too far for me to lay a hand there once orlightly. Mine is far and his secret as our eyes. Secrets, silent, stonysit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of theirtyranny: tyrants, willing to be dethroned. 

The sum was done. 

--It is very simple, Stephen said as he stood up. 

--Yes, sir. Thanks, Sargent answered. 

He dried the page with a sheet of thin blottingpaper and carried hiscopybook back to his bench. 

--You had better get your stick and go out to the others, Stephen saidas he followed towards the door the boy's graceless form. 

--Yes, sir. 

In the corridor his name was heard, called from the playfield. 

--Sargent!

--Run on, Stephen said. Mr Deasy is calling you. 

He stood in the porch and watched the laggard hurry towards the scrappyfield where sharp voices were in strife. They were sorted in teams andMr Deasy came away stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet. Whenhe had reached the schoolhouse voices again contending called to him. Heturned his angry white moustache. 

--What is it now? he cried continually without listening. 

--Cochrane and Halliday are on the same side, sir, Stephen said. 

--Will you wait in my study for a moment, Mr Deasy said, till I restoreorder here. 

And as he stepped fussily back across the field his old man's voicecried sternly:

--What is the matter? What is it now?

Their sharp voices cried about him on all sides: their many forms closedround him, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his illdyed head. 

Stale smoky air hung in the study with the smell of drab abraded leatherof its chairs. As on the first day he bargained with me here. As it wasin 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 spooncaseof purple plush, faded, the twelve apostles having preached to all thegentiles: world without end. 

A hasty step over the stone porch and in the corridor. Blowing out hisrare moustache Mr Deasy halted at the table. 

--First, our little financial settlement, he said. 

He brought out of his coat a pocketbook bound by a leather thong. Itslapped open and he took from it two notes, one of joined halves, andlaid them carefully on the table. 

--Two, he said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away. 

And now his strongroom for the gold. Stephen's embarrassed hand movedover the shells heaped in the cold stone mortar: whelks and moneycowries and leopard shells: and this, whorled as an emir's turban, andthis, the scallop of saint James. An old pilgrim's hoard, dead treasure, hollow shells. 

A sovereign fell, bright and new, on the soft pile of the tablecloth. 

--Three, Mr Deasy said, turning his little savingsbox about in his hand. These are handy things to have. See. This is for sovereigns. This is forshillings. Sixpences, halfcrowns. And here crowns. See. 

He shot from it two crowns and two shillings. 

--Three twelve, he said. I think you'll find that's right. 

--Thank you, sir, Stephen said, gathering the money together with shyhaste and putting it all in a pocket of his trousers. 

--No thanks at all, Mr Deasy said. You have earned it. 

Stephen's hand, free again, went back to the hollow shells. Symbols tooof beauty and of power. A lump in my pocket: symbols soiled by greed andmisery. 

--Don't carry it like that, Mr Deasy said. You'll pull it out somewhereand lose it. You just buy one of these machines. You'll find them veryhandy. 

Answer something. 

--Mine would be often empty, Stephen said. 

The same room and hour, the same wisdom: and I the same. Three timesnow. Three nooses round me here. Well? I can break them in this instantif I will. 

--Because you don't save, Mr Deasy said, pointing his finger. You don'tknow yet what money is. Money is power. When you have lived as long as Ihave. I know, I know. If youth but knew. But what does Shakespeare say?_Put but money in thy purse. _

--Iago, Stephen murmured. 

He lifted his gaze from the idle shells to the old man's stare. 

--He knew what money was, Mr Deasy said. He made money. A poet, yes, butan Englishman too. Do you know what is the pride of the English? Do youknow what is the proudest word you will ever hear from an Englishman'smouth?

The seas' ruler. His seacold eyes looked on the empty bay: it seemshistory is to blame: on me and on my words, unhating. 

--That on his empire, Stephen said, the sun never sets. 

--Ba! Mr Deasy cried. That's not English. A French Celt said that. Hetapped his savingsbox against his thumbnail. 

--I will tell you, he said solemnly, what is his proudest boast. _I paidmy way. _

Good man, good man. 

_--I paid my way. I never borrowed a shilling in my life. _ Can you feelthat? _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. Temple, two lunches. Russell, one guinea, Cousins, ten shillings, BobReynolds, half a guinea, Koehler, three guineas, Mrs MacKernan, fiveweeks' board. The lump I have is useless. 

--For the moment, no, Stephen answered. 

Mr Deasy laughed with rich delight, putting back his savingsbox. 

--I knew you couldn't, he said joyously. But one day you must feel it. We are a generous people but we must also be just. 

--I fear those big words, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy. 

Mr Deasy stared sternly for some moments over the mantelpiece at theshapely bulk of a man in tartan filibegs: Albert Edward, prince ofWales. 

--You think me an old fogey and an old tory, his thoughtful voice said. I saw three generations since O'Connell's time. I remember the famine in'46. Do you know that the orange lodges agitated for repeal of theunion twenty years before O'Connell did or before the prelates of yourcommunion denounced him as a demagogue? You fenians forget some things. 

Glorious, pious and immortal memory. The lodge of Diamond in Armagh thesplendid behung with corpses of papishes. Hoarse, masked and armed, theplanters' covenant. The black north and true blue bible. Croppies liedown. 

Stephen sketched a brief gesture. 

--I have rebel blood in me too, Mr Deasy said. On the spindle side. ButI am descended from sir John Blackwood who voted for the union. We areall Irish, all kings' sons. 

--Alas, Stephen said. 

--_Per vias rectas_, Mr Deasy said firmly, was his motto. He voted forit and put on his topboots to ride to Dublin from the Ards of Down to doso. 

 _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!. . . Two topboots jog danglingon to Dublin. Lal the ral the ra. Lal the ral the raddy. 

--That 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 readoff some words from the sheet on the drum of his typewriter. 

--Sit down. Excuse me, he said over his shoulder, _the dictates ofcommon sense. _ Just a moment. 

He peered from under his shaggy brows at the manuscript by his elbowand, muttering, began to prod the stiff buttons of the keyboard slowly, sometimes blowing as he screwed up the drum to erase an error. 

Stephen seated himself noiselessly before the princely presence. Framedaround the walls images of vanished horses stood in homage, their meekheads poised in air: lord Hastings' Repulse, the duke of Westminster'sShotover, the duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, _prix de Paris_, 1866. Elfinriders sat them, watchful of a sign. He saw their speeds, backing king'scolours, and shouted with the shouts of vanished crowds. 

--Full stop, Mr Deasy bade his keys. But prompt ventilation of thisallimportant question. . . 

Where Cranly led me to get rich quick, hunting his winners among themudsplashed brakes, amid the bawls of bookies on their pitches and reekof the canteen, over the motley slush. Fair Rebel! Fair Rebel! Evenmoney the favourite: ten to one the field. Dicers and thimbleriggerswe hurried by after the hoofs, the vying caps and jackets and pastthe meatfaced woman, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove oforange. 

Shouts rang shrill from the boys' 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 mother's darling who seemsto be slightly crawsick? Jousts. Time shocked rebounds, shock by shock. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the frozen deathspew of the slain, a shout of spearspikes baited with men's bloodied guts. 

--Now then, Mr Deasy said, rising. 

He came to the table, pinning together his sheets. Stephen stood up. 

--I have put the matter into a nutshell, Mr Deasy said. It's aboutthe foot and mouth disease. Just look through it. There can be no twoopinions 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 oldindustries. Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme. European conflagration. Grain supplies through the narrow waters ofthe channel. The pluterperfect imperturbability of the department ofagriculture. Pardoned a classical allusion. Cassandra. By a woman whowas no better than she should be. To come to the point at issue. 

--I don't mince words, do I? Mr Deasy asked as Stephen read on. 

Foot and mouth disease. Known as Koch's preparation. Serum and virus. Percentage of salted horses. Rinderpest. Emperor's horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria. Veterinary surgeons. Mr Henry Blackwood Price. Courteousoffer a fair trial. Dictates of common sense. Allimportant question. Inevery sense of the word take the bull by the horns. Thanking you for thehospitality of your columns. 

--I want that to be printed and read, Mr Deasy said. You will see at thenext outbreak they will put an embargo on Irish cattle. And it canbe cured. It is cured. My cousin, Blackwood Price, writes to me it isregularly treated and cured in Austria by cattledoctors there. Theyoffer to come over here. I am trying to work up influence withthe department. Now I'm going to try publicity. I am surrounded bydifficulties, by. . . Intrigues by. . . Backstairs influence by. . . 

He raised his forefinger and beat the air oldly before his voice spoke. 

--Mark my words, Mr Dedalus, he said. England is in the hands of thejews. In all the highest places: her finance, her press. And they arethe signs of a nation's decay. Wherever they gather they eat up thenation's vital strength. I have seen it coming these years. As sureas we are standing here the jew merchants are already at their work ofdestruction. Old England is dying. 

He stepped swiftly off, his eyes coming to blue life as they passed abroad sunbeam. He faced about and back again. 

--Dying, he said again, if not dead by now. 

 _The harlot's cry from street to street Shall weave old England's windingsheet. _

His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly across the sunbeam in whichhe halted. 

--A merchant, Stephen said, is one who buys cheap and sells dear, jew orgentile, is he not?

--They sinned against the light, Mr Deasy said gravely. And you can seethe darkness in their eyes. And that is why they are wanderers on theearth to this day. 

On the steps of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quotingprices on their gemmed fingers. Gabble of geese. They swarmed loud, uncouth about the temple, their heads thickplotting under maladroit silkhats. Not theirs: these clothes, this speech, these gestures. Their fullslow eyes belied the words, the gestures eager and unoffending, butknew the rancours massed about them and knew their zeal was vain. Vainpatience to heap and hoard. Time surely would scatter all. A hoardheaped by the roadside: plundered and passing on. Their eyes knew theiryears of wandering and, patient, knew the dishonours of their flesh. 

--Who has not? Stephen said. 

--What do you mean? Mr Deasy asked. 

He came forward a pace and stood by the table. His underjaw fellsideways open uncertainly. Is this old wisdom? He waits to hear from me. 

--History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake. 

From the playfield the boys raised a shout. A whirring whistle: goal. What if that nightmare gave you a back kick?

--The ways of the Creator are not our ways, Mr Deasy said. All humanhistory moves towards one great goal, the manifestation of God. 

Stephen jerked his thumb towards the window, saying:

--That is God. 

Hooray! Ay! Whrrwhee!

--What? Mr Deasy asked. 

--A shout in the street, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders. 

Mr Deasy looked down and held for awhile the wings of his nose tweakedbetween his fingers. Looking up again he set them free. 

--I am happier than you are, he said. We have committed many errors andmany sins. A woman brought sin into the world. For a woman who was nobetter than she should be, Helen, the runaway wife of Menelaus, tenyears the Greeks made war on Troy. A faithless wife first brought thestrangers to our shore here, MacMurrough's wife and her leman, O'Rourke, prince of Breffni. A woman too brought Parnell low. Many errors, manyfailures but not the one sin. I am a struggler now at the end of mydays. 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. 

--Well, sir, he began. . . 

--I foresee, Mr Deasy said, that you will not remain here very longat this work. You were not born to be a teacher, I think. Perhaps I amwrong. 

--A learner rather, Stephen said. 

And here what will you learn more?

Mr Deasy shook his head. 

--Who knows? he said. To learn one must be humble. But life is the greatteacher. 

Stephen rustled the sheets again. 

--As regards these, he began. 

--Yes, Mr Deasy said. You have two copies there. If you can have thempublished at once. 

_ Telegraph. Irish Homestead. _

--I will try, Stephen said, and let you know tomorrow. I know twoeditors slightly. 

--That will do, Mr Deasy said briskly. I wrote last night to Mr Field, M. P. There is a meeting of the cattletraders' association today at theCity Arms hotel. I asked him to lay my letter before the meeting. Yousee if you can get it into your two papers. What are they?

_--The Evening Telegraph. . . _

--That will do, Mr Deasy said. There is no time to lose. Now I have toanswer that letter from my cousin. 

--Good morning, sir, Stephen said, putting the sheets in his pocket. Thank you. 

--Not at all, Mr Deasy said as he searched the papers on his desk. Ilike to break a lance with you, old as I am. 

--Good 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 the cries of voices and crack of sticks from the playfield. The lions couchant on the pillars as he passed out through the gate:toothless terrors. Still I will help him in his fight. Mulligan will dubme a new name: the bullockbefriending bard. 

--Mr Dedalus!

Running after me. No more letters, I hope. 

--Just one moment. 

--Yes, sir, Stephen said, turning back at the gate. 

Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath. 

--I just wanted to say, he said. Ireland, they say, has the honour ofbeing the only country which never persecuted the jews. Do you knowthat? No. And do you know why?

He frowned sternly on the bright air. 

--Why, sir? Stephen asked, beginning to smile. 

--Because she never let them in, Mr Deasy said solemnly. 

A coughball of laughter leaped from his throat dragging after it arattling chain of phlegm. He turned back quickly, coughing, laughing, his lifted arms waving to the air. 

--She never let them in, he cried again through his laughter as hestamped on gaitered feet over the gravel of the path. That's why. 

On his wise shoulders through the checkerwork of leaves the sun flungspangles, dancing coins. 

Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thoughtthrough my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawnand seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? Byknocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and amillionaire, _maestro di color che sanno_. Limit of the diaphane in. Whyin? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it itis a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see. 

Stephen closed his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack andshells. 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 theaudible. Open your eyes. No. Jesus! If I fell over a cliff that beetleso'er his base, fell through the _nebeneinander_ ineluctably! I amgetting on nicely in the dark. My ash sword hangs at my side. Tap withit: 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 money. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. Won't you come toSandymount, Madeline the mare?

Rhythm begins, you see. I hear. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambsmarching. No, agallop: _deline the mare_. 

Open your eyes now. I will. One moment. Has all vanished since? If Iopen and am for ever in the black adiaphane. _Basta_! I will see if Ican see. 

See now. There all the time without you: and ever shall be, worldwithout end. 

They came down the steps from Leahy's terrace prudently, _Frauenzimmer_:and down the shelving shore flabbily, their splayed feet sinking inthe silted sand. Like me, like Algy, coming down to our mighty mother. Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the other's gamp poked inthe beach. From the liberties, out for the day. Mrs Florence MacCabe, relict of the late Patk MacCabe, deeply lamented, of Bride Street. Oneof her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Creation from nothing. What has she in the bag? A misbirth with a trailing navelcord, hushedin ruddy wool. The cords of all link back, strandentwining cable ofall flesh. That is why mystic monks. Will you be as gods? Gaze in youromphalos. 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, bulging big, a buckler of taut vellum, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting toeverlasting. Womb of sin. 

Wombed in sin darkness I was too, made not begotten. By them, the manwith my voice and my eyes and a ghostwoman with ashes on her breath. They clasped and sundered, did the coupler's will. From before the agesHe willed me and now may not will me away or ever. A _lex eterna_ staysabout Him. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son areconsubstantial? Where is poor dear Arius to try conclusions? Warringhis life long upon the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality. Illstarredheresiarch' In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. With beaded mitre and with crozier, stalled upon his throne, widower ofa widowed see, with upstiffed omophorion, with clotted hinderparts. 

Airs romped round him, nipping and eager airs. They are coming, waves. The whitemaned seahorses, champing, brightwindbridled, the steeds ofMananaan. 

I mustn't forget his letter for the press. And after? The Ship, halftwelve. By the way go easy with that money like a good young imbecile. 

Yes, I must. 

His pace slackened. Here. Am I going to aunt Sara's or not? Myconsubstantial father's voice. Did you see anything of your artistbrother Stephen lately? No? Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace withhis aunt Sally? Couldn't he fly a bit higher than that, eh? And and andand tell us, Stephen, how is uncle Si? O, weeping God, the things Imarried into! De boys up in de hayloft. The drunken little costdrawerand his brother, the cornet player. Highly respectable gondoliers! Andskeweyed 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 takeme for a dun, peer out from a coign of vantage. 

--It's Stephen, sir. 

--Let him in. Let Stephen in. 

A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me. 

--We thought you were someone else. 

In his broad bed nuncle Richie, pillowed and blanketed, extends over thehillock of his knees a sturdy forearm. Cleanchested. He has washed theupper moiety. 

--Morrow, nephew. 

He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs forthe eyes of master Goff and master Shapland Tandy, filing consents andcommon searches and a writ of _Duces Tecum_. A bogoak frame over hisbald head: Wilde's _Requiescat_. The drone of his misleading whistlebrings Walter back. 

--Yes, sir?

--Malt for Richie and Stephen, tell mother. Where is she?

--Bathing Crissie, sir. 

Papa's little bedpal. Lump of love. 

--No, uncle Richie. . . 

--Call me Richie. Damn your lithia water. It lowers. Whusky!

--Uncle Richie, really. . . 

--Sit down or by the law Harry I'll knock you down. 

Walter squints vainly for a chair. 

--He has nothing to sit down on, sir. 

--He has nowhere to put it, you mug. Bring in our chippendale chair. Would you like a bite of something? None of your damned lawdeedaw airshere. The rich of a rasher fried with a herring? Sure? So much thebetter. We have nothing in the house but backache pills. 

_All'erta_!

He drones bars of Ferrando's _aria di sortita_. The grandest number, Stephen, in the whole opera. Listen. 

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 youhad an uncle a judge and an uncle a general in the army. Come out ofthem, Stephen. Beauty is not there. Nor in the stagnant bay of Marsh'slibrary where you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. For whom?The hundredheaded rabble of the cathedral close. A hater of his kindran from them to the wood of madness, his mane foaming in the moon, his eyeballs stars. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. The oval equinefaces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. Abbasfather, --furious dean, what offence laid fire to their brains? Paff!_Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris_. A garland of grey hairon his comminated head see him me clambering down to the footpace(_descende_!), clutching a monstrance, basiliskeyed. Get down, baldpoll!A choir gives back menace and echo, assisting about the altar's horns, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their albs, tonsuredand oiled and gelded, fat with the fat of kidneys of wheat. 

And at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevatingit. Dringdring! And two streets off another locking it into a pyx. Dringadring! And in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his owncheek. Dringdring! Down, up, forward, back. Dan Occam thought of that, invincible doctor. A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickledhis brain. Bringing his host down and kneeling he heard twine with hissecond bell the first bell in the transept (he is lifting his) and, rising, heard (now I am lifting) their two bells (he is kneeling) twangin diphthong. 

Cousin Stephen, you will never be a saint. Isle of saints. You wereawfully holy, weren't you? You prayed to the Blessed Virgin that youmight not have a red nose. You prayed to the devil in Serpentine avenuethat the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from thewet street. _O si, certo_! Sell your soul for that, do, dyed rags pinnedround a squaw. More tell me, more still!! On the top of the Howth tramalone 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 applauseearnestly, striking face. Hurray for the Goddamned idiot! Hray! No-onesaw: 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. Oyes, W. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeplydeep, copies to be sent if you died to all the great libraries of theworld, including Alexandria? Someone was to read them there after a fewthousand years, a mahamanvantara. Pico della Mirandola like. Ay, verylike a whale. When one reads these strange pages of one long gone onefeels that one is at one with one who once. . . 

The grainy sand had gone from under his feet. His boots trod againa damp crackling mast, razorshells, squeaking pebbles, that on theunnumbered pebbles beats, wood sieved by the shipworm, lost Armada. Unwholesome sandflats waited to suck his treading soles, breathingupward sewage breath, a pocket of seaweed smouldered in seafire under amidden of man's ashes. He coasted them, walking warily. A porterbottlestood 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 mazeof dark cunning nets; farther away chalkscrawled backdoors and on thehigher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts. Ringsend: wigwamsof brown steersmen and master mariners. Human shells. 

He halted. I have passed the way to aunt Sara's. Am I not going there?Seems not. No-one about. He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sandtowards the Pigeonhouse. 

_--Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position?_

_--c'est 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 father's a bird, helapped the sweet _lait chaud_ with pink young tongue, plump bunny'sface. Lap, _lapin. _ He hopes to win in the _gros lots_. About the natureof women he read in Michelet. But he must send me _La Vie de Jesus_ byM. Leo Taxil. Lent it to his friend. 

_--C'est tordant, vous savez. Moi, je suis socialiste. Je ne crois pasen l'existence de Dieu. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. _

_--Il croit?_

_--Mon pere, oui. _

_Schluss_. He laps. 

My Latin quarter hat. God, we simply must dress the character. I wantpuce gloves. You were a student, weren't you? Of what in the otherdevil's name? Paysayenn. P. C. N. , you know: _physiques, chimiques etnaturelles_. Aha. Eating your groatsworth of _mou en civet_, fleshpotsof Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. Just say in the most naturaltone: when I was in Paris; _boul' Mich'_, I used to. Yes, used tocarry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they arrested you for murdersomewhere. Justice. On the night of the seventeenth of February 1904 theprisoner was seen by two witnesses. Other fellow did it: other me. Hat, tie, overcoat, nose. _Lui, c'est moi_. You seem to have enjoyedyourself. 

Proudly walking. Whom were you trying to walk like? Forget: adispossessed. With mother's money order, eight shillings, the bangingdoor of the post office slammed in your face by the usher. Hungertoothache. _Encore deux minutes_. Look clock. Must get. _Ferme_. Hireddog! Shoot him to bloody bits with a bang shotgun, bits man spatteredwalls all brass buttons. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. Nothurt? O, that's all right. Shake hands. See what I meant, see? O, that'sall right. Shake a shake. O, that's all only all right. 

You were going to do wonders, what? Missionary to Europe after fieryColumbanus. Fiacre and Scotus on their creepystools in heaven spilt fromtheir pintpots, loudlatinlaughing: _Euge! Euge_! Pretending to speakbroken English as you dragged your valise, porter threepence, acrossthe slimy pier at Newhaven. _Comment?_ Rich booty you brought back; _LeTutu_, five tattered numbers of _Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge_; ablue French telegram, curiosity to show:

--Mother dying come home father. 

The aunt thinks you killed your mother. That's why she won't. 

 _Then here's a health to Mulligan's aunt And I'll 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 bythe boulders of the south wall. He stared at them proudly, piled stonemammoth skulls. Gold light on sea, on sand, on boulders. The sun isthere, the slender trees, the lemon houses. 

Paris rawly waking, crude sunlight on her lemon streets. Moist pith offarls of bread, the froggreen wormwood, her matin incense, courtthe air. Belluomo rises from the bed of his wife's lover's wife, thekerchiefed housewife is astir, a saucer of acetic acid in her hand. InRodot's Yvonne and Madeleine newmake their tumbled beauties, shatteringwith gold teeth _chaussons_ of pastry, their mouths yellowed with the_pus_ of _flan breton_. Faces of Paris men go by, their wellpleasedpleasers, curled conquistadores. 

Noon slumbers. Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes through fingerssmeared with printer's ink, sipping his green fairy as Patrice hiswhite. About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets. _Un demisetier!_ A jet of coffee steam from the burnished caldron. She serves meat 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 fellow, used to callit his postprandial. Well: _slainte_! Around the slabbed tables thetangle of wined breaths and grumbling gorges. His breath hangs over oursaucestained plates, the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. Of Ireland, the Dalcassians, of hopes, conspiracies, of Arthur Griffithnow, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. To yoke me as his yokefellow, our crimes our common cause. You're your father's son. I know the voice. His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its Spanish tassels athis secrets. M. Drumont, famous journalist, Drumont, know what he calledqueen Victoria? Old hag with the yellow teeth. _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_, she said, _Tous les messieurs_. Not this _Monsieur_, Isaid. Most licentious custom. Bath a most private thing. I wouldn't letmy 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. Loosetobaccoshreds catch fire: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. Rawfacebones under his peep of day boy's 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, thebetrayed, wild escapes. Disguises, clutched at, gone, not here. 

Spurned lover. I was a strapping young gossoon at that time, I tell you. I'll show you my likeness one day. I was, faith. Lover, for her love heprowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his sept, under the wallsof Clerkenwell and, crouching, saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upwardin the fog. Shattered glass and toppling masonry. In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris, unsought by any save by me. Making his day's stations, the dingy printingcase, his three taverns, the Montmartre lair he sleepsshort night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces ofthe gone. Loveless, landless, wifeless. She is quite nicey comfywithout her outcast man, madame in rue Git-le-Coeur, canary and twobuck lodgers. Peachy cheeks, a zebra skirt, frisky as a young thing's. Spurned and undespairing. Tell Pat you saw me, won't you? I wanted toget poor Pat a job one time. _Mon fils_, soldier of France. I taught himto sing _The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades_. Know that oldlay? I taught Patrice that. Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow'scastle on the Nore. Goes like this. O, O. He takes me, Napper Tandy, bythe 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 air greeted him, harping in wild nerves, wind of wild air ofseeds of brightness. Here, I am not walking out to the Kish lightship, am I? He stood suddenly, his feet beginning to sink slowly in thequaking soil. Turn back. 

Turning, he scanned the shore south, his feet sinking again slowlyin new sockets. The cold domed room of the tower waits. Through thebarbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as myfeet 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 abandonedplatters. Who to clear it? He has the key. I will not sleep there whenthis night comes. A shut door of a silent tower, entombing their--blindbodies, the panthersahib and his pointer. Call: no answer. He lifted hisfeet up from the suck and turned back by the mole of boulders. Takeall, keep all. My soul walks with me, form of forms. So in the moon'smidwatches I pace the path above the rocks, in sable silvered, hearingElsinore's tempting flood. 

The flood is following me. I can watch it flow past from here. Get backthen by the Poolbeg road to the strand there. He climbed over the sedgeand eely oarweeds and sat on a stool of rock, resting his ashplant in agrike. 

A bloated carcass of a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. Before him thegunwale of a boat, sunk in sand. _Un coche ensablé_ Louis Veuillotcalled Gautier's prose. These heavy sands are language tide and windhave silted here. And these, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a warrenof weasel rats. Hide gold there. Try it. You have some. Sands andstones. Heavy of the past. Sir Lout's toys. Mind you don't get onebang on the ear. I'm the bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody wellboulders, bones for my steppingstones. Feefawfum. I zmellz de bloodz odzan Iridzman. 

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 notbe master of others or their slave. I have my stick. Sit tight. Fromfarther 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 dog. He is running back to them. Who?

Galleys of the Lochlanns ran here to beach, in quest of prey, theirbloodbeaked prows riding low on a molten pewter surf. Dane vikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their breasts when Malachi wore thecollar of gold. A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the shallows. Then from the starving cagework citya horde of jerkined dwarfs, my people, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. Famine, plague andslaughters. Their blood is in me, their lusts my waves. I moved amongthem on the frozen Liffey, that I, a changeling, among the splutteringresin fires. I spoke to no-one: none to me. 

The dog's bark ran towards him, stopped, ran back. Dog of my enemy. Ijust simply stood pale, silent, bayed about. _Terribilia meditans_. Aprimrose doublet, fortune's knave, smiled on my fear. For that are youpining, the bark of their applause? Pretenders: live their lives. TheBruce's brother, Thomas Fitzgerald, silken knight, Perkin Warbeck, York's false scion, in breeches of silk of whiterose ivory, wonder ofa day, and Lambert Simnel, with a tail of nans and sutlers, a scullioncrowned. All kings' sons. Paradise of pretenders then and now. He savedmen from drowning and you shake at a cur's yelping. But the courtierswho mocked Guido in Or san Michele were in their own house. House of. . . We don't want any of your medieval abstrusiosities. Would you do what hedid? A boat would be near, a lifebuoy. _Natürlich_, put there for you. Would you or would you not? The man that was drowned nine days ago offMaiden's rock. They are waiting for him now. The truth, spit it out. Iwould want to. I would try. I am not a strong swimmer. Water cold soft. When I put my face into it in the basin at Clongowes. Can't see! Who'sbehind me? Out quickly, quickly! Do you see the tide flowing quickly inon all sides, sheeting the lows of sand quickly, shellcocoacoloured? IfI had land under my feet. I want his life still to be his, mine to bemine. A drowning man. His human eyes scream to me out of horror of hisdeath. I. . . With him together down. . . I could 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 onall sides. Looking for something lost in a past life. Suddenly he madeoff like a bounding hare, ears flung back, chasing the shadow of alowskimming gull. The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. Heturned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. On afield tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. At the lacefringe ofthe tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. Hissnout lifted barked at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. They serpentedtowards his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from far, from farther out, waves and waves. 

Cocklepickers. They waded a little way in the water and, stooping, soused their bags and, lifting them again, waded out. The dog yelpedrunning to them, reared up and pawed them, dropping on all fours, againreared up at them with mute bearish fawning. Unheeded he kept by them asthey came towards the drier sand, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting fromhis jaws. His speckled body ambled ahead of them and then loped off at acalf's gallop. The carcass lay on his path. He stopped, sniffed, stalkedround it, brother, nosing closer, went round it, sniffling rapidly likea dog all over the dead dog's bedraggled fell. Dogskull, dogsniff, eyeson the ground, moves to one great goal. Ah, poor dogsbody! Here liespoor dogsbody's body. 

--Tatters! Out of that, you mongrel!

The cry brought him skulking back to his master and a blunt bootlesskick sent him unscathed across a spit of sand, crouched in flight. Heslunk back in a curve. Doesn't see me. Along by the edge of the mole helolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under a cocked hindleg pissedagainst it. He trotted forward and, lifting again his hindleg, pissedquick short at an unsmelt rock. The simple pleasures of the poor. Hishindpaws then scattered the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. Something he buried there, his grandmother. He rooted in the sand, dabbling, delving and stopped to listen to the air, scraped up the sandagain with a fury of his claws, soon ceasing, a pard, a panther, got inspousebreach, 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 almosting it. Thatman led me, spoke. I was not afraid. The melon he had he held against myface. Smiled: creamfruit smell. That was the rule, said. In. Come. Redcarpet spread. You will see who. 

Shouldering their bags they trudged, the red Egyptians. His blued feetout of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, a dull brick mufflerstrangling his unshaven neck. With woman steps she followed: theruffian and his strolling mort. Spoils slung at her back. Loose sand andshellgrit crusted her bare feet. About her windraw face hair trailed. Behind her lord, his helpmate, bing awast to Romeville. When night hidesher body's flaws calling under her brown shawl from an archwaywhere dogs have mired. Her fancyman is treating two Royal Dublins inO'Loughlin's of Blackpitts. Buss her, wap in rogues' rum lingo, for, O, my dimber wapping dell! A shefiend's whiteness under her rancid rags. Fumbally's 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 quarronsdainty is_. Language no whit worse than his. Monkwords, marybeads jabberon 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? Iam not. Across the sands of all the world, followed by the sun's flamingsword, to the west, trekking to evening lands. She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines her load. A tide westering, moondrawn, inher wake. Tides, myriadislanded, within her, blood not mine, _oinopaponton_, a winedark sea. Behold the handmaid of the moon. In sleepthe wet sign calls her hour, bids her rise. Bridebed, childbed, bed ofdeath, ghostcandled. _Omnis caro ad te veniet_. He comes, pale vampire, through storm his eyes, his bat sails bloodying the sea, mouth to hermouth's 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 mouth's kiss. 

His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of air: mouth to her moomb. Oomb, allwombing tomb. His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched:ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaringwayawayawayawayaway. Paper. The banknotes, blast them. Old Deasy'sletter. 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 andscribbled words. That's twice I forgot to take slips from the librarycounter. 

His shadow lay over the rocks as he bent, ending. Why not endless tillthe farthest star? Darkly they are there behind this light, darknessshining in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. Me sits therewith his augur's rod of ash, in borrowed sandals, by day beside a lividsea, 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? Whoever anywhere will read these written words? Signs on a white field. Somewhere to someone in your flutiest voice. The good bishop of Cloynetook the veil of the temple out of his shovel hat: veil of space withcoloured emblems hatched on its field. Hold hard. Coloured on a flat:yes, that's right. Flat I see, then think distance, near, far, flatI see, east, back. Ah, see now! Falls back suddenly, frozen instereoscope. Click does the trick. You find my words dark. Darkness isin our souls do you not think? Flutier. Our souls, shamewounded by oursins, cling to us yet more, a woman to her lover clinging, the more themore. 

She trusts me, her hand gentle, the longlashed eyes. Now where the bluehell am I bringing her beyond the veil? Into the ineluctable modality ofthe ineluctable visuality. She, she, she. What she? The virgin at HodgesFiggis' window on Monday looking in for one of the alphabet books youwere going to write. Keen glance you gave her. Wrist through thebraided jesse of her sunshade. She lives in Leeson park with a griefand kickshaws, a lady of letters. Talk that to someone else, Stevie: apickmeup. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders andyellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Talk about apple dumplings, _piuttosto_. Where are your wits?

Touch me. Soft eyes. Soft soft soft hand. I am lonely here. O, touch mesoon, 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 scribblednote and pencil into a pock his hat. His hat down on his eyes. That isKevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. _Etvidit Deus. Et erant valde bona_. Alo! _Bonjour_. Welcome as the flowersin May. Under its leaf he watched through peacocktwittering lashes thesouthing sun. I am caught in this burning scene. Pan's hour, the faunalnoon. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where on thetawny waters leaves lie wide. Pain is far. 

 _And no more turn aside and brood. _

His gaze brooded on his broadtoed boots, a buck's castoffs, _nebeneinander_. He counted the creases of rucked leather whereinanother's foot had nested warm. The foot that beat the ground intripudium, foot I dislove. But you were delighted when Esther Osvalt'sshoe went on you: girl I knew in Paris. _Tiens, quel petit pied!_Staunch friend, a brother soul: Wilde's love that dare not speak itsname. His arm: Cranly's arm. He now will leave me. And the blame? As Iam. As I am. All or not at all. 

In long lassoes from the Cock lake the water flowed full, coveringgreengoldenly lagoons of sand, rising, flowing. My ashplant will floataway. I shall wait. No, they will pass on, passing, chafing against thelow rocks, swirling, passing. Better get this job over quick. Listen: afourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. Vehement breath ofwaters amid seasnakes, rearing horses, rocks. In cups of rocks it slops:flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. And, spent, its speech ceases. Itflows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. 

Under the upswelling tide he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly andsway reluctant arms, hising up their petticoats, in whispering waterswaying and upturning coy silver fronds. Day by day: night by night:lifted, flooded and let fall. Lord, they are weary; and, whispered to, they sigh. Saint Ambrose heard it, sigh of leaves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their times, _diebus ac noctibus iniuriaspatiens ingemiscit_. To no end gathered; vainly then released, forthflowing, wending back: loom of the moon. Weary too in sight oflovers, lascivious men, a naked woman shining in her courts, she draws atoil of waters. 

Five fathoms out there. Full fathom five thy father lies. At one, hesaid. Found drowned. High water at Dublin bar. Driving before it a loosedrift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. A corpse risingsaltwhite from the undertow, bobbing a pace a pace a porpoise landward. There he is. Hook it quick. Pull. Sunk though he be beneath the wateryfloor. We have him. Easy now. 

Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine. A quiver of minnows, fat of aspongy titbit, flash through the slits of his buttoned trouserfly. God becomes man becomes fish becomes barnacle goose becomes featherbedmountain. Dead breaths I living breathe, tread dead dust, devour aurinous offal from all dead. Hauled stark over the gunwale he breathesupward the stench of his green grave, his leprous nosehole snoring tothe sun. 

A seachange this, brown eyes saltblue. Seadeath, mildest of all deathsknown 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 andhismy sandal shoon. Where? To evening lands. Evening will find itself. 

He took the hilt of his ashplant, lunging with it softly, dallyingstill. Yes, evening will find itself in me, without me. All days maketheir end. By the way next when is it Tuesday will be the longestday. Of all the glad new year, mother, the rum tum tiddledy tum. LawnTennyson, gentleman poet. _Già_. For the old hag with the yellow teeth. And Monsieur Drumont, gentleman journalist. _Già_. My teeth are verybad. Why, I wonder. Feel. That one is going too. Shells. Ought I go to adentist, I wonder, with that money? That one. This. Toothless Kinch, thesuperman. 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 didn't. 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 theair high spars of a threemaster, her sails brailed up on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a silent ship. +

-- II --

Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of allhe liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang offaintly scented urine. 

Kidneys were in his mind as he moved about the kitchen softly, rightingher breakfast things on the humpy tray. Gelid light and air were in thekitchen but out of doors gentle summer morning everywhere. Made him feela bit peckish. 

The coals were reddening. 

Another slice of bread and butter: three, four: right. She didn't likeher plate full. Right. He turned from the tray, lifted the kettle offthe hob and set it sideways on the fire. It sat there, dull and squat, its spout stuck out. Cup of tea soon. Good. Mouth dry. The cat walkedstiffly round a leg of the table with tail on high. 

--Mkgnao!

--O, there you are, Mr Bloom said, turning from the fire. 

The cat mewed in answer and stalked again stiffly round a leg of thetable, mewing. Just how she stalks over my writingtable. Prr. Scratch myhead. 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 hertail, the green flashing eyes. He bent down to her, his hands on hisknees. 

--Milk for the pussens, he said. 

--Mrkgnao! the cat cried. 

They call them stupid. They understand what we say better than weunderstand them. She understands all she wants to. Vindictive too. Cruel. Her nature. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it. Wonderwhat I look like to her. Height of a tower? No, she can jump me. 

--Afraid of the chickens she is, he said mockingly. Afraid of thechookchooks. I never saw such a stupid pussens as the pussens. 

Cruel. Her nature. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it. 

--Mrkrgnao! the cat said loudly. 

She blinked up out of her avid shameclosing eyes, mewing plaintivelyand long, showing him her milkwhite teeth. He watched the dark eyeslitsnarrowing with greed till her eyes were green stones. Then he went tothe dresser, took the jug Hanlon's milkman had just filled for him, poured warmbubbled milk on a saucer and set it slowly on the floor. 

--Gurrhr! she cried, running to lap. 

He watched the bristles shining wirily in the weak light as she tippedthree times and licked lightly. Wonder is it true if you clip them theycan't mouse after. Why? They shine in the dark, perhaps, the tips. Orkind of feelers in the dark, perhaps. 

He listened to her licking lap. Ham and eggs, no. No good eggs with thisdrouth. Want pure fresh water. Thursday: not a good day either for amutton kidney at Buckley's. Fried with butter, a shake of pepper. Bettera pork kidney at Dlugacz's. While the kettle is boiling. She lappedslower, then licking the saucer clean. Why are their tongues so rough?To lap better, all porous holes. Nothing she can eat? He glanced roundhim. No. 

On quietly creaky boots he went up the staircase to the hall, paused bythe bedroom door. She might like something tasty. Thin bread and buttershe likes in the morning. Still perhaps: once in a way. 

He said softly in the bare hall:

--I'm going round the corner. Be back in a minute. 

And when he had heard his voice say it he added:

--You don't want anything for breakfast?

A sleepy soft grunt answered:

--Mn. 

No. She didn't want anything. He heard then a warm heavy sigh, softer, as she turned over and the loose brass quoits of the bedstead jingled. Must get those settled really. Pity. All the way from Gibraltar. Forgotten any little Spanish she knew. Wonder what her father gave forit. Old style. Ah yes! of course. Bought it at the governor's auction. Got a short knock. Hard as nails at a bargain, old Tweedy. Yes, sir. AtPlevna that was. I rose from the ranks, sir, and I'm proud of it. Still he had brains enough to make that corner in stamps. Now that wasfarseeing. 

His hand took his hat from the peg over his initialled heavy overcoatand his lost property office secondhand waterproof. Stamps: stickybackpictures. Daresay lots of officers are in the swim too. Course they do. The sweated legend in the crown of his hat told him mutely: Plasto'shigh grade ha. He peeped quickly inside the leather headband. White slipof 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 wardrobe. No use disturbing her. She turned over sleepily that time. He pulledthe halldoor to after him very quietly, more, till the footleaf droppedgently over the threshold, a limp lid. Looked shut. All right till Icome back anyhow. 

He crossed to the bright side, avoiding the loose cellarflap of numberseventyfive. The sun was nearing the steeple of George's church. Be awarm day I fancy. Specially in these black clothes feel it more. Blackconducts, reflects, (refracts is it?), the heat. But I couldn't go inthat light suit. Make a picnic of it. His eyelids sank quietly often ashe walked in happy warmth. Boland's breadvan delivering with trays ourdaily but she prefers yesterday's loaves turnovers crisp crowns hot. Makes you feel young. Somewhere in the east: early morning: set off atdawn. Travel round in front of the sun, steal a day's march on him. Keepit 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, oldTweedy's big moustaches, leaning on a long kind of a spear. Wanderthrough awned streets. Turbaned faces going by. Dark caves of carpetshops, big man, Turko the terrible, seated crosslegged, smoking a coiledpipe. 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 mosques among thepillars: priest with a scroll rolled up. A shiver of the trees, signal, the evening wind. I pass on. Fading gold sky. A mother watches me fromher doorway. She calls her children home in their dark language. Highwall: beyond strings twanged. Night sky, moon, violet, colour of Molly'snew garters. Strings. Listen. A girl playing one of those instrumentswhat do you call them: dulcimers. I pass. 

Probably not a bit like it really. Kind of stuff you read: in the trackof the sun. Sunburst on the titlepage. He smiled, pleasing himself. WhatArthur Griffith said about the headpiece over the _Freeman_ leader: ahomerule sun rising up in the northwest from the laneway behind the bankof Ireland. He prolonged his pleased smile. Ikey touch that: homerulesun rising up in the north-west. 

He approached Larry O'Rourke's. From the cellar grating floated up theflabby gush of porter. Through the open doorway the bar squirted outwhiffs of ginger, teadust, biscuitmush. Good house, however: just theend of the city traffic. For instance M'Auley's down there: n. G. Asposition. Of course if they ran a tramline along the North Circular fromthe cattlemarket to the quays value would go up like a shot. 

Baldhead over the blind. Cute old codger. No use canvassing him for anad. Still he knows his own business best. There he is, sure enough, mybold Larry, leaning against the sugarbin in his shirtsleeves watchingthe aproned curate swab up with mop and bucket. Simon Dedalus takes himoff to a tee with his eyes screwed up. Do you know what I'm going totell you? What's that, Mr O'Rourke? Do you know what? The Russians, they'd only be an eight o'clock breakfast for the Japanese. 

Stop and say a word: about the funeral perhaps. Sad thing about poorDignam, Mr O'Rourke. 

Turning into Dorset street he said freshly in greeting through thedoorway:

--Good day, Mr O'Rourke. 

--Good day to you. 

--Lovely weather, sir. 

--'Tis all that. 

Where do they get the money? Coming up redheaded curates from the countyLeitrim, rinsing empties and old man in the cellar. Then, lo and behold, they blossom out as Adam Findlaters or Dan Tallons. Then thin of thecompetition. General thirst. Good puzzle would be cross Dublin withoutpassing a pub. Save it they can't. Off the drunks perhaps. Put downthree and carry five. What is that, a bob here and there, dribs anddrabs. On the wholesale orders perhaps. Doing a double shuffle with thetown travellers. Square it you with the boss and we'll split the job, see?

How much would that tot to off the porter in the month? Say ten barrelsof stuff. Say he got ten per cent off. O more. Fifteen. He passed SaintJoseph's National school. Brats' clamour. Windows open. Fresh airhelps memory. Or a lilt. Ahbeesee defeegee kelomen opeecue rustyouveedoubleyou. Boys are they? Yes. Inishturk. Inishark. Inishboffin. Attheir joggerfry. Mine. Slieve Bloom. 

He halted before Dlugacz's window, staring at the hanks of sausages, polonies, black and white. Fifteen multiplied by. The figures whitenedin his mind, unsolved: displeased, he let them fade. The shiny links, packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze and he breathed in tranquilly thelukewarm breath of cooked spicy pigs' blood. 

A kidney oozed bloodgouts on the willowpatterned dish: the last. Hestood by the nextdoor girl at the counter. Would she buy it too, callingthe items from a slip in her hand? Chapped: washingsoda. And a pound anda half of Denny's sausages. His eyes rested on her vigorous hips. Woods his name is. Wonder what he does. Wife is oldish. New blood. No followers allowed. Strong pair of arms. Whacking a carpet on theclothesline. She does whack it, by George. The way her crooked skirtswings at each whack. 

The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had snipped off withblotchy fingers, sausagepink. Sound meat there: like a stallfed heifer. 

He took a page up from the pile of cut sheets: the model farm atKinnereth on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Can become ideal wintersanatorium. Moses Montefiore. I thought he was. Farmhouse, wall roundit, blurred cattle cropping. He held the page from him: interesting:read it nearer, the title, the blurred cropping cattle, the pagerustling. A young white heifer. Those mornings in the cattlemarket, thebeasts lowing in their pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of dung, thebreeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the litter, slapping a palmon a ripemeated hindquarter, there's a prime one, unpeeled switches intheir hands. He held the page aslant patiently, bending his senses andhis will, his 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 primesausages and made a red grimace. 

--Now, my miss, he said. 

She tendered a coin, smiling boldly, holding her thick wrist out. 

--Thank you, my miss. And one shilling threepence change. For you, please?

Mr Bloom pointed quickly. To catch up and walk behind her if she wentslowly, behind her moving hams. Pleasant to see first thing in themorning. Hurry up, damn it. Make hay while the sun shines. She stoodoutside the shop in sunlight and sauntered lazily to the right. Hesighed down his nose: they never understand. Sodachapped hands. Crustedtoenails too. Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways. The sting of disregard glowed to weak pleasure within his breast. Foranother: a constable off duty cuddling her in Eccles lane. They likethem sizeable. Prime sausage. O please, Mr Policeman, I'm lost in thewood. 

--Threepence, please. 

His hand accepted the moist tender gland and slid it into a sidepocket. Then it fetched up three coins from his trousers' pocket and laid themon the rubber prickles. They lay, were read quickly and quickly slid, disc by disc, into the till. 

--Thank you, sir. Another time. 

A speck of eager fire from foxeyes thanked him. He withdrew his gazeafter an instant. No: better not: another time. 

--Good morning, he said, moving away. 

--Good morning, sir. 

No sign. Gone. What matter?

He walked back along Dorset street, reading gravely. Agendath Netaim:planters' company. To purchase waste sandy tracts from Turkishgovernment and plant with eucalyptus trees. Excellent for shade, fueland 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 artificialirrigation. Every year you get a sending of the crop. Your name enteredfor life as owner in the book of the union. Can pay ten down and thebalance in yearly instalments. Bleibtreustrasse 34, Berlin, W. 15. 

Nothing doing. Still an idea behind it. 

He looked at the cattle, blurred in silver heat. Silverpowderedolivetrees. Quiet long days: pruning, ripening. Olives are packed injars, eh? I have a few left from Andrews. Molly spitting them out. Knowsthe taste of them now. Oranges in tissue paper packed in crates. Citronstoo. Wonder is poor Citron still in Saint Kevin's parade. And Mastianskywith the old cither. Pleasant evenings we had then. Molly in Citron'sbasketchair. Nice to hold, cool waxen fruit, hold in the hand, lift itto the nostrils and smell the perfume. Like that, heavy, sweet, wildperfume. Always the same, 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 insoiled dungarees. There's whatdoyoucallhim out of. How do you? Doesn'tsee. Chap you know just to salute bit of a bore. His back is like thatNorwegian captain's. Wonder if I'll meet him today. Watering cart. Toprovoke 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 deadsea: no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the earth. No wind could lift thosewaves, grey metal, poisonous foggy waters. Brimstone they called itraining down: the cities of the plain: Sodom, Gomorrah, Edom. All deadnames. A dead sea in a dead land, grey and old. Old now. It bore theoldest, the first race. A bent hag crossed from Cassidy's, clutching anaggin bottle by the neck. The oldest people. Wandered far away overall the earth, captivity to captivity, multiplying, dying, being borneverywhere. It lay there now. Now it could bear no more. Dead: an oldwoman's: the grey sunken cunt of the world. 

Desolation. 

Grey horror seared his flesh. Folding the page into his pocket he turnedinto Eccles street, hurrying homeward. Cold oils slid along his veins, chilling his blood: age crusting him with a salt cloak. Well, I am herenow. Yes, I am here now. Morning mouth bad images. Got up wrong side ofthe bed. Must begin again those Sandow's 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 smellthe gentle smoke of tea, fume of the pan, sizzling butter. Be near herample bedwarmed flesh. Yes, yes. 

Quick warm sunlight came running from Berkeley road, swiftly, in slimsandals, along the brightening footpath. Runs, she runs to meet me, agirl with gold hair on the wind. 

Two letters and a card lay on the hallfloor. He stooped and gatheredthem. Mrs Marion Bloom. His quickened heart slowed at once. Bold hand. Mrs Marion. 

--Poldy!

Entering the bedroom he halfclosed his eyes and walked through warmyellow twilight towards her tousled head. 

--Who are the letters for?

He looked at them. Mullingar. Milly. 

--A letter for me from Milly, he said carefully, and a card to you. Anda letter for you. 

He laid her card and letter on the twill bedspread near the curve of herknees. 

--Do you want the blind up?

Letting the blind up by gentle tugs halfway his backward eye saw herglance at the letter and tuck it under her pillow. 

--That do? he asked, turning. 

She was reading the card, propped on her elbow. 

--She got the things, she said. 

He waited till she had laid the card aside and curled herself backslowly with a snug sigh. 

--Hurry up with that tea, she said. I'm parched. 

--The kettle is boiling, he said. 

But he delayed to clear the chair: her striped petticoat, tossed soiledlinen: and lifted all in an armful on to the foot of the bed. 

As he went down the kitchen stairs she called:

--Poldy!

--What?

--Scald the teapot. 

On the boil sure enough: a plume of steam from the spout. He scalded andrinsed out the teapot and put in four full spoons of tea, tilting thekettle then to let the water flow in. Having set it to draw he took offthe kettle, crushed the pan flat on the live coals and watched the lumpof butter slide and melt. While he unwrapped the kidney the cat mewedhungrily against him. Give her too much meat she won't mouse. Say theywon't eat pork. Kosher. Here. He let the bloodsmeared paper fall toher and dropped the kidney amid the sizzling butter sauce. Pepper. Hesprinkled it through 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 Boylan'sseaside girls. 

The tea was drawn. He filled his own moustachecup, sham crown

Derby, smiling. Silly Milly's birthday gift. Only five she was then. No, wait: four. I gave her the amberoid necklace she broke. Putting piecesof 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. I'd 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 courteousold chap. Oldfashioned way he used to bow Molly off the platform. Andthe little mirror in his silk hat. The night Milly brought it intothe parlour. O, look what I found in professor Goodwin's hat! All welaughed. Sex breaking out even then. Pert little piece she was. 

He prodded a fork into the kidney and slapped it over: then fitted theteapot on the tray. Its hump bumped as he took it up. Everything onit? Bread and butter, four, sugar, spoon, her cream. Yes. He carried itupstairs, his thumb hooked in the teapot handle. 

Nudging the door open with his knee he carried the tray in and set it onthe chair by the bedhead. 

--What a time you were! she said. 

She set the brasses jingling as she raised herself briskly, an elbow onthe pillow. He looked calmly down on her bulk and between her large softbubs, sloping within her nightdress like a shegoat's udder. The warmthof her couched body rose on the air, mingling with the fragrance of thetea she poured. 

A strip of torn envelope peeped from under the dimpled pillow. In theact of going he stayed to straighten the bedspread. 

--Who was the letter from? he asked. 

Bold hand. Marion. 

--O, Boylan, she said. He's bringing the programme. 

--What are you singing?

--_La ci darem_ with J. C. Doyle, she said, and _Love's Old Sweet Song_. 

Her full lips, drinking, smiled. Rather stale smell that incense leavesnext day. Like foul flowerwater. 

--Would you like the window open a little?

She doubled a slice of bread into her mouth, asking:

--What time is the funeral?

--Eleven, I think, he answered. I didn't see the paper. 

Following the pointing of her finger he took up a leg of her soileddrawers from the bed. No? Then, a twisted grey garter looped round astocking: rumpled, shiny sole. 

--No: that book. 

Other stocking. Her petticoat. 

--It must have fell down, she said. 

He felt here and there. _Voglio e non vorrei_. Wonder if she pronouncesthat right: _voglio_. Not in the bed. Must have slid down. He stoopedand lifted the valance. The book, fallen, sprawled against the bulge ofthe orangekeyed chamberpot. 

--Show here, she said. I put a mark in it. There's a word I wanted toask 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 thetext with the hairpin till she reached the word. 

--Met him what? he asked. 

--Here, she said. What does that mean?

He leaned downward and read near her polished thumbnail. 

--Metempsychosis?

--Yes. Who's he when he's at home?

--Metempsychosis, he said, frowning. It's Greek: from the Greek. Thatmeans the transmigration of souls. 

--O, 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. Dolphin's Barn. He turned overthe smudged pages. _Ruby: the Pride of the Ring_. Hello. Illustration. Fierce Italian with carriagewhip. Must be Ruby pride of the on the floornaked. Sheet kindly lent. _The monster Maffei desisted and flung hisvictim from him with an oath_. Cruelty behind it all. Doped animals. Trapeze at Hengler's. Had to look the other way. Mob gaping. Break yourneck and we'll break our sides. Families of them. Bone them young sothey metamspychosis. That we live after death. Our souls. That a man'ssoul after he dies. Dignam's soul. . . 

--Did you finish it? he asked. 

--Yes, she said. There's nothing smutty in it. Is she in love with thefirst fellow all the time?

--Never read it. Do you want another?

--Yes. Get another of Paul de Kock's. Nice name he has. 

She poured more tea into her cup, watching it flow sideways. 

Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they'll write toKearney, my guarantor. Reincarnation: that's the word. 

--Some people believe, he said, that we go on living in another bodyafter death, that we lived before. They call it reincarnation. Thatwe all lived before on the earth thousands of years ago or some otherplanet. They say we have forgotten it. Some say they remember their pastlives. 

The sluggish cream wound curdling spirals through her tea. Bette remindher of the word: metempsychosis. An example would be better. An example?

The _Bath of the Nymph_ over the bed. Given away with the Easter numberof _Photo Bits_: Splendid masterpiece in art colours. Tea before youput milk in. Not unlike her with her hair down: slimmer. Three and sixI gave for the frame. She said it would look nice over the bed. Nakednymphs: Greece: and for instance all the people that lived then. 

He turned the pages back. 

--Metempsychosis, he said, is what the ancient Greeks called it. Theyused to believe you could be changed into an animal or a tree, forinstance. What they called nymphs, for example. 

Her spoon ceased to stir up the sugar. She gazed straight before her, inhaling through her arched nostrils. 

--There's a smell of burn, she said. Did you leave anything on the fire?

--The kidney! he cried suddenly. 

He fitted the book roughly into his inner pocket and, stubbing his toesagainst the broken commode, hurried out towards the smell, steppinghastily down the stairs with a flurried stork's legs. Pungent smoke shotup in an angry jet from a side of the pan. By prodding a prong of thefork under the kidney he detached it and turned it turtle on its back. Only a little burnt. He tossed it off the pan on to a plate and let thescanty 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 aforkful into his mouth, chewing with discernment the toothsome pliantmeat. 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 aboutsome 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 thegravy and raising it to his mouth. 

Dearest Papli

Thanks ever so much for the lovely birthday present. It suits mesplendid. Everyone says I am quite the belle in my new tam. I gotmummy's Iovely box of creams and am writing. They are lovely. I amgetting on swimming in the photo business now. Mr Coghlan took one of meand Mrs. Will send when developed. We did great biz yesterday. Fair dayand all the beef to the heels were in. We are going to lough Owel onMonday with a few friends to make a scrap picnic. Give my love tomummy and to yourself a big kiss and thanks. I hear them at the pianodownstairs. There is to be a concert in the Greville Arms on Saturday. There is a young student comes here some evenings named Bannon hiscousins or something are big swells and he sings Boylan's (I was on thepop of writing Blazes Boylan's) song about those seaside girls. Tell himsilly 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 firstbirthday away from home. Separation. Remember the summer morning shewas born, running to knock up Mrs Thornton in Denzille street. Jolly oldwoman. Lot of babies she must have helped into the world. She knew fromthe first poor little Rudy wouldn't live. Well, God is good, sir. Sheknew 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 theXL Cafe about the bracelet. Wouldn't eat her cakes or speak or look. Saucebox. He sopped other dies of bread in the gravy and ate piece afterpiece of kidney. Twelve and six a week. Not much. Still, she might doworse. Music hall stage. Young student. He drank a draught of cooler teato wash down his meal. Then he read the letter again: twice. 

O, well: she knows how to mind herself. But if not? No, nothing hashappened. Of course it might. Wait in any case till it does. A wildpiece 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 caughther in the street pinching her cheeks to make them red. Anemic a little. Was given milk too long. On the ERIN'S KING that day round the Kish. Damned old tub pitching about. Not a bit funky. Her pale blue scarfloose in the wind with her hair. _All dimpled cheeks and curls, Yourhead it simply swirls. _

Seaside girls. Torn envelope. Hands stuck in his trousers' 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: can't move. Girl's sweet light lips. Will happentoo. He felt the flowing qualm spread over him. Useless to move now. Lips kissed, kissing, kissed. Full gluey woman's lips. 

Better where she is down there: away. Occupy her. Wanted a dog to passthe time. Might take a trip down there. August bank holiday, only twoand six return. Six weeks off, however. Might work a press pass. Orthrough M'Coy. 

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 earwith 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. 

--Miaow! he said in answer. Wait till I'm ready. 

Heaviness: hot day coming. Too much trouble to fag up the stairs to thelanding. 

A paper. He liked to read at stool. Hope no ape comes knocking just asI'm. 

In the tabledrawer he found an old number of _Titbits_. He folded itunder his armpit, went to the door and opened it. The cat went up insoft bounds. Ah, wanted to go upstairs, curl up in a ball on the bed. 

Listening, he heard her voice:

--Come, come, pussy. Come. 

He went out through the backdoor into the garden: stood to listentowards the next garden. No sound. 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 tomanure the whole place over, scabby soil. A coat of liver of sulphur. All soil like that without dung. Household slops. Loam, what is thisthat is? The hens in the next garden: their droppings are very good topdressing. Best of all though are the cattle, especially when they arefed on those oilcakes. Mulch of dung. Best thing to clean ladies' kidgloves. Dirty cleans. Ashes too. Reclaim the whole place. Grow peas inthat corner there. Lettuce. Always have fresh greens then. Still gardenshave their drawbacks. That bee or bluebottle here Whitmonday. 

He walked on. Where is my hat, by the way? Must have put it back on thepeg. Or hanging up on the floor. Funny I don't remember that. Hallstandtoo full. Four umbrellas, her raincloak. Picking up the letters. Drago's shopbell ringing. Queer I was just thinking that moment. Brownbrillantined hair over his collar. Just had a wash and brushup. Wonderhave I time for a bath this morning. Tara street. Chap in the payboxthere got away James Stephens, they say. O'Brien. 

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 getthese trousers dirty for the funeral. He went in, bowing his headunder the low lintel. Leaving the door ajar, amid the stench of mouldylimewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces. Before sitting down hepeered through a chink up at the nextdoor windows. The king was in hiscountinghouse. Nobody. 

Asquat on the cuckstool he folded out his paper, turning its pages overon his bared knees. Something new and easy. No great hurry. Keep it abit. Our prize titbit: _Matcham's Masterstroke_. Written by Mr PhilipBeaufoy, Playgoers' Club, London. Payment at the rate of one guineaa column has been made to the writer. Three and a half. Three poundsthree. Three pounds, thirteen and six. 

Quietly he read, restraining himself, the first column and, yielding butresisting, began the second. Midway, his last resistance yielding, heallowed his bowels to ease themselves quietly as he read, reading stillpatiently that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone. Hope it'snot too big bring on piles again. No, just right. So. Ah! Costive. Onetabloid of cascara sagrada. Life might be so. It did not move or touchhim but it was something quick and neat. Print anything now. Sillyseason. He read on, seated calm above his own rising smell. Neatcertainly. _Matcham often thinks of the masterstroke by which he won thelaughing witch who now_. Begins and ends morally. _Hand in hand_. Smart. He glanced back through what he had read and, while feeling his waterflow quietly, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had written it andreceived payment of three pounds, thirteen and six. 

Might manage a sketch. By Mr and Mrs L. M. Bloom. Invent a story forsome proverb. Which? Time I used to try jotting down on my cuff what shesaid dressing. Dislike dressing together. Nicked myself shaving. Bitingher 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. Whatpossessed me to buy this comb? 9. 24. I'm swelled after that cabbage. Aspeck of dust on the patent leather of her boot. 

Rubbing smartly in turn each welt against her stockinged calf. Morningafter the bazaar dance when May's band played Ponchielli's dance of thehours. Explain that: morning hours, noon, then evening coming on, thennight hours. Washing her teeth. That was the first night. Her headdancing. Her fansticks clicking. Is that Boylan well off? He has money. Why? I noticed he had a good rich smell off his breath dancing. No usehumming then. Allude to it. Strange kind of music that last night. Themirror was in shadow. She rubbed her handglass briskly on her woollenvest against her full wagging bub. Peering into it. Lines in her eyes. It wouldn't pan out somehow. 

Evening hours, girls in grey gauze. Night hours then: black with daggersand 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 pulledback the jerky shaky door of the jakes and came forth from the gloominto the air. 

In the bright light, lightened and cooled in limb, he eyed carefully hisblack trousers: the ends, the knees, the houghs of the knees. What timeis the funeral? Better find out in the paper. 

A creak and a dark whirr in the air high up. The bells of George'schurch. They tolled the hour: loud dark iron. 

 _Heigho! Heigho! Heigho! Heigho! Heigho! Heigho!_

Quarter to. There again: the overtone following through the air, third. 

Poor Dignam!

By lorries along sir John Rogerson's quay Mr Bloom walked soberly, pastWindmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the postal telegraph office. Could have given that address too. And past the sailors' home. He turnedfrom the morning noises of the quayside and walked through Lime street. By Brady's cottages a boy for the skins lolled, his bucket of offallinked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. A smaller girl with scars of eczemaon her forehead eyed him, listlessly holding her battered caskhoop. Tellhim if he smokes he won't grow. O let him! His life isn't such a bed ofroses. Waiting outside pubs to bring da home. Come home to ma, da. Slack hour: won't be many there. He crossed Townsend street, passedthe frowning face of Bethel. El, yes: house of: Aleph, Beth. And pastNichols' the undertaker. At eleven it is. Time enough. Daresay CornyKelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. Singing with his eyes shut. Corny. Met her once in the park. In the dark. What a lark. Police tout. Her name and address she then told with my tooraloom tooraloom tay. O, surely he bagged it. Bury him cheap in a whatyoumaycall. With mytooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom. 

In Westland row he halted before the window of the Belfast and OrientalTea Company and read the legends of leadpapered packets: choice blend, finest quality, family tea. Rather warm. Tea. Must get some from TomKernan. Couldn't ask him at a funeral, though. While his eyes still readblandly he took off his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent hisright hand with slow grace over his brow and hair. Very warm morning. Under their dropped lids his eyes found the tiny bow of the leatherheadband inside his high grade ha. Just there. His right hand came downinto the bowl of his hat. His fingers found quickly a card behind theheadband and transferred it to his waistcoat pocket. 

So warm. His right hand once more more slowly went over his brow andhair. Then he put on his hat again, relieved: and read again: choiceblend, made of the finest Ceylon brands. The far east. Lovely spot itmust be: the garden of the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, cactuses, flowery meads, snaky lianas they call them. Wonder is it likethat. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the sun in _dolce far niente_, not doing a hand's turn all day. Sleep six months out of twelve. Too hotto quarrel. Influence of the climate. Lethargy. Flowers of idleness. Theair feeds most. Azotes. Hothouse in Botanic gardens. Sensitive plants. Waterlilies. Petals too tired to. Sleeping sickness in the air. Walk onroseleaves. Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. Where was the chapI saw in that picture somewhere? Ah yes, in the dead sea floating on hisback, reading a book with a parasol open. Couldn't sink if you tried: sothick with salt. Because the weight of the water, no, the weight ofthe body in the water is equal to the weight of the what? Or is it thevolume is equal to the weight? It's a law something like that. Vance inHigh school cracking his fingerjoints, 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 secondper second. They all fall to the ground. The earth. It's the force ofgravity of the earth is the weight. 

He turned away and sauntered across the road. How did she walk with hersausages? Like that something. As he walked he took the folded _Freeman_from his sidepocket, unfolded it, rolled it lengthwise in a baton andtapped it at each sauntering step against his trouserleg. Careless air:just drop in to see. Per second per second. Per second for every secondit means. From the curbstone he darted a keen glance through the door ofthe postoffice. Too late box. Post here. No-one. In. 

He handed the card through the brass grill. 

--Are there any letters for me? he asked. 

While the postmistress searched a pigeonhole he gazed at the recruitingposter with soldiers of all arms on parade: and held the tip of hisbaton against his nostrils, smelling freshprinted rag paper. No answerprobably. Went too far last time. 

The postmistress handed him back through the grill his card with aletter. 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 sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade. Where's old Tweedy's regiment?Castoff soldier. There: bearskin cap and hackle plume. No, he's agrenadier. Pointed cuffs. There he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. Redcoats. Too showy. That must be why the women go after them. Uniform. Easier toenlist and drill. Maud Gonne's letter about taking them off O'Connellstreet at night: disgrace to our Irish capital. Griffith's paper is onthe same tack now: an army rotten with venereal disease: overseas orhalfseasover empire. Half baked they look: hypnotised like. Eyes front. Mark time. Table: able. Bed: ed. The King's own. Never see him dressedup as a fireman or a bobby. A mason, yes. 

He strolled out of the postoffice and turned to the right. Talk: as ifthat would mend matters. His hand went into his pocket and a forefingerfelt its way under the flap of the envelope, ripping it open in jerks. Women will pay a lot of heed, I don't think. His fingers drew forth theletter the letter and crumpled the envelope in his pocket. Somethingpinned on: photo perhaps. Hair? No. 

M'Coy. Get rid of him quickly. Take me out of my way. Hate company whenyou. 

--Hello, Bloom. Where are you off to?

--Hello, M'Coy. Nowhere in particular. 

--How's the body?

--Fine. How are you?

--Just keeping alive, M'Coy said. 

His eyes on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect:

--Is there any. . . No trouble I hope? I see you're. . . 

--O, no, Mr Bloom said. Poor Dignam, you know. The funeral is today. 

--To be sure, poor fellow. So it is. What time?

A photo it isn't. A badge maybe. 

--E. . . Eleven, Mr Bloom answered. 

--I must try to get out there, M'Coy said. Eleven, is it? I only heardit last night. Who was telling me? Holohan. You know Hoppy?

--I know. 

Mr Bloom gazed across the road at the outsider drawn up before the doorof the Grosvenor. The porter hoisted the valise up on the well. Shestood still, waiting, while the man, husband, brother, like her, searched his pockets for change. Stylish kind of coat with that rollcollar, warm for a day like this, looks like blanketcloth. Carelessstand of her with her hands in those patch pockets. Like that haughtycreature at the polo match. Women all for caste till you touch the spot. Handsome is and handsome does. Reserved about to yield. The honourableMrs and Brutus is an honourable man. Possess her once take the starchout of her. 

--I was with Bob Doran, he's on one of his periodical bends, and what doyou call him Bantam Lyons. Just down there in Conway's we were. 

Doran Lyons in Conway's. She raised a gloved hand to her hair. In cameHoppy. Having a wet. Drawing back his head and gazing far from beneathhis vailed eyelids he saw the bright fawn skin shine in the glare, thebraided drums. Clearly I can see today. Moisture about gives long sightperhaps. Talking of one thing or another. Lady's hand. Which side willshe get up?

--And he said: _Sad thing about our poor friend Paddy! What Paddy?_ Isaid. _Poor little Paddy Dignam_, he said. 

Off to the country: Broadstone probably. High brown boots with lacesdangling. Wellturned foot. What is he foostering over that change for?Sees me looking. Eye out for other fellow always. Good fallback. Twostrings to her bow. 

--_Why?_ I said. _What's wrong with him?_ I said. 

Proud: rich: silk stockings. 

--Yes, Mr Bloom said. 

He moved a little to the side of M'Coy's talking head. Getting up in aminute. 

--_What's wrong with him_? He said. _He's dead_, he said. And, faith, he filled up. _Is it Paddy Dignam_? I said. I couldn't believe it when Iheard it. I was with him no later than Friday last or Thursday was it inthe Arch. _Yes, _ he said. _He's 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 andthe peri. Always happening like that. The very moment. Girl in Eustacestreet hallway Monday was it settling her garter. Her friend coveringthe display of _esprit de corps_. Well, what are you gaping at?

--Yes, yes, Mr Bloom said after a dull sigh. Another gone. 

--One of the best, M'Coy said. 

The tram passed. They drove off towards the Loop Line bridge, her richgloved hand on the steel grip. Flicker, flicker: the laceflare of herhat in the sun: flicker, flick. 

--Wife well, I suppose? M'Coy's changed voice said. 

--O, yes, Mr Bloom said. Tiptop, thanks. 

He unrolled the newspaper baton idly and read idly:

_What is home without Plumtree's Potted Meat? Incomplete With it anabode of bliss. _

--My missus has just got an engagement. At least it's not settled yet. 

Valise tack again. By the way no harm. I'm off that, thanks. 

Mr Bloom turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty friendliness. 

--My wife too, he said. She's going to sing at a swagger affair in theUlster Hall, Belfast, on the twenty-fifth. 

--That so? M'Coy said. Glad to hear that, old man. Who's 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 ladyand fair man. Letter. Cat furry black ball. Torn strip of envelope. 

 _Love's Old Sweet Song Comes lo-ove's old. . . _

--It's a kind of a tour, don't you see, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. _Sweeeet song_. There's a committee formed. Part shares and partprofits. 

M'Coy nodded, picking at his moustache stubble. 

--O, well, he said. That's good news. 

He moved to go. 

--Well, glad to see you looking fit, he said. Meet you knocking around. 

--Yes, Mr Bloom said. 

--Tell you what, M'Coy said. You might put down my name at the funeral, will you? I'd like to go but I mightn't be able, you see. There's adrowning case at Sandycove may turn up and then the coroner and myselfwould have to go down if the body is found. You just shove in my name ifI'm not there, will you?

--I'll do that, Mr Bloom said, moving to get off. That'll be all right. 

--Right, M'Coy said brightly. Thanks, old man. I'd go if I possiblycould. Well, tolloll. Just C. P. M'Coy will do. 

--That will be done, Mr Bloom answered firmly. 

Didn't catch me napping that wheeze. The quick touch. Soft mark. I'dlike my job. Valise I have a particular fancy for. Leather. Cappedcorners, rivetted edges, double action lever lock. Bob Cowley lent himhis for the Wicklow regatta concert last year and never heard tidings ofit from that good day to this. 

Mr Bloom, strolling towards Brunswick street, smiled. My missus has justgot an. Reedy freckled soprano. Cheeseparing nose. Nice enough in itsway: for a little ballad. No guts in it. You and me, don't you know:in the same boat. Softsoaping. Give you the needle that would. Can'the hear the difference? Think he's that way inclined a bit. Againstmy grain somehow. Thought that Belfast would fetch him. I hope thatsmallpox up there doesn't get worse. Suppose she wouldn't let herself bevaccinated again. Your wife and my wife. 

Wonder is he pimping after me?

Mr Bloom stood at the corner, his eyes wandering over the multicolouredhoardings. Cantrell and Cochrane's Ginger Ale (Aromatic). Clery's SummerSale. No, he's going on straight. Hello. _Leah_ tonight. Mrs BandmannPalmer. Like to see her again in that. _Hamlet_ she played last night. Male impersonator. Perhaps he was a woman. Why Ophelia committedsuicide. Poor papa! How he used to talk of Kate Bateman in that. Outsidethe Adelphi in London waited all the afternoon to get in. Year beforeI was born that was: sixtyfive. And Ristori in Vienna. What is this theright name is? By Mosenthal it is. Rachel, is it? No. The scene he wasalways talking about where the old blind Abraham recognises the voiceand puts his fingers on his face. 

Nathan's voice! His son's voice! I hear the voice of Nathan who left hisfather to die of grief and misery in my arms, who left the house of hisfather and left the God of his father. 

Every word is so deep, Leopold. 

Poor papa! Poor man! I'm glad I didn't go into the room to look at hisface. That day! O, dear! O, dear! Ffoo! Well, perhaps it was best forhim. 

Mr Bloom went round the corner and passed the drooping nags of thehazard. No use thinking of it any more. Nosebag time. Wish I hadn't metthat M'Coy fellow. 

He came nearer and heard a crunching of gilded oats, the gently champingteeth. Their full buck eyes regarded him as he went by, amid the sweetoaten reek of horsepiss. Their Eldorado. Poor jugginses! Damn all theyknow or care about anything with their 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 theirhaunches. Might be happy all the same that way. Good poor brutes theylook. Still their neigh can be very irritating. 

He drew the letter from his pocket and folded it into the newspaper hecarried. Might just walk into her here. The lane is safer. 

He passed the cabman's shelter. Curious the life of drifting cabbies. All weathers, all places, time or setdown, no will of their own. _Voglioe non_. Like to give them an odd cigarette. Sociable. Shout a few flyingsyllables 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 thelee of the station wall. No-one. Meade's timberyard. Piled balks. Ruinsand tenements. With careful tread he passed over a hopscotch court withits forgotten pickeystone. Not a sinner. Near the timberyard a squattedchild at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a cunnythumb. A wisetabby, a blinking sphinx, watched from her warm sill. Pity to disturbthem. Mohammed cut a piece out of his mantle not to wake her. Open it. And once I played marbles when I went to that old dame's school. Sheliked mignonette. Mrs Ellis's. And Mr? He opened the letter within thenewspaper. 

A flower. I think it's a. A yellow flower with flattened petals. Notannoyed then? What does she say?

Dear Henry

I got your last letter to me and thank you very much for it. I am sorryyou did not like my last letter. Why did you enclose the stamps? I amawfully angry with you. I do wish I could punish you for that. I calledyou naughty boy because I do not like that other world. Please tell mewhat is the real meaning of that word? Are you not happy in your homeyou 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 beautifulname you have. Dear Henry, when will we meet? I think of you so oftenyou have no idea. I have never felt myself so much drawn to a man asyou. I feel so bad about. Please write me a long letter and tell memore. Remember if you do not I will punish you. So now you know what Iwill do to you, you naughty boy, if you do not wrote. O how I long tomeet you. Henry dear, do not deny my request before my patience areexhausted. Then I will tell you all. Goodbye now, naughty darling, Ihave such 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 toknow. 

He tore the flower gravely from its pinhold smelt its almost no smelland placed it in his heart pocket. Language of flowers. They like itbecause no-one can hear. Or a poison bouquet to strike him down. Thenwalking slowly forward he read the letter again, murmuring here andthere a word. Angry tulips with you darling manflower punish your cactusif you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long violets to dear roseswhen we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. Having read it all he took it from the newspaper and put it back in hissidepocket. 

Weak joy opened his lips. Changed since the first letter. Wonder did shewrote it herself. Doing the indignant: a girl of good family like me, respectable character. Could meet one Sunday after the rosary. Thankyou: not having any. Usual love scrimmage. Then running round corners. Bad as a row with Molly. Cigar has a cooling effect. Narcotic. Gofurther 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 number of pins they always have. No roseswithout thorns. 

Flat Dublin voices bawled in his head. Those two sluts that night in theCoombe, linked together in the rain. 

 _O, Mary lost the pin of her drawers. She didn't know what to do To keep it up To keep it up. _

It? Them. Such a bad headache. Has her roses probably. Or sitting allday typing. Eyefocus bad for stomach nerves. What perfume does your wifeuse. 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 orfaked for money. He is sitting in their house, talking. Mysterious. Alsothe 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 water out of a well, stonecold like the holein the wall at Ashtown. Must carry a paper goblet next time I go to thetrottingmatches. She listens with big dark soft eyes. Tell her: more andmore: all. Then a sigh: silence. Long long long rest. 

Going under the railway arch he took out the envelope, tore it swiftlyin shreds and scattered them towards the road. The shreds flutteredaway, sank in the dank air: a white flutter, then all sank. 

Henry Flower. You could tear up a cheque for a hundred pounds in thesame way. Simple bit of paper. Lord Iveagh once cashed a sevenfigurecheque for a million in the bank of Ireland. Shows you the money to bemade out of porter. Still the other brother lord Ardilaun has to changehis shirt four times a day, they say. Skin breeds lice or vermin. Amillion pounds, wait a moment. Twopence a pint, fourpence 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 millionsof 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, flowingtogether, winding through mudflats all over the level land, a lazypooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its froth. 

He had reached the open backdoor of All Hallows. Stepping into the porchhe doffed his hat, took the card from his pocket and tucked it againbehind the leather headband. Damn it. I might have tried to work M'Coyfor a pass to Mullingar. 

Same notice on the door. Sermon by the very reverend John Conmee S. J. On saint Peter Claver S. J. And the African Mission. Prayers for theconversion of Gladstone they had too when he was almost unconscious. Theprotestants are the same. Convert Dr William J. Walsh D. D. To the truereligion. Save China's millions. Wonder how they explain it to theheathen Chinee. Prefer an ounce of opium. Celestials. Rank heresy forthem. Buddha their god lying on his side in the museum. Taking it easywith hand under his cheek. Josssticks burning. Not like Ecce Homo. Crownof thorns and cross. Clever idea Saint Patrick the shamrock. Chopsticks?Conmee: Martin Cunningham knows him: distinguishedlooking. Sorry Ididn't work him about getting Molly into the choir instead of thatFather Farley who looked a fool but wasn't. They're taught that. He'snot going out in bluey specs with the sweat rolling off him to baptiseblacks, is he? The glasses would take their fancy, flashing. Like to seethem sitting round in a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening. Stilllife. Lap it up like milk, I suppose. 

The cold smell of sacred stone called him. He trod the worn steps, pushed the swingdoor and entered softly by the rere. 

Something going on: some sodality. Pity so empty. Nice discreet placeto be next some girl. Who is my neighbour? Jammed by the hour to slowmusic. That woman at midnight mass. Seventh heaven. Women knelt in thebenches with crimson halters round their necks, heads bowed. A batchknelt at the altarrails. The priest went along by them, murmuring, holding the thing in his hands. He stopped at each, took out acommunion, shook a drop or two (are they in water?) off it and put itneatly into her mouth. Her hat and head sank. Then the next one. Her hatsank at once. Then the next one: a small old woman. The priest bent downto put it into her mouth, murmuring all the time. Latin. The next one. Shut your eyes and open your mouth. What? _Corpus:_ body. Corpse. Goodidea the Latin. Stupefies them first. Hospice for the dying. Theydon't seem to chew it: only swallow it down. Rum idea: eating bits of acorpse. Why the cannibals cotton to it. 

He stood aside watching their blind masks pass down the aisle, one byone, and seek their places. He approached a bench and seated himself inits corner, nursing his hat and newspaper. These pots we have to wear. We ought to have hats modelled on our heads. They were about him hereand there, with heads still bowed in their crimson halters, waiting forit to melt in their stomachs. Something like those mazzoth: it's thatsort of bread: unleavened shewbread. Look at them. Now I bet it makesthem feel happy. Lollipop. It does. Yes, bread of angels it's called. There's a big idea behind it, kind of kingdom of God is within you feel. First communicants. Hokypoky penny a lump. Then feel all like one familyparty, same in the theatre, all in the same swim. They do. I'm sure ofthat. 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. Oldfellow asleep near that confessionbox. Hence those snores. Blind faith. Safe in the arms of kingdom come. Lulls all pain. Wake this time nextyear. 

He saw the priest stow the communion cup away, well in, and kneel aninstant before it, showing a large grey bootsole from under the laceaffair he had on. Suppose he lost the pin of his. He wouldn't know whatto 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 havesuffered, it is. And the other one? Iron nails ran in. 

Meet one Sunday after the rosary. Do not deny my request. Turn up witha veil and black bag. Dusk and the light behind her. She might be herewith a ribbon round her neck and do the other thing all the same on thesly. Their character. That fellow that turned queen's evidence on theinvincibles he used to receive the, Carey was his name, the communionevery morning. This very church. Peter Carey, yes. No, Peter Claver I amthinking of. Denis Carey. And just imagine that. Wife and six childrenat home. And plotting that murder all the time. Those crawthumpers, now that's a good name for them, there's always something shiftylookingabout them. They're not straight men of business either. O, no, she'snot 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 dregssmartly. Wine. Makes it more aristocratic than for example if he drankwhat they are used to Guinness's porter or some temperance beverageWheatley's Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane's ginger ale(aromatic). Doesn't give them any of it: shew wine: only the other. Cold comfort. Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise they'd have one oldbooser worse than another coming along, cadging for a drink. Queer thewhole 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 make thatinstrument talk, the _vibrato_: fifty pounds a year they say he had inGardiner street. Molly was in fine voice that day, the _Stabat Mater_of Rossini. Father Bernard Vaughan's sermon first. Christ or Pilate?Christ, but don't keep us all night over it. Music they wanted. Footdrill stopped. Could hear a pin drop. I told her to pitch her voiceagainst that corner. I could feel the thrill in the air, the full, thepeople looking up:

_Quis est homo. _

Some of that old sacred music splendid. Mercadante: seven last words. Mozart's twelfth mass: _Gloria_ in that. Those old popes keen on music, on art and statues and pictures of all kinds. Palestrina for exampletoo. They had 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 kindof voice is it? Must be curious to hear after their own strong basses. Connoisseurs. Suppose they wouldn't feel anything after. Kind of aplacid. No worry. Fall into flesh, don't they? Gluttons, tall, longlegs. Who knows? Eunuch. One way out of it. 

He saw the priest bend down and kiss the altar and then face about andbless all the people. All crossed themselves and stood up. Mr Bloomglanced about him and then stood up, looking over the risen hats. Standup at the gospel of course. Then all settled down on their knees againand he sat back quietly in his bench. The priest came down from thealtar, holding the thing out from him, and he and the massboy answeredeach other in Latin. Then the priest knelt down and began to read off acard:

--O God, our refuge and our strength. . . 

Mr Bloom put his face forward to catch the words. English. Throw themthe bone. I remember slightly. How long since your last mass? Gloriousand immaculate virgin. Joseph, her spouse. Peter and Paul. Moreinteresting if you understood what it was all about. Wonderfulorganisation certainly, goes like clockwork. Confession. Everyone wantsto. Then I will tell you all. Penance. Punish me, please. Great weaponin their hands. More than doctor or solicitor. Woman dying to. And Ischschschschschsch. And did you chachachachacha? And why did you? Lookdown at her ring to find an excuse. Whispering gallery walls have ears. Husband learn to his surprise. God's little joke. Then out she comes. Repentance skindeep. Lovely shame. Pray at an altar. Hail Mary and HolyMary. Flowers, incense, candles melting. Hide her blushes. Salvationarmy blatant imitation. Reformed prostitute will address the meeting. How I found the Lord. Squareheaded chaps those must be in Rome: theywork the whole show. And don't they rake in the money too? Bequestsalso: 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 thewitnessbox. No browbeating him. He had his answer pat for everything. Liberty and exaltation of our holy mother the church. The doctors of thechurch: they mapped out the whole theology of it. 

The priest prayed:

--Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the hour of conflict. Beour safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil (may Godrestrain him, we humbly pray!): and do thou, O prince of the heavenlyhost, by the power of God thrust Satan down to hell and with him thoseother wicked spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. 

The priest and the massboy stood up and walked off. All over. The womenremained behind: thanksgiving. 

Better be shoving along. Brother Buzz. Come around with the plateperhaps. Pay your Easter duty. 

He stood up. Hello. Were those two buttons of my waistcoat open all thetime? Women enjoy it. Never tell you. But we. Excuse, miss, there's a(whh!) just a (whh!) fluff. Or their skirt behind, placket unhooked. Glimpses of the moon. Annoyed if you don't. Why didn't you tell mebefore. Still like you better untidy. Good job it wasn't farther south. He passed, discreetly buttoning, down the aisle and out through the maindoor into the light. He stood a moment unseeing by the cold black marblebowl while before him and behind two worshippers dipped furtive hands inthe low tide of holy water. Trams: a car of Prescott's dyeworks: a widowin her weeds. Notice because I'm in mourning myself. He covered himself. How goes the time? Quarter past. Time enough yet. Better get that lotionmade up. Where is this? Ah yes, the last time. Sweny's in Lincoln place. Chemists rarely move. Their green and gold beaconjars too heavy to stir. Hamilton Long's, founded in the year of the flood. Huguenot churchyardnear there. Visit some day. 

He walked southward along Westland row. But the recipe is in the othertrousers. O, and I forgot that latchkey too. Bore this funeral affair. O well, poor fellow, it's not his fault. When was it I got it made uplast? Wait. I changed a sovereign I remember. First of the month it musthave 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 seemsto have. Shrunken skull. And old. Quest for the philosopher's stone. Thealchemists. 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 hisalabaster lilypots. Mortar and pestle. Aq. Dist. Fol. Laur. Te Virid. Smell almost cure you like the dentist's doorbell. Doctor Whack. Heought to physic himself a bit. Electuary or emulsion. The first fellowthat picked an herb to cure himself had a bit of pluck. Simples. Want tobe careful. Enough stuff here to chloroform you. Test: turns bluelitmus paper red. Chloroform. Overdose of laudanum. Sleeping draughts. Lovephiltres. Paragoric poppysyrup bad for cough. Clogs the pores or thephlegm. Poisons the only cures. Remedy where you least expect it. Cleverof nature. 

--About a fortnight ago, sir?

--Yes, Mr Bloom said. 

He waited by the counter, inhaling slowly the keen reek of drugs, thedusty dry smell of sponges and loofahs. Lot of time taken up tellingyour aches and pains. 

--Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr Bloom said, and thenorangeflower water. . . 

It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. 

--And white wax also, he said. 

Brings out the darkness of her eyes. Looking at me, the sheet up toher eyes, Spanish, smelling herself, when I was fixing the links in mycuffs. Those homely recipes are often the best: strawberries for theteeth: nettles and rainwater: oatmeal they say steeped in buttermilk. Skinfood. One of the old queen's sons, duke of Albany was it? had onlyone skin. Leopold, yes. Three we have. Warts, bunions and pimples tomake it worse. But you want a perfume too. What perfume does your? _Peaud'Espagne_. That orangeflower water is so fresh. Nice smell these soapshave. Pure curd soap. Time to get a bath round the corner. Hammam. Turkish. Massage. Dirt gets rolled up in your navel. Nicer if a nicegirl did it. Also I think I. Yes I. Do it in the bath. Curious longingI. Water to water. Combine business with pleasure. Pity no time formassage. Feel fresh then all the day. Funeral be rather glum. 

--Yes, sir, the chemist said. That was two and nine. Have you brought abottle?

--No, Mr Bloom said. Make it up, please. I'll call later in the day andI'll take one of these soaps. How much are they?

--Fourpence, sir. 

Mr Bloom raised a cake to his nostrils. Sweet lemony wax. 

--I'll take this one, he said. That makes three and a penny. 

--Yes, sir, the chemist said. You can pay all together, sir, when youcome back. 

--Good, Mr Bloom said. 

He strolled out of the shop, the newspaper baton under his armpit, thecoolwrappered soap in his left hand. 

At his armpit Bantam Lyons' voice and hand said:

--Hello, Bloom. What's the best news? Is that today's? Show us a minute. 

Shaved off his moustache again, by Jove! Long cold upper lip. To lookyounger. He does look balmy. Younger than I am. 

Bantam Lyons's yellow blacknailed fingers unrolled the baton. Wants awash too. Take off the rough dirt. Good morning, have you used Pears'soap? Dandruff on his shoulders. Scalp wants oiling. 

--I want to see about that French horse that's running today, BantamLyons said. Where the bugger is it?

He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his high collar. Barber's itch. Tight collar he'll lose his hair. Better leave him thepaper and get shut of him. 

--You can keep it, Mr Bloom said. 

--Ascot. Gold cup. Wait, Bantam Lyons muttered. Half a mo. Maximum thesecond. 

--I was just going to throw it away, Mr Bloom said. 

Bantam Lyons raised his eyes suddenly and leered weakly. 

--What's that? his sharp voice said. 

--I say you can keep it, Mr Bloom answered. I was going to throw it awaythat moment. 

Bantam Lyons doubted an instant, leering: then thrust the outspreadsheets back on Mr Bloom's arms. 

--I'll risk it, he said. Here, thanks. 

He sped off towards Conway's corner. God speed scut. 

Mr Bloom folded the sheets again to a neat square and lodged the soapin it, smiling. Silly lips of that chap. Betting. Regular hotbed of itlately. Messenger boys stealing to put on sixpence. Raffle for largetender turkey. Your Christmas dinner for threepence. Jack Flemingembezzling 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 amosque, redbaked bricks, the minarets. College sports today I see. Heeyed the horseshoe poster over the gate of college park: cyclist doubledup like a cod in a pot. Damn bad ad. Now if they had made it roundlike a wheel. Then the spokes: sports, sports, sports: and the hub big:college. Something to catch the eye. 

There's Hornblower standing at the porter's lodge. Keep him on hands:might take a turn in there on the nod. How do you do, Mr Hornblower? Howdo you do, sir?

Heavenly weather really. If life was always like that. Cricket weather. Sit around under sunshades. Over after over. Out. They can't play ithere. Duck for six wickets. Still Captain Culler broke a window in theKildare street club with a slog to square leg. Donnybrook fair morein their line. And the skulls we were acracking when M'Carthy took thefloor. Heatwave. Won't last. Always passing, the stream of life, whichin the stream of life we trace is dearer than them all. 

Enjoy a bath now: clean trough of water, cool enamel, the gentle tepidstream. This is my body. 

He foresaw his pale body reclined in it at full, naked, in a womb ofwarmth, oiled by scented melting soap, softly laved. He saw histrunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and saw the dark tangled curls ofhis bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father ofthousands, a languid floating flower. 

Martin Cunningham, first, poked his silkhatted head into the creakingcarriage and, entering deftly, seated himself. Mr Power stepped in afterhim, curving his height with care. 

--Come on, Simon. 

--After you, Mr Bloom said. 

Mr Dedalus covered himself quickly and got in, saying:

Yes, yes. 

--Are we all here now? Martin Cunningham asked. Come along, Bloom. 

Mr Bloom entered and sat in the vacant place. He pulled the door toafter him and slammed it twice till it shut tight. He passed an armthrough the armstrap and looked seriously from the open carriagewindowat the lowered blinds of the avenue. One dragged aside: an old womanpeeping. Nose whiteflattened against the pane. Thanking her stars shewas passed over. Extraordinary the interest they take in a corpse. Gladto see us go we give them such trouble coming. Job seems to suit them. Huggermugger in corners. Slop about in slipperslappers for fear he'dwake. Then getting it ready. Laying it out. Molly and Mrs Fleming makingthe bed. Pull it more to your side. Our windingsheet. Never know whowill touch you dead. Wash and shampoo. I believe they clip the nails andthe hair. Keep a bit in an envelope. Grows all the same after. Uncleanjob. 

All waited. Nothing was said. Stowing in the wreaths probably. I amsitting on something hard. Ah, that soap: in my hip pocket. Better shiftit out of that. Wait for an opportunity. 

All waited. Then wheels were heard from in front, turning: then nearer:then horses' hoofs. A jolt. Their carriage began to move, creaking andswaying. Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind. The blinds ofthe avenue passed and number nine with its craped knocker, door ajar. Atwalking pace. 

They waited still, their knees jogging, till they had turned and werepassing along the tramtracks. Tritonville road. Quicker. The wheelsrattled rolling over the cobbled causeway and the crazy glasses shookrattling in the doorframes. 

--What way is he taking us? Mr Power asked through both windows. 

--Irishtown, Martin Cunningham said. Ringsend. Brunswick street. 

Mr Dedalus nodded, looking out. 

--That's a fine old custom, he said. I am glad to see it has not diedout. 

All watched awhile through their windows caps and hats lifted bypassers. Respect. The carriage swerved from the tramtrack to thesmoother road past Watery lane. Mr Bloom at gaze saw a lithe young man, clad in mourning, a wide hat. 

--There's a friend of yours gone by, Dedalus, he said. 

--Who is that?

--Your son and heir. 

--Where is he? Mr Dedalus said, stretching over across. 

The carriage, passing the open drains and mounds of rippedup roadwaybefore the tenement houses, lurched round the corner and, swerving backto the tramtrack, rolled on noisily with chattering wheels. Mr Dedalusfell back, saying:

--Was that Mulligan cad with him? His _fidus Achates_!

--No, Mr Bloom said. He was alone. 

--Down with his aunt Sally, I suppose, Mr Dedalus said, the Gouldingfaction, the drunken little costdrawer and Crissie, papa's little lumpof dung, the wise child that knows her own father. 

Mr Bloom smiled joylessly on Ringsend road. Wallace Bros: thebottleworks: Dodder bridge. 

Richie Goulding and the legal bag. Goulding, Collis and Ward he callsthe firm. His jokes are getting a bit damp. Great card he was. Waltzingin Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a Sunday morning, thelandlady's two hats pinned on his head. Out on the rampage all night. Beginning to tell on him now: that backache of his, I fear. Wife ironinghis back. Thinks he'll cure it with pills. All breadcrumbs they are. About six hundred per cent profit. 

--He's in with a lowdown crowd, Mr Dedalus snarled. That Mulligan is acontaminated bloody doubledyed ruffian by all accounts. His name stinksall over Dublin. But with the help of God and His blessed mother I'llmake it my business to write a letter one of those days to his motheror his aunt or whatever she is that will open her eye as wide as a gate. I'll tickle his catastrophe, believe you me. 

He cried above the clatter of the wheels:

--I won't have her bastard of a nephew ruin my son. A counterjumper'sson. Selling tapes in my cousin, Peter Paul M'Swiney's. Not likely. 

He ceased. Mr Bloom glanced from his angry moustache to Mr Power's mildface and Martin Cunningham's eyes and beard, gravely shaking. Noisyselfwilled man. Full of his son. He is right. Something to hand on. Iflittle Rudy had lived. See him grow up. Hear his voice in the house. Walking beside Molly in an Eton suit. My son. Me in his eyes. Strangefeeling it would be. From me. Just a chance. Must have been that morningin Raymond terrace she was at the window watching the two dogs at it bythe wall of the cease to do evil. And the sergeant grinning up. She hadthat cream gown on with the rip she never stitched. Give us a touch, Poldy. God, I'm 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. LearnGerman too. 

--Are we late? Mr Power asked. 

--Ten minutes, Martin Cunningham said, looking at his watch. 

Molly. Milly. Same thing watered down. Her tomboy oaths. O jumpingJupiter! Ye gods and little fishes! Still, she's a dear girl. Soon be awoman. Mullingar. Dearest Papli. Young student. Yes, yes: a woman too. Life, life. 

The carriage heeled over and back, their four trunks swaying. 

--Corny might have given us a more commodious yoke, Mr Power said. 

--He might, Mr Dedalus said, if he hadn't that squint troubling him. Doyou follow me?

He closed his left eye. Martin Cunningham began to brush awaycrustcrumbs from under his thighs. 

--What is this, he said, in the name of God? Crumbs?

--Someone seems to have been making a picnic party here lately, Mr Powersaid. 

All raised their thighs and eyed with disfavour the mildewed buttonlessleather of the seats. Mr Dedalus, twisting his nose, frowned downwardand said:

--Unless I'm greatly mistaken. What do you think, Martin?

--It struck me too, Martin Cunningham said. 

Mr Bloom set his thigh down. Glad I took that bath. Feel my feet quiteclean. But I wish Mrs Fleming had darned these socks better. 

Mr Dedalus sighed resignedly. 

--After all, he said, it's the most natural thing in the world. 

--Did Tom Kernan turn up? Martin Cunningham asked, twirling the peak ofhis beard gently. 

--Yes, Mr Bloom answered. He's behind with Ned Lambert and Hynes. 

--And Corny Kelleher himself? Mr Power asked. 

--At the cemetery, Martin Cunningham said. 

--I met M'Coy this morning, Mr Bloom said. He said he'd try to come. 

The carriage halted short. 

--What's wrong?

--We're stopped. 

--Where are we?

Mr Bloom put his head out of the window. 

--The grand canal, he said. 

Gasworks. Whooping cough they say it cures. Good job Milly never gotit. Poor children! Doubles them up black and blue in convulsions. Shamereally. Got off lightly with illnesses compared. Only measles. Flaxseedtea. Scarlatina, influenza epidemics. Canvassing for death. Don't missthis chance. Dogs' home over there. Poor old Athos! Be good to Athos, Leopold, 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 men'sdogs usually are. 

A raindrop spat on his hat. He drew back and saw an instant of showerspray dots over the grey flags. Apart. Curious. Like through a colander. I thought it would. My boots were creaking I remember now. 

--The weather is changing, he said quietly. 

--A pity it did not keep up fine, Martin Cunningham said. 

--Wanted for the country, Mr Power said. There's the sun again comingout. 

Mr Dedalus, peering through his glasses towards the veiled sun, hurled amute curse at the sky. 

--It's as uncertain as a child's bottom, he said. 

--We're off again. 

The carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their trunks swayedgently. Martin Cunningham twirled more quickly the peak of his beard. 

--Tom Kernan was immense last night, he said. And Paddy Leonard takinghim off to his face. 

--O, draw him out, Martin, Mr Power said eagerly. Wait till you hearhim, Simon, on Ben Dollard's singing of _The Croppy Boy_. 

--Immense, Martin Cunningham said pompously. _His singing of that simpleballad, Martin, is the most trenchant rendering I ever heard in thewhole course of my experience. _

--Trenchant, Mr Power said laughing. He's dead nuts on that. And theretrospective arrangement. 

--Did you read Dan Dawson's speech? Martin Cunningham asked. 

--I did not then, Mr Dedalus said. Where is it?

--In the paper this morning. 

Mr Bloom took the paper from his inside pocket. That book I must changefor her. 

--No, no, Mr Dedalus said quickly. Later on please. 

Mr Bloom's glance travelled down the edge of the paper, scanning thedeaths: Callan, Coleman, Dignam, Fawcett, Lowry, Naumann, Peake, whatPeake is that? is it the chap was in Crosbie and Alleyne's? no, Sexton, Urbright. Inked characters fast fading on the frayed breaking paper. Thanks to the Little Flower. Sadly missed. To the inexpressible grief ofhis. Aged 88 after a long and tedious illness. Month's mind: Quinlan. Onwhose soul Sweet Jesus have mercy. 

_It is now a month since dear Henry fled To his home up above in the skyWhile his family weeps and mourns his loss Hoping some day to meet himon high. _

I tore up the envelope? Yes. Where did I put her letter after I read itin the bath? He patted his waistcoatpocket. There all right. Dear Henryfled. Before my patience are exhausted. 

National school. Meade's yard. The hazard. Only two there now. Nodding. Full as a tick. Too much bone in their skulls. The other trotting roundwith a fare. An hour ago I was passing there. The jarvies raised theirhats. 

A pointsman's back straightened itself upright suddenly against atramway standard by Mr Bloom's window. Couldn't they invent somethingautomatic so that the wheel itself much handier? Well but that fellowwould lose his job then? Well but then another fellow would get a jobmaking the new invention?

Antient concert rooms. Nothing on there. A man in a buff suit with acrape armlet. Not much grief there. Quarter mourning. People in lawperhaps. 

They went past the bleak pulpit of saint Mark's, under the railwaybridge, past the Queen's theatre: in silence. Hoardings: EugeneStratton, Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Could I go to see LEAH tonight, I wonder. I said I. Or the _Lily of Killarney_? Elster Grimes Opera Company. Bigpowerful change. Wet bright bills for next week. _Fun on the Bristol_. Martin Cunningham could work a pass for the Gaiety. Have to stand adrink or two. As broad as it's long. 

He's coming in the afternoon. Her songs. 

Plasto's. Sir Philip Crampton's memorial fountain bust. Who was he?

--How do you do? Martin Cunningham said, raising his palm to his brow insalute. 

--He doesn't see us, Mr Power said. Yes, he does. How do you do?

--Who? Mr Dedalus asked. 

--Blazes Boylan, Mr Power said. There he is airing his quiff. 

Just that moment I was thinking. 

Mr Dedalus bent across to salute. From the door of the Red Bank thewhite disc of a straw hat flashed reply: spruce figure: passed. 

Mr Bloom reviewed the nails of his left hand, then those of his righthand. The nails, yes. Is there anything more in him that they she sees?Fascination. Worst man in Dublin. That keeps him alive. They sometimesfeel what a person is. Instinct. But a type like that. My nails. Iam just looking at them: well pared. And after: thinking alone. Bodygetting a bit softy. I would notice that: from remembering. What causesthat? I suppose the skin can't contract quickly enough when the fleshfalls off. But the shape is there. The shape is there still. Shoulders. Hips. Plump. Night of the dance dressing. Shift stuck between the cheeksbehind. 

He clasped his hands between his knees and, satisfied, sent his vacantglance over their faces. 

Mr Power asked:

--How is the concert tour getting on, Bloom?

--O, very well, Mr Bloom said. I hear great accounts of it. It's a goodidea, you see. . . 

--Are you going yourself?

--Well no, Mr Bloom said. In point of fact I have to go down to thecounty Clare on some private business. You see the idea is to tour thechief towns. What you lose on one you can make up on the other. 

--Quite so, Martin Cunningham said. Mary Anderson is up there now. 

Have you good artists?

--Louis Werner is touring her, Mr Bloom said. O yes, we'll have alltopnobbers. J. C. Doyle and John MacCormack I hope and. The best, infact. 

--And _Madame_, Mr Power said smiling. Last but not least. 

Mr Bloom unclasped his hands in a gesture of soft politeness and claspedthem. Smith O'Brien. Someone has laid a bunch of flowers there. Woman. Must be his deathday. For many happy returns. The carriage wheeling byFarrell's statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees. 

Oot: a dullgarbed old man from the curbstone tendered his wares, hismouth opening: oot. 

--Four bootlaces for a penny. 

Wonder why he was struck off the rolls. Had his office in Hume street. Same house as Molly's namesake, Tweedy, crown solicitor for Waterford. Has that silk hat ever since. Relics of old decency. Mourning too. Terrible comedown, poor wretch! Kicked about like snuff at a wake. O'Callaghan on his last legs. 

And _Madame_. Twenty past eleven. Up. Mrs Fleming is in to clean. Doingher hair, humming. _voglio e non vorrei_. No. _vorrei e non_. Looking atthe tips of her hairs to see if they are split. _Mi trema un pocoil_. Beautiful on that _tre_ her voice is: weeping tone. A thrush. Athrostle. There is a word throstle that expresses that. 

His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's goodlooking face. Greyish overthe ears. _Madame_: smiling. I smiled back. A smile goes a long way. Only politeness perhaps. Nice fellow. Who knows is that true about thewoman he keeps? Not pleasant for the wife. Yet they say, who was ittold me, there is no carnal. You would imagine that would get playedout pretty quick. Yes, it was Crofton met him one evening bringing hera pound of rumpsteak. What is this she was? Barmaid in Jury's. Or theMoira, was it?

They passed under the hugecloaked Liberator's form. 

Martin Cunningham nudged Mr Power. 

--Of the tribe of Reuben, he said. 

A tall blackbearded figure, bent on a stick, stumping round the cornerof Elvery's Elephant house, showed them a curved hand open on his spine. 

--In all his pristine beauty, Mr Power said. 

Mr Dedalus looked after the stumping figure and said mildly:

--The devil break the hasp of your back!

Mr Power, collapsing in laughter, shaded his face from the window as thecarriage passed Gray's statue. 

--We have all been there, Martin Cunningham said broadly. 

His eyes met Mr Bloom's eyes. He caressed his beard, adding:

--Well, nearly all of us. 

Mr Bloom began to speak with sudden eagerness to his companions' faces. 

--That's an awfully good one that's going the rounds about Reuben J andthe son. 

--About the boatman? Mr Power asked. 

--Yes. Isn't it awfully good?

--What is that? Mr Dedalus asked. I didn't hear it. 

--There was a girl in the case, Mr Bloom began, and he determined tosend him to the Isle of Man out of harm's way but when they were both. . . 

--What? Mr Dedalus asked. That confirmed bloody hobbledehoy is it?

--Yes, Mr Bloom said. They were both on the way to the boat and he triedto drown. . . 

--Drown Barabbas! Mr Dedalus cried. I wish to Christ he did!

Mr Power sent a long laugh down his shaded nostrils. 

--No, Mr Bloom said, the son himself. . . 

Martin Cunningham thwarted his speech rudely:

--Reuben and the son were piking it down the quay next the river ontheir way to the Isle of Man boat and the young chiseller suddenly gotloose and over the wall with him into the Liffey. 

--For God's sake! Mr Dedalus exclaimed in fright. Is he dead?

--Dead! Martin Cunningham cried. Not he! A boatman got a pole and fishedhim out by the slack of the breeches and he was landed up to the fatheron the quay more dead than alive. Half the town was there. 

--Yes, Mr Bloom said. But the funny part is. . . 

--And Reuben J, Martin Cunningham said, gave the boatman a florin forsaving his son's life. 

A stifled sigh came from under Mr Power's hand. 

--O, he did, Martin Cunningham affirmed. Like a hero. A silver florin. 

--Isn't it awfully good? Mr Bloom said eagerly. 

--One and eightpence too much, Mr Dedalus said drily. 

Mr Power's choked laugh burst quietly in the carriage. 

Nelson's pillar. 

--Eight plums a penny! Eight for a penny!

--We had better look a little serious, Martin Cunningham said. 

Mr Dedalus sighed. 

--Ah then indeed, he said, poor little Paddy wouldn't grudge us a laugh. Many a good one he told himself. 

--The Lord forgive me! Mr Power said, wiping his wet eyes with hisfingers. Poor Paddy! I little thought a week ago when I saw him last andhe was in his usual health that I'd be driving after him like this. He'sgone from us. 

--As decent a little man as ever wore a hat, Mr Dedalus said. He wentvery suddenly. 

--Breakdown, 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 spentcolouring it. 

Mr Power gazed at the passing houses with rueful apprehension. 

--He had a sudden death, poor fellow, he said. 

--The best death, Mr Bloom said. 

Their wide open eyes looked at him. 

--No suffering, he said. A moment 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, Falconer's railway guide, civil service college, Gill's, catholic club, the industrious blind. Why? Some reason. Sun orwind. At night too. Chummies and slaveys. Under the patronage of thelate 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 mourningcoach. Unmarried. Black for the married. Piebald for bachelors. Dun fora nun. 

--Sad, Martin Cunningham said. A child. 

A dwarf's face, mauve and wrinkled like little Rudy's was. Dwarf's body, weak as putty, in a whitelined deal box. Burial friendly societypays. Penny a week for a sod of turf. Our. Little. Beggar. Baby. Meantnothing. Mistake of nature. If it's healthy it's from the mother. If notfrom the man. Better luck next time. 

--Poor little thing, Mr Dedalus said. It's well out of it. 

The carriage climbed more slowly the hill of Rutland square. Rattle hisbones. Over the stones. Only a pauper. Nobody owns. 

--In the midst of life, Martin Cunningham said. 

--But the worst of all, Mr Power said, is the man who takes his ownlife. 

Martin Cunningham drew out his watch briskly, coughed and put it back. 

--The greatest disgrace to have in the family, Mr Power added. 

--Temporary insanity, of course, Martin Cunningham said decisively. Wemust take a charitable view of it. 

--They say a man who does it is a coward, Mr Dedalus said. 

--It is not for us to judge, Martin Cunningham said. 

Mr Bloom, about to speak, closed his lips again. Martin Cunningham'slarge eyes. Looking away now. Sympathetic human man he is. Intelligent. Like Shakespeare's face. Always a good word to say. They have no mercyon that here or infanticide. Refuse christian burial. They used to drivea stake of wood through his heart in the grave. As if it wasn't brokenalready. Yet sometimes they repent too late. Found in the riverbedclutching rushes. He looked at me. And that awful drunkard of a wifeof his. Setting up house for her time after time and then pawning thefurniture on him every Saturday almost. Leading him the life of thedamned. Wear the heart out of a stone, that. Monday morning. Startafresh. Shoulder to the wheel. Lord, she must have looked a sightthat night Dedalus told me he was in there. Drunk about the place andcapering with Martin's 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. Theroom in the hotel with hunting pictures. Stuffy it was. Sunlight throughthe slats of the Venetian blind. The coroner's sunlit ears, big andhairy. Boots giving evidence. Thought he was asleep first. Then saw likeyellow streaks on his face. Had slipped down to the foot of the bed. Verdict: overdose. Death by misadventure. The letter. For my sonLeopold. 

No more pain. Wake no more. Nobody owns. 

The carriage rattled swiftly along Blessington street. Over the stones. 

--We are going the pace, I think, Martin Cunningham said. 

--God grant he doesn't upset us on the road, Mr Power said. 

--I hope not, Martin Cunningham said. That will be a great race tomorrowin Germany. The Gordon Bennett. 

--Yes, by Jove, Mr Dedalus said. That will be worth seeing, faith. 

As they turned into Berkeley street a streetorgan near the Basin sentover and after them a rollicking rattling song of the halls. Has anybodyhere seen Kelly? Kay ee double ell wy. Dead March from _Saul. _ He'sas bad as old Antonio. He left me on my ownio. Pirouette! The _MaterMisericordiae_. Eccles street. My house down there. Big place. Ward forincurables there. Very encouraging. Our Lady's Hospice for the dying. Deadhouse handy underneath. Where old Mrs Riordan died. They lookterrible the women. Her feeding cup and rubbing her mouth with thespoon. Then the screen round her bed for her to die. Nice young studentthat was dressed that bite the bee gave me. He's gone over to thelying-in hospital they told me. From one extreme to the other. Thecarriage galloped round a corner: stopped. 

--What's wrong now?

A divided drove of branded cattle passed the windows, lowing, slouchingby on padded hoofs, whisking their tails slowly on their clotted bonycroups. Outside them and through them ran raddled sheep bleating theirfear. 

--Emigrants, Mr Power said. 

--Huuuh! the drover's voice cried, his switch sounding on their flanks. 

Huuuh! out of that!

Thursday, of course. Tomorrow is killing day. Springers. Cuffe sold themabout twentyseven quid each. For Liverpool probably. Roastbeef for oldEngland. They buy up all the juicy ones. And then the fifth quarterlost: all that raw stuff, hide, hair, horns. Comes to a big thing in ayear. Dead meat trade. Byproducts of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap, margarine. Wonder if that dodge works now getting dicky meat offthe train at Clonsilla. 

The carriage moved on through the drove. 

--I can't make out why the corporation doesn't run a tramline from theparkgate to the quays, Mr Bloom said. All those animals could be takenin trucks down to the boats. 

--Instead of blocking up the thoroughfare, Martin Cunningham said. Quiteright. They ought to. 

--Yes, Mr Bloom said, and another thing I often thought, is to havemunicipal funeral trams like they have in Milan, you know. Run the lineout to the cemetery gates and have special trams, hearse and carriageand all. Don't you see what I mean?

--O, that be damned for a story, Mr Dedalus said. Pullman car and saloondiningroom. 

--A poor lookout for Corny, Mr Power added. 

--Why? Mr Bloom asked, turning to Mr Dedalus. Wouldn't it be more decentthan galloping two abreast?

--Well, there's something in that, Mr Dedalus granted. 

--And, Martin Cunningham said, we wouldn't have scenes like that whenthe hearse capsized round Dunphy's and upset the coffin on to the road. 

--That was terrible, Mr Power's shocked face said, and the corpse fellabout the road. Terrible!

--First round Dunphy's, Mr Dedalus said, nodding. Gordon Bennett cup. 

--Praises be to God! Martin Cunningham said piously. 

Bom! Upset. A coffin bumped out on to the road. Burst open. Paddy Dignamshot out and rolling over stiff in the dust in a brown habit too largefor him. Red face: grey now. Mouth fallen open. Asking what's up now. Quite right to close it. Looks horrid open. Then the insides decomposequickly. Much better to close up all the orifices. Yes, also. With wax. The sphincter loose. Seal up all. 

--Dunphy's, Mr Power announced as the carriage turned right. 

Dunphy's corner. Mourning coaches drawn up, drowning their grief. Apause by the wayside. Tiptop position for a pub. Expect we'll pull uphere 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 himin the knocking about? He would and he wouldn't, I suppose. Depends onwhere. The circulation stops. Still some might ooze out of an artery. Itwould be better to bury them in red: a dark red. 

In silence they drove along Phibsborough road. An empty hearse trottedby, coming from the cemetery: looks relieved. 

Crossguns bridge: the royal canal. 

Water rushed roaring through the sluices. A man stood on hisdropping barge, between clamps of turf. On the towpath by the lock aslacktethered horse. Aboard of the _Bugabu. _

Their eyes watched him. On the slow weedy waterway he had floated on hisraft coastward over Ireland drawn by a haulage rope past beds ofreeds, over slime, mudchoked bottles, carrion dogs. Athlone, Mullingar, Moyvalley, I could make a walking tour to see Milly by the canal. Orcycle down. Hire some old crock, safety. Wren had one the other day atthe auction but a lady's. Developing waterways. James M'Cann's hobbyto row me o'er the ferry. Cheaper transit. By easy stages. Houseboats. Camping out. Also hearses. To heaven by water. Perhaps I will withoutwriting. Come as a surprise, Leixlip, Clonsilla. Dropping down lock bylock to Dublin. With turf from the midland bogs. Salute. He lifted hisbrown straw hat, saluting Paddy Dignam. 

They drove on past Brian Boroimhe house. Near it now. 

--I wonder how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Mr Power said. 

--Better ask Tom Kernan, Mr Dedalus said. 

--How is that? Martin Cunningham said. Left him weeping, I suppose?

--Though lost to sight, Mr Dedalus said, to memory dear. 

The carriage steered left for Finglas road. 

The stonecutter's yard on the right. Last lap. Crowded on the spit ofland 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 andsculptor. 

Passed. 

On the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the sexton's, an old tramp sat, grumbling, emptying the dirt and stones out of his huge dustbrownyawning boot. After life's journey. 

Gloomy gardens then went by: one by one: gloomy houses. 

Mr Power pointed. 

--That is where Childs was murdered, he said. The last house. 

--So it is, Mr Dedalus said. A gruesome case. Seymour Bushe got him off. Murdered his brother. Or so they said. 

--The crown had no evidence, Mr Power said. 

--Only circumstantial, Martin Cunningham added. That's the maxim of thelaw. Better for ninetynine guilty to escape than for one innocent personto be wrongfully condemned. 

They looked. Murderer's ground. It passed darkly. Shuttered, tenantless, unweeded garden. Whole place gone to hell. Wrongfully condemned. Murder. The murderer's image in the eye of the murdered. They love reading aboutit. Man's head found in a garden. Her clothing consisted of. How she mether death. Recent outrage. The weapon used. Murderer is still at large. Clues. A shoelace. The body to be exhumed. Murder will out. 

Cramped in this carriage. She mightn't like me to come that way withoutletting her know. Must be careful about women. Catch them once withtheir 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 thetrees, white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vaingestures on the air. 

The felly harshed against the curbstone: stopped. Martin Cunningham putout his arm and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door open withhis knee. He stepped out. Mr Power and Mr Dedalus followed. 

Change that soap now. Mr Bloom's hand unbuttoned his hip pocket swiftlyand transferred the paperstuck soap to his inner handkerchief pocket. He stepped out of the carriage, replacing the newspaper his other handstill held. 

Paltry funeral: coach and three carriages. It's 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 andfruit. 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, Hyneswalking after them. Corny Kelleher stood by the opened hearse and tookout the two wreaths. He handed one to the boy. 

Where is that child's funeral disappeared to?

A team of horses passed from Finglas with toiling plodding tread, dragging through the funereal silence a creaking waggon on which lay agranite block. The waggoner marching at their head saluted. 

Coffin now. Got here before us, dead as he is. Horse looking round at itwith his plume skeowways. Dull eye: collar tight on his neck, pressingon a bloodvessel or something. Do they know what they cart out hereevery day? Must be twenty or thirty funerals every day. Then MountJerome for the protestants. Funerals all over the world everywhere everyminute. Shovelling them under by the cartload doublequick. Thousandsevery hour. Too many in the world. 

Mourners came out through the gates: woman and a girl. Leanjawed harpy, hard woman at a bargain, her bonnet awry. Girl's face stained with dirtand tears, holding the woman's arm, looking up at her for a sign to cry. Fish's face, bloodless and livid. 

The mutes shouldered the coffin and bore it in through the gates. Somuch dead weight. Felt heavier myself stepping out of that bath. Firstthe stiff: then the friends of the stiff. Corny Kelleher and theboy followed with their wreaths. Who is that beside them? Ah, thebrother-in-law. 

All walked after. 

Martin Cunningham whispered:

--I was in mortal agony with you talking of suicide before Bloom. 

--What? Mr Power whispered. How so?

--His father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham whispered. Had theQueen's hotel in Ennis. You heard him say he was going to Clare. Anniversary. 

--O God! Mr Power whispered. First I heard of it. Poisoned himself?

He glanced behind him to where a face with dark thinking eyes followedtowards the cardinal's mausoleum. Speaking. 

--Was he insured? Mr Bloom asked. 

--I believe so, Mr Kernan answered. But the policy was heavilymortgaged. Martin is trying to get the youngster into Artane. 

--How many children did he leave?

--Five. Ned Lambert says he'll try to get one of the girls into Todd's. 

--A sad case, Mr Bloom said gently. Five young children. 

--A great blow to the poor wife, Mr Kernan added. 

--Indeed yes, Mr Bloom agreed. 

Has the laugh at him now. 

He looked down at the boots he had blacked and polished. She hadoutlived him. Lost her husband. More dead for her than for me. One mustoutlive the other. Wise men say. There are more women than men in theworld. Condole with her. Your terrible loss. I hope you'll soon followhim. For Hindu widows only. She would marry another. Him? No. Yet whoknows after. Widowhood not the thing since the old queen died. Drawn ona guncarriage. Victoria and Albert. Frogmore memorial mourning. Butin the end she put a few violets in her bonnet. Vain in her heart ofhearts. All for a shadow. Consort not even a king. Her son was thesubstance. Something new to hope for not like the past she wanted back, waiting. It never comes. One must go first: alone, under the ground: andlie no more in her warm bed. 

--How are you, Simon? Ned Lambert said softly, clasping hands. Haven'tseen you for a month of Sundays. 

--Never better. How are all in Cork's own town?

--I was down there for the Cork park races on Easter Monday, Ned Lambertsaid. Same old six and eightpence. Stopped with Dick Tivy. 

--And how is Dick, the solid man?

--Nothing between himself and heaven, Ned Lambert answered. 

--By the holy Paul! Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. Dick Tivy bald?

--Martin 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 theinsurance is cleared up. 

--Yes, yes, Mr Dedalus said dubiously. Is that the eldest boy in front?

--Yes, Ned Lambert said, with the wife's brother. John Henry Menton isbehind. He put down his name for a quid. 

--I'll engage he did, Mr Dedalus said. I often told poor Paddy he oughtto mind that job. John Henry is not the worst in the world. 

--How did he lose it? Ned Lambert asked. Liquor, what?

--Many a good man's fault, Mr Dedalus said with a sigh. 

They halted about the door of the mortuary chapel. Mr Bloom stood behindthe boy with the wreath looking down at his sleekcombed hair and at theslender furrowed neck inside his brandnew collar. Poor boy! Was he therewhen the father? Both unconscious. Lighten up at the last momentand recognise for the last time. All he might have done. I owe threeshillings to O'Grady. Would he understand? The mutes bore the coffininto the chapel. Which end is his head?

After a moment he followed the others in, blinking in the screenedlight. The coffin lay on its bier before the chancel, four tall yellowcandles at its corners. Always in front of us. Corny Kelleher, laying awreath at each fore corner, beckoned to the boy to kneel. The mournersknelt here and there in prayingdesks. Mr Bloom stood behind near thefont and, when all had knelt, dropped carefully his unfolded newspaperfrom his pocket and knelt his right knee upon it. He fitted his blackhat gently on his left knee and, holding its brim, bent over piously. 

A server bearing a brass bucket with something in it came out through adoor. The whitesmocked priest came after him, tidying his stole with onehand, balancing with the other a little book against his toad's belly. Who'll read the book? I, said the rook. 

They halted by the bier and the priest began to read out of his bookwith a fluent croak. 

Father Coffey. I knew his name was like a coffin. _Domine-namine. _ Bullyabout the muzzle he looks. Bosses the show. Muscular christian. Woebetide anyone that looks crooked at him: priest. Thou art Peter. Burstsideways like a sheep in clover Dedalus says he will. With a belly onhim like a poisoned pup. Most amusing expressions that man finds. Hhhn:burst sideways. 

_--Non 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. Chillyplace this. Want to feed well, sitting in there all the morning in thegloom 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 ofthe place maybe. Looks full up of bad gas. Must be an infernal lotof bad gas round the place. Butchers, for instance: they get like rawbeefsteaks. Who was telling me? Mervyn Browne. Down in the vaults ofsaint Werburgh's lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have to bore ahole in the coffins sometimes to let out the bad gas and burn it. Out itrushes: blue. One whiff of that and you're a goner. 

My kneecap is hurting me. Ow. That's better. 

The priest took a stick with a knob at the end of it out of the boy'sbucket and shook it over the coffin. Then he walked to the other end andshook it again. Then he came back and put it back in the bucket. As youwere before you rested. It's all written down: he has to do it. 

_--Et ne nos inducas in tentationem. _

The server piped the answers in the treble. I often thought it would bebetter 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 fedup 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 mortalday a fresh batch: middleaged men, old women, children, women dead inchildbirth, men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girlswith little sparrows' breasts. All the year round he prayed the samething over them all and shook water on top of them: sleep. On Dignamnow. 

_--In paradisum. _

Said he was going to paradise or is in paradise. Says that overeverybody. Tiresome kind of a job. But he has to say something. 

The priest closed his book and went off, followed by the server. CornyKelleher opened the sidedoors and the gravediggers came in, hoisted thecoffin again, carried it out and shoved it on their cart. Corny Kellehergave one wreath to the boy and one to the brother-in-law. All followedthem out of the sidedoors into the mild grey air. Mr Bloom came lastfolding his paper again into his pocket. He gazed gravely at the groundtill the coffincart wheeled off to the left. The metal wheels ground thegravel with a sharp grating cry and the pack of blunt boots followed thetrundled barrow along a lane of sepulchres. 

The ree the ra the ree the ra the roo. Lord, I mustn't lilt here. 

--The O'Connell circle, Mr Dedalus said about him. 

Mr Power's soft eyes went up to the apex of the lofty cone. 

--He's at rest, he said, in the middle of his people, old Dan O'. Buthis heart is buried in Rome. How many broken hearts are buried here, Simon!

--Her grave is over there, Jack, Mr Dedalus said. I'll soon be stretchedbeside her. Let Him take me whenever He likes. 

Breaking down, he began to weep to himself quietly, stumbling a littlein his walk. Mr Power took his arm. 

--She's better where she is, he said kindly. 

--I suppose so, Mr Dedalus said with a weak gasp. I suppose she is inheaven if there is a heaven. 

Corny Kelleher stepped aside from his rank and allowed the mourners toplod by. 

--Sad occasions, Mr Kernan began politely. 

Mr Bloom closed his eyes and sadly twice bowed his head. 

--The others are putting on their hats, Mr Kernan said. I suppose we cando so too. We are the last. This cemetery is a treacherous place. 

They covered their heads. 

--The reverend gentleman read the service too quickly, don't you think?Mr Kernan said with reproof. 

Mr Bloom nodded gravely looking in the quick bloodshot eyes. Secreteyes, secretsearching. Mason, I think: not sure. Beside him again. Weare the last. In the same boat. Hope he'll say something else. 

Mr Kernan added:

--The service of the Irish church used in Mount Jerome is simpler, moreimpressive I must say. 

Mr Bloom gave prudent assent. The language of course was another thing. 

Mr Kernan said with solemnity:

--_I am the resurrection and the life_. That touches a man's inmostheart. 

--It does, Mr Bloom said. 

Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the six feet by twowith his toes to the daisies? No touching that. Seat of the affections. Broken heart. A pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of bloodevery day. One fine day it gets bunged up: and there you are. Lots ofthem lying around here: lungs, hearts, livers. Old rusty pumps: damnthe thing else. The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you aredead. That last day idea. Knocking them all up out of their graves. Comeforth, 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 therest of his traps. Find damn all of himself that morning. Pennyweight ofpowder in a skull. Twelve grammes one pennyweight. Troy measure. 

Corny Kelleher fell into step at their side. 

--Everything went off A1, he said. What?

He looked on them from his drawling eye. Policeman's shoulders. Withyour tooraloom tooraloom. 

--As it should be, Mr Kernan said. 

--What? Eh? Corny Kelleher said. 

Mr Kernan assured him. 

--Who is that chap behind with Tom Kernan? John Henry Menton asked. Iknow his face. 

Ned Lambert glanced back. 

--Bloom, he said, Madame Marion Tweedy that was, is, I mean, thesoprano. She's his wife. 

--O, to be sure, John Henry Menton said. I haven't seen her for sometime. He was a finelooking woman. I danced with her, wait, fifteenseventeen golden years ago, at Mat Dillon's in Roundtown. And a goodarmful she was. 

He looked behind through the others. 

--What is he? he asked. What does he do? Wasn't he in the stationeryline? I fell foul of him one evening, I remember, at bowls. 

Ned Lambert smiled. 

--Yes, he was, he said, in Wisdom Hely's. A traveller for blottingpaper. 

--In God's name, John Henry Menton said, what did she marry a coon likethat for? She had plenty of game in her then. 

--Has still, Ned Lambert said. He does some canvassing for ads. 

John Henry Menton's large eyes stared ahead. 

The barrow turned into a side lane. A portly man, ambushed among thegrasses, raised his hat in homage. The gravediggers touched their caps. 

--John O'Connell, Mr Power said pleased. He never forgets a friend. 

Mr O'Connell shook all their hands in silence. Mr Dedalus said:

--I am come to pay you another visit. 

--My dear Simon, the caretaker answered in a low voice. I don't wantyour custom at all. 

Saluting Ned Lambert and John Henry Menton he walked on at MartinCunningham's side puzzling two long keys at his back. 

--Did you hear that one, he asked them, about Mulcahy from the Coombe?

--I did not, Martin Cunningham said. 

They bent their silk hats in concert and Hynes inclined his ear. Thecaretaker hung his thumbs in the loops of his gold watchchain and spokein a discreet tone to their vacant smiles. 

--They tell the story, he said, that two drunks came out here one foggyevening to look for the grave of a friend of theirs. They asked forMulcahy from the Coombe and were told where he was buried. Aftertraipsing about in the fog they found the grave sure enough. One of thedrunks spelt out the name: Terence Mulcahy. The other drunk was blinkingup at a statue of Our Saviour the widow had got put up. 

The caretaker blinked up at one of the sepulchres they passed. Heresumed:

--And, after blinking up at the sacred figure, _Not a bloody bit likethe man_, says he. _That's not Mulcahy_, says he, _whoever done it_. 

Rewarded by smiles he fell back and spoke with Corny Kelleher, acceptingthe dockets given him, turning them over and scanning them as he walked. 

--That's all done with a purpose, Martin Cunningham explained to Hynes. 

--I know, Hynes said. I know that. 

--To cheer a fellow up, Martin Cunningham said. It's puregoodheartedness: damn the thing else. 

Mr Bloom admired the caretaker's prosperous bulk. All want to be on goodterms with him. Decent fellow, John O'Connell, real good sort. Keys:like Keyes's ad: no fear of anyone getting out. No passout checks. _Habeas corpus_. I must see about that ad after the funeral. Did Iwrite Ballsbridge on the envelope I took to cover when she disturbed mewriting to Martha? Hope it's not chucked in the dead letter office. Bethe better of a shave. Grey sprouting beard. That's the first sign whenthe hairs come out grey. And temper getting cross. Silver threads amongthe grey. Fancy being his wife. Wonder he had the gumption to propose toany girl. Come out and live in the graveyard. Dangle that before her. Itmight thrill her first. Courting death. . . Shades of night hoveringhere with all the dead stretched about. The shadows of the tombs whenchurchyards yawn and Daniel O'Connell must be a descendant I supposewho is this used to say he was a queer breedy man great catholic all thesame like a big giant in the dark. Will o' the wisp. Gas of graves. Want to keep her mind off it to conceive at all. Women especially are sotouchy. Tell her a ghost story in bed to make her sleep. Have you everseen a ghost? Well, I have. It was a pitchdark night. The clock was onthe stroke of twelve. Still they'd kiss all right if properly keyed up. Whores in Turkish graveyards. Learn anything if taken young. You mightpick 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. Bothends meet. Tantalising for the poor dead. Smell of grilled beefsteaks tothe starving. Gnawing their vitals. Desire to grig people. Molly wantingto do it at the window. Eight children he has anyway. 

He has seen a fair share go under in his time, lying around him fieldafter field. Holy fields. More room if they buried them standing. Sitting or kneeling you couldn't. Standing? His head might come up someday above ground in a landslip with his hand pointing. All honeycombedthe ground must be: oblong cells. And very neat he keeps it too: trimgrass and edgings. His garden Major Gamble calls Mount Jerome. Well, so it is. Ought to be flowers of sleep. Chinese cemeteries with giantpoppies growing produce the best opium Mastiansky told me. The BotanicGardens are just over there. It's the blood sinking in the earth givesnew life. Same idea those jews they said killed the christian boy. Everyman his price. Well preserved fat corpse, gentleman, epicure, invaluablefor fruit garden. A bargain. By carcass of William Wilkinson, auditorand accountant, lately deceased, three pounds thirteen and six. Withthanks. 

I daresay the soil would be quite fat with corpsemanure, bones, flesh, nails. Charnelhouses. Dreadful. Turning green and pink decomposing. Rotquick in damp earth. The lean old ones tougher. Then a kind of a tallowykind of a cheesy. Then begin to get black, black treacle oozing out ofthem. Then dried up. Deathmoths. Of course the cells or whatever theyare go on living. Changing about. Live for ever practically. Nothing tofeed on feed on themselves. 

But they must breed a devil of a lot of maggots. Soil must be simplyswirling with them. Your head it simply swurls. Those pretty littleseaside gurls. He looks cheerful enough over it. Gives him a sense ofpower seeing all the others go under first. Wonder how he looks at life. Cracking his jokes too: warms the cockles of his heart. The one aboutthe bulletin. Spurgeon went to heaven 4 a. M. This morning. 11 p. M. (closing time). Not arrived yet. Peter. The dead themselves the menanyhow would like to hear an odd joke or the women to know what's infashion. A juicy pear or ladies' punch, hot, strong and sweet. Keepout the damp. You must laugh sometimes so better do it that way. Gravediggers in _Hamlet_. Shows the profound knowledge of the humanheart. Daren't joke about the dead for two years at least. _De mortuisnil nisi prius_. Go out of mourning first. Hard to imagine his funeral. Seems a sort of a joke. Read your own obituary notice they say you livelonger. Gives you second wind. New lease of life. 

--How many have-you for tomorrow? the caretaker asked. 

--Two, Corny Kelleher said. Half ten and eleven. 

The caretaker put the papers in his pocket. The barrow had ceased totrundle. The mourners split and moved to each side of the hole, steppingwith care round the graves. The gravediggers bore the coffin and set itsnose on the brink, looping the bands round it. 

Burying him. We come to bury Caesar. His ides of March or June. Hedoesn't know who is here nor care. Now who is that lankylooking galootover there in the macintosh? Now who is he I'd like to know? Now I'dgive a trifle to know who he is. Always someone turns up you neverdreamt of. A fellow could live on his lonesome all his life. Yes, hecould. Still he'd have to get someone to sod him after he died though hecould dig his own grave. We all do. Only man buries. No, ants too. Firstthing strikes anybody. Bury the dead. Say Robinson Crusoe was true tolife. Well then Friday buried him. Every Friday buries a Thursday if youcome 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 ofthem all it does seem a waste of wood. All gnawed through. They couldinvent a handsome bier with a kind of panel sliding, let it down thatway. Ay but they might object to be buried out of another fellow's. They're so particular. Lay me in my native earth. Bit of clay fromthe holy land. Only a mother and deadborn child ever buried in the onecoffin. I see what it means. I see. To protect him as long as possibleeven in the earth. The Irishman's house is his coffin. Embalming incatacombs, mummies the same idea. 

Mr Bloom stood far back, his hat in his hand, counting the bared heads. Twelve. I'm thirteen. No. The chap in the macintosh is thirteen. Death'snumber. Where the deuce did he pop out of? He wasn't in the chapel, thatI'll swear. Silly superstition that about thirteen. 

Nice soft tweed Ned Lambert has in that suit. Tinge of purple. I hadone like that when we lived in Lombard street west. Dressy fellow he wasonce. Used to change three suits in the day. Must get that grey suitof mine turned by Mesias. Hello. It's dyed. His wife I forgot he's notmarried 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 thegravetrestles. 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, theysay. Shame of death. They hide. Also poor papa went away. 

Gentle sweet air blew round the bared heads in a whisper. Whisper. Theboy by the gravehead held his wreath with both hands staring quietly inthe 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. It's the moment you feel. Must bedamned unpleasant. Can't believe it at first. Mistake must be: someoneelse. Try the house opposite. Wait, I wanted to. I haven't yet. Thendarkened deathchamber. Light they want. Whispering around you. Would youlike to see a priest? Then rambling and wandering. Delirium all you hidall your life. The death struggle. His sleep is not natural. Press hislower eyelid. Watching is his nose pointed is his jaw sinking are thesoles of his feet yellow. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on thefloor since he's doomed. Devil in that picture of sinner's death showinghim a woman. Dying to embrace her in his shirt. Last act of _Lucia. Shall i nevermore behold thee_? Bam! He expires. Gone at last. Peopletalk about you a bit: forget you. Don't forget to pray for him. Rememberhim 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 you're well andnot in hell. Nice change of air. Out of the fryingpan of life into thefire of purgatory. 

Does he ever think of the hole waiting for himself? They say you do whenyou shiver in the sun. Someone walking over it. Callboy's warning. Nearyou. Mine over there towards Finglas, the plot I bought. Mamma, poormamma, and little Rudy. 

The gravediggers took up their spades and flung heavy clods of clay inon the coffin. Mr Bloom turned away his face. And if he was alive allthe time? Whew! By jingo, that would be awful! No, no: he is dead, ofcourse. Of course he is dead. Monday he died. They ought to havesome law to pierce the heart and make sure or an electric clock ora telephone in the coffin and some kind of a canvas airhole. Flag ofdistress. Three days. Rather long to keep them in summer. Just as wellto get shut of them as soon as you are sure there's 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 ofit. The mourners took heart of grace, one by one, covering themselveswithout show. Mr Bloom put on his hat and saw the portly figure make itsway deftly through the maze of graves. Quietly, sure of his ground, hetraversed the dismal fields. 

Hynes jotting down something in his notebook. Ah, the names. But heknows them all. No: coming to me. 

--I am just taking the names, Hynes said below his breath. What is yourchristian name? I'm not sure. 

--L, Mr Bloom said. Leopold. And you might put down M'Coy's name too. Heasked me to. 

--Charley, Hynes said writing. I know. He was on the _Freeman_ once. 

So he was before he got the job in the morgue under Louis Byrne. Goodidea a postmortem for doctors. Find out what they imagine they know. He died of a Tuesday. Got the run. Levanted with the cash of a few ads. Charley, you're my darling. That was why he asked me to. O well, doesno harm. I saw to that, M'Coy. Thanks, old chap: much obliged. Leave himunder an obligation: costs nothing. 

--And tell us, Hynes said, do you know that fellow in the, fellow wasover there in the. . . 

He looked around. 

--Macintosh. Yes, I saw him, Mr Bloom said. Where is he now?

--M'Intosh, Hynes said scribbling. I don't know who he is. Is that hisname?

He moved away, looking about him. 

--No, Mr Bloom began, turning and stopping. I say, Hynes!

Didn't hear. What? Where has he disappeared to? Not a sign. Well of allthe. Has anybody here seen? Kay ee double ell. Become invisible. GoodLord, what became of him?

A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom to take up an idle spade. 

--O, excuse me!

He stepped aside nimbly. 

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 theirspades. All uncovered again for a few instants. The boy proppedhis wreath against a corner: the brother-in-law his on a lump. Thegravediggers put on their caps and carried their earthy spades towardsthe barrow. Then knocked the blades lightly on the turf: clean. One bentto 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. Foryourselves just. 

The mourners moved away slowly without aim, by devious paths, staying atwhiles to read a name on a tomb. 

--Let us go round by the chief's grave, Hynes said. We have time. 

--Let us, Mr Power said. 

They turned to the right, following their slow thoughts. With awe MrPower's blank voice spoke:

--Some say he is not in that grave at all. That the coffin was filledwith stones. That one day he will come again. 

Hynes shook his head. 

--Parnell will never come again, he said. He's there, all that wasmortal 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 Ireland's hearts and hands. More sensible to spend the money on somecharity for the living. Pray for the repose of the soul of. Does anybodyreally? Plant him and have done with him. Like down a coalshoot. Thenlump them together to save time. All souls' day. Twentyseventh I'll beat his grave. Ten shillings for the gardener. He keeps it free of weeds. Old man himself. Bent down double with his shears clipping. Near death'sdoor. Who passed away. Who departed this life. As if they did it oftheir own accord. Got the shove, all of them. Who kicked thebucket. More interesting if they told you what they were. So and So, wheelwright. I travelled for cork lino. I paid five shillings in thepound. Or a woman's with her saucepan. I cooked good Irish stew. Eulogy in a country churchyard it ought to be that poem of whose is itWordsworth or Thomas Campbell. Entered into rest the protestants put it. Old Dr Murren's. The great physician called him home. Well it's God'sacre for them. Nice country residence. Newly plastered and painted. Ideal spot to have a quiet smoke and read the _Church Times. _ Marriageads they never try to beautify. Rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands ofbronzefoil. Better value that for the money. Still, the flowers are morepoetical. The other gets rather tiresome, never withering. Expressesnothing. Immortelles. 

A bird sat tamely perched on a poplar branch. Like stuffed. Like thewedding 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, adaisychain and bits of broken chainies on the grave. 

The Sacred Heart that is: showing it. Heart on his sleeve. Ought to besideways and red it should be painted like a real heart. Ireland wasdedicated to it or whatever that. Seems anything but pleased. Why thisinfliction? Would birds come then and peck like the boy with the basketof fruit but he said no because they ought to have been afraid of theboy. Apollo that was. 

How many! All these here once walked round Dublin. Faithful departed. Asyou are now so once were we. 

Besides how could you remember everybody? Eyes, walk, voice. Well, thevoice, yes: gramophone. Have a gramophone in every grave or keep it inthe house. After dinner on a Sunday. Put on poor old greatgrandfather. Kraahraark! Hellohellohello amawfullyglad kraark awfullygladaseeagainhellohello amawf krpthsth. Remind you of the voice like the photographreminds you of the face. Otherwise you couldn't remember the face afterfifteen years, say. For instance who? For instance some fellow that diedwhen I was in Wisdom Hely's. 

Rtststr! A rattle of pebbles. Wait. Stop!

He looked down intently into a stone crypt. Some animal. Wait. There hegoes. 

An obese grey rat toddled along the side of the crypt, moving thepebbles. An old stager: greatgrandfather: he knows the ropes. The greyalive 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 wasburied here by torchlight, wasn't he? Making his rounds. 

Tail gone now. 

One of those chaps would make short work of a fellow. Pick the bonesclean no matter who it was. Ordinary meat for them. A corpse is meatgone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk. I read in that_Voyages in China_ that the Chinese say a white man smells like acorpse. Cremation better. Priests dead against it. Devilling for theother firm. Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers. Time of theplague. Quicklime feverpits to eat them. Lethal chamber. Ashes to ashes. 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 wholelife in a flash. But being brought back to life no. Can't bury in theair however. Out of a flying machine. Wonder does the news go aboutwhenever a fresh one is let down. Underground communication. We learnedthat from them. Wouldn't be surprised. Regular square feed for them. Flies come before he's well dead. Got wind of Dignam. They wouldn't careabout the smell of it. Saltwhite crumbling mush of corpse: smell, tastelike raw white turnips. 

The gates glimmered in front: still open. Back to the world again. Enough of this place. Brings you a bit nearer every time. Last time Iwas here was Mrs Sinico's funeral. Poor papa too. The love that kills. And even scraping up the earth at night with a lantern like that caseI read of to get at fresh buried females or even putrefied with runninggravesores. Give you the creeps after a bit. I will appear to you afterdeath. You will see my ghost after death. My ghost will haunt you afterdeath. There is another world after death named hell. I do not like thatother world she wrote. No more do I. Plenty to see and hear and feelyet. Feel live warm beings near you. Let them sleep in their maggotybeds. They are not going to get me this innings. Warm beds: warmfullblooded life. 

Martin Cunningham emerged from a sidepath, talking gravely. 

Solicitor, I think. I know his face. Menton, John Henry, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits. Dignam used to be in his office. Mat Dillon's long ago. Jolly Mat. Convivial evenings. Cold fowl, cigars, the Tantalus glasses. Heart of gold really. Yes, Menton. Got his rag outthat evening on the bowlinggreen because I sailed inside him. Pure flukeof mine: the bias. Why he took such a rooted dislike to me. Hateat first sight. Molly and Floey Dillon linked under the lilactree, laughing. Fellow always like that, mortified if women are by. 

Got a dinge in the side of his hat. Carriage probably. 

--Excuse me, sir, Mr Bloom said beside them. 

They stopped. 

--Your hat is a little crushed, Mr Bloom said pointing. 

John Henry Menton stared at him for an instant without moving. 

--There, Martin Cunningham helped, pointing also. John Henry Menton tookoff his hat, bulged out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care on hiscoatsleeve. He clapped the hat on his head again. 

--It's all right now, Martin Cunningham said. 

John Henry Menton jerked his head down in acknowledgment. 

--Thank you, he said shortly. 

They walked on towards the gates. Mr Bloom, chapfallen, drew behinda few paces so as not to overhear. Martin laying down the law. Martincould wind a sappyhead like that round his little finger, without hisseeing 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 Nelson's pillar trams slowed, shunted, changed trolley, startedfor Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Clonskea, Rathgar and Terenure, Palmerston Park and upper Rathmines, Sandymount Green, Rathmines, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Harold's Cross. The hoarse Dublin UnitedTramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off:

--Rathgar and Terenure!

--Come on, Sandymount Green!

Right and left parallel clanging ringing a doubledecker and a singledeckmoved from their railheads, swerved to the down line, glided parallel. 

--Start, Palmerston Park!

THE WEARER OF THE CROWN

Under the porch of the general post office shoeblacks called andpolished. Parked in North Prince's street His Majesty's vermilionmailcars, bearing on their sides the royal initials, E. R. , receivedloudly flung sacks of letters, postcards, lettercards, parcels, insuredand paid, for local, provincial, British and overseas delivery. 

GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's storesand bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumpeddullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince'sstores. 

--There it is, Red Murray said. Alexander Keyes. 

--Just cut it out, will you? Mr Bloom said, and I'll take it round tothe _Telegraph_ office. 

The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again. Davy Stephens, minute in alarge capecoat, a small felt hat crowning his ringlets, passed out witha roll of papers under his cape, a king's courier. 

Red Murray's long shears sliced out the advertisement from the newspaperin four clean strokes. Scissors and paste. 

--I'll go through the printingworks, Mr Bloom said, taking the cutsquare. 

--Of course, if he wants a par, Red Murray said earnestly, a pen behindhis ear, we can do him one. 

--Right, Mr Bloom said with a nod. I'll rub that in. 

We. 

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, ESQUIRE, OF OAKLANDS, SANDYMOUNT

Red Murray touched Mr Bloom's arm with the shears and whispered:

--Brayden. 

Mr Bloom turned and saw the liveried porter raise his lettered cap as astately figure entered between the newsboards of the _Weekly Freemanand National Press_ and the _Freeman's Journal and National Press_. Dullthudding Guinness's barrels. It passed statelily up the staircase, steered by an umbrella, a solemn beardframed face. The broadcloth backascended 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. 

--Don't you think his face is like Our Saviour? Red Murray whispered. 

The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: ee: cree. They always buildone 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. 

--Or like Mario, Mr Bloom said. 

--Yes, Red Murray agreed. But Mario was said to be the picture of OurSaviour. 

Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. Hand on hisheart. In _Martha. _

 _Co-ome thou lost one, Co-ome thou dear one!_

THE CROZIER AND THE PEN

--His grace phoned down twice 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 andstepped off posthaste with a word:

_--Freeman!_

Mr Bloom said slowly:

--Well, he is one of our saviours also. 

A meek smile accompanied him as he lifted the counterflap, as he passedin 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 strewnpacking paper. Through a lane of clanking drums he made his way towardsNannetti's reading closet. 

WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT IS WE ANNOUNCE THE DISSOLUTION OF A MOSTRESPECTED DUBLIN BURGESS

Hynes here too: account of the funeral probably. Thumping. Thump. Thismorning the remains of the late Mr Patrick Dignam. Machines. Smash a manto atoms if they got him caught. Rule the world today. His machineriesare pegging away too. Like these, got out of hand: fermenting. Workingaway, tearing away. And that old grey rat tearing to get in. 

HOW A GREAT DAILY ORGAN IS TURNED OUT

Mr Bloom halted behind the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossycrown. 

Strange he never saw his real country. Ireland my country. Member forCollege green. He boomed that workaday worker tack for all it was worth. It's the ads and side features sell a weekly, not the stale news in theofficial gazette. Queen Anne is dead. Published by authority in the yearone thousand and. Demesne situate in the townland of Rosenallis, baronyof Tinnahinch. To all whom it may concern schedule pursuant to statuteshowing return of number of mules and jennets exported from Ballina. Nature notes. Cartoons. Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story. UncleToby's page for tiny tots. Country bumpkin's queries. Dear Mr Editor, what is a good cure for flatulence? I'd like that part. Learn a lotteaching others. The personal note. M. A. P. Mainly all pictures. Shapely bathers on golden strand. World's biggest balloon. Doublemarriage of sisters celebrated. Two bridegrooms laughing heartily ateach other. Cuprani too, printer. More Irish than the Irish. 

The machines clanked in threefour time. Thump, thump, thump. Now if hegot paralysed there and no-one knew how to stop them they'd clank on andon the same, print it over and over and up and back. Monkeydoodle thewhole thing. Want a cool head. 

--Well, 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 sheetand made a sign to a typesetter. He handed the sheet silently over thedirty glass screen. 

--Right: thanks, Hynes said moving off. 

Mr Bloom stood in his way. 

--If you want to draw the cashier is just going to lunch, he said, pointing backward with his thumb. 

--Did you? Hynes asked. 

--Mm, Mr Bloom said. Look sharp and you'll catch him. 

--Thanks, old man, Hynes said. I'll tap him too. 

He hurried on eagerly towards the _Freeman's Journal_. 

Three bob I lent him in Meagher's. Three weeks. Third hint. 

WE SEE THE CANVASSER AT WORK

Mr Bloom laid his cutting on Mr Nannetti's desk. 

--Excuse me, councillor, he said. This ad, you see. Keyes, you remember?

Mr Nannetti considered the cutting awhile and nodded. 

--He wants it in for July, Mr Bloom said. 

The foreman moved his pencil towards it. 

--But wait, Mr Bloom said. He wants it changed. Keyes, you see. He wantstwo keys at the top. 

Hell of a racket they make. He doesn't hear it. Nannan. Iron nerves. Maybe he understands what I. 

The foreman turned round to hear patiently and, lifting an elbow, beganto scratch slowly in the armpit of his alpaca jacket. 

--Like 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 theforeman's sallow face, think he has a touch of jaundice, and beyond theobedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. Clank it. Clank it. Milesof 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 drewswiftly on the scarred woodwork. 

HOUSE OF KEY(E)S

--Like 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. 

--You know yourself, councillor, just what he wants. Then round the topin leaded: the house of keys. You see? Do you think that's a good idea?

The foreman moved his scratching hand to his lower ribs and scratchedthere quietly. 

--The idea, Mr Bloom said, is the house of keys. You know, councillor, the Manx parliament. Innuendo of home rule. Tourists, you know, from theisle of Man. Catches the eye, you see. Can you do that?

I could ask him perhaps about how to pronounce that _voglio. _ But thenif he didn't know only make it awkward for him. Better not. 

--We can do that, the foreman said. Have you the design?

--I can get it, Mr Bloom said. It was in a Kilkenny paper. He has ahouse there too. I'll just run out and ask him. Well, you can do thatand just a little par calling attention. You know the usual. Highclasslicensed premises. Longfelt want. So on. 

The foreman thought for an instant. 

--We can do that, he said. Let him give us a three months' renewal. 

A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage. He began to check itsilently. Mr Bloom stood by, hearing the loud throbs of cranks, watchingthe silent typesetters at their cases. 

ORTHOGRAPHICAL

Want to be sure of his spelling. Proof fever. Martin Cunningham forgotto give us his spellingbee conundrum this morning. It is amusing to viewthe unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it? double ess ment of aharassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a y of a peeled pearunder a cemetery wall. Silly, isn't it? Cemetery put in of course onaccount of the symmetry. 

I should have said when he clapped on his topper. Thank you. I oughtto have said something about an old hat or something. No. I could havesaid. Looks as good as new now. See his phiz then. 

Sllt. The nethermost deck of the first machine jogged forward itsflyboard with sllt the first batch of quirefolded papers. Sllt. Almosthuman the way it sllt to call attention. Doing its level best to speak. That door too sllt creaking, asking to be shut. Everything speaks in itsown way. Sllt. 

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR

The foreman handed back the galleypage suddenly, saying:

--Wait. Where's the archbishop's letter? It's to be repeated in the_Telegraph. _ Where's what's his name?

He looked about him round his loud unanswering machines. 

--Monks, sir? a voice asked from the castingbox. 

--Ay. Where's Monks?

--Monks!

Mr Bloom took up his cutting. Time to get out. 

--Then I'll get the design, Mr Nannetti, he said, and you'll give it agood place I know. 

--Monks!

--Yes, sir. 

Three months' renewal. Want to get some wind off my chest first. Try itanyhow. Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month. Ballsbridge. Touristsover 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 putthrough his hands in his time: obituary notices, pubs' ads, speeches, divorce suits, found drowned. Nearing the end of his tether now. Soberserious man with a bit in the savingsbank I'd say. Wife a good cook andwasher. Daughter working the machine in the parlour. Plain Jane, no damnnonsense. AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER

He stayed in his walk to watch a typesetter neatly distributing type. Reads it backwards first. Quickly he does it. Must require some practicethat. MangiD kcirtaP. Poor papa with his hagadah book, reading backwardswith his finger to me. Pessach. Next year in Jerusalem. Dear, O dear!All that long business about that brought us out of the land of Egyptand into the house of bondage _Alleluia. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu_. No, that's the other. Then the twelve brothers, Jacob's sons. And thenthe lamb and the cat and the dog and the stick and the water and thebutcher. And then the angel of death kills the butcher and he kills theox and the dog kills the cat. Sounds a bit silly till you come to lookinto it well. Justice it means but it's everybody eating everyone else. That's what life is after all. How quickly he does that job. Practicemakes perfect. Seems to see with his fingers. 

Mr Bloom passed on out of the clanking noises through the gallery on tothe landing. Now am I going to tram it out all the way and then catchhim out perhaps. Better phone him up first. Number? Yes. Same asCitron's house. Twentyeight. Twentyeight double four. 

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP

He went down the house staircase. Who the deuce scrawled all over thosewalls with matches? Looks as if they did it for a bet. Heavy greasysmell there always is in those works. Lukewarm glue in Thom's next doorwhen I was there. 

He took out his handkerchief to dab his nose. Citronlemon? Ah, the soapI put there. Lose it out of that pocket. Putting back his handkerchiefhe took out the soap and stowed it away, buttoned, into the hip pocketof his trousers. 

What perfume does your wife use? I could go home still: tram: somethingI forgot. Just to see: before: dressing. No. Here. No. 

A sudden screech of laughter came from the _Evening Telegraph_ office. Know who that is. What's up? Pop in a minute to phone. Ned Lambert itis. 

He entered softly. 

ERIN, GREEN GEM OF THE SILVER SEA

--The ghost walks, professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully tothe dusty windowpane. 

Mr Dedalus, staring from the empty fireplace at Ned Lambert's quizzingface, asked of it sourly:

--Agonising Christ, wouldn't it give you a heartburn on your arse?

Ned Lambert, seated on the table, read on:

--_Or again, note the meanderings of some purling rill as it babbleson its way, tho' quarrelling with the stony obstacles, to the tumblingwaters of Neptune's blue domain, 'mid mossy banks, fanned by gentlestzephyrs, played on by the glorious sunlight or 'neath the shadows casto'er its pensive bosom by the overarching leafage of the giants ofthe forest_. What about that, Simon? he asked over the fringe of hisnewspaper. How's that for high?

--Changing his drink, Mr Dedalus said. 

Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper on his knees, repeating:

--_The pensive bosom and the overarsing leafage_. O boys! O boys!

--And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Dedalus said, looking again onthe fireplace and to the window, and Marathon looked on the sea. 

--That will do, professor MacHugh cried from the window. I don't want tohear any more of the stuff. 

He ate off the crescent of water 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 man's day, a funeral does. He has influence theysay. Old Chatterton, the vicechancellor, is his granduncle or hisgreatgranduncle. Close on ninety they say. Subleader for his deathwritten this long time perhaps. Living to spite them. Might go firsthimself. Johnny, make room for your uncle. The right honourable HedgesEyre Chatterton. Daresay he writes him an odd shaky cheque or two ongale days. Windfall when he kicks out. Alleluia. 

--Just another spasm, Ned Lambert said. 

--What is it? Mr Bloom asked. 

--A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh answeredwith pomp of tone. _Our lovely land_. SHORT BUT TO THE POINT

--Whose land? Mr Bloom said simply. 

--Most pertinent question, the professor said between his chews. With anaccent on the whose. 

--Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus said. 

--Is it his speech last night? Mr Bloom asked. 

Ned Lambert nodded. 

--But listen to this, he said. 

The doorknob hit Mr Bloom in the small of the back as the door waspushed in. 

--Excuse me, J. J. O'Molloy said, entering. 

Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside. 

--I beg yours, he said. 

--Good day, Jack. 

--Come in. Come in. 

--Good day. 

--How are you, Dedalus?

--Well. And yourself?

J. J. O'Molloy 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. What'sin the wind, I wonder. Money worry. 

--_Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks. _

--You're looking extra. 

--Is the editor to be seen? J. J. O'Molloy asked, looking towards theinner door. 

--Very much so, professor MacHugh said. To be seen and heard. He's inhis sanctum with Lenehan. 

J. J. O'Molloy strolled to the sloping desk and began to turn back thepink pages of the file. 

Practice dwindling. A mighthavebeen. Losing heart. Gambling. Debts ofhonour. Reaping the whirlwind. Used to get good retainers from D. And T. Fitzgerald. Their wigs to show the grey matter. Brains on their sleevelike the statue in Glasnevin. Believe he does some literary work for the_Express_ with Gabriel Conroy. Wellread fellow. Myles Crawford beganon the _Independent. _ Funny the way those newspaper men veer about whenthey get wind of a new opening. Weathercocks. Hot and cold in the samebreath. Wouldn't know which to believe. One story good till you hearthe next. Go for one another baldheaded in the papers and then all blowsover. Hail fellow well met the next moment. 

--Ah, listen to this for God' sake, Ned Lambert pleaded. _Or again if webut climb the serried mountain peaks. . . _

--Bombast! the professor broke in testily. Enough of the inflatedwindbag!

--_Peaks_, Ned Lambert went on, _towering high on high, to bathe oursouls, as it were. . . _

--Bathe his lips, Mr Dedalus said. Blessed and eternal God! Yes? Is hetaking anything for it?

_--As 'twere, in the peerless panorama of Ireland's portfolio, unmatched, despite their wellpraised prototypes in other vaunted prizeregions, for very beauty, of bosky grove and undulating plain andluscious pastureland of vernal green, steeped in the transcendenttranslucent glow of our mild mysterious Irish twilight. . . _

HIS NATIVE DORIC

--The moon, professor MacHugh said. He forgot Hamlet. 

_--That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb ofthe moon shine forth to irradiate her silver effulgence. . . _

--O! Mr Dedalus cried, giving vent to a hopeless groan. Shite andonions! That'll do, Ned. Life is too short. 

He took off his silk hat and, blowing out impatiently his bushymoustache, welshcombed his hair with raking fingers. 

Ned Lambert tossed the newspaper aside, chuckling with delight. Aninstant after a hoarse bark of laughter burst over professor MacHugh'sunshaven blackspectacled face. 

--Doughy Daw! he cried. 

WHAT WETHERUP SAID

All very fine to jeer at it now in cold print but it goes down like hotcake that stuff. He was in the bakery line too, wasn't he? Why they callhim Doughy Daw. Feathered his nest well anyhow. Daughter engaged to thatchap in the inland revenue office with the motor. Hooked that nicely. Entertainments. Open house. Big blowout. Wetherup always said that. Geta grip of them by the stomach. 

The inner door was opened violently and a scarlet beaked face, crestedby a comb of feathery hair, thrust itself in. The bold blue eyes staredabout them and the harsh voice asked:

--What is it?

--And here comes the sham squire himself! professor MacHugh saidgrandly. 

--Getonouthat, you bloody old pedagogue! the editor said in recognition. 

--Come, Ned, Mr Dedalus said, putting on his hat. I must get a drinkafter that. 

--Drink! the editor cried. No drinks served before mass. 

--Quite right too, Mr Dedalus said, going out. Come on, Ned. 

Ned Lambert sidled down from the table. The editor's blue eyes rovedtowards Mr Bloom's face, shadowed by a smile. 

--Will you join us, Myles? Ned Lambert asked. 

MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED

--North Cork militia! the editor cried, striding to the mantelpiece. Wewon every time! North Cork and Spanish officers!

--Where was that, Myles? Ned Lambert asked with a reflective glance athis toecaps. 

--In Ohio! the editor shouted. 

--So it was, begad, Ned Lambert agreed. 

Passing out he whispered to J. J. O'Molloy:

--Incipient jigs. Sad case. 

--Ohio! the editor crowed in high treble from his uplifted scarlet face. My Ohio!

--A perfect cretic! the professor said. Long, short and long. 

O, HARP EOLIAN!

He took a reel of dental floss from his waistcoat pocket and, breakingoff a piece, twanged it smartly between two and two of his resonantunwashed teeth. 

--Bingbang, bangbang. 

Mr Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made for the inner door. 

--Just a moment, Mr Crawford, he said. I just want to phone about an ad. 

He went in. 

--What about that leader this evening? professor MacHugh asked, comingto the editor and laying a firm hand on his shoulder. 

--That'll be all right, Myles Crawford said more calmly. Never you fret. Hello, Jack. That's all right. 

--Good day, Myles, J. J. O'Molloy said, letting the pages he held sliplimply back on the file. Is that Canada swindle case on today?

The telephone whirred inside. 

--Twentyeight. . . No, twenty. . . Double four. . . Yes. 

SPOT THE WINNER

Lenehan came out of the inner office with SPORT'S tissues. 

--Who 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 wasflung open. 

--Hush, Lenehan said. I hear feetstoops. 

Professor MacHugh strode across the room and seized the cringing urchinby the collar as the others scampered out of the hall and down thesteps. The tissues rustled up in the draught, floated softly in the airblue scrawls and under the table came to earth. 

--It wasn't me, sir. It was the big fellow shoved me, sir. 

--Throw him out and shut the door, the editor said. There's a hurricaneblowing. 

Lenehan began to paw the tissues up from the floor, grunting as hestooped twice. 

--Waiting for the racing special, sir, the newsboy said. It was PatFarrell shoved me, sir. 

He pointed to two faces peering in round the doorframe. 

--Him, sir. 

--Out of this with you, professor MacHugh said gruffly. 

He hustled the boy out and banged the door to. 

J. J. O'Molloy turned the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking:

--Continued on page six, column four. 

--Yes, _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. I'll catch him. 

A COLLISION ENSUES

The bell whirred again as he rang off. He came in quickly and bumpedagainst Lenehan who was struggling up with the second tissue. 

--_Pardon, monsieur_, Lenehan said, clutching him for an instant andmaking a grimace. 

--My fault, Mr Bloom said, suffering his grip. Are you hurt? I'm in ahurry. 

--Knee, Lenehan said. 

He made a comic face and whined, rubbing his knee:

--The accumulation of the _anno Domini_. 

--Sorry, Mr Bloom said. 

He went to the door and, holding it ajar, paused. J. J. O'Molloy slappedthe heavy pages over. The noise of two shrill voices, a mouthorgan, echoed in the bare hallway from the newsboys squatted on the doorsteps:

 _--We are the boys of Wexford Who fought with heart and hand. _

EXIT BLOOM

--I'm just running round to Bachelor's walk, Mr Bloom said, about thisad of Keyes's. Want to fix it up. They tell me he's round there inDillon's. 

He looked indecisively for a moment at their faces. The editor who, leaning against the mantelshelf, had propped his head on his hand, suddenly stretched forth an arm amply. 

--Begone! he said. The world is before you. 

--Back in no time, Mr Bloom said, hurrying out. 

J. J. O'Molloy took the tissues from Lenehan's hand and read them, blowing them apart gently, without comment. 

--He'll get that advertisement, the professor said, staring through hisblackrimmed spectacles over the crossblind. Look at the young scampsafter him. 

--Show. Where? Lenehan cried, running to the window. 

A STREET CORTEGE

Both smiled over the crossblind at the file of capering newsboys in MrBloom's wake, the last zigzagging white on the breeze a mocking kite, atail of white bowknots. 

--Look at the young guttersnipe behind him hue and cry, Lenehan said, and you'll kick. O, my rib risible! Taking off his flat spaugs and thewalk. Small nines. Steal upon larks. 

He began to mazurka in swift caricature across the floor on slidingfeet past the fireplace to J. J. O'Molloy who placed the tissues in hisreceiving hands. 

--What's that? Myles Crawford said with a start. Where are the other twogone?

--Who? the professor said, turning. They're gone round to the Oval for adrink. Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Came over last night. 

--Come on then, Myles Crawford said. Where's my hat?

He walked jerkily into the office behind, parting the vent of hisjacket, jingling his keys in his back pocket. They jingled then in theair and against the wood as he locked his desk drawer. 

--He's pretty well on, professor MacHugh said in a low voice. 

--Seems to be, J. J. O'Molloy said, taking out a cigarettecase inmurmuring meditation, but it is not always as it seems. Who has the mostmatches?

THE CALUMET OF PEACE

He offered a cigarette to the professor and took one himself. Lenehanpromptly struck a match for them and lit their cigarettes in turn. J. J. O'Molloy opened his case again and offered it. 

--_Thanky vous_, Lenehan said, helping himself. 

The editor came from the inner office, a straw hat awry on his brow. Hedeclaimed in song, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh:

_--'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee, 'Twas empire charmed thyheart. _

The professor grinned, locking his long lips. 

--Eh? You bloody old Roman empire? Myles Crawford said. 

He took a cigarette from the open case. Lenehan, lighting it for himwith quick grace, said:

--Silence for my brandnew riddle!

--_Imperium romanum_, J. J. O'Molloy said gently. It sounds nobler thanBritish or Brixton. The word reminds one somehow of fat in the fire. 

Myles Crawford blew his first puff violently towards the ceiling. 

--That's it, he said. We are the fat. You and I are the fat in the fire. We haven't got the chance of a snowball in hell. 

THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME

--Wait a moment, professor MacHugh said, raising two quiet claws. Wemustn't 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:

--What was their civilisation? Vast, I allow: but vile. Cloacae: sewers. The Jews in the wilderness and on the mountaintop said: _It is meetto be here. Let us build an altar to Jehovah_. The Roman, like theEnglishman who follows in his footsteps, brought to every new shore onwhich he set his foot (on our shore he never set it) only his cloacalobsession. He gazed about him in his toga and he said: _It is meet to behere. Let us construct a watercloset. _

--Which they accordingly did do, Lenehan said. Our old ancientancestors, as we read in the first chapter of Guinness's, were partialto the running stream. 

--They were nature's gentlemen, J. J. O'Molloy murmured. But we havealso Roman law. 

--And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh responded. 

--Do you know that story about chief baron Palles? J. J. O'Molloy asked. It was at the royal university dinner. Everything was going swimmingly. . . 

--First my riddle, Lenehan said. Are you ready?

Mr O'Madden Burke, tall in copious grey of Donegal tweed, came in fromthe hallway. Stephen Dedalus, behind him, uncovered as he entered. 

--_Entrez, mes enfants!_ Lenehan cried. 

--I escort a suppliant, Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously. Youth led byExperience visits Notoriety. 

--How do you do? the editor said, holding out a hand. Come in. Yourgovernor is just gone. ???

Lenehan said to all:

--Silence! What opera resembles a railwayline? Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply. 

Stephen handed over the typed sheets, pointing to the title andsignature. 

--Who? the editor asked. 

Bit torn off. 

--Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said. 

--That old pelters, the editor said. Who tore it? Was he short taken?

 _On swift sail flaming From storm and south He comes, pale vampire, Mouth to my mouth. _

--Good day, Stephen, the professor said, coming to peer over theirshoulders. Foot and mouth? Are you turned. . . ?

Bullockbefriending bard. 

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT

--Good day, sir, Stephen answered blushing. The letter is not mine. MrGarrett Deasy asked me to. . . 

--O, I know him, Myles Crawford said, and I knew his wife too. Thebloodiest old tartar God ever made. By Jesus, she had the foot and mouthdisease and no mistake! The night she threw the soup in the waiter'sface in the Star and Garter. Oho!

A woman brought sin into the world. For Helen, the runaway wife ofMenelaus, ten years the Greeks. O'Rourke, prince of Breffni. 

--Is he a widower? Stephen asked. 

--Ay, a grass one, Myles Crawford said, his eye running down thetypescript. Emperor's horses. Habsburg. An Irishman saved his life onthe ramparts of Vienna. Don't you forget! Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland. Sent his heir over to make the kingan Austrian fieldmarshal now. Going to be trouble there one day. Wildgeese. O yes, every time. Don't you forget that!

--The moot point is did he forget it, J. J. O'Molloy said quietly, turning a horseshoe paperweight. Saving princes is a thank you job. 

Professor MacHugh turned on him. 

--And if not? he said. 

--I'll tell you how it was, Myles Crawford began. A Hungarian it was oneday. . . LOST CAUSES

NOBLE MARQUESS MENTIONED

--We were always loyal to lost causes, the professor said. Success forus is the death of the intellect and of the imagination. We were neverloyal to the successful. We serve them. I teach the blatant Latinlanguage. I speak the tongue of a race the acme of whose mentality isthe maxim: time is money. Material domination. _Dominus!_ Lord! Where isthe spirituality? Lord Jesus? Lord Salisbury? A sofa in a westend club. But the Greek!

KYRIE ELEISON!

A smile of light brightened his darkrimmed eyes, lengthened his longlips. 

--The Greek! he said again. _Kyrios!_ Shining word! The vowels theSemite and the Saxon know not. _Kyrie!_ The radiance of the intellect. I ought to profess Greek, the language of the mind. _Kyrie eleison!_ Theclosetmaker and the cloacamaker will never be lords of our spirit. Weare liege subjects of the catholic chivalry of Europe that foundered atTrafalgar and of the empire of the spirit, not an _imperium, _ thatwent under with the Athenian fleets at Aegospotami. Yes, yes. They wentunder. Pyrrhus, misled by an oracle, made a last attempt to retrieve thefortunes of Greece. Loyal to a lost cause. 

He strode away from them towards the window. 

--They went forth to battle, Mr O'Madden Burke said greyly, but theyalways fell. 

--Boohoo! Lenehan wept with a little noise. Owing to a brick received inthe latter half of the _matinée_. Poor, poor, poor Pyrrhus!

He whispered then near Stephen's ear:

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK

 _There's a ponderous pundit MacHugh Who wears goggles of ebony hue. As he mostly sees double To wear them why trouble? I can't see the Joe Miller. Can you?_

In mourning for Sallust, Mulligan says. Whose mother is beastly dead. 

Myles Crawford crammed the sheets into a sidepocket. 

--That'll be all right, he said. I'll read the rest after. That'll beall right. 

Lenehan extended his hands in protest. 

--But my riddle! he said. What opera is like a railwayline?

--Opera? Mr O'Madden Burke's sphinx face reriddled. 

Lenehan announced gladly:

--_The Rose of Castile_. See the wheeze? Rows of cast steel. Gee!

He poked Mr O'Madden Burke mildly in the spleen. Mr O'Madden Burke fellback with grace on his umbrella, feigning a gasp. 

--Help! he sighed. I feel a strong weakness. 

Lenehan, rising to tiptoe, fanned his face rapidly with the rustlingtissues. 

The professor, returning by way of the files, swept his hand acrossStephen's and Mr O'Madden Burke's loose ties. 

--Paris, past and present, he said. You look like communards. 

--Like fellows who had blown up the Bastile, J. J. O'Molloy said inquiet mockery. Or was it you shot the lord lieutenant of Finland betweenyou? You look as though you had done the deed. General Bobrikoff. 

OMNIUM GATHERUM

--We were only thinking about it, Stephen said. 

--All the talents, Myles Crawford said. Law, the classics. . . 

--The turf, Lenehan put in. 

--Literature, the press. 

--If Bloom were here, the professor said. The gentle art ofadvertisement. 

--And Madam Bloom, Mr O'Madden Burke added. The vocal muse. Dublin'sprime favourite. 

Lenehan gave a loud cough. 

--Ahem! he said very softly. O, for a fresh of breath air! I caught acold in the park. The gate was open. 

YOU CAN DO IT!

The editor laid a nervous hand on Stephen's shoulder. 

--I want you to write something for me, he said. Something with a bitein 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. 

--Foot and mouth disease! the editor cried in scornful invective. Greatnationalist meeting in Borris-in-Ossory. All balls! Bulldosing thepublic! Give them something with a bite in it. Put us all into it, damnits soul. Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy. 

--We can all supply mental pabulum, Mr O'Madden Burke said. 

Stephen raised his eyes to the bold unheeding stare. 

--He wants you for the pressgang, J. J. O'Molloy said. 

THE GREAT GALLAHER

--You can do it, Myles Crawford repeated, clenching his hand inemphasis. Wait a minute. We'll paralyse Europe as Ignatius Gallaherused to say when he was on the shaughraun, doing billiardmarking in theClarence. Gallaher, that was a pressman for you. That was a pen. Youknow how he made his mark? I'll tell you. That was the smartest piece ofjournalism ever known. That was in eightyone, sixth of May, time ofthe invincibles, murder in the Phoenix park, before you were born, Isuppose. I'll show you. 

He pushed past them to the files. 

--Look at here, he said turning. The _New York World_ cabled for aspecial. Remember that time?

Professor MacHugh nodded. 

--_New York World_, the editor said, excitedly pushing back his strawhat. Where it took place. Tim Kelly, or Kavanagh I mean. Joe Brady andthe rest of them. Where Skin-the-Goat drove the car. Whole route, see?

--Skin-the-Goat, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Fitzharris. He has thatcabman's shelter, they say, down there at Butt bridge. Holohan told me. You know Holohan?

--Hop and carry one, is it? Myles Crawford said. 

--And poor Gumley is down there too, so he told me, minding stones forthe corporation. A night watchman. 

Stephen turned in surprise. 

--Gumley? he said. You don't say so? A friend of my father's, is it?

--Never mind Gumley, Myles Crawford cried angrily. Let Gumley mindthe stones, see they don't run away. Look at here. What did IgnatiusGallaher do? I'll 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. 

--Take page four, advertisement for Bransome's coffee, let us say. Haveyou got that? Right. 

The telephone whirred. 

A DISTANT VOICE

--I'll answer it, the professor said, going. 

--B is parkgate. Good. 

His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating. 

--T is viceregal lodge. C is where murder took place. K is Knockmaroongate. 

The loose flesh of his neck shook like a cock's wattles. An illstarcheddicky jutted up and with a rude gesture he thrust it back into hiswaistcoat. 

--Hello? _Evening Telegraph_ here. . . Hello?. . . Who's there?. . . Yes. . . Yes. . . Yes. 

--F 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 Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street. 

The professor came to the inner door. 

--Bloom is at the telephone, he said. 

--Tell him go to hell, the editor said promptly. X is Davy'spublichouse, see? CLEVER, VERY

--Clever, Lenehan said. Very. 

--Gave it to them on a hot plate, Myles Crawford said, the whole bloodyhistory. 

Nightmare from which you will never awake. 

--I saw it, the editor said proudly. I was present. Dick Adams, thebesthearted bloody Corkman the Lord ever put the breath of life in, andmyself. 

Lenehan bowed to a shape of air, announcing:

--Madam, I'm Adam. And Able was I ere I saw Elba. 

--History! Myles Crawford cried. The Old Woman of Prince's street wasthere first. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth over that. Out ofan advertisement. Gregor Grey made the design for it. That gave him theleg up. Then Paddy Hooper worked Tay Pay who took him on to the _Star. _Now he's got in with Blumenfeld. That's press. That's talent. Pyatt! Hewas all their daddies!

--The father of scare journalism, Lenehan confirmed, and thebrother-in-law of Chris Callinan. 

--Hello?. . . Are you there?. . . Yes, he's here still. Come acrossyourself. 

--Where do you find a pressman like that now, eh? the editor cried. Heflung the pages down. 

--Clamn dever, Lenehan said to Mr O'Madden Burke. 

--Very smart, Mr O'Madden Burke said. 

Professor MacHugh came from the inner office. 

--Talking about the invincibles, he said, did you see that some hawkerswere up before the recorder?

--O yes, J. J. O'Molloy said eagerly. Lady Dudley was walking homethrough the park to see all the trees that were blown down by thatcyclone last year and thought she'd buy a view of Dublin. And itturned out to be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady or Number One orSkin-the-Goat. Right outside the viceregal lodge, imagine!

--They're 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 thosefellows, like Whiteside, like Isaac Butt, like silvertongued O'Hagan. Eh? Ah, bloody nonsense. Psha! Only in the halfpenny place. 

His mouth continued to twitch unspeaking in nervous curls of disdain. 

Would anyone wish that mouth for her kiss? How do you know? Why did youwrite it then?

RHYMES AND REASONS

Mouth, south. Is the mouth south someway? Or the south a mouth? Must besome. South, pout, out, shout, drouth. Rhymes: two men dressed the same, looking the same, two by two. 

 _. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . La tua pace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Che parlar ti piace . . . . Mentreché il vento, come fa, si tace. _

He saw them three by three, approaching girls, in green, in rose, inrusset, entwining, _per l'aer perso_, in mauve, in purple, _quellapacifica oriafiamma_, gold of oriflamme, _di rimirar fe piu ardenti. _But I old men, penitent, leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night: mouthsouth: tomb womb. 

--Speak up for yourself, Mr O'Madden Burke said. 

SUFFICIENT FOR THE DAY. . . 

J. J. O'Molloy, smiling palely, took up the gage. 

--My dear Myles, he said, flinging his cigarette aside, you put a falseconstruction on my words. I hold no brief, as at present advised, forthe third profession qua profession but your Cork legs are running awaywith you. Why not bring in Henry Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes andEdmund Burke? Ignatius Gallaher we all know and his Chapelizod boss, Harmsworth of the farthing press, and his American cousin of the Boweryguttersheet not to mention _Paddy Kelly's Budget, Pue's Occurrences_and our watchful friend _The Skibbereen Eagle_. Why bring in a masterof forensic eloquence like Whiteside? Sufficient for the day is thenewspaper thereof. LINKS WITH BYGONE DAYS OF YORE

--Grattan and Flood wrote for this very paper, the editor cried in hisface. Irish volunteers. Where are you now? Established 1763. Dr Lucas. Who have you now like John Philpot Curran? Psha!

--Well, J. J. O'Molloy said, Bushe K. C. , for example. 

--Bushe? the editor said. Well, yes: Bushe, yes. He has a strain of itin his blood. Kendal Bushe or I mean Seymour Bushe. 

--He would have been on the bench long ago, the professor said, only for. . . But no matter. 

J. J. O'Molloy turned to Stephen and said quietly and slowly:

--One of the most polished periods I think I ever listened to in my lifefell 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 mineear did pour. _

By the way how did he find that out? He died in his sleep. Or the otherstory, beast with two backs?

--What was that? the professor asked. 

ITALIA, MAGISTRA ARTIUM

--He spoke on the law of evidence, J. J. O'Molloy said, of Roman justiceas contrasted with the earlier Mosaic code, the _lex talionis_. And hecited the Moses of Michelangelo in the vatican. 

--Ha. 

--A few wellchosen words, Lenehan prefaced. Silence!

Pause. J. J. O'Molloy took out his cigarettecase. 

False lull. Something quite ordinary. 

Messenger took out his matchbox thoughtfully and lit his cigar. 

I have often thought since on looking back over that strange time thatit was that small act, trivial in itself, that striking of that match, that determined the whole aftercourse of both our lives. A POLISHEDPERIOD

J. J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words:

--He said of it: _that stony effigy in frozen music, horned andterrible, of the human form divine, that eternal symbol of wisdom andof prophecy which, if aught that the imagination or the hand of sculptorhas wrought in marble of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguringdeserves to live, deserves to live. _

His slim hand with a wave graced echo and fall. 

--Fine! Myles Crawford said at once. 

--The divine afflatus, Mr O'Madden Burke said. 

--You like it? J. J. O'Molloy asked Stephen. 

Stephen, his blood wooed by grace of language and gesture, blushed. Hetook a cigarette from the case. J. J. O'Molloy offered his case to MylesCrawford. Lenehan lit their cigarettes as before and took his trophy, saying:

--Muchibus thankibus. 

A MAN OF HIGH MORALE

--Professor Magennis was speaking to me about you, J. J. O'Molloy saidto Stephen. What do you think really of that hermetic crowd, the opalhush poets: A. E. The mastermystic? That Blavatsky woman started it. She was a nice old bag of tricks. A. E. Has been telling some yankeeinterviewer that you came to him in the small hours of the morning toask him about planes of consciousness. Magennis thinks you must havebeen pulling A. E. 's 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 sayabout me? Don't ask. 

--No, thanks, professor MacHugh said, waving the cigarettecase aside. Wait a moment. Let me say one thing. The finest display of oratory Iever heard was a speech made by John F Taylor at the college historicalsociety. Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, the present lord justice of appeal, hadspoken and the paper under debate was an essay (new for those days), advocating the revival of the Irish tongue. 

He turned towards Myles Crawford and said:

--You know Gerald Fitzgibbon. Then you can imagine the style of hisdiscourse. 

--He is sitting with Tim Healy, J. J. O'Molloy said, rumour has it, onthe Trinity college estates commission. 

--He is sitting with a sweet thing, Myles Crawford said, in a child'sfrock. Go on. Well?

--It was the speech, mark you, the professor said, of a finished orator, full of courteous haughtiness and pouring in chastened diction I willnot say the vials of his wrath but pouring the proud man's contumelyupon 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, raisedan outspanned hand to his spectacles and, with trembling thumb andringfinger touching lightly the black rims, steadied them to a newfocus. 

IMPROMPTU

In ferial tone he addressed J. J. O'Molloy:

--Taylor had come there, you must know, from a sickbed. That hehad prepared his speech I do not believe for there was not even oneshorthandwriter in the hall. His dark lean face had a growth of shaggybeard round it. He wore a loose white silk neckcloth and altogether helooked (though he was not) a dying man. 

His gaze turned at once but slowly from J. J. O'Molloy's towardsStephen's face and then bent at once to the ground, seeking. Hisunglazed linen collar appeared behind his bent head, soiled by hiswithering hair. Still seeking, he said:

--When Fitzgibbon's 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 firmly. His eyes bethought themselves once more. Witless shellfish swam in the gross lenses to and fro, seeking outlet. 

He began:

_--Mr Chairman, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my admiration inlistening to the remarks addressed to the youth of Ireland a momentsince by my learned friend. It seemed to me that I had been transportedinto a country far away from this country, into an age remote fromthis age, that I stood in ancient Egypt and that I was listening to thespeech of some highpriest of that land addressed to the youthful Moses. _

His listeners held their cigarettes poised to hear, their smokesascending in frail stalks that flowered with his speech. _And let ourcrooked smokes. _ Noble words coming. Look out. Could you try your handat it yourself?

_--And it seemed to me that I heard the voice of that Egyptianhighpriest raised in a tone of like haughtiness and like pride. I heardhis words and their meaning was revealed to me. _

FROM THE FATHERS

It was revealed to me that those things are good which yet are corruptedwhich neither if they were supremely good nor unless they were goodcould be corrupted. Ah, curse you! That's saint Augustine. 

_--Why will you jews not accept our culture, our religion and ourlanguage? You are a tribe of nomad herdsmen: we are a mighty people. Youhave no cities nor no wealth: our cities are hives of humanity andour galleys, trireme and quadrireme, laden with all manner merchandisefurrow the waters of the known globe. You have but emerged fromprimitive conditions: we have a literature, a priesthood, an agelonghistory and a polity. _

Nile. 

Child, man, effigy. 

By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man supplein combat: stonehorned, stonebearded, heart of stone. 

_--You pray to a local and obscure idol: our temples, majestic andmysterious, are the abodes of Isis and Osiris, of Horus and Ammon Ra. Yours serfdom, awe and humbleness: ours thunder and the seas. Israelis weak and few are her children: Egypt is an host and terrible are herarms. Vagrants and daylabourers are you called: the world trembles atour name. _

A dumb belch of hunger cleft his speech. He lifted his voice above itboldly:

_--But, ladies and gentlemen, had the youthful Moses listened to andaccepted that view of life, had he bowed his head and bowed his willand bowed his spirit before that arrogant admonition he would never havebrought the chosen people out of their house of bondage, nor followedthe pillar of the cloud by day. He would never have spoken with theEternal amid lightnings on Sinai's mountaintop nor ever have come downwith the light of inspiration shining in his countenance and bearing inhis arms the tables of the law, graven in the language of the outlaw. _

He ceased and looked at them, enjoying a silence. 

OMINOUS--FOR HIM!

J. J. O'Molloy said not without regret:

--And yet he died without having entered the land of promise. 

--A sudden--at--the--moment--though--from--lingering--illness--often--previously--expectorated--demise, Lenehan added. And with a great futurebehind him. 

The troop of bare feet was heard rushing along the hallway and patteringup the staircase. 

--That is oratory, the professor said uncontradicted. Gone with thewind. Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the kings. Miles of ears ofporches. The tribune's words, howled and scattered to the four winds. A people sheltered within his voice. Dead noise. Akasic records of allthat ever anywhere wherever was. Love and laud him: me no more. 

I have money. 

--Gentlemen, Stephen said. As the next motion on the agenda paper may Isuggest that the house do now adjourn?

--You take my breath away. It is not perchance a French compliment?Mr O'Madden Burke asked. 'Tis the hour, methinks, when the winejug, metaphorically speaking, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry. 

--That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. All that are in favoursay ay, Lenehan announced. The contrary no. I declare it carried. Towhich particular boosing shed?. . . My casting vote is: Mooney's!

He led the way, admonishing:

--We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will we not? Yes, we will not. By no manner of means. 

Mr O'Madden Burke, following close, said with an ally's lunge of hisumbrella:

--Lay on, Macduff!

--Chip of the old block! the editor cried, clapping Stephen on theshoulder. Let us go. Where are those blasted keys?

He fumbled in his pocket pulling out the crushed typesheets. 

--Foot and mouth. I know. That'll be all right. That'll go in. Where arethey? That's all right. 

He thrust the sheets back and went into the inner office. LET US HOPE

J. J. O'Molloy, about to follow him in, said quietly to Stephen:

--I hope you will live to see it published. Myles, one moment. 

He went into the inner office, closing the door behind him. 

--Come along, Stephen, the professor said. That is fine, isn't it? Ithas the prophetic vision. _Fuit Ilium!_ The sack of windy Troy. Kingdomsof this world. The masters of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today. 

The first newsboy came pattering down the stairs at their heels andrushed out into the street, yelling:

--Racing special!

Dublin. I have much, much to learn. 

They turned to the left along Abbey street. 

--I have a vision too, Stephen said. 

--Yes? the professor said, skipping to get into step. Crawford willfollow. 

Another newsboy shot past them, yelling as he ran:

--Racing special!

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN

Dubliners. 

--Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said, elderly and pious, have lived fiftyand fiftythree years in Fumbally's lane. 

--Where is that? the professor asked. 

--Off Blackpitts, Stephen said. 

Damp night reeking of hungry dough. Against the wall. Face glisteringtallow under her fustian shawl. Frantic hearts. Akasic records. Quicker, darlint!

On now. Dare it. Let there be life. 

--They want to see the views of Dublin from the top of Nelson's pillar. They save up three and tenpence in a red tin letterbox moneybox. Theyshake out the threepenny bits and sixpences and coax out the pennieswith the blade of a knife. Two and three in silver and one and sevenin coppers. They put on their bonnets and best clothes and take theirumbrellas for fear it may come on to rain. 

--Wise virgins, professor MacHugh said. 

LIFE ON THE RAW

--They buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn and four slices of panloaf atthe north city diningrooms in Marlborough street from Miss Kate Collins, proprietress. . . They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from a girlat the foot of Nelson's pillar to take off the thirst of the brawn. Theygive two threepenny bits to the gentleman at the turnstile and beginto waddle slowly up the winding staircase, grunting, encouraging eachother, afraid of the dark, panting, one asking the other have you thebrawn, praising God and the Blessed Virgin, threatening to come down, peeping at the airslits. Glory be to God. They had no idea it was thathigh. 

Their names are Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe. Anne Kearns has thelumbago for which she rubs on Lourdes water, given her by a lady who gota bottleful from a passionist father. Florence MacCabe takes a crubeenand a bottle of double X for supper every Saturday. 

--Antithesis, the professor said nodding twice. Vestal virgins. I cansee them. What's keeping our friend?

He turned. 

A bevy of scampering newsboys rushed down the steps, scattering in alldirections, yelling, their white papers fluttering. Hard after themMyles Crawford appeared on the steps, his hat aureoling his scarletface, talking with J. J. O'Molloy. 

--Come along, the professor cried, waving his arm. 

He set off again to walk by Stephen's side. RETURN OF BLOOM

--Yes, he said. I see them. 

Mr Bloom, breathless, caught in a whirl of wild newsboys near theoffices of the _Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal_, called:

--Mr Crawford! A moment!

--_Telegraph_! Racing special!

--What is it? Myles Crawford said, falling back a pace. 

A newsboy cried in Mr Bloom's face:

--Terrible tragedy in Rathmines! A child bit by a bellows!

INTERVIEW WITH THE EDITOR

--Just this ad, Mr Bloom said, pushing through towards the steps, puffing, and taking the cutting from his pocket. I spoke with Mr Keyesjust now. He'll give a renewal for two months, he says. After he'llsee. But he wants a par to call attention in the _Telegraph_ too, the Saturday pink. And he wants it copied if it's not too late I toldcouncillor Nannetti from the _Kilkenny People_. I can have access toit in the national library. House of keys, don't you see? His name isKeyes. It's a play on the name. But he practically promised he'd givethe renewal. But he wants just a little puff. What will I tell him, MrCrawford? K. M. A. 

--Will you tell him he can kiss my arse? Myles Crawford said throwingout 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. Lenehan's yachting cap on the cadge beyond. Usual blarney. Wonder isthat young Dedalus the moving spirit. Has a good pair of boots on himtoday. Last time I saw him he had his heels on view. Been walking inmuck somewhere. Careless chap. What was he doing in Irishtown?

--Well, Mr Bloom said, his eyes returning, if I can get the design Isuppose it's worth a short par. He'd give the ad, I think. I'll tell him. . . K. M. R. I. A. 

--He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford cried loudly over hisshoulder. Any time he likes, tell him. 

While Mr Bloom stood weighing the point and about to smile he strode onjerkily. 

RAISING THE WIND

--_Nulla bona_, Jack, he said, raising his hand to his chin. I'm up tohere. I've been through the hoop myself. I was looking for a fellow toback a bill for me no later than last week. Sorry, Jack. You must takethe will for the deed. With a heart and a half if I could raise the windanyhow. 

J. J. O'Molloy pulled a long face and walked on silently. They caught upon the others and walked abreast. 

--When they have eaten the brawn and the bread and wiped their twentyfingers in the paper the bread was wrapped in they go nearer to therailings. 

--Something for you, the professor explained to Myles Crawford. Two oldDublin women on the top of Nelson's pillar. 

SOME COLUMN!--THAT'S WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID

--That's new, Myles Crawford said. That's copy. Out for the waxiesDargle. Two old trickies, what?

--But they are afraid the pillar will fall, Stephen went on. They seethe roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines'blue dome, Adam and Eve's, saint Laurence O'Toole's. But it makes themgiddy to look so they pull up their skirts. . . 

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES

--Easy all, Myles Crawford said. No poetic licence. We're in thearchdiocese here. 

--And settle down on their striped petticoats, peering up at the statueof the onehandled adulterer. 

--Onehandled adulterer! the professor cried. I like that. I see theidea. I see what you mean. 

DAMES DONATE DUBLIN'S CITS SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, BELIEF

--It gives them a crick in their necks, Stephen said, and they are tootired to look up or down or to speak. They put the bag of plums betweenthem and eat the plums out of it, one after another, wiping off withtheir handkerchiefs the plumjuice that dribbles out of their mouths andspitting the plumstones slowly out between the railings. 

He gave a sudden loud young laugh as a close. Lenehan and Mr O'MaddenBurke, hearing, turned, beckoned and led on across towards Mooney's. 

--Finished? Myles Crawford said. So long as they do no worse. 

SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON PROBOSCIS. SPARTANS GNASHMOLARS. ITHACANS VOW PEN IS CHAMP. 

--You remind me of Antisthenes, the professor said, a disciple ofGorgias, the sophist. It is said of him that none could tell if he werebitterer against others or against himself. He was the son of a nobleand a bondwoman. And he wrote a book in which he took away the palm ofbeauty from Argive Helen and handed it to poor Penelope. 

Poor Penelope. Penelope Rich. 

They made ready to cross O'Connell street. 

HELLO THERE, CENTRAL!

At various points along the eight lines tramcars with motionlesstrolleys stood in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, Rathfarnham, Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Sandymount Green, Ringsendand Sandymount Tower, Donnybrook, Palmerston Park and Upper Rathmines, all still, becalmed in short circuit. Hackney cars, cabs, deliverywaggons, mailvans, private broughams, aerated mineral water floats withrattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled, horsedrawn, rapidly. 

WHAT?--AND LIKEWISE--WHERE?

--But what do you call it? Myles Crawford asked. Where did they get theplums?

VIRGILIAN, SAYS PEDAGOGUE. SOPHOMORE PLUMPS FOR OLD MAN MOSES. 

--Call it, wait, the professor said, opening his long lips wide toreflect. Call it, let me see. Call it: _deus nobis haec otia fecit. _

--No, Stephen said. I call it _A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or theParable of The Plums. _

--I see, the professor said. 

He laughed richly. 

--I see, he said again with new pleasure. Moses and the promised land. We gave him that idea, he added to J. J. O'Molloy. 

HORATIO IS CYNOSURE THIS FAIR JUNE DAY

J. J. O'Molloy sent a weary sidelong glance towards the statue and heldhis peace. 

--I see, the professor said. 

He halted on sir John Gray's pavement island and peered aloft at Nelsonthrough the meshes of his wry smile. 

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR FRISKY FRUMPS. ANNE WIMBLES, FLO WANGLES--YET CAN YOU BLAME THEM?

--Onehandled adulterer, he said smiling grimly. That tickles me, I mustsay. 

--Tickled the old ones too, Myles Crawford said, if the God Almighty'struth was known. 

Pineapple rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. A sugarsticky girlshovelling scoopfuls of creams for a christian brother. Some schooltreat. Bad for their tummies. Lozenge and comfit manufacturer to HisMajesty the King. God. Save. Our. Sitting on his throne sucking redjujubes white. 

A sombre Y. M. C. A. Young man, watchful among the warm sweet fumes ofGraham Lemon's, 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 arewashed in the blood of the lamb. God wants blood victim. Birth, hymen, martyr, war, foundation of a building, sacrifice, kidney burntoffering, druids' altars. Elijah is coming. Dr John Alexander Dowie restorer ofthe 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 stopperon 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. Pepper's ghost idea. Iron nails ran in. 

Phosphorus it must be done with. If you leave a bit of codfish forinstance. I could see the bluey silver over it. Night I went down to thepantry in the kitchen. Don't like all the smells in it waiting to rushout. What was it she wanted? The Malaga raisins. Thinking of Spain. Before Rudy was born. The phosphorescence, that bluey greeny. Very goodfor the brain. 

From Butler's monument house corner he glanced along Bachelor's walk. Dedalus' daughter there still outside Dillon's auctionrooms. Must beselling off some old furniture. Knew her eyes at once from the father. Lobbing about waiting for him. Home always breaks up when the mothergoes. Fifteen children he had. Birth every year almost. That's in theirtheology or the priest won't give the poor woman the confession, theabsolution. Increase and multiply. Did you ever hear such an idea? Eatyou out of house and home. No families themselves to feed. Living on thefat of the land. Their butteries and larders. I'd like to see them dothe black fast Yom Kippur. Crossbuns. One meal and a collation for fearhe'd collapse on the altar. A housekeeper of one of those fellows if youcould 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. Watchinghis water. Bring your own bread and butter. His reverence: mum's theword. 

Good Lord, that poor child's dress is in flitters. Underfed she lookstoo. Potatoes and marge, marge and potatoes. It's after they feel it. Proof of the pudding. Undermines the constitution. 

As he set foot on O'Connell bridge a puffball of smoke plumed up fromthe parapet. Brewery barge with export stout. England. Sea air sours it, I heard. Be interesting some day get a pass through Hancock to see thebrewery. Regular world in itself. Vats of porter wonderful. Rats get intoo. Drink themselves bloated as big as a collie floating. Dead drunk onthe porter. Drink till they puke again like christians. Imagine drinkingthat! Rats: vats. Well, of course, if we knew all the things. 

Looking down he saw flapping strongly, wheeling between the gauntquaywalls, gulls. Rough weather outside. If I threw myself down? ReubenJ's son must have swallowed a good bellyful of that sewage. One andeightpence too much. Hhhhm. It's the droll way he comes out with thethings. Knows how to tell a story too. 

They wheeled lower. Looking for grub. Wait. 

He threw down among them a crumpled paper ball. Elijah thirtytwo feetper sec is com. Not a bit. The ball bobbed unheeded on the wake ofswells, floated under by the bridgepiers. Not such damn fools. Also theday I threw that stale cake out of the Erin's King picked it up in thewake fifty yards astern. Live by their wits. They wheeled, flapping. 

 _The hungry famished gull Flaps o'er the waters dull. _

That is how poets write, the similar sounds. But then Shakespeare hasno rhymes: blank verse. The flow of the language it is. The thoughts. Solemn. 

 _Hamlet, I am thy father's spirit Doomed for a certain time to walk the earth. _ --Two apples a penny! Two for a penny!

His gaze passed over the glazed apples serried on her stand. Australiansthey must be this time of year. Shiny peels: polishes them up with a ragor a handkerchief. 

Wait. Those poor birds. 

He halted again and bought from the old applewoman two Banbury cakes fora penny and broke the brittle paste and threw its fragments down intothe Liffey. See that? The gulls swooped silently, two, then all fromtheir heights, pouncing on prey. Gone. Every morsel. 

Aware of their greed and cunning he shook the powdery crumb from hishands. They never expected that. Manna. Live on fish, fishy flesh theyhave, all seabirds, gulls, seagoose. Swans from Anna Liffey swim downhere sometimes to preen themselves. No accounting for tastes. Wonderwhat kind is swanmeat. Robinson Crusoe had to live on them. 

They wheeled flapping weakly. I'm not going to throw any more. Pennyquite enough. Lot of thanks I get. Not even a caw. They spread foot andmouth disease too. If you cram a turkey say on chestnutmeal it tasteslike that. Eat pig like pig. But then why is it that saltwater fish arenot salty? How is that?

His eyes sought answer from the river and saw a rowboat rock at anchoron the treacly swells lazily its plastered board. 

_Kino's_ 11/- _Trousers_

Good idea that. Wonder if he pays rent to the corporation. How can youown water really? It's always flowing in a stream, never the same, whichin the stream of life we trace. Because life is a stream. All kinds ofplaces are good for ads. That quack doctor for the clap used to be stuckup in all the greenhouses. Never see it now. Strictly confidential. DrHy Franks. Didn't cost him a red like Maginni the dancing master selfadvertisement. Got fellows to stick them up or stick them up himself forthat matter on the q. T. Running in to loosen a button. Flybynight. Just the place too. POST NO BILLS. POST 110 PILLS. Some chap with a doseburning him. 

If he. . . ?

O!

Eh?

No. . . No. 

No, no. I don't believe it. He wouldn't surely?

No, no. 

Mr Bloom moved forward, raising his troubled eyes. Think no more aboutthat. After one. Timeball on the ballastoffice is down. Dunsink time. Fascinating little book that is of sir Robert Ball's. Parallax. I neverexactly understood. There's a priest. Could ask him. Par it's Greek:parallel, parallax. Met him pike hoses she called it till I told herabout the transmigration. O rocks!

Mr Bloom smiled O rocks at two windows of the ballastoffice. She's rightafter all. Only big words for ordinary things on account of the sound. She's not exactly witty. Can be rude too. Blurt out what I was thinking. Still, I don't know. She used to say Ben Dollard had a base barreltonevoice. He has legs like barrels and you'd think he was singing into abarrel. Now, isn't that wit. They used to call him big Ben. Not half aswitty as calling him base barreltone. Appetite like an albatross. Getoutside of a baron of beef. Powerful man he was at stowing away numberone Bass. Barrel of Bass. See? It all works out. 

A procession of whitesmocked sandwichmen marched slowly towards himalong the gutter, scarlet sashes across their boards. Bargains. Likethat priest they are this morning: we have sinned: we have suffered. Heread the scarlet letters on their five tall white hats: H. E. L. Y. S. Wisdom Hely's. Y lagging behind drew a chunk of bread from under hisforeboard, crammed it into his mouth and munched as he walked. Ourstaple food. Three bob a day, walking along the gutters, street afterstreet. Just keep skin and bone together, bread and skilly. They arenot Boyl: no, M Glade's men. Doesn't bring in any business either. I suggested to him about a transparent showcart with two smart girlssitting inside writing letters, copybooks, envelopes, blottingpaper. Ibet that would have caught on. Smart girls writing something catch theeye at once. Everyone dying to know what she's writing. Get twenty ofthem round you if you stare at nothing. Have a finger in the pie. Womentoo. Curiosity. Pillar of salt. Wouldn't have it of course because hedidn't think of it himself first. Or the inkbottle I suggested with afalse stain of black celluloid. His ideas for ads like Plumtree's pottedunder the obituaries, cold meat department. You can't lick 'em. What?Our envelopes. Hello, Jones, where are you going? Can't stop, Robinson, I am hastening to purchase the only reliable inkeraser _Kansell, _ soldby Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street. Well out of that ruck I am. Devil of ajob it was collecting accounts of those convents. Tranquilla convent. That was a nice nun there, really sweet face. Wimple suited her smallhead. 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 herdevotions that morning. But glad to communicate with the outside world. Our great day, she said. Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Sweet nametoo: caramel. She knew I, I think she knew by the way she. If she hadmarried she would have changed. I suppose they really were short ofmoney. Fried everything in the best butter all the same. No lard forthem. My heart's broke eating dripping. They like buttering themselvesin and out. Molly tasting it, her veil up. Sister? Pat Claffey, thepawnbroker's daughter. It was a nun they say invented barbed wire. 

He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S had plodded by. Rovercycleshop. Those races are on today. How long ago is that? Year PhilGilligan died. We were in Lombard street west. Wait: was in Thom's. Got the job in Wisdom Hely's year we married. Six years. Ten years ago:ninetyfour he died yes that's right the big fire at Arnott's. Val Dillonwas lord mayor. The Glencree dinner. Alderman Robert O'Reilly emptyingthe port into his soup before the flag fell. Bobbob lapping it for theinner alderman. Couldn't hear what the band played. For what we havealready received may the Lord make us. Milly was a kiddy then. Mollyhad that elephantgrey dress with the braided frogs. Mantailored withselfcovered buttons. She didn't like it because I sprained my anklefirst day she wore choir picnic at the Sugarloaf. As if that. OldGoodwin's tall hat done up with some sticky stuff. Flies' picnictoo. 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 wehad that day. People looking after her. 

Happy. Happier then. Snug little room that was with the red wallpaper. Dockrell's, one and ninepence a dozen. Milly's tubbing night. Americansoap I bought: elderflower. Cosy smell of her bathwater. Funny shelooked soaped all over. Shapely too. Now photography. Poor papa'sdaguerreotype atelier he told me of. Hereditary taste. 

He walked along the curbstone. 

Stream of life. What was the name of that priestylooking chap was alwayssquinting in when he passed? Weak eyes, woman. Stopped in Citron's saintKevin's parade. Pen something. Pendennis? My memory is getting. Pen. . . ? Of course it's years ago. Noise of the trams probably. Well, if hecouldn't remember the dayfather's name that he sees every day. 

Bartell d'Arcy was the tenor, just coming out then. Seeing her homeafter practice. Conceited fellow with his waxedup moustache. Gave herthat song _Winds that blow from the south_. 

Windy night that was I went to fetch her there was that lodge meeting onabout those lottery tickets after Goodwin's concert in the supperroom oroakroom of the Mansion house. He and I behind. Sheet of her music blewout of my hand against the High school railings. Lucky it didn't. Thing like that spoils the effect of a night for her. Professor Goodwinlinking her in front. Shaky on his pins, poor old sot. His farewellconcerts. Positively last appearance on any stage. May be for months andmay be for never. Remember her laughing at the wind, her blizzard collarup. Corner of Harcourt road remember that gust. Brrfoo! Blew up all herskirts and her boa nearly smothered old Goodwin. She did get flushedin the wind. Remember when we got home raking up the fire and frying upthose pieces of lap of mutton for her supper with the Chutney sauce sheliked. And the mulled rum. Could see her in the bedroom from the hearthunclamping 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 twotaking out her hairpins. Milly tucked up in beddyhouse. Happy. Happy. That was the night. . . 

--O, Mr Bloom, how do you do?

--O, how do you do, Mrs Breen?

--No use complaining. How is Molly those times? Haven't seen her forages. 

--In the pink, Mr Bloom said gaily. Milly has a position down inMullingar, you know. 

--Go away! Isn't that grand for her?

--Yes. In a photographer's there. Getting on like a house on fire. Howare all your charges?

--All on the baker's list, Mrs Breen said. 

How many has she? No other in sight. 

--You're in black, I see. You have no. . . 

--No, Mr Bloom said. I have just come from a funeral. 

Going to crop up all day, I foresee. Who's dead, when and what did hedie of? Turn up like a bad penny. 

--O, dear me, Mrs Breen said. I hope it wasn't any near relation. 

May as well get her sympathy. 

--Dignam, Mr Bloom said. An old friend of mine. He died quite suddenly, poor fellow. Heart trouble, I believe. Funeral was this morning. 

_Your funeral's tomorrow While you're coming through the rye. Diddlediddle dumdum Diddlediddle. . . _

--Sad to lose the old friends, Mrs Breen's womaneyes said melancholily. 

Now that's quite enough about that. Just: quietly: husband. 

--And your lord and master?

Mrs Breen turned up her two large eyes. Hasn't lost them anyhow. 

--O, don't be talking! she said. He's a caution to rattlesnakes. He'sin there now with his lawbooks finding out the law of libel. He has meheartscalded. Wait till I show you. 

Hot mockturtle vapour and steam of newbaked jampuffs rolypoly pouredout from Harrison's. The heavy noonreek tickled the top of Mr Bloom'sgullet. Want to make good pastry, butter, best flour, Demerara sugar, or they'd taste it with the hot tea. Or is it from her? A barefootarab stood over the grating, breathing in the fumes. Deaden the gnaw ofhunger that way. Pleasure or pain is it? Penny dinner. Knife and forkchained to the table. 

Opening her handbag, chipped leather. Hatpin: ought to have a guard onthose things. Stick it in a chap's eye in the tram. Rummaging. Open. Money. Please take one. Devils if they lose sixpence. Raise Cain. Husband barging. Where's the ten shillings I gave you on Monday? Areyou feeding your little brother's family? Soiled handkerchief:medicinebottle. Pastille that was fell. What is she?. . . 

--There must be a new moon out, she said. He's always bad then. Do youknow what he did last night?

Her hand ceased to rummage. Her eyes fixed themselves on him, wide inalarm, yet smiling. 

--What? Mr Bloom asked. 

Let her speak. Look straight in her eyes. I believe you. Trust me. 

--Woke me up in the night, she said. Dream he had, a nightmare. 

Indiges. 

--Said the ace of spades was walking up the stairs. 

--The ace of spades! Mr Bloom said. 

She took a folded postcard from her handbag. 

--Read that, she said. He got it this morning. 

--What is it? Mr Bloom asked, taking the card. U. P. ?

--U. P. : up, she said. Someone taking a rise out of him. It's a greatshame for them whoever he is. 

--Indeed it is, Mr Bloom said. 

She took back the card, sighing. 

--And now he's going round to Mr Menton's office. He's going to take anaction 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 itsbest days. Wispish hair over her ears. And that dowdy toque: three oldgrapes to take the harm out of it. Shabby genteel. She used to be atasty dresser. Lines round her mouth. Only a year or so older thanMolly. 

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. I'm hungry too. Flakes of pastryon the gusset of her dress: daub of sugary flour stuck to her cheek. Rhubarb tart with liberal fillings, rich fruit interior. Josie Powellthat was. In Luke Doyle's long ago. Dolphin's Barn, the charades. U. P. :up. 

Change the subject. 

--Do you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy? Mr Bloom asked. 

--Mina Purefoy? she said. 

Philip Beaufoy I was thinking. Playgoers' Club. Matcham often thinks ofthe masterstroke. Did I pull the chain? Yes. The last act. 

--Yes. 

--I just called to ask on the way in is she over it. She's in thelying-in hospital in Holles street. Dr Horne got her in. She's threedays bad now. 

--O, Mr Bloom said. I'm sorry to hear that. 

--Yes, Mrs Breen said. And a houseful of kids at home. It's a very stiffbirth, the nurse told me. 

---O, Mr Bloom said. 

His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. His tongue clacked incompassion. Dth! Dth!

--I'm sorry to hear that, he said. Poor thing! Three days! That'sterrible for her. 

Mrs Breen nodded. 

--She was taken bad on the Tuesday. . . 

Mr Bloom touched her funnybone gently, warning her:

--Mind! Let this man pass. 

A bony form strode along the curbstone from the river staring with arapt gaze into the sunlight through a heavystringed glass. Tight as askullpiece a tiny hat gripped his head. From his arm a folded dustcoat, a stick and an umbrella dangled to his stride. 

--Watch him, Mr Bloom said. He always walks outside the lampposts. Watch!

--Who is he if it's a fair question? Mrs Breen asked. Is he dotty?

--His name is Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, MrBloom said smiling. Watch!

--He has enough of them, she said. Denis will be like that one of thesedays. 

She broke off suddenly. 

--There he is, she said. I must go after him. Goodbye. Remember me toMolly, won't you?

--I will, Mr Bloom said. 

He watched her dodge through passers towards the shopfronts. Denis Breenin skimpy frockcoat and blue canvas shoes shuffled out of Harrison'shugging two heavy tomes to his ribs. Blown in from the bay. Like oldtimes. He suffered her to overtake him without surprise and thrusthis dull grey beard towards her, his loose jaw wagging as he spokeearnestly. 

Meshuggah. Off his chump. 

Mr Bloom walked on again easily, seeing ahead of him in sunlight thetight skullpiece, the dangling stickumbrelladustcoat. Going the twodays. 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 havewith him. 

U. P. : up. I'll take my oath that's Alf Bergan or Richie Goulding. Wroteit for a lark in the Scotch house I bet anything. Round to Menton'soffice. His oyster eyes staring at the postcard. Be a feast for thegods. 

He passed the _Irish Times_. There might be other answers Iying there. Like to answer them all. Good system for criminals. Code. At their lunchnow. Clerk with the glasses there doesn't know me. O, leave them thereto simmer. Enough bother wading through fortyfour of them. Wanted, smartlady typist to aid gentleman in literary work. I called you naughtydarling because I do not like that other world. Please tell me what isthe meaning. Please tell me what perfume does your wife. Tell me whomade the world. The way they spring those questions on you. And theother one Lizzie Twigg. My literary efforts have had the good fortune tomeet with the approval of the eminent poet A. E. (Mr Geo. Russell). Notime 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. Cookand general, exc. Cuisine, housemaid kept. Wanted live man for spiritcounter. Resp. Girl (R. C. ) wishes to hear of post in fruit or pork shop. James Carlisle made that. Six and a half per cent dividend. Made a bigdeal on Coates's shares. Ca' canny. Cunning old Scotch hunks. All thetoady news. Our gracious and popular vicereine. Bought the _Irish Field_now. Lady Mountcashel has quite recovered after her confinement androde out with the Ward Union staghounds at the enlargement yesterdayat Rathoath. Uneatable fox. Pothunters too. Fear injects juices makeit tender enough for them. Riding astride. Sit her horse like a man. Weightcarrying huntress. No sidesaddle or pillion for her, not for Joe. First to the meet and in at the death. Strong as a brood mare some ofthose horsey women. Swagger around livery stables. Toss off a glassof brandy neat while you'd say knife. That one at the Grosvenor thismorning. Up with her on the car: wishswish. Stonewall or fivebarred gateput her mount to it. Think that pugnosed driver did it out of spite. Whois this she was like? O yes! Mrs Miriam Dandrade that sold me her oldwraps and black underclothes in the Shelbourne hotel. Divorced SpanishAmerican. Didn't take a feather out of her my handling them. As if I washer clotheshorse. Saw her in the viceregal party when Stubbs the parkranger got me in with Whelan of the _Express. _ Scavenging what thequality left. High tea. Mayonnaise I poured on the plums thinking it wascustard. Her ears ought to have tingled for a few weeks after. Want tobe a bull for her. Born courtesan. No nursery work for her, thanks. 

Poor Mrs Purefoy! Methodist husband. Method in his madness. Saffron bunand milk and soda lunch in the educational dairy. Y. M. C. A. Eatingwith a stopwatch, thirtytwo chews to the minute. And still hismuttonchop whiskers grew. Supposed to be well connected. Theodore'scousin in Dublin Castle. One tony relative in every family. Hardyannuals he presents her with. Saw him out at the Three Jolly Topersmarching along bareheaded and his eldest boy carrying one in amarketnet. The squallers. Poor thing! Then having to give the breastyear after year all hours of the night. Selfish those t. T's are. Dog inthe manger. Only one lump of sugar in my tea, if you please. 

He stood at Fleet street crossing. Luncheon interval. A sixpenny atRowe's? Must look up that ad in the national library. An eightpenny inthe Burton. Better. On my way. 

He walked on past Bolton's Westmoreland house. Tea. Tea. Tea. I forgotto tap Tom Kernan. 

Sss. Dth, dth, dth! Three days imagine groaning on a bed with avinegared handkerchief round her forehead, her belly swollen out. Phew!Dreadful simply! Child's head too big: forceps. Doubled up inside hertrying to butt its way out blindly, groping for the way out. Kill methat would. Lucky Molly got over hers lightly. They ought to inventsomething to stop that. Life with hard labour. Twilight sleep idea:queen Victoria was given that. Nine she had. A good layer. Oldwoman that lived in a shoe she had so many children. Suppose he wasconsumptive. Time someone thought about it instead of gassing about thewhat was it the pensive bosom of the silver effulgence. Flapdoodle tofeed fools on. They could easily have big establishments whole thingquite painless out of all the taxes give every child born five quid atcompound interest up to twentyone five per cent is a hundred shillingsand five tiresome pounds multiply by twenty decimal system encouragepeople to put by money save hundred and ten and a bit twentyone yearswant 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 fornothing. 

Funny sight two of them together, their bellies out. Molly and MrsMoisel. Mothers' meeting. Phthisis retires for the time being, thenreturns. How flat they look all of a sudden after. Peaceful eyes. Weightoff 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, that'snyumnyum. Got her hand crushed by old Tom Wall's son. His first bow tothe public. Head like a prize pumpkin. Snuffy Dr Murren. People knockingthem up at all hours. For God' sake, doctor. Wife in her throes. Thenkeep them waiting months for their fee. To attendance on your wife. Nogratitude in people. Humane doctors, most of them. 

Before the huge high door of the Irish house of parliament a flock ofpigeons flew. Their little frolic after meals. Who will we do it on? Ipick the fellow in black. Here goes. Here's good luck. Must be thrillingfrom the air. Apjohn, myself and Owen Goldberg up in the trees nearGoose green playing the monkeys. Mackerel they called me. 

A squad of constables debouched from College street, marching in Indianfile. Goosestep. Foodheated faces, sweating helmets, patting theirtruncheons. After their feed with a good load of fat soup under theirbelts. Policeman's lot is oft a happy one. They split up in groups andscattered, saluting, towards their beats. Let out to graze. Best momentto 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 receivesoup. 

He crossed under Tommy Moore's roguish finger. They did right to put himup over a urinal: meeting of the waters. Ought to be places for women. Running into cakeshops. Settle my hat straight. _There is not in thiswide world a vallee_. Great song of Julia Morkan's. Kept her voice up tothe very last. Pupil of Michael Balfe's, wasn't she?

He gazed after the last broad tunic. Nasty customers to tackle. JackPower could a tale unfold: father a G man. If a fellow gave them troublebeing lagged they let him have it hot and heavy in the bridewell. Can't blame them after all with the job they have especially the younghornies. That horsepoliceman the day Joe Chamberlain was given hisdegree in Trinity he got a run for his money. My word he did! Hishorse's hoofs clattering after us down Abbey street. Lucky I had thepresence of mind to dive into Manning's or I was souped. He did come awallop, by George. Must have cracked his skull on the cobblestones. Ioughtn't to have got myself swept along with those medicals. And theTrinity jibs in their mortarboards. Looking for trouble. Still I got toknow that young Dixon who dressed that sting for me in the Mater and nowhe's in Holles street where Mrs Purefoy. Wheels within wheels. Policewhistle in my ears still. All skedaddled. Why he fixed on me. Give me incharge. Right here it began. 

--Up the Boers!

--Three cheers for De Wet!

--We'll hang Joe Chamberlain on a sourapple tree. 

Silly billies: mob of young cubs yelling their guts out. Vinegar hill. The Butter exchange band. Few years' time half of them magistrates andcivil servants. War comes on: into the army helterskelter: same fellowsused to. Whether on the scaffold high. 

Never know who you're talking to. Corny Kelleher he has Harvey Duff inhis eye. Like that Peter or Denis or James Carey that blew the gaff onthe invincibles. Member of the corporation too. Egging raw youths on toget in the know all the time drawing secret service pay from the castle. Drop him like a hot potato. Why those plainclothes men are alwayscourting slaveys. Easily twig a man used to uniform. Squarepushing upagainst a backdoor. Maul her a bit. Then the next thing on the menu. Andwho is the gentleman does be visiting there? Was the young master sayinganything? Peeping Tom through the keyhole. Decoy duck. Hotblooded youngstudent fooling round her fat arms ironing. 

--Are those yours, Mary?

--I don't wear such things. . . Stop or I'll tell the missus on you. Outhalf the night. 

--There are great times coming, Mary. Wait till you see. 

--Ah, gelong with your great times coming. 

Barmaids too. Tobaccoshopgirls. 

James Stephens' idea was the best. He knew them. Circles of ten so thata fellow couldn't round on more than his own ring. Sinn Fein. Back outyou get the knife. Hidden hand. Stay in. The firing squad. Turnkey'sdaughter got him out of Richmond, off from Lusk. Putting up in theBuckingham Palace hotel under their very noses. Garibaldi. 

You must have a certain fascination: Parnell. Arthur Griffith is asquareheaded fellow but he has no go in him for the mob. Or gas aboutour lovely land. Gammon and spinach. Dublin Bakery Company's tearoom. Debating societies. That republicanism is the best form of government. That the language question should take precedence of the economicquestion. Have your daughters inveigling them to your house. Stuff themup with meat and drink. Michaelmas goose. Here's a good lump of thymeseasoning under the apron for you. Have another quart of goosegreasebefore it gets too cold. Halffed enthusiasts. Penny roll and a walk withthe band. No grace for the carver. The thought that the other chap paysbest sauce in the world. Make themselves thoroughly at home. Show usover those apricots, meaning peaches. The not far distant day. Homerulesun rising up in the northwest. 

His smile faded as he walked, a heavy cloud hiding the sun slowly, shadowing Trinity's surly front. Trams passed 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 looniesmooching about. Dignam carted off. Mina Purefoy swollen belly on abed groaning to have a child tugged out of her. One born every secondsomewhere. Other dying every second. Since I fed the birds five minutes. Three hundred kicked the bucket. Other three hundred born, washing theblood off, all are washed in the blood of the lamb, bawling maaaaaa. 

Cityful passing away, other cityful coming, passing away too: othercoming on, passing on. Houses, lines of houses, streets, miles ofpavements, piledup bricks, stones. Changing hands. This owner, that. Landlord never dies they say. Other steps into his shoes when he getshis notice to quit. They buy the place up with gold and still they haveall the gold. Swindle in it somewhere. Piled up in cities, worn away ageafter age. Pyramids in sand. Built on bread and onions. Slaves Chinesewall. Babylon. Big stones left. Round towers. Rest rubble, sprawlingsuburbs, jerrybuilt. Kerwan's mushroom houses built of breeze. Shelter, for the night. 

No-one is anything. 

This is the very worst hour of the day. Vitality. Dull, gloomy: hatethis hour. Feel as if I had been eaten and spewed. 

Provost's house. The reverend Dr Salmon: tinned salmon. Well tinned inthere. Like a mortuary chapel. Wouldn't live in it if they paid me. Hopethey have liver and bacon today. Nature abhors a vacuum. 

The sun freed itself slowly and lit glints of light among the silverwareopposite in Walter Sexton's window by which John Howard Parnell passed, unseeing. 

There he is: the brother. Image of him. Haunting face. Now that's acoincidence. Course hundreds of times you think of a person and don'tmeet him. Like a man walking in his sleep. No-one knows him. Must be acorporation meeting today. They say he never put on the city marshal'suniform since he got the job. Charley Kavanagh used to come out onhis high horse, cocked hat, puffed, powdered and shaved. Look at thewoebegone walk of him. Eaten a bad egg. Poached eyes on ghost. I have apain. Great man's brother: his brother's brother. He'd look nice on thecity charger. Drop into the D. B. C. Probably for his coffee, play chessthere. His brother used men as pawns. Let them all go to pot. Afraid topass a remark on him. Freeze them up with that eye of his. That's thefascination: the name. All a bit touched. Mad Fanny and his other sisterMrs Dickinson driving about with scarlet harness. Bolt upright liksurgeon M'Ardle. Still David Sheehy beat him for south Meath. Applyfor the Chiltern Hundreds and retire into public life. The patriot'sbanquet. Eating orangepeels in the park. Simon Dedalus said when theyput him in parliament that Parnell would come back from the grave andlead him out of the house of commons by the arm. 

--Of the twoheaded octopus, one of whose heads is the head upon whichthe ends of the world have forgotten to come while the other speaks witha Scotch accent. The tentacles. . . 

They passed from behind Mr Bloom along the curbstone. Beard and bicycle. Young woman. 

And there he is too. Now that's really a coincidence: second time. Coming events cast their shadows before. With the approval of theeminent 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 worldwith a Scotch accent. Tentacles: octopus. Something occult: symbolism. Holding forth. She's taking it all in. Not saying a word. To aidgentleman in literary work. 

His eyes followed the high figure in homespun, beard and bicycle, a listening woman at his side. Coming from the vegetarian. Onlyweggebobbles and fruit. Don't eat a beefsteak. If you do the eyes ofthat cow will pursue you through all eternity. They say it's healthier. Windandwatery though. Tried it. Keep you on the run all day. Bad asa bloater. Dreams all night. Why do they call that thing they gave menutsteak? Nutarians. Fruitarians. To give you the idea you are eatingrumpsteak. Absurd. Salty too. They cook in soda. Keep you sitting by thetap all night. 

Her stockings are loose over her ankles. I detest that: so tasteless. Those literary etherial people they are all. Dreamy, cloudy, symbolistic. Esthetes they are. I wouldn't be surprised if it was thatkind of food you see produces the like waves of the brain the poetical. For example one of those policemen sweating Irish stew into their shirtsyou couldn't squeeze a line of poetry out of him. Don't know what poetryis even. Must be in a certain mood. 

 _The dreamy cloudy gull Waves o'er the waters dull. _

He crossed at Nassau street corner and stood before the window of Yeatesand Son, pricing the fieldglasses. Or will I drop into old Harris's andhave a chat with young Sinclair? Wellmannered fellow. Probably at hislunch. Must get those old glasses of mine set right. Goerz lenses sixguineas. Germans making their way everywhere. Sell on easy terms tocapture trade. Undercutting. Might chance on a pair in the railway lostproperty office. Astonishing the things people leave behind them intrains and cloakrooms. What do they be thinking about? Women too. Incredible. Last year travelling to Ennis had to pick up that farmer'sdaughter's ba and hand it to her at Limerick junction. Unclaimed moneytoo. There's a little watch up there on the roof of the bank to testthose glasses by. 

His lids came down on the lower rims of his irides. Can't see it. If youimagine it's there you can almost see it. Can't see it. 

He faced about and, standing between the awnings, held out his righthand at arm's length towards the sun. Wanted to try that often. Yes:completely. The tip of his little finger blotted out the sun's 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 wewere in Lombard street west. Looking up from the back garden. Terrificexplosions they are. There will be a total eclipse this year: autumnsome time. 

Now that I come to think of it that ball falls at Greenwich time. It'sthe clock is worked by an electric wire from Dunsink. Must go out theresome first Saturday of the month. If I could get an introduction toprofessor Joly or learn up something about his family. That would do to:man always feels complimented. Flattery where least expected. Noblemanproud to be descended from some king's mistress. His foremother. Lay iton with a trowel. Cap in hand goes through the land. Not go in and blurtout what you know you're not to: what's parallax? Show this gentlemanthe 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. Ibelieve there is. 

He went on by la maison Claire. 

Wait. The full moon was the night we were Sunday fortnight exactly thereis a new moon. Walking down by the Tolka. Not bad for a Fairview moon. She was humming. The young May moon she's beaming, love. He other sideof her. Elbow, arm. He. Glowworm's 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 heremiddle of the day of Bob Doran's bottle shoulders. On his annual bend, M Coy said. They drink in order to say or do something or _cherchez lafemme_. Up in the Coombe with chummies and streetwalkers and then therest of the year sober as a judge. 

Yes. Thought so. Sloping into the Empire. Gone. Plain soda would do himgood. Where Pat Kinsella had his Harp theatre before Whitbred ran theQueen's. Broth of a boy. Dion Boucicault business with his harvestmoonface in a poky bonnet. Three Purty Maids from School. How time flies, eh? Showing long red pantaloons under his skirts. Drinkers, drinking, laughed spluttering, their drink against their breath. More power, Pat. Coarse red: fun for drunkards: guffaw and smoke. Take off that whitehat. His parboiled eyes. Where is he now? Beggar somewhere. The harpthat once did starve us all. 

I was happier then. Or was that I? Or am I now I? Twentyeight I was. Shetwentythree. When we left Lombard street west something changed. Couldnever like it again after Rudy. Can't bring back time. Like holdingwater in your hand. Would you 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, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds lowringing in thebaking causeway. Thick feet that woman has in the white stockings. Hopethe rain mucks them up on her. Countrybred chawbacon. All the beef tothe heels were in. Always gives a woman clumsy feet. Molly looks out ofplumb. 

He passed, dallying, the windows of Brown Thomas, silk mercers. Cascadesof ribbons. Flimsy China silks. A tilted urn poured from its mouth aflood of bloodhued poplin: lustrous blood. The huguenots brought thathere. _La causa è santa_! Tara tara. Great chorus that. Taree tara. Mustbe washed in rainwater. Meyerbeer. Tara: bom bom bom. 

Pincushions. I'm a long time threatening to buy one. Sticking them allover the place. Needles in window curtains. 

He bared slightly his left forearm. Scrape: nearly gone. Not todayanyhow. Must go back for that lotion. For her birthday perhaps. Junejulyaugseptember eighth. Nearly three months off. Then she mightn'tlike it. Women won't pick up pins. Say it cuts lo. 

Gleaming silks, petticoats on slim brass rails, rays of flat silkstockings. 

Useless to go back. Had to be. Tell me all. 

High voices. Sunwarm silk. Jingling harnesses. All for a woman, home andhouses, silkwebs, silver, rich fruits spicy from Jaffa. Agendath Netaim. Wealth of the world. 

A warm human plumpness settled down on his brain. His brain yielded. Perfume of embraces all him assailed. With hungered flesh obscurely, hemutely craved to adore. 

Duke street. Here we are. Must eat. The Burton. Feel better then. 

He turned Combridge's 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. 

--Jack, love!

--Darling!

--Kiss me, Reggy!

--My boy!

--Love!

His heart astir he pushed in the door of the Burton restaurant. Stinkgripped his trembling breath: pungent meatjuice, slush of greens. Seethe animals feed. 

Men, men, men. 

Perched on high stools by the bar, hats shoved back, at the tablescalling for more bread no charge, swilling, wolfing gobfuls of sloppyfood, their eyes bulging, wiping wetted moustaches. A pallid suetfacedyoung man polished his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his napkin. Newset of microbes. A man with an infant's saucestained napkin tucked roundhim shovelled gurgling soup down his gullet. A man spitting back on hisplate: halfmasticated gristle: gums: no teeth to chewchewchew it. Chumpchop from the grill. Bolting to get it over. Sad booser's eyes. Bittenoff more than he can chew. Am I like that? See ourselves as others seeus. Hungry man is an angry man. Working tooth and jaw. Don't! O! A bone!That last pagan king of Ireland Cormac in the schoolpoem choked himselfat Sletty southward of the Boyne. Wonder what he was eating. Somethinggaloptious. Saint Patrick converted him to Christianity. Couldn'tswallow it all however. 

--Roast beef and cabbage. 

--One stew. 

Smells of men. His gorge rose. Spaton sawdust, sweetish warmishcigarette smoke, reek of plug, spilt beer, men's beery piss, the staleof ferment. 

Couldn't eat a morsel here. Fellow sharpening knife and fork to eat allbefore him, old chap picking his tootles. Slight spasm, full, chewingthe cud. Before and after. Grace after meals. Look on this picture thenon that. Scoffing up stewgravy with sopping sippets of bread. Lick itoff the plate, man! Get out of this. 

He gazed round the stooled and tabled eaters, tightening the wings ofhis nose. 

--Two stouts here. 

--One corned and cabbage. 

That fellow ramming a knifeful of cabbage down as if his life dependedon it. Good stroke. Give me the fidgets to look. Safer to eat from histhree hands. Tear it limb from limb. Second nature to him. Born with asilver knife in his mouth. That's witty, I think. Or no. Silver meansborn rich. Born with a knife. But then the allusion is lost. 

An illgirt server gathered sticky clattering plates. Rock, the headbailiff, standing at the bar blew the foamy crown from his tankard. Wellup: it splashed yellow near his boot. A diner, knife and fork upright, elbows on table, ready for a second helping stared towards the foodliftacross his stained square of newspaper. Other chap telling him somethingwith his mouth full. Sympathetic listener. Table talk. I munched hum unthu Unchster Bunk un Munchday. Ha? Did you, faith?

Mr Bloom raised two fingers doubtfully to his lips. His eyes said:

--Not here. Don't see him. 

Out. I hate dirty eaters. 

He backed towards the door. Get a light snack in Davy Byrne's. Stopgap. Keep me going. Had a good breakfast. 

--Roast and mashed here. 

--Pint 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. Eator be eaten. Kill! Kill!

Suppose that communal kitchen years to come perhaps. All trotting downwith porringers and tommycans to be filled. Devour contents in thestreet. John Howard Parnell example the provost of Trinity everymother's son don't talk of your provosts and provost of Trinity womenand children cabmen priests parsons fieldmarshals archbishops. FromAilesbury road, Clyde road, artisans' dwellings, north Dublin union, lord mayor in his gingerbread coach, old queen in a bathchair. Myplate's empty. After you with our incorporated drinkingcup. Like sirPhilip Crampton's fountain. Rub off the microbes with your handkerchief. Next chap rubs on a new batch with his. Father O'Flynn would makehares of them all. Have rows all the same. All for number one. Childrenfighting for the scrapings of the pot. Want a souppot as big as thePhoenix park. Harpooning flitches and hindquarters out of it. Hatepeople all round you. City Arms hotel _table d'hôte_ she called it. Soup, joint and sweet. Never know whose thoughts you're chewing. Thenwho'd wash up all the plates and forks? Might be all feeding on tabloidsthat time. Teeth getting worse and worse. 

After all there's a lot in that vegetarian fine flavour of things fromthe earth garlic of course it stinks after Italian organgrinders crispof onions mushrooms truffles. Pain to the animal too. Pluck and drawfowl. Wretched brutes there at the cattlemarket waiting for the poleaxeto split their skulls open. Moo. Poor trembling calves. Meh. Staggeringbob. Bubble and squeak. Butchers' buckets wobbly lights. Give us thatbrisket off the hook. Plup. Rawhead and bloody bones. Flayed glasseyedsheep hung from their haunches, sheepsnouts bloodypapered snivellingnosejam on sawdust. Top and lashers going out. Don't maul them pieces, young one. 

Hot fresh blood they prescribe for decline. Blood always needed. Insidious. Lick it up smokinghot, thick sugary. Famished ghosts. 

Ah, I'm hungry. 

He entered Davy Byrne's. Moral pub. He doesn't chat. Stands a drink nowand then. But in leapyear once in four. Cashed a cheque for me once. 

What will I take now? He drew his watch. Let me see now. Shandygaff?

--Hello, Bloom, Nosey Flynn said from his nook. 

--Hello, Flynn. 

--How's things?

--Tiptop. . . Let me see. I'll take a glass of burgundy and. . . Let mesee. 

Sardines on the shelves. Almost taste them by looking. Sandwich? Hamand his descendants musterred and bred there. Potted meats. What is homewithout Plumtree's potted meat? Incomplete. What a stupid ad! Under theobituary notices they stuck it. All up a plumtree. Dignam's potted meat. Cannibals would with lemon and rice. White missionary too salty. Likepickled pork. Expect the chief consumes the parts of honour. Ought to betough from exercise. His wives in a row to watch the effect. _There wasa right royal old nigger. Who ate or something the somethings of thereverend Mr MacTrigger_. With it an abode of bliss. Lord knows whatconcoction. Cauls mouldy tripes windpipes faked and minced up. Puzzlefind the meat. Kosher. No meat and milk together. Hygiene that was whatthey call now. Yom Kippur fast spring cleaning of inside. Peace andwar depend on some fellow's digestion. Religions. Christmas turkeys andgeese. Slaughter of innocents. Eat drink and be merry. Then casual wardsfull after. Heads bandaged. Cheese digests all but itself. Mity cheese. 

--Have you a cheese sandwich?

--Yes, sir. 

Like a few olives too if they had them. Italian I prefer. Good glass ofburgundy take away that. Lubricate. A nice salad, cool as a cucumber, Tom Kernan can dress. Puts gusto into it. Pure olive oil. Milly servedme that cutlet with a sprig of parsley. Take one Spanish onion. God madefood, the devil the cooks. Devilled crab. 

--Wife well?

--Quite well, thanks. . . A cheese sandwich, then. Gorgonzola, have you?

--Yes, sir. 

Nosey Flynn sipped his grog. 

--Doing any singing those times?

Look at his mouth. Could whistle in his own ear. Flap ears to match. Music. Knows as much about it as my coachman. Still better tell him. Does no harm. Free ad. 

--She's engaged for a big tour end of this month. You may have heardperhaps. 

--No. O, that's the style. Who's getting it up?

The curate served. 

--How much is that?

--Seven d. , sir. . . Thank you, sir. 

Mr Bloom cut his sandwich into slender strips. _Mr MacTrigger_. Easierthan the dreamy creamy stuff. _His five hundred wives. Had the time oftheir lives. _

--Mustard, sir?

--Thank you. 

He studded under each lifted strip yellow blobs. _Their lives_. I haveit. _It grew bigger and bigger and bigger_. 

--Getting it up? he said. Well, it's like a company idea, you see. Partshares and part profits. 

--Ay, now I remember, Nosey Flynn said, putting his hand in his pocketto scratch his groin. Who is this was telling me? Isn't Blazes Boylanmixed up in it?

A warm shock of air heat of mustard hanched on Mr Bloom's heart. Heraised his eyes and met the stare of a bilious clock. Two. Pub clockfive 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 strongly tospeed it, set his wineglass delicately down. 

--Yes, he said. He's the organiser in point of fact. 

No fear: no brains. 

Nosey Flynn snuffled and scratched. Flea having a good square meal. 

--He had a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me, over thatboxingmatch Myler Keogh won again that soldier in the Portobellobarracks. By God, he had the little kipper down in the county Carlow hewas telling me. . . 

Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down into his glass. No, snuffled it up. 

--For near a month, man, before it came off. Sucking duck eggs by Godtill further orders. Keep him off the boose, see? O, by God, Blazes is ahairy chap. 

Davy Byrne came forward from the hindbar in tuckstitched shirtsleeves, cleaning his lips with two wipes of his napkin. Herring's blush. Whosesmile upon each feature plays with such and such replete. Too much faton the parsnips. 

--And here's himself and pepper on him, Nosey Flynn said. Can you giveus a good one for the Gold cup?

--I'm off that, Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne answered. I never put anything on ahorse. 

--You're right there, Nosey Flynn said. 

Mr Bloom ate his strips of sandwich, fresh clean bread, with relish ofdisgust pungent mustard, the feety savour of green cheese. Sips of hiswine soothed his palate. Not logwood that. Tastes fuller this weatherwith the chill off. 

Nice quiet bar. Nice piece of wood in that counter. Nicely planed. Likethe way it curves there. 

--I wouldn't do anything at all in that line, Davy Byrne said. It ruinedmany a man, the same horses. 

Vintners' sweepstake. Licensed for the sale of beer, wine and spiritsfor consumption on the premises. Heads I win tails you lose. 

--True for you, Nosey Flynn said. Unless you're in the know. There'sno straight sport going now. Lenehan gets some good ones. He's givingSceptre today. Zinfandel's the favourite, lord Howard de Walden's, wonat Epsom. Morny Cannon is riding him. I could have got seven to oneagainst Saint Amant a fortnight before. 

--That so? Davy Byrne said. . . 

He went towards the window and, taking up the pettycash book, scannedits pages. 

--I could, faith, Nosey Flynn said, snuffling. That was a rare bit ofhorseflesh. Saint Frusquin was her sire. She won in a thunderstorm, Rothschild's filly, with wadding in her ears. Blue jacket and yellowcap. Bad luck to big Ben Dollard and his John O'Gaunt. He put me off it. Ay. 

He drank resignedly from his tumbler, running his fingers down theflutes. 

--Ay, 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 himforget. Go and lose more. Fool and his money. Dewdrop coming down again. Cold nose he'd have kissing a woman. Still they might like. Pricklybeards they like. Dogs' cold noses. Old Mrs Riordan with the rumblingstomach's Skye terrier in the City Arms hotel. Molly fondling him in herlap. O, the big doggybowwowsywowsy!

Wine soaked and softened rolled pith of bread mustard a moment mawkishcheese. Nice wine it is. Taste it better because I'm not thirsty. Bathof course does that. Just a bite or two. Then about six o'clock I can. Six. Six. Time will be gone then. She. . . 

Mild fire of wine kindled his veins. I wanted that badly. Felt sooff colour. His eyes unhungrily saw shelves of tins: sardines, gaudylobsters' claws. All the odd things people pick up for food. Out ofshells, periwinkles with a pin, off trees, snails out of the ground theFrench eat, out of the sea with bait on a hook. Silly fish learn nothingin a thousand years. If you didn't know risky putting anything into yourmouth. Poisonous berries. Johnny Magories. Roundness you think good. Gaudy colour warns you off. One fellow told another and so on. Try iton the dog first. Led on by the smell or the look. Tempting fruit. Ice cones. Cream. Instinct. Orangegroves for instance. Need artificialirrigation. Bleibtreustrasse. Yes but what about oysters. Unsightly likea clot of phlegm. Filthy shells. Devil to open them too. Who found themout? Garbage, sewage they feed on. Fizz and Red bank oysters. Effecton the sexual. Aphrodis. He was in the Red Bank this morning. Was heoysters old fish at table perhaps he young flesh in bed no June hasno ar no oysters. But there are people like things high. Tainted game. Jugged hare. First catch your hare. Chinese eating eggs fifty years old, blue and green again. Dinner of thirty courses. Each dish harmless mightmix inside. Idea for a poison mystery. That archduke Leopold was it noyes or was it Otto one of those Habsburgs? Or who was it used to eat thescruff 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 pastry I like myself. Half the catch of oysters they throw back inthe sea to keep up the price. Cheap no-one would buy. Caviare. Do thegrand. Hock in green glasses. Swell blowout. Lady this. Powdered bosompearls. The _élite. Crème de la crème_. They want special dishes topretend they're. Hermit with a platter of pulse keep down the stingsof the flesh. Know me come eat with me. Royal sturgeon high sheriff, Coffey, the butcher, right to venisons of the forest from his ex. Sendhim back the half of a cow. Spread I saw down in the Master of theRolls' kitchen area. Whitehatted _chef_ like a rabbi. Combustible duck. Curly cabbage _à la duchesse de Parme_. Just as well to write it on thebill of fare so you can know what you've eaten. Too many drugs spoil thebroth. I know it myself. Dosing it with Edwards' desiccated soup. Geesestuffed silly for them. Lobsters boiled alive. Do ptake some ptarmigan. Wouldn't 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 expectthat. A miss Dubedat lived in Killiney, I remember. _Du, de la_ French. Still it's the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon of Moore street rippedthe guts out of making money hand over fist finger in fishes' gillscan't write his name on a cheque think he was painting the landscapewith his mouth twisted. Moooikill A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a kish ofbrogues, worth fifty thousand pounds. 

Stuck on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck. 

Glowing wine on his palate lingered swallowed. Crushing in the winepressgrapes of Burgundy. Sun's heat it is. Seems to a secret touch telling mememory. Touched his sense moistened remembered. Hidden under wild fernson Howth below us bay sleeping: sky. No sound. The sky. The bay purpleby the Lion's 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 scrubmy hand under her nape, you'll toss me all. O wonder! Coolsoft withointments her hand touched me, caressed: her eyes upon me did not turnaway. 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 ateit: joy. Young life, her lips that gave me pouting. Soft warm stickygumjelly lips. Flowers her eyes were, take me, willing eyes. Pebblesfell. She lay still. A goat. No-one. High on Ben Howth rhododendrons anannygoat walking surefooted, dropping currants. Screened under fernsshe laughed warmfolded. Wildly I lay on her, kissed her: eyes, her lips, her stretched neck beating, woman's breasts full in her blouse of nun'sveiling, fat nipples upright. Hot I tongued her. She kissed me. I waskissed. 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 theworld admires. Can see them library museum standing in the round hall, naked goddesses. Aids to digestion. They don't care what man looks. Allto see. Never speaking. I mean to say to fellows like Flynn. Suppose shedid Pygmalion and Galatea what would she say first? Mortal! Put you inyour proper place. Quaffing nectar at mess with gods golden dishes, allambrosial. Not like a tanner lunch we have, boiled mutton, carrots andturnips, bottle of Allsop. Nectar imagine it drinking electricity: gods'food. Lovely forms of women sculped Junonian. Immortal lovely. And westuffing food in one hole and out behind: food, chyle, blood, dung, earth, food: have to feed it like stoking an engine. They have no. Neverlooked. I'll look today. Keeper won't see. Bend down let something dropsee if she. 

Dribbling a quiet message from his bladder came to go to do not todo there to do. A man and ready he drained his glass to the lees andwalked, to men too they gave themselves, manly conscious, lay with menlovers, a youth enjoyed her, to the yard. 

When the sound of his boots had ceased Davy Byrne said from his book:

--What is this he is? Isn't he in the insurance line?

--He's out of that long ago, Nosey Flynn said. He does canvassing forthe _Freeman. _

--I know him well to see, Davy Byrne said. Is he in trouble?

--Trouble? Nosey Flynn said. Not that I heard of. Why?

--I noticed he was in mourning. 

--Was he? Nosey Flynn said. So he was, faith. I asked him how was all athome. You're right, by God. So he was. 

--I never broach the subject, Davy Byrne said humanely, if I see agentleman is in trouble that way. It only brings it up fresh in theirminds. 

--It's not the wife anyhow, Nosey Flynn said. I met him the day beforeyesterday and he coming out of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan'swife has in Henry street with a jar of cream in his hand taking it hometo his better half. She's well nourished, I tell you. Plovers on toast. 

--And is he doing for the _Freeman?_ Davy Byrne said. 

Nosey Flynn pursed his lips. 

---He doesn't buy cream on the ads he picks up. You can make bacon ofthat. 

--How so? Davy Byrne asked, coming from his book. 

Nosey Flynn made swift passes in the air with juggling fingers. Hewinked. 

--He's in the craft, he said. 

---Do you tell me so? Davy Byrne said. 

--Very much so, Nosey Flynn said. Ancient free and accepted order. He'san excellent brother. Light, life and love, by God. They give him a legup. I was told that by a--well, I won't say who. 

--Is that a fact?

--O, it's a fine order, Nosey Flynn said. They stick to you when you'redown. I know a fellow was trying to get into it. But they're as close asdamn it. By God they did right to keep the women out of it. 

Davy Byrne smiledyawnednodded all in one:

--Iiiiiichaaaaaaach!

--There was one woman, Nosey Flynn said, hid herself in a clock to findout what they do be doing. But be damned but they smelt her out andswore her in on the spot a master mason. That was one of the saintLegers of Doneraile. 

Davy Byrne, sated after his yawn, said with tearwashed eyes:

--And is that a fact? Decent quiet man he is. I often saw him in hereand I never once saw him--you know, over the line. 

--God Almighty couldn't make him drunk, Nosey Flynn said firmly. Slipsoff when the fun gets too hot. Didn't you see him look at his watch? Ah, you weren't there. If you ask him to have a drink first thing he doeshe outs with the watch to see what he ought to imbibe. Declare to God hedoes. 

--There are some like that, Davy Byrne said. He's a safe man, I'd say. 

--He's not too bad, Nosey Flynn said, snuffling it up. He's been knownto put his hand down too to help a fellow. Give the devil his due. O, Bloom has his good points. But there's one thing he'll never do. 

His hand scrawled a dry pen signature beside his grog. 

--I know, Davy Byrne said. 

--Nothing 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. 

--Day, Mr Byrne. 

--Day, gentlemen. 

They paused at the counter. 

--Who's standing? Paddy Leonard asked. 

--I'm sitting anyhow, Nosey Flynn answered. 

--Well, what'll it be? Paddy Leonard asked. 

--I'll take a stone ginger, Bantam Lyons said. 

--How much? Paddy Leonard cried. Since when, for God' sake? What'syours, Tom?

--How is the main drainage? Nosey Flynn asked, sipping. 

For answer Tom Rochford pressed his hand to his breastbone andhiccupped. 

--Would I trouble you for a glass of fresh water, Mr Byrne? he said. 

--Certainly, sir. 

Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates. 

--Lord love a duck, he said. Look at what I'm standing drinks to! Coldwater 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. 

--Zinfandel is it? Nosey Flynn asked. 

Tom Rochford spilt powder from a twisted paper into the water set beforehim. 

--That cursed dyspepsia, he said before drinking. 

--Breadsoda is very good, Davy Byrne said. 

Tom Rochford nodded and drank. 

--Is it Zinfandel?

--Say nothing! Bantam Lyons winked. I'm going to plunge five bob on myown. 

--Tell us if you're worth your salt and be damned to you, Paddy Leonardsaid. Who gave it to you?

Mr Bloom on his way out raised three fingers in greeting. 

--So long! Nosey Flynn said. 

The others turned. 

--That's the man now that gave it to me, Bantam Lyons whispered. 

--Prrwht! Paddy Leonard said with scorn. Mr Byrne, sir, we'll take twoof your small Jamesons after that and a. . . 

--Stone ginger, Davy Byrne added civilly. 

--Ay, Paddy Leonard said. A suckingbottle for the baby. 

Mr Bloom walked towards Dawson street, his tongue brushing his teethsmooth. Something green it would have to be: spinach, say. Then withthose Rontgen rays searchlight you could. 

At Duke lane a ravenous terrier choked up a sick knuckly cud on thecobblestones and lapped it with new zest. Surfeit. Returned with thankshaving fully digested the contents. First sweet then savoury. Mr Bloomcoasted warily. Ruminants. His second course. Their upper jaw they move. Wonder if Tom Rochford will do anything with that invention of his?Wasting time explaining it to Flynn's mouth. Lean people long mouths. Ought to be a hall or a place where inventors could go in and inventfree. Course then you'd have all the cranks pestering. 

He hummed, prolonging in solemn echo the closes of the bars:

_Don Giovanni, a cenar teco M'invitasti. _

Feel better. Burgundy. Good pick me up. Who distilled first? Some chapin the blues. Dutch courage. That _Kilkenny People_ in the nationallibrary 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 thebody changing biliary duct spleen squirting liver gastric juice coils ofintestines like pipes. But the poor buffer would have to stand all thetime with his insides entrails on show. Science. 

--_A cenar teco. _

What does that _teco_ mean? Tonight perhaps. 

 _Don Giovanni, thou hast me invited To come to supper tonight, The rum the rumdum. _

Doesn't go properly. 

Keyes: two months if I get Nannetti to. That'll be two pounds ten abouttwo pounds eight. Three Hynes owes me. Two eleven. Prescott's dyeworksvan over there. If I get Billy Prescott's ad: two fifteen. Five guineasabout. On the pig's back. 

Could buy one of those silk petticoats for Molly, colour of her newgarters. 

Today. Today. Not think. 

Tour the south then. What about English wateringplaces? Brighton, Margate. Piers by moonlight. Her voice floating out. Those lovelyseaside girls. Against John Long's a drowsing loafer lounged in heavythought, gnawing a crusted knuckle. Handy man wants job. Small wages. Will eat anything. 

Mr Bloom turned at Gray's confectioner's window of unbought tarts andpassed the reverend Thomas Connellan's bookstore. _Why I left the churchof Rome? Birds' Nest. _ Women run him. They say they used to give pauperchildren soup to change to protestants in the time of the potato blight. Society over the way papa went to for the conversion of poor jews. Samebait. Why we left the church of Rome. 

A blind stripling stood tapping the curbstone with his slender cane. Notram in sight. Wants to cross. 

--Do you want to cross? Mr Bloom asked. 

The blind stripling did not answer. His wallface frowned weakly. Hemoved his head uncertainly. 

--You're in Dawson street, Mr Bloom said. Molesworth street is opposite. Do you want to cross? There's nothing in the way. 

The cane moved out trembling to the left. Mr Bloom's eye followed itsline and saw again the dyeworks' van drawn up before Drago's. Where Isaw his brillantined hair just when I was. Horse drooping. Driver inJohn Long's. Slaking his drouth. 

--There's a van there, Mr Bloom said, but it's not moving. I'll see youacross. Do you want to go to Molesworth street?

--Yes, the stripling answered. South Frederick street. 

--Come, Mr Bloom said. 

He touched the thin elbow gently: then took the limp seeing hand toguide it forward. 

Say something to him. Better not do the condescending. They mistrustwhat you tell them. Pass a common remark. 

--The rain kept off. 

No answer. 

Stains on his coat. Slobbers his food, I suppose. Tastes all differentfor him. Have to be spoonfed first. Like a child's hand, his hand. LikeMilly's was. Sensitive. Sizing me up I daresay from my hand. Wonderif he has a name. Van. Keep his cane clear of the horse's legs: tireddrudge get his doze. That's right. Clear. Behind a bull: in front of ahorse. 

--Thanks, sir. 

Knows I'm a man. Voice. 

--Right now? First turn to the left. 

The blind stripling tapped the curbstone and went on his way, drawinghis cane back, feeling again. 

Mr Bloom walked behind the eyeless feet, a flatcut suit of herringbonetweed. 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 senseof volume. Weight or size of it, something blacker than the dark. Wonderwould he feel it if something was removed. Feel a gap. Queer idea ofDublin he must have, tapping his way round by the stones. Could he walkin a beeline if he hadn't that cane? Bloodless pious face like a fellowgoing in to be a priest. 

Penrose! That was that chap's name. 

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 adeformed person or a hunchback clever if he says something we might say. Of course the other senses are more. Embroider. Plait baskets. Peopleought to help. Workbasket I could buy for Molly's birthday. Hatessewing. Might take an objection. Dark men they call them. 

Sense of smell must be stronger too. Smells on all sides, bunchedtogether. Each street different smell. Each person too. Then the spring, the summer: smells. Tastes? They say you can't taste wines with youreyes shut or a cold in the head. Also smoke in the dark they say get nopleasure. 

And with a woman, for instance. More shameless not seeing. That girlpassing the Stewart institution, head in the air. Look at me. I havethem all on. Must be strange not to see her. Kind of a form in hismind's eye. The voice, temperatures: when he touches her with hisfingers 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 ofwhite. 

Postoffice. Must answer. Fag today. Send her a postal order twoshillings, half a crown. Accept my little present. Stationer's just heretoo. Wait. Think over it. 

With a gentle finger he felt ever so slowly the hair combed back abovehis ears. Again. Fibres of fine fine straw. Then gently his finger feltthe skin of his right cheek. Downy hair there too. Not smooth enough. The belly is the smoothest. No-one about. There he goes into Frederickstreet. Perhaps to Levenston's dancing academy piano. Might be settlingmy braces. 

Walking by Doran's publichouse he slid his hand between his waistcoatand trousers and, pulling aside his shirt gently, felt a slack fold ofhis belly. But I know it's whitey yellow. Want to try in the dark tosee. 

He withdrew his hand and pulled his dress to. 

Poor fellow! Quite a boy. Terrible. Really terrible. What dreams wouldhe have, not seeing? Life a dream for him. Where is the justice beingborn that way? All those women and children excursion beanfeast burnedand drowned in New York. Holocaust. Karma they call that transmigrationfor sins you did in a past life the reincarnation met him pike hoses. Dear, dear, dear. Pity, of course: but somehow you can't cotton on tothem someway. 

Sir Frederick Falkiner going into the freemasons' hall. Solemn as Troy. After his good lunch in Earlsfort terrace. Old legal cronies crackinga magnum. Tales of the bench and assizes and annals of the bluecoatschool. I sentenced him to ten years. I suppose he'd turn up his noseat that stuff I drank. Vintage wine for them, the year marked on adusty bottle. Has his own ideas of justice in the recorder's court. Wellmeaning old man. Police chargesheets crammed with cases get theirpercentage manufacturing crime. Sends them to the rightabout. The devilon moneylenders. Gave Reuben J. A great strawcalling. Now he's reallywhat they call a dirty jew. Power those judges have. Crusty old topersin 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 Mercer's hospital. _TheMessiah_ was first given for that. Yes. Handel. What about going outthere: Ballsbridge. Drop in on Keyes. No use sticking to him like aleech. 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. 

His heart quopped softly. To the right. Museum. Goddesses. He swerved tothe right. 

Is it? Almost certain. Won't look. Wine in my face. Why did I? Tooheady. 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?

Didn't see me perhaps. Light in his eyes. 

The flutter of his breath came forth in short sighs. Quick. Coldstatues: quiet there. Safe in a minute. 

No. Didn't see me. After two. Just at the gate. 

My heart!

His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of stone. Sir ThomasDeane was the Greek architecture. 

Look for something I. 

His hasty hand went quick into a pocket, took out, read unfoldedAgendath 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?

Hurry. Walk quietly. Moment more. My heart. 

His hand looking for the where did I put found in his hip pocket soaplotion have to call tepid paper stuck. Ah soap there I yes. Gate. 

Safe!

Urbane, to comfort them, the quaker librarian purred:

--And we have, have we not, those priceless pages of _Wilhelm Meister_. A great poet on a great brother poet. A hesitating soul taking armsagainst a sea of troubles, torn by conflicting doubts, as one sees inreal life. 

He came a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a stepbackward a sinkapace on the solemn floor. 

A noiseless attendant setting open the door but slightly made him anoiseless beck. 

--Directly, said he, creaking to go, albeit lingering. The beautifulineffectual dreamer who comes to grief against hard facts. One alwaysfeels that Goethe's judgments are so true. True in the larger analysis. 

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. Bald, most zealous by the doorhe gave his large ear all to the attendant's words: heard them: and wasgone. 

Two left. 

--Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen sneered, was alive fifteen minutesbefore his death. 

--Have you found those six brave medicals, John Eglinton asked withelder's gall, to write _Paradise Lost_ at your dictation? _The Sorrowsof Satan_ he calls it. 

Smile. Smile Cranly's smile. 

 _First he tickled her Then he patted her Then he passed the female catheter. For he was a medical Jolly old medi. . . _

--I feel you would need one more for _Hamlet. _ Seven is dear to themystic mind. The shining seven W. B. Calls them. 

Glittereyed his rufous skull close to his greencapped desklamp soughtthe face bearded amid darkgreener shadow, an ollav, holyeyed. He laughedlow: a sizar's laugh of Trinity: unanswered. 

 _Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood Tears such as angels weep. Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta. _

He holds my follies hostage. 

Cranly's eleven true Wicklowmen to free their sireland. GaptoothedKathleen, her four beautiful green fields, the stranger in her house. And one more to hail him: _ave, rabbi_: the Tinahely twelve. In theshadow of the glen he cooees for them. My soul's youth I gave him, nightby night. God speed. Good hunting. 

Mulligan has my telegram. 

Folly. Persist. 

--Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton censured, have yet to create afigure which the world will set beside Saxon Shakespeare's Hamlet thoughI admire him, as old Ben did, on this side idolatry. 

--All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of hisshadow. I mean, whether Hamlet is Shakespeare or James I or Essex. Clergymen's discussions of the historicity of Jesus. Art has to revealto us ideas, formless spiritual essences. The supreme question about awork of art is out of how deep a life does it spring. The painting ofGustave Moreau is the painting of ideas. The deepest poetry of Shelley, the words of Hamlet bring our minds into contact with the eternalwisdom, Plato's world of ideas. All the rest is the speculation ofschoolboys for schoolboys. 

A. E. Has been telling some yankee interviewer. Wall, tarnation strikeme!

--The schoolmen were schoolboys first, Stephen said superpolitely. Aristotle was once Plato's schoolboy. 

--And has remained so, one should hope, John Eglinton sedately said. Onecan 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, theheavenly man. Hiesos Kristos, magician of the beautiful, the Logos whosuffers in us at every moment. This verily is that. I am the fire uponthe altar. I am the sacrificial butter. 

Dunlop, Judge, the noblest Roman of them all, A. E. , Arval, the NameIneffable, in heaven hight: K. H. , their master, whose identity is nosecret to adepts. Brothers of the great white lodge always watchingto see if they can help. The Christ with the bridesister, moisture oflight, born of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to theplane of buddhi. The life esoteric is not for ordinary person. O. P. Must work off bad karma first. Mrs Cooper Oakley once glimpsed our veryillustrious sister H. P. B. 's elemental. 

O, fie! Out on't! _Pfuiteufel!_ You naughtn't to look, missus, so younaughtn't when a lady's ashowing of her elemental. 

Mr Best entered, tall, young, mild, light. He bore in his hand withgrace a notebook, new, large, clean, bright. 

--That model schoolboy, Stephen said, would find Hamlet's musings aboutthe afterlife of his princely soul, the improbable, insignificant andundramatic monologue, as shallow as Plato's. 

John Eglinton, frowning, said, waxing wroth:

--Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear anyone compare Aristotlewith Plato. 

--Which of the two, Stephen asked, would have banished me from hiscommonwealth?

Unsheathe your dagger definitions. Horseness is the whatness ofallhorse. Streams of tendency and eons they worship. God: noise in thestreet: very peripatetic. Space: what you damn well have to see. Throughspaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl afterBlake's buttocks into eternity of which this vegetable world is but ashadow. Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges tothe past. 

Mr Best came forward, amiable, towards his colleague. 

--Haines is gone, he said. 

--Is he?

--I was showing him Jubainville's book. He's quite enthusiastic, don'tyou know, about Hyde's _Lovesongs of Connacht. _ I couldn't bring him into hear the discussion. He's gone to Gill's to buy it. 

 _Bound thee forth, my booklet, quick To greet the callous public. Writ, I ween, 'twas not my wish In lean unlovely English. _

--The peatsmoke is going to his head, John Eglinton opined. 

We feel in England. Penitent thief. Gone. I smoked his baccy. Greentwinkling stone. An emerald set in the ring of the sea. 

--People do not know how dangerous lovesongs can be, the auric egg ofRussell warned occultly. The movements which work revolutions in theworld are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasant's heart on thehillside. For them the earth is not an exploitable ground but theliving mother. The rarefied air of the academy and the arena produce thesixshilling novel, the musichall song. France produces the finest flowerof corruption in Mallarme but the desirable life is revealed only to thepoor of heart, the life of Homer's Phaeacians. 

From these words Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen. 

--Mallarme, don't you know, he said, has written those wonderful prosepoems Stephen MacKenna used to read to me in Paris. The one about_Hamlet. _ He says: _il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même_, don'tyou know, _reading the book of himself_. He describes _Hamlet_ given ina French town, don't 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 Eglinton's newgathered frown:

--_Pièce de Shakespeare_, don't you know. It's so French. The Frenchpoint of view. _Hamlet ou_. . . 

--The absentminded beggar, Stephen ended. 

John Eglinton laughed. 

--Yes, I suppose it would be, he said. Excellent people, no doubt, butdistressingly shortsighted in some matters. 

Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. 

--A deathsman of the soul Robert Greene called him, Stephen said. Notfor nothing was he a butcher's son, wielding the sledded poleaxe andspitting in his palms. Nine lives are taken off for his father's one. Our Father who art in purgatory. Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate toshoot. The bloodboltered shambles in act five is a forecast of theconcentration camp sung by Mr Swinburne. 

Cranly, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar. 

_Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we had spared. . . _

Between the Saxon smile and yankee yawp. The devil and the deep sea. 

--He will have it that _Hamlet_ is a ghoststory, John Eglinton saidfor Mr Best's behoof. Like the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to make ourflesh creep. 

_List! List! O List!_

My flesh hears him: creeping, hears. 

_If thou didst ever. . . _

--What is a ghost? Stephen said with tingling energy. One who has fadedinto impalpability through death, through absence, through change ofmanners. Elizabethan London lay as far from Stratford as corrupt Parislies from virgin Dublin. Who is the ghost from _limbo patrum_, returningto the world that has forgotten him? Who is King Hamlet?

John Eglinton shifted his spare body, leaning back to judge. 

Lifted. 

--It is this hour of a day in mid June, Stephen said, begging witha swift glance their hearing. The flag is up on the playhouse by thebankside. The bear Sackerson growls in the pit near it, Paris garden. Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among thegroundlings. 

Local colour. Work in all you know. Make them accomplices. 

--Shakespeare has left the huguenot's house in Silver street and walksby the swanmews along the riverbank. But he does not stay to feed thepen chivying her game of cygnets towards the rushes. The swan of Avonhas other thoughts. 

Composition of place. Ignatius Loyola, make haste to help me!

--The play begins. A player comes on under the shadow, made up in thecastoff mail of a court buck, a wellset man with a bass voice. It is theghost, the king, a king and no king, and the player is Shakespeare whohas studied _Hamlet_ all the years of his life which were not vanity inorder 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 father's 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 hasdied in Stratford that his namesake may live for ever. 

Is it possible that that player Shakespeare, a ghost by absence, and inthe vesture of buried Denmark, a ghost by death, speaking his own wordsto his own son's name (had Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would have beenprince Hamlet's twin), is it possible, I want to know, or probable thathe did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those premises: youare the dispossessed son: I am the murdered father: your mother is theguilty queen, Ann Shakespeare, born Hathaway?

--But this prying into the family life of a great man, Russell beganimpatiently. 

Art thou there, truepenny?

--Interesting only to the parish clerk. I mean, we have the plays. Imean when we read the poetry of _King Lear_ what is it to us how thepoet lived? As for living our servants can do that for us, Villiers del'Isle has said. Peeping and prying into greenroom gossip of the day, the poet's drinking, the poet's debts. We have _King Lear_: and it isimmortal. 

Mr Best's face, appealed to, agreed. 

_Flow over them with your waves and with your waters, Mananaan, MananaanMacLir. . . _

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 Johnson's bed, clergyman'sdaughter. 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. He's from beyant Boyne water. The northeast corner. You oweit. 

Wait. Five months. Molecules all change. I am other I now. Other I gotpound. 

Buzz. Buzz. 

But I, entelechy, form of forms, am I by memory because undereverchanging forms. 

I that sinned and prayed and fasted. 

A child Conmee saved from pandies. 

I, I and I. I. 

A. E. I. O. U. 

--Do you mean to fly in the face of the tradition of three centuries?John Eglinton's carping voice asked. Her ghost at least has been laidfor ever. She died, for literature at least, before she was born. 

--She died, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she was born. Shesaw him into and out of the world. She took his first embraces. She borehis children and she laid pennies on his eyes to keep his eyelids closedwhen he lay on his deathbed. 

Mother's deathbed. Candle. The sheeted mirror. Who brought me intothis world lies there, bronzelidded, under few cheap flowers. _Liliatarutilantium. _

I wept alone. 

John Eglinton looked in the tangled glowworm of his lamp. 

--The world believes that Shakespeare made a mistake, he said, and gotout of it as quickly and as best he could. 

--Bosh! Stephen said rudely. A man of genius makes no mistakes. Hiserrors are volitional and are the portals of discovery. 

Portals of discovery opened to let in the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous. 

--A shrew, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is not a useful portal ofdiscovery, one should imagine. What useful discovery did Socrates learnfrom Xanthippe?

--Dialectic, Stephen answered: and from his mother how to bring thoughtsinto the world. What he learnt from his other wife Myrto (_absitnomen!_), Socratididion's Epipsychidion, no man, not a woman, will everknow. But neither the midwife's lore nor the caudlelectures saved himfrom the archons of Sinn Fein and their naggin of hemlock. 

--But Ann Hathaway? Mr Best's quiet voice said forgetfully. Yes, we seemto be forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her. 

His look went from brooder's beard to carper's skull, to remind, tochide them not unkindly, then to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltlessthough maligned. 

--He 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. _ If the earthquake did not time it we shouldknow where to place poor Wat, sitting in his form, the cry of hounds, the studded bridle and her blue windows. That memory, _Venus andAdonis_, lay in the bedchamber of every light-of-love in London. Is Katharine the shrew illfavoured? Hortensio calls her young andbeautiful. Do you think the writer of _Antony and Cleopatra_, apassionate pilgrim, had his eyes in the back of his head that he chosethe ugliest doxy in all Warwickshire to lie withal? Good: he left herand 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? Hewas 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 andtwentysix. The greyeyed goddess who bends over the boy Adonis, stoopingto conquer, as prologue to the swelling act, is a boldfaced Stratfordwench who tumbles in a cornfield a lover younger than herself. 

And my turn? When?

Come!

--Ryefield, Mr Best said brightly, gladly, raising his new book, gladly, brightly. 

He murmured then with blond delight for all:

_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 itscooperative watch. 

--I am afraid I am due at the _Homestead. _

Whither away? Exploitable ground. 

--Are you going? John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked. Shall we see youat Moore's tonight? Piper is coming. 

--Piper! Mr Best piped. Is Piper back?

Peter Piper pecked a peck of pick of peck of pickled pepper. 

--I don't know if I can. Thursday. We have our meeting. If I can getaway in time. 

Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers. _Isis Unveiled. _ Their Pali book wetried to pawn. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones anAztec 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 ladiestend them i'the eyes, their pineal glands aglow. Filled with his god, he thrones, Buddh under plantain. Gulfer of souls, engulfer. Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls. Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they bewail. 

 _In quintessential triviality For years in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt. _

--They say we are to have a literary surprise, the quaker librariansaid, friendly and earnest. Mr Russell, rumour has it, is gatheringtogether a sheaf of our younger poets' verses. We are all lookingforward anxiously. 

Anxiously he glanced in the cone of lamplight where three faces, lighted, shone. 

See this. Remember. 

Stephen looked down on a wide headless caubeen, hung on hisashplanthandle over his knee. My casque and sword. Touch lightly withtwo index fingers. Aristotle's experiment. One or two? Necessity is thatin 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 likedColum's _Drover. _ Yes, I think he has that queer thing genius. Do youthink he has genius really? Yeats admired his line: _As in wild eartha Grecian vase_. Did he? I hope you'll be able to come tonight. MalachiMulligan is coming too. Moore asked him to bring Haines. Did you hearMiss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martyn? That Moore is Martyn'swild oats? Awfully clever, isn't it? They remind one of Don Quixote andSancho 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 inDublin. With a saffron kilt? O'Neill Russell? O, yes, he must speak thegrand old tongue. And his Dulcinea? James Stephens is doing some cleversketches. We are becoming important, it seems. 

Cordelia. _Cordoglio. _ Lir's loneliest daughter. 

Nookshotten. Now your best French polish. 

--Thank you very much, Mr Russell, Stephen said, rising. If you will beso kind as to give the letter to Mr Norman. . . 

--O, yes. If he considers it important it will go in. We have so muchcorrespondence. 

--I understand, Stephen said. Thanks. 

God ild you. The pigs' paper. Bullockbefriending. 

Synge has promised me an article for _Dana_ too. Are we going to beread? I feel we are. The Gaelic league wants something in Irish. I hopeyou will come round tonight. Bring Starkey. 

Stephen sat down. 

The quaker librarian came from the leavetakers. Blushing, his mask said:

--Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating. 

He creaked to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the altitude of achopine, and, covered by the noise of outgoing, said low:

--Is 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?

--Where there is a reconciliation, Stephen said, there must have beenfirst a sundering. 

--Yes. 

Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a runaway in blighted treeforks, from hue and cry. Knowing no vixen, walking lonely in the chase. Womenhe won to him, tender people, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives. Fox and geese. And in New Place a slackdishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, as fresh ascinnamon, now her leaves falling, all, bare, frighted of the narrowgrave and unforgiven. 

--Yes. So you think. . . 

The door closed behind the outgoer. 

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell, rest of warm andbrooding air. 

A vestal's lamp. 

Here he ponders things that were not: what Caesar would have lived to dohad he believed the soothsayer: what might have been: possibilities ofthe possible as possible: things not known: what name Achilles bore whenhe lived among women. 

Coffined thoughts around me, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words. Thoth, god of libraries, a birdgod, moonycrowned. And I heard thevoice of that Egyptian highpriest. _In painted chambers loaded withtilebooks. _

They are still. Once quick in the brains of men. Still: but an itch ofdeath is in them, to tell me in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to wreaktheir will. 

--Certainly, John Eglinton mused, of all great men he is the mostenigmatic. We know nothing but that he lived and suffered. Not even somuch. Others abide our question. A shadow hangs over all the rest. 

--But _Hamlet_ is so personal, isn't it? Mr Best pleaded. I mean, a kindof private paper, don't you know, of his private life. I mean, I don'tcare a button, don't you know, who is killed or who is guilty. . . 

He rested an innocent book on the edge of the desk, smiling hisdefiance. His private papers in the original. _Ta an bad ar an tir. Taimin mo shagart_. Put beurla on it, littlejohn. 

Quoth littlejohn Eglinton:

--I was prepared for paradoxes from what Malachi Mulligan told us butI may as well warn you that if you want to shake my belief thatShakespeare is Hamlet you have a stern task before you. 

Bear with me. 

Stephen withstood the bane of miscreant eyes glinting stern underwrinkled brows. A basilisk. _E quando vede l'uomo l'attosca_. MesserBrunetto, I thank thee for the word. 

--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 artistweave and unweave his image. And as the mole on my right breast is whereit was when I was born, though all my body has been woven of new stufftime after time, so through the ghost of the unquiet father the imageof 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 thatwhich I am and that which in possibility I may come to be. So in thefuture, the sister of the past, I may see myself as I sit here now butby reflection from that which then I shall be. 

Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at that stile. 

--Yes, Mr Best said youngly. I feel Hamlet quite young. The bitternessmight be from the father but the passages with Ophelia are surely fromthe son. 

Has the wrong sow by the lug. He is in my father. I am in his son. 

--That mole is the last to go, Stephen said, laughing. 

John Eglinton made a nothing pleasing mow. 

--If that were the birthmark of genius, he said, genius would be adrug in the market. The plays of Shakespeare's later years which Renanadmired so much breathe another spirit. 

--The spirit of reconciliation, the quaker librarian breathed. 

--There can be no reconciliation, Stephen said, if there has not been asundering. 

Said that. 

--If you want to know what are the events which cast their shadow overthe 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 aman, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like another Ulysses, Pericles, prince of Tyre?

Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded. 

--A child, a girl, placed in his arms, Marina. 

--The leaning of sophists towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a constantquantity, John Eglinton detected. The highroads are dreary but they leadto the town. 

Good Bacon: gone musty. Shakespeare Bacon's wild oats. Cypherjugglersgoing the highroads. Seekers on the great quest. What town, goodmasters? Mummed in names: A. E. , eon: Magee, John Eglinton. East of thesun, 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 bycandlelight?_

--Mr Brandes accepts it, Stephen said, as the first play of the closingperiod. 

--Does he? What does Mr Sidney Lee, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver hisname is, say of it?

--Marina, Stephen said, a child of storm, Miranda, a wonder, Perdita, that which was lost. What was lost is given back to him: his daughter'schild. _My dearest wife_, Pericles says, _was like this maid. _ Will anyman love the daughter if he has not loved the mother?

--The art of being a grandfather, Mr Best gan murmur. _l'art d'êtregrand_. . . 

--Will 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 allmen. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus. . . 

--His own image to a man with that queer thing genius is the standard ofall experience, material and moral. Such an appeal will touch him. Theimages of other males of his blood will repel him. He will see in themgrotesque attempts of nature to foretell or to repeat himself. 

The benign forehead of the quaker librarian enkindled rosily with hope. 

--I hope Mr Dedalus will work out his theory for the enlightenment ofthe public. And we ought to mention another Irish commentator, Mr GeorgeBernard Shaw. Nor should we forget Mr Frank Harris. His articles onShakespeare in the _Saturday Review_ were surely brilliant. Oddlyenough he too draws for us an unhappy relation with the dark lady of thesonnets. The favoured rival is William Herbert, earl of Pembroke. I ownthat if the poet must be rejected such a rejection would seem more inharmony with--what shall I say?--our notions of what ought not to havebeen. 

Felicitously he ceased and held a meek head among them, auk's egg, prizeof their fray. 

He thous and thees her with grave husbandwords. Dost love, Miriam? Dostlove thy man?

--That may be too, Stephen said. There's a saying of Goethe's which MrMagee likes to quote. Beware of what you wish for in youth becauseyou will get it in middle life. Why does he send to one who isa _buonaroba, _ a bay where all men ride, a maid of honour with ascandalous girlhood, a lordling to woo for him? He was himself a lordof language and had made himself a coistrel gentleman and he had written_Romeo and Juliet_. Why? Belief in himself has been untimely killed. Hewas overborne in a cornfield first (ryefield, I should say) and he willnever be a victor in his own eyes after nor play victoriously the gameof laugh and lie down. Assumed dongiovannism will not save him. No laterundoing will undo the first undoing. The tusk of the boar has woundedhim there where love lies ableeding. If the shrew is worsted yet thereremains to her woman's invisible weapon. There is, I feel in the words, some goad of the flesh driving him into a new passion, a darker shadowof the first, darkening even his own understanding of himself. A likefate awaits him and the two rages commingle in a whirlpool. 

They list. And in the porches of their ears I pour. 

--The soul has been before stricken mortally, a poison poured in theporch of a sleeping ear. But those who are done to death in sleep cannotknow the manner of their quell unless their Creator endow their soulswith that knowledge in the life to come. The poisoning and the beastwith two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not know of werehe 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 fromLucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, with itsmole cinquespotted. He goes back, weary of the creation he has piled upto hide him from himself, an old dog licking an old sore. But, becauseloss is his gain, he passes on towards eternity in undiminishedpersonality, untaught by the wisdom he has written or by the laws hehas revealed. His beaver is up. He is a ghost, a shadow now, the wind byElsinore's rocks or what you will, the sea's voice, a voice heardonly in the heart of him who is the substance of his shadow, the sonconsubstantial with the father. 

--Amen! was responded from the doorway. 

Hast thou found me, O mine enemy?

_Entr'acte_. 

A ribald face, sullen as a dean's, Buck Mulligan came forward, thenblithe in motley, towards the greeting of their smiles. My telegram. 

--You were speaking of the gaseous vertebrate, if I mistake not? heasked 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, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved oncrosstree, Who let Him bury, stood up, harrowed hell, fared into heavenand there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the right hand of HisOwn Self but yet shall come in the latter day to doom the quick and deadwhen all the quick shall be dead already. 

Glo--o--ri--a in ex--cel--sis De--o. 

He lifts his hands. Veils fall. O, flowers! Bells with bells with bellsaquiring. 

--Yes, indeed, the quaker librarian said. A most instructive discussion. Mr Mulligan, I'll be bound, has his theory too of the play and ofShakespeare. All sides of life should be represented. 

He smiled on all sides equally. 

Buck Mulligan thought, puzzled:

--Shakespeare? he said. I seem to know the name. 

A flying sunny smile rayed in his loose features. 

--To be sure, he said, remembering brightly. The chap that writes likeSynge. 

Mr Best turned to him. 

--Haines missed you, he said. Did you meet him? He'll see you after atthe D. B. C. He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's _Lovesongs of Connacht_. 

--I came through the museum, Buck Mulligan said. Was he here?

--The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton answered, are rather tiredperhaps of our brilliancies of theorising. I hear that an actress playedHamlet for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin. Viningheld that the prince was a woman. Has no-one made him out to be anIrishman? Judge Barton, I believe, is searching for some clues. Heswears (His Highness not His Lordship) by saint Patrick. 

--The most brilliant of all is that story of Wilde's, Mr Best said, lifting his brilliant notebook. That _Portrait of Mr W. H. _ where heproves that the sonnets were written by a Willie Hughes, a man all hues. 

--For Willie Hughes, is it not? the quaker librarian asked. 

Or Hughie Wills? Mr William Himself. W. H. : who am I?

--I mean, for Willie Hughes, Mr Best said, amending his gloss easily. Ofcourse it's all paradox, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the colour, but it's so typical the way he works it out. It's the veryessence of Wilde, don't you know. The light touch. 

His glance touched their faces lightly as he smiled, a blond ephebe. Tame essence of Wilde. 

You're darned witty. Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with DanDeasy's ducats. 

How much did I spend? O, a few shillings. 

For a plump of pressmen. Humour wet and dry. 

Wit. You would give your five wits for youth's proud livery he pranksin. Lineaments of gratified desire. 

There be many mo. Take her for me. In pairing time. Jove, a cool ruttimesend them. Yea, turtledove her. 

Eve. Naked wheatbellied sin. A snake coils her, fang in's kiss. 

--Do you think it is only a paradox? the quaker librarian was asking. The mocker is never taken seriously when he is most serious. 

They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness. 

Buck Mulligan's again heavy face eyed Stephen awhile. Then, his headwagging, he came near, drew a folded telegram from his pocket. Hismobile lips read, smiling with new delight. 

--Telegram! he said. Wonderful inspiration! Telegram! A papal bull!

He sat on a corner of the unlit desk, reading aloud joyfully:

--_The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring theimmense debtorship for a thing done. _ Signed: Dedalus. Where did youlaunch it from? The kips? No. College Green. Have you drunk the fourquid? The aunt is going to call on your unsubstantial father. Telegram!Malachi Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street. O, you peerless mummer!O, you priestified Kinchite!

Joyfully he thrust message and envelope into a pocket but keened in aquerulous brogue:

--It's what I'm telling you, mister honey, it's queer and sick we were, Haines and myself, the time himself brought it in. 'Twas murmur we didfor a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and he limp withleching. And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery'ssitting civil waiting for pints apiece. 

He wailed:

--And we to be there, mavrone, and you to be unbeknownst sending us yourconglomerations the way we to have our tongues out a yard long like thedrouthy clerics do be fainting for a pussful. 

Stephen laughed. 

Quickly, warningfully Buck Mulligan bent down. 

--The tramper Synge is looking for you, he said, to murder you. Heheard you pissed on his halldoor in Glasthule. He's out in pampooties tomurder you. 

--Me! Stephen exclaimed. That was your contribution to literature. 

Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, laughing to the dark eavesdroppingceiling. 

--Murder you! he laughed. 

Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our mess of hashof lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts. In words of words for words, palabras. Oisin with Patrick. Faunman he met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle. _C'est vendredi saint!_ Murthering Irish. Hisimage, wandering, he met. I mine. I met a fool i'the forest. 

--Mr Lyster, an attendant said from the door ajar. 

--. . . 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?

--There's a gentleman here, sir, the attendant said, coming forward andoffering a card. From the _Freeman. _ He wants to see the files of the_Kilkenny People_ for last year. 

--Certainly, certainly, certainly. Is the gentleman?. . . 

He took the eager card, glanced, not saw, laid down unglanced, looked, asked, creaked, asked:

--Is he?. . . O, there!

Brisk in a galliard he was off, out. In the daylit corridor he talkedwith voluble pains of zeal, in duty bound, most fair, most kind, mosthonest broadbrim. 

--This gentleman? _Freeman's Journal? Kilkenny People?_ To be sure. Goodday, sir. _Kilkenny_. . . We have certainly. . . 

A patient silhouette waited, listening. 

--All the leading provincial. . . _Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, _ 1903. . . Will you please?. . . Evans, conduct thisgentleman. . . 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 bowingdark figure following his hasty heels. 

The door closed. 

--The sheeny! Buck Mulligan cried. 

He jumped up and snatched the card. 

--What's his name? Ikey Moses? Bloom. 

He rattled on:

--Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is no more. I found him over in themuseum where I went to hail the foamborn Aphrodite. The Greek mouth thathas never been twisted in prayer. Every day we must do homage to her. _Life of life, thy lips enkindle. _

Suddenly he turned to Stephen:

--He knows you. He knows your old fellow. O, I fear me, he is Greekerthan the Greeks. His pale Galilean eyes were upon her mesial groove. Venus Kallipyge. O, the thunder of those loins! _The god pursuing themaiden hid_. 

--We want to hear more, John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's approval. We begin to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we had thought of her, ifat all, as a patient Griselda, a Penelope stayathome. 

--Antisthenes, pupil of Gorgias, Stephen said, took the palm of beautyfrom Kyrios Menelaus' brooddam, Argive Helen, the wooden mare of Troyin whom a score of heroes slept, and handed it to poor Penelope. Twentyyears he lived in London and, during part of that time, he drew a salaryequal to that of the lord chancellor of Ireland. His life was rich. Hisart, more than the art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, is theart of surfeit. Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack, honeysauces, sugarof roses, marchpane, gooseberried pigeons, ringocandies. Sir WalterRaleigh, when they arrested him, had half a million francs on hisback including a pair of fancy stays. The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor hadunderlinen enough to vie with her of Sheba. Twenty years he dalliedthere between conjugial love and its chaste delights and scortatory loveand its foul pleasures. You know Manningham's story of the burgher'swife who bade Dick Burbage to her bed after she had seen him in _RichardIII_ 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 capon's blankets: _William the conqueror came beforeRichard III_. And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry O, and his dainty birdsnies, lady Penelope Rich, a clean quality woman issuited 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?_

--The height of fine society. And sir William Davenant of oxford'smother with her cup of canary for any cockcanary. 

Buck Mulligan, his pious eyes upturned, prayed:

--Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock!

--And Harry of six wives' daughter. And other lady friends fromneighbour seats as Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet, sings. But all thosetwenty years what do you suppose poor Penelope in Stratford was doingbehind 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 ofJuno's eyes, violets. He 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 Eglinton's desk sharply. 

--Whom do you suspect? he challenged. 

--Say that he is the spurned lover in the sonnets. Once spurned twicespurned. But the court wanton spurned him for a lord, his dearmylove. 

Love that dare not speak its name. 

--As an Englishman, you mean, John sturdy Eglinton put in, he loved alord. 

Old wall where sudden lizards flash. At Charenton I watched them. 

--It seems so, Stephen said, when he wants to do for him, and for allother and singular uneared wombs, the holy office an ostler does for thestallion. Maybe, like Socrates, he had a midwife to mother as he had ashrew to wife. But she, the giglot wanton, did not break a bedvow. Twodeeds are rank in that ghost's mind: a broken vow and the dullbrainedyokel on whom her favour has declined, deceased husband's brother. SweetAnn, I take it, was hot in the blood. Once a wooer, twice a wooer. 

Stephen turned boldly in his chair. 

--The burden of proof is with you not with me, he said frowning. If youdeny that in the fifth scene of _Hamlet_ he has branded her with infamytell me why there is no mention of her during the thirtyfour yearsbetween the day she married him and the day she buried him. All thosewomen saw their men down and under: Mary, her goodman John, Ann, herpoor dear Willun, when he went and died on her, raging that he was thefirst to go, Joan, her four brothers, Judith, her husband and all hersons, Susan, her husband too, while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, to usegranddaddy's words, wed her second, having killed her first. 

O, yes, mention there is. In the years when he was living richly inroyal London to pay a debt she had to borrow forty shillings from herfather's shepherd. Explain you then. Explain the swansong too wherein hehas 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 widow's dower At common law. His legal knowledge was 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!

--Pretty countryfolk had few chattels then, John Eglinton observed, asthey have still if our peasant plays are true to type. 

--He was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said, with a coat of armsand landed estate at Stratford and a house in Ireland yard, a capitalistshareholder, a bill promoter, a tithefarmer. Why did he not leave herhis best bed if he wished her to snore away the rest of her nights inpeace?

--It is clear that there were two beds, a best and a secondbest, MrSecondbest Best said finely. 

--_Separatio a mensa et a thalamo_, bettered Buck Mulligan and wassmiled on. 

--Antiquity mentions famous beds, Second Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling. Let me think. 

--Antiquity mentions that Stagyrite schoolurchin and bald heathen sage, Stephen said, who when dying in exile frees and endows his slaves, paystribute to his elders, wills to be laid in earth near the bones of hisdead wife and bids his friends be kind to an old mistress (don't forgetNell Gwynn Herpyllis) and let her live in his villa. 

--Do you mean he died so? Mr Best asked with slight concern. I mean. . . 

--He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan capped. A quart of ale is a dish fora king. O, I must tell you what Dowden said!

--What? asked Besteglinton. 

William Shakespeare and company, limited. The people's William. Forterms apply: E. Dowden, Highfield house. . . 

--Lovely! Buck Mulligan suspired amorously. I asked him what he thoughtof the charge of pederasty brought against the bard. He lifted his handsand said: _All we can say is that life ran very high in those days. _Lovely!

Catamite. 

--The sense of beauty leads us astray, said beautifulinsadness Best tougling Eglinton. 

Steadfast John replied severe:

--The doctor can tell us what those words mean. You cannot eat your cakeand have it. 

Sayest thou so? Will they wrest from us, from me, the palm of beauty?

--And the sense of property, Stephen said. He drew Shylock out of hisown long pocket. The son of a maltjobber and moneylender he was himselfa cornjobber and moneylender, with ten tods of corn hoarded in thefamine riots. His borrowers are no doubt those divers of worshipmentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. He sued a fellowplayer for the price of a few bags of malt and exactedhis pound of flesh in interest for every money lent. How else couldAubrey's ostler and callboy get rich quick? All events brought grist tohis mill. Shylock chimes with the jewbaiting that followed the hangingand quartering of the queen's leech Lopez, his jew's heart being pluckedforth while the sheeny was yet alive: _Hamlet_ and _Macbeth_ withthe coming to the throne of a Scotch philosophaster with a turn forwitchroasting. The lost armada is his jeer in _Love's Labour Lost_. His pageants, the histories, sail fullbellied on a tide of Mafekingenthusiasm. Warwickshire jesuits are tried and we have a porter's theoryof equivocation. The _Sea Venture_ comes home from Bermudas and the playRenan admired is written with Patsy Caliban, our American cousin. The sugared sonnets follow Sidney's. As for fay Elizabeth, otherwisecarrotty Bess, the gross virgin who inspired _The Merry Wives ofWindsor_, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life long for deephidmeanings in the depths of the buckbasket. 

I think you're getting on very nicely. Just mix up a mixture oftheolologicophilolological. _Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. _

--Prove that he was a jew, John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly. Your deanof studies holds he was a holy Roman. 

_Sufflaminandus sum. _

--He was made in Germany, Stephen replied, as the champion Frenchpolisher of Italian scandals. 

--A myriadminded man, Mr Best reminded. Coleridge called himmyriadminded. 

_Amplius. In societate humana hoc est maxime necessarium ut sit amicitiainter multos. _

--Saint Thomas, Stephen began. . . 

--_Ora pro nobis_, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a chair. 

There he keened a wailing rune. 

--_Pogue mahone! Acushla machree!_ It's destroyed we are from this day!It's destroyed we are surely!

All smiled their smiles. 

--Saint Thomas, Stephen smiling said, whose gorbellied works I enjoyreading in the original, writing of incest from a standpoint differentfrom that of the new Viennese school Mr Magee spoke of, likens it in hiswise and curious way to an avarice of the emotions. He means that thelove so given to one near in blood is covetously withheld from somestranger who, it may be, hungers for it. Jews, whom christians tax withavarice, are of all races the most given to intermarriage. Accusationsare made in anger. The christian laws which built up the hoards of thejews (for whom, as for the lollards, storm was shelter) bound theiraffections too with hoops of steel. Whether these be sins or virtues oldNobodaddy will tell us at doomsday leet. But a man who holds so tightlyto what he calls his rights over what he calls his debts will holdtightly also to what he calls his rights over her whom he calls hiswife. No sir smile neighbour shall covet his ox or his wife or hismanservant or his maidservant or his jackass. 

--Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan antiphoned. 

--Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best said gently. 

--Which will? gagged sweetly Buck Mulligan. We are getting mixed. 

--The will to live, John Eglinton philosophised, for poor Ann, Will'swidow, is the will to die. 

_--Requiescat!_ Stephen prayed. 

 _What of all the will to do? It has vanished long ago. . . _

--She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that secondbest bed, themobled queen, even though you prove that a bed in those days was asrare as a motorcar is now and that its carvings were the wonder of sevenparishes. In old age she takes up with gospellers (one stayed with herat New Place and drank a quart of sack the town council paid for but inwhich bed he slept it skills not to ask) and heard she had a soul. Sheread or had read to her his chapbooks preferring them to the _MerryWives_ and, loosing her nightly waters on the jordan, she thoughtover _Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches_ and _The most SpiritualSnuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze_. Venus has twisted herlips in prayer. Agenbite of inwit: remorse of conscience. It is an ageof exhausted whoredom groping for its god. 

--History shows that to be true, _inquit Eglintonus Chronolologos_. Theages succeed one another. But we have it on high authority that a man'sworst enemies shall be those of his own house and family. I feel thatRussell is right. What do we care for his wife or father? I should saythat 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, suppingwith the godless, he sneaks the cup. A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade ithim. Visits him here on quarter days. Mr Magee, sir, there's a gentlemanto see you. Me? Says he's your father, sir. Give me my Wordsworth. EnterMagee Mor Matthew, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in strossers witha buttoned codpiece, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of tenforests, 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 Itouched his hand. The voice, new warmth, speaking. Dr Bob Kenny isattending her. The eyes that wish me well. But do not know me. 

--A father, Stephen said, battling against hopelessness, is a necessaryevil. He wrote the play in the months that followed his father's death. If you hold that he, a greying man with two marriageable daughters, withthirtyfive years of life, _nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita_, withfifty of experience, is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg thenyou must hold that his seventyyear old mother is the lustful queen. No. The corpse of John Shakespeare does not walk the night. From hour tohour it rots and rots. He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having devisedthat mystical estate upon his son. Boccaccio's Calandrino was the firstand last man who felt himself with child. Fatherhood, in the sense ofconscious begetting, is unknown to man. It is a mystical estate, anapostolic succession, from only begetter to only begotten. On thatmystery and not on the madonna which the cunning Italian intellectflung to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovablybecause founded, like the world, macro and microcosm, upon the void. Upon incertitude, upon unlikelihood. _Amor matris_, subjective andobjective genitive, may be the only true thing in life. Paternity may bea legal fiction. Who is the father of any son that any son should lovehim 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?

--They are sundered by a bodily shame so steadfast that the criminalannals of the world, stained with all other incests and bestialities, hardly record its breach. Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak their name, nephews withgrandmothers, jailbirds with keyholes, queens with prize bulls. The sonunborn mars beauty: born, he brings pain, divides affection, increasescare. He is a new male: his growth is his father's decline, his youthhis father's envy, his friend his father's enemy. 

In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought it. 

--What links them in nature? An instant of blind rut. 

Am I a father? If I were?

Shrunken uncertain hand. 

--Sabellius, the African, subtlest heresiarch of all the beasts of thefield, held that the Father was Himself His Own Son. The bulldog ofAquin, with whom no word shall be impossible, refutes him. Well: ifthe father who has not a son be not a father can the son who has not afather be a son? When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poetof the same name in the comedy of errors wrote _Hamlet_ he was not thefather of his own son merely but, being no more a son, he was and felthimself the father of all his race, the father of his own grandfather, the father of his unborn grandson who, by the same token, never wasborn, for nature, as Mr Magee understands her, abhors perfection. 

Eglintoneyes, quick with pleasure, looked up shybrightly. Gladlyglancing, a merry puritan, through the twisted eglantine. 

Flatter. Rarely. But flatter. 

--Himself his own father, Sonmulligan told himself. Wait. I am big withchild. I have an unborn child in my brain. Pallas Athena! A play! Theplay's the thing! Let me parturiate!

He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding hands. 

--As for his family, Stephen said, his mother's name lives in theforest of Arden. Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in_Coriolanus. _ His boyson's death is the deathscene of young Arthur in_King John. _ Hamlet, the black prince, is Hamnet Shakespeare. Who thegirls in _The Tempest_, in _Pericles, _ in _Winter's Tale_ are we know. Who Cleopatra, fleshpot of Egypt, and Cressid and Venus are we mayguess. But there is another member of his family who is recorded. 

--The plot thickens, John Eglinton said. 

The quaker librarian, quaking, tiptoed in, quake, his mask, quake, withhaste, 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 hisold age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gathererone time mass he did and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter upin Lunnon in a wrastling play wud a man on's back. The playhouse sausagefilled Gilbert's soul. He is nowhere: but an Edmund and a Richard arerecorded in the works of sweet William. 

MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names! What's in a name?

BEST: That is my name, Richard, don't you know. I hope you are going tosay a good word for Richard, don't 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 uncles'names. Nay, that last play was written or being written while hisbrother Edmund lay dying in Southwark. 

BEST: I hope Edmund is going to catch it. I don't 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 there, as a painter of oldItaly set his face in a dark corner of his canvas. He has revealed it inthe sonnets where there is Will in overplus. Like John o'Gaunt his nameis dear to him, as dear as the coat and crest he toadied for, on a bendsable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearerthan his glory of greatest shakescene in the country. What's in a name?That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name thatwe are told is ours. A star, a daystar, a firedrake, rose at his birth. It shone by day in the heavens alone, brighter than Venus in thenight, and by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the recumbentconstellation which is the signature of his initial among the stars. Hiseyes watched it, lowlying on the horizon, eastward of the bear, ashe walked by the slumberous summer fields at midnight returning fromShottery and from her arms. 

Both satisfied. I too. 

Don't 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. _ Where's yourconfiguration? Stephen, Stephen, cut the bread even. S. D: _sua donna. Già: di lui. Gelindo risolve di non amare_ S. D. 

--What is that, Mr Dedalus? the quaker librarian asked. Was it acelestial phenomenon?

--A star by night, Stephen said. A pillar of the cloud by day. 

What more's to speak?

Stephen looked on his hat, his stick, his boots. 

_Stephanos, _ my crown. My sword. His boots are spoiling the shape of myfeet. Buy a pair. Holes in my socks. Handkerchief too. 

--You make good use of the name, John Eglinton allowed. Your own name isstrange 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. Lapwingbe. 

Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his book to say:

--That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, we find also in the old Irish myths. Just what you say. The threebrothers Shakespeare. In Grimm too, don't you know, the fairytales. Thethird brother that always marries the sleeping beauty and wins the bestprize. 

Best of Best brothers. Good, better, best. 

The quaker librarian springhalted near. 

--I should like to know, he said, which brother you. . . I understand youto suggest there was misconduct with one of the brothers. . . But perhapsI am anticipating?

He caught himself in the act: looked at all: refrained. 

An attendant from the doorway called:

--Mr Lyster! Father Dineen wants. . . 

--O, Father Dineen! Directly. 

Swiftly rectly creaking rectly rectly he was rectly gone. 

John Eglinton touched the foil. 

--Come, he said. Let us hear what you have to say of Richard and Edmund. You kept them for the last, didn't you?

--In asking you to remember those two noble kinsmen nuncle Richie andnuncle Edmund, Stephen answered, I feel I am asking too much perhaps. Abrother is as easily forgotten as an umbrella. 

Lapwing. 

Where is your brother? Apothecaries' hall. My whetstone. Him, thenCranly, Mulligan: now these. Speech, speech. But act. Act speech. Theymock to try you. Act. Be acted on. 

Lapwing. 

I am tired of my voice, the voice of Esau. My kingdom for a drink. 

On. 

--You will say those names were already in the chronicles from which hetook the stuff of his plays. Why did he take them rather than others?Richard, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a widowed Ann(what's in a name?), woos and wins her, a whoreson merry widow. Richardthe conqueror, third brother, came after William the conquered. Theother four acts of that play hang limply from that first. Of all hiskings Richard is the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the angel of the world. Why is the underplot of _King Lear_ in whichEdmund figures lifted out of Sidney's _Arcadia_ and spatchcocked on to aCeltic legend older than history?

--That was Will's way, John Eglinton defended. We should not now combinea Norse saga with an excerpt from a novel by George Meredith. _Quevoulez-vous?_ Moore would say. He puts Bohemia on the seacoast and makesUlysses quote Aristotle. 

--Why? Stephen answered himself. Because the theme of the false orthe usurping or the adulterous brother or all three in one is toShakespeare, what the poor are not, always with him. The note ofbanishment, banishment from the heart, banishment from home, soundsuninterruptedly from _The Two Gentlemen of Verona_ onward till Prosperobreaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the earth and drowns hisbook. It doubles itself in the middle of his life, reflects itself inanother, repeats itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe. It repeats itself again when he is near the grave, when his marrieddaughter Susan, chip of the old block, is accused of adultery. But itwas the original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his willand left in him a strong inclination to evil. The words are those ofmy lords bishops of Maynooth. An original sin and, like original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too has sinned. It is between thelines of his last written words, it is petrified on his tombstone underwhich her four bones are not to be laid. Age has not withered it. Beautyand peace have not done it away. It is in infinite variety everywhere inthe world he has created, in _Much Ado about Nothing_, twice in _As youlike It_, in _The Tempest_, in _Hamlet, _ in _Measure for Measure_--andin all the other plays which I have not read. 

He laughed to free his mind from his mind's bondage. 

Judge Eglinton summed up. 

--The truth is midway, he affirmed. He is the ghost and the prince. Heis all in all. 

--He 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 actsand is acted on. Lover of an ideal or a perversion, like Jose hekills the real Carmen. His unremitting intellect is the hornmad Iagoceaselessly willing that the moor in him shall suffer. 

--Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuck Mulligan clucked lewdly. O word of fear!

Dark dome received, reverbed. 

--And what a character is Iago! undaunted John Eglinton exclaimed. Whenall is said Dumas _fils_ (or is it Dumas _père?)_ is right. After GodShakespeare has created most. 

--Man delights him not nor woman neither, Stephen said. He returns aftera life of absence to that spot of earth where he was born, where he hasalways been, man and boy, a silent witness and there, his journey oflife ended, he plants his mulberrytree in the earth. Then dies. Themotion is ended. Gravediggers bury Hamlet _(père?)_ and Hamlet _fils. _A king and a prince at last in death, with incidental music. And, whatthough murdered and betrayed, bewept by all frail tender hearts for, Dane or Dubliner, sorrow for the dead is the only husband from whomthey refuse to be divorced. If you like the epilogue look long on it:prosperous Prospero, the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump oflove, and nuncle Richie, the bad man taken off by poetic justice to theplace where the bad niggers go. Strong curtain. He found in the worldwithout as actual what was in his world within as possible. Maeterlincksays: _If Socrates leave his house today he will find the sage seatedon his doorstep. If Judas go forth tonight it is to Judas his stepswill tend. _ Every life is many days, day after day. We walk throughourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, but always meeting ourselves. The playwrightwho wrote the folio of this world and wrote it badly (He gave us lightfirst and the sun two days later), the lord of things as they are whomthe most Roman of catholics call _dio boia_, hangman god, is doubtlessall in all in all of us, ostler and butcher, and would be bawd andcuckold too but that in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, thereare no more marriages, glorified man, an androgynous angel, being a wifeunto himself. 

_--Eureka!_ Buck Mulligan cried. _Eureka!_

Suddenly happied he jumped up and reached in a stride John Eglinton'sdesk. 

--May 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. 

--Those who are married, Mr Best, douce herald, said, all save one, shall live. The rest shall keep as they are. 

He laughed, unmarried, at Eglinton Johannes, of arts a bachelor. 

Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they fingerponder nightly each hisvariorum edition of _The Taming of the Shrew. _

--You are a delusion, said roundly John Eglinton to Stephen. You havebrought us all this way to show us a French triangle. Do you believeyour own theory?

--No, Stephen said promptly. 

--Are you going to write it? Mr Best asked. You ought to make it adialogue, don't you know, like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote. 

John Eclecticon doubly smiled. 

--Well, in that case, he said, I don't see why you should expect paymentfor it since you don't believe it yourself. Dowden believes there issome mystery in _Hamlet_ but will say no more. Herr Bleibtreu, the manPiper met in Berlin, who is working up that Rutland theory, believesthat the secret is hidden in the Stratford monument. He is going tovisit the present duke, Piper says, and prove to him that his ancestorwrote the plays. It will come as a surprise to his grace. But hebelieves his theory. 

I believe, O Lord, help my unbelief. That is, help me to believe or helpme to unbelieve? Who helps to believe? _Egomen. _ Who to unbelieve? Otherchap. 

--You are the only contributor to _Dana_ who asks for pieces of silver. Then I don't know about the next number. Fred Ryan wants space for anarticle on economics. 

Fraidrine. Two pieces of silver he lent me. Tide you over. Economics. 

--For a guinea, Stephen said, you can publish this interview. 

Buck Mulligan stood up from his laughing scribbling, laughing: and thengravely said, honeying malice:

--I called upon the bard Kinch at his summer residence in upperMecklenburgh street and found him deep in the study of the _Summa contraGentiles_ in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly andRosalie, the coalquay whore. 

He broke away. 

--Come, Kinch. Come, wandering Aengus of the birds. 

Come, Kinch. You have eaten all we left. Ay. I will serve you your ortsand offals. 

Stephen rose. 

Life is many days. This will end. 

--We shall see you tonight, John Eglinton said. _Notre ami_ Moore saysMalachi Mulligan must be there. 

Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama. 

--Monsieur Moore, he said, lecturer on French letters to the youth ofIreland. I'll be there. Come, Kinch, the bards must drink. Can you walkstraight?

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. Hislub back: I followed. I gall his kibe. 

Stephen, greeting, then all amort, followed a lubber jester, a wellkempthead, newbarbered, out of the vaulted cell into a shattering daylight ofno thought. 

What have I learned? Of them? Of me?

Walk like Haines now. 

The constant readers' room. In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'ConnorFitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables. Item: was Hamletmad? The quaker's pate godlily with a priesteen in booktalk. 

--O please do, sir. . . I shall be most pleased. . . 

Amused Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, selfnodding:

--A pleased bottom. 

The turnstile. 

Is that?. . . Blueribboned hat. . . Idly writing. . . What? Looked?. . . 

The curving balustrade: smoothsliding Mincius. 

Puck Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling:

_John Eglinton, my jo, John, Why won't you wed a wife?_

He spluttered to the air:

--O, the chinless Chinaman! Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. We went over to theirplaybox, Haines and I, the plumbers' hall. Our players are creating anew art for Europe like the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck. Abbey Theatre! Ismell the pubic sweat of monks. 

He spat blank. 

Forgot: any more than he forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him. Andleft the _femme de trente ans. _ And why no other children born? And hisfirst child a girl?

Afterwit. Go back. 

The dour recluse still there (he has his cake) and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, Phedo's toyable fair hair. 

Eh. . . I just eh. . . Wanted. . . I forgot. . . He. . . 

--Longworth and M'Curdy 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. M'Curdy 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. 

--Mournful mummer, Buck Mulligan moaned. Synge has left off wearingblack to be like nature. Only crows, priests and English coal are black. 

A laugh tripped over his lips. 

--Longworth is awfully sick, he said, after what you wrote about thatold hake Gregory. O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit! She gets youa job on the paper and then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus. Couldn't you do the Yeats touch?

He went on and down, mopping, chanting with waving graceful arms:

--The most beautiful book that has come out of our country in my time. One thinks of Homer. 

He stopped at the stairfoot. 

--I have conceived a play for the mummers, he said solemnly. 

The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined. Gone the nine men's morricewith caps of indices. 

In sweetly varying voices Buck Mulligan read his tablet: _Everyman Hisown Wife or A Honeymoon in the Hand (a national immorality in threeorgasms) by Ballocky Mulligan. _

He turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen, saying:

--The disguise, I fear, is thin. But listen. 

He read, _marcato:_

--Characters:

 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:

--O, the night in the Camden hall when the daughters of Erin had tolift their skirts to step over you as you lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!

--The most innocent son of Erin, Stephen said, for whom they ever liftedthem. 

About to pass through the 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 mustcome to, ineluctably. 

My will: his will that fronts me. Seas between. 

A man passed out between them, bowing, greeting. 

--Good day again, Buck Mulligan said. 

The portico. 

Here I watched the birds for augury. Aengus of the birds. They go, theycome. Last night I flew. Easily flew. Men wondered. Street of harlotsafter. A creamfruit melon he held to me. In. You will see. 

--The wandering jew, Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe. Did yousee his eye? He looked upon you to lust after you. I fear thee, ancientmariner. 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. 

They followed. 

Offend me still. Speak on. 

Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street. No birds. Frailfrom the housetops two plumes of smoke ascended, pluming, and in a flawof 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 bless'd altars. _

The superior, the very reverend John Conmee S. J. Reset his smooth watchin his interior pocket as he came down the presbytery steps. Five tothree. Just nice time to walk to Artane. What was that boy's name again?Dignam. Yes. _Vere dignum et iustum est. _ Brother Swan was the personto see. Mr Cunningham's letter. Yes. Oblige him, if possible. Goodpractical catholic: useful at mission time. 

A onelegged sailor, swinging himself onward by lazy jerks of hiscrutches, growled some notes. He jerked short before the convent of thesisters of charity and held out a peaked cap for alms towards the veryreverend John Conmee S. J. Father Conmee blessed him in the sun for hispurse 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 cannonballs, ending their days in some pauper ward, and of cardinal Wolsey's words:_If I had served my God as I have served my king He would not haveabandoned me in my old days. _ He walked by the treeshade of sunnywinkingleaves: and towards him came the wife of Mr David Sheehy M. P. 

--Very well, indeed, father. And you, father?

Father Conmee was wonderfully well indeed. He would go to Buxtonprobably for the waters. And her boys, were they getting on well atBelvedere? Was that so? Father Conmee was very glad indeed to hear that. And Mr Sheehy himself? Still in London. The house was still sitting, tobe sure it was. Beautiful weather it was, delightful indeed. Yes, it wasvery probable that Father Bernard Vaughan would come again 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 remembered to Mr David Sheehy M. P. Yes, he would certainly call. 

--Good afternoon, Mrs Sheehy. 

Father Conmee doffed his silk hat and smiled, as he took leave, at thejet 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 FatherBernard Vaughan's droll eyes and cockney voice. 

--Pilate! Wy don't you old back that owlin mob?

A zealous man, however. Really he was. And really did great good in hisway. 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 Mountjoysquare. Yes: they were from Belvedere. The little house. Aha. And werethey good boys at school? O. That was very good now. And what was hisname? Jack Sohan. And his name? Ger. Gallaher. And the other little man?His name was Brunny Lynam. O, that was a very nice name to have. 

Father Conmee gave a letter from his breast to Master Brunny Lynam andpointed to the red pillarbox at the corner of Fitzgibbon street. 

--But mind you don't post yourself into the box, little man, he said. 

The boys sixeyed Father Conmee and laughed:

--O, sir. 

--Well, let me see if you can post a letter, Father Conmee said. 

Master Brunny Lynam ran across the road and put Father Conmee's letterto father provincial into the mouth of the bright red letterbox. FatherConmee smiled and nodded and smiled and walked along Mountjoy squareeast. 

Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing &c, in silk hat, slatefrockcoat with silk facings, white kerchief tie, tight lavendertrousers, canary gloves and pointed patent boots, walking with gravedeportment most respectfully took the curbstone as he passed ladyMaxwell at the corner of Dignam's court. 

Was that not Mrs M'Guinness?

Mrs M'Guinness, stately, silverhaired, bowed to Father Conmee from thefarther footpath along which she sailed. And Father Conmee smiled andsaluted. How did she do?

A fine carriage she had. Like Mary, queen of Scots, something. And tothink that she was a pawnbroker! Well, now! Such a. . . What should hesay?. . . Such a queenly mien. 

Father Conmee walked down Great Charles street and glanced at the shutupfree church 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 saya few words. But one should be charitable. Invincible ignorance. Theyacted according to their lights. 

Father Conmee turned the corner and walked along the North Circularroad. It was a wonder that there was not a tramline in such an importantthoroughfare. Surely, there ought to be. 

A band of satchelled schoolboys crossed from Richmond street. Allraised untidy caps. Father Conmee greeted them more than once benignly. Christian brother boys. 

Father Conmee smelt incense on his right hand as he walked. SaintJoseph's church, Portland row. For aged and virtuous females. Father Conmee raised his hat to the Blessed Sacrament. Virtuous: butoccasionally they were also badtempered. 

Near Aldborough house Father Conmee thought of that spendthriftnobleman. And now it was an office or something. 

Father Conmee began to walk along the North Strand road and was salutedby Mr William Gallagher who stood in the doorway of his shop. FatherConmee saluted Mr William Gallagher and perceived the odours that camefrom baconflitches and ample cools of butter. He passed Grogan's theTobacconist against which newsboards leaned and told of a dreadfulcatastrophe in New York. In America those things were continuallyhappening. Unfortunate people to die like that, unprepared. Still, anact of perfect contrition. 

Father Conmee went by Daniel Bergin's publichouse against the window ofwhich two unlabouring men lounged. They saluted him and were saluted. 

Father Conmee passed H. J. O'Neill's funeral establishment where CornyKelleher totted figures in the daybook while he chewed a blade of hay. A constable on his beat saluted Father Conmee and Father Conmee salutedthe constable. In Youkstetter's, the porkbutcher's, Father Conmeeobserved pig's puddings, white and black and red, lie neatly curled intubes. 

Moored under the trees of Charleville Mall Father Conmee saw aturfbarge, a towhorse with pendent head, a bargeman with a hat of dirtystraw seated amidships, smoking and staring at a branch of poplar abovehim. It was idyllic: and Father Conmee reflected on the providence ofthe Creator who had made turf to be in bogs whence men might dig itout and bring it to town and hamlet to make fires in the houses of poorpeople. 

On Newcomen bridge the very reverend John Conmee S. J. Of saint FrancisXavier's church, upper Gardiner street, stepped on to an outward boundtram. 

Off an inward bound tram stepped the reverend Nicholas Dudley C. C. Ofsaint Agatha's church, north William street, on to Newcomen bridge. 

At Newcomen bridge Father Conmee stepped into an outward bound tram forhe disliked to traverse on foot the dingy way past Mud Island. 

Father Conmee sat in a corner of the tramcar, a blue ticket tucked withcare in the eye of one plump kid glove, while four shillings, a sixpenceand five pennies chuted from his other plump glovepalm into his purse. Passing the ivy church he reflected that the ticket inspector usuallymade his visit when one had carelessly thrown away the ticket. Thesolemnity of the occupants of the car seemed to Father Conmee excessivefor a journey so short and cheap. Father Conmee liked cheerful decorum. 

It was a peaceful day. The gentleman with the glasses opposite FatherConmee had finished explaining and looked down. His wife, Father Conmeesupposed. A tiny yawn opened the mouth of the wife of the gentleman withthe 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 thatthe awkward man at the other side of her was sitting on the edge of theseat. 

Father Conmee at the altarrails placed the host with difficulty in themouth of the awkward old man who had the shaky head. 

At Annesley bridge the tram halted and, when it was about to go, an oldwoman rose suddenly from her place to alight. The conductor pulled thebellstrap to stay the car for her. She passed out with her basket anda marketnet: and Father Conmee saw the conductor help her and net andbasket down: and Father Conmee thought that, as she had nearly passedthe end of the penny fare, she was one of those good souls who hadalways to be told twice _bless you, my child, _ that they have beenabsolved, _pray for me. _ But they had so many worries in life, so manycares, poor creatures. 

From the hoardings Mr Eugene Stratton grimaced with thick niggerlips atFather Conmee. 

Father Conmee thought of the souls of black and brown and yellow men andof his sermon on saint Peter Claver S. J. And the African mission and ofthe propagation of the faith and of the millions of black and brown andyellow souls that had not received the baptism of water when their lasthour came like a thief in the night. That book by the Belgian jesuit, _Le Nombre des Élus, _ seemed to Father Conmee a reasonable plea. Thosewere millions of human souls created by God in His Own likeness towhom the faith had not (D. V. ) been brought. But they were God's souls, created by God. It seemed to Father Conmee a pity that they should allbe lost, a waste, if one might say. 

At the Howth road stop Father Conmee alighted, was saluted by theconductor and saluted in his turn. 

The Malahide road was quiet. It pleased Father Conmee, road and name. The joybells were ringing in gay Malahide. Lord Talbot de Malahide, immediate hereditary lord admiral of Malahide and the seas adjoining. Then came the call to arms and she was maid, wife and widow in one day. Those were old worldish days, loyal times in joyous townlands, old timesin the barony. 

Father Conmee, walking, thought of his little book _Old Times in theBarony_ and of the book that might be written about jesuit houses and ofMary Rochfort, daughter of lord Molesworth, first countess of Belvedere. 

A listless lady, no more young, walked alone the shore of lough Ennel, Mary, first countess of Belvedere, listlessly walking in the evening, not startled when an otter plunged. Who could know the truth? Not thejealous lord Belvedere and not her confessor if she had not committedadultery fully, _eiaculatio seminis inter vas naturale mulieris, _ withher husband's brother? She would half confess if she had not all sinnedas women did. Only God knew and she and he, her husband's brother. 

Father Conmee thought of that tyrannous incontinence, needed however forman's 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 andhonoured there. He bore in mind secrets confessed and he smiled atsmiling noble faces in a beeswaxed drawingroom, ceiled with full fruitclusters. And the hands of a bride and of a bridegroom, noble to noble, were impalmed by Don John Conmee. 

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 ofsmall white clouds going slowly down the wind. _Moutonner, _ the Frenchsaid. A just and homely word. 

Father Conmee, reading his office, watched a flock of muttoning cloudsover Rathcoffey. His thinsocked ankles were tickled by the stubble ofClongowes field. He walked there, reading in the evening, and heardthe cries of the boys' lines at their play, young cries in the quietevening. He was their rector: his reign was mild. 

Father Conmee drew off his gloves and took his rededged breviary out. Anivory 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 hecame to _Res_ in _Beati immaculati: Principium verborum tuorum veritas:in eternum omnia indicia iustitiae tuae. _

A flushed young man came from a gap of a hedge and after him came ayoung woman with wild nodding daisies in her hand. The young man raisedhis cap abruptly: the young woman abruptly bent and with slow caredetached from her light skirt a clinging twig. 

Father Conmee blessed both gravely and turned a thin page of hisbreviary. _Sin: Principes persecuti sunt me gratis: et a verbis tuisformidavit cor meum. _

* * * * *

Corny Kelleher closed his long daybook and glanced with his drooping eyeat a pine coffinlid sentried in a corner. He pulled himself erect, went to it and, spinning it on its axle, viewed its shape and brassfurnishings. Chewing his blade of hay he laid the coffinlid by and cameto the doorway. There he tilted his hatbrim to give shade to his eyesand 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 hatdowntilted, chewing his blade of hay. 

Constable 57C, on his beat, stood to pass the time of day. 

--That's a fine day, Mr Kelleher. 

--Ay, Corny Kelleher said. 

--It's very close, the constable said. 

Corny Kelleher sped a silent jet of hayjuice arching from his mouthwhile a generous white arm from a window in Eccles street flung forth acoin. 

--What's the best news? he asked. 

--I seen that particular party last evening, the constable said withbated breath. 

* * * * *

A onelegged sailor crutched himself round MacConnell's corner, skirtingRabaiotti's icecream car, and jerked himself up Eccles street. TowardsLarry O'Rourke, in shirtsleeves in his doorway, he growled unamiably:

--_For England_. . . 

He swung himself violently forward past Katey and Boody Dedalus, haltedand growled:

--_home and beauty. _

J. J. O'Molloy's white careworn face was told that Mr Lambert was in thewarehouse with a visitor. 

A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her purse and dropped itinto the cap held out to her. The sailor grumbled thanks, glanced sourlyat the unheeding windows, sank his head and swung himself forward fourstrides. 

He halted and growled angrily:

--_For 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 headtowards a window and bayed deeply:

--_home 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, wasseen, held forth from a white petticoatbodice and taut shiftstraps. Awoman's hand flung forth a coin over the area railings. It fell on thepath. 

One of the urchins ran to it, picked it up and dropped it into theminstrel's cap, saying:

--There, sir. 

* * * * *

Katey and Boody Dedalus shoved in the door of the closesteaming kitchen. 

--Did you put in the books? Boody asked. 

Maggy at the range rammed down a greyish mass beneath bubbling sudstwice with her potstick and wiped her brow. 

--They wouldn't give anything on them, she said. 

Father Conmee walked through Clongowes fields, his thinsocked anklestickled by stubble. 

--Where did you try? Boody asked. 

--M'Guinness's. 

Boody stamped her foot and threw her satchel on the table. 

--Bad cess to her big face! she cried. 

Katey went to the range and peered with squinting eyes. 

--What's in the pot? she asked. 

--Shirts, Maggy said. 

Boody cried angrily:

--Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

Katey, lifting the kettlelid in a pad of her stained skirt, asked:

--And what's in this?

A heavy fume gushed in answer. 

--Peasoup, Maggy said. 

--Where did you get it? Katey asked. 

--Sister Mary Patrick, Maggy said. 

The lacquey rang his bell. 

--Barang!

Boody sat down at the table and said hungrily:

--Give 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 hermouth random crumbs:

--A good job we have that much. Where's Dilly?

--Gone to meet father, Maggy said. 

Boody, breaking big chunks of bread into the yellow soup, added:

--Our father who art not in heaven. 

Maggy, pouring yellow soup in Katey's bowl, exclaimed:

--Boody! For shame!

A skiff, a crumpled throwaway, Elijah is coming, rode lightly down theLiffey, under Loopline bridge, shooting the rapids where water chafedaround the bridgepiers, sailing eastward past hulls and anchorchains, between the Customhouse old dock and George's quay. 

* * * * *

The blond girl in Thornton's bedded the wicker basket with rustlingfibre. Blazes Boylan handed her the bottle swathed in pink tissue paperand a small jar. 

--Put these in first, will you? he said. 

--Yes, sir, the blond girl said. And the fruit on top. 

--That'll do, game ball, Blazes Boylan said. 

She bestowed fat pears neatly, head by tail, and among them ripeshamefaced peaches. 

Blazes Boylan walked here and there in new tan shoes about thefruitsmelling shop, lifting fruits, young juicy crinkled and plump redtomatoes, sniffing smells. 

H. E. L. Y. 'S filed before him, tallwhitehatted, past Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal. 

He turned suddenly from a chip of strawberries, drew a gold watch fromhis fob and held it at its chain's length. 

--Can you send them by tram? Now?

A darkbacked figure under Merchants' arch scanned books on the hawker'scart. 

--Certainly, sir. Is it in the city?

--O, yes, Blazes Boylan said. Ten minutes. 

The blond girl handed him a docket and pencil. 

--Will you write the address, sir?

Blazes Boylan at the counter wrote and pushed the docket to her. 

--Send it at once, will you? he said. It's for an invalid. 

--Yes, sir. I will, sir. 

Blazes Boylan rattled merry money in his trousers' pocket. 

--What's the damage? he asked. 

The blond girl's slim fingers reckoned the fruits. 

Blazes Boylan looked into the cut of her blouse. A young pullet. He tooka red carnation from the tall stemglass. 

--This for me? he asked gallantly. 

The blond girl glanced sideways at him, got up regardless, with his tiea bit crooked, blushing. 

--Yes, 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 thered flower between his smiling teeth. 

--May I say a word to your telephone, missy? he asked roguishly. 

* * * * *

_--Ma!_ Almidano Artifoni said. 

He gazed over Stephen's shoulder at Goldsmith's knobby poll. 

Two carfuls of tourists passed slowly, their women sitting fore, gripping the handrests. Palefaces. Men's arms frankly round theirstunted forms. They looked from Trinity to the blind columned porch ofthe bank of Ireland where pigeons roocoocooed. 

--_Anch'io ho avuto di queste idee, ALMIDANO ARTIFONI SAID, quand' erogiovine come Lei. Eppoi mi sono convinto che il mondo è una bestia. É peccato. Perchè la sua voce. . . Sarebbe un cespite di rendita, via. Invece, Lei si sacrifica. _

--_Sacrifizio incruento, _ Stephen said smiling, swaying his ashplant inslow swingswong from its midpoint, lightly. 

_--Speriamo, _ the round mustachioed face said pleasantly. _Ma, dia rettaa me. Ci rifletta_. 

By the stern stone hand of Grattan, bidding halt, an Inchicore tramunloaded straggling Highland soldiers of a band. 

--_Ci rifletterò, _ Stephen said, glancing down the solid trouserleg. 

--_Ma, sul serio, eh?_ Almidano Artifoni said. 

His heavy hand took Stephen's firmly. Human eyes. They gazed curiouslyan instant and turned quickly towards a Dalkey tram. 

_--Eccolo, _ Almidano Artifoni said in friendly haste. _Venga a trovarmie ci pensi. Addio, caro. _

--_Arrivederla, maestro, _ Stephen said, raising his hat when his handwas freed. _E grazie. _

--_Di 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 smugglingimplements 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 of gaudy notepaper into hertypewriter. 

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:

--16 June 1904. 

Five tallwhitehatted sandwichmen between Monypeny's corner and the slabwhere Wolfe Tone's statue was not, eeled themselves turning H. E. L. Y. 'S and plodded back as they had come. 

Then she stared at the large poster of Marie Kendall, charmingsoubrette, and, listlessly lolling, scribbled on the jotter sixteens andcapital esses. Mustard hair and dauby cheeks. She's not nicelooking, is she? The way she's holding up her bit of a skirt. Wonder will thatfellow be at the band tonight. If I could get that dressmaker to make aconcertina skirt like Susy Nagle's. They kick out grand. Shannon andall the boatclub swells never took his eyes off her. Hope to goodness hewon't keep me here till seven. 

The telephone rang rudely by her ear. 

--Hello. Yes, sir. No, sir. Yes, sir. I'll ring them up after five. Onlythose two, sir, for Belfast and Liverpool. All right, sir. Then I can goafter six if you're not back. A quarter after. Yes, sir. Twentyseven andsix. I'll tell him. Yes: one, seven, six. 

She scribbled three figures on an envelope. 

--Mr Boylan! Hello! That gentleman from SPORT was in looking for you. MrLenehan, yes. He said he'll be in the Ormond at four. No, sir. Yes, sir. I'll ring them up after five. 

* * * * *

Two pink faces turned in the flare of the tiny torch. 

--Who's that? Ned Lambert asked. Is that Crotty?

--Ringabella and Crosshaven, a voice replied groping for foothold. 

--Hello, Jack, is that yourself? Ned Lambert said, raising in salute hispliant lath among the flickering arches. Come on. Mind your steps there. 

The vesta in the clergyman's uplifted hand consumed itself in a longsoft flame and was let fall. At their feet its red speck died: andmouldy air closed round them. 

--How interesting! a refined accent said in the gloom. 

--Yes, sir, Ned Lambert said heartily. We are standing in the historiccouncil chamber of saint Mary's abbey where silken Thomas proclaimedhimself a rebel in 1534. This is the most historic spot in all Dublin. O'Madden 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 andthe original jews' temple was here too before they built their synagogueover in Adelaide road. You were never here before, Jack, were you?

--No, Ned. 

--He rode down through Dame walk, the refined accent said, if my memoryserves me. The mansion of the Kildares was in Thomas court. 

--That's right, Ned Lambert said. That's quite right, sir. 

--If you will be so kind then, the clergyman said, the next time toallow me perhaps. . . 

--Certainly, Ned Lambert said. Bring the camera whenever you like. I'llget those bags cleared away from the windows. You can take it from hereor from here. 

In the still faint light he moved about, tapping with his lath the piledseedbags and points of vantage on the floor. 

From a long face a beard and gaze hung on a chessboard. 

--I'm deeply obliged, Mr Lambert, the clergyman said. I won't trespasson your valuable time. . . 

--You're welcome, sir, Ned Lambert said. Drop in whenever you like. Nextweek, say. Can you see?

--Yes, yes. Good afternoon, Mr Lambert. Very pleased to have met you. 

--Pleasure is mine, sir, Ned Lambert answered. 

He followed his guest to the outlet and then whirled his lath away amongthe pillars. With J. J. O'Molloy he came forth slowly into Mary's abbeywhere draymen were loading floats with sacks of carob and palmnut meal, O'Connor, Wexford. 

He stood to read the card in his hand. 

--The reverend Hugh C. Love, Rathcoffey. Present address: SaintMichael's, Sallins. Nice young chap he is. He's writing a book about theFitzgeralds he told me. He's well up in history, faith. 

The young woman with slow care detached from her light skirt a clingingtwig. 

--I thought you were at a new gunpowder plot, J. J. O'Molloy said. 

Ned Lambert cracked his fingers in the air. 

--God! he cried. I forgot to tell him that one about the earl of Kildareafter he set fire to Cashel cathedral. You know that one? _I'm bloodysorry I did it, _ says he, _but I declare to God I thought the archbishopwas inside. _ He mightn't like it, though. What? God, I'll tell himanyhow. That was the great earl, the Fitzgerald Mor. Hot members theywere all of them, the Geraldines. 

The horses he passed started nervously under their slack harness. Heslapped a piebald haunch quivering near him and cried:

--Woa, sonny!

He turned to J. J. O'Molloy and asked:

--Well, Jack. What is it? What's the trouble? Wait awhile. Hold hard. 

With gaping mouth and head far back he stood still and, after aninstant, sneezed loudly. 

--Chow! he said. Blast you!

--The dust from those sacks, J. J. O'Molloy said politely. 

--No, Ned Lambert gasped, I caught a. . . Cold night before. . . Blastyour soul. . . Night before last. . . And there was a hell of a lot ofdraught. . . 

He held his handkerchief ready for the coming. . . 

--I was. . . Glasnevin this morning. . . Poor little. . . What do you callhim. . . Chow!. . . Mother of Moses!

* * * * *

Tom Rochford took the top disk from the pile he clasped against hisclaret waistcoat. 

--See? he said. Say it's turn six. In here, see. Turn Now On. 

He slid it into the left slot for them. It shot down the groove, wobbleda while, ceased, ogling them: six. 

Lawyers of the past, haughty, pleading, beheld pass from theconsolidated taxing office to Nisi Prius court Richie Goulding carryingthe costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward and heard rustling from theadmiralty division of king's bench to the court of appeal an elderlyfemale with false teeth smiling incredulously and a black silk skirt ofgreat amplitude. 

--See? 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. 

--Smart idea, Nosey Flynn said, snuffling. So a fellow coming in latecan see what turn is on and what turns are over. 

--See? Tom Rochford said. 

He slid in a disk for himself: and watched it shoot, wobble, ogle, stop:four. Turn Now On. 

--I'll see him now in the Ormond, Lenehan said, and sound him. One goodturn deserves another. 

--Do, Tom Rochford said. Tell him I'm Boylan with impatience. 

--Goodnight, M'Coy said abruptly. When you two begin

Nosey Flynn stooped towards the lever, snuffling at it. 

--But how does it work here, Tommy? he asked. 

--Tooraloo, Lenehan said. See you later. 

He followed M'Coy out across the tiny square of Crampton court. 

--He's a hero, he said simply. 

--I know, M'Coy said. The drain, you mean. 

--Drain? Lenehan said. It was down a manhole. 

They passed Dan Lowry's musichall where Marie Kendall, charmingsoubrette, smiled on them from a poster a dauby smile. 

Going down the path of Sycamore street beside the Empire musichallLenehan showed M'Coy how the whole thing was. One of those manholes likea bloody gaspipe and there was the poor devil stuck down in it, halfchoked with sewer gas. Down went Tom Rochford anyhow, booky's vest andall, with the rope round him. And be damned but he got the rope roundthe poor devil and the two were hauled up. 

--The act of a hero, he said. 

At the Dolphin they halted to allow the ambulance car to gallop pastthem for Jervis street. 

--This way, he said, walking to the right. I want to pop into Lynam'sto see Sceptre's starting price. What's the time by your gold watch andchain?

M'Coy peered into Marcus Tertius Moses' sombre office, then at O'Neill'sclock. 

--After three, he said. Who's riding her?

--O. Madden, Lenehan said. And a game filly she is. 

While he waited in Temple bar M'Coy dodged a banana peel with gentlepushes of his toe from the path to the gutter. Fellow might damn easyget a nasty fall there coming along tight in the dark. 

The gates of the drive opened wide to give egress to the viceregalcavalcade. 

--Even money, Lenehan said returning. I knocked against Bantam Lyonsin there going to back a bloody horse someone gave him that hasn't anearthly. Through here. 

They went up the steps and under Merchants' arch. A darkbacked figurescanned books on the hawker's cart. 

--There he is, Lenehan said. 

--Wonder what he's buying, M'Coy said, glancing behind. 

--_Leopoldo or the Bloom is on the Rye, _ Lenehan said. 

--He's dead nuts on sales, M'Coy said. I was with him one day and hebought a book from an old one in Liffey street for two bob. There werefine plates in it worth double the money, the stars and the moon andcomets with long tails. Astronomy it was about. 

Lenehan laughed. 

--I'll tell you a damn good one about comets' tails, he said. Come overin the sun. 

They crossed to the metal bridge and went along Wellington quay by theriverwall. 

Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam came out of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, carrying a pound and a half of porksteaks. 

--There was a long spread out at Glencree reformatory, Lenehan saideagerly. The annual dinner, you know. Boiled shirt affair. The lordmayor was there, Val Dillon it was, and sir Charles Cameron and DanDawson spoke and there was music. Bartell d'Arcy sang and BenjaminDollard. . . 

--I know, M'Coy broke in. My missus sang there once. 

--Did she? Lenehan said. 

A card _Unfurnished Apartments_ reappeared on the windowsash of number 7Eccles street. 

He checked his tale a moment but broke out in a wheezy laugh. 

--But wait till I tell you, he said. Delahunt of Camden street had thecatering and yours truly was chief bottlewasher. Bloom and the wife werethere. Lashings of stuff we put up: port wine and sherry and curacao towhich we did ample justice. Fast and furious it was. After liquids camesolids. Cold joints galore and mince pies. . . 

--I know, M'Coy said. The year the missus was there. . . 

Lenehan linked his arm warmly. 

--But wait till I tell you, he said. We had a midnight lunch too afterall the jollification and when we sallied forth it was blue o'clock themorning after the night before. Coming home it was a gorgeous winter'snight on the Featherbed Mountain. Bloom and Chris Callinan were on oneside of the car and I was with the wife on the other. We started singingglees and duets: _Lo, the early beam of morning_. She was well primedwith a good load of Delahunt's port under her bellyband. Every jolt thebloody car gave I had her bumping up against me. Hell's delights! Shehas a fine pair, God bless her. Like that. 

He held his caved hands a cubit from him, frowning:

--I 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 indelight, his body shrinking, and blew a sweet chirp from his lips. 

--The lad stood to attention anyhow, he said with a sigh. She's a gameymare and no mistake. Bloom was pointing out all the stars and the cometsin the heavens to Chris Callinan and the jarvey: the great bear andHercules and the dragon, and the whole jingbang lot. But, by God, I waslost, so to speak, in the milky way. He knows them all, faith. At lastshe spotted 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 that's only what you might call a pinprick. _By God, he wasn't far wide of the mark. 

Lenehan stopped and leaned on the riverwall, panting with soft laughter. 

--I'm weak, he gasped. 

M'Coy's white face smiled about it at instants and grew grave. Lenehanwalked on again. He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindheadrapidly. He glanced sideways in the sunlight at M'Coy. 

--He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is, he said seriously. He's not oneof your common or garden. . . You know. . . There's a touch of the artistabout old Bloom. 

* * * * *

Mr Bloom turned over idly pages of _The Awful Disclosures of MariaMonk, _ then of Aristotle's _Masterpiece. _ Crooked botched print. Plates:infants cuddled in a ball in bloodred wombs like livers of slaughteredcows. Lots of them like that at this moment all over the world. Allbutting with their skulls to get out of it. Child born every minutesomewhere. Mrs Purefoy. 

He laid both books aside and glanced at the third: _Tales of the Ghetto_by Leopold von Sacher Masoch. 

--That I had, he said, pushing it by. 

The shopman let two volumes fall on the counter. 

--Them 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 books, hugged them against hisunbuttoned waistcoat and bore them off behind the dingy curtain. 

On O'Connell bridge many persons observed the grave deportment and gayapparel of Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing &c. 

Mr Bloom, alone, looked at the titles. _Fair Tyrants_ by JamesLovebirch. Know the kind that is. Had it? Yes. 

He opened it. Thought so. 

A woman's voice behind the dingy curtain. Listen: the man. 

No: she wouldn't 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. 

_--All the dollarbills her husband gave her were spent in the stores onwondrous gowns and costliest frillies. For him! For raoul!_

Yes. This. Here. Try. 

--_Her mouth glued on his in a luscious voluptuous kiss while his handsfelt for the opulent curves inside her deshabillé. _

Yes. Take this. The end. 

--_You are late, he spoke hoarsely, eying her with a suspicious glare. The beautiful woman threw off her sabletrimmed wrap, displaying herqueenly shoulders and heaving embonpoint. An imperceptible smile playedround 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 amplyamid rumpled clothes: whites of eyes swooning up. His nostrils archedthemselves for prey. Melting breast ointments (_for Him! For Raoul!_). Armpits' 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 ofchancery, king's bench, exchequer and common pleas, having heard inthe lord chancellor's court the case in lunacy of Potterton, in theadmiralty division the summons, exparte motion, of the owners of theLady Cairns versus the owners of the barque Mona, in the court of appealreservation of judgment in the case of Harvey versus the Ocean Accidentand Guarantee Corporation. 

Phlegmy coughs shook the air of the bookshop, bulging out the dingycurtains. The shopman's uncombed grey head came out and his unshavenreddened face, coughing. He raked his throat rudely, puked phlegm on thefloor. He put his boot on what he had spat, wiping his sole along it, and bent, showing a rawskinned crown, scantily haired. 

Mr Bloom beheld it. 

Mastering his troubled breath, he said:

--I'll take this one. 

The shopman lifted eyes bleared with old rheum. 

--_Sweets of Sin, _ he said, tapping on it. That's a good one. 

* * * * *

The lacquey by the door of Dillon's auctionrooms shook his handbelltwice again and viewed himself in the chalked mirror of the cabinet. 

Dilly Dedalus, loitering by the curbstone, heard the beats of thebell, the cries of the auctioneer within. Four and nine. Those lovelycurtains. Five shillings. Cosy curtains. Selling new at two guineas. Anyadvance on five shillings? Going for five shillings. 

The lacquey lifted his handbell and shook it:

--Barang!

Bang of the lastlap bell spurred the halfmile wheelmen to their sprint. J. A. Jackson, W. E. Wylie, A. Munro and H. T. Gahan, their stretchednecks wagging, negotiated the curve by the College library. 

Mr Dedalus, tugging a long moustache, came round from Williams's row. Hehalted near his daughter. 

--It's time for you, she said. 

--Stand up straight for the love of the lord Jesus, Mr Dedalus said. Are you trying to imitate your uncle John, the cornetplayer, head uponshoulder? Melancholy God!

Dilly shrugged her shoulders. Mr Dedalus placed his hands on them andheld them back. 

--Stand up straight, girl, he said. You'll get curvature of the spine. Do you know what you look like?

He let his head sink suddenly down and forward, hunching his shouldersand dropping his underjaw. 

--Give it up, father, Dilly said. All the people are looking at you. 

Mr Dedalus drew himself upright and tugged again at his moustache. 

--Did you get any money? Dilly asked. 

--Where would I get money? Mr Dedalus said. There is no-one in Dublinwould lend me fourpence. 

--You got some, Dilly said, looking in his eyes. 

--How do you know that? Mr Dedalus asked, his tongue in his cheek. 

Mr Kernan, pleased with the order he had booked, walked boldly alongJames's street. 

--I know you did, Dilly answered. Were you in the Scotch house now?

--I was not, then, Mr Dedalus said, smiling. Was it the little nunstaught you to be so saucy? Here. 

He handed her a shilling. 

--See if you can do anything with that, he said. 

--I suppose you got five, Dilly said. Give me more than that. 

--Wait awhile, Mr Dedalus said threateningly. You're like the rest ofthem, are you? An insolent pack of little bitches since your poor motherdied. But wait awhile. You'll all get a short shrift and a long day fromme. Low blackguardism! I'm going to get rid of you. Wouldn't care if Iwas stretched out stiff. He's dead. The man upstairs is dead. 

He left her and walked on. Dilly followed quickly and pulled his coat. 

--Well, what is it? he said, stopping. 

The lacquey rang his bell behind their backs. 

--Barang!

--Curse your bloody blatant soul, Mr Dedalus cried, turning on him. 

The lacquey, aware of comment, shook the lolling clapper of his bell butfeebly:

--Bang!

Mr Dedalus stared at him. 

--Watch him, he said. It's instructive. I wonder will he allow us totalk. 

--You got more than that, father, Dilly said. 

--I'm going to show you a little trick, Mr Dedalus said. I'll leaveyou all where Jesus left the jews. Look, there's all I have. I gottwo shillings from Jack Power and I spent twopence for a shave for thefuneral. 

He drew forth a handful of copper coins, nervously. 

--Can't you look for some money somewhere? Dilly said. 

Mr Dedalus thought and nodded. 

--I will, he said gravely. I looked all along the gutter in O'Connellstreet. I'll try this one now. 

--You're very funny, Dilly said, grinning. 

--Here, Mr Dedalus said, handing her two pennies. Get a glass of milkfor yourself and a bun or a something. I'll be home shortly. 

He put the other coins in his pocket and started to walk on. 

The viceregal cavalcade passed, greeted by obsequious policemen, out ofParkgate. 

--I'm sure you have another shilling, Dilly said. 

The lacquey banged loudly. 

Mr Dedalus amid the din walked off, murmuring to himself with a pursingmincing mouth gently:

--The little nuns! Nice little things! O, sure they wouldn't doanything! O, sure they wouldn't really! Is it little sister Monica!

* * * * *

From the sundial towards James's gate walked Mr Kernan, pleased with theorder he had booked for Pulbrook Robertson, boldly along James's street, past Shackleton's offices. Got round him all right. How do you do, MrCrimmins? First rate, sir. I was afraid you might be up in your otherestablishment in Pimlico. How are things going? Just keeping alive. Lovely weather we're having. Yes, indeed. Good for the country. Thosefarmers are always grumbling. I'll just take a thimbleful of your bestgin, Mr Crimmins. A small gin, sir. Yes, sir. Terrible affair thatGeneral Slocum explosion. Terrible, terrible! A thousand casualties. Andheartrending scenes. Men trampling down women and children. Most brutalthing. What do they say was the cause? Spontaneous combustion. Mostscandalous revelation. Not a single lifeboat would float and thefirehose all burst. What I can't understand is how the inspectors everallowed a boat like that. . . Now, you're talking straight, Mr Crimmins. You know why? Palm oil. Is that a fact? Without a doubt. Well now, lookat that. And America they say is the land of the free. I thought we werebad here. 

I smiled at him. _America, _ I said quietly, just like that. _What isit? The sweepings of every country including our own. Isn't that true?_That's a fact. 

Graft, my dear sir. Well, of course, where there's money going there'salways someone to pick it up. 

Saw him looking at my frockcoat. Dress does it. Nothing like a dressyappearance. Bowls them over. 

--Hello, Simon, Father Cowley said. How are things?

--Hello, Bob, old man, Mr Dedalus answered, stopping. 

Mr Kernan halted and preened himself before the sloping mirror of PeterKennedy, hairdresser. Stylish coat, beyond a doubt. Scott of Dawsonstreet. Well worth the half sovereign I gave Neary for it. Never builtunder three guineas. Fits me down to the ground. Some Kildare streetclub toff had it probably. John Mulligan, the manager of the Hibernianbank, gave me a very sharp eye yesterday on Carlisle bridge as if heremembered me. 

Aham! Must dress the character for those fellows. Knight of the road. Gentleman. And now, Mr Crimmins, may we have the honour of your customagain, sir. The cup that cheers but not inebriates, as the old sayinghas it. 

North wall and sir John Rogerson's quay, with hulls and anchorchains, sailing westward, sailed by a skiff, a crumpled throwaway, rocked on theferrywash, Elijah is coming. 

Mr Kernan glanced in farewell at his image. High colour, of course. Grizzled moustache. Returned Indian officer. Bravely he bore his stumpybody forward on spatted feet, squaring his shoulders. Is that NedLambert's brother over the way, Sam? What? Yes. He's as like it as damnit. No. The windscreen of that motorcar in the sun there. Just a flashlike that. Damn like him. 

Aham! Hot spirit of juniper juice warmed his vitals and his breath. Gooddrop of gin, that was. His frocktails winked in bright sunshine to hisfat strut. 

Down there Emmet was hanged, drawn and quartered. Greasy black rope. Dogs licking the blood off the street when the lord lieutenant's wifedrove by in her noddy. 

Bad times those were. Well, well. Over and done with. Great topers too. Fourbottle men. 

Let me see. Is he buried in saint Michan's? Or no, there was a midnightburial in Glasnevin. Corpse brought in through a secret door in thewall. Dignam is there now. Went out in a puff. Well, well. Better turndown here. Make a detour. 

Mr Kernan turned and walked down the slope of Watling street bythe corner of Guinness's visitors' waitingroom. Outside the DublinDistillers Company's stores an outside car without fare or jarvey stood, the reins knotted to the wheel. Damn dangerous thing. Some Tipperarybosthoon endangering the lives of the citizens. Runaway horse. 

Denis Breen with his tomes, weary of having waited an hour in JohnHenry Menton's office, led his wife over O'Connell bridge, bound for theoffice of Messrs Collis and Ward. 

Mr Kernan approached Island street. 

Times of the troubles. Must ask Ned Lambert to lend me thosereminiscences of sir Jonah Barrington. When you look back on it allnow in a kind of retrospective arrangement. Gaming at Daly's. Nocardsharping then. One of those fellows got his hand nailed to the tableby a dagger. Somewhere here lord Edward Fitzgerald escaped from majorSirr. Stables behind Moira house. 

Damn good gin that was. 

Fine dashing young nobleman. Good stock, of course. That ruffian, thatsham squire, with his violet gloves gave him away. Course they wereon the wrong side. They rose in dark and evil days. Fine poem thatis: Ingram. They were gentlemen. Ben Dollard does sing that balladtouchingly. 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 apity!

* * * * *

Stephen Dedalus watched through the webbed window the lapidary's fingersprove a timedulled chain. Dust webbed the window and the showtrays. Dustdarkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. Dust slepton 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, lightsshining in the darkness. Where fallen archangels flung the stars oftheir brows. Muddy swinesnouts, hands, root and root, gripe and wrestthem. 

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 seafedsilent rut. She dances, capers, wagging her sowish haunches and herhips, on her gross belly flapping a ruby egg. 

Old Russell with a smeared shammy rag burnished again his gem, turned itand held it at the point of his Moses' beard. Grandfather ape gloatingon a stolen hoard. 

And you who wrest old images from the burial earth? The brainsick wordsof sophists: Antisthenes. A lore of drugs. Orient and immortal wheatstanding from everlasting to everlasting. 

Two old women fresh from their whiff of the briny trudged throughIrishtown along London bridge road, one with a sanded tired umbrella, one with a midwife's bag in which eleven cockles rolled. 

The whirr of flapping leathern bands and hum of dynamos from thepowerhouse urged Stephen to be on. Beingless beings. Stop! Throb alwayswithout you and the throb always within. Your heart you sing of. Ibetween them. Where? Between two roaring worlds where they swirl, I. Shatter them, one and both. But stun myself too in the blow. Shatter meyou who can. Bawd and butcher were the words. I say! Not yet awhile. Alook around. 

Yes, quite true. Very large and wonderful and keeps famous time. You sayright, sir. A Monday morning, 'twas so, indeed. 

Stephen went down Bedford row, the handle of the ash clacking againsthis shoulderblade. In Clohissey's window a faded 1860 print of Heenanboxing Sayers held his eye. Staring backers with square hats stoodround the roped prizering. The heavyweights in tight loincloths proposedgently each to other his bulbous fists. And they are throbbing: heroes'hearts. 

He turned and halted by the slanted bookcart. 

--Twopence each, the huckster said. Four for sixpence. 

Tattered pages. _The Irish Beekeeper. Life and Miracles of the Curé ofArs. Pocket Guide to Killarney. _

I might find here one of my pawned schoolprizes. _Stephano Dedalo, alumno optimo, palmam ferenti. _

Father Conmee, having read his little hours, walked through the hamletof 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 forwhite wine vinegar. How to win a woman's love. For me this. Say thefollowing talisman three times with hands folded:

--_Se el yilo nebrakada femininum! Amor me solo! Sanktus! Amen. _

Who wrote this? Charms and invocations of the most blessed abbot PeterSalanka to all true believers divulged. As good as any other abbot'scharms, as mumbling Joachim's. Down, baldynoddle, or we'll wool yourwool. 

--What are you doing here, Stephen?

Dilly's high shoulders and shabby dress. 

Shut the book quick. Don't let see. 

--What are you doing? Stephen said. 

A Stuart face of nonesuch Charles, lank locks falling at its sides. Itglowed as she crouched feeding the fire with broken boots. I told herof Paris. Late lieabed under a quilt of old overcoats, fingering apinchbeck bracelet, Dan Kelly's token. _Nebrakada femininum. _

--What have you there? Stephen asked. 

--I bought it from the other cart for a penny, Dilly said, laughingnervously. 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. Chardenal's French primer. 

--What did you buy that for? he asked. To learn French?

She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips. 

Show no surprise. Quite natural. 

--Here, Stephen said. It's all right. Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on you. I suppose all my books are gone. 

--Some, Dilly said. We had to. 

She is drowning. Agenbite. Save her. Agenbite. All against us. She willdrown me with her, eyes and hair. Lank coils of seaweed hair around me, my heart, my soul. Salt green death. 

We. 

Agenbite of inwit. Inwit's agenbite. 

Misery! Misery!

* * * * *

--Hello, Simon, Father Cowley said. How are things?

--Hello, Bob, old man, Mr Dedalus answered, stopping. 

They clasped hands loudly outside Reddy and Daughter's. Father Cowleybrushed his moustache often downward with a scooping hand. 

--What's the best news? Mr Dedalus said. 

--Why then not much, Father Cowley said. I'm barricaded up, Simon, withtwo men prowling around the house trying to effect an entrance. 

--Jolly, Mr Dedalus said. Who is it?

--O, Father Cowley said. A certain gombeen man of our acquaintance. 

--With a broken back, is it? Mr Dedalus asked. 

--The same, Simon, Father Cowley answered. Reuben of that ilk. I'm justwaiting for Ben Dollard. He's going to say a word to long John to gethim 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 inhis neck. 

--I know, Mr Dedalus said, nodding. Poor old bockedy Ben! He's alwaysdoing a good turn for someone. Hold hard!

He put on his glasses and gazed towards the metal bridge an instant. 

--There he is, by God, he said, arse and pockets. 

Ben Dollard's loose blue cutaway and square hat above large slopscrossed the quay in full gait from the metal bridge. He came towardsthem at an amble, scratching actively behind his coattails. 

As he came near Mr Dedalus greeted:

--Hold that fellow with the bad trousers. 

--Hold him now, Ben Dollard said. 

Mr Dedalus eyed with cold wandering scorn various points of BenDollard's figure. Then, turning to Father Cowley with a nod, he mutteredsneeringly:

--That's a pretty garment, isn't it, for a summer's day?

--Why, God eternally curse your soul, Ben Dollard growled furiously, Ithrew out more clothes in my time than you ever saw. 

He stood beside them beaming, on them first and on his roomy clothesfrom points of which Mr Dedalus flicked fluff, saying:

--They were made for a man in his health, Ben, anyhow. 

--Bad luck to the jewman that made them, Ben Dollard said. Thanks be toGod he's not paid yet. 

--And how is that _basso profondo_, Benjamin? Father Cowley asked. 

Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, murmuring, glassyeyed, strode past the Kildare street club. 

Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanter's mouth, gave forth adeep note. 

--Aw! he said. 

--That's the style, Mr Dedalus said, nodding to its drone. 

--What about that? Ben Dollard said. Not too dusty? What?

He turned to both. 

--That'll do, Father Cowley said, nodding also. 

The reverend Hugh C. Love walked from the old chapterhouse of saintMary's abbey past James and Charles Kennedy's, rectifiers, attended byGeraldines tall and personable, towards the Tholsel beyond the ford ofhurdles. 

Ben Dollard with a heavy list towards the shopfronts led them forward, his joyful fingers in the air. 

--Come along with me to the subsheriff's office, he said. I want toshow you the new beauty Rock has for a bailiff. He's a cross betweenLobengula and Lynchehaun. He's well worth seeing, mind you. Come along. I saw John Henry Menton casually in the Bodega just now and it will costme a fall if I don't. . . Wait awhile. . . We're on the right lay, Bob, believe you me. 

--For a few days tell him, Father Cowley said anxiously. 

Ben Dollard halted and stared, his loud orifice open, a dangling buttonof his coat wagging brightbacked from its thread as he wiped away theheavy shraums that clogged his eyes to hear aright. 

--What few days? he boomed. Hasn't your landlord distrained for rent?

--He has, Father Cowley said. 

--Then our friend's writ is not worth the paper it's printed on, BenDollard said. The landlord has the prior claim. I gave him all theparticulars. 29 Windsor avenue. Love is the name?

--That's right, Father Cowley said. The reverend Mr Love. He's aminister in the country somewhere. But are you sure of that?

--You can tell Barabbas from me, Ben Dollard said, that he can put thatwrit where Jacko put the nuts. 

He led Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his bulk. 

--Filberts I believe they were, Mr Dedalus said, as he dropped hisglasses on his coatfront, following them. 

* * * * *

--The youngster will be all right, Martin Cunningham said, as theypassed out of the Castleyard gate. 

The policeman touched his forehead. 

--God bless you, Martin Cunningham said, cheerily. 

He signed to the waiting jarvey who chucked at the reins and set ontowards Lord Edward street. 

Bronze by gold, Miss Kennedy's head by Miss Douce's head, appeared abovethe crossblind of the Ormond hotel. 

--Yes, Martin Cunningham said, fingering his beard. I wrote to FatherConmee and laid the whole case before him. 

--You could try our friend, Mr Power suggested backward. 

--Boyd? Martin Cunningham said shortly. Touch me not. 

John Wyse Nolan, lagging behind, reading the list, came after themquickly down Cork hill. 

On the steps of the City hall Councillor Nannetti, descending, hailedAlderman Cowley and Councillor Abraham Lyon ascending. 

The castle car wheeled empty into upper Exchange street. 

--Look here, Martin, John Wyse Nolan said, overtaking them at the _Mail_office. I see Bloom put his name down for five shillings. 

--Quite right, Martin Cunningham said, taking the list. And put down thefive shillings too. 

--Without a second word either, Mr Power said. 

--Strange but true, Martin Cunningham added. 

John Wyse Nolan opened wide eyes. 

--I'll say there is much kindness in the jew, he quoted, elegantly. 

They went down Parliament street. 

--There's Jimmy Henry, Mr Power said, just heading for Kavanagh's. 

--Righto, Martin Cunningham said. Here goes. 

Outside _la Maison Claire_ Blazes Boylan waylaid Jack Mooney'sbrother-in-law, humpy, tight, making for the liberties. 

John Wyse Nolan fell back with Mr Power, while Martin Cunningham tookthe elbow of a dapper little man in a shower of hail suit, who walkeduncertainly, with hasty steps past Micky Anderson's watches. 

--The assistant town clerk's corns are giving him some trouble, JohnWyse Nolan told Mr Power. 

They followed round the corner towards James Kavanagh's winerooms. Theempty castle car fronted them at rest in Essex gate. Martin Cunningham, speaking always, showed often the list at which Jimmy Henry did notglance. 

--And long John Fanning is here too, John Wyse Nolan said, as large aslife. 

The tall form of long John Fanning filled the doorway where he stood. 

--Good day, Mr Subsheriff, Martin Cunningham said, as all halted andgreeted. 

Long John Fanning made no way for them. He removed his large Henry Claydecisively and his large fierce eyes scowled intelligently over alltheir faces. 

--Are the conscript fathers pursuing their peaceful deliberations? hesaid 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 wantedto know, to keep order in the council chamber. And old Barlow themacebearer laid up with asthma, no mace on the table, nothing in order, no quorum even, and Hutchinson, the lord mayor, in Llandudno and littleLorcan 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 theassistant town clerk and the subsheriff, while John Wyse Nolan held hispeace. 

--What Dignam was that? long John Fanning asked. 

Jimmy Henry made a grimace and lifted his left foot. 

--O, my corns! he said plaintively. Come upstairs for goodness' saketill I sit down somewhere. Uff! Ooo! Mind!

Testily he made room for himself beside long John Fanning's flank andpassed in and up the stairs. 

--Come on up, Martin Cunningham said to the subsheriff. I don't thinkyou knew him or perhaps you did, though. 

With John Wyse Nolan Mr Power followed them in. 

--Decent little soul he was, Mr Power said to the stalwart back of longJohn Fanning ascending towards long John Fanning in the mirror. 

--Rather lowsized. Dignam of Menton's office that was, Martin Cunninghamsaid. 

Long John Fanning could not remember him. 

Clatter of horsehoofs sounded from the air. 

--What's that? Martin Cunningham said. 

All turned where they stood. John Wyse Nolan came down again. From thecool shadow of the doorway he saw the horses pass Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering. Gaily they went pastbefore his cool unfriendly eyes, not quickly. In saddles of the leaders, leaping leaders, rode outriders. 

--What was it? Martin Cunningham asked, as they went on up thestaircase. 

--The lord lieutenantgeneral and general governor of Ireland, John WyseNolan answered from the stairfoot. 

* * * * *

As they trod across the thick carpet Buck Mulligan whispered behind hisPanama to Haines:

--Parnell's brother. There in the corner. 

They chose a small table near the window, opposite a longfaced man whosebeard and gaze hung intently down on a chessboard. 

--Is that he? Haines asked, twisting round in his seat. 

--Yes, Mulligan said. That's John Howard, his brother, our city marshal. 

John Howard Parnell translated a white bishop quietly and his grey clawwent up again to his forehead whereat it rested. An instant after, underits screen, his eyes looked quickly, ghostbright, at his foe and fellonce more upon a working corner. 

--I'll take a _mélange, _ Haines said to the waitress. 

--Two _mélanges, _ Buck Mulligan said. And bring us some scones andbutter and some cakes as well. 

When she had gone he said, laughing:

--We call it D. B. C. Because they have damn bad cakes. O, but you missedDedalus on _Hamlet. _

Haines opened his newbought book. 

--I'm sorry, he said. Shakespeare is the happy huntingground of allminds that have lost their balance. 

The onelegged sailor growled at the area of 14 Nelson street:

--_England expects_. . . 

Buck Mulligan's primrose waistcoat shook gaily to his laughter. 

--You should see him, he said, when his body loses its balance. Wandering Aengus I call him. 

--I am sure he has an _idée fixe, _ Haines said, pinching his chinthoughtfully with thumb and forefinger. Now I am speculating what itwould be likely to be. Such persons always have. 

Buck Mulligan bent across the table gravely. 

--They drove his wits astray, he said, by visions of hell. He will nevercapture the Attic note. The note of Swinburne, of all poets, the whitedeath and the ruddy birth. That is his tragedy. He can never be a poet. The joy of creation. . . 

--Eternal punishment, Haines said, nodding curtly. I see. I tackled himthis morning on belief. There was something on his mind, I saw. It's rather interesting because professor Pokorny of Vienna makes aninteresting point out of that. 

Buck Mulligan's watchful eyes saw the waitress come. He helped her tounload her tray. 

--He can find no trace of hell in ancient Irish myth, Haines said, amidthe cheerful cups. The moral idea seems lacking, the sense of destiny, of retribution. Rather strange he should have just that fixed idea. Doeshe 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 itssmoking pith. He bit off a soft piece hungrily. 

--Ten years, he said, chewing and laughing. He is going to writesomething in ten years. 

--Seems a long way off, Haines said, thoughtfully lifting his spoon. Still, I shouldn't wonder if he did after all. 

He tasted a spoonful from the creamy cone of his cup. 

--This is real Irish cream I take it, he said with forbearance. I don'twant to be imposed on. 

Elijah, skiff, light crumpled throwaway, sailed eastward by flanks ofships and trawlers, amid an archipelago of corks, beyond new Wappingstreet past Benson's ferry, and by the threemasted schooner _Rosevean_from Bridgwater with bricks. 

* * * * *

Almidano Artifoni walked past Holles street, past Sewell's yard. Behind him Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, withstickumbrelladustcoat dangling, shunned the lamp before Mr Law Smith'shouse and, crossing, walked along Merrion square. Distantly behind him ablind stripling tapped his way by the wall of College park. 

Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell walked as far asMr Lewis Werner's cheerful windows, then turned and strode back alongMerrion square, his stickumbrelladustcoat dangling. 

At the corner of Wilde's house he halted, frowned at Elijah's nameannounced on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at the distant pleasance ofduke's lawn. His eyeglass flashed frowning in the sun. With ratsteethbared he muttered:

--_Coactus volui. _

He strode on for Clare street, grinding his fierce word. 

As he strode past Mr Bloom's dental windows the sway of his dustcoatbrushed rudely from its angle a slender tapping cane and swept onwards, having buffeted a thewless body. The blind stripling turned his sicklyface after the striding form. 

--God's curse on you, he said sourly, whoever you are! You're blindernor I am, you bitch's bastard!

* * * * *

Opposite Ruggy O'Donohoe's Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam, pawing thepound and a half of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, porksteaks he had beensent for, went along warm Wicklow street dawdling. It was too bloomingdull sitting in the parlour with Mrs Stoer and Mrs Quigley and MrsMacDowell and the blind down and they all at their sniffles and sippingsups of the superior tawny sherry uncle Barney brought from Tunney's. And they eating crumbs of the cottage fruitcake, jawing the wholeblooming 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 theirpelts and putting up their props. From the sidemirrors two mourningMasters Dignam gaped silently. Myler Keogh, Dublin's pet lamb, willmeet sergeantmajor Bennett, the Portobello bruiser, for a purse of fiftysovereigns. Gob, that'd be a good pucking match to see. Myler Keogh, that's the chap sparring out to him with the green sash. Two barentrance, soldiers half price. I could easy do a bunk on ma. MasterDignam on his left turned as he turned. That's me in mourning. Whenis it? May the twentysecond. Sure, the blooming thing is all over. Heturned 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 theimage of Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, beside the two puckers. Oneof them mots that do be in the packets of fags Stoer smokes that his oldfellow welted hell out of him for one time he found out. 

Master Dignam got his collar down and dawdled on. The best pucker goingfor strength was Fitzsimons. One puck in the wind from that fellow wouldknock you into the middle of next week, man. But the best pucker forscience was Jem Corbet before Fitzsimons knocked the stuffings out ofhim, dodging and all. 

In Grafton street Master Dignam saw a red flower in a toff's mouth anda swell pair of kicks on him and he listening to what the drunk wastelling him and grinning all the time. 

No Sandymount tram. 

Master Dignam walked along Nassau street, shifted the porksteaks tohis other hand. His collar sprang up again and he tugged it down. Theblooming stud was too small for the buttonhole of the shirt, bloomingend to it. He met schoolboys with satchels. I'm not going tomorroweither, stay away till Monday. He met other schoolboys. Do they noticeI'm in mourning? Uncle Barney said he'd get it into the paper tonight. Then they'll all see it in the paper and read my name printed and pa'sname. 

His face got all grey instead of being red like it was and there was afly walking over it up to his eye. The scrunch that was when theywere screwing the screws into the coffin: and the bumps when they werebringing it downstairs. 

Pa was inside it and ma crying in the parlour and uncle Barney tellingthe men how to get it round the bend. A big coffin it was, and high andheavylooking. How was that? The last night pa was boosed he was standingon the landing there bawling out for his boots to go out to Tunney's forto boose more and he looked butty and short in his shirt. Never see himagain. Death, that is. Pa is dead. My father is dead. He told me to bea good son to ma. I couldn't hear the other things he said but I sawhis tongue and his teeth trying to say it better. Poor pa. That wasMr Dignam, my father. I hope he's in purgatory now because he went toconfession to Father Conroy on Saturday night. 

* * * * *

William Humble, earl of Dudley, and lady Dudley, accompanied bylieutenantcolonel Heseltine, drove out after luncheon from the viceregallodge. In the following carriage were the honourable Mrs Paget, Miss deCourcy and the honourable Gerald Ward A. D. C. In attendance. 

The cavalcade passed out by the lower gate of Phoenix park saluted byobsequious policemen and proceeded past Kingsbridge along the northernquays. The viceroy was most cordially greeted on his way through themetropolis. At Bloody bridge Mr Thomas Kernan beyond the river greetedhim vainly from afar Between Queen's and Whitworth bridges lord Dudley'sviceregal carriages passed and were unsaluted by Mr Dudley White, B. L. , M. A. , who stood on Arran quay outside Mrs M. E. White's, thepawnbroker's, at the corner of Arran street west stroking his nose withhis forefinger, undecided whether he should arrive at Phibsboroughmore quickly by a triple change of tram or by hailing a car or on footthrough Smithfield, Constitution hill and Broadstone terminus. In theporch of Four Courts Richie Goulding with the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward saw him with surprise. Past Richmond bridge at thedoorstep of the office of Reuben J Dodd, solicitor, agent for thePatriotic Insurance Company, an elderly female about to enter changedher plan and retracing her steps by King's windows smiled credulouslyon the representative of His Majesty. From its sluice in Wood quay wallunder Tom Devan's office Poddle river hung out in fealty a tongue ofliquid sewage. Above the crossblind of the Ormond hotel, gold by bronze, Miss Kennedy's head by Miss Douce's head watched and admired. On Ormondquay Mr Simon Dedalus, steering his way from the greenhouse for thesubsheriff's office, stood still in midstreet and brought his hat low. His Excellency graciously returned Mr Dedalus' greeting. From Cahill'scorner the reverend Hugh C. Love, M. A. , made obeisance unperceived, mindful of lords deputies whose hands benignant had held of yore richadvowsons. On Grattan bridge Lenehan and M'Coy, taking leave of eachother, watched the carriages go by. Passing by Roger Greene's office andDollard's big red printinghouse Gerty MacDowell, carrying the Catesby'scork lino letters for her father who was laid up, knew by the styleit was the lord and lady lieutenant but she couldn't see what HerExcellency had on because the tram and Spring's big yellow furniture vanhad to stop in front of her on account of its being the lord lieutenant. Beyond Lundy Foot's from the shaded door of Kavanagh's wineroomsJohn Wyse Nolan smiled with unseen coldness towards the lordlieutenantgeneral and general governor of Ireland. The Right HonourableWilliam Humble, earl of Dudley, G. C. V. O. , passed Micky Anderson's alltimes ticking watches and Henry and James's wax smartsuited freshcheekedmodels, the gentleman Henry, _dernier cri_ James. Over against Dame gateTom Rochford and Nosey Flynn watched the approach of the cavalcade. TomRochford, seeing the eyes of lady Dudley fixed on him, took his thumbsquickly out of the pockets of his claret waistcoat and doffed his cap toher. A charming _soubrette, _ great Marie Kendall, with dauby cheeks andlifted skirt smiled daubily from her poster upon William Humble, earlof Dudley, and upon lieutenantcolonel H. G. Heseltine, and also uponthe honourable Gerald Ward A. D. C. From the window of the D. B. C. BuckMulligan gaily, and Haines gravely, gazed down on the viceregal equipageover the shoulders of eager guests, whose mass of forms darkened thechessboard whereon John Howard Parnell looked intently. In Fownes'sstreet Dilly Dedalus, straining her sight upward from Chardenal's firstFrench primer, saw sunshades spanned and wheelspokes spinning in theglare. John Henry Menton, filling the doorway of Commercial Buildings, stared from winebig oyster eyes, holding a fat gold hunter watch notlooked at in his fat left hand not feeling it. Where the foreleg of KingBilly's horse pawed the air Mrs Breen plucked her hastening husbandback from under the hoofs of the outriders. She shouted in his ear thetidings. Understanding, he shifted his tomes to his left breastand saluted the second carriage. The honourable Gerald Ward A. D. C. , agreeably surprised, made haste to reply. At Ponsonby's corner a jadedwhite flagon H. Halted and four tallhatted white flagons halted behindhim, E. L. Y'S, while outriders pranced past and carriages. OppositePigott's music warerooms Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing &c, gaily apparelled, gravely walked, outpassed by a viceroy and unobserved. By the provost's wall came jauntily Blazes Boylan, stepping in tan shoesand socks with skyblue clocks to the refrain of _My girl's a Yorkshiregirl. _

Blazes Boylan presented to the leaders' skyblue frontlets and highaction a skyblue tie, a widebrimmed straw hat at a rakish angle and asuit of indigo serge. His hands in his jacket pockets forgot to salutebut he offered to the three ladies the bold admiration of his eyes andthe red flower between his lips. As they drove along Nassau street HisExcellency drew the attention of his bowing consort to the programme ofmusic which was being discoursed in College park. Unseen brazen highlandladdies blared and drumthumped after the _cortège_:

 _But though she's a factory lass And wears no fancy clothes. Baraabum. Yet I've 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 Finn'shotel Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell stared through afierce eyeglass across the carriages at the head of Mr M. E. Solomonsin the window of the Austro-Hungarian viceconsulate. Deep in Leinsterstreet by Trinity's postern a loyal king's man, Hornblower, touchedhis tallyho cap. As the glossy horses pranced by Merrion square MasterPatrick Aloysius Dignam, waiting, saw salutes being given to the gentwith the topper and raised also his new black cap with fingers greasedby porksteak paper. His collar too sprang up. The viceroy, on his way toinaugurate the Mirus bazaar in aid of funds for Mercer's hospital, drove with his following towards Lower Mount street. He passed a blindstripling opposite Broadbent's. In Lower Mount street a pedestrian in abrown macintosh, eating dry bread, passed swiftly and unscathed acrossthe viceroy's path. At the Royal Canal bridge, from his hoarding, Mr Eugene Stratton, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome toPembroke township. At Haddington road corner two sanded women haltedthemselves, an umbrella and a bag in which eleven cockles rolled to viewwith wonder the lord mayor and lady mayoress without his golden chain. On Northumberland and Lansdowne roads His Excellency acknowledgedpunctually salutes from rare male walkers, the salute of two smallschoolboys at the garden gate of the house said to have been admiredby the late queen when visiting the Irish capital with her husband, theprince consort, in 1849 and the salute of Almidano Artifoni's sturdytrousers swallowed by a closing door. 

Bronze by gold heard the hoofirons, steelyringing 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! Who's 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 chirrupinganswer. 

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. _Lacloche!_ 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. 

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. Liszt's rhapsodies. Hissss. 

You don't?

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. 

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 yourtschink 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!

Bronze by gold, miss Douce's head by miss Kennedy's head, over thecrossblind of the Ormond bar heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringingsteel. 

--Is that her? asked miss Kennedy. 

Miss Douce said yes, sitting with his ex, pearl grey and _eau de Nil. _

--Exquisite contrast, miss Kennedy said. 

When all agog miss Douce said eagerly:

--Look at the fellow in the tall silk. 

--Who? Where? gold asked more eagerly. 

--In the second carriage, miss Douce's wet lips said, laughing in thesun. 

He's looking. Mind till I see. 

She darted, bronze, to the backmost corner, flattening her face againstthe pane in a halo of hurried breath. 

Her wet lips tittered:

--He's killed looking back. 

She laughed:

--O wept! Aren't men frightful idiots?

With sadness. 

Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, twining a loose hairbehind an ear. Sauntering sadly, gold no more, she twisted twined ahair. 

Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind a curving ear. 

--It's them has the fine times, sadly then she said. 

A man. 

Bloowho went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his breast the sweetsof sin, by Wine's antiques, in memory bearing sweet sinful words, byCarroll's dusky battered plate, for Raoul. 

The boots to them, them in the bar, them barmaids came. For themunheeding him he banged on the counter his tray of chattering china. And

--There's your teas, he said. 

Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to an upturnedlithia crate, safe from eyes, low. 

--What is it? loud boots unmannerly asked. 

--Find out, miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint. 

--Your _beau, _ is it?

A haughty bronze replied:

--I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I hear any more of yourimpertinent insolence. 

--Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as he retreated asshe threatened as he had come. 

Bloom. 

On her flower frowning miss Douce said:

--Most aggravating that young brat is. If he doesn't conduct himselfI'll wring his ear for him a yard long. 

Ladylike in exquisite contrast. 

--Take no notice, miss Kennedy rejoined. 

She poured in a teacup tea, then back in the teapot tea. They coweredunder their reef of counter, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting for their teas to draw. They pawed their blouses, both of blacksatin, two and nine a yard, waiting for their teas to draw, and two andseven. 

Yes, bronze from anear, by gold from afar, heard steel from anear, hoofsring from afar, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel. 

--Am I awfully sunburnt?

Miss bronze unbloused her neck. 

--No, said miss Kennedy. It gets brown after. Did you try the borax withthe cherry laurel water?

Miss Douce halfstood to see her skin askance in the barmirrorgildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in theirmidst a shell. 

--And leave it to my hands, she said. 

--Try it with the glycerine, miss Kennedy advised. 

Bidding her neck and hands adieu miss Douce

--Those things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated. I asked thatold fogey in Boyd's for something for my skin. 

Miss Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, grimaced and prayed:

--O, don't remind me of him for mercy' sake!

--But wait till I tell you, miss Douce entreated. 

Sweet tea miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two earswith little fingers. 

--No, don't, she cried. 

--I won't listen, she cried. 

But Bloom?

Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone:

--For your what? says he. 

Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear, to speak: but said, but prayedagain:

--Don't let me think of him or I'll expire. The hideous old wretch! Thatnight in the Antient Concert Rooms. 

She sipped distastefully her brew, hot tea, a sip, sipped, sweet tea. 

--Here he was, miss Douce said, cocking her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. Hufa! Hufa!

Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's throat. Miss Doucehuffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like asnout in quest. 

--O! shrieking, miss Kennedy cried. Will you ever forget his goggle eye?

Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, shouting:

--And your other eye!

Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner's name. Why do I always thinkFigather? Gathering figs, I think. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name. By Bassi's blessed virgins Bloom's dark eyes went by. Bluerobed, whiteunder, come to me. God they believe she is: or goddess. Those today. Icould not see. That fellow spoke. A student. After with Dedalus' son. He might be Mulligan. All comely virgins. That brings those rakes offellows 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 Kennedyyour other eye. They threw young heads back, bronze gigglegold, to letfreefly their laughter, screaming, your other, signals to each other, high piercing notes. 

Ah, panting, sighing, sighing, ah, fordone, their mirth died down. 

Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, raised, drank a sip andgigglegiggled. Miss Douce, bending over the teatray, ruffled again hernose 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:

--O greasy eyes! Imagine being married to a man like that! she cried. With his bit of beard!

Douce gave full vent to a splendid yell, a full yell of full woman, delight, joy, indignation. 

--Married to the greasy nose! she yelled. 

Shrill, with deep laughter, after, gold after bronze, they urged eacheach to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to laughter after laughter. And then laughed more. Greasy Iknows. Exhausted, breathless, their shaken heads they laid, braided andpinnacled by glossycombed, against the counterledge. All flushed (O!), panting, sweating (O!), all breathless. 

Married to Bloom, to greaseabloom. 

--O saints above! miss Douce said, sighed above her jumping rose. Iwished

I hadn't laughed so much. I feel all wet. 

--O, miss Douce! miss Kennedy protested. You horrid thing!

And flushed yet more (you horrid!), more goldenly. 

By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by Ceppi's virgins, bright oftheir oils. Nannetti's father hawked those things about, wheedling atdoors 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 fiveguineas with those ads. The violet silk petticoats. Not yet. The sweetsof sin. 

Flushed less, still less, goldenly paled. 

Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus. Chips, picking chips off one of hisrocky thumbnails. Chips. He strolled. 

--O, welcome back, miss Douce. 

He held her hand. Enjoyed her holidays?

--Tiptop. 

He hoped she had nice weather in Rostrevor. 

--Gorgeous, she said. Look at the holy show I am. Lying out on thestrand all day. 

Bronze whiteness. 

--That was exceedingly naughty of you, Mr Dedalus told her and pressedher hand indulgently. Tempting poor simple males. 

Miss Douce of satin douced her arm away. 

--O go away! she said. You're very simple, I don't think. 

He was. 

--Well now I am, he mused. I looked so simple in the cradle theychristened me simple Simon. 

--You must have been a doaty, miss Douce made answer. And what did thedoctor order today?

--Well now, he mused, whatever you say yourself. I think I'll troubleyou for some fresh water and a half glass of whisky. 

Jingle. 

--With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce agreed. 

With grace of alacrity towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane'sshe turned herself. With grace she tapped a measure of gold whisky fromher crystal keg. Forth from the skirt of his coat Mr Dedalus broughtpouch and pipe. Alacrity she served. He blew through the flue two huskyfifenotes. 

--By Jove, he mused, I often wanted to see the Mourne mountains. Mustbe a great tonic in the air down there. But a long threatening comes atlast, they say. Yes. Yes. 

Yes. He fingered shreds of hair, her maidenhair, her mermaid's, into thebowl. Chips. Shreds. Musing. Mute. 

None nought said nothing. Yes. 

Gaily miss Douce polished a tumbler, trilling:

--_O, Idolores, queen of the eastern seas!_

--Was Mr Lidwell in today?

In came Lenehan. Round him peered Lenehan. Mr Bloom reached Essexbridge. Yes, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. To Martha I must write. Buy paper. Daly's. Girl there civil. Bloom. Old Bloom. Blue bloom is onthe rye. 

--He was in at lunchtime, miss Douce said. 

Lenehan came forward. 

--Was Mr Boylan looking for me?

He asked. She answered:

--Miss Kennedy, was Mr Boylan in while I was upstairs?

She asked. Miss voice of Kennedy answered, a second teacup poised, hergaze upon a page:

--No. He was not. 

Miss gaze of Kennedy, heard, not seen, read on. Lenehan round thesandwichbell wound his round body round. 

--Peep! Who's in the corner?

No glance of Kennedy rewarding him he yet made overtures. To mind herstops. 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 noticewhile he read by rote a solfa fable for her, plappering flatly:

--Ah fox met ah stork. Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you put yourbill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone?

He droned in vain. Miss Douce turned to her tea aside. 

He sighed aside:

--Ah me! O my!

He greeted Mr Dedalus and got a nod. 

--Greetings from the famous son of a famous father. 

--Who may he be? Mr Dedalus asked. 

Lenehan opened most genial arms. Who?

--Who may he be? he asked. Can you ask? Stephen, the youthful bard. 

Dry. 

Mr Dedalus, famous father, laid by his dry filled pipe. 

--I see, he said. I didn't recognise him for the moment. I hear he iskeeping very select company. Have you seen him lately?

He had. 

--I quaffed the nectarbowl with him this very day, said Lenehan. InMooney's _en ville_ and in Mooney's _sur mer. _ He had received the rhinofor the labour of his muse. 

He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at listening lips and eyes:

--The _élite_ of Erin hung upon his lips. The ponderous pundit, Hugh

MacHugh, Dublin's most brilliant scribe and editor and that minstrel boyof the wild wet west who is known by the euphonious appellation of theO'Madden Burke. 

After an interval Mr Dedalus raised his grog and

--That must have been highly diverting, said he. I see. 

He see. He drank. With faraway mourning mountain eye. Set down hisglass. 

He looked towards the saloon door. 

--I see you have moved the piano. 

--The tuner was in today, miss Douce replied, tuning it for the smokingconcert and I never heard such an exquisite player. 

--Is that a fact?

--Didn't he, miss Kennedy? The real classical, you know. And blind too, poor fellow. Not twenty I'm sure he was. 

--Is that a fact? Mr Dedalus said. 

He drank and strayed away. 

--So sad to look at his face, miss Douce condoled. 

God's curse on bitch's bastard. 

Tink to her pity cried a diner's bell. To the door of the bar anddiningroom 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, forjinglejaunty blazes boy. 

Upholding the lid he (who?) gazed in the coffin (coffin?) at the obliquetriple (piano!) wires. He pressed (the same who pressed indulgently herhand), soft pedalling, a triple of keys to see the thicknesses of feltadvancing, to hear the muffled hammerfall in action. 

Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I was inWisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Are you nothappy in your home? Flower to console me and a pin cuts lo. Meanssomething, language of flow. Was it a daisy? Innocence that is. Respectable girl meet after mass. Thanks awfully muchly. Wise Bloom eyedon the door a poster, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves. Smokemermaids, coolest whiff of all. Hair streaming: lovelorn. For some man. For Raoul. He eyed and saw afar on Essex bridge a gay hat riding on ajaunting 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. 

--Twopence, sir, the shopgirl dared to say. 

--Aha. . . I was forgetting. . . Excuse. . . 

--And four. 

At four she. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. Bloo smi qui go. Ternoon. Think you're 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, long in dying. That was a tuningfork thetuner had that he forgot that he now struck. A call again. That he nowpoised that it now throbbed. You hear? It throbbed, pure, purer, softlyand softlier, its buzzing prongs. Longer in dying call. 

Pat paid for diner's popcorked bottle: and over tumbler, tray andpopcorked bottle ere he went he whispered, bald and bothered, with miss

Douce. 

--_The bright stars fade_. . . 

A voiceless song sang from within, singing:

--. . . _the morn is breaking. _

A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitivehands. Brightly the keys, all twinkling, linked, all harpsichording, called to a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of youth, of love'sleavetaking, life's, love's morn. 

--_The dewdrops pearl_. . . 

Lenehan's lips over the counter lisped a low whistle of decoy. 

--But 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. 

--Did she fall or was she pushed? he asked her. 

She answered, slighting:

--Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. 

Like lady, ladylike. 

Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the barfloor where he strode. Yes, gold from anear by bronze from afar. Lenehan heard and knew andhailed him:

--See the conquering hero comes. 

Between the car and window, warily walking, went Bloom, unconqueredhero. See me he might. The seat he sat on: warm. Black wary hecat walkedtowards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting. 

--_And I from thee_. . . 

--I heard you were round, said Blazes Boylan. 

He touched to fair miss Kennedy a rim of his slanted straw. She smiledon him. But sister bronze outsmiled her, preening for him her richerhair, a bosom and a rose. 

Smart Boylan bespoke potions. 

--What's your cry? Glass of bitter? Glass of bitter, please, and asloegin for me. Wire in yet?

Not yet. At four she. Who said four?

Cowley's red lugs and bulging apple in the door of the sheriff's 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 I'll join you. Come on. Richie led on. Bloomfollowed bag. Dinner fit for a prince. 

Miss Douce reached high to take a flagon, stretching her satin arm, herbust, that all but burst, so high. 

--O! O! jerked Lenehan, gasping at each stretch. O!

But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph. 

--Why don't you grow? asked Blazes Boylan. 

Shebronze, dealing from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for hislips, looked as it flowed (flower in his coat: who gave him?), andsyrupped with her voice:

--Fine goods in small parcels. 

That is to say she. Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. 

--Here's fortune, Blazes said. 

He pitched a broad coin down. Coin rang. 

--Hold on, said Lenehan, till I. . . 

--Fortune, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. 

--Sceptre will win in a canter, he said. 

--I plunged a bit, said Boylan winking and drinking. Not on my own, youknow. Fancy of a friend of mine. 

Lenehan still drank and grinned at his tilted ale and at miss Douce'slips 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 Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. Itclanged. Clock clacked. Fair one of Egypt teased and sorted in the tilland hummed and handed coins in change. Look to the west. A clack. Forme. 

--What time is that? asked Blazes Boylan. Four?

O'clock. 

Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged BlazesBoylan's elbowsleeve. 

--Let's hear the time, he said. 

The bag of Goulding, Collis, Ward led Bloom by ryebloom flowered tables. Aimless he chose with agitated aim, bald Pat attending, a table nearthe door. Be near. At four. Has he forgotten? Perhaps a trick. Not come:whet appetite. I couldn't do. Wait, wait. Pat, waiter, waited. 

Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes. 

--Go on, pressed Lenehan. There's no-one. He never heard. 

--. . . _to Flora's lips did hie. _

High, a high note pealed in the treble clear. 

Bronzedouce communing with her rose that sank and rose sought

Blazes Boylan's flower and eyes. 

--Please, please. 

He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal. 

--_I could not leave thee_. . . 

--Afterwits, miss Douce promised coyly. 

--No, now, urged Lenehan. _Sonnezlacloche!_ O do! There's no-one. 

She looked. Quick. Miss Kenn out of earshot. Sudden bent. Two kindlingfaces watched her bend. 

Quavering the chords strayed from the air, found it again, lost chord, and lost and found it, faltering. 

--Go on! Do! _Sonnez!_

Bending, she nipped a peak of skirt above her knee. Delayed. Tauntedthem still, bending, suspending, with wilful eyes. 

_--Sonnez!_

Smack. She set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic gartersmackwarm against her smackable a woman's warmhosed thigh. 

--_La Cloche!_ cried gleeful Lenehan. Trained by owner. No sawdustthere. 

She smilesmirked supercilious (wept! aren't men?), but, lightwardgliding, mild she smiled on Boylan. 

--You're the essence of vulgarity, she in gliding said. 

Boylan, eyed, eyed. Tossed to fat lips his chalice, drank off hischalice tiny, sucking the last fat violet syrupy drops. His spellboundeyes went after, after her gliding head as it went down the bar bymirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a spiky shell, where it concerted, mirrored, bronze with sunnier bronze. 

Yes, bronze from anearby. 

--. . . _Sweetheart, goodbye!_

--I'm off, said Boylan with impatience. 

He slid his chalice brisk away, grasped his change. 

--Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, drinking quickly. I wanted to tell you. 

Tom Rochford. . . 

--Come on to blazes, said Blazes Boylan, going. 

Lenehan gulped to go. 

--Got the horn or what? he said. Wait. I'm coming. 

He followed the hasty creaking shoes but stood by nimbly by thethreshold, saluting forms, a bulky with a slender. 

--How do you do, Mr Dollard?

--Eh? How do? How do? Ben Dollard's vague bass answered, turning aninstant from Father Cowley's woe. He won't give you any trouble, Bob. Alf Bergan will speak to the long fellow. We'll put a barleystraw inthat Judas Iscariot's ear this time. 

Sighing Mr Dedalus came through the saloon, a finger soothing an eyelid. 

--Hoho, we will, Ben Dollard yodled jollily. Come on, Simon. Give us aditty. 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. Howwarm this black is. Course nerves a bit. Refracts (is it?) heat. Let mesee. Cider. Yes, bottle of cider. 

--What's that? Mr Dedalus said. I was only vamping, man. 

--Come on, come on, Ben Dollard 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. Hisgouty paws plumped chords. Plumped, stopped abrupt. 

Bald Pat in the doorway met tealess gold returning. Bothered, he wantedPower and cider. Bronze by the window, watched, bronze from afar. 

Jingle a tinkle jaunted. 

Bloom heard a jing, a little sound. He's off. Light sob of breath Bloomsighed on the silent bluehued flowers. Jingling. He's gone. Jingle. Hear. 

--Love and War, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. God be with old times. 

Miss Douce's brave eyes, unregarded, turned from the crossblind, smittenby 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 wherebald stood by sister gold, inexquisite contrast, contrast inexquisitenonexquisite, slow cool dim seagreen sliding depth of shadow, _eau deNil. _

--Poor old Goodwin was the pianist that night, Father Cowley remindedthem. There was a slight difference of opinion between himself and theCollard grand. 

There was. 

--A symposium all his own, Mr Dedalus said. The devil wouldn't stop him. He was a crotchety old fellow in the primary stage of drink. 

--God, do you remember? Ben bulky Dollard said, turning from thepunished keyboard. And by Japers I had no wedding garment. 

They laughed all three. He had no wed. All trio laughed. No weddinggarment. 

--Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night, Mr Dedalus said. Where'smy pipe, by the way?

He wandered back to the bar to the lost chord pipe. Bald Pat carried twodiners' drinks, Richie and Poldy. And Father Cowley laughed again. 

--I saved the situation, Ben, I think. 

--You 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. 

--I knew he was on the rocks, he said. The wife was playing the piano inthe coffee palace on Saturdays for a very trifling consideration andwho was it gave me the wheeze she was doing the other business? Do youremember? We had to search all Holles street to find them till thechap in Keogh's gave us the number. Remember? Ben remembered, his broadvisage wondering. 

--By God, she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there. 

Mr Dedalus wandered back, pipe in hand. 

--Merrion square style. Balldresses, by God, and court dresses. Hewouldn't take any money either. What? Any God's quantity of cocked hatsand boleros and trunkhose. What?

--Ay, ay, Mr Dedalus nodded. Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes ofall descriptions. 

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. Nicename he. 

--What's this her name was? A buxom lassy. Marion. . . 

--Tweedy. 

--Yes. Is she alive?

--And kicking. 

--She was a daughter of. . . 

--Daughter of the regiment. 

--Yes, begad. I remember the old drummajor. 

Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after

--Irish? I don't know, faith. Is she, Simon?

Puff after stiff, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. 

--Buccinator muscle is. . . What?. . . Bit rusty. . . O, she is. . . MyIrish Molly, O. 

He puffed a pungent plumy blast. 

--From the rock of Gibraltar. . . All the way. 

They pined in depth of ocean shadow, gold by the beerpull, bronzeby maraschino, thoughtful all two. Mina Kennedy, 4 Lismore terrace, Drumcondra with Idolores, a queen, Dolores, silent. 

Pat served, uncovered dishes. Leopold cut liverslices. As said before heate with relish the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods' roes whileRichie 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 Bachelor's walk jogjaunty jingled Blazes Boylan, bachelor, in sun inheat, mare's 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 bombardingchords:

--_When love absorbs my ardent soul_. . . 

Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the quivery loveshivery roofpanes. 

--War! War! cried Father Cowley. You're the warrior. 

--So I am, Ben Warrior laughed. I was thinking of your landlord. Love ormoney. 

He stopped. He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge. 

--Sure, you'd burst the tympanum of her ear, man, Mr Dedalus saidthrough smoke aroma, with an organ like yours. 

In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the keyboard. He would. 

--Not 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. Shepassed 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 couldn't say. But it wouldbe in the paper. O, she need not trouble. No trouble. She waved abouther outspread _Independent, _ searching, the lord lieutenant, herpinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. Too much trouble, first gentleman said. O, not in the least. Way he looked that. Lordlieutenant. Gold by bronze heard iron steel. 

 --. . . . . . . . . . . . _my ardent soul_ _I care not foror the morrow. _

In liver gravy Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. Love and War someone is. Ben Dollard's famous. Night he ran round to us to borrow a dress suitfor 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, I'm drenched! O, the women in the front row! O, I never laughed so many!Well, of course that's what gives him the base barreltone. For instanceeunuchs. Wonder who's 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, GeorgeLidwell, gentleman, entering. Good afternoon. She gave her moist (alady's) hand to his firm clasp. Afternoon. Yes, she was back. To the olddingdong again. 

--Your 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 theBurton, gummy with gristle. No-one here: Goulding and I. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins. Pat to and fro. Bald Pat. Nothing 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 fiddles, eye on thebowend, sawing the cello, remind you of toothache. Her high long snore. Night we were in the box. Trombone under blowing like a grampus, betweenthe acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. Conductor'slegs too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy. Do right to hide them. 

Jiggedy jingle jaunty jaunty. 

Only the harp. Lovely. Gold glowering light. Girl touched it. Poop of alovely. Gravy's rather good fit for a. Golden ship. Erin. The harp thatonce or twice. Cool hands. Ben Howth, the rhododendrons. We are theirharps. I. He. Old. Young. 

--Ah, I couldn't, man, Mr Dedalus said, shy, listless. 

Strongly. 

--Go on, blast you! Ben Dollard growled. Get it out in bits. 

--_M'appari, _ Simon, Father Cowley said. 

Down stage he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his longarms outheld. Hoarsely the apple of his throat hoarsed softly. Softly hesang to a dusty seascape there: _A Last Farewell. _ A headland, a ship, asail upon the billows. Farewell. A lovely girl, her veil awave upon thewind upon the headland, wind around her. 

Cowley sang:

 _--M'appari tutt'amor: Il mio sguardo l'incontr. . . _

She waved, unhearing Cowley, her veil, to one departing, dear one, towind, love, speeding sail, return. 

--Go on, Simon. 

--Ah, sure, my dancing days are done, Ben. . . Well. . . 

Mr Dedalus laid his pipe to rest beside the tuningfork and, sitting, touched the obedient keys. 

--No, 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. 

--Here, Simon, I'll accompany you, he said. Get up. 

By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged. Steak, kidney, liver, mashed, at meat fit for princes sat princes Bloomand Goulding. Princes at meat they raised and drank, Power and cider. 

Most beautiful tenor air ever written, Richie said: _Sonnambula. _ Heheard Joe Maas sing that one night. Ah, what M'Guckin! Yes. In his way. Choirboy style. Maas was the boy. Massboy. A lyrical tenor if you like. Never forget it. Never. 

Tenderly Bloom over liverless bacon saw the tightened features strain. Backache he. Bright's bright eye. Next item on the programme. Paying thepiper. Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box. Stave it off awhile. Sings too: _Down among the dead men. _ Appropriate. Kidney pie. Sweets tothe. Not making much hand of it. Best value in. Characteristic of him. Power. Particular about his drink. Flaw in the glass, fresh Vartrywater. Fecking matches from counters to save. Then squander a sovereignin dribs and drabs. And when he's wanted not a farthing. Screwedrefusing to pay his fare. Curious types. 

Never would Richie forget that night. As long as he lived: never. In thegods of the old Royal with little Peake. And when the first note. 

Speech paused on Richie's lips. 

Coming out with a whopper now. Rhapsodies about damn all. 

Believes his own lies. Does really. Wonderful liar. But want a goodmemory. 

--Which air is that? asked Leopold Bloom. 

--_All is lost now_. 

Richie cocked his lips apout. A low incipient note sweet bansheemurmured: all. A thrush. A throstle. His breath, birdsweet, good teethhe's proud of, fluted with plaintive woe. Is lost. Rich sound. Twonotes in one there. Blackbird I heard in the hawthorn valley. Taking mymotives 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 hewhistled. 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. Innocencein the moon. Brave. Don't know their danger. Still hold her back. Callname. Touch water. Jingle jaunty. Too late. She longed to go. That'swhy. Woman. As easy stop the sea. Yes: all is lost. 

--A beautiful air, said Bloom 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. Wisechild that knows her father, Dedalus said. Me?

Bloom askance over liverless saw. Face of the all is lost. RollickingRichie once. Jokes old stale now. Wagging his ear. Napkinring in hiseye. Now begging letters he sends his son with. Crosseyed Walter sir Idid sir. Wouldn't trouble only I was expecting some money. Apologise. 

Piano again. Sounds better than last time I heard. Tuned probably. Stopped again. 

Dollard and Cowley still urged the lingering singer out with it. 

--With it, Simon. 

--It, Simon. 

--Ladies and gentlemen, I am most deeply obliged by your kindsolicitations. 

--It, Simon. 

--I have no money but if you will lend me your attention I shallendeavour to sing to you of a heart bowed down. 

By the sandwichbell in screening shadow Lydia, her bronze and rose, alady's grace, gave and withheld: as in cool glaucous _eau de Nil_ Minato tankards two her pinnacles of gold. 

The harping chords of prelude closed. A chord, longdrawn, expectant, drew a voice away. 

--_When first I saw that form endearing_. . . 

Richie turned. 

--Si Dedalus' voice, he said. 

Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they listened feeling that flowendearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine. Bloom signed toPat, bald Pat is a waiter hard of hearing, to set ajar the door of thebar. The door of the bar. So. That will do. Pat, waiter, waited, waitingto hear, for he was hard of hear by the door. 

--_Sorrow from me seemed to depart. _

Through the hush of air a voice sang to them, low, not rain, not leavesin murmur, like no voice of strings or reeds or whatdoyoucallthemdulcimers touching their still ears with words, still hearts of theireach his remembered lives. Good, good to hear: sorrow from them eachseemed to from both depart when first they heard. When first they saw, lost Richie Poldy, mercy of beauty, heard from a person wouldn't expectit in the least, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. 

Love that is singing: love's old sweet song. Bloom unwound slowly theelastic band of his packet. Love's old sweet _sonnez la_ gold. Bloomwound a skein round four forkfingers, stretched it, relaxed, and woundit round his troubled double, fourfold, in octave, gyved them fast. 

--_Full of hope and all delighted_. . . 

Tenors get women by the score. Increase their flow. Throw flower at hisfeet. When will we meet? My head it simply. Jingle all delighted. Hecan't sing for tall hats. Your head it simply swurls. Perfumed for him. What perfume does your wife? I want to know. Jing. Stop. Knock. Lastlook at mirror always before she answers the door. The hall. There? Howdo 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. 

--_But alas, 'twas idle dreaming_. . . 

Glorious tone he has still. Cork air softer also their brogue. Sillyman! Could have made oceans of money. Singing wrong words. Wore outhis wife: now sings. But hard to tell. Only the two themselves. If hedoesn't break down. Keep a trot for the avenue. His hands and feet singtoo. Drink. Nerves overstrung. Must be abstemious to sing. Jenny Lindsoup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream. For creamy dreamy. 

Tenderness it welled: slow, swelling, full it throbbed. That's the chat. Ha, give! Take! Throb, a throb, a pulsing proud erect. 

Words? Music? No: it's what's behind. 

Bloom looped, unlooped, noded, disnoded. 

Bloom. Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in musicout, in desire, dark to lick flow invading. Tipping her tepping hertapping her topping her. Tup. Pores to dilate dilating. Tup. The joythe feel the warm the. Tup. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrob. Now! Language of love. 

--. . . _ray of hope is_. . . 

Beaming. Lydia for Lidwell squeak scarcely hear so ladylike the museunsqueaked a ray of hopk. 

_Martha_ it is. Coincidence. Just going to write. Lionel's song. Lovely name you have. Can't write. Accept my little pres. Play on herheartstrings pursestrings too. She's a. I called you naughty boy. Stillthe name: Martha. How strange! Today. 

The voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. It sang again toRichie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to Pat open mouth ear waiting towait. How first he saw that form endearing, how sorrow seemed to part, how look, form, word charmed him Gould Lidwell, won Pat Bloom's heart. 

Wish I could see his face, though. Explain better. Why the barber inDrago's always looked my face when I spoke his face in the glass. Stillhear it better here than in the bar though farther. 

--_Each graceful look_. . . 

First night when first I saw her at Mat Dillon's 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 shesat. All ousted looked. Lips laughing. Yellow knees. 

--_Charmed my eye_. . . 

Singing. _Waiting_ she sang. I turned her music. Full voice of perfumeof what perfume does your lilactrees. Bosom I saw, both full, throatwarbling. First I saw. She thanked me. Why did she me? Fate. Spanishyeyes. Under a peartree alone patio this hour in old Madrid one side inshadow Dolores shedolores. At me. Luring. Ah, alluring. 

--_Martha! Ah, Martha!_

Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in cry of passion dominantto love to return with deepening yet with rising chords of harmony. Incry of lionel loneliness that she should know, must martha feel. Foronly her he waited. Where? Here there try there here all try where. Somewhere. 

 --_Co-ome, thou lost one! Co-ome, thou dear one!_

Alone. One love. One hope. One comfort me. Martha, chestnote, return!

_--Come!_

It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure cry, soar silver orbit leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come, don't spin it out toolong long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of theetherial bosom, high, of the high vast irradiation everywhere allsoaring all around about the all, the endlessnessnessness. . . 

--_To me!_

Siopold!

Consumed. 

Come. Well sung. All clapped. She ought to. Come. To me, to him, to her, you too, me, us. 

--Bravo! Clapclap. Good man, Simon. Clappyclapclap. Encore! Clapclipclapclap. Sound as a bell. Bravo, Simon! Clapclopclap. Encore, enclap, said, cried, clapped all, Ben Dollard, Lydia Douce, George Lidwell, Pat, MinaKennedy, two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, first gent with tankand bronze miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. 

Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the barfloor, said before. Jingle by monuments of sir John Gray, Horatio onehandled Nelson, reverend father Theobald Mathew, jaunted, as said before just now. Atrot, in heat, heatseated. _Cloche. Sonnez la. Cloche. Sonnez la. _Slower the mare went up the hill by the Rotunda, Rutland square. Tooslow for Boylan, blazes Boylan, impatience Boylan, joggled the mare. 

An afterclang of Cowley's chords closed, died on the air made richer. 

And Richie Goulding drank his Power and Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said they would partake of twomore tankards if she did not mind. Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, at first, at second. She did not mind. 

--Seven days in jail, Ben Dollard said, on bread and water. Then you'dsing, Simon, like a garden thrush. 

Lionel Simon, singer, laughed. Father Bob Cowley played. Mina Kennedyserved. Second gentleman paid. Tom Kernan strutted in. Lydia, admired, admired. But Bloom sang dumb. 

Admiring. 

Richie, admiring, descanted on that man's glorious voice. He rememberedone night long ago. Never forget that night. Si sang _'Twas rank andfame_: in Ned Lambert's 'twas. Good God he never heard in all his life anote like that he never did _then false one we had better part_ so clearso God he never heard _since love lives not_ a clinking voice lives notask Lambert he can tell you too. 

Goulding, a flush struggling in his pale, told Mr Bloom, face of thenight, Si in Ned Lambert's, Dedalus house, sang _'Twas rank and fame. _

He, Mr Bloom, listened while he, Richie Goulding, told him, Mr Bloom, ofthe night he, Richie, heard him, Si Dedalus, sing 'TWAS RANK AND FAME inhis, Ned Lambert's, house. 

Brothers-in-law: relations. We never speak as we pass by. Rift in thelute I think. Treats him with scorn. See. He admires him all the more. The night Si sang. The human voice, two tiny silky chords, wonderful, more than all others. 

That voice was a lamentation. Calmer now. It's in the silence after youfeel you hear. Vibrations. Now silent air. 

Bloom ungyved his crisscrossed hands and with slack fingers plucked theslender catgut thong. He drew and plucked. It buzz, it twanged. WhileGoulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while Tom Kernan, harking back in a retrospective sort of arrangement talked to listeningFather Cowley, who played a voluntary, who nodded as he played. Whilebig Ben Dollard talked with Simon Dedalus, lighting, who nodded as hesmoked, who smoked. 

Thou lost one. All songs on that theme. Yet more Bloom stretched hisstring. Cruel it seems. Let people get fond of each other: lure them on. Then tear asunder. Death. Explos. Knock on the head. Outtohelloutofthat. Human life. Dignam. Ugh, that rat's tail wriggling! Five bob I gave. _Corpus paradisum. _ Corncrake croaker: belly like a poisoned pup. Gone. They sing. Forgotten. I too; And one day she with. Leave her: gettired. Suffer then. Snivel. Big spanishy eyes goggling at nothing. Herwavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb:'d. 

Yet too much happy bores. He stretched more, more. Are you not happy inyour? Twang. It snapped. 

Jingle into Dorset street. 

Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, reproachful, pleased. 

--Don't make half so free, said 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. Andsecond tankard told her so. That that was so. 

Miss Douce, miss Lydia, did not believe: miss Kennedy, Mina, did notbelieve: 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 nigh. A pen and ink. He went. A pad. He went. Apad to blot. He heard, deaf Pat. 

--Yes, Mr Bloom said, teasing the curling catgut line. It certainly is. Few lines will do. My present. All that Italian florid music is. Whois this wrote? Know the name you know better. Take out sheet notepaper, envelope: unconcerned. It's so characteristic. 

--Grandest number in the whole opera, Goulding said. 

--It is, Bloom said. 

Numbers it is. All music when you come to think. Two multiplied by twodivided by half is twice one. Vibrations: chords those are. One plus twoplus six is seven. Do anything you like with figures juggling. Alwaysfind out this equal to that. Symmetry under a cemetery wall. He doesn'tsee my mourning. Callous: all for his own gut. Musemathematics. And youthink you're listening to the etherial. But suppose you said it like:Martha, seven times nine minus x is thirtyfive thousand. Fall quiteflat. It's on account of the sounds it is. 

Instance he's playing now. Improvising. Might be what you like, till youhear the words. Want to listen sharp. Hard. Begin all right: then hearchords a bit off: feel lost a bit. In and out of sacks, over barrels, through wirefences, obstacle race. Time makes the tune. Question of moodyou're in. Still always nice to hear. Except scales up and down, girlslearning. Two together nextdoor neighbours. Ought to invent dummy pianosfor that. _Blumenlied_ I bought for her. The name. Playing it slow, a girl, night I came home, the girl. Door of the stables near Ceciliastreet. Milly no taste. Queer because we both, I mean. 

Bald deaf Pat brought quite flat pad ink. Pat set with ink pen quiteflat pad. Pat took plate dish knife fork. Pat went. 

It was the only language Mr Dedalus said to Ben. He heard them as aboy in Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, singing their barcaroles. Queenstown harbour full of Italian ships. Walking, you know, Ben, in themoonlight with those earthquake hats. Blending their voices. God, suchmusic, Ben. Heard as a boy. Cross Ringabella haven mooncarole. 

Sour pipe removed he held a shield of hand beside his lips that cooed amoonlight nightcall, clear from anear, a call from afar, replying. 

Down the edge of his _Freeman_ baton ranged Bloom's, your other eye, scanning for where did I see that. Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. Heigho! Heigho! Fawcett. Aha! Just I was looking. . . 

Hope he's not looking, cute as a rat. He held unfurled his _Freeman. _Can't see now. Remember write Greek ees. Bloom dipped, Bloo mur: dearsir. Dear Henry wrote: dear Mady. Got your lett and flow. Hell did Iput? Some pock or oth. It is utterl imposs. Underline _imposs. _ To writetoday. 

Bore this. Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am just reflectingfingers on flat pad Pat brought. 

On. Know what I mean. No, change that ee. Accep my poor litt presenclos. Ask her no answ. Hold on. Five Dig. Two about here. Penny thegulls. Elijah is com. Seven Davy Byrne's. Is eight about. Say half acrown. My poor little pres: p. O. Two and six. Write me a long. Do youdespise? 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. Otherworld she wrote. My patience are exhaust. To keep it up. You mustbelieve. Believe. The tank. It. Is. True. 

Folly am I writing? Husbands don't. That's marriage does, their wives. Because I'm away from. Suppose. But how? She must. Keep young. If shefound out. Card in my high grade ha. No, not tell all. Useless pain. Ifthey don't see. Woman. Sauce for the gander. 

A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton Jamesof number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on which sat a fare, a younggentleman, stylishly dressed in an indigoblue serge suit made by GeorgeRobert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of number five Eden quay, and wearinga straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one GreatBrunswick street, hatter. Eh? This is the jingle that joggled andjingled. By Dlugacz' porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted agallantbuttocked mare. 

--Answering an ad? keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. 

--Yes, Mr Bloom said. Town traveller. Nothing doing, I expect. 

Bloom mur: best references. But Henry wrote: it will excite me. Youknow how. In haste. Henry. Greek ee. Better add postscript. What is heplaying now? Improvising. Intermezzo. P. S. The rum tum tum. How willyou pun? You punish me? Crooked skirt swinging, whack by. Tell me I wantto. Know. O. Course if I didn't I wouldn't ask. La la la ree. Trails offthere 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 today. La ree. So lonely. Dee. 

He blotted quick on pad of Pat. Envel. Address. Just copy out of paper. Murmured: Messrs Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. Henry wrote:

Miss Martha Clifford c/o P. O. Dolphin's Barn Lane Dublin

Blot over the other so he can't read. There. Right. Idea prize titbit. Something detective read off blottingpad. Payment at the rate of guineaper col. Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. Poor 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 Gerard's rosery of Fetter lane he walks, greyedauburn. One life isall. One body. Do. But do. 

Done anyhow. Postal order, stamp. Postoffice lower down. Walk now. Enough. Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet them. Dislike that job. 

House of mourning. Walk. Pat! Doesn't hear. Deaf beetle he is. 

Car near there now. Talk. Talk. Pat! Doesn't. Settling those napkins. Lot of ground he must cover in the day. Paint face behind on him thenhe'd be two. Wish they'd sing more. Keep my mind off. 

Bald Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins. Pat is a waiter hard of hishearing. Pat is a waiter who waits while you wait. Hee hee hee hee. Hewaits while you wait. Hee hee. A waiter is he. Hee hee hee hee. He waitswhile you wait. While you wait if you wait he will wait while you wait. Hee hee hee hee. Hoh. Wait while you wait. 

Douce now. Douce Lydia. Bronze and rose. 

She had a gorgeous, simply gorgeous, time. And look at the lovely shellshe brought. 

To the end of the bar to him she bore lightly the spiked and windingseahorn that he, George Lidwell, solicitor, might hear. 

--Listen! she bade him. 

Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Authentic fact. How Walter Bapty lost his voice. Well, sir, the husbandtook him by the throat. _Scoundrel, _ said he, _You'll sing no morelovesongs. _ He did, 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 palegold in contrast glided. To hear. 

Tap. 

Bloom through the bardoor saw a shell held at their ears. He heard morefaintly that that they heard, each for herself alone, then each forother, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, a silent roar. 

Bronze by a weary gold, anear, afar, they listened. 

Her ear too is a shell, the peeping lobe there. Been to the seaside. Lovely seaside girls. Skin tanned raw. Should have put on coldcreamfirst make it brown. Buttered toast. O and that lotion mustn't forget. Fever near her mouth. Your head it simply. Hair braided over: shell withseaweed. Why do they hide their ears with seaweed hair? And Turks themouth, why? Her eyes over the sheet. Yashmak. Find the way in. A cave. No admittance except on business. 

The sea they think they hear. Singing. A roar. The blood it is. Souse inthe ear sometimes. Well, it's a sea. Corpuscle islands. 

Wonderful really. So distinct. Again. George Lidwell held its murmur, hearing: then laid it by, gently. 

--What are the wild waves saying? he asked her, smiled. 

Charming, seasmiling and unanswering Lydia on Lidwell smiled. 

Tap. 

By Larry O'Rourke's, by Larry, bold Larry O', Boylan swayed and Boylanturned. 

From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her tankards waiting. No, she was not so lonely archly miss Douce's head let Mr Lidwell know. Walks in the moonlight by the sea. No, not alone. With whom? She noblyanswered: with a gentleman friend. 

Bob Cowley's twinkling fingers in the treble played again. The landlordhas the prior. A little time. Long John. Big Ben. Lightly he played alight bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and for their gallants, gentlemen friends. One: one, one, one, one, one:two, one, three, four. 

Sea, wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the cattlemarket, cocks, hens don't crow, snakes hissss. There's music everywhere. Ruttledge's door: ee creaking. No, that's noise. Minuet of _DonGiovanni_ he's playing now. Court dresses of all descriptions in castlechambers dancing. Misery. Peasants outside. Green starving faces eatingdockleaves. Nice that is. Look: look, look, look, look, look: you lookat us. 

That's joyful I can feel. Never have written it. Why? My joy is otherjoy. But both are joys. Yes, joy it must be. Mere fact of music showsyou are. Often thought she was in the dumps till she began to lilt. Thenknow. 

M'Coy valise. My wife and your wife. Squealing cat. Like tearing silk. Tongue when she talks like the clapper of a bellows. They can't managemen's intervals. Gap in their voices too. Fill me. I'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 skyblueclocks came light to earth. 

O, look we are so! Chamber 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, theresonance changes according as the weight of the water is equal tothe law of falling water. Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Pearls. Drops. Rain. Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle. Hissss. Now. Maybe now. Before. 

One rapped on a door, one tapped with a knock, did he knock Paul de Kockwith a loud proud knocker with a cock carracarracarra cock. Cockcock. 

Tap. 

--_Qui sdegno, _ Ben, said Father Cowley. 

--No, Ben, Tom Kernan interfered. _The Croppy Boy. _ Our native Doric. 

--Ay do, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. Good men and true. 

--Do, do, they begged in one. 

I'll go. Here, Pat, return. Come. He came, he came, he did not stay. Tome. How much?

--What key? Six sharps?

--F sharp major, Ben Dollard said. 

Bob Cowley's outstretched talons griped the black deepsounding chords. 

Must go prince Bloom told Richie prince. No, Richie said. Yes, must. Gotmoney somewhere. He's on for a razzle backache spree. Much? He seehearslipspeech. One and nine. Penny for yourself. Here. Give him twopencetip. Deaf, bothered. But perhaps he has wife and family waiting, waitingPatty come home. Hee hee hee hee. Deaf wait while they wait. 

But wait. But hear. Chords dark. Lugugugubrious. Low. In a cave of thedark middle earth. Embedded ore. Lumpmusic. 

The voice of dark age, of unlove, earth's fatigue made grave approachand painful, come from afar, from hoary mountains, called on good menand true. The priest he sought. With him would he speak a word. 

Tap. 

Ben Dollard's voice. Base barreltone. Doing his level best to say it. Croak of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh. Other comedown. Bigships' chandler's business he did once. Remember: rosiny ropes, ships'lanterns. Failed to the tune of ten thousand pounds. Now in the Iveaghhome. Cubicle number so and so. Number one Bass did that for him. 

The priest's at home. A false priest's servant bade him welcome. Stepin. The holy father. With bows a traitor servant. Curlycues of chords. 

Ruin them. Wreck their lives. Then build them cubicles to end their daysin. Hushaby. Lullaby. Die, dog. Little dog, die. 

The voice of warning, solemn warning, told them the youth had entereda lonely hall, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, told themthe gloomy chamber, the vested priest sitting to shrive. 

Decent soul. Bit addled now. Thinks he'll win in _Answers, _ poets'picture puzzle. We hand you crisp five pound note. Bird sitting hatchingin a nest. Lay of the last minstrel he thought it was. See blank teewhat domestic animal? Tee dash ar most courageous mariner. Good voice hehas still. No eunuch yet with all his belongings. 

Listen. Bloom listened. Richie Goulding listened. And by the door deafPat, bald Pat, tipped Pat, listened. The chords harped slower. 

The voice of penance and of grief came slow, embellished, tremulous. Ben's contrite beard confessed. _in nomine Domini, _ in God's name heknelt. He beat his hand upon his breast, confessing: _mea culpa. _

Latin again. That holds them like birdlime. Priest with the communioncorpus for those women. Chap in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, _corpusnomine. _ Wonder where that rat is by now. Scrape. 

Tap. 

They listened. Tankards and miss Kennedy. George Lidwell, eyelid wellexpressive, fullbusted satin. Kernan. Si. 

The sighing voice of sorrow sang. His sins. Since Easter he had cursedthree times. You bitch's bast. And once at masstime he had gone to play. Once by the churchyard he had passed and for his mother's rest he hadnot prayed. A boy. A croppy boy. 

Bronze, listening, by the beerpull gazed far away. Soulfully. Doesn'thalf know I'm. 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 likedthat best. Remind him of home sweet home. Wiped his nose in curtain too. Custom his country perhaps. That's music too. Not as bad as it sounds. Tootling. Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their sides. Woodwinds mooing cows. Semigrand open crocodilemusic hath jaws. Woodwind like Goodwin's name. 

She looked fine. Her crocus dress she wore lowcut, belongings on show. Clove her breath was always in theatre when she bent to ask a question. Told her what Spinoza says in that book of poor papa's. Hypnotised, listening. Eyes like that. She bent. Chap in dresscircle staring downinto her with his operaglass for all he was worth. Beauty of music youmust hear twice. Nature woman half a look. God made the country man thetune. Met him pike hoses. Philosophy. O rocks!

All gone. All fallen. At the siege of Ross his father, at Gorey all hisbrothers fell. To Wexford, we are the boys of Wexford, he would. Last ofhis name and race. 

I too. Last of my race. Milly young student. Well, my fault perhaps. Noson. 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 voiceunfolded. Great voice Richie Goulding said, a flush struggling in hispale, to Bloom soon old. But when was young?

Ireland comes now. My country above the king. She listens. Who fears tospeak of nineteen four? Time to be shoving. Looked enough. 

--_Bless me, father, _ Dollard the croppy cried. _Bless me and let mego. _

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. Thosegirls, those lovely. By the sad sea waves. Chorusgirl's romance. Lettersread out for breach of promise. From Chickabiddy's 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 priestrustling soldier from his cassock. A yeoman captain. They know it all byheart. The thrill they itch for. Yeoman cap. 

Tap. Tap. 

Thrilled she listened, bending in sympathy to hear. 

Blank face. Virgin should say: 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 Ididn't see. They want it. Not too much polite. That's why he gets them. Gold in your pocket, brass in your face. Say something. Make her hear. 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 closed. Think in my stom. What?

Will? You? I. Want. You. To. 

With hoarse rude fury the yeoman cursed, swelling in apoplectic bitch'sbastard. A good thought, boy, to come. One hour's your time to live, your last. 

Tap. Tap. 

Thrill now. Pity they feel. To wipe away a tear for martyrs that wantto, dying to, die. For all things dying, for all things born. Poor MrsPurefoy. Hope she's 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 yonderriver. At each slow satiny heaving bosom's wave (her heaving embon) redrose rose slowly sank red rose. Heartbeats: her breath: breath that islife. 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 that? See her from here though. Popped corks, splashes of beerfroth, stacks of empties. 

On the smooth jutting beerpull laid Lydia hand, lightly, plumply, leaveit to my hands. All lost in pity for croppy. Fro, to: to, fro: overthe polished knob (she knows his eyes, my eyes, her eyes) her thumb andfinger passed in pity: passed, reposed and, gently touching, then slidso smoothly, slowly down, a cool firm white enamel baton protrudingthrough 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 sad thing. But had to be. Get out before theend. Thanks, that was heavenly. Where's my hat. Pass by her. Can leavethat 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. O'er ryehigh blue. Ow. Bloom stood up. Soap feeling rather sticky behind. Must havesweated: music. That lotion, remember. Well, so long. High grade. Cardinside. Yes. 

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 todolorous prayer. 

By rose, by satiny bosom, by the fondling hand, by slops, by empties, by popped corks, greeting in going, past eyes and maidenhair, bronze andfaint gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, soft Bloom, I feel so lonelyBloom. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Pray for him, prayed the bass of Dollard. You who hear in peace. Breathea prayer, drop a tear, good men, good people. He was the croppy boy. 

Scaring eavesdropping boots croppy bootsboy Bloom in the Ormond hallwayheard the growls and roars of bravo, fat backslapping, their boots alltreading, boots not the boots the boy. General chorus off for a swill towash it down. Glad I avoided. 

--Come on, Ben, Simon Dedalus cried. By God, you're as good as ever youwere. 

--Better, said Tomgin Kernan. Most trenchant rendition of that ballad, upon my soul and honour It is. 

--Lablache, said Father Cowley. 

Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the bar, mightily praisefedand all big roseate, on heavyfooted feet, his gouty fingers nakkeringcastagnettes in the air. 

Big Benaben Dollard. Big Benben. Big Benben. 

Rrr. 

And deepmoved all, Simon trumping compassion from foghorn nose, alllaughing they brought him forth, Ben Dollard, in right good cheer. 

--You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell said. 

Miss Douce composed her rose to wait. 

--Ben machree, said Mr Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade. Fit as a fiddle only he has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about hisperson. 

Rrrrrrrsss. 

--Fat of death, Simon, Ben Dollard growled. 

Richie rift in the lute alone sat: Goulding, Collis, Ward. Uncertainlyhe waited. Unpaid Pat too. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Miss Mina Kennedy brought near her lips to ear of tankard one. 

--Mr Dollard, they murmured low. 

--Dollard, murmured tankard. 

Tank one believed: miss Kenn when she: that doll he was: she doll: thetank. 

He murmured that he knew the name. The name was familiar to him, thatis 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 lovelysong. Mina loved that song. Tankard loved the song that Mina. 

'Tis the last rose of summer dollard left bloom felt wind wound roundinside. 

Gassy thing that cider: binding too. Wait. Postoffice near Reuben J'sone and eightpence too. Get shut of it. Dodge round by Greek street. Wish I hadn't promised to meet. Freer in air. Music. Gets on yournerves. 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, withsweets of sin with frillies for Raoul with met him pike hoses went Poldyon. 

Tap blind walked tapping by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap. 

Cowley, he stuns himself with it: kind of drunkenness. Better give wayonly half way the way of a man with a maid. Instance enthusiasts. Allears. Not lose a demisemiquaver. Eyes shut. Head nodding in time. Dotty. You daren't budge. Thinking strictly prohibited. Always talking shop. Fiddlefaddle about notes. 

All a kind of attempt to talk. Unpleasant when it stops because younever 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 orthe other fellow blowing the bellows. Growl angry, then shriek cursing(want to have wadding or something in his no don't she cried), then allof a soft sudden wee little wee little pipy wind. 

Pwee! A wee little wind piped eeee. In Bloom's little wee. 

--Was he? Mr Dedalus said, returning with fetched pipe. I was with himthis morning at poor little Paddy Dignam's. . . 

--Ay, the Lord have mercy on him. 

--By the bye there's a tuningfork in there on the. . . 

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

--The wife has a fine voice. Or had. What? Lidwell asked. 

--O, 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 soexquisitely, treat to hear. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. 

--Shout! Ben Dollard shouted, pouring. Sing out!

--'lldo! cried Father Cowley. 

Rrrrrr. 

I feel I want. . . 

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap

--Very, Mr Dedalus said, staring hard at a headless sardine. 

Under the sandwichbell lay on a bier of bread one last, one lonely, lastsardine of summer. Bloom alone. 

--Very, he stared. The lower register, for choice. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Bloom went by Barry's. Wish I could. Wait. That wonderworker if I had. Twentyfour solicitors in that one house. Counted them. Litigation. Loveone another. Piles of parchment. Messrs Pick and Pocket have power ofattorney. Goulding, Collis, Ward. 

But for example the chap that wallops the big drum. His vocation: MickeyRooney's band. Wonder how it first struck him. Sitting at home afterpig's cheek and cabbage nursing it in the armchair. Rehearsing his bandpart. Pom. Pompedy. Jolly for the wife. Asses' skins. Welt them throughlife, then wallop after death. Pom. Wallop. Seems to be what you callyashmak or I mean kismet. Fate. 

Tap. Tap. A stripling, blind, with a tapping cane came taptaptapping byDaly's window where a mermaid hair all streaming (but he couldn't see)blew whiffs of a mermaid (blind couldn't), mermaid, coolest whiff ofall. 

Instruments. A blade of grass, shell of her hands, then blow. Evencomb and tissuepaper you can knock a tune out of. Molly in her shift inLombard street west, hair down. I suppose each kind of trade made itsown, don't you see? Hunter with a horn. Haw. Have you the? _Cloche. Sonnez la. _ Shepherd his pipe. Pwee little wee. Policeman a whistle. Locks and keys! Sweep! Four o'clock's all's well! Sleep! All is lostnow. Drum? Pompedy. Wait. I know. Towncrier, bumbailiff. Long John. Waken the dead. Pom. Dignam. Poor little _nominedomine. _ Pom. It ismusic. I mean of course it's 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 ofcustom shah of Persia. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear. All the samehe must have been a bit of a natural not to see it was a yeoman cap. Muffled up. Wonder who was that chap at the grave in the brown macin. O, the whore of the lane!

A frowsy whore with black straw sailor hat askew came glazily in the dayalong the quay towards Mr Bloom. When first he saw that form endearing?Yes, it is. I feel so lonely. Wet night in the lane. Horn. Who hadthe? Heehaw shesaw. Off her beat here. What is she? Hope she. Psst! Anychance of your wash. Knew Molly. Had me decked. Stout lady does be withyou in the brown costume. Put you off your stroke, that. Appointmentwe made knowing we'd never, well hardly ever. Too dear too near to homesweet 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 Marks's antique saleshop window haughty Henry Lionel Leopolddear Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged batteredcandlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Bargain: six bob. Mightlearn to play. Cheap. Let her pass. Course everything is dear if youdon't want it. That's what good salesman is. Make you buy what he wantsto sell. Chap sold me the Swedish razor he shaved me with. Wanted tocharge me for the edge he gave it. She's passing now. Six bob. 

Must be the cider or perhaps the burgund. 

Near bronze from anear near gold from afar they chinked their clinkingglasses all, brighteyed and gallant, before bronze Lydia's tempting lastrose 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 Marks's window. RobertEmmet's last words. Seven last words. Of Meyerbeer that is. 

--True men like you men. 

--Ay, ay, Ben. 

--Will lift your glass with us. 

They lifted. 

Tschink. Tschunk. 

Tip. An unseeing stripling stood in the door. He saw not bronze. He sawnot gold. Nor Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richienor Pat. Hee hee hee hee. He did not see. 

Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. Softly. _When my country takesher place among. _

Prrprr. 

Must be the bur. 

Fff! Oo. Rrpr. 

_Nations of the earth. _ No-one behind. She's passed. _Then and not tillthen. _ Tram kran kran kran. Good oppor. Coming. Krandlkrankran. I'msure it's 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 thecorner of Arbour hill there and be damned but a bloody sweep came alongand he near drove his gear into my eye. I turned around to let him havethe weight of my tongue when who should I see dodging along Stony Batteronly Joe Hynes. 

--Lo, Joe, says I. How are you blowing? Did you see that bloodychimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush?

--Soot's luck, says Joe. Who's the old ballocks you were talking to?

--Old Troy, says I, was in the force. I'm on two minds not to give thatfellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms andladders. 

--What are you doing round those parts? says Joe. 

--Devil a much, says I. There's a bloody big foxy thief beyond by thegarrison church at the corner of Chicken lane--old Troy was just givingme a wrinkle about him--lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugarto pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down off ahop-of-my-thumb by the name of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesburystreet. 

--Circumcised? says Joe. 

--Ay, says I. A bit off the top. An old plumber named Geraghty. I'mhanging on to his taw now for the past fortnight and I can't get a pennyout of him. 

--That the lay you're on now? says Joe. 

--Ay, says I. How are the mighty fallen! Collector of bad and doubtfuldebts. But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day'swalk and the face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. _Tell him, _ says he, _I dare him, _ says he, _and I doubledare himto send you round here again or if he does, _ says he, _I'll havehim summonsed up before the court, so I will, for trading without alicence. _ And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. Jesus, I had to laugh at the little jewy getting his shirt out. _He drink me myteas. He eat me my sugars. Because he no pay me my moneys?_

For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin'sparade in the city of Dublin, Wood quay ward, merchant, hereinaftercalled 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 the purchaser, videlicet, five poundsavoirdupois of first choice tea at three shillings and no pence perpound avoirdupois and three stone avoirdupois of sugar, crushed crystal, at threepence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser debtor to thesaid vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for valuereceived which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor inweekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and nopence sterling: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned orpledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser but shallbe and remain and be held to be the sole and exclusive property of thesaid vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until thesaid amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser to the saidvendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed betweenthe said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the onepart and the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assignsof the other part. 

--Are you a strict t. T. ? says Joe. 

--Not taking anything between drinks, says I. 

--What about paying our respects to our friend? says Joe. 

--Who? says I. Sure, he's out in John of God's off his head, poor man. 

--Drinking his own stuff? says Joe. 

--Ay, says I. Whisky and water on the brain. 

--Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe. I want to see the citizen. 

--Barney mavourneen's be it, says I. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe?

--Not a word, says Joe. I was up at that meeting in the City Arms. 

---What was that, Joe? says I. 

--Cattle traders, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease. I want togive the citizen the hard word about it. 

So we went around by the Linenhall barracks and the back of thecourthouse talking of one thing or another. Decent fellow Joe when hehas it but sure like that he never has it. Jesus, I couldn't get overthat bloody foxy Geraghty, the daylight robber. For trading without alicence, says he. 

In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of holy Michan. Thererises a watchtower beheld of men afar. There sleep the mighty dead as inlife they slept, warriors and princes of high renown. A pleasant landit is in sooth of murmuring waters, fishful streams where sport thegurnard, the plaice, the roach, the halibut, the gibbed haddock, thegrilse, the dab, the brill, the flounder, the pollock, the mixed coarsefish generally and other denizens of the aqueous kingdom too numerous tobe enumerated. In the mild breezes of the west and of the east the loftytrees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the waftysycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugeniceucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with whichthat region is thoroughly well supplied. Lovely maidens sit in closeproximity to the roots of the lovely trees singing the most lovely songswhile they play with all kinds of lovely objects as for example goldeningots, silvery fishes, crans of herrings, drafts of eels, codlings, creels of fingerlings, purple seagems and playful insects. And heroesvoyage from afar to woo them, from Eblana to Slievemargy, the peerlessprinces of unfettered Munster and of Connacht the just and of smoothsleek Leinster and of Cruahan's land and of Armagh the splendid and ofthe noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of kings. 

And there rises a shining palace whose crystal glittering roof is seenby mariners who traverse the extensive sea in barks built expressly forthat purpose, and thither come all herds and fatlings and firstfruitsof that land for O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them, a chieftaindescended from chieftains. Thither the extremely large wains bringfoison 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 ofmushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and redgreen yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples andchips 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, younotorious bloody hill and dale robber!

And by that way wend the herds innumerable of bellwethers and flushedewes and shearling rams and lambs and stubble geese and medium steersand roaring mares and polled calves and longwoods and storesheep andCuffe's prime springers and culls and sowpigs and baconhogs and thevarious different varieties of highly distinguished swine and Angusheifers and polly bulllocks of immaculate pedigree together with primepremiated milchcows and beeves: and there is ever heard a trampling, cackling, roaring, lowing, bleating, bellowing, rumbling, grunting, champing, chewing, of sheep and pigs and heavyhooved kine frompasturelands of Lusk and Rush and Carrickmines and from the streamyvales of Thomond, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible andlordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from the gentle declivities of theplace of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance ofmilk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer's firkins andtargets 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 Kiernan's and there, sure enough, was thecitizen up in the corner having a great confab with himself and thatbloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he waiting for what the sky woulddrop in the way of drink. 

--There he is, says I, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and hisload of papers, working for the cause. 

The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him would give you the creeps. Bea corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloodydog. I'm told for a fact he ate a good part of the breeches off aconstabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paperabout a licence. 

--Stand and deliver, says he. 

--That's all right, citizen, says Joe. Friends here. 

--Pass, friends, says he. 

Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he:

--What's your opinion of the times?

Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill. But, begob, Joe was equal tothe occasion. 

--I think the markets are on a rise, says he, sliding his hand down hisfork. 

So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says:

--Foreign wars is the cause of it. 

And says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket:

--It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. 

--Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. I've a thirst on meI wouldn't sell for half a crown. 

--Give it a name, citizen, says Joe. 

--Wine of the country, says he. 

--What's yours? says Joe. 

--Ditto MacAnaspey, says I. 

--Three pints, Terry, says Joe. And how's the old heart, citizen? sayshe. 

--Never 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 neckand, by Jesus, he near throttled him. 

The figure seated on a large boulder at the foot of a round tower wasthat of a broadshouldered deepchested stronglimbed frankeyed redhairedfreelyfreckled shaggybearded widemouthed largenosed longheadeddeepvoiced barekneed brawnyhanded hairylegged ruddyfaced sinewyarmedhero. From shoulder to shoulder he measured several ells and hisrocklike mountainous knees were covered, as was likewise the rest of hisbody wherever visible, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair inhue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse (_Ulex Europeus_). The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same tawny hueprojected, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernousobscurity the fieldlark might easily have lodged her nest. The eyesin which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of thedimensions of a goodsized cauliflower. A powerful current of warm breathissued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouthwhile in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of hisformidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit ofthe lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate andtremble. 

He wore a long unsleeved garment of recently flayed oxhide reachingto the knees in a loose kilt and this was bound about his middle bya girdle of plaited straw and rushes. Beneath this he wore trews ofdeerskin, roughly stitched with gut. His nether extremities were encasedin high Balbriggan buskins dyed in lichen purple, the feet being shodwith brogues of salted cowhide laced with the windpipe of the samebeast. From his girdle hung a row of seastones which jangled at everymovement of his portentous frame and on these were graven with rudeyet striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and heroines ofantiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane O'Neill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh O'Donnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eoghan O'Growney, Michael Dwyer, FrancyHiggins, Henry Joy M'Cracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, CaptainBoycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S. Fursa, S. Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of theMaccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man forGalway, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sirThomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride ofLammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, PatrickW. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, ThomasCook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, LudwigBeethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, DollyMount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, GautamaBuddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, JeremiahO'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. A couched spear ofacuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savageanimal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he wassunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls andspasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to timeby tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out ofpaleolithic stone. 

So anyhow Terry brought the three pints Joe was standing and begob thesight nearly left my eyes when I saw him land out a quid O, as true asI'm telling you. A goodlooking sovereign. 

--And there's more where that came from, says he. 

--Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe? says I. 

--Sweat of my brow, says Joe. 'Twas the prudent member gave me thewheeze. 

--I saw him before I met you, says I, sloping around by Pill lane andGreek street with his cod's eye counting up all the guts of the fish. 

Who comes through Michan's land, bedight in sable armour? O'Bloom, the son of Rory: it is he. Impervious to fear is Rory's son: he of theprudent soul. 

--For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, the subsidisedorgan. The pledgebound party on the floor of the house. And look at thisblasted rag, says he. Look at this, says he. _The Irish Independent, _ ifyou please, founded by Parnell to be the workingman's friend. Listen tothe births and deaths in the _Irish all for Ireland Independent, _ andI'll thank you and the marriages. 

And he starts reading them out:

--Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne'son Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. How's that, eh? Wrightand Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rotha Marion daughter of Rosa and thelate George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham road, Stockwell, Playwood andRidsdale at Saint Jude's, 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 Moathouse, Chepstow. . . 

--I know that fellow, says Joe, from bitter experience. 

--Cockburn. Dimsey, wife of David Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. How's that for a national press, eh, my brownson! How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber?

--Ah, well, says Joe, handing round the boose. Thanks be to God they hadthe start of us. Drink that, citizen. 

--I will, says he, honourable person. 

--Health, Joe, says I. And all down the form. 

Ah! Ow! Don't 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 cameswiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, a comely youth and behind himthere passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacredscrolls 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 Barney'ssnug, squeezed up with the laughing. And who was sitting up there inthe corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world only BobDoran. I didn't know what was up and Alf kept making signs out of thedoor. And begob what was it only that bloody old pantaloon Denis Breenin his bathslippers with two bloody big books tucked under his oxter andthe wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretched woman, trotting like apoodle. I thought Alf would split. 

--Look at him, says he. Breen. He's traipsing all round Dublin with apostcard someone sent him with U. P: up on it to take a li. . . 

And he doubled up. 

--Take a what? says I. 

--Libel action, says he, for ten thousand pounds. 

--O hell! says I. 

The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in youseeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. 

_--Bi i dho husht, _ says he. 

--Who? says Joe. 

--Breen, says Alf. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went roundto Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round tothe subsheriff's for a lark. O God, I've a pain laughing. U. P: up. Thelong fellow gave him an eye as good as a process and now the bloody oldlunatic is gone round to Green street to look for a G man. 

--When is long John going to hang that fellow in Mountjoy? says Joe. 

--Bergan, says Bob Doran, waking up. Is that Alf Bergan?

--Yes, says Alf. Hanging? Wait till I show you. Here, Terry, give us apony. That bloody old fool! Ten thousand pounds. You should have seenlong John's eye. U. P. . . 

And he started laughing. 

--Who are you laughing at? says Bob Doran. Is that Bergan?

--Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf. 

Terence O'Ryan heard him and straightway brought him a crystal cupfull of the foamy ebon ale which the noble twin brothers Bungiveagh andBungardilaun brew ever in their divine alevats, cunning as the sons ofdeathless Leda. For they garner the succulent berries of the hop andmass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sourjuices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or dayfrom 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 thatthirsted, the soul of chivalry, in beauty akin to the immortals. 

But he, the young chief of the O'Bergan's, could ill brook to be outdonein generous deeds but gave therefor with gracious gesture a testoon ofcostliest bronze. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seenthe 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 theUnited Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the British dominionsbeyond the sea, queen, defender of the faith, Empress of India, evenshe, who bore rule, a victress over many peoples, the wellbeloved, forthey knew and loved her from the rising of the sun to the going downthereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop. 

--What's that bloody freemason doing, says the citizen, prowling up anddown outside?

--What's that? says Joe. 

--Here you are, says Alf, chucking out the rhino. Talking about hanging, I'll show you something you never saw. Hangmen's letters. Look at here. 

So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his pocket. 

--Are you codding? says I. 

--Honest injun, says Alf. Read them. 

So Joe took up the letters. 

--Who are you laughing at? says Bob Doran. 

So I saw there was going to be a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap whenthe porter's up in him so says I just to make talk:

--How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

--I don't know, says Alf I saw him just now in Capel street with PaddyDignam. Only I was running after that. . . 

--You what? says Joe, throwing down the letters. With who?

--With Dignam, says Alf. 

--Is it Paddy? says Joe. 

--Yes, says Alf. Why?

--Don't you know he's dead? says Joe. 

--Paddy Dignam dead! says Alf. 

--Ay, says Joe. 

--Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, as plain asa pikestaff. 

--Who's dead? says Bob Doran. 

--You saw his ghost then, says Joe, God between us and harm. 

--What? says Alf. Good Christ, only five. . . What?. . . And Willy Murraywith him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's. . . What? Dignamdead?

--What about Dignam? says Bob Doran. Who's talking about. . . ?

--Dead! says Alf. He's no more dead than you are. 

--Maybe so, says Joe. They took the liberty of burying him this morninganyhow. 

--Paddy? says Alf. 

--Ay, says Joe. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him. 

--Good Christ! says Alf. 

Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted. 

In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when prayer bytantras had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasingluminosity of ruby light became gradually visible, the apparition ofthe etheric double being particularly lifelike owing to the dischargeof jivic rays from the crown of the head and face. Communication waseffected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefieryand scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus. Questioned by his earthname as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld hestated that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was stillsubmitted to trial at the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on thelower astral levels. In reply to a question as to his first sensationsin the great divide beyond he stated that previously he had seen as in aglass darkly but that those who had passed over had summit possibilitiesof atmic development opened up to them. Interrogated as to whether lifethere resembled our experience in the flesh he stated that he had heardfrom more favoured beings now in the spirit that their abodes wereequipped with every modern home comfort such as talafana, alavatar, hatakalda, wataklasat and that the highest adepts were steeped inwaves of volupcy of the very purest nature. Having requested a quart ofbuttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief. Asked if hehad any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at thewrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reportedin devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on theeastern angle where the ram has power. It was then queried whether therewere 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. Doesn't pile it on. _ It was ascertained that the reference was to MrCornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H. J. O'Neill's popularfuneral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had beenresponsible for the carrying out of the interment arrangements. Beforedeparting he requested that it should be told to his dear son Patsy thatthe other boot which he had been looking for was at present under thecommode in the return room and that the pair should be sent to Cullen'sto be soled only as the heels were still good. He stated that this hadgreatly perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestlyrequested that his desire should be made known. 

Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it wasintimated that this had given satisfaction. 

He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. Fleet washis foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. Wail, Banba, withyour wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind. 

--There he is again, says the citizen, staring out. 

--Who? says I. 

--Bloom, says he. He's on point duty up and down there for the last tenminutes. 

And, begob, I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again. 

Little Alf was knocked bawways. Faith, he was. 

--Good Christ! says he. I could have sworn it was him. 

And says Bob Doran, with the hat on the back of his poll, lowestblackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence:

--Who said Christ is good?

--I beg your parsnips, says Alf. 

--Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, to take away poor little WillyDignam?

--Ah, well, says Alf, trying to pass it off. He's over all his troubles. 

But Bob Doran shouts out of him. 

--He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam. 

Terry came down and tipped him the wink to keep quiet, that they didn'twant that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises. And Bob Doranstarts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you're there. 

--The finest man, says he, snivelling, the finest purest character. 

The tear is bloody near your eye. Talking through his bloody hat. Fitterfor him go home to the little sleepwalking bitch he married, Mooney, thebumbailiff's daughter, mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street, thatused to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that wasstopping there at two in the morning without a stitch on her, exposingher person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour. 

--The noblest, the truest, says he. And he's gone, poor little Willy, poor little Paddy Dignam. 

And mournful and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of thatbeam of heaven. 

Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing roundthe door. 

--Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says the citizen. 

So Bloom slopes in with his cod's eye on the dog and he asks Terry wasMartin Cunningham there. 

--O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe, reading one of the letters. Listen tothis, 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 painfulcase i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and ihanged. . . _

--Show us, Joe, says I. 

--_. . . Private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit inPentonville prison and i was assistant when. . . _

--Jesus, says I. 

--_. . . Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith. . . _

The citizen made a grab at the letter. 

--Hold hard, says Joe, _i have a special nack of putting the noose oncein he can't get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir, myterms is five ginnees. _

_H. RUMBOLD, MASTER BARBER. _

--And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen. 

--And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. Here, says he, take themto hell out of my sight, Alf. Hello, Bloom, says he, what will you have?

So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and hecouldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said wellhe'd just take a cigar. Gob, he's a prudent member and no mistake. 

--Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe. 

And Alf was telling us there was one chap sent in a mourning card with ablack border round it. 

--They're all barbers, says he, from the black country that would hangtheir own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. 

And he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull hisheels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then theychop 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. Theirdeadly coil they grasp: yea, and therein they lead to Erebus whatsoeverwight hath done a deed of blood for I will on nowise suffer it even sosaith the Lord. 

So they started talking about capital punishment and of course Bloomcomes out with the why and the wherefore and all the codology of thebusiness and the old dog smelling him all the time I'm told those jewiesdoes have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don'tknow what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on. 

--There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf. 

--What's that? says Joe. 

--The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf. 

--That so? says Joe. 

--God's truth, says Alf. I heard that from the head warder that was in

Kilmainham when they hanged Joe Brady, the invincible. He told me whenthey cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces likea poker. 

--Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe, as someone said. 

--That can be explained by science, says Bloom. It's only a naturalphenomenon, don't you see, because on account of the. . . 

And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science andthis phenomenon and the other phenomenon. 

The distinguished scientist Herr Professor Luitpold Blumenduft tenderedmedical evidence to the effect that the instantaneous fracture of thecervical vertebrae and consequent scission of the spinal cord would, according to the best approved tradition of medical science, becalculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violentganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby causing the elastic pores of the _corpora cavernosa_ to rapidlydilate in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of bloodto that part of the human anatomy known as the penis or male organresulting in the phenomenon which has been denominated by the facultya morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection _in articulomortis per diminutionem capitis. _

So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word andhe starts gassing out of him about the invincibles and the old guard andthe men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe withhim about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported forthe cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, thatand the other. Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and get a newdog so he ought. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all roundthe place and scratching his scabs. And round he goes to Bob Doran thatwas standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get. So ofcourse Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool with him:

--Give us the paw! Give the paw, doggy! Good old doggy! Give the pawhere! Give us the paw!

Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him fromtumbling off the bloody stool atop of the bloody old dog and he talkingall kinds of drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred dog andintelligent dog: give you the bloody pip. Then he starts scraping a fewbits of old biscuit out of the bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry tobring. Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hangingout of him a yard long for more. Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloodymongrel. 

And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, thebrothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmetand die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran andshe's far from the land. And Bloom, of course, with his knockmedowncigar putting on swank with his lardy face. Phenomenon! The fat heap hemarried 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 therewas an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloomtrying to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing béziqueto come in for a bit of the wampum in her will and not eating meat of aFriday because the old one was always thumping her craw and taking thelout 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 asdrunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils ofalcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it'sa queer story, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept thehotel. Jesus, I had to laugh at pisser Burke taking them off chewingthe fat. And Bloom with his _but don't you see?_ and _but on the otherhand_. And sure, more be token, the lout I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab fivetimes in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in thebloody establishment. Phenomenon!

--The memory of the dead, says the citizen taking up his pintglass andglaring at Bloom. 

--Ay, ay, says Joe. 

--You don't grasp my point, says Bloom. What I mean is. . . 

--_Sinn Fein!_ says the citizen. _Sinn Fein amhain!_ The friends we loveare by our side and the foes we hate before us. 

The last farewell was affecting in the extreme. From the belfries farand near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around thegloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drumspunctuated by the hollow booming of pieces of ordnance. The deafeningclaps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit upthe ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent itssupernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle. A torrential rainpoured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon thebared heads of the assembled multitude which numbered at thelowest computation five hundred thousand persons. A posse of DublinMetropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in personmaintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass andreed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering ontheir blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us fromthe cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. Special quick excursion trainsand upholstered charabancs had been provided for the comfort of ourcountry cousins of whom there were large contingents. Considerableamusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n andM-ll-g-n who sang _The Night before Larry was stretched_ in their usualmirth-provoking fashion. Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring tradewith their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobodywho has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgaritywill grudge them their hardearned pennies. The children of the Male andFemale Foundling Hospital who thronged the windows overlooking the scenewere delighted with this unexpected addition to the day's entertainmentand a word of praise is due to the Little Sisters of the Poor for theirexcellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless childrena genuinely instructive treat. The viceregal houseparty which includedmany wellknown ladies was chaperoned by Their Excellencies to the mostfavourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreigndelegation known as the Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodatedon 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 apowerful steam crane), Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the GrandjokerVladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph vonSchwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba BacksheeshRahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabrasy Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi HungChang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan PoleaxePaddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, BorusHupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. All thedelegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongestpossible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity whichthey had been called upon to witness. An animated altercation (in whichall took part) ensued among the F. O. T. E. I. As to whether the eighthor the ninth of March was the correct date of the birth of Ireland'spatron saint. In the course of the argument cannonballs, scimitars, boomerangs, blunderbusses, stinkpots, meatchoppers, umbrellas, catapults, knuckledusters, sandbags, lumps of pig iron were resorted toand blows were freely exchanged. The baby policeman, ConstableMacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quicklyrestored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenthof the month as a solution equally honourable for both contendingparties. The readywitted ninefooter's suggestion at once appealed to alland was unanimously accepted. Constable MacFadden was heartilycongratulated by all the F. O. T. E. I. , several of whom were bleedingprofusely. Commendatore Beninobenone having been extricated fromunderneath the presidential armchair, it was explained by his legaladviser Avvocato Pagamimi that the various articles secreted in histhirtytwo pockets had been abstracted by him during the affray from thepockets of his junior colleagues in the hope of bringing them to theirsenses. The objects (which included several hundred ladies' andgentlemen's gold and silver watches) were promptly restored to theirrightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme. 

Quietly, unassumingly Rumbold stepped on to the scaffold in faultlessmorning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the _GladiolusCruentus_. He announced his presence by that gentle Rumboldian coughwhich so many have tried (unsuccessfully) to imitate--short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. The arrival of theworldrenowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from thehuge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs intheir excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegatescheered 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 recallingthose piercingly lovely notes with which the eunuch Catalani beglamouredour greatgreatgrandmothers) was easily distinguishable. It was exactlyseventeen o'clock. The signal for prayer was then promptly given bymegaphone and in an instant all heads were bared, the commendatore'spatriarchal sombrero, which has been in the possession of his familysince the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviserin attendance, Dr Pippi. The learned prelate who administered the lastcomforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the deathpenalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, hiscassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the throne of gracefervent prayers of supplication. Hand by the block stood the grim figureof the executioner, his visage being concealed in a tengallon potwith two circular perforated apertures through which his eyes gloweredfuriously. As he awaited the fatal signal he tested the edge of hishorrible weapon by honing it upon his brawny forearm or decapitatedin rapid succession a flock of sheep which had been provided by theadmirers of his fell but necessary office. On a handsome mahogany tablenear him were neatly arranged the quartering knife, the variousfinely tempered disembowelling appliances (specially supplied by theworldfamous 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 when successfully extracted and twocommodious milkjugs destined to receive the most precious blood of themost precious victim. The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' anddogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenishedto that beneficent institution. Quite an excellent repast consisting ofrashers and eggs, fried steak and onions, done to a nicety, delicioushot breakfast rolls and invigorating tea had been considerately providedby the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of thetragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evincedthe keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasionand expressed the dying wish (immediately acceded to) that the mealshould be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the sick andindigent roomkeepers' association as a token of his regard and esteem. The _nec_ and _non plus ultra_ of emotion were reached when the blushingbride elect burst her way through the serried ranks of the bystandersand flung herself upon the muscular bosom of him who was about to belaunched into eternity for her sake. The hero folded her willowy form ina loving embrace murmuring fondly _Sheila, my own_. Encouraged bythis use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the varioussuitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garbpermitted her ardour to reach. She swore to him as they mingled the saltstreams of their tears that she would ever cherish his memory, that shewould never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on hislips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. Shebrought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhoodtogether on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in theinnocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the spectators, including the venerablepastor, joining in the general merriment. That monster audience simplyrocked with delight. But anon they were overcome with grief and claspedtheir hands for the last time. A fresh torrent of tears burst from theirlachrymal ducts and the vast concourse of people, touched to the inmostcore, broke into heartrending sobs, not the least affected being theaged prebendary himself. Big strong men, officers of the peace andgenial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use oftheir handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was not a dry eyein that record assemblage. A most romantic incident occurred when ahandsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fairsex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbookand genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and was accepted on the spot. Every ladyin the audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the occasionin the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a timely and generousact which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the gallant youngOxonian (the bearer, by the way, of one of the most timehonoured namesin Albion's history) placed on the finger of his blushing _fiancée_ anexpensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of afourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds. Nay, even thester provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullanTomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had blown aconsiderable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion. With his mailed gauntlethe brushed away a furtive tear and was overheard, by those privilegedburghers who happened to be in his immediate _entourage, _ to murmur tohimself in a faltering undertone:

--God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. Blimey itmakes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it does, when I sees her causeI thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. 

So then the citizen begins talking about the Irish language and thecorporation meeting and all to that and the shoneens that can't speaktheir own language and Joe chipping in because he stuck someone for aquid and Bloom putting in his old goo with his twopenny stump thathe cadged off of Joe and talking about the Gaelic league and theantitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland. Antitreating isabout the size of it. Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink downhis throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the frothof his pint. And one night I went in with a fellow into one of theirmusical evenings, song and dance about she could get up on a truss ofhay she could my Maureen Lay and there was a fellow with a Ballyhoolyblue ribbon badge spiffing out of him in Irish and a lot of colleenbawns going about with temperance beverages and selling medalsand oranges and lemonade and a few old dry buns, gob, flahoolaghentertainment, don't be talking. Ireland sober is Ireland free. Andthen an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the gougersshuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. And one or twosky pilots having an eye around that there was no goings on with thefemales, hitting below the belt. 

So howandever, as I was saying, the old dog seeing the tin was emptystarts mousing around by Joe and me. I'd train him by kindness, so Iwould, if he was my dog. Give him a rousing fine kick now and againwhere it wouldn't blind him. 

--Afraid he'll bite you? says the citizen, jeering. 

--No, says I. But he might take my leg for a lamppost. 

So he calls the old dog over. 

--What's on you, Garry? says he. 

Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him in Irish and theold towser growling, letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. Such growling you never heard as they let off between them. Someone thathas nothing better to do ought to write a letter _pro bono publico_ tothe papers about the muzzling order for a dog the like of that. Growlingand grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and thehydrophobia dropping out of his jaws. 

All those who are interested in the spread of human culture among thelower animals (and their name is legion) should make a point of notmissing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by thefamous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the _sobriquet_ ofGarryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends andacquaintances Owen Garry. The exhibition, which is the result of yearsof training by kindness and a carefully thoughtout dietary system, comprises, among other achievements, the recitation of verse. Ourgreatest living phonetic expert (wild horses shall not drag it from us!)has left no stone unturned in his efforts to delucidate and comparethe verse recited and has found it bears a _striking_ resemblance (theitalics are ours) to the ranns of ancient Celtic bards. We are notspeaking so much of those delightful lovesongs with which the writer whoconceals his identity under the graceful pseudonym of the LittleSweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather (asa contributor D. O. C. Points out in an interesting communicationpublished by an evening contemporary) of the harsher and more personalnote which is found in the satirical effusions of the famous Raftery andof Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a more modern lyrist at presentvery much in the public eye. We subjoin a specimen which has beenrendered into English by an eminent scholar whose name for the moment weare not at liberty to disclose though we believe that our readers willfind the topical allusion rather more than an indication. The metricalsystem of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterativeand isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely morecomplicated but we believe our readers will agree that the spirit hasbeen well caught. Perhaps it should be added that the effect is greatlyincreased if Owen's verse be spoken somewhat slowly and indistinctly ina 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 Lowry's lights. _

So he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and, gob, you couldhear him lapping it up a mile off. And Joe asked him would he haveanother. 

--I will, says he, _a chara_, to show there's no ill feeling. 

Gob, he's not as green as he's cabbagelooking. Arsing around from onepub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dogand getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators. Entertainment forman and beast. And says Joe:

--Could you make a hole in another pint?

--Could a swim duck? says I. 

--Same again, Terry, says Joe. Are you sure you won't have anything inthe way of liquid refreshment? says he. 

--Thank you, no, says Bloom. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meetMartin Cunningham, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. Martin asked me to go to the house. You see, he, Dignam, I mean, didn'tserve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time andnominally under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. 

--Holy Wars, says Joe, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock islanded. So the wife comes out top dog, what?

--Well, that's a point, says Bloom, for the wife's admirers. 

--Whose admirers? says Joe. 

--The wife's advisers, I mean, says Bloom. 

Then he starts all confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the actlike the lord chancellor giving it out on the bench and for the benefitof the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand thatDignam owed Bridgeman the money and if now the wife or the widowcontested the mortgagee's right till he near had the head of me addledwith his mortgagor under the act. He was bloody safe he wasn't run inhimself under the act that time as a rogue and vagabond only he had afriend in court. Selling bazaar tickets or what do you call it royalHungarian privileged lottery. True as you're there. O, commend me to anisraelite! Royal and privileged Hungarian robbery. 

So Bob Doran comes lurching around asking Bloom to tell Mrs Dignam hewas sorry for her trouble and he was very sorry about the funeral andto tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there wasnever a truer, a finer than poor little Willy that's dead to tell her. Choking with bloody foolery. And shaking Bloom's hand doing the tragicto tell her that. Shake hands, brother. You're a rogue and I'm another. 

--Let me, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, howeverslight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request ofyou this favour. But, should I have overstepped the limits of reservelet the sincerity of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness. 

--No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives whichactuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust tome consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness ofthe cup. 

--Then suffer me to take your hand, said he. The goodness of your heart, I feel sure, will dictate to you better than my inadequate wordsthe expressions which are most suitable to convey an emotion whosepoignancy, were I to give vent to my feelings, would deprive me even ofspeech. 

And off with him and out trying to walk straight. Boosed at fiveo'clock. Night he was near being lagged only Paddy Leonard knew thebobby, 14A. Blind to the world up in a shebeen in Bride street afterclosing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinkingporter out of teacups. And calling himself a Frenchy for the shawls, Joseph Manuo, and talking against the Catholic religion, and he servingmass in Adam and Eve's when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrotethe new testament, and the old testament, and hugging and smugging. Andthe two shawls killed with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloodyfool and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two shawlsscreeching laughing at one another. _How is your testament? Have you gotan old testament?_ Only Paddy was passing there, I tell you what. Thensee him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife, and she waggingher tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, noless, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the little lady. Jack Mooney'ssister. And the old prostitute of a mother procuring rooms to streetcouples. Gob, Jack made him toe the line. Told him if he didn't patch upthe pot, Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him. 

So Terry brought the three pints. 

--Here, says Joe, doing the honours. Here, citizen. 

--_Slan leat_, says he. 

--Fortune, Joe, says I. Good health, citizen. 

Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. Want a smallfortune to keep him in drinks. 

--Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf? says Joe. 

--Friend of yours, says Alf. 

--Nannan? says Joe. The mimber?

--I won't mention any names, says Alf. 

--I thought so, says Joe. I saw him up at that meeting now with WilliamField, M. P. , the cattle traders. 

--Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling ofall countries and the idol of his own. 

So Joe starts telling the citizen about the foot and mouth diseaseand the cattle traders and taking action in the matter and the citizensending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with hissheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and theguaranteed remedy for timber tongue. Because he was up one time in aknacker's yard. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my headand my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the order of the bootfor giving lip to a grazier. Mister Knowall. Teach your grandmother howto milk ducks. Pisser Burke was telling me in the hotel the wife usedto be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes outwith her eight inches of fat all over her. Couldn't loosen her fartingstrings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to doit. What's your programme today? Ay. Humane methods. Because the pooranimals suffer and experts say and the best known remedy that doesn'tcause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen. 

Ga Ga Gara. Klook Klook Klook. Black Liz is our hen. She lays eggs forus. When she lays her egg she is so glad. Gara. Klook Klook Klook. Thencomes good uncle Leo. He puts his hand under black Liz and takes herfresh egg. Ga ga ga ga Gara. Klook Klook Klook. 

--Anyhow, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to Londonto ask about it on the floor of the house of commons. 

--Are you sure, says Bloom, the councillor is going? I wanted to seehim, as it happens. 

--Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe, tonight. 

--That's too bad, says Bloom. I wanted particularly. Perhaps only MrField is going. I couldn't phone. No. You're sure?

--Nannan's going too, says Joe. The league told him to ask a questiontomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in thepark. What do you think of that, citizen? _The Sluagh na h-Eireann_. 

Mr Cowe Conacre (Multifarnham. Nat. ): Arising out of the question ofmy honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the righthonourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that theseanimals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcomingas to their pathological condition?

Mr Allfours (Tamoshant. Con. ): Honourable members are already inpossession of the evidence produced before a committee of the wholehouse. I feel I cannot usefully add anything to that. The answer to thehonourable member's question is in the affirmative. 

Mr Orelli O'Reilly (Montenotte. Nat. ): Have similar orders been issuedfor the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in thePhoenix park?

Mr Allfours: The answer is in the negative. 

Mr Cowe Conacre: Has the right honourable gentleman's famousMitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasurybench? (O! O!)

Mr Allfours: I must have notice of that question. 

Mr Staylewit (Buncombe. Ind. ): Don't hesitate to shoot. 

(Ironical opposition cheers. )

The speaker: Order! Order!

(The house rises. Cheers. )

--There's the man, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. Therehe is sitting there. The man that got away James Stephens. The championof all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot. What was your bestthrow, citizen?

--_Na bacleis_, says the citizen, letting on to be modest. There was atime I was as good as the next fellow anyhow. 

--Put it there, citizen, says Joe. You were and a bloody sight better. 

--Is that really a fact? says Alf. 

--Yes, says Bloom. That's well known. Did you not know that?

So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like oflawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soiland building up a nation once again and all to that. And of course Bloomhad to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violentexercise was bad. I declare to my antimacassar if you took up a strawfrom the bloody floor and if you said to Bloom: _Look at, Bloom. Do yousee that straw? That's a straw_. Declare to my aunt he'd talk about itfor an hour so he would and talk steady. 

A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of _BrianO'ciarnain's_ in _Sraid na Bretaine Bheag_, under the auspices of_Sluagh na h-Eireann_, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and theimportance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece andancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the development of the race. The venerable president of the noble order was in the chair and theattendance was of large dimensions. After an instructive discourse bythe chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standardof excellence ensued as to the desirability of the revivability ofthe ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. Thewellknown and highly respected worker in the cause of our old tongue, MrJoseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation ofthe ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and eveningby Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manlystrength and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages. L. Bloom, whomet with a mixed reception of applause and hisses, having espoused thenegative the vocalist chairman brought the discussion to a close, inresponse to repeated requests and hearty plaudits from all parts ofa bumper house, by a remarkably noteworthy rendering of the immortalThomas Osborne Davis' evergreen verses (happily too familiar to needrecalling here) _A nation once again_ in the execution of which theveteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradictionto have fairly excelled himself. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was insuperlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatestadvantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can singit. His superb highclass vocalism, which by its superquality greatlyenhanced his already international reputation, was vociferouslyapplauded by the large audience among which were to be noticed manyprominent members of the clergy as well as representatives of the pressand the bar and the other learned professions. The proceedings thenterminated. 

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 very rev. B. Gorman, O. D. C. ; 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. ; therev. M. A. Hackett, C. C. ; the rev. W. Hurley, C. C. ; the rt rev. MgrM'Manus, 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. Timothycanon Gorman, P. P. ; the rev. J. Flanagan, C. C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc. , etc. 

--Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, were you at thatKeogh-Bennett match?

--No, says Joe. 

--I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf. 

--Who? Blazes? says Joe. 

And says Bloom:

--What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and trainingthe eye. 

--Ay, Blazes, says Alf. He let out that Myler was on the beer to run upthe odds and he swatting all the time. 

--We know him, says the citizen. The traitor's son. We know what putEnglish gold in his pocket. 

---True for you, says Joe. 

And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of theblood, asking Alf:

--Now, don't you think, Bergan?

--Myler dusted the floor with him, says Alf. Heenan and Sayers was onlya bloody fool to it. Handed him the father and mother of a beating. Seethe 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, madehim puke what he never ate. 

It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and Percy were scheduledto don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns. Handicapped as hewas by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlativeskill in ringcraft. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for bothchampions. The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claretin the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral ofrights and lefts, the artilleryman putting in some neat work on thepet's nose, and Myler came on looking groggy. The soldier got tobusiness, leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irishgladiator retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point ofBennett's jaw. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with aleft hook, the body punch being a fine one. The men came to handigrips. Myler quickly became busy and got his man under, the bout ending withthe bulkier man on the ropes, Myler punishing him. The Englishman, whoseright eye was nearly closed, took his corner where he was liberallydrenched with water and when the bell went came on gamey and brimful ofpluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime. It wasa fight to a finish and the best man for it. The two fought like tigersand excitement ran fever high. The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percyfor holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. After a brisk exchange of courtesies during which a smart upper cut ofthe military man brought blood freely from his opponent's mouth thelamb suddenly waded in all over his man and landed a terrific left toBattling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat. It was a knockout cleanand clever. Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was beingcounted out when Bennett's second Ole Pfotts Wettstein threw in thetowel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers ofthe public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him withdelight. 

--He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. I hear he'srunning a concert tour now up in the north. 

--He is, says Joe. Isn't he?

--Who? says Bloom. Ah, yes. That's quite true. Yes, a kind of summertour, you see. Just a holiday. 

--Mrs B. Is the bright particular star, isn't she? says Joe. 

--My wife? says Bloom. She's singing, yes. I think it will be a successtoo. 

He's an excellent man to organise. Excellent. 

Hoho begob says I to myself says I. That explains the milk in thecocoanut and absence of hair on the animal's chest. Blazes doing thetootle on the flute. Concert tour. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Islandbridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fightthe Boers. Old Whatwhat. I called about the poor and water rate, MrBoylan. You what? The water rate, Mr Boylan. You whatwhat? That's thebucko that'll organise her, take my tip. 'Twixt me and you Caddareesh. 

Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. Theregrew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. Thegardens 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 O'Molloy's, a comely heroof white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learnedin the law, and with him the prince and heir of the noble line ofLambert. 

--Hello, Ned. 

--Hello, Alf. 

--Hello, Jack. 

--Hello, Joe. 

--God save you, says the citizen. 

--Save you kindly, says J. J. What'll it be, Ned?

--Half one, says Ned. 

So J. J. Ordered the drinks. 

--Were you round at the court? says Joe. 

--Yes, says J. J. He'll square that, Ned, says he. 

--Hope so, says Ned. 

Now what were those two at? J. J. Getting him off the grand jury listand the other give him a leg over the stile. With his name in Stubbs's. Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in theireye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one wouldknow him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasinghis boots out of the pop. What's your name, sir? Dunne, says he. Ay, anddone says I. Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking. 

--Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? says Alf. U. P: up. 

--Yes, says J. J. Looking for a private detective. 

--Ay, says Ned. And he wanted right go wrong to address the court onlyCorny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the handwriting examinedfirst. 

--Ten thousand pounds, says Alf, laughing. God, I'd give anything tohear him before a judge and jury. 

--Was it you did it, Alf? says Joe. The truth, the whole truth andnothing but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. 

--Me? says Alf. Don't cast your nasturtiums on my character. 

--Whatever statement you make, says Joe, will be taken down in evidenceagainst you. 

--Of course an action would lie, says J. J. It implies that he is not_compos mentis_. U. P: up. 

_--Compos_ your eye! says Alf, laughing. Do you know that he's balmy?Look at his head. Do you know that some mornings he has to get his haton with a shoehorn. 

--Yes, says J. J. , but the truth of a libel is no defence to anindictment for publishing it in the eyes of the law. 

--Ha ha, Alf, says Joe. 

--Still, says Bloom, on account of the poor woman, I mean his wife. 

--Pity about her, says the citizen. Or any other woman marries a halfand half. 

--How half and half? says Bloom. Do you mean he. . . 

--Half and half I mean, says the citizen. A fellow that's neither fishnor flesh. 

--Nor good red herring, says Joe. 

--That what's I mean, says the citizen. A pishogue, if you know whatthat is. 

Begob I saw there was trouble coming. And Bloom explaining he meant onaccount of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after theold stuttering fool. Cruelty to animals so it is to let that bloodypovertystricken Breen out on grass with his beard out tripping him, bringing down the rain. And she with her nose cockahoop after shemarried him because a cousin of his old fellow's was pewopener to thepope. Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to theHoly Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. And who washe, tell us? A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings aweek, and he covered with all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance tothe world. 

--And moreover, says J. J. , a postcard is publication. It was held tobe sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. Hole. In myopinion an action might lie. 

Six and eightpence, please. Who wants your opinion? Let us drink ourpints in peace. Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. 

--Well, good health, Jack, says Ned. 

--Good health, Ned, says J. J. 

---There he is again, says Joe. 

--Where? says Alf. 

And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxterand the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking inas they went past, talking to him like a father, trying to sell him asecondhand coffin. 

--How did that Canada swindle case go off? says Joe. 

--Remanded, says J. J. 

One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of JamesWought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the paperssaying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. What? Do you seeany green in the white of my eye? Course it was a bloody barney. What?Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, andhis own kidney too. J. J. Was telling us there was an ancient HebrewZaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on him, swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid. 

--Who tried the case? says Joe. 

--Recorder, says Ned. 

--Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes. 

--Heart as big as a lion, says Ned. Tell him a tale of woe about arrearsof rent and a sick wife and a squad of kids and, faith, he'll dissolvein tears on the bench. 

--Ay, says Alf. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the dockthe other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, forthe corporation there near Butt bridge. 

And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to cry:

--A most scandalous thing! This poor hardworking man! How many children?Ten, did you say?

--Yes, your worship. And my wife has the typhoid. 

--And the wife with typhoid fever! Scandalous! Leave the courtimmediately, sir. No, sir, I'll make no order for payment. How dare you, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an order! A poor hardworkingindustrious man! I dismiss the case. 

And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month of the oxeyed goddess andin the third week after the feastday of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her firstquarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to thehalls of law. There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gavehis rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in theprobate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the firstchargeant upon the property in the matter of the will propounded andfinal testamentary disposition _in re_ the real and personal estate ofthe late lamented Jacob Halliday, vintner, deceased, versus Livingstone, an infant, of unsound mind, and another. And to the solemn court ofGreen street there came sir Frederick the Falconer. And he sat him thereabout the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the brehons atthe commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for thecounty of the city of Dublin. And there sat with him the high sinhedrimof the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe ofPatrick and of the tribe of Hugh and of the tribe of Owen and of thetribe of Conn and of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Fergus andof the tribe of Finn and of the tribe of Dermot and of the tribe ofCormac and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Caolte and of thetribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. And heconjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well andtruly try and true deliverance make in the issue joined between theirsovereign lord the king and the prisoner at the bar and true verdictgive according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the book. Andthey rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, and they swore bythe name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do Hisrightwiseness. And straightway the minions of the law led forth fromtheir donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds of justice had apprehendedin consequence of information received. And they shackled him hand andfoot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a chargeagainst him for he was a malefactor. 

--Those are nice things, says the citizen, coming over here to Irelandfilling the country with bugs. 

So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the firstbut if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford. And so Joe swore highand holy by this and by that he'd do the devil and all. 

--Because, you see, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must haverepetition. That's the whole secret. 

--Rely on me, says Joe. 

--Swindling the peasants, says the citizen, and the poor of Ireland. Wewant no more strangers in our house. 

--O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom. It's just thatKeyes, you see. 

--Consider that done, says Joe. 

--Very kind of you, says Bloom. 

--The strangers, says the citizen. Our own fault. We let them come in. We brought them in. The adulteress and her paramour brought the Saxonrobbers here. 

--Decree _nisi, _ says J. J. 

And Bloom letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, aspider's web in the corner behind the barrel, and the citizen scowlingafter him and the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite andwhen. 

--A dishonoured wife, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of allour misfortunes. 

--And here she is, says Alf, that was giggling over the _Police Gazette_with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. 

--Give us a squint at her, says I. 

And what was it only one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows offof Corny Kelleher. Secrets for enlarging your private parts. Misconductof society belle. Norman W. Tupper, wealthy Chicago contractor, findspretty but faithless wife in lap of officer Taylor. Belle in herbloomers misconducting herself, and her fancyman feeling for her ticklesand Norman W. Tupper bouncing in with his peashooter just in time to belate after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. 

--O jakers, Jenny, says Joe, how short your shirt is!

--There's hair, Joe, says I. Get a queer old tailend of corned beef offof that one, what?

So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a face onhim as long as a late breakfast. 

--Well, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action?What did those tinkers in the city hall at their caucus meeting decideabout the Irish language?

O'Nolan, clad in shining armour, low bending made obeisance to thepuissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit ofthat which had befallen, how that the grave elders of the most obedientcity, second of the realm, had met them in the tholsel, and there, afterdue prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal, had taken solemncounsel whereby they might, if so be it might be, bring once more intohonour among mortal men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael. 

--It's on the march, says the citizen. To hell with the bloody brutalSassenachs and their _patois. _

So J. J. Puts in a word, doing the toff about one story was good tillyou heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting yourblind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeacha nation, and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration andtheir colonies and their civilisation. 

--Their syphilisation, you mean, says the citizen. To hell withthem! The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloodythicklugged sons of whores' gets! No music and no art and no literatureworthy of the name. Any civilisation they have they stole from us. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts. 

--The European family, says J. J. . . . 

--They're not European, says the citizen. I was in Europe with KevinEgan of Paris. You wouldn't see a trace of them or their languageanywhere in Europe except in a _cabinet d'aisance. _

And says John Wyse:

--Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 

And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the lingo:

--_Conspuez les Anglais! Perfide Albion!_

He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands themedher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan _LamhDearg Abu_, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mightyvalorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabastersilent as the deathless gods. 

--What's up with you, says I to Lenehan. You look like a fellow that hadlost a bob and found a tanner. 

--Gold cup, says he. 

--Who won, Mr Lenehan? says Terry. 

_--Throwaway, _ says he, at twenty to one. A rank outsider. And the restnowhere. 

--And Bass's mare? says Terry. 

--Still running, says he. We're all in a cart. Boylan plunged two quidon my tip _Sceptre_ for himself and a lady friend. 

--I had half a crown myself, says Terry, on _Zinfandel_ that Mr Flynngave me. Lord Howard de Walden's. 

--Twenty to one, says Lenehan. Such is life in an outhouse. _Throwaway, _says he. Takes the biscuit, and talking about bunions. Frailty, thy nameis _Sceptre. _

So he went over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there wasanything he could lift on the nod, the old cur after him backing hisluck with his mangy snout up. Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard. 

--Not there, my child, says he. 

--Keep your pecker up, says Joe. She'd have won the money only for theother dog. 

And J. J. And the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloomsticking in an odd word. 

--Some people, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but theycan't see the beam in their own. 

--_Raimeis_, says the citizen. There's no-one as blind as the fellowthat won't see, if you know what that means. Where are our missingtwenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our losttribes? 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 flaxand our damask from the looms of Antrim and our Limerick lace, ourtanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and ourHuguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silkand our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite conventin New Ross, nothing like it in the whole wide world. Where are theGreek merchants that came through the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltarnow grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and Tyrian purple tosell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, evenGiraldus Cambrensis. Wine, peltries, Connemara marble, silver fromTipperary, second to none, our farfamed horses even today, the Irishhobbies, with king Philip of Spain offering to pay customs duties forthe right to fish in our waters. What do the yellowjohns of Anglia oweus for our ruined trade and our ruined hearths? And the beds of theBarrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh andbog to make us all die of consumption?

--As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse, or Heligolandwith 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 wasreading a report of lord Castletown's. . . 

--Save them, says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftainelm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage. Save thetrees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills ofEire, O. 

--Europe has its eyes on you, says Lenehan. 

The fashionable international world attended EN MASSE this afternoonat the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chiefranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of PineValley. Lady Sylvester Elmshade, Mrs Barbara Lovebirch, Mrs Poll Ash, Mrs Holly Hazeleyes, Miss Daphne Bays, Miss Dorothy Canebrake, Mrs ClydeTwelvetrees, Mrs Rowan Greene, Mrs Helen Vinegadding, Miss VirginiaCreeper, Miss Gladys Beech, Miss Olive Garth, Miss Blanche Maple, MrsMaud Mahogany, Miss Myra Myrtle, Miss Priscilla Elderflower, MissBee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O Mimosa San, Miss RachelCedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs LianaForrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regisgraced the ceremony by their presence. The bride who was given away byher father, the M'Conifer of the Glands, looked exquisitely charming ina creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslipof gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished witha triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved bybretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze. The maids of honour, MissLarch Conifer and Miss Spruce Conifer, sisters of the bride, wore verybecoming costumes in the same tone, a dainty _motif_ of plume rose beingworked into the pleats in a pinstripe and repeated capriciously in thejadegreen toques in the form of heron feathers of paletinted coral. Senhor Enrique Flor presided at the organ with his wellknown abilityand, in addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, playeda new and striking arrangement of _Woodman, spare that tree_ at theconclusion of the service. On leaving the church of Saint Fiacre _inHorto_ after the papal blessing the happy pair were subjected to aplayful crossfire of hazelnuts, beechmast, bayleaves, catkins of willow, ivytod, hollyberries, mistletoe sprigs and quicken shoots. Mr and MrsWyse Conifer Neaulan will spend a quiet honeymoon in the Black Forest. 

--And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen. We had our trade withSpain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels werepupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway. 

--And will again, says Joe. 

--And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says thecitizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be fullagain, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdomof Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world witha fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and theO'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty withthe emperor Charles the Fifth himself. And will again, says he, when thefirst Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag tothe fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, the oldest flag afloat, the flag of the province of Desmond and Thomond, three crowns on a bluefield, the three sons of Milesius. 

And he took the last swig out of the pint. Moya. All wind and piss likea tanyard cat. Cows in Connacht have long horns. As much as his bloodylife is worth to go down and address his tall talk to the assembledmultitude in Shanagolden where he daren't show his nose with the MollyMaguires looking for him to let daylight through him for grabbing theholding of an evicted tenant. 

--Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse. What will you have?

--An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. 

--Half one, Terry, says John Wyse, and a hands up. Terry! Are youasleep?

--Yes, sir, says Terry. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. Right, sir. 

Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead ofattending to the general public. Picture of a butting match, trying tocrack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other with his headdown like a bull at a gate. And another one: _Black Beast Burned inOmaha, Ga_. A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at aSambo strung up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire underhim. Gob, they ought to drown him in the sea after and electrocute andcrucify him to make sure of their job. 

--But what about the fighting navy, says Ned, that keeps our foes atbay?

--I'll tell you what about it, says the citizen. Hell upon earth it is. Read the revelations that's going on in the papers about flogging onthe training ships at Portsmouth. A fellow writes that calls himself_Disgusted One_. 

So he starts telling us about corporal punishment and about the crewof tars and officers and rearadmirals drawn up in cocked hats and theparson with his protestant bible to witness punishment and a young ladbrought out, howling for his ma, and they tie him down on the buttend ofa gun. 

--A rump and dozen, says the citizen, was what that old ruffian sir JohnBeresford called it but the modern God's Englishman calls it caning onthe breech. 

And says John Wyse:

--'Tis 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 caneand he draws out and he flogs the bloody backside off of the poor ladtill he yells meila murder. 

--That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen, that bosses theearth. 

The fellows that never will be slaves, with the only hereditary chamberon the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of a dozengamehogs and cottonball barons. That's the great empire they boast aboutof drudges and whipped serfs. 

--On which the sun never rises, says Joe. 

--And the tragedy of it is, says the citizen, they believe it. Theunfortunate yahoos believe it. 

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of 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 aroseagain from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend tillfurther orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. 

--But, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. I mean wouldn'tit be the same here if you put force against force?

Didn't I tell you? As true as I'm drinking this porter if he was at hislast gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living. 

--We'll put force against force, says the citizen. We have our greaterIreland beyond the sea. They were driven out of house and home in theblack 47. Their mudcabins and their shielings by the roadside were laidlow by the batteringram and the _Times_ rubbed its hands and told thewhitelivered Saxons there would soon be as few Irish in Ireland asredskins in America. Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres. But theSassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was fullof 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 inthe coffinships. But those that came to the land of the free rememberthe land of bondage. And they will come again and with a vengeance, nocravens, the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. 

--Perfectly true, says Bloom. But my point was. . . 

--We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Ned. Since thepoor old woman told us that the French were on the sea and landed atKillala. 

--Ay, says John Wyse. We fought for the royal Stuarts that reneged usagainst the Williamites and they betrayed us. Remember Limerick and thebroken treatystone. We gave our best blood to France and Spain, thewild geese. Fontenoy, eh? And Sarsfield and O'Donnell, duke of Tetuanin Spain, and Ulysses Browne of Camus that was fieldmarshal to MariaTeresa. But what did we ever get for it?

--The French! says the citizen. Set of dancing masters! Do you knowwhat it is? They were never worth a roasted fart to Ireland. Aren't theytrying to make an _Entente cordiale_ now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty withperfidious Albion? Firebrands of Europe and they always were. 

--_Conspuez les Français_, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. 

--And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe, haven't wehad enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George theelector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead?

Jesus, I had to laugh at the way he came out with that about the old onewith the winkers on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night ofGod, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman cartingher up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by thewhiskers and singing him old bits of songs about _Ehren on the Rhine_and come where the boose is cheaper. 

--Well, says J. J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. 

--Tell that to a fool, says the citizen. There's a bloody sight more poxthan pax about that boyo. Edward Guelph-Wettin!

--And what do you think, says Joe, of the holy boys, the priestsand bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His SatanicMajesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the horses hisjockeys rode. The earl of Dublin, no less. 

--They ought to have stuck up all the women he rode himself, says littleAlf. 

And says J. J. :

--Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. 

--Will you try another, citizen? says Joe. 

--Yes, sir, says he. I will. 

--You? says Joe. 

--Beholden to you, Joe, says I. May your shadow never grow less. 

--Repeat that dose, says Joe. 

Bloom was talking and talking with John Wyse and he quite excited withhis dunducketymudcoloured mug on him and his old plumeyes rolling about. 

--Persecution, says he, all the history of the world is full of it. Perpetuating national hatred among nations. 

--But do you know what a nation means? says John Wyse. 

--Yes, says Bloom. 

--What is it? says John Wyse. 

--A nation? says Bloom. A nation is the same people living in the sameplace. 

--By God, then, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'mliving in the same place for the past five years. 

So of course everyone had the laugh at Bloom and says he, trying to muckout of it:

--Or also living in different places. 

--That covers my case, says Joe. 

--What is your nation if I may ask? says the citizen. 

--Ireland, says Bloom. I was born here. Ireland. 

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. 

--After you with the push, Joe, says he, taking out his handkerchief toswab himself dry. 

--Here you are, citizen, says Joe. Take that in your right hand andrepeat after me the following words. 

The muchtreasured and intricately embroidered ancient Irish faceclothattributed to Solomon of Droma and Manus Tomaltach og MacDonogh, authorsof the Book of Ballymote, was then carefully produced and called forthprolonged admiration. No need to dwell on the legendary beauty of thecornerpieces, the acme of art, wherein one can distinctly discern eachof the four evangelists in turn presenting to each of the four mastershis evangelical symbol, a bogoak sceptre, a North American puma (a farnobler king of beasts than the British article, be it said in passing), a Kerry calf and a golden eagle from Carrantuohill. The scenes depictedon the emunctory field, showing our ancient duns and raths and cromlechsand grianauns and seats of learning and maledictive stones, are aswonderfully beautiful and the pigments as delicate as when the Sligoilluminators gave free rein to their artistic fantasy long long ago inthe time of the Barmecides. Glendalough, the lovely lakes of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the breweryof Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company (Limited), Lough Neagh'sbanks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir PatrickDun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, theScotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth collegerefectory, Curley's hole, the three birthplaces of the first duke ofWellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry StreetWarehouse, Fingal's Cave--all these moving scenes are still there for ustoday rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which havepassed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. 

--Show us over the drink, says I. Which is which?

--That's mine, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. 

--And I belong to a race too, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. Also now. This very moment. This very instant. 

Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old cigar. 

--Robbed, says he. Plundered. Insulted. Persecuted. Taking what belongsto us by right. At this very moment, says he, putting up his fist, soldby auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. 

--Are you talking about the new Jerusalem? says the citizen. 

--I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom. 

--Right, says John Wyse. Stand up to it then with force like men. 

That's an almanac picture for you. Mark for a softnosed bullet. Oldlardyface standing up to the business end of a gun. Gob, he'd adorn asweepingbrush, so he would, if he only had a nurse's apron on him. Andthen he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, aslimp as a wet rag. 

--But it's no use, says he. Force, hatred, history, all that. That's notlife for men and women, insult and hatred. And everybody knows that it'sthe very opposite of that that is really life. 

--What? says Alf. 

--Love, says Bloom. I mean the opposite of hatred. I must go now, sayshe to John Wyse. Just round to the court a moment to see if Martin isthere. If he comes just say I'll be back in a second. Just a moment. 

Who's hindering you? And off he pops like greased lightning. 

--A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen. Universal love. 

--Well, says John Wyse. Isn't that what we're told. Love your neighbour. 

--That chap? says the citizen. Beggar my neighbour is his motto. Love, moya! He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet. 

Love loves to love love. Nurse loves the new chemist. Constable 14Aloves 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 eartrumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. The man in thebrown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. His Majesty the King loves HerMajesty the Queen. Mrs Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor. You lovea certain person. And this person loves that other person becauseeverybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. 

--Well, Joe, says I, your very good health and song. More power, citizen. 

--Hurrah, there, says Joe. 

--The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says the citizen. 

And he ups with his pint to wet his whistle. 

--We know those canters, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. What about sanctimonious Cromwell and his ironsides that put the womenand 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 skitin the _United Irishman_ today about that Zulu chief that's visitingEngland?

--What's that? says Joe. 

So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he startsreading out:

--A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presentedyesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the heartfeltthanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in hisdominions. The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of whichthe dusky potentate, in the course of a happy speech, freely translatedby the British chaplain, the reverend Ananias Praisegod Barebones, tendered his best thanks to Massa Walkup and emphasised the cordialrelations existing between Abeakuta and the British empire, stating thathe treasured as one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the white chief woman, the great squawVictoria, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the RoyalDonor. The Alaki then drank a lovingcup of firstshot usquebaugh to thetoast _Black and White_ from the skull of his immediate predecessor inthe dynasty Kakachakachak, surnamed Forty Warts, after which he visitedthe chief factory of Cottonopolis and signed his mark in the visitors'book, subsequently executing a charming old Abeakutic wardance, in thecourse of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilariousapplause from the girl hands. 

--Widow woman, says Ned. I wouldn't doubt her. Wonder did he put thatbible to the same use as I would. 

--Same only more so, says Lenehan. And thereafter in that fruitful landthe broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly. 

--Is that by Griffith? says John Wyse. 

--No, says the citizen. It's not signed Shanganagh. It's onlyinitialled: P. 

--And a very good initial too, says Joe. 

--That's how it's worked, says the citizen. Trade follows the flag. 

--Well, says J. J. , if they're any worse than those Belgians in theCongo Free State they must be bad. Did you read that report by a manwhat's this his name is?

--Casement, says the citizen. He's an Irishman. 

--Yes, that's the man, says J. J. Raping the women and girls andflogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they canout of them. 

--I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. 

--Who? says I. 

--Bloom, says he. The courthouse is a blind. He had a few bob on_Throwaway_ and he's gone to gather in the shekels. 

--Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? says the citizen, that never backed ahorse in anger in his life?

--That's where he's gone, says Lenehan. I met Bantam Lyons going to backthat horse only I put him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the tip. Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on. He's theonly man in Dublin has it. A dark horse. 

--He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe. 

--Mind, Joe, says I. Show us the entrance out. 

--There you are, says Terry. 

Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort. So I just went round the back ofthe yard to pumpship and begob (hundred shillings to five) while I wasletting off my _(Throwaway_ twenty to) letting off my load gob says Ito myself I knew he was uneasy in his (two pints off of Joe and one inSlattery's off) in his mind to get off the mark to (hundred shillingsis five quid) and when they were in the (dark horse) pisser Burke wastelling me card party and letting on the child was sick (gob, must havedone about a gallon) flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube _she'sbetter_ or _she's_ (ow!) all a plan so he could vamoose with the pool ifhe won or (Jesus, full up I was) trading without a licence (ow!) Irelandmy nation says he (hoik! phthook!) never be up to those bloody (there'sthe last of it) Jerusalem (ah!) cuckoos. 

So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying itwas Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paperall kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes offof the government and appointing consuls all over the world to walkabout selling Irish industries. Robbing Peter to pay Paul. Gob, thatputs 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 bloodymouseabout. Mr Bloom with his argol bargol. And his old fellow beforehim perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the robbing bagman, thatpoisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the countrywith his baubles and his penny diamonds. Loans by post on easy terms. Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. Distance no object. Nosecurity. Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of theroad with every one. 

--Well, it's a fact, says John Wyse. And there's the man now that'lltell you all about it, Martin Cunningham. 

Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Powerwith him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out ofthe collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on theregistration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around thecountry at the king's expense. 

Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from theirpalfreys. 

--Ho, 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. 

--Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow. 

--Bestir thyself, sirrah! cried he who had knocked. Look to our steeds. And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it. 

--Lackaday, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a barelarder. I know not what to offer your lordships. 

--How now, fellow? cried the second of the party, a man of pleasantcountenance, So servest thou the king's messengers, master Taptun?

An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage. 

--Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. An you be the king'smessengers (God shield His Majesty!) you shall not want for aught. Theking's friends (God bless His Majesty!) shall not go afasting in myhouse I warrant me. 

--Then about! cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lustytrencherman by his aspect. Hast aught to give us?

Mine host bowed again as he made answer:

--What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops ofvenison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's headwith pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagonof old Rhenish?

--Gadzooks! cried the last speaker. That likes me well. Pistachios!

--Aha! cried he of the pleasant countenance. A poor house and a barelarder, quotha! 'Tis a merry rogue. 

So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom. 

--Where is he? says Lenehan. Defrauding widows and orphans. 

--Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizenabout Bloom and the Sinn Fein?

--That's so, says Martin. Or so they allege. 

--Who made those allegations? says Alf. 

--I, says Joe. I'm the alligator. 

--And after all, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country likethe next fellow?

--Why not? says J. J. , when he's quite sure which country it is. 

--Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what thehell is he? says Ned. Or who is he? No offence, Crofton. 

--Who is Junius? says J. J. 

--We don't want him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. 

--He's a perverted jew, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it washe drew up all the plans according to the Hungarian system. We know thatin the castle. 

--Isn't he a cousin of Bloom the dentist? says Jack Power. 

--Not at all, says Martin. Only namesakes. His name was Virag, thefather's name that poisoned himself. He changed it by deedpoll, thefather did. 

--That's the new Messiah for Ireland! says the citizen. Island of saintsand sages!

--Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin. For thatmatter so are we. 

--Yes, says J. J. , and every male that's born they think it may be theirMessiah. And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, tillhe knows if he's a father or a mother. 

--Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan. 

--O, by God, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of histhat died was born. I met him one day in the south city markets buying atin of Neave's food six weeks before the wife was delivered. 

--_En ventre sa mère_, says J. J. 

--Do you call that a man? says the citizen. 

--I wonder did he ever put it out of sight, says Joe. 

--Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack Power. 

--And who does he suspect? says the citizen. 

Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest. One of those mixedmiddlings he is. Lying up in the hotel Pisser was telling me once amonth with headache like a totty with her courses. Do you know what I'mtelling you? It'd be an act of God to take a hold of a fellow the likeof that and throw him in the bloody sea. Justifiable homicide, so itwould. Then sloping off with his five quid without putting up a pint ofstuff like a man. Give us your blessing. Not as much as would blind youreye. 

--Charity to the neighbour, says Martin. But where is he? We can't wait. 

--A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen. That's what he is. Viragfrom Hungary! Ahasuerus I call him. Cursed by God. 

--Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? says Ned. 

--Only one, says Martin. We must be quick. J. J. And S. 

--You, Jack? Crofton? Three half ones, Terry. 

--Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate ourshores. 

--Well, says Martin, rapping for his glass. God bless all here is myprayer. 

--Amen, says the citizen. 

--And I'm sure He will, says Joe. 

And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer withacolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons andsubdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priorsand guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratoriansand Vallombrosans, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the children of PeterNolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Elijah prophetled by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: andfriars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the sons ofDominic, the friars preachers, and the sons of Vincent: and the monksof S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the confraternity of thechristian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice. Andafter came all saints and martyrs, virgins and confessors: S. Cyr andS. 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 andS. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugardeand S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul andS. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph andS. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terenceand S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymousand S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James of Dingle andCompostella 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 Brittanyand S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youthS. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Berchmansand the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarrand S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and BrotherLouis 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 andS. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis andthe Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. And all camewith nimbi and aureoles and gloriae, bearing palms and harps and swordsand olive crowns, in robes whereon were woven the blessed symbols oftheir efficacies, inkhorns, arrows, loaves, cruses, fetters, axes, trees, bridges, babes in a bathtub, shells, wallets, shears, keys, dragons, lilies, buckshot, beards, hogs, lamps, bellows, beehives, soupladles, stars, snakes, anvils, boxes of vaseline, bells, crutches, forceps, stags' horns, watertight boots, hawks, millstones, eyes on adish, wax candles, aspergills, unicorns. And as they wended their way byNelson's Pillar, Henry street, Mary street, Capel street, Little Britainstreet chanting the introit in _Epiphania Domini_ which beginneth_Surge, illuminare_ and thereafter most sweetly the gradual _Omnes_which saith _de Saba venient_ they did divers wonders such as castingout devils, raising the dead to life, multiplying fishes, healing thehalt 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 FatherO'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick. And when the good fathershad reached the appointed place, the house of Bernard Kiernan and Co, limited, 8, 9 and 10 little Britain street, wholesale grocers, wineand brandy shippers, licensed fo the sale of beer, wine and spirits forconsumption on the premises, the celebrant blessed the house and censedthe mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises andthe capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed archesand the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof withblessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he hadblessed the house of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and make the angels ofHis light to inhabit therein. And entering he blessed the viands and thebeverages and the company of all the blessed answered his prayers. 

--_Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini. _

--_Qui fecit coelum et terram. _

--_Dominus vobiscum. _

--_Et cum spiritu tuo. _

And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayedand they all with him prayed:

--_Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effundesuper creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem etvoluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationemsanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctorepercipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum. _

--And so say all of us, says Jack. 

--Thousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or Crawford. 

--Right, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson. And butter for fish. 

I was just looking around to see who the happy thought would strike whenbe damned but in he comes again letting on to be in a hell of a hurry. 

--I was just round at the courthouse, says he, looking for you. I hopeI'm not. . . 

--No, says Martin, we're ready. 

Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down with gold and silver. Mean bloody scut. Stand us a drink itself. Devil a sweet fear! There'sa jew for you! All for number one. Cute as a shithouse rat. Hundred tofive. 

--Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, --Beg your pardon, says he. 

--Come on boys, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. Come along now. 

--Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him. It's asecret. 

And the bloody dog woke up and let a growl. 

--Bye bye all, says Martin. 

And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton orwhatever you call him and him in the middle of them letting on to be allat sea and up with them on the bloody jaunting car. 

---Off with you, says

Martin to the jarvey. 

The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop thehelmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forwardwith all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard. A many comely nymphs drewnigh to starboard and to larboard and, clinging to the sides ofthe noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunningwheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel theequidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds themall with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas theyride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. Even so didthey come and set them, those willing nymphs, the undying sisters. Andthey laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the bark clave thewaves. 

But begob I was just lowering the heel of the pint when I saw thecitizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with thedropsy, and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, bell, book andcandle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him and Joe and little Alfround him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. 

--Let me alone, says he. 

And begob he got as far as the door and they holding him and he bawlsout of him:

--Three cheers for Israel!

Arrah, sit down on the parliamentary side of your arse for Christ' sakeand don't be making a public exhibition of yourself. Jesus, there'salways some bloody clown or other kicking up a bloody murder aboutbloody nothing. Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so itwould. 

And all the ragamuffins and sluts of the nation round the door andMartin telling the jarvey to drive ahead and the citizen bawling and Alfand Joe at him to whisht and he on his high horse about the jews andthe loafers calling for a speech and Jack Power trying to get him to sitdown on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch overhis eye starts singing _If the man in the moon was a jew, jew, jew_ anda slut shouts out of her:

--Eh, mister! Your fly is open, mister!

And says he:

--Mendelssohn was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. Andthe Saviour was a jew and his father was a jew. Your God. 

--He had no father, says Martin. That'll do now. Drive ahead. 

--Whose God? says the citizen. 

--Well, his uncle was a jew, says he. Your God was a jew. Christ was ajew like me. 

Gob, the citizen made a plunge back into the shop. 

--By Jesus, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holyname. 

By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will. Give us that biscuitbox here. 

--Stop! Stop! says Joe. 

A large and appreciative gathering of friends and acquaintances fromthe metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bidfarewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of Messrs AlexanderThom's, printers to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departurefor the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas (Meadow ofMurmuring Waters). The ceremony which went off with great _éclat_ wascharacterised by the most affecting cordiality. An illuminated scrollof ancient Irish vellum, the work of Irish artists, was presented tothe distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of thecommunity and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefullyexecuted in the style of ancient Celtic ornament, a work which reflectsevery credit on the makers, Messrs Jacob _agus_ Jacob. The departingguest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who werepresent being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipesstruck up the wellknown strains of _Come back to Erin_, followedimmediately by _Rakoczsy's March_. Tarbarrels and bonfires were lightedalong the coastline of the four seas on the summits of the Hill ofHowth, Three Rock Mountain, Sugarloaf, Bray Head, the mountains ofMourne, the Galtees, the Ox and Donegal and Sperrin peaks, the Naglesand the Bograghs, the Connemara hills, the reeks of M Gillicuddy, SlieveAughty, Slieve Bernagh and Slieve Bloom. Amid cheers that rent thewelkin, responded to by answering cheers from a big muster ofhenchmen on the distant Cambrian and Caledonian hills, the mastodonticpleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute fromthe representatives of the fair sex who were present in large numberswhile, as it proceeded down the river, escorted by a flotilla of barges, the flags of the Ballast office and Custom House were dipped in saluteas were also those of the electrical power station at thePigeonhouse and the Poolbeg Light. _Visszontlátásra, kedves baráton!Visszontlátásra!_ Gone but not forgotten. 

Gob, the devil wouldn't stop him till he got hold of the bloody tinanyhow and out with him and little Alf hanging on to his elbow and heshouting like a stuck pig, as good as any bloody play in the Queen'sroyal theatre:

--Where is he till I murder him?

And Ned and J. J. Paralysed with the laughing. 

--Bloody wars, says I, I'll be in for the last gospel. 

But as luck would have it the jarvey got the nag's head round the otherway and off with him. 

--Hold on, citizen, says Joe. Stop!

Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly. Mercy of God thesun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead. Gob, he near sent itinto the county Longford. The bloody nag took fright and the oldmongrel after the car like bloody hell and all the populace shouting andlaughing and the old tinbox clattering along the street. 

The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect. Theobservatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of the fifthgrade of Mercalli's scale, and there is no record extant of a similarseismic disturbance in our island since the earthquake of 1534, the yearof the rebellion of Silken Thomas. The epicentre appears to have beenthat part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward andparish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roodsand one square pole or perch. All the lordly residences in the vicinityof the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were inprogress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it is to befeared all the occupants have been buried alive. From the reports ofeyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied bya violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character. An article ofheadgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of thecrown and peace Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handlewith the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number ofthe erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir FrederickFalkiner, recorder of Dublin, have been discovered by search partiesin remote parts of the island respectively, the former on the thirdbasaltic ridge of the giant's causeway, the latter embedded to theextent of one foot three inches in the sandy beach of Holeopen bay nearthe old head of Kinsale. Other eyewitnesses depose that they observedan incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through theatmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwestby west. Messages of condolence and sympathy are being hourly receivedfrom all parts of the different continents and the sovereign pontiff hasbeen graciously pleased to decree that a special _missa pro defunctis_shall be celebrated simultaneously by the ordinaries of each and everycathedral church of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritualauthority of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithfuldeparted who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst. The work of salvage, removal of _débris, _ human remains etc has beenentrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. And C. Martin, 77, 78, 79 and 80 North Wall, assisted bythe men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under thegeneral supervision of H. R. H. , rear admiral, the right honourable sirHercules Hannibal 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 thatlottery ticket on the side of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, hewould so, but begob the citizen would have been lagged for assault andbattery and Joe for aiding and abetting. The jarvey saved his life byfurious driving as sure as God made Moses. What? O, Jesus, he did. Andhe let a volley of oaths after him. 

--Did I kill him, says he, or what?

And he shouting to the bloody dog:

--After him, Garry! After him, boy!

And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the corner and oldsheepsface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with hislugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb. Hundred to five! Jesus, he took the value of it out of him, I promiseyou. 

When, lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheldthe chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven. And they beheld Him inthe chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness, having raimentas of the sun, fair as the moon and terrible that for awe they durst notlook upon Him. And there came a voice out of heaven, calling: _Elijah!Elijah!_ And He answered with a main cry: _Abba! Adonai!_ And theybeheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascendto the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees overDonohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. 

The summer evening had begun to fold the world in its mysteriousembrace. Far away in the west the sun was setting and the last glow ofall too fleeting day lingered lovingly on sea and strand, on the proudpromontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever the waters of the bay, onthe weedgrown rocks along Sandymount shore and, last but not least, onthe quiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the stillnessthe voice of prayer to her who is in her pure radiance a beacon ever tothe stormtossed heart of man, Mary, star of the sea. 

The three girl friends were seated on the rocks, enjoying the eveningscene and the air which was fresh but not too chilly. Many a time andoft were they wont to come there to that favourite nook to have a cosychat beside the sparkling waves and discuss matters feminine, CissyCaffrey and Edy Boardman with the baby in the pushcar and Tommy andJacky Caffrey, two little curlyheaded boys, dressed in sailor suits withcaps to match and the name H. M. S. Belleisle printed on both. For Tommyand Jacky Caffrey were twins, scarce four years old and very noisy andspoiled twins sometimes but for all that darling little fellows withbright merry faces and endearing ways about them. They were dabbling inthe sand with their spades and buckets, building castles as children do, or playing with their big coloured ball, happy as the day was long. AndEdy Boardman was rocking the chubby baby to and fro in the pushcar whilethat young gentleman fairly chuckled with delight. He was but elevenmonths and nine days old and, though still a tiny toddler, was justbeginning to lisp his first babyish words. Cissy Caffrey bent over tohim to tease his fat little plucks and the dainty dimple in his chin. 

--Now, baby, Cissy Caffrey said. Say out big, big. I want a drink ofwater. 

And baby prattled after her:

--A jink a jink a jawbo. 

Cissy Caffrey cuddled the wee chap for she was awfully fond of children, so patient with little sufferers and Tommy Caffrey could never be got totake his castor oil unless it was Cissy Caffrey that held his nose andpromised him the scatty heel of the loaf or brown bread with goldensyrup on. What a persuasive power that girl had! But to be sure babyBoardman was as good as gold, a perfect little dote in his new fancybib. None of your spoilt beauties, Flora MacFlimsy sort, was CissyCaffrey. A truerhearted lass never drew the breath of life, always witha laugh in her gipsylike eyes and a frolicsome word on her cherryripered lips, a girl lovable in the extreme. And Edy Boardman laughed too atthe quaint language of little brother. 

But just then there was a slight altercation between Master Tommy andMaster Jacky. Boys will be boys and our two twins were no exceptionto this golden rule. The apple of discord was a certain castle of sandwhich Master Jacky had built and Master Tommy would have it right gowrong that it was to be architecturally improved by a frontdoor like theMartello tower had. But if Master Tommy was headstrong Master Jacky wasselfwilled too and, true to the maxim that every little Irishman's houseis his castle, he fell upon his hated rival and to such purpose that thewouldbe assailant came to grief and (alas to relate!) the coveted castletoo. Needless to say the cries of discomfited Master Tommy drew theattention of the girl friends. 

--Come here, Tommy, his sister called imperatively. At once! And you, Jacky, for shame to throw poor Tommy in the dirty sand. Wait till Icatch you for that. 

His eyes misty with unshed tears Master Tommy came at her call for theirbig sister's word was law with the twins. And in a sad plight he wastoo after his misadventure. His little man-o'-war top and unmentionableswere full of sand but Cissy was a past mistress in the art of smoothingover life's tiny troubles and very quickly not one speck of sand was tobe seen on his smart little suit. Still the blue eyes were glisteningwith hot tears that would well up so she kissed away the hurtness andshook her hand at Master Jacky the culprit and said if she was near himshe wouldn't be far from him, her eyes dancing in admonition. 

--Nasty bold Jacky! she cried. 

She put an arm round the little mariner and coaxed winningly:

--What's your name? Butter and cream?

--Tell us who is your sweetheart, spoke Edy Boardman. Is Cissy yoursweetheart?

--Nao, tearful Tommy said. 

--Is Edy Boardman your sweetheart? Cissy queried. 

--Nao, Tommy said. 

--I know, Edy Boardman said none too amiably with an arch glance fromher shortsighted eyes. I know who is Tommy's sweetheart. Gerty isTommy's sweetheart. 

--Nao, Tommy said on the verge of tears. 

Cissy's quick motherwit guessed what was amiss and she whispered toEdy Boardman to take him there behind the pushcar where the gentlemancouldn't see and to mind he didn't 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 specimenof winsome Irish girlhood as one could wish to see. She was pronouncedbeautiful by all who knew her though, as folks often said, she wasmore a Giltrap than a MacDowell. Her figure was slight and graceful, inclining even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had been takingof late had done her a world of good much better than the Widow Welch'sfemale pills and she was much better of those discharges she used toget and that tired feeling. The waxen pallor of her face was almostspiritual in its ivorylike purity though her rosebud mouth was a genuineCupid's bow, Greekly perfect. Her hands were of finely veined alabasterwith tapering fingers and as white as lemonjuice and queen of ointmentscould make them though it was not true that she used to wear kid glovesin bed or take a milk footbath either. Bertha Supple told that once toEdy Boardman, a deliberate lie, when she was black out at daggers drawnwith Gerty (the girl chums had of course their little tiffs from time totime like the rest of mortals) and she told her not to let on whatevershe did that it was her that told her or she'd never speak to heragain. No. Honour where honour is due. There was an innate refinement, a languid queenly _hauteur_ about Gerty which was unmistakably evidencedin her delicate hands and higharched instep. Had kind fate but willedher to be born a gentlewoman of high degree in her own right and hadshe only received the benefit of a good education Gerty MacDowell mighteasily have held her own beside any lady in the land and have seenherself exquisitely gowned with jewels on her brow and patrician suitorsat her feet vying with one another to pay their devoirs to her. Mayhap it was this, the love that might have been, that lent to hersoftlyfeatured face at whiles a look, tense with suppressed meaning, that imparted a strange yearning tendency to the beautiful eyes, a charmfew could resist. Why have women such eyes of witchery? Gerty's were ofthe bluest Irish blue, set off by lustrous lashes and dark expressivebrows. Time was when those brows were not so silkily seductive. Itwas Madame Vera Verity, directress of the Woman Beautiful page of thePrincess Novelette, who had first advised her to try eyebrowleine whichgave that haunting expression to the eyes, so becoming in leadersof fashion, and she had never regretted it. Then there was blushingscientifically cured and how to be tall increase your height and youhave a beautiful face but your nose? That would suit Mrs Dignam becauseshe had a button one. But Gerty's crowning glory was her wealth ofwonderful hair. It was dark brown with a natural wave in it. She had cutit that very morning on account of the new moon and it nestled abouther pretty head in a profusion of luxuriant clusters and pared her nailstoo, Thursday for wealth. And just now at Edy's words as a telltaleflush, delicate as the faintest rosebloom, crept into her cheeks shelooked so lovely in her sweet girlish shyness that of a surety God'sfair land of Ireland did not hold her equal. 

For an instant she was silent with rather sad downcast eyes. Shewas about to retort but something checked the words on her tongue. Inclination prompted her to speak out: dignity told her to be silent. The pretty lips pouted awhile but then she glanced up and broke out intoa joyous little laugh which had in it all the freshness of a young Maymorning. She knew right well, no-one better, what made squinty Edysay that because of him cooling in his attentions when it was simply alovers' quarrel. As per usual somebody's nose was out of joint about theboy that had the bicycle off the London bridge road always riding upand down in front of her window. Only now his father kept him in in theevenings studying hard to get an exhibition in the intermediate that wason and he was going to go to Trinity college to study for a doctor whenhe left the high school like his brother W. E. Wylie who was racingin the bicycle races in Trinity college university. Little recked heperhaps for what she felt, that dull aching void in her heart sometimes, piercing to the core. Yet he was young and perchance he might learnto love her in time. They were protestants in his family and of courseGerty knew Who came first and after Him the Blessed Virgin and thenSaint Joseph. But he was undeniably handsome with an exquisite nose andhe was what he looked, every inch a gentleman, the shape of his head tooat the back without his cap on that she would know anywhere somethingoff the common and the way he turned the bicycle at the lamp with hishands off the bars and also the nice perfume of those good cigarettesand besides they were both of a size too he and she and that was why EdyBoardman thought she was so frightfully clever because he didn't go andride up and down in front of her bit of a garden. 

Gerty was dressed simply but with the instinctive taste of a votary ofDame Fashion for she felt that there was just a might that he might beout. A neat blouse of electric blue selftinted by dolly dyes (because itwas expected in the _Lady's Pictorial_ that electric blue would be worn)with a smart vee opening down to the division and kerchief pocket (inwhich she always kept a piece of cottonwool scented with herfavourite perfume because the handkerchief spoiled the sit) and a navythreequarter skirt cut to the stride showed off her slim graceful figureto perfection. She wore a coquettish little love of a hat of wideleavednigger straw contrast trimmed with an underbrim of eggblue chenille andat the side a butterfly bow of silk to tone. All Tuesday week afternoonshe was hunting to match that chenille but at last she found what shewanted at Clery's summer sales, the very it, slightly shopsoiled but youwould never notice, seven fingers two and a penny. She did it up all byherself and what joy was hers when she tried it on then, smiling at thelovely reflection which the mirror gave back to her! And when she putit on the waterjug to keep the shape she knew that that would take theshine out of some people she knew. Her shoes were the newest thing infootwear (Edy Boardman prided herself that she was very _petite_ but shenever had a foot like Gerty MacDowell, a five, and never would ash, oak or elm) with patent toecaps and just one smart buckle overher higharched instep. Her wellturned ankle displayed its perfectproportions beneath her skirt and just the proper amount and no more ofher shapely limbs encased in finespun hose with highspliced heels andwide garter tops. As for undies they were Gerty's chief care and whothat knows the fluttering hopes and fears of sweet seventeen (thoughGerty would never see seventeen again) can find it in his heart toblame her? She had four dinky sets with awfully pretty stitchery, three garments and nighties extra, and each set slotted with differentcoloured ribbons, rosepink, pale blue, mauve and peagreen, and she airedthem herself and blued them when they came home from the wash and ironedthem and she had a brickbat to keep the iron on because she wouldn'ttrust those washerwomen as far as she'd see them scorching the things. She was wearing the blue for luck, hoping against hope, her own colourand lucky too for a bride to have a bit of blue somewhere on her becausethe green she wore that day week brought grief because his fatherbrought him in to study for the intermediate exhibition and becauseshe thought perhaps he might be out because when she was dressing thatmorning she nearly slipped up the old pair on her inside out and thatwas for luck and lovers' meeting if you put those things on insideout or if they got untied that he was thinking about you so long as itwasn't of a Friday. 

And yet and yet! That strained look on her face! A gnawing sorrow isthere all the time. Her very soul is in her eyes and she would giveworlds to be in the privacy of her own familiar chamber where, giving way to tears, she could have a good cry and relieve her pentupfeelingsthough not too much because she knew how to cry nicely beforethe mirror. You are lovely, Gerty, it said. The paly light of eveningfalls upon a face infinitely sad and wistful. Gerty MacDowell yearnsin vain. Yes, she had known from the very first that her daydream of amarriage has been arranged and the weddingbells ringing for Mrs ReggyWylie T. C. D. (because the one who married the elder brother would beMrs Wylie) and in the fashionable intelligence Mrs Gertrude Wylie waswearing a sumptuous confection of grey trimmed with expensive blue foxwas not to be. He was too young to understand. He would not believe inlove, a woman's birthright. The night of the party long ago in Stoer's(he was still in short trousers) when they were alone and he stolean arm round her waist she went white to the very lips. He called herlittle one in a strangely husky voice and snatched a half kiss (thefirst!) but it was only the end of her nose and then he hastened fromthe room with a remark about refreshments. Impetuous fellow! Strength ofcharacter had never been Reggy Wylie's strong point and he who wouldwoo and win Gerty MacDowell must be a man among men. But waiting, alwayswaiting to be asked and it was leap year too and would soon be over. Noprince charming is her beau ideal to lay a rare and wondrous love at herfeet but rather a manly man with a strong quiet face who had not foundhis ideal, perhaps his hair slightly flecked with grey, and who wouldunderstand, take her in his sheltering arms, strain her to him in allthe strength of his deep passionate nature and comfort her with a longlong kiss. It would be like heaven. For such a one she yearns this balmysummer eve. With all the heart of her she longs to be his only, hisaffianced bride for riches for poor, in sickness in health, till deathus two part, from this to this day forward. 

And while Edy Boardman was with little Tommy behind the pushcar she wasjust thinking would the day ever come when she could call herself hislittle wife to be. Then they could talk about her till they went blue inthe face, Bertha Supple too, and Edy, little spitfire, because she wouldbe twentytwo in November. She would care for him with creature comfortstoo for Gerty was womanly wise and knew that a mere man liked thatfeeling of hominess. Her griddlecakes done to a goldenbrown hue andqueen Ann's pudding of delightful creaminess had won golden opinionsfrom all because she had a lucky hand also for lighting a fire, dredgein the fine selfraising flour and always stir in the same direction, then cream the milk and sugar and whisk well the white of eggs thoughshe didn't like the eating part when there were any people that made hershy and often she wondered why you couldn't eat something poetical likeviolets or roses and they would have a beautifully appointed drawingroomwith pictures and engravings and the photograph of grandpapa Giltrap'slovely dog Garryowen that almost talked it was so human and chintzcovers for the chairs and that silver toastrack in Clery's summerjumble sales like they have in rich houses. He would be tall withbroad shoulders (she had always admired tall men for a husband) withglistening white teeth under his carefully trimmed sweeping moustacheand they would go on the continent for their honeymoon (three wonderfulweeks!) and then, when they settled down in a nice snug and cosy littlehomely house, every morning they would both have brekky, simple butperfectly served, for their own two selves and before he went out tobusiness he would give his dear little wifey a good hearty hug and gazefor a moment deep down into her eyes. 

Edy Boardman asked Tommy Caffrey was he done and he said yes so then shebuttoned up his little knickerbockers for him and told him to run offand play with Jacky and to be good now and not to fight. But Tommy saidhe wanted the ball and Edy told him no that baby was playing with theball and if he took it there'd be wigs on the green but Tommy said itwas his ball and he wanted his ball and he pranced on the ground, ifyou please. The temper of him! O, he was a man already was little TommyCaffrey since he was out of pinnies. Edy told him no, no and to be offnow with him and she told Cissy Caffrey not to give in to him. 

--You're not my sister, naughty Tommy said. It's my ball. 

But Cissy Caffrey told baby Boardman to look up, look up high at herfinger and she snatched the ball quickly and threw it along the sand andTommy after it in full career, having won the day. 

--Anything for a quiet life, laughed Ciss. 

And she tickled tiny tot's two cheeks to make him forget and playedhere's the lord mayor, here's his two horses, here's his gingerbreadcarriage and here he walks in, chinchopper, chinchopper, chinchopperchin. But Edy got as cross as two sticks about him getting his own waylike that from everyone always petting him. 

--I'd like to give him something, she said, so I would, where I won'tsay. 

--On the beeoteetom, laughed Cissy merrily. 

Gerty MacDowell bent down her head and crimsoned at the idea of Cissysaying an unladylike thing like that out loud she'd be ashamed of herlife to say, flushing a deep rosy red, and Edy Boardman said she wassure the gentleman opposite heard what she said. But not a pin caredCiss. 

--Let him! she said with a pert toss of her head and a piquant tilt ofher nose. Give it to him too on the same place as quick as I'd look athim. 

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 andjaspberry ram and when she drew the jugs too and the men's faces on hernails with red ink make you split your sides or when she wanted to gowhere you know she said she wanted to run and pay a visit to the MissWhite. That was just like Cissycums. O, and will you ever forget her theevening she dressed up in her father's suit and hat and the burned corkmoustache and walked down Tritonville road, smoking a cigarette. Therewas none to come up to her for fun. But she was sincerity itself, one ofthe bravest and truest hearts heaven ever made, not one of your twofacedthings, too sweet to be wholesome. 

And then there came out upon the air the sound of voices and the pealinganthem of the organ. It was the men's temperance retreat conductedby the missioner, the reverend John Hughes S. J. , rosary, sermon andbenediction of the Most Blessed Sacrament. They were there gatheredtogether without distinction of social class (and a most edifyingspectacle it was to see) in that simple fane beside the waves, after thestorms of this weary world, kneeling before the feet of the immaculate, reciting the litany of Our Lady of Loreto, beseeching her to intercedefor them, the old familiar words, holy Mary, holy virgin of virgins. Howsad to poor Gerty's ears! Had her father only avoided the clutches ofthe demon drink, by taking the pledge or those powders the drink habitcured in Pearson's Weekly, she might now be rolling in her carriage, second to none. Over and over had she told herself that as she mused bythe dying embers in a brown study without the lamp because she hated twolights or oftentimes gazing out of the window dreamily by the hour atthe rain falling on the rusty bucket, thinking. But that vile decoctionwhich has ruined so many hearths and homes had cist its shadow over herchildhood days. Nay, she had even witnessed in the home circle deeds ofviolence caused by intemperance and had seen her own father, a prey tothe fumes of intoxication, forget himself completely for if there wasone thing of all things that Gerty knew it was that the man who liftshis hand to a woman save in the way of kindness, deserves to be brandedas 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 heardher companions or the twins at their boyish gambols or the gentlemanoff Sandymount green that Cissy Caffrey called the man that was so likehimself passing along the strand taking a short walk. You never saw himany way screwed but still and for all that she would not like him for afather 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 thepimples on it and his sandy moustache a bit white under his nose. Poorfather! 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 theyhad stewed cockles and lettuce with Lazenby's salad dressing forsupper and when he sang _The moon hath raised_ with Mr Dignam thatdied suddenly and was buried, God have mercy on him, from a stroke. Hermother's birthday that was and Charley was home on his holidays and Tomand Mr Dignam and Mrs and Patsy and Freddy Dignam and they were to havehad a group taken. No-one would have thought the end was so near. Now hewas laid to rest. And her mother said to him to let that be a warning tohim for the rest of his days and he couldn't even go to the funeral onaccount of the gout and she had to go into town to bring him theletters and samples from his office about Catesby's cork lino, artistic, standard designs, fit for a palace, gives tiptop wear and always brightand cheery in the home. 

A sterling good daughter was Gerty just like a second mother in thehouse, a ministering angel too with a little heart worth its weight ingold. And when her mother had those raging splitting headaches who wasit rubbed the menthol cone on her forehead but Gerty though she didn'tlike her mother's taking pinches of snuff and that was the only singlething they ever had words about, taking snuff. Everyone thought theworld of her for her gentle ways. It was Gerty who turned off the gas atthe main every night and it was Gerty who tacked up on the wall of thatplace where she never forgot every fortnight the chlorate of lime MrTunney the grocer's christmas almanac, the picture of halcyon dayswhere a young gentleman in the costume they used to wear then with athreecornered hat was offering a bunch of flowers to his ladylove witholdtime chivalry through her lattice window. You could see there was astory behind it. The colours were done something lovely. She was ina soft clinging white in a studied attitude and the gentleman was inchocolate and he looked a thorough aristocrat. She often looked at themdreamily when she went there for a certain purpose and felt her ownarms that were white and soft just like hers with the sleeves backand thought about those times because she had found out in Walker'spronouncing dictionary that belonged to grandpapa Giltrap about thehalcyon days what they meant. 

The twins were now playing in the most approved brotherly fashiontill at last Master Jacky who was really as bold as brass there wasno getting behind that deliberately kicked the ball as hard as ever hecould down towards the seaweedy rocks. Needless to say poor Tommy wasnot slow to voice his dismay but luckily the gentleman in black who wassitting there by himself came gallantly to the rescue and interceptedthe ball. Our two champions claimed their plaything with lusty cries andto avoid trouble Cissy Caffrey called to the gentleman to throw it toher please. The gentleman aimed the ball once or twice and then threwit up the strand towards Cissy Caffrey but it rolled down the slope andstopped right under Gerty's skirt near the little pool by the rock. Thetwins clamoured again for it and Cissy told her to kick it away andlet them fight for it so Gerty drew back her foot but she wished theirstupid ball hadn't come rolling down to her and she gave a kick but shemissed and Edy and Cissy laughed. 

--If you fail try again, Edy Boardman said. 

Gerty smiled assent and bit her lip. A delicate pink crept into herpretty cheek but she was determined to let them see so she just liftedher skirt a little but just enough and took good aim and gave the ball ajolly good kick and it went ever so far and the two twins after it downtowards the shingle. Pure jealousy of course it was nothing else to drawattention on account of the gentleman opposite looking. She felt thewarm flush, a danger signal always with Gerty MacDowell, surging andflaming into her cheeks. Till then they had only exchanged glances ofthe most casual but now under the brim of her new hat she ventured alook at him and the face that met her gaze there in the twilight, wanand strangely drawn, seemed to her the saddest she had ever seen. 

Through the open window of the church the fragrant incense was waftedand with it the fragrant names of her who was conceived without stain oforiginal sin, spiritual vessel, pray for us, honourable vessel, prayfor us, vessel of singular devotion, pray for us, mystical rose. Andcareworn hearts were there and toilers for their daily bread and manywho had erred and wandered, their eyes wet with contrition but for allthat bright with hope for the reverend father Father Hughes had toldthem what the great saint Bernard said in his famous prayer of Mary, themost pious Virgin's intercessory power that it was not recorded in anyage that those who implored her powerful protection were ever abandonedby her. 

The twins were now playing again right merrily for the troubles ofchildhood are but as fleeting summer showers. Cissy Caffrey played withbaby Boardman till he crowed with glee, clapping baby hands in air. Peepshe cried behind the hood of the pushcar and Edy asked where was Cissygone and then Cissy popped up her head and cried ah! and, my word, didn't the little chap enjoy that! And then she told him to say papa. 

--Say papa, baby. Say pa pa pa pa pa pa pa. 

And baby did his level best to say it for he was very intelligent foreleven months everyone said and big for his age and the picture ofhealth, a perfect little bunch of love, and he would certainly turn outto be something great, they said. 

--Haja ja ja haja. 

Cissy wiped his little mouth with the dribbling bib and wanted him tosit up properly and say pa pa pa but when she undid the strap she criedout, holy saint Denis, that he was possing wet and to double the halfblanket the other way under him. Of course his infant majesty was mostobstreperous at such toilet formalities and he let everyone know it:

--Habaa baaaahabaaa baaaa. 

And two great big lovely big tears coursing down his cheeks. It was allno use soothering him with no, nono, baby, no and telling him about thegeegee and where was the puffpuff but Ciss, always readywitted, gavehim in his mouth the teat of the suckingbottle and the young heathen wasquickly appeased. 

Gerty wished to goodness they would take their squalling baby home outof that and not get on her nerves, no hour to be out, and the littlebrats of twins. She gazed out towards the distant sea. It was like thepaintings that man used to do on the pavement with all the colouredchalks and such a pity too leaving them there to be all blotted out, theevening and the clouds coming out and the Bailey light on Howth and tohear the music like that and the perfume of those incense they burnedin the church like a kind of waft. And while she gazed her heart wentpitapat. Yes, it was her he was looking at, and there was meaning in hislook. His eyes burned into her as though they would search her throughand through, read her very soul. Wonderful eyes they were, superblyexpressive, but could you trust them? People were so queer. She couldsee at once by his dark eyes and his pale intellectual face that hewas a foreigner, the image of the photo she had of Martin Harvey, thematinee idol, only for the moustache which she preferred because shewasn't stagestruck like Winny Rippingham that wanted they two to alwaysdress the same on account of a play but she could not see whether he hadan aquiline nose or a slightly _retroussé_ from where he was sitting. He was in deep mourning, she could see that, and the story of a hauntingsorrow was written on his face. She would have given worlds to know whatit was. He was looking up so intently, so still, and he saw her kick theball and perhaps he could see the bright steel buckles of her shoes ifshe swung them like that thoughtfully with the toes down. She was gladthat something told her to put on the transparent stockings thinkingReggy Wylie might be out but that was far away. Here was that of whichshe had so often dreamed. It was he who mattered and there was joy onher face because she wanted him because she felt instinctively that hewas 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 hadsuffered, more sinned against than sinning, or even, even, if he hadbeen himself a sinner, a wicked man, she cared not. Even if he was aprotestant or methodist she could convert him easily if he truly lovedher. There were wounds that wanted healing with heartbalm. She was awomanly woman not like other flighty girls unfeminine he had known, those cyclists showing off what they hadn't got and she just yearned toknow all, to forgive all if she could make him fall in love with her, make him forget the memory of the past. Then mayhap he would embrace hergently, 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_. Wellhas it been said that whosoever prays to her with faith and constancycan never be lost or cast away: and fitly is she too a haven of refugefor the afflicted because of the seven dolours which transpiercedher own heart. Gerty could picture the whole scene in the church, thestained glass windows lighted up, the candles, the flowers and the bluebanners of the blessed Virgin's sodality and Father Conroy was helpingCanon O'Hanlon at the altar, carrying things in and out with his eyescast down. He looked almost a saint and his confessionbox was so quietand clean and dark and his hands were just like white wax and if evershe became a Dominican nun in their white habit perhaps he might come tothe convent for the novena of Saint Dominic. He told her that time whenshe told him about that in confession, crimsoning up to the roots of herhair for fear he could see, not to be troubled because that was only thevoice of nature and we were all subject to nature's laws, he said, inthis life and that that was no sin because that came from the nature ofwoman instituted by God, he said, and that Our Blessed Lady herself saidto the archangel Gabriel be it done unto me according to Thy Word. Hewas so kind and holy and often and often she thought and thought couldshe work a ruched teacosy with embroidered floral design for him as apresent or a clock but they had a clock she noticed on the mantelpiecewhite and gold with a canarybird that came out of a little house to tellthe time the day she went there about the flowers for the forty hours'adoration because it was hard to know what sort of a present to give orperhaps an album of illuminated views of Dublin or some place. 

The exasperating little brats of twins began to quarrel again and Jackythrew the ball out towards the sea and they both ran after it. Littlemonkeys common as ditchwater. Someone ought to take them and give thema good hiding for themselves to keep them in their places, the both ofthem. And Cissy and Edy shouted after them to come back because theywere afraid the tide might come in on them and be drowned. 

--Jacky! Tommy!

Not they! What a great notion they had! So Cissy said it was the verylast time she'd ever bring them out. She jumped up and called them andshe ran down the slope past him, tossing her hair behind her which hada good enough colour if there had been more of it but with all thethingamerry she was always rubbing into it she couldn't get it to growlong because it wasn't natural so she could just go and throw her hat atit. She ran with long gandery strides it was a wonder she didn't rip upher skirt at the side that was too tight on her because there was a lotof the tomboy about Cissy Caffrey and she was a forward piece whenevershe thought she had a good opportunity to show and just because she wasa good runner she ran like that so that he could see all the end of herpetticoat running and her skinny shanks up as far as possible. Itwould have served her just right if she had tripped up over somethingaccidentally on purpose with her high crooked French heels on her tomake her look tall and got a fine tumble. _Tableau!_ That would havebeen a very charming expose for a gentleman like that to witness. 

Queen of angels, queen of patriarchs, queen of prophets, of all saints, they prayed, queen of the most holy rosary and then Father Conroy handedthe thurible to Canon O'Hanlon and he put in the incense and censed theBlessed Sacrament and Cissy Caffrey caught the two twins and she wasitching to give them a ringing good clip on the ear but she didn'tbecause she thought he might be watching but she never made a biggermistake in all her life because Gerty could see without looking thathe never took his eyes off of her and then Canon O'Hanlon handed thethurible back to Father Conroy and knelt down looking up at the BlessedSacrament and the choir began to sing the _Tantum ergo_ and she justswung her foot in and out in time as the music rose and fell tothe _Tantumer gosa cramen tum_. Three and eleven she paid for thosestockings in Sparrow's of George's street on the Tuesday, no the Mondaybefore Easter and there wasn't a brack on them and that was what hewas looking at, transparent, and not at her insignificant ones that hadneither shape nor form (the cheek of her!) because he had eyes in hishead to see the difference for himself. 

Cissy came up along the strand with the two twins and their ball withher hat anyhow on her to one side after her run and she did look astreel tugging the two kids along with the flimsy blouse she bought onlya fortnight before like a rag on her back and a bit of her petticoathanging like a caricature. Gerty just took off her hat for a moment tosettle her hair and a prettier, a daintier head of nutbrown tresses wasnever seen on a girl's shoulders--a radiant little vision, in sooth, almost maddening in its sweetness. You would have to travel many a longmile before you found a head of hair the like of that. She could almostsee the swift answering flash of admiration in his eyes that set hertingling in every nerve. She put on her hat so that she could see fromunderneath the brim and swung her buckled shoe faster for her breathcaught as she caught the expression in his eyes. He was eying her as asnake eyes its prey. Her woman's instinct told her that she had raisedthe devil in him and at the thought a burning scarlet swept from throatto 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 smiling, with her specs like an old maid, pretending to nurse thebaby. Irritable little gnat she was and always would be and that was whyno-one could get on with her poking her nose into what was no concern ofhers. And she said to Gerty:

--A penny for your thoughts. 

--What? replied Gerty with a smile reinforced by the whitest of teeth. Iwas only wondering was it late. 

Because she wished to goodness they'd take the snottynosed twins andtheir babby home to the mischief out of that so that was why she justgave a gentle hint about its being late. And when Cissy came up Edyasked her the time and Miss Cissy, as glib as you like, said it was halfpast kissing time, time to kiss again. But Edy wanted to know becausethey were told to be in early. 

--Wait, said Cissy, I'll run ask my uncle Peter over there what's thetime by his conundrum. 

So over she went and when he saw her coming she could see him take hishand out of his pocket, getting nervous, and beginning to play with hiswatchchain, looking up at the church. Passionate nature though he wasGerty could see that he had enormous control over himself. One moment hehad been there, fascinated by a loveliness that made him gaze, and thenext moment it was the quiet gravefaced gentleman, selfcontrol expressedin every line of his distinguishedlooking figure. 

Cissy said to excuse her would he mind please telling her what was theright time and Gerty could see him taking out his watch, listening to itand looking up and clearing his throat and he said he was very sorry hiswatch was stopped but he thought it must be after eight because thesun was set. His voice had a cultured ring in it and though he spoke inmeasured 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 saidhis waterworks were out of order. 

Then they sang the second verse of the _Tantum ergo_ and Canon O'Hanlongot up again and censed the Blessed Sacrament and knelt down and he toldFather Conroy that one of the candles was just going to set fire to theflowers and Father Conroy got up and settled it all right and she couldsee the gentleman winding his watch and listening to the works and sheswung her leg more in and out in time. It was getting darker but hecould see and he was looking all the time that he was winding the watchor whatever he was doing to it and then he put it back and put his handsback into his pockets. She felt a kind of a sensation rushing all overher and she knew by the feel of her scalp and that irritation againsther stays that that thing must be coming on because the last time toowas when she clipped her hair on account of the moon. His dark eyesfixed themselves on her again drinking in her every contour, literallyworshipping at her shrine. If ever there was undisguised admiration in aman's passionate gaze it was there plain to be seen on that man's 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 Gertynoticed that that little hint she gave had had the desired effectbecause it was a long way along the strand to where there was the placeto push up the pushcar and Cissy took off the twins' caps and tidiedtheir hair to make herself attractive of course and Canon O'Hanlon stoodup with his cope poking up at his neck and Father Conroy handed him thecard to read off and he read out _Panem de coelo praestitisti eis_ andEdy and Cissy were talking about the time all the time and asking herbut Gerty could pay them back in their own coin and she just answeredwith scathing politeness when Edy asked her was she heartbroken abouther best boy throwing her over. Gerty winced sharply. A brief cold blazeshone from her eyes that spoke volumes of scorn immeasurable. It hurt--Oyes, it cut deep because Edy had her own quiet way of saying thingslike that she knew would wound like the confounded little cat she was. Gerty's lips parted swiftly to frame the word but she fought backthe sob that rose to her throat, so slim, so flawless, so beautifullymoulded it seemed one an artist might have dreamed of. She had loved himbetter than he knew. Lighthearted deceiver and fickle like all his sexhe would never understand what he had meant to her and for an instantthere was in the blue eyes a quick stinging of tears. Their eyes wereprobing her mercilessly but with a brave effort she sparkled back insympathy as she glanced at her new conquest for them to see. 

--O, responded Gerty, quick as lightning, laughing, and the proud headflashed up. I can throw my cap at who I like because it's leap year. 

Her words rang out crystalclear, more musical than the cooing of theringdove, but they cut the silence icily. There was that in her youngvoice that told that she was not a one to be lightly trifled with. Asfor Mr Reggy with his swank and his bit of money she could just chuckhim aside as if he was so much filth and never again would she cast asmuch as a second thought on him and tear his silly postcard into a dozenpieces. And if ever after he dared to presume she could give him onelook of measured scorn that would make him shrivel up on the spot. Misspuny little Edy's countenance fell to no slight extent and Gerty couldsee by her looking as black as thunder that she was simply in a toweringrage though she hid it, the little kinnatt, because that shaft hadstruck home for her petty jealousy and they both knew that she wassomething aloof, apart, in another sphere, that she was not of them andnever would be and there was somebody else too that knew it and saw itso they could put that in their pipe and smoke it. 

Edy straightened up baby Boardman to get ready to go and Cissy tucked inthe ball and the spades and buckets and it was high time too because thesandman was on his way for Master Boardman junior. And Cissy told himtoo that billy winks was coming and that baby was to go deedaw and babylooked just too ducky, laughing up out of his gleeful eyes, and Cissypoked him like that out of fun in his wee fat tummy and baby, without asmuch as by your leave, sent up his compliments to all and sundry on tohis brandnew dribbling bib. 

--O my! Puddeny pie! protested Ciss. He has his bib destroyed. 

The slight _contretemps_ claimed her attention but in two twos she setthat little matter to rights. 

Gerty stifled a smothered exclamation and gave a nervous cough and Edyasked what and she was just going to tell her to catch it while it wasflying but she was ever ladylike in her deportment so she simply passedit off with consummate tact by saying that that was the benedictionbecause just then the bell rang out from the steeple over the quietseashore because Canon O'Hanlon was up on the altar with the veil thatFather Conroy put round his shoulders giving the benediction with theBlessed Sacrament in his hands. 

How moving the scene there in the gathering twilight, the last glimpseof Erin, the touching chime of those evening bells and at the sametime 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 ofthe lighthouses so picturesque she would have loved to do with a box ofpaints because it was easier than to make a man and soon the lamplighterwould be going his rounds past the presbyterian church grounds and alongby shady Tritonville avenue where the couples walked and lighting thelamp near her window where Reggy Wylie used to turn his freewheel likeshe read in that book _The Lamplighter_ by Miss Cummins, author of_Mabel Vaughan_ and other tales. For Gerty had her dreams that no-oneknew of. She loved to read poetry and when she got a keepsake fromBertha Supple of that lovely confession album with the coralpink coverto write her thoughts in she laid it in the drawer of her toilettablewhich, though it did not err on the side of luxury, was scrupulouslyneat and clean. It was there she kept her girlish treasure trove, thetortoiseshell combs, her child of Mary badge, the whiterose scent, theeyebrowleine, her alabaster pouncetbox and the ribbons to changewhen her things came home from the wash and there were some beautifulthoughts written in it in violet ink that she bought in Hely's of DameStreet for she felt that she too could write poetry if she could onlyexpress herself like that poem that appealed to her so deeply thatshe had copied out of the newspaper she found one evening round thepotherbs. _Art thou real, my ideal?_ it was called by Louis J Walsh, Magherafelt, and after there was something about _twilight, wilt thouever?_ and ofttimes the beauty of poetry, so sad in its transientloveliness, had misted her eyes with silent tears for she felt thatthe years were slipping by for her, one by one, and but for that oneshortcoming she knew she need fear no competition and that was anaccident 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 therewould be no holding back for her. Love laughs at locksmiths. Shewould make the great sacrifice. Her every effort would be to share histhoughts. Dearer than the whole world would she be to him and gild hisdays with happiness. There was the allimportant question and she wasdying to know was he a married man or a widower who had lost his wifeor some tragedy like the nobleman with the foreign name from the landof song had to have her put into a madhouse, cruel only to be kind. But even if--what then? Would it make a very great difference? Fromeverything in the least indelicate her finebred nature instinctivelyrecoiled. She loathed that sort of person, the fallen women off theaccommodation walk beside the Dodder that went with the soldiers andcoarse men with no respect for a girl's honour, degrading the sex andbeing taken up to the police station. No, no: not that. They would bejust good friends like a big brother and sister without all that otherin spite of the conventions of Society with a big ess. Perhaps it wasan old flame he was in mourning for from the days beyond recall. Shethought she understood. She would try to understand him because men wereso different. The old love was waiting, waiting with little whitehands stretched out, with blue appealing eyes. Heart of mine! She wouldfollow, her dream of love, the dictates of her heart that told her hewas her all in all, the only man in all the world for her for love wasthe master guide. Nothing else mattered. Come what might she would bewild, untrammelled, free. 

Canon O'Hanlon put the Blessed Sacrament back into the tabernacle andgenuflected and the choir sang _Laudate Dominum omnes gentes_ and thenhe locked the tabernacle door because the benediction was over andFather Conroy handed him his hat to put on and crosscat Edy asked wasn'tshe coming but Jacky Caffrey called out:

--O, look, Cissy!

And they all looked was it sheet lightning but Tommy saw it too over thetrees beside the church, blue and then green and purple. 

--It's 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 Cissyholding Tommy and Jacky by the hand so they wouldn't fall running. 

--Come on, Gerty, Cissy called. It's the bazaar fireworks. 

But Gerty was adamant. She had no intention of being at their beck andcall. If they could run like rossies she could sit so she said she couldsee from where she was. The eyes that were fastened upon her set herpulses tingling. She looked at him a moment, meeting his glance, anda light broke in upon her. Whitehot passion was in that face, passionsilent as the grave, and it had made her his. At last they were leftalone without the others to pry and pass remarks and she knew he couldbe trusted to the death, steadfast, a sterling man, a man of inflexiblehonour to his fingertips. His hands and face were working and a tremourwent over her. She leaned back far to look up where the fireworks wereand she caught her knee in her hands so as not to fall back looking upand there was no-one to see only him and her when she revealed all hergraceful beautifully shaped legs like that, supply soft and delicatelyrounded, and she seemed to hear the panting of his heart, his hoarsebreathing, because she knew too about the passion of men like that, hotblooded, because Bertha Supple told her once in dead secret and madeher swear she'd never about the gentleman lodger that was staying withthem out of the Congested Districts Board that had pictures cut out ofpapers of those skirtdancers and highkickers and she said he used to dosomething not very nice that you could imagine sometimes in the bed. Butthis was altogether different from a thing like that because there wasall the difference because she could almost feel him draw her face tohis and the first quick hot touch of his handsome lips. Besides therewas absolution so long as you didn't do the other thing before beingmarried and there ought to be women priests that would understandwithout your telling out and Cissy Caffrey too sometimes had that dreamykind of dreamy look in her eyes so that she too, my dear, and WinnyRippingham so mad about actors' photographs and besides it was onaccount of that other thing coming on the way it did. 

And Jacky Caffrey shouted to look, there was another and she leaned backand the garters were blue to match on account of the transparent andthey all saw it and they all shouted to look, look, there it was andshe leaned back ever so far to see the fireworks and something queer wasflying through the air, a soft thing, to and fro, dark. And she saw along Roman candle going up over the trees, up, up, and, in the tensehush, they were all breathless with excitement as it went higher andhigher 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 divine, anentrancing blush from straining back and he could see her other thingstoo, nainsook knickers, the fabric that caresses the skin, better thanthose other pettiwidth, the green, four and eleven, on account of beingwhite and she let him and she saw that he saw and then it went so highit went out of sight a moment and she was trembling in every limb frombeing bent so far back that he had a full view high up above her kneewhere no-one ever not even on the swing or wading and she wasn't ashamedand he wasn't either to look in that immodest way like that because hecouldn't resist the sight of the wondrous revealment half offered likethose skirtdancers behaving so immodest before gentlemen looking and hekept on looking, looking. She would fain have cried to him chokingly, held out her snowy slender arms to him to come, to feel his lips laid onher white brow, the cry of a young girl's love, a little strangled cry, wrung from her, that cry that has rung through the ages. And then arocket sprang and bang shot blind blank and O! then the Roman candleburst and it was like a sigh of O! and everyone cried O! O! in rapturesand it gushed out of it a stream of rain gold hair threads and theyshed and ah! they were all greeny dewy stars falling with golden, O solovely, O, soft, sweet, soft!

Then all melted away dewily in the grey air: all was silent. Ah! Sheglanced at him as she bent forward quickly, a pathetic little glance ofpiteous protest, of shy reproach under which he coloured like a girl Hewas leaning back against the rock behind. Leopold Bloom (for it is he)stands silent, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. What abrute he had been! At it again? A fair unsullied soul had called to himand, 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 those eyes, for him too a word of pardon even though he had erred and sinned andwandered. Should a girl tell? No, a thousand times no. That was theirsecret, only theirs, alone in the hiding twilight and there was none toknow or tell save the little bat that flew so softly through the eveningto and fro and little bats don't tell. 

Cissy Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys in the football field to showwhat a great person she was: and then she cried:

--Gerty! Gerty! We're going. Come on. We can see from farther up. 

Gerty had an idea, one of love's little ruses. She slipped a hand intoher kerchief pocket and took out the wadding and waved in reply ofcourse without letting him and then slipped it back. Wonder if he's toofar to. She rose. Was it goodbye? No. She had to go but they would meetagain, there, and she would dream of that till then, tomorrow, of herdream of yester eve. She drew herself up to her full height. Their soulsmet in a last lingering glance and the eyes that reached her heart, fullof a strange shining, hung enraptured on her sweet flowerlike face. Shehalf smiled at him wanly, a sweet forgiving smile, a smile that vergedon tears, and then they parted. 

Slowly, without looking back she went down the uneven strand to Cissy, to Edy to Jacky and Tommy Caffrey, to little baby Boardman. It wasdarker now and there were stones and bits of wood on the strand andslippy seaweed. She walked with a certain quiet dignity characteristicof her but with care and very slowly because--because Gerty MacDowellwas. . . 

Tight boots? No. She's lame! O!

Mr Bloom watched her as she limped away. Poor girl! That's why she'sleft on the shelf and the others did a sprint. Thought something waswrong by the cut of her jib. Jilted beauty. A defect is ten times worsein a woman. But makes them polite. Glad I didn't know it when she was onshow. Hot little devil all the same. I wouldn't mind. Curiosity like anun or a negress or a girl with glasses. That squinty one is delicate. Near her monthlies, I expect, makes them feel ticklish. I have sucha bad headache today. Where did I put the letter? Yes, all right. Allkinds of crazy longings. Licking pennies. Girl in Tranquilla conventthat nun told me liked to smell rock oil. Virgins go mad in the end Isuppose. Sister? How many women in Dublin have it today? Martha, she. Something in the air. That's the moon. But then why don't all womenmenstruate at the same time with the same moon, I mean? Depends on thetime they were born I suppose. Or all start scratch then get out ofstep. Sometimes Molly and Milly together. Anyhow I got the best of that. Damned glad I didn't do it in the bath this morning over her silly Iwill punish you letter. Made up for that tramdriver this morning. Thatgouger M'Coy stopping me to say nothing. And his wife engagement in thecountry valise, voice like a pickaxe. Thankful for small mercies. Cheap too. Yours for the asking. Because they want it themselves. Theirnatural craving. Shoals of them every evening poured out of offices. Reserve better. Don't want it they throw it at you. Catch em alive, O. Pity they can't see themselves. A dream of wellfilled hose. Where wasthat? Ah, yes. Mutoscope pictures in Capel street: for men only. PeepingTom. Willy's hat and what the girls did with it. Do they snapshot thosegirls or is it all a fake? _Lingerie_ does it. Felt for the curvesinside her _deshabillé. _ Excites them also when they're. I'm all cleancome and dirty me. And they like dressing one another for the sacrifice. Milly delighted with Molly's new blouse. At first. Put them all on totake 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 pairof gaiters the night that first we met. His lovely shirt was shiningbeneath his what? of jet. Say a woman loses a charm with every pin shetakes out. Pinned together. O, Mairy lost the pin of her. Dressed up tothe nines for somebody. Fashion part of their charm. Just changes whenyou're on the track of the secret. Except the east: Mary, Martha: now asthen. No reasonable offer refused. She wasn't in a hurry either. Alwaysoff to a fellow when they are. They never forget an appointment. Out onspec probably. They believe in chance because like themselves. And theothers inclined to give her an odd dig. Girl friends at school, armsround each other's necks or with ten fingers locked, kissing andwhispering secrets about nothing in the convent garden. Nuns withwhitewashed faces, cool coifs and their rosaries going up and down, vindictive too for what they can't get. Barbed wire. Be sure now andwrite to me. And I'll write to you. Now won't you? Molly and JosiePowell. 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 other's appearance. You're lookingsplendid. Sister souls. Showing their teeth at one another. How manyhave you left? Wouldn't lend each other a pinch of salt. 

Ah!

Devils they are when that's coming on them. Dark devilish appearance. Molly often told me feel things a ton weight. Scratch the sole of myfoot. O that way! O, that's exquisite! Feel it myself too. Good to restonce in a way. Wonder if it's bad to go with them then. Safe in one way. Turns milk, makes fiddlestrings snap. Something about withering plants Iread in a garden. Besides they say if the flower withers she wears she'sa flirt. All are. Daresay she felt 1. When you feel like that you oftenmeet what you feel. Liked me or what? Dress they look at. Always know afellow courting: collars and cuffs. Well cocks and lions do the sameand stags. Same time might prefer a tie undone or something. Trousers?Suppose I when I was? No. Gently does it. Dislike rough and tumble. Kissin the dark and never tell. Saw something in me. Wonder what. Soonerhave me as I am than some poet chap with bearsgrease plastery hair, lovelock over his dexter optic. To aid gentleman in literary. Ought toattend to my appearance my age. Didn't let her see me in profile. Still, you never know. Pretty girls and ugly men marrying. Beauty and thebeast. Besides I can't be so if Molly. Took off her hat to show herhair. Wide brim. Bought to hide her face, meeting someone might knowher, bend down or carry a bunch of flowers to smell. Hair strong in rut. Ten bob I got for Molly's combings when we were on the rocks in Hollesstreet. Why not? Suppose he gave her money. Why not? All a prejudice. She's worth ten, fifteen, more, a pound. What? I think so. All that fornothing. Bold hand: Mrs Marion. Did I forget to write address onthat letter like the postcard I sent to Flynn? And the day I went toDrimmie's without a necktie. Wrangle with Molly it was put me off. No, I remember. Richie Goulding: he's another. Weighs on his mind. Funnymy watch stopped at half past four. Dust. Shark liver oil they use toclean. 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 littlelimping devil. Begins to feel cold and clammy. Aftereffect not pleasant. Still you have to get rid of it someway. They don't care. Complimentedperhaps. Go home to nicey bread and milky and say night prayers with thekiddies. Well, aren't they? See her as she is spoil all. Must havethe stage setting, the rouge, costume, position, music. The name too. _Amours_ of actresses. Nell Gwynn, Mrs Bracegirdle, Maud Branscombe. Curtain up. Moonlight silver effulgence. Maiden discovered with pensivebosom. Little sweetheart come and kiss me. Still, I feel. The strengthit gives a man. That's the secret of it. Good job I let off there behindthe wall coming out of Dignam's. Cider that was. Otherwise I couldn'thave. Makes you want to sing after. _Lacaus esant taratara_. Suppose Ispoke to her. What about? Bad plan however if you don't know how to endthe conversation. Ask them a question they ask you another. Good idea ifyou're stuck. Gain time. But then you're in a cart. Wonderful of courseif you say: good evening, and you see she's on for it: good evening. Obut the dark evening in the Appian way I nearly spoke to Mrs Clinch Othinking she was. Whew! Girl in Meath street that night. All the dirtythings I made her say. All wrong of course. My arks she called it. It'sso hard to find one who. Aho! If you don't answer when they solicit mustbe horrible for them till they harden. And kissed my hand when I gaveher the extra two shillings. Parrots. Press the button and the bird willsqueak. Wish she hadn't called me sir. O, her mouth in the dark! And youa married man with a single girl! That's what they enjoy. Taking a manfrom another woman. Or even hear of it. Different with me. Glad to getaway from other chap's wife. Eating off his cold plate. Chap in theBurton today spitting back gumchewed gristle. French letter still inmy pocketbook. Cause of half the trouble. But might happen sometime, I don't think. Come in, all is prepared. I dreamt. What? Worst isbeginning. How they change the venue when it's not what they like. Askyou do you like mushrooms because she once knew a gentleman who. Or askyou 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 wantsomething awfully, then cry off for her sake. Flatters them. She musthave been thinking of someone else all the time. What harm? Must sinceshe 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, tellby their eye, on the sly. First thoughts are best. Remember that tilltheir dying day. Molly, lieutenant Mulvey that kissed her under theMoorish wall beside the gardens. Fifteen she told me. But her breastswere developed. Fell asleep then. After Glencree dinner that was when wedrove home. Featherbed mountain. Gnashing her teeth in sleep. Lord mayorhad his eye on her too. Val Dillon. Apoplectic. 

There she is with them down there for the fireworks. My fireworks. Uplike a rocket, down like a stick. And the children, twins they mustbe, waiting for something to happen. Want to be grownups. Dressing inmother's clothes. Time enough, understand all the ways of the world. Andthe dark one with the mop head and the nigger mouth. I knew she couldwhistle. Mouth made for that. Like Molly. Why that highclass whore inJammet's wore her veil only to her nose. Would you mind, please, tellingme the right time? I'll 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 coursethey understand birds, animals, babies. In their line. 

Didn't look back when she was going down the strand. Wouldn't give thatsatisfaction. Those girls, those girls, those lovely seaside girls. Fineeyes she had, clear. It's the white of the eye brings that out not somuch the pupil. Did she know what I? Course. Like a cat sitting beyonda dog's jump. Women never meet one like that Wilkins in the high schooldrawing a picture of Venus with all his belongings on show. Call thatinnocence? Poor idiot! His wife has her work cut out for her. Never seethem sit on a bench marked _Wet Paint_. Eyes all over them. Look underthe bed for what's 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 ofCuffe street was goodlooking, thought she might like, twigged at once hehad a false arm. Had, too. Where do they get that? Typist going up RogerGreene's stairs two at a time to show her understandings. Handed downfrom father to, mother to daughter, I mean. Bred in the bone. Milly forexample drying her handkerchief on the mirror to save the ironing. Bestplace for an ad to catch a woman's eye on a mirror. And when I senther for Molly's Paisley shawl to Prescott's by the way that ad I must, carrying home the change in her stocking! Clever little minx. I nevertold her. Neat way she carries parcels too. Attract men, small thinglike that. Holding up her hand, shaking it, to let the blood flow backwhen it was red. Who did you learn that from? Nobody. Something thenurse taught me. O, don't they know! Three years old she was in front ofMolly's dressingtable, just before we left Lombard street west. Me havea nice pace. Mullingar. Who knows? Ways of the world. Young student. Straight 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. Rumpledstockings. Or the one in Grafton street. White. Wow! Beef to the heel. 

A monkey puzzle rocket burst, spluttering in darting crackles. Zrads andzrads, zrads, zrads. And Cissy and Tommy and Jacky ran out to see andEdy 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 Kiernan's, Dignam's. Forthis relief much thanks. In _Hamlet, _ that is. Lord! It was all thingscombined. Excitement. When she leaned back, felt an ache at the buttof my tongue. Your head it simply swirls. He's right. Might have made aworse fool of myself however. Instead of talking about nothing. ThenI will tell you all. Still it was a kind of language between us. Itcouldn't be? No, Gerty they called her. Might be false name however likemy name and the address Dolphin's barn a blind. 

_Her maiden name was Jemina Brown And she lived with her mother inIrishtown. _

Place made me think of that I suppose. All tarred with the same brushWiping pens in their stockings. But the ball rolled down to her as ifit understood. Every bullet has its billet. Course I never could throwanything straight at school. Crooked as a ram's horn. Sad howeverbecause it lasts only a few years till they settle down to potwallopingand papa's pants will soon fit Willy and fuller's earth for the babywhen they hold him out to do ah ah. No soft job. Saves them. Keepsthem out of harm's way. Nature. Washing child, washing corpse. Dignam. Children's hands always round them. Cocoanut skulls, monkeys, not evenclosed at first, sour milk in their swaddles and tainted curds. Oughtn'tto have given that child an empty teat to suck. Fill it up with wind. Mrs Beaufoy, Purefoy. Must call to the hospital. Wonder is nurse Callanthere still. She used to look over some nights when Molly was in theCoffee Palace. That young doctor O'Hare I noticed her brushing his coat. And Mrs Breen and Mrs Dignam once like that too, marriageable. Worstof all at night Mrs Duggan told me in the City Arms. Husband rolling indrunk, stink of pub off him like a polecat. Have that in your nose inthe dark, whiff of stale boose. Then ask in the morning: was I drunklast night? Bad policy however to fault the husband. Chickens come hometo roost. They stick by one another like glue. Maybe the women's faultalso. That's where Molly can knock spots off them. It's the blood of thesouth. Moorish. Also the form, the figure. Hands felt for the opulent. Just compare for instance those others. Wife locked up at home, skeletonin the cupboard. Allow me to introduce my. Then they trot you out somekind of a nondescript, wouldn't know what to call her. Always see afellow's weak point in his wife. Still there's destiny in it, fallingin love. Have their own secrets between them. Chaps that would go to thedogs if some woman didn't take them in hand. Then little chits of girls, height of a shilling in coppers, with little hubbies. As God made themhe matched them. Sometimes children turn out well enough. Twice noughtmakes one. Or old rich chap of seventy and blushing bride. Marry in Mayand repent in December. This wet is very unpleasant. Stuck. Well theforeskin is not back. Better detach. 

Ow!

Other hand a sixfooter with a wifey up to his watchpocket. Long andthe short of it. Big he and little she. Very strange about my watch. Wristwatches are always going wrong. Wonder is there any magneticinfluence between the person because that was about the time he. Yes, Isuppose, at once. Cat's away, the mice will play. I remember lookingin Pill lane. Also that now is magnetism. Back of everything magnetism. Earth for instance pulling this and being pulled. That causes movement. And time, well that's the time the movement takes. Then if one thingstopped the whole ghesabo would stop bit by bit. Because it's allarranged. Magnetic needle tells you what's going on in the sun, thestars. 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 upand look and suggest and let you see and see more and defy you if you'rea man to see that and, like a sneeze coming, legs, look, look and if youhave any guts in you. Tip. Have to let fly. 

Wonder how is she feeling in that region. Shame all put on before thirdperson. More put out about a hole in her stocking. Molly, her underjawstuck out, head back, about the farmer in the ridingboots and spurs atthe horse show. And when the painters were in Lombard street west. Fine voice that fellow had. How Giuglini began. Smell that I did. Likeflowers. It was too. Violets. Came from the turpentine probably in thepaint. Make their own use of everything. Same time doing it scraped herslipper on the floor so they wouldn't hear. But lots of them can't kickthe beam, I think. Keep that thing up for hours. Kind of a general allround over me and half down my back. 

Wait. Hm. Hm. Yes. That's her perfume. Why she waved her hand. I leaveyou this to think of me when I'm far away on the pillow. What is it?Heliotrope? No. Hyacinth? Hm. Roses, I think. She'd like scent of thatkind. Sweet and cheap: soon sour. Why Molly likes opoponax. Suits her, with a little jessamine mixed. Her high notes and her low notes. At thedance night she met him, dance of the hours. Heat brought it out. Shewas wearing her black and it had the perfume of the time before. Goodconductor, is it? Or bad? Light too. Suppose there's some connection. For instance if you go into a cellar where it's dark. Mysterious thingtoo. Why did I smell it only now? Took its time in coming like herself, slow but sure. Suppose it's ever so many millions of tiny grainsblown across. Yes, it is. Because those spice islands, Cinghalese thismorning, smell them leagues off. Tell you what it is. It's like a finefine veil or web they have all over the skin, fine like what do youcall it gossamer, and they're always spinning it out of them, fine asanything, like rainbow colours without knowing it. Clings to everythingshe takes off. Vamp of her stockings. Warm shoe. Stays. Drawers: littlekick, taking them off. Byby till next time. Also the cat likes to sniffin her shift on the bed. Know her smell in a thousand. Bathwater too. Reminds me of strawberries and cream. Wonder where it is really. Thereor the armpits or under the neck. Because you get it out of all holesand corners. Hyacinth perfume made of oil of ether or something. Muskrat. Bag under their tails. One grain pour off odour for years. Dogsat each other behind. Good evening. Evening. How do you sniff? Hm. Hm. Very well, thank you. Animals go by that. Yes now, look at it that way. We're the same. Some women, instance, warn you off when they have theirperiod. Come near. Then get a hogo you could hang your hat on. Likewhat? Potted herrings gone stale or. Boof! Please keep off the grass. 

Perhaps they get a man smell off us. What though? Cigary gloves longJohn had on his desk the other day. Breath? What you eat and drink givesthat. No. Mansmell, I mean. Must be connected with that because prieststhat are supposed to be are different. Women buzz round it like fliesround treacle. Railed off the altar get on to it at any cost. The treeof forbidden priest. O, father, will you? Let me be the first to. Thatdiffuses itself all through the body, permeates. Source of life. Andit's 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, that's the soap. 

O by the by that lotion. I knew there was something on my mind. Neverwent back and the soap not paid. Dislike carrying bottles like that hagthis morning. Hynes might have paid me that three shillings. I couldmention Meagher's just to remind him. Still if he works that paragraph. Two and nine. Bad opinion of me he'll have. Call tomorrow. How much doI owe you? Three and nine? Two and nine, sir. Ah. Might stop him givingcredit another time. Lose your customers that way. Pubs do. Fellows runup a bill on the slate and then slinking around the back streets intosomewhere else. 

Here's this nobleman passed before. Blown in from the bay. Just went asfar as turn back. Always at home at dinnertime. Looks mangled out: had agood tuck in. Enjoying nature now. Grace after meals. After supper walka mile. Sure he has a small bank balance somewhere, government sit. Walkafter him now make him awkward like those newsboys me today. Still youlearn something. See ourselves as others see us. So long as women don'tmock what matter? That's the way to find out. Ask yourself who is henow. _The Mystery Man on the Beach_, prize titbit story by Mr LeopoldBloom. Payment at the rate of one guinea per column. And that fellowtoday at the graveside in the brown macintosh. Corns on his kismethowever. Healthy perhaps absorb all the. Whistle brings rain they say. Must be some somewhere. Salt in the Ormond damp. The body feels theatmosphere. Old Betty's joints are on the rack. Mother Shipton'sprophecy that is about ships around they fly in the twinkling. No. Signsof rain it is. The royal reader. And distant hills seem coming nigh. 

Howth. Bailey light. Two, four, six, eight, nine. See. Has to change orthey might think it a house. Wreckers. Grace Darling. People afraid ofthe dark. Also glowworms, cyclists: lightingup time. Jewels diamondsflash better. Women. Light is a kind of reassuring. Not going to hurtyou. Better now of course than long ago. Country roads. Run you throughthe 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 inthe shade after the sun. Some light still. Red rays are longest. RoygbivVance taught us: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. Astar I see. Venus? Can't tell yet. Two. When three it's night. Werethose nightclouds there all the time? Looks like a phantom ship. No. Wait. Trees are they? An optical illusion. Mirage. Land of the settingsun this. Homerule sun setting in the southeast. My native land, goodnight. 

Dew falling. Bad for you, dear, to sit on that stone. Brings on whitefluxions. Never have little baby then less he was big strong fight hisway up through. Might get piles myself. Sticks too like a summer cold, sore on the mouth. Cut with grass or paper worst. Friction of theposition. Like to be that rock she sat on. O sweet little, you don'tknow how nice you looked. I begin to like them at that age. Greenapples. Grab at all that offer. Suppose it's the only time we crosslegs, seated. Also the library today: those girl graduates. Happy chairsunder them. But it's the evening influence. They feel all that. Openlike flowers, know their hours, sunflowers, Jerusalem artichokes, inballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the lamps. Nightstock in MatDillon's garden where I kissed her shoulder. Wish I had a full lengthoilpainting of her then. June that was too I wooed. The year returns. History repeats itself. Ye crags and peaks I'm with you once again. Life, love, voyage round your own little world. And now? Sad about herlame of course but must be on your guard not to feel too much pity. Theytake advantage. 

All quiet on Howth now. The distant hills seem. Where we. Therhododendrons. I am a fool perhaps. He gets the plums, and I theplumstones. Where I come in. All that old hill has seen. Names change:that's all. Lovers: yum yum. 

Tired I feel now. Will I get up? O wait. Drained all the manhood out ofme, little wretch. She kissed me. Never again. My youth. Only once itcomes. Or hers. Take the train there tomorrow. No. Returning not thesame. Like kids your second visit to a house. The new I want. Nothingnew under the sun. Care of P. O. Dolphin's Barn. Are you not happy inyour? Naughty darling. At Dolphin's barn charades in Luke Doyle's house. Mat Dillon and his bevy of daughters: Tiny, Atty, Floey, Maimy, Louy, Hetty. Molly too. Eightyseven that was. Year before we. And the oldmajor, partial to his drop of spirits. Curious she an only child, I anonly child. So it returns. Think you're escaping 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 inHenny Doyle's overcoat. Van: breadvan delivering. Winkle: cockles andperiwinkles. Then I did Rip van Winkle coming back. She leaned on thesideboard watching. Moorish eyes. Twenty years asleep in Sleepy Hollow. All changed. Forgotten. The young are old. His gun rusty from the dew. 

Ba. What is that flying about? Swallow? Bat probably. Thinks I'm a tree, so blind. Have birds no smell? Metempsychosis. They believed you couldbe changed into a tree from grief. Weeping willow. Ba. There he goes. Funny little beggar. Wonder where he lives. Belfry up there. Verylikely. Hanging by his heels in the odour of sanctity. Bell scared himout, I suppose. Mass seems to be over. Could hear them all at it. Prayfor us. And pray for us. And pray for us. Good idea the repetition. Samething with ads. Buy from us. And buy from us. Yes, there's the light inthe priest's house. Their frugal meal. Remember about the mistake in thevaluation when I was in Thom's. Twentyeight it is. Two houses they have. Gabriel Conroy's brother is curate. Ba. Again. Wonder why they come outat night like mice. They're a mixed breed. Birds are like hopping mice. What frightens them, light or noise? Better sit still. All instinctlike the bird in drouth got water out of the end of a jar by throwingin pebbles. Like a little man in a cloak he is with tiny hands. Weenybones. Almost see them shimmering, kind of a bluey white. Colours dependon the light you see. Stare the sun for example like the eagle then lookat a shoe see a blotch blob yellowish. Wants to stamp his trademark oneverything. Instance, that cat this morning on the staircase. Colour ofbrown turf. Say you never see them with three colours. Not true. Thathalf tabbywhite tortoiseshell in the _City Arms_ with the letter em onher forehead. Body fifty different colours. Howth a while ago amethyst. Glass flashing. That's how that wise man what's his name with theburning glass. Then the heather goes on fire. It can't be tourists'matches. What? Perhaps the sticks dry rub together in the wind andlight. Or broken bottles in the furze act as a burning glass in the sun. Archimedes. I have it! My memory's not so bad. 

Ba. Who knows what they're always flying for. Insects? That bee lastweek got into the room playing with his shadow on the ceiling. Mightbe the one bit me, come back to see. Birds too. Never find out. Or whatthey say. Like our small talk. And says she and says he. Nerve they haveto fly over the ocean and back. Lots must be killed in storms, telegraphwires. Dreadful life sailors have too. Big brutes of oceangoing steamersfloundering along in the dark, lowing out like seacows. _Faugh aBallagh!_ Out of that, bloody curse to you! Others in vessels, bit ofa handkerchief sail, pitched about like snuff at a wake when the stormywinds do blow. Married too. Sometimes away for years at the ends of theearth somewhere. No ends really because it's round. Wife in every portthey say. She has a good job if she minds it till Johnny comes marchinghome again. If ever he does. Smelling the tail end of ports. How canthey like the sea? Yet they do. The anchor's weighed. Off he sails witha scapular or a medal on him for luck. Well. And the tephilim no what'sthis they call it poor papa's father had on his door to touch. Thatbrought us out of the land of Egypt and into the house of bondage. Something in all those superstitions because when you go out never knowwhat dangers. Hanging on to a plank or astride of a beam for grim life, lifebelt round him, gulping salt water, and that's the last of his nibstill 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 Jones' locker, moon looking down sopeaceful. Not my fault, old cockalorum. 

A last lonely candle wandered up the sky from Mirus bazaar in search offunds for Mercer's hospital and broke, drooping, and shed a clusterof violet but one white stars. They floated, fell: they faded. Theshepherd's hour: the hour of folding: hour of tryst. From house tohouse, giving his everwelcome double knock, went the nine o'clockpostman, the glowworm's lamp at his belt gleaming here and there throughthe laurel hedges. And among the five young trees a hoisted lintstocklit the lamp at Leahy's terrace. By screens of lighted windows, by equalgardens a shrill voice went crying, wailing: _Evening Telegraph, stoppress edition! Result of the Gold Cup race!_ and from the door ofDignam's house a boy ran out and called. Twittering the bat flew here, flew there. Far out over the sands the coming surf crept, grey. Howthsettled for slumber, tired of long days, of yumyum rhododendrons (he wasold) 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 lightshiptwinkled, winked at Mr Bloom. 

Life those chaps out there must have, stuck in the same spot. IrishLights board. Penance for their sins. Coastguards too. Rocket andbreeches buoy and lifeboat. Day we went out for the pleasure cruise inthe Erin's King, throwing them the sack of old papers. Bears in the zoo. Filthy trip. Drunkards out to shake up their livers. Puking overboardto feed the herrings. Nausea. And the women, fear of God in their faces. Milly, no sign of funk. Her blue scarf loose, laughing. Don't know whatdeath is at that age. And then their stomachs clean. But being lost theyfear. When we hid behind the tree at Crumlin. I didn't want to. Mamma!Mamma! Babes in the wood. Frightening them with masks too. Throwing themup in the air to catch them. I'll murder you. Is it only half fun? Orchildren playing battle. Whole earnest. How can people aim guns at eachother. Sometimes they go off. Poor kids! Only troubles wildfire andnettlerash. Calomel purge I got her for that. After getting betterasleep with Molly. Very same teeth she has. What do they love? Anotherthemselves? But the morning she chased her with the umbrella. Perhaps soas not to hurt. I felt her pulse. Ticking. Little hand it was: now big. Dearest Papli. All that the hand says when you touch. Loved to countmy waistcoat buttons. Her first stays I remember. Made me laugh to see. Little paps to begin with. Left one is more sensitive, I think. Minetoo. Nearer the heart? Padding themselves out if fat is in fashion. Hergrowing pains at night, calling, wakening me. Frightened she was whenher nature came on her first. Poor child! Strange moment for the mothertoo. Brings back her girlhood. Gibraltar. Looking from Buena Vista. O'Hara's tower. The seabirds screaming. Old Barbary ape that gobbled allhis family. Sundown, gunfire for the men to cross the lines. Lookingout over the sea she told me. Evening like this, but clear, no clouds. I always thought I'd marry a lord or a rich gentleman coming with aprivate yacht. _Buenas noches, señorita. El hombre ama la muchachahermosa_. Why me? Because you were so foreign from the others. 

Better not stick here all night like a limpet. This weather makes youdull. 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 hospitalto see. Hope she's over. Long day I've had. Martha, the bath, funeral, house of Keyes, museum with those goddesses, Dedalus' song. Then thatbawler in Barney Kiernan's. Got my own back there. Drunken ranters whatI 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 incompany. Afraid to be alone like a child of two. Suppose he hit me. Lookat 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 hawkedabout, three fangs in her mouth. Same style of beauty. Particularly niceold party for a cup of tea. The sister of the wife of the wild man ofBorneo has just come to town. Imagine that in the early morning at closerange. Everyone to his taste as Morris said when he kissed the cow. ButDignam's put the boots on it. Houses of mourning so depressing becauseyou never know. Anyhow she wants the money. Must call to those ScottishWidows as I promised. Strange name. Takes it for granted we're going topop off first. That widow on Monday was it outside Cramer's thatlooked at me. Buried the poor husband but progressing favourably onthe premium. Her widow's mite. Well? What do you expect her to do? Mustwheedle her way along. Widower I hate to see. Looks so forlorn. Poor manO'Connor wife and five children poisoned by mussels here. The sewage. Hopeless. Some good matronly woman in a porkpie hat to mother him. Takehim in tow, platter face and a large apron. Ladies' grey flannelettebloomers, three shillings a pair, astonishing bargain. Plain and loved, loved for ever, they say. Ugly: no woman thinks she is. Love, lie and behandsome for tomorrow we die. See him sometimes walking about trying tofind out who played the trick. U. P: up. Fate that is. He, not me. Alsoa 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. Nannetti's gone. Mailboat. Near Holyhead by now. Must nail that adof Keyes's. Work Hynes and Crawford. Petticoats for Molly. She hassomething to put in them. What's that? Might be money. 

Mr Bloom stooped and turned over a piece of paper on the strand. Hebrought it near his eyes and peered. Letter? No. Can't read. Better go. Better. I'm tired to move. Page of an old copybook. All those holes andpebbles. Who could count them? Never know what you find. Bottle withstory of a treasure in it, thrown from a wreck. Parcels post. Childrenalways want to throw things in the sea. Trust? Bread cast on the waters. What's this? Bit of stick. 

O! Exhausted that female has me. Not so young now. Will she come heretomorrow? Wait for her somewhere for ever. Must come back. Murderers do. Will I?

Mr Bloom with his stick gently vexed the thick sand at his foot. Write amessage for her. Might remain. What?

I. 

Some flatfoot tramp on it in the morning. Useless. Washed away. Tidecomes here. Saw a pool near her foot. Bend, see my face there, darkmirror, breathe on it, stirs. All these rocks with lines and scars andletters. O, those transparent! Besides they don't know. What is themeaning of that other world. I called you naughty boy because I do notlike. 

AM. A. 

No room. Let it go. 

Mr Bloom effaced the letters with his slow boot. Hopeless thing sand. Nothing grows in it. All fades. No fear of big vessels coming up here. Except Guinness's barges. Round the Kish in eighty days. Done half bydesign. 

He flung his wooden pen away. The stick fell in silted sand, stuck. Nowif you were trying to do that for a week on end you couldn't. Chance. We'll never meet again. But it was lovely. Goodbye, dear. Thanks. Mademe 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. Iwon't go. Race there, race back to Ennis. Let him. Just close my eyesa moment. Won't sleep, though. Half dream. It never comes the same. Batagain. No harm in him. Just a few. 

O sweety all your little girlwhite up I saw dirty bracegirdle made me dolove sticky we two naughty Grace darling she him half past the bed methim pike hoses frillies for Raoul de perfume your wife black hair heaveunder embon _señorita_ young eyes Mulvey plump bubs me breadvan Winklered slippers she rusty sleep wander years of dreams return tail endAgendath swoony lovey showed me her next year in drawers return next inher next her next. 

A bat flew. Here. There. Here. Far in the grey a bell chimed. Mr Bloomwith open mouth, his left boot sanded sideways, leaned, breathed. Justfor a few

 _Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo. _

The clock on the mantelpiece in the priest's house cooed where CanonO'Hanlon and Father Conroy and the reverend John Hughes S. J. Weretaking tea and sodabread and butter and fried mutton chops with catsupand talking about

 _Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo. _

Because it was a little canarybird that came out of its little houseto tell the time that Gerty MacDowell noticed the time she was therebecause she was as quick as anything about a thing like that, was GertyMacDowell, and she noticed at once that that foreign gentleman that wassitting on the rocks looking was

 _Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo. _

Deshil Holles Eamus. Deshil Holles Eamus. Deshil Holles Eamus. 

Send us bright one, light one, Horhorn, quickening and wombfruit. Sendus bright one, light one, Horhorn, quickening and wombfruit. Send usbright one, light one, Horhorn, quickening and wombfruit. 

Hoopsa boyaboy hoopsa! Hoopsa boyaboy hoopsa! Hoopsa boyaboy hoopsa!

Universally that person's acumen is esteemed very little perceptiveconcerning whatsoever matters are being held as most profitably bymortals with sapience endowed to be studied who is ignorant of thatwhich the most in doctrine erudite and certainly by reason of that inthem high mind's ornament deserving of veneration constantly maintainwhen by general consent they affirm that other circumstances beingequal by no exterior splendour is the prosperity of a nation moreefficaciously asserted than by the measure of how far forward mayhave progressed the tribute of its solicitude for that proliferentcontinuance which of evils the original if it be absent when fortunatelypresent constitutes the certain sign of omnipotent nature's incorruptedbenefaction. For who is there who anything of some significance hasapprehended but is conscious that that exterior splendour may be thesurface of a downwardtending lutulent reality or on the contrary anyoneso is there unilluminated as not to perceive that as no nature's booncan contend against the bounty of increase so it behoves every most justcitizen to become the exhortator and admonisher of his semblables andto tremble lest what had in the past been by the nation excellentlycommenced might be in the future not with similar excellenceaccomplished if an inverecund habit shall have gradually traducedthe honourable by ancestors transmitted customs to that thither ofprofundity that that one was audacious excessively who would have thehardihood to rise affirming that no more odious offence can for anyonebe than to oblivious neglect to consign that evangel simultaneouslycommand and promise which on all mortals with prophecy of abundanceor with diminution's menace that exalted of reiteratedly procreatingfunction ever irrevocably enjoined?

It is not why therefore we shall wonder if, as the best historiansrelate, among the Celts, who nothing that was not in its natureadmirable admired, the art of medicine shall have been highly honoured. Not to speak of hostels, leperyards, sweating chambers, plaguegraves, their greatest doctors, the O'Shiels, the O'Hickeys, the O'Lees, have sedulously set down the divers methods by which the sick and therelapsed found again health whether the malady had been the tremblingwithering or loose boyconnell flux. Certainly in every public work whichin it anything of gravity contains preparation should be with importancecommensurate and therefore a plan was by them adopted (whether by havingpreconsidered or as the maturation of experience it is difficult inbeing said which the discrepant opinions of subsequent inquirers are notup to the present congrued to render manifest) whereby maternity was sofar from all accident possibility removed that whatever care the patientin that all hardest of woman hour chiefly required and not solelyfor the copiously opulent but also for her who not being sufficientlymoneyed scarcely and often not even scarcely could subsist valiantly andfor an inconsiderable emolument was provided. 

To her nothing already then and thenceforward was anyway able to bemolestful for this chiefly felt all citizens except with proliferentmothers prosperity at all not to can be and as they had receivedeternity gods mortals generation to befit them her beholding, when thecase was so hoving itself, parturient in vehicle thereward carryingdesire immense among all one another was impelling on of her to bereceived into that domicile. O thing of prudent nation not merely inbeing seen but also even in being related worthy of being praised thatthey her by anticipation went seeing mother, that she by them suddenlyto be about to be cherished had been begun she felt!

Before born bliss babe had. Within womb won he worship. Whatever in thatone case done commodiously done was. A couch by midwives attended withwholesome food reposeful, cleanest swaddles as though forthbringing werenow done and by wise foresight set: but to this no less of what drugsthere is need and surgical implements which are pertaining to hercase not omitting aspect of all very distracting spectacles in variouslatitudes by our terrestrial orb offered together with images, divineand human, the cogitation of which by sejunct females is to tumescenceconducive or eases issue in the high sunbright wellbuilt fair home ofmothers when, ostensibly far gone and reproductitive, it is come by herthereto to lie in, her term up. 

Some man that wayfaring was stood by housedoor at night's oncoming. OfIsrael's folk was that man that on earth wandering far had fared. Starkruth of man his errand that him lone led till that house. 

Of that house A. Horne is lord. Seventy beds keeps he there teemingmothers are wont that they lie for to thole and bring forth bairns haleso God's angel to Mary quoth. Watchers tway there walk, white sistersin ward sleepless. Smarts they still, sickness soothing: in twelve moonsthrice an hundred. Truest bedthanes they twain are, for Horne holdingwariest ward. 

In ward wary the watcher hearing come that man mildhearted eft risingwith swire ywimpled to him her gate wide undid. Lo, levin leapinglightens in eyeblink Ireland's westward welkin. Full she drad thatGod the Wreaker all mankind would fordo with water for his evil sins. Christ's rood made she on breastbone and him drew that he would ratheinfare under her thatch. That man her will wotting worthful went inHorne's house. 

Loth to irk in Horne's hall hat holding the seeker stood. On her stow heere was living with dear wife and lovesome daughter that then over landand seafloor nine years had long outwandered. Once her in townhithemeeting he to her bow had not doffed. Her to forgive now he craved withgood ground of her allowed that that of him swiftseen face, hers, soyoung then had looked. Light swift her eyes kindled, bloom of blusheshis word winning. 

As her eyes then ongot his weeds swart therefor sorrow she feared. Gladafter she was that ere adread was. Her he asked if O'Hare Doctor tidingssent from far coast and she with grameful sigh him answered that O'HareDoctor in heaven was. Sad was the man that word to hear that him soheavied in bowels ruthful. All she there told him, ruing death forfriend so young, algate sore unwilling God's rightwiseness to withsay. She said that he had a fair sweet death through God His goodness withmasspriest to be shriven, holy housel and sick men's oil to his limbs. The man then right earnest asked the nun of which death the dead man wasdied and the nun answered him and said that he was died in Mona Islandthrough bellycrab three year agone come Childermas and she prayed to Godthe Allruthful to have his dear soul in his undeathliness. He heard hersad words, in held hat sad staring. So stood they there both awhile inwanhope sorrowing one with other. 

Therefore, everyman, look to that last end that is thy death and thedust that gripeth on every man that is born of woman for as he camenaked forth from his mother's womb so naked shall he wend him at thelast for to go as he came. 

The man that was come in to the house then spoke to the nursingwoman andhe asked her how it fared with the woman that lay there in childbed. The nursingwoman answered him and said that that woman was in throesnow full three days and that it would be a hard birth unneth to bearbut that now in a little it would be. She said thereto that she hadseen many births of women but never was none so hard as was that woman'sbirth. Then she set it all forth to him for because she knew the manthat time was had lived nigh that house. The man hearkened to her wordsfor he felt with wonder women's woe in the travail that they have ofmotherhood and he wondered to look on her face that was a fair face forany man to see but yet was she left after long years a handmaid. Ninetwelve bloodflows chiding her childless. 

And whiles they spake the door of the castle was opened and there nighedthem a mickle noise as of many that sat there at meat. And there cameagainst the place as they stood a young learningknight yclept Dixon. Andthe traveller Leopold was couth to him sithen it had happed that theyhad had ado each with other in the house of misericord where thislearningknight lay by cause the traveller Leopold came there to behealed for he was sore wounded in his breast by a spear wherewith ahorrible and dreadful dragon was smitten him for which he did do makea salve of volatile salt and chrism as much as he might suffice. And hesaid now that he should go in to that castle for to make merry withthem that were there. And the traveller Leopold said that he should gootherwhither for he was a man of cautels and a subtile. Also the ladywas of his avis and repreved the learningknight though she trowed wellthat the traveller had said thing that was false for his subtility. Butthe learningknight would not hear say nay nor do her mandement ne havehim in aught contrarious to his list and he said how it was a marvellouscastle. And the traveller Leopold went into the castle for to rest himfor a space being sore of limb after many marches environing in diverslands and sometime venery. 

And in the castle was set a board that was of the birchwood of Finlandyand it was upheld by four dwarfmen of that country but they durst notmove more for enchantment. And on this board were frightful swords andknives that are made in a great cavern by swinking demons out of whiteflames that they fix then in the horns of buffalos and stags that thereabound marvellously. And there were vessels that are wrought by magic ofMahound out of seasand and the air by a warlock with his breath that heblases in to them like to bubbles. And full fair cheer and rich was onthe board that no wight could devise a fuller ne richer. And there wasa vat of silver that was moved by craft to open in the which lay strangefishes withouten heads though misbelieving men nie that this be possiblething without they see it natheless they are so. And these fishes liein an oily water brought there from Portugal land because of the fatnessthat therein is like to the juices of the olivepress. And also it wasa marvel to see in that castle how by magic they make a compost out offecund wheatkidneys out of Chaldee that by aid of certain angry spiritsthat they do in to it swells up wondrously like to a vast mountain. Andthey teach the serpents there to entwine themselves up on long sticksout of the ground and of the scales of these serpents they brew out abrewage like to mead. 

And the learning knight let pour for childe Leopold a draught and halpthereto the while all they that were there drank every each. And childeLeopold did up his beaver for to pleasure him and took apertly somewhatin amity for he never drank no manner of mead which he then put by andanon full privily he voided the more part in his neighbour glass andhis neighbour nist not of this wile. And he sat down in that castle withthem for to rest him there awhile. Thanked be Almighty God. 

This meanwhile this good sister stood by the door and begged them at thereverence of Jesu our alther liege Lord to leave their wassailing forthere was above one quick with child, a gentle dame, whose time hiedfast. Sir Leopold heard on the upfloor cry on high and he wondered whatcry that it was whether of child or woman and I marvel, said he, that itbe not come or now. Meseems it dureth overlong. And he was ware and sawa franklin that hight Lenehan on that side the table that was older thanany of the tother and for that they both were knights virtuous in theone emprise and eke by cause that he was elder he spoke to him fullgently. But, said he, or it be long too she will bring forth by God Hisbounty and have joy of her childing for she hath waited marvellous long. And the franklin that had drunken said, Expecting each moment to be hernext. Also he took the cup that stood tofore him for him needed nevernone asking nor desiring of him to drink and, Now drink, said he, fullydelectably, and he quaffed as far as he might to their both's health forhe was a passing good man of his lustiness. And sir Leopold that was thegoodliest guest that ever sat in scholars' hall and that was the meekestman and the kindest that ever laid husbandly hand under hen and that wasthe very truest knight of the world one that ever did minion serviceto lady gentle pledged him courtly in the cup. Woman's woe with wonderpondering. 

Now let us speak of that fellowship that was there to the intent to bedrunken an they might. There was a sort of scholars along either sidethe board, that is to wit, Dixon yclept junior of saint Mary Merciable'swith other his fellows Lynch and Madden, scholars of medicine, and thefranklin that hight Lenehan and one from Alba Longa, one Crotthers, andyoung Stephen that had mien of a frere that was at head of the boardand Costello that men clepen Punch Costello all long of a mastery ofhim erewhile gested (and of all them, reserved young Stephen, he was themost drunken that demanded still of more mead) and beside the meek sirLeopold. But on young Malachi they waited for that he promised to havecome 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 Simonand to this his son young Stephen and for that his languor becalmed himthere after longest wanderings insomuch as they feasted him for thattime in the honourablest manner. Ruth red him, love led on with will towander, loth to leave. 

For they were right witty scholars. And he heard their aresouns each genother as touching birth and righteousness, young Madden maintaining thatput such case it were hard the wife to die (for so it had fallen out amatter of some year agone with a woman of Eblana in Horne's house thatnow was trespassed out of this world and the self night next before herdeath all leeches and pothecaries had taken counsel of her case). Andthey said farther she should live because in the beginning, they said, the woman should bring forth in pain and wherefore they that were ofthis imagination affirmed how young Madden had said truth for he hadconscience to let her die. And not few and of these was young Lynchwere in doubt that the world was now right evil governed as it was neverother howbeit the mean people believed it otherwise but the law nor hisjudges did provide no remedy. A redress God grant. This was scant saidbut all cried with one acclaim nay, by our Virgin Mother, the wifeshould live and the babe to die. In colour whereof they waxed hotupon that head what with argument and what for their drinking but thefranklin Lenehan was prompt each when to pour them ale so that at theleast way mirth might not lack. Then young Madden showed all the wholeaffair and said how that she was dead and how for holy religion sake byrede of palmer and bedesman and for a vow he had made to Saint Ultan ofArbraccan her goodman husband would not let her death whereby they wereall wondrous grieved. To whom young Stephen had these words following:Murmur, sirs, is eke oft among lay folk. Both babe and parent nowglorify their Maker, the one in limbo gloom, the other in purgefire. But, gramercy, what of those Godpossibled souls that we nightlyimpossibilise, which is the sin against the Holy Ghost, Very God, Lordand Giver of Life? For, sirs, he said, our lust is brief. We are meansto those small creatures within us and nature has other ends than we. Then said Dixon junior to Punch Costello wist he what ends. But he hadovermuch drunken and the best word he could have of him was that hewould ever dishonest a woman whoso she were or wife or maid or leman ifit so fortuned him to be delivered of his spleen of lustihead. WhereatCrotthers of Alba Longa sang young Malachi's praise of that beast theunicorn how once in the millennium he cometh by his horn, the other allthis while, pricked forward with their jibes wherewith they did malicehim, witnessing all and several by saint Foutinus his engines thathe was able to do any manner of thing that lay in man to do. Thereatlaughed they all right jocundly only young Stephen and sir Leopold whichnever durst laugh too open by reason of a strange humour which he wouldnot bewray and also for that he rued for her that bare whoso she mightbe or wheresoever. Then spake young Stephen orgulous of mother Churchthat would cast him out of her bosom, of law of canons, of Lilith, patron of abortions, of bigness wrought by wind of seeds of brightnessor by potency of vampires mouth to mouth or, as Virgilius saith, by theinfluence of the occident or by the reek of moonflower or an she liewith a woman which her man has but lain with, _effectu secuto_, orperadventure in her bath according to the opinions of Averroes and MosesMaimonides. He said also how at the end of the second month a human soulwas infused and how in all our holy mother foldeth ever souls for God'sgreater glory whereas that earthly mother which was but a dam to bearbeastly should die by canon for so saith he that holdeth the fisherman'sseal, even that blessed Peter on which rock was holy church for all agesfounded. All they bachelors then asked of sir Leopold would he in likecase so jeopard her person as risk life to save life. A wariness ofmind he would answer as fitted all and, laying hand to jaw, he saiddissembling, as his wont was, that as it was informed him, who had everloved the art of physic as might a layman, and agreeing also with hisexperience of so seldomseen an accident it was good for that motherChurch belike at one blow had birth and death pence and in such sortdeliverly he scaped their questions. That is truth, pardy, said Dixon, and, or I err, a pregnant word. Which hearing young Stephen was amarvellous glad man and he averred that he who stealeth from the poorlendeth to the Lord for he was of a wild manner when he was drunken andthat he was now in that taking it appeared eftsoons. 

But sir Leopold was passing grave maugre his word by cause he still hadpity of the terrorcausing shrieking of shrill women in their labourand as he was minded of his good lady Marion that had borne him an onlymanchild which on his eleventh day on live had died and no man of artcould save so dark is destiny. And she was wondrous stricken of heartfor that evil hap and for his burial did him on a fair corselet oflamb's wool, the flower of the flock, lest he might perish utterly andlie akeled (for it was then about the midst of the winter) and now SirLeopold that had of his body no manchild for an heir looked upon him hisfriend's son and was shut up in sorrow for his forepassed happiness andas sad as he was that him failed a son of such gentle courage (for allaccounted him of real parts) so grieved he also in no less measurefor young Stephen for that he lived riotously with those wastrels andmurdered his goods with whores. 

About that present time young Stephen filled all cups that stood emptyso as there remained but little mo if the prudenter had not shadowedtheir approach from him that still plied it very busily who, praying forthe intentions of the sovereign pontiff, he gave them for a pledge thevicar of Christ which also as he said is vicar of Bray. Now drink we, quod he, of this mazer and quaff ye this mead which is not indeed parcelof my body but my soul's bodiment. Leave ye fraction of bread to themthat live by bread alone. Be not afeard neither for any want for thiswill comfort more than the other will dismay. See ye here. And he showedthem glistering coins of the tribute and goldsmith notes the worth oftwo pound nineteen shilling that he had, he said, for a song which hewrit. They all admired to see the foresaid riches in such dearth ofmoney as was herebefore. His words were then these as followeth: Knowall men, he said, time's ruins build eternity's mansions. What meansthis? Desire's wind blasts the thorntree but after it becomes from abramblebush to be a rose upon the rood of time. Mark me now. In woman'swomb word is made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all fleshthat passes becomes the word that shall not pass away. This is thepostcreation. _Omnis caro ad te veniet_. No question but her name ispuissant who aventried the dear corse of our Agenbuyer, Healer and Herd, our mighty mother and mother most venerable and Bernardus saith aptlythat She hath an _omnipotentiam deiparae supplicem_, that is to wit, analmightiness of petition because she is the second Eve and she wonus, saith Augustine too, whereas that other, our grandam, which we arelinked up with by successive anastomosis of navelcords sold us all, seed, breed and generation, for a penny pippin. But here is the matternow. Or she knew him, that second I say, and was but creature of hercreature, _vergine madre, figlia di tuo figlio_, or she knew him not andthen stands she in the one denial or ignorancy with Peter Piscator wholives in the house that Jack built and with Joseph the joiner patron ofthe happy demise of all unhappy marriages, _parceque M. Léo Taxil nousa dit que qui l'avait mise dans cette fichue position c'était lesacre pigeon, ventre de Dieu! Entweder_ transubstantiality ODERconsubstantiality but in no case subsubstantiality. And all cried outupon it for a very scurvy word. A pregnancy without joy, he said, abirth without pangs, a body without blemish, a belly without bigness. Let the lewd with faith and fervour worship. With will will wewithstand, withsay. 

Hereupon Punch Costello dinged with his fist upon the board and wouldsing a bawdy catch _Staboo Stabella_ about a wench that was put in podof a jolly swashbuckler in Almany which he did straightways now attack:_The first three months she was not well, Staboo, _ when here nurseQuigley from the door angerly bid them hist ye should shame you norwas it not meet as she remembered them being her mind was to have allorderly against lord Andrew came for because she was jealous thatno gasteful turmoil might shorten the honour of her guard. It was anancient and a sad matron of a sedate look and christian walking, in habit dun beseeming her megrims and wrinkled visage, nor did herhortative want of it effect for incontinently Punch Costello was of themall embraided and they reclaimed the churl with civil rudeness some andshaked him with menace of blandishments others whiles they all chodewith him, a murrain seize the dolt, what a devil he would be at, thouchuff, thou puny, thou got in peasestraw, thou losel, thou chitterling, thou spawn of a rebel, thou dykedropt, thou abortion thou, to shut uphis drunken drool out of that like a curse of God ape, the good sirLeopold that had for his cognisance the flower of quiet, margeraingentle, advising also the time's occasion as most sacred and most worthyto be most sacred. In Horne's house rest should reign. 

To be short this passage was scarce by when Master Dixon of Mary inEccles, goodly grinning, asked young Stephen what was the reason why hehad not cided to take friar's vows and he answered him obedience in thewomb, chastity in the tomb but involuntary poverty all his days. MasterLenehan at this made return that he had heard of those nefarious deedsand how, as he heard hereof counted, he had besmirched the lily virtueof a confiding female which was corruption of minors and they allintershowed it too, waxing merry and toasting to his fathership. But hesaid very entirely it was clean contrary to their suppose for he wasthe eternal son and ever virgin. Thereat mirth grew in them the more andthey rehearsed to him his curious rite of wedlock for the disrobing anddeflowering of spouses, as the priests use in Madagascar island, sheto be in guise of white and saffron, her groom in white and grain, withburning of nard and tapers, on a bridebed while clerks sung kyries andthe anthem _Ut novetur sexus omnis corporis mysterium_ till she wasthere unmaided. He gave them then a much admirable hymen minim by thosedelicate poets Master John Fletcher and Master Francis Beaumont that isin their _Maid's Tragedy_ that was writ for a like twining of lovers:_To bed, to bed_ was the burden of it to be played with accompanableconcent upon the virginals. An exquisite dulcet epithalame of mostmollificative suadency for juveniles amatory whom the odoriferousflambeaus of the paranymphs have escorted to the quadrupedal prosceniumof connubial communion. Well met they were, said Master Dixon, joyed, but, harkee, young sir, better were they named Beau Mount and Lecherfor, by my troth, of such a mingling much might come. Young Stephen saidindeed to his best remembrance they had but the one doxy between themand she of the stews to make shift with in delights amorous for life ranvery high 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 hiswife for his friend. Go thou and do likewise. Thus, or words to thateffect, saith Zarathustra, sometime regius professor of French lettersto the university of Oxtail nor breathed there ever that man to whommankind was more beholden. Bring a stranger within thy tower it willgo hard but thou wilt have the secondbest bed. _Orate, fratres, promemetipso_. And all the people shall say, Amen. Remember, Erin, thygenerations and thy days of old, how thou settedst little by me and bymy word and broughtedst in a stranger to my gates to commit fornicationin my sight and to wax fat and kick like Jeshurum. Therefore hast thousinned against my light and hast made me, thy lord, to be the slave ofservants. Return, return, Clan Milly: forget me not, O Milesian. Whyhast thou done this abomination before me that thou didst spurn me fora merchant of jalaps and didst deny me to the Roman and to the Indian ofdark speech with whom thy daughters did lie luxuriously? Look forth now, my people, upon the land of behest, even from Horeb and from Nebo andfrom Pisgah and from the Horns of Hatten unto a land flowing with milkand money. But thou hast suckled me with a bitter milk: my moon and mysun thou hast quenched for ever. And thou hast left me alone for everin the dark ways of my bitterness: and with a kiss of ashes hast thoukissed my mouth. This tenebrosity of the interior, he proceeded to say, hath not been illumined by the wit of the septuagint nor so much asmentioned for the Orient from on high Which brake hell's gates visited adarkness that was foraneous. Assuefaction minorates atrocities (as Tullysaith of his darling Stoics) and Hamlet his father showeth the prince noblister of combustion. The adiaphane in the noon of life is an Egypt'splague which in the nights of prenativity and postmortemity is theirmost proper _ubi_ and _quomodo_. And as the ends and ultimates ofall things accord in some mean and measure with their inceptions andoriginals, that same multiplicit concordance which leads forth growthfrom birth accomplishing by a retrogressive metamorphosis that minishingand ablation towards the final which is agreeable unto nature so is itwith our subsolar being. The aged sisters draw us into life: we wail, batten, sport, clip, clasp, sunder, dwindle, die: over us dead theybend. First, saved from waters of old Nile, among bulrushes, a bedof fasciated wattles: at last the cavity of a mountain, an occultedsepulchre amid the conclamation of the hillcat and the ossifrage. And asno man knows the ubicity of his tumulus nor to what processes we shallthereby be ushered nor whether to Tophet or to Edenville in the like wayis all hidden when we would backward see from what region of remotenessthe whatness of our whoness hath fetched his whenceness. 

Thereto Punch Costello roared out mainly _Etienne chanson_ but he loudlybid them, lo, wisdom hath built herself a house, this vast majesticlongstablished vault, the crystal palace of the Creator, all in applepieorder, a penny for him who finds the pea. 

 _Behold the mansion reared by dedal Jack See the malt stored in many a refluent sack, In the proud cirque of Jackjohn's bivouac. _

A black crack of noise in the street here, alack, bawled back. Loud onleft Thor thundered: in anger awful the hammerhurler. Came now the stormthat hist his heart. And Master Lynch bade him have a care to flout andwitwanton as the god self was angered for his hellprate and paganry. Andhe that had erst challenged to be so doughty waxed wan as they might allmark and shrank together and his pitch that was before so haught upliftwas now of a sudden quite plucked down and his heart shook within thecage of his breast as he tasted the rumour of that storm. Then did somemock and some jeer and Punch Costello fell hard again to his yale whichMaster Lenehan vowed he would do after and he was indeed but a word anda blow on any the least colour. But the braggart boaster cried that anold Nobodaddy was in his cups it was muchwhat indifferent and he wouldnot lag behind his lead. But this was only to dye his desperation ascowed he crouched in Horne's hall. He drank indeed at one draught topluck up a heart of any grace for it thundered long rumblingly over allthe heavens so that Master Madden, being godly certain whiles, knockedhim on his ribs upon that crack of doom and Master Bloom, at thebraggart's 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 takenplace, and all of the order of a natural phenomenon. 

But was young Boasthard's fear vanquished by Calmer's words? No, for hehad in his bosom a spike named Bitterness which could not by words bedone away. And was he then neither calm like the one nor godly like theother? He was neither as much as he would have liked to be either. Butcould he not have endeavoured to have found again as in his youth thebottle Holiness that then he lived withal? Indeed no for Grace was notthere to find that bottle. Heard he then in that clap the voice of thegod Bringforth or, what Calmer said, a hubbub of Phenomenon? Heard?Why, he could not but hear unless he had plugged him up the tubeUnderstanding (which he had not done). For through that tube he saw thathe was in the land of Phenomenon where he must for a certain one day dieas he was like the rest too a passing show. And would he not accept todie like the rest and pass away? By no means would he though he must norwould he make more shows according as men do with wives which Phenomenonhas commanded them to do by the book Law. Then wotted he nought of thatother land which is called Believe-on-Me, that is the land of promisewhich behoves to the king Delightful and shall be for ever where thereis no death and no birth neither wiving nor mothering at which all shallcome as many as believe on it? Yes, Pious had told him of that land andChaste had pointed him to the way but the reason was that in the way hefell in with a certain whore of an eyepleasing exterior whose name, shesaid, is Bird-in-the-Hand and she beguiled him wrongways from the truepath by her flatteries that she said to him as, Ho, you pretty man, turnaside hither and I will show you a brave place, and she lay at him soflatteringly that she had him in her grot which is named Two-in-the-Bushor, by some learned, Carnal Concupiscence. 

This was it what all that company that sat there at commons in Manseof Mothers the most lusted after and if they met with this whoreBird-in-the-Hand (which was within all foul plagues, monsters and awicked devil) they would strain the last but they would make at her andknow her. For regarding Believe-on-Me they said it was nought elsebut notion and they could conceive no thought of it for, first, Two-in-the-Bush whither she ticed them was the very goodliest grot andin it were four pillows on which were four tickets with these wordsprinted on them, Pickaback and Topsyturvy and Shameface and Cheek byJowl and, second, for that foul plague Allpox and the monsters theycared not for them for Preservative had given them a stout shield ofoxengut and, third, that they might take no hurt neither from Offspringthat was that wicked devil by virtue of this same shield which wasnamed Killchild. So were they all in their blind fancy, Mr Cavil and MrSometimes 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 avery grievous rage that he would presently lift his arm up andspill their souls for their abuses and their spillings done by themcontrariwise to his word which forth to bring brenningly biddeth. 

So Thursday sixteenth June Patk. Dignam laid in clay of an apoplexy andafter hard drought, please God, rained, a bargeman coming in by water afifty mile or thereabout with turf saying the seed won't sprout, fieldsathirst, very sadcoloured and stunk mightily, the quags and tofts too. Hard to breathe and all the young quicks clean consumed without sprinklethis long while back as no man remembered to be without. The rosy budsall gone brown and spread out blobs and on the hills nought but dry flagand faggots that would catch at first fire. All the world saying, foraught they knew, the big wind of last February a year that did havoc theland so pitifully a small thing beside this barrenness. But by andby, as said, this evening after sundown, the wind sitting in thewest, biggish swollen clouds to be seen as the night increased and theweatherwise poring up at them and some sheet lightnings at first andafter, past ten of the clock, one great stroke with a long thunder andin a brace of shakes all scamper pellmell within door for the smokingshower, the men making shelter for their straws with a clout orkerchief, womenfolk skipping off with kirtles catched up soon as thepour came. In Ely place, Baggot street, Duke's lawn, thence throughMerrion green up to Holles street a swash of water flowing that wasbefore bonedry and not one chair or coach or fiacre seen about butno more crack after that first. Over against the Rt. Hon. Mr JusticeFitzgibbon's door (that is to sit with Mr Healy the lawyer upon thecollege lands) Mal. Mulligan a gentleman's gentleman that had but comefrom Mr Moore's the writer's (that was a papish but is now, folk say, a good Williamite) chanced against Alec. Bannon in a cut bob (which arenow in with dance cloaks of Kendal green) that was new got to town fromMullingar with the stage where his coz and Mal M's brother will stay amonth yet till Saint Swithin and asks what in the earth he does there, he bound home and he to Andrew Horne's being stayed for to crush a cupof wine, so he said, but would tell him of a skittish heifer, big ofher age and beef to the heel, and all this while poured with rain andso both together on to Horne's. There Leop. Bloom of Crawford's journalsitting snug with a covey of wags, likely brangling fellows, Dixon jun. , scholar of my lady of Mercy's, Vin. Lynch, a Scots fellow, Will. Madden, T. Lenehan, very sad about a racer he fancied and Stephen D. Leop. Bloomthere for a languor he had but was now better, be having dreamed tonighta strange fancy of his dame Mrs Moll with red slippers on in a pair ofTurkey trunks which is thought by those in ken to be for a change andMistress Purefoy there, that got in through pleading her belly, and nowon the stools, poor body, two days past her term, the midwives sore putto it and can't deliver, she queasy for a bowl of riceslop that is ashrewd drier up of the insides and her breath very heavy more than goodand should be a bullyboy from the knocks, they say, but God give hersoon issue. 'Tis her ninth chick to live, I hear, and Lady day bit offher last chick's nails that was then a twelvemonth and with other threeall breastfed that died written out in a fair hand in the king's bible. Her hub fifty odd and a methodist but takes the sacrament and is tobe seen any fair sabbath with a pair of his boys off Bullock harbourdapping on the sound with a heavybraked reel or in a punt he hastrailing for flounder and pollock and catches a fine bag, I hear. In suman infinite great fall of rain and all refreshed and will much increasethe harvest yet those in ken say after wind and water fire shall comefor a prognostication of Malachi's almanac (and I hear that Mr Russellhas done a prophetical charm of the same gist out of the Hindustanishfor his farmer's gazette) to have three things in all but this a merefetch without bottom of reason for old crones and bairns yet sometimesthey 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 letterwas in that night's gazette and he made a show to find it about him(for he swore with an oath that he had been at pains about it) but onStephen's persuasion he gave over the search and was bidden to sit nearby which he did mighty brisk. He was a kind of sport gentleman thatwent for a merryandrew or honest pickle and what belonged of women, horseflesh or hot scandal he had it pat. To tell the truth he was meanin fortunes and for the most part hankered about the coffeehousesand low taverns with crimps, ostlers, bookies, Paul's men, runners, flatcaps, waistcoateers, ladies of the bagnio and other rogues of thegame or with a chanceable catchpole or a tipstaff often at nightstill broad day of whom he picked up between his sackpossets much loosegossip. He took his ordinary at a boilingcook's and if he had but gotteninto him a mess of broken victuals or a platter of tripes with a baretester in his purse he could always bring himself off with his tongue, some randy quip he had from a punk or whatnot that every mother's son ofthem would burst their sides. The other, Costello that is, hearing thistalk asked was it poetry or a tale. Faith, no, he says, Frank (that washis name), 'tis all about Kerry cows that are to be butchered along ofthe plague. But they can go hang, says he with a wink, for me with theirbully beef, a pox on it. There's as good fish in this tin as ever cameout of it and very friendly he offered to take of some salty sprats thatstood by which he had eyed wishly in the meantime and found the placewhich was indeed the chief design of his embassy as he was sharpset. _Mort aux vaches_, says Frank then in the French language that had beenindentured to a brandyshipper that has a winelodge in Bordeaux and hespoke French like a gentleman too. From a child this Frank had beena donought that his father, a headborough, who could ill keep him toschool to learn his letters and the use of the globes, matriculated atthe university to study the mechanics but he took the bit between histeeth like a raw colt and was more familiar with the justiciary and theparish 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 bearpitand the cocking main, then he was for the ocean sea or to hoof it onthe roads with the romany folk, kidnapping a squire's heir by favour ofmoonlight or fecking maids' linen or choking chicken behind a hedge. Hehad been off as many times as a cat has lives and back again with nakedpockets as many more to his father the headborough who shed a pintof tears as often as he saw him. What, says Mr Leopold with his handsacross, that was earnest to know the drift of it, will they slaughterall? I protest I saw them but this day morning going to the Liverpoolboats, says he. I can scarce believe 'tis so bad, says he. And he hadexperience of the like brood beasts and of springers, greasy hoggets andwether wool, having been some years before actuary for Mr Joseph Cuffe, a worthy salesmaster that drove his trade for live stock and meadowauctions hard by Mr Gavin Low's yard in Prussia street. I question withyou there, says he. More like 'tis the hoose or the timber tongue. MrStephen, a little moved but very handsomely told him no such matter andthat he had dispatches from the emperor's chief tailtickler thankinghim for the hospitality, that was sending over Doctor Rinderpest, thebestquoted cowcatcher in all Muscovy, with a bolus or two of physic totake the bull by the horns. Come, come, says Mr Vincent, plain dealing. He'll find himself on the horns of a dilemma if he meddles with abull that's Irish, says he. Irish by name and irish by nature, says MrStephen, and he sent the ale purling about, an Irish bull in an Englishchinashop. I conceive you, says Mr Dixon. It is that same bull that wassent to our island by farmer Nicholas, the bravest cattlebreeder of themall, with an emerald ring in his nose. True for you, says Mr Vincentcross the table, and a bullseye into the bargain, says he, and a plumperand a portlier bull, says he, never shit on shamrock. He had hornsgalore, a coat of cloth of gold and a sweet smoky breath coming out ofhis nostrils so that the women of our island, leaving doughballs androllingpins, followed after him hanging his bulliness in daisychains. What for that, says Mr Dixon, but before he came over farmer Nicholasthat was a eunuch had him properly gelded by a college of doctors whowere no better off than himself. So be off now, says he, and do all mycousin german the lord Harry tells you and take a farmer's blessing, andwith that he slapped his posteriors very soundly. But the slap and theblessing stood him friend, says Mr Vincent, for to make up he taught hima trick worth two of the other so that maid, wife, abbess and widow tothis day affirm that they would rather any time of the month whisperin his ear in the dark of a cowhouse or get a lick on the nape from hislong holy tongue than lie with the finest strapping young ravisher inthe four fields of all Ireland. Another then put in his word: And theydressed him, says he, in a point shift and petticoat with a tippet andgirdle and ruffles on his wrists and clipped his forelock and rubbed himall over with spermacetic oil and built stables for him at every turn ofthe road with a gold manger in each full of the best hay in the marketso that he could doss and dung to his heart's content. By this time thefather of the faithful (for so they called him) was grown so heavy thathe could scarce walk to pasture. To remedy which our cozening dames anddamsels brought him his fodder in their apronlaps and as soon as hisbelly was full he would rear up on his hind uarters to show theirladyships a mystery and roar and bellow out of him in bulls' languageand they all after him. Ay, says another, and so pampered was he that hewould 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 upon 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 orthe wilds of Connemara or a husbandman in Sligo that was sowing as muchas a handful of mustard or a bag of rapeseed out he'd run amok over halfthe countryside rooting up with his horns whatever was planted and allby lord Harry's orders. There was bad blood between them at first, saysMr Vincent, and the lord Harry called farmer Nicholas all the old Nicksin the world and an old whoremaster that kept seven trulls in his houseand I'll meddle in his matters, says he. I'll make that animal smellhell, says he, with the help of that good pizzle my father left me. Butone evening, says Mr Dixon, when the lord Harry was cleaning his royalpelt to go to dinner after winning a boatrace (he had spade oars forhimself but the first rule of the course was that the others were to rowwith pitchforks) he discovered in himself a wonderful likeness to a bulland on picking up a blackthumbed chapbook that he kept in the pantryhe found sure enough that he was a lefthanded descendant of the famouschampion bull of the Romans, _Bos Bovum_, which is good bog Latin forboss of the show. After that, says Mr Vincent, the lord Harry put hishead into a cow's drinkingtrough in the presence of all his courtiersand pulling it out again told them all his new name. Then, with thewater running off him, he got into an old smock and skirt that hadbelonged to his grandmother and bought a grammar of the bulls' languageto study but he could never learn a word of it except the first personalpronoun which he copied out big and got off by heart and if ever he wentout for a walk he filled his pockets with chalk to write it upon whattook his fancy, the side of a rock or a teahouse table or a bale ofcotton or a corkfloat. In short, he and the bull of Ireland were soon asfast friends as an arse and a shirt. They were, says Mr Stephen, andthe end was that the men of the island seeing no help was toward, asthe ungrate women were all of one mind, made a wherry raft, loadedthemselves and their bundles of chattels on shipboard, set all mastserect, manned the yards, sprang their luff, heaved to, spread threesheets 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 thebullgine run, pushed off in their bumboat and put to sea to recoverthe main of America. Which was the occasion, says Mr Vincent, of thecomposing by a boatswain of that rollicking chanty:

 _--Pope Peter's but a pissabed. A man's a man for a' that. _

Our worthy acquaintance Mr Malachi Mulligan now appeared in the doorwayas the students were finishing their apologue accompanied with a friendwhom 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 acornetcy in the fencibles and list for the wars. Mr Mulligan was civilenough to express some relish of it all the more as it jumped with aproject of his own for the cure of the very evil that had been touchedon. Whereat he handed round to the company a set of pasteboard cardswhich he had had printed that day at Mr Quinnell's bearing a legendprinted in fair italics: _Mr Malachi Mulligan. Fertiliser and Incubator. Lambay Island_. His project, as he went on to expound, was to withdrawfrom the round of idle pleasures such as form the chief business of sirFopling Popinjay and sir Milksop Quidnunc in town and to devote himselfto the noblest task for which our bodily organism has been framed. Well, let us hear of it, good my friend, said Mr Dixon. I make no doubt itsmacks of wenching. Come, be seated, both. 'Tis as cheap sitting asstanding. Mr Mulligan accepted of the invitation and, expatiating uponhis design, told his hearers that he had been led into this thought bya consideration of the causes of sterility, both the inhibitory and theprohibitory, whether the inhibition in its turn were due to conjugalvexations or to a parsimony of the balance as well as whether theprohibition proceeded from defects congenital or from proclivitiesacquired. It grieved him plaguily, he said, to see the nuptial couchdefrauded of its dearest pledges: and to reflect upon so many agreeablefemales with rich jointures, a prey to the vilest bonzes, who hide theirflambeau under a bushel in an uncongenial cloister or lose their womanlybloom in the embraces of some unaccountable muskin when they mightmultiply the inlets of happiness, sacrificing the inestimable jewel oftheir sex when a hundred pretty fellows were at hand to caress, this, heassured them, made his heart weep. To curb this inconvenient (whichhe concluded due to a suppression of latent heat), having advised withcertain counsellors of worth and inspected into this matter, he hadresolved to purchase in fee simple for ever the freehold of Lambayisland from its holder, lord Talbot de Malahide, a Tory gentleman ofnote much in favour with our ascendancy party. He proposed to set upthere a national fertilising farm to be named _Omphalos_ with an obeliskhewn and erected after the fashion of Egypt and to offer his dutifulyeoman services for the fecundation of any female of what grade of lifesoever who should there direct to him with the desire of fulfilling thefunctions of her natural. Money was no object, he said, nor would hetake a penny for his pains. The poorest kitchenwench no less than theopulent lady of fashion, if so be their constructions and their temperswere warm persuaders for their petitions, would find in him their man. For his nutriment he shewed how he would feed himself exclusively upon adiet of savoury tubercles and fish and coneys there, the flesh of theselatter prolific rodents being highly recommended for his purpose, bothbroiled and stewed with a blade of mace and a pod or two of capsicumchillies. After this homily which he delivered with much warmth ofasseveration Mr Mulligan in a trice put off from his hat a kerchief withwhich he had shielded it. They both, it seems, had been overtaken by therain and for all their mending their pace had taken water, as might beobserved by Mr Mulligan's smallclothes of a hodden grey which was nowsomewhat piebald. His project meanwhile was very favourably entertainedby his auditors and won hearty eulogies from all though Mr Dixon ofMary's excepted to it, asking with a finicking air did he purpose alsoto carry coals to Newcastle. Mr Mulligan however made court to thescholarly by an apt quotation from the classics which, as it dweltupon his memory, seemed to him a sound and tasteful support of hiscontention: _Talis ac tanta depravatio hujus seculi, O quirites, ut matresfamiliarum nostrae lascivas cujuslibet semiviri libicititillationes testibus ponderosis atque excelsis erectionibuscenturionum Romanorum magnopere anteponunt_, while for those of ruderwit he drove home his point by analogies of the animal kingdom moresuitable to their stomach, the buck and doe of the forest glade, thefarmyard drake and duck. 

Valuing himself not a little upon his elegance, being indeed a properman of person, this talkative now applied himself to his dress withanimadversions of some heat upon the sudden whimsy of the atmosphericswhile the company lavished their encomiums upon the project he hadadvanced. The young gentleman, his friend, overjoyed as he was at apassage that had late befallen him, could not forbear to tell it hisnearest neighbour. Mr Mulligan, now perceiving the table, asked for whomwere those loaves and fishes and, seeing the stranger, he made hima civil bow and said, Pray, sir, was you in need of any professionalassistance we could give? Who, upon his offer, thanked him veryheartily, though preserving his proper distance, and replied that he wascome there about a lady, now an inmate of Horne's house, that was in aninteresting condition, poor body, from woman's woe (and here he fetcheda 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 whetherhis incipient ventripotence, upon which he rallied him, betokened anovoblastic gestation in the prostatic 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, smotehimself bravely below the diaphragm, exclaiming with an admirable drollmimic of Mother Grogan (the most excellent creature of her sex though'tis pity she's a trollop): There's a belly that never bore a bastard. This was so happy a conceit that it renewed the storm of mirth and threwthe whole room into the most violent agitations of delight. The spryrattle had run on in the same vein of mimicry but for some larum in theantechamber. 

Here the listener who was none other than the Scotch student, a littlefume of a fellow, blond as tow, congratulated in the liveliest fashionwith the young gentleman and, interrupting the narrative at a salientpoint, having desired his visavis with a polite beck to have theobligingness to pass him a flagon of cordial waters at the same time bya questioning poise of the head (a whole century of polite breeding hadnot achieved so nice a gesture) to which was united an equivalent butcontrary balance of the bottle asked the narrator as plainly as was everdone in words if he might treat him with a cup of it. _Mais bien sûr_, noble stranger, said he cheerily, _et mille compliments_. That you mayand very opportunely. There wanted nothing but this cup to crown myfelicity. But, gracious heaven, was I left with but a crust in my walletand a cupful of water from the well, my God, I would accept of them andfind it in my heart to kneel down upon the ground and give thanks tothe powers above for the happiness vouchsafed me by the Giver of goodthings. With these words he approached the goblet to his lips, took acomplacent draught of the cordial, slicked his hair and, opening hisbosom, out popped a locket that hung from a silk riband, that verypicture which he had cherished ever since her hand had wrote therein. Gazing upon those features with a world of tenderness, Ah, Monsieur, hesaid, had you but beheld her as I did with these eyes at that affectinginstant with her dainty tucker and her new coquette cap (a gift for herfeastday as she told me prettily) in such an artless disorder, of somelting a tenderness, 'pon my conscience, even you, Monsieur, had beenimpelled by generous nature to deliver yourself wholly into the hands ofsuch an enemy or to quit the field for ever. I declare, I was never sotouched 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 herfavours. A sigh of affection gave eloquence to these words and, havingreplaced the locket in his bosom, he wiped his eye and sighed again. Beneficent Disseminator of blessings to all Thy creatures, how greatand universal must be that sweetest of Thy tyrannies which can hold inthrall the free and the bond, the simple swain and the polished coxcomb, the lover in the heyday of reckless passion and the husband of matureryears. But indeed, sir, I wander from the point. How mingled andimperfect are all our sublunary joys. Maledicity! he exclaimed inanguish. Would to God that foresight had but remembered me to take mycloak along! I could weep to think of it. Then, though it had pouredseven showers, we were neither of us a penny the worse. But beshrew me, he cried, clapping hand to his forehead, tomorrow 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 fashionas ever kept a lady from wetting. Tut, tut! cries Le Fecondateur, tripping in, my friend Monsieur Moore, that most accomplished traveller(I have just cracked a half bottle AVEC LUI in a circle of the best witsof the town), is my authority that in Cape Horn, _ventre biche_, theyhave a rain that will wet through any, even the stoutest cloak. Adrenching of that violence, he tells me, _sans blague_, has sent morethan one luckless fellow in good earnest posthaste to another world. Pooh! A _livre!_ cries Monsieur Lynch. The clumsy things are dear at asou. One umbrella, were it no bigger than a fairy mushroom, is worth tensuch stopgaps. No woman of any wit would wear one. My dear Kitty told metoday that she would dance in a deluge before ever she would starve insuch an ark of salvation for, as she reminded me (blushing piquantly andwhispering in my ear though there was none to snap her words but giddybutterflies), dame Nature, by the divine blessing, has implanted it inour 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 abreach of the proprieties, is the fittest, nay, the only garment. Thefirst, said she (and here my pretty philosopher, as I handed her to hertilbury, to fix my attention, gently tipped with her tongue the outerchamber of my ear), the first is a bath. . . But at this point a belltinkling in the hall cut short a discourse which promised so bravely forthe enrichment of our store of knowledge. 

Amid the general vacant hilarity of the assembly a bell rang and, whileall 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 witha profound bow to the company. The presence even for a moment among aparty of debauchees of a woman endued with every quality of modesty andnot less severe than beautiful refrained the humourous sallies even ofthe most licentious but her departure was the signal for an outbreak ofribaldry. Strike me silly, said Costello, a low fellow who was fuddled. A monstrous fine bit of cowflesh! I'll be sworn she has rendezvousedyou. What, you dog? Have you a way with them? Gad's bud, immenselyso, said Mr Lynch. The bedside manner it is that they use in the Materhospice. Demme, does not Doctor O'Gargle chuck the nuns there under thechin. As I look to be saved I had it from my Kitty who has been wardmaidthere any time these seven months. Lawksamercy, doctor, cried the youngblood in the primrose vest, feigning a womanish simper and with immodestsquirmings of his body, how you do tease a body! Drat the man! Blessme, I'm all of a wibbly wobbly. Why, you're as bad as dear little FatherCantekissem, that you are! May this pot of four half choke me, criedCostello, if she aint in the family way. I knows a lady what's got awhite swelling quick as I claps eyes on her. The young surgeon, however, rose and begged the company to excuse his retreat as the nurse had justthen informed him that he was needed in the ward. Merciful providencehad 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 hadgiven birth to a bouncing boy. I want patience, said he, with thosewho, without wit to enliven or learning to instruct, revile an ennoblingprofession which, saving the reverence due to the Deity, is the greatestpower for happiness upon the earth. I am positive when I say that ifneed were I could produce a cloud of witnesses to the excellence ofher noble exercitations which, so far from being a byword, should be aglorious incentive in the human breast. I cannot away with them. What?Malign such an one, the amiable Miss Callan, who is the lustre ofher own sex and the astonishment of ours? And at an instant the mostmomentous that can befall a puny child of clay? Perish the thought! Ishudder to think of the future of a race where the seeds of such malicehave been sown and where no right reverence is rendered to mother andmaid in house of Horne. Having delivered himself of this rebuke hesaluted those present on the by and repaired to the door. A murmurof approval arose from all and some were for ejecting the low soakerwithout more ado, a design which would have been effected nor wouldhe have received more than his bare deserts had he not abridged histransgression by affirming with a horrid imprecation (for he swore around hand) that he was as good a son of the true fold as ever drewbreath. Stap my vitals, said he, them was always the sentiments ofhonest Frank Costello which I was bred up most particular to honour thyfather and thy mother that had the best hand to a rolypoly or a hastypudding 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 ofsome impudent mocks which he however had borne with as being the fruitsof that age upon which it is commonly charged that it knows notpity. The young sparks, it is true, were as full of extravaganciesas overgrown children: the words of their tumultuary discussionswere difficultly understood and not often nice: their testiness andoutrageous _mots_ were such that his intellects resiled from: nor werethey scrupulously sensible of the proprieties though their fund ofstrong animal spirits spoke in their behalf. But the word of Mr Costellowas an unwelcome language for him for he nauseated the wretch thatseemed to him a cropeared creature of a misshapen gibbosity, born outof wedlock and thrust like a crookback toothed and feet first into theworld, which the dint of the surgeon's pliers in his skull lent indeeda colour to, so as to put him in thought of that missing link ofcreation's chain desiderated by the late ingenious Mr Darwin. It was nowfor more than the middle span of our allotted years that he had passedthrough the thousand vicissitudes of existence and, being of a waryascendancy and self a man of rare forecast, he had enjoined his heartto repress all motions of a rising choler and, by intercepting themwith the readiest precaution, foster within his breast that plenitudeof sufferance which base minds jeer at, rash judgers scorn and all findtolerable and but tolerable. To those who create themselves wits at thecost of feminine delicacy (a habit of mind which he never did holdwith) to them he would concede neither to bear the name nor to heritthe tradition of a proper breeding: while for such that, having lostall forbearance, can lose no more, there remained the sharp antidote ofexperience to cause their insolency to beat a precipitate and ingloriousretreat. Not but what he could feel with mettlesome youth which, caringnought 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 thetree forbid it yet not so far forth as to pretermit humanity upon anycondition soever towards a gentlewoman when she was about her lawfuloccasions. To conclude, while from the sister's words he had reckonedupon a speedy delivery he was, however, it must be owned, not a littlealleviated by the intelligence that the issue so auspicated after anordeal of such duress now testified once more to the mercy as well as tothe bounty of the Supreme Being. 

Accordingly he broke his mind to his neighbour, saying that, to expresshis notion of the thing, his opinion (who ought not perchance to expressone) was that one must have a cold constitution and a frigid genius notto be rejoiced by this freshest news of the fruition of her confinementsince she had been in such pain through no fault of hers. The dressyyoung blade said it was her husband's that put her in that expectationor at least it ought to be unless she were another Ephesian matron. Imust acquaint you, said Mr Crotthers, clapping on the table so as toevoke a resonant comment of emphasis, old Glory Allelujurum was roundagain today, an elderly man with dundrearies, preferring through hisnose a request to have word of Wilhelmina, my life, as he calls her. Ibade him hold himself in readiness for that the event would burst anon. 'Slife, I'll be round with you. I cannot but extol the virile potency ofthe old bucko that could still knock another child out of her. All fellto praising of it, each after his own fashion, though the same youngblade held with his former view that another than her conjugial hadbeen the man in the gap, a clerk in orders, a linkboy (virtuous) oran itinerant vendor of articles needed in every household. Singular, communed the guest with himself, the wonderfully unequal faculty ofmetempsychosis possessed by them, that the puerperal dormitory and thedissecting theatre should be the seminaries of such frivolity, that themere acquisition of academic titles should suffice to transform in apinch of time these votaries of levity into exemplary practitioners ofan art which most men anywise eminent have esteemed the noblest. But, he further added, it is mayhap to relieve the pentup feelings that incommon oppress them for I have more than once observed that birds of afeather 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 admittedto civic rights, constituted himself the lord paramount of ourinternal polity? Where is now that gratitude which loyalty should havecounselled? During the recent war whenever the enemy had a temporaryadvantage with his granados did this traitor to his kind not seize thatmoment to discharge his piece against the empire of which he is a tenantat will while he trembled for the security of his four per cents? Has heforgotten this as he forgets all benefits received? Or is it that frombeing 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 fromcandour to violate the bedchamber of a respectable lady, the daughter ofa gallant major, or to cast the most distant reflections upon hervirtue but if he challenges attention there (as it was indeed highly hisinterest not to have done) then be it so. Unhappy woman, she has beentoo long and too persistently denied her legitimate prerogative tolisten to his objurgations with any other feeling than the derision ofthe desperate. He says this, a censor of morals, a very pelican in hispiety, who did not scruple, oblivious of the ties of nature, to attemptillicit intercourse with a female domestic drawn from the lowest strataof society! Nay, had the hussy's scouringbrush not been her tutelaryangel, it had gone with her as hard as with Hagar, the Egyptian! In thequestion of the grazing lands his peevish asperity is notorious and inMr Cuffe's hearing brought upon him from an indignant rancher a scathingretort couched in terms as straightforward as they were bucolic. It illbecomes him to preach that gospel. Has he not nearer home a seedfieldthat lies fallow for the want of the ploughshare? A habit reprehensibleat puberty is second nature and an opprobrium in middle life. If he mustdispense his balm of Gilead in nostrums and apothegms of dubious tasteto restore to health a generation of unfledged profligates let hispractice consist better with the doctrines that now engross him. Hismarital breast is the repository of secrets which decorum is reluctantto adduce. The lewd suggestions of some faded beauty may console him fora consort neglected and debauched but this new exponent of morals andhealer of ills is at his best an exotic tree which, when rooted inits native orient, throve and flourished and was abundant in balmbut, transplanted to a clime more temperate, its roots have lost theirquondam vigour while the stuff that comes away from it is stagnant, acidand inoperative. 

The news was imparted with a circumspection recalling the ceremonialusage of the Sublime Porte by the second female infirmarian to thejunior medical officer in residence, who in his turn announced to thedelegation that an heir had been born, When he had betaken himselfto the women's apartment to assist at the prescribed ceremony of theafterbirth in the presence of the secretary of state for domesticaffairs and the members of the privy council, silent in unanimousexhaustion and approbation the delegates, chafing under the length andsolemnity of their vigil and hoping that the joyful occurrence wouldpalliate a licence which the simultaneous absence of abigail andobstetrician rendered the easier, broke out at once into a strife oftongues. In vain the voice of Mr Canvasser Bloom was heard endeavouringto urge, to mollify, to refrain. The moment was too propitious for thedisplay of that discursiveness which seemed the only bond of union amongtempers so divergent. Every phase of the situation was successivelyeviscerated: the prenatal repugnance of uterine brothers, the Caesareansection, posthumity with respect to the father and, that rarer form, with respect to the mother, the fratricidal case known as the ChildsMurder and rendered memorable by the impassioned plea of Mr AdvocateBushe which secured the acquittal of the wrongfully accused, therights of primogeniture and king's bounty touching twins and triplets, miscarriages and infanticides, simulated or dissimulated, the acardiac_foetus in foetu_ and aprosopia due to a congestion, the agnathiaof certain chinless Chinamen (cited by Mr Candidate Mulligan) inconsequence of defective reunion of the maxillary knobs along the medialline so that (as he said) one ear could hear what the other spoke, thebenefits of anesthesia or twilight sleep, the prolongation of labourpains in advanced gravidancy by reason of pressure on the vein, thepremature relentment of the amniotic fluid (as exemplified in theactual case) with consequent peril of sepsis to the matrix, artificialinsemination by means of syringes, involution of the womb consequentupon the menopause, the problem of the perpetration of the species inthe case of females impregnated by delinquent rape, that distressingmanner of delivery called by the Brandenburghers _Sturzgeburt, _ therecorded instances of multiseminal, twikindled and monstrous birthsconceived during the catamenic period or of consanguineous parents--ina word all the cases of human nativity which Aristotle has classifiedin his masterpiece with chromolithographic illustrations. The gravestproblems of obstetrics and forensic medicine were examined with as muchanimation as the most popular beliefs on the state of pregnancy such asthe forbidding to a gravid woman to step over a countrystile lest, by her movement, the navelcord should strangle her creature andthe injunction upon her in the event of a yearning, ardently andineffectually entertained, to place her hand against that part of herperson which long usage has consecrated as the seat of castigation. The abnormalities of harelip, breastmole, supernumerary digits, negro'sinkle, strawberry mark and portwine stain were alleged by one as a_prima facie_ and natural hypothetical explanation of those swineheaded(the case of Madame Grissel Steevens was not forgotten) or doghairedinfants occasionally born. The hypothesis of a plasmic memory, advancedby the Caledonian envoy and worthy of the metaphysical traditions ofthe land he stood for, envisaged in such cases an arrest of embryonicdevelopment at some stage antecedent to the human. An outlandishdelegate sustained against both these views, with such heat as almostcarried conviction, the theory of copulation between women and the malesof brutes, his authority being his own avouchment in support of fablessuch as that of the Minotaur which the genius of the elegant Latin poethas handed down to us in the pages of his Metamorphoses. The impressionmade by his words was immediate but shortlived. It was effaced as easilyas it had been evoked by an allocution from Mr Candidate Mulligan inthat 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 arisen between Mr DelegateMadden and Mr Candidate Lynch regarding the juridical and theologicaldilemma created in the event of one Siamese twin predeceasing the other, the difficulty by mutual consent was referred to Mr Canvasser Bloomfor instant submittal to Mr Coadjutor Deacon Dedalus. Hitherto silent, whether the better to show by preternatural gravity that curious dignityof the garb with which he was invested or in obedience to an inwardvoice, he delivered briefly and, as some thought, perfunctorily theecclesiastical ordinance forbidding man to put asunder what God hasjoined. 

But Malachias' tale began to freeze them with horror. He conjured up thescene before them. The secret panel beside the chimney slid back andin the recess appeared. . . Haines! Which of us did not feel his fleshcreep! He had a portfolio full of Celtic literature in one hand, in theother a phial marked _Poison. _ Surprise, horror, loathing were depictedon all faces while he eyed them with a ghostly grin. I anticipated somesuch reception, he began with an eldritch laugh, for which, it seems, history is to blame. Yes, it is true. I am the murderer of SamuelChilds. And how I am punished! The inferno has no terrors for me. Thisis the appearance is on me. Tare and ages, what way would I be restingat all, he muttered thickly, and I tramping Dublin this while backwith my share of songs and himself after me the like of a soulth or abullawurrus? My hell, and Ireland's, is in this life. It is what I triedto obliterate my crime. Distractions, rookshooting, the Erse language(he recited some), laudanum (he raised the phial to his lips), campingout. In vain! His spectre stalks me. Dope is my only hope. . . Ah!Destruction! The black panther! With a cry he suddenly vanished and thepanel slid back. An instant later his head appeared in the door oppositeand said: Meet me at Westland Row station at ten past eleven. He wasgone. Tears gushed from the eyes of the dissipated host. The seerraised his hand to heaven, murmuring: The vendetta of Mananaun! Thesage repeated: _Lex talionis_. The sentimentalist is he who would enjoywithout incurring the immense debtorship for a thing done. Malachias, overcome by emotion, ceased. The mystery was unveiled. Haines was thethird brother. His real name was Childs. The black panther was himselfthe ghost of his own father. He drank drugs to obliterate. For thisrelief 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. Murderer's ground. 

What is the age of the soul of man? As she hath the virtue of thechameleon to change her hue at every new approach, to be gay with themerry and mournful with the downcast, so too is her age changeable asher mood. No longer is Leopold, as he sits there, ruminating, chewingthe cud of reminiscence, that staid agent of publicity and holder of amodest substance in the funds. A score of years are blown away. He isyoung Leopold. There, as in a retrospective arrangement, a mirror withina mirror (hey, presto!), he beholdeth himself. That young figure of thenis seen, precociously manly, walking on a nipping morning from the oldhouse in Clanbrassil street to the high school, his booksatchel onhim bandolierwise, and in it a goodly hunk of wheaten loaf, a mother'sthought. Or it is the same figure, a year or so gone over, in his firsthard hat (ah, that was a day!), already on the road, a fullfledgedtraveller for the family firm, equipped with an orderbook, a scentedhandkerchief (not for show only), his case of bright trinketware (alas!a thing now of the past!) and a quiverful of compliant smiles for thisor that halfwon housewife reckoning it out upon her fingertips or fora budding virgin, shyly acknowledging (but the heart? tell me!) hisstudied baisemoins. The scent, the smile, but, more than these, the darkeyes and oleaginous address, brought home at duskfall many a commissionto the head of the firm, seated with Jacob's pipe after like labours inthe paternal ingle (a meal of noodles, you may be sure, is aheating), reading through round horned spectacles some paper from the Europe of amonth before. But hey, presto, the mirror is breathed on and the youngknighterrant recedes, shrivels, dwindles to a tiny speck within themist. Now he is himself paternal and these about him might be hissons. Who can say? The wise father knows his own child. He thinks of adrizzling night in Hatch street, hard by the bonded stores there, thefirst. Together (she is a poor waif, a child of shame, yours and mineand of all for a bare shilling and her luckpenny), together they hearthe heavy tread of the watch as two raincaped shadows pass the new royaluniversity. Bridie! Bridie Kelly! He will never forget the name, everremember the night: first night, the bridenight. They are entwinedin nethermost 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 'twas done but--hold! Back! It must not be! Interror the poor girl flees away through the murk. She is the bride ofdarkness, a daughter of night. She dare not bear the sunnygolden babeof day. No, Leopold. Name and memory solace thee not. That youthfulillusion of thy strength was taken from thee--and in vain. No son of thyloins is by thee. There is none now to be for Leopold, what Leopold wasfor Rudolph. 

The voices blend and fuse in clouded silence: silence that is theinfinite of space: and swiftly, silently the soul is wafted over regionsof cycles of generations that have lived. A region where grey twilightever descends, never falls on wide sagegreen pasturefields, shedding herdusk, scattering a perennial dew of stars. She follows her mother withungainly steps, a mare leading her fillyfoal. Twilight phantomsare they, yet moulded in prophetic grace of structure, slim shapelyhaunches, a supple tendonous neck, the meek apprehensive skull. Theyfade, sad phantoms: all is gone. Agendath is a waste land, a home ofscreechowls and the sandblind upupa. Netaim, the golden, is no more. Andon the highway of the clouds they come, muttering thunder of rebellion, the ghosts of beasts. Huuh! Hark! Huuh! Parallax stalks behind and goadsthem, the lancinating lightnings of whose brow are scorpions. Elk andyak, the bulls of Bashan and of Babylon, mammoth and mastodon, they cometrooping to the sunken sea, _Lacus Mortis_. Ominous revengeful zodiacalhost! They moan, passing upon the clouds, horned and capricorned, thetrumpeted with the tusked, the lionmaned, the giantantlered, snouterand crawler, rodent, ruminant and pachyderm, all their moving moaningmultitude, murderers of the sun. 

Onward to the dead sea they tramp to drink, unslaked and with horriblegulpings, the salt somnolent inexhaustible flood. And the equine portentgrows again, magnified in the deserted heavens, nay to heaven's ownmagnitude, till it looms, vast, over the house of Virgo. And lo, wonderof metempsychosis, it is she, the everlasting bride, harbinger of thedaystar, the bride, ever virgin. It is she, Martha, thou lost one, Millicent, the young, the dear, the radiant. How serene does she nowarise, a queen among the Pleiades, in the penultimate antelucan hour, shod in sandals of bright gold, coifed with a veil of what do you callit gossamer. It floats, it flows about her starborn flesh and loose itstreams, emerald, sapphire, mauve and heliotrope, sustained on currentsof the cold interstellar wind, winding, coiling, simply swirling, writhing in the skies a mysterious writing till, after a myriadmetamorphoses of symbol, it blazes, Alpha, a ruby and triangled signupon the forehead of Taurus. 

Francis was reminding Stephen of years before when they had been atschool together in Conmee's time. He asked about Glaucon, Alcibiades, Pisistratus. Where were they now? Neither knew. You have spoken of thepast and its phantoms, Stephen said. Why think of them? If I call theminto life across the waters of Lethe will not the poor ghosts troop tomy call? Who supposes it? I, Bous Stephanoumenos, bullockbefriendingbard, am lord and giver of their life. He encircled his gadding hairwith a coronal of vineleaves, smiling at Vincent. That answer and thoseleaves, Vincent said to him, will adorn you more fitly when somethingmore, and greatly more, than a capful of light odes can call your geniusfather. All who wish you well hope this for you. All desire to seeyou bring forth the work you meditate, to acclaim you Stephaneforos. Iheartily wish you may not fail them. O no, Vincent Lenehan said, layinga hand on the shoulder near him. Have no fear. He could not leave hismother an orphan. The young man's face grew dark. All could see how hardit was for him to be reminded of his promise and of his recent loss. Hewould have withdrawn from the feast had not the noise of voices allayedthe smart. Madden had lost five drachmas on Sceptre for a whim of therider's name: Lenehan as much more. He told them of the race. The flagfell and, huuh! off, scamper, the mare ran out freshly with 0. Maddenup. She was leading the field. All hearts were beating. Even Phylliscould not contain herself. She waved her scarf and cried: Huzzah!Sceptre wins! But in the straight on the run home when all were in closeorder the dark horse Throwaway drew level, reached, outstripped her. Allwas lost now. Phyllis was silent: her eyes were sad anemones. Juno, shecried, I am undone. But her lover consoled her and brought her a brightcasket of gold in which lay some oval sugarplums which she partook. Atear fell: one only. A whacking fine whip, said Lenehan, is W. Lane. Four winners yesterday and three today. What rider is like him? Mounthim on the camel or the boisterous buffalo the victory in a hack canteris still his. But let us bear it as was the ancient wont. Mercy on theluckless! Poor Sceptre! he said with a light sigh. She is not the fillythat 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 couldhave seen my queen today, Vincent said. How young she was and radiant(Lalage were scarce fair beside her) in her yellow shoes and frock ofmuslin, I do not know the right name of it. The chestnuts that shadedus were in bloom: the air drooped with their persuasive odour and withpollen floating by us. In the sunny patches one might easily havecooked on a stone a batch of those buns with Corinth fruit in them thatPeriplipomenes sells in his booth near the bridge. But she had noughtfor her teeth but the arm with which I held her and in that she nibbledmischievously when I pressed too close. A week ago she lay ill, fourdays on the couch, but today she was free, blithe, mocked at peril. She is more taking then. Her posies tool Mad romp that she is, she hadpulled her fill as we reclined together. And in your ear, my friend, youwill not think who met us as we left the field. Conmee himself! He waswalking by the hedge, reading, I think a brevier book with, I doubt not, a witty letter in it from Glycera or Chloe to keep the page. The sweetcreature turned all colours in her confusion, feigning to reprove aslight disorder in her dress: a slip of underwood clung there for thevery trees adore her. When Conmee had passed she glanced at her lovelyecho in that little mirror she carries. But he had been kind. In goingby he had blessed us. The gods too are ever kind, Lenehan said. If I hadpoor luck with Bass's mare perhaps this draught of his may serve me morepropensely. He was laying his hand upon a winejar: Malachi saw it andwithheld his act, pointing to the stranger and to the scarlet label. Warily, Malachi whispered, preserve a druid silence. His soul is faraway. It is as painful perhaps to be awakened from a vision as to beborn. Any object, intensely regarded, may be a gate of access to theincorruptible eon of the gods. Do you not think it, Stephen? Theosophostold me so, Stephen answered, whom in a previous existence Egyptianpriests initiated into the mysteries of karmic law. The lords of themoon, Theosophos told me, an orangefiery shipload from planet Alphaof the lunar chain would not assume the etheric doubles and thesewere therefore incarnated by the rubycoloured egos from the secondconstellation. 

However, as a matter of fact though, the preposterous surmise about himbeing in some description of a doldrums or other or mesmerised whichwas entirely due to a misconception of the shallowest character, wasnot the case at all. The individual whose visual organs while the abovewas going on were at this juncture commencing to exhibit symptoms ofanimation was as astute if not astuter than any man living and anybodythat conjectured the contrary would have found themselves prettyspeedily in the wrong shop. During the past four minutes or thereaboutshe had been staring hard at a certain amount of number one Bass bottledby Messrs Bass and Co at Burton-on-Trent which happened to be situatedamongst a lot of others right opposite to where he was and which wascertainly calculated to attract anyone's remark on account of itsscarlet appearance. He was simply and solely, as it subsequentlytranspired for reasons best known to himself, which put quite analtogether different complexion on the proceedings, after the momentbefore's observations about boyhood days and the turf, recollecting twoor three private transactions of his own which the other two were asmutually innocent of as the babe unborn. Eventually, however, boththeir eyes met and as soon as it began to dawn on him that the other wasendeavouring to help himself to the thing he involuntarily determinedto help him himself and so he accordingly took hold of the neck of themediumsized glass recipient which contained the fluid sought after andmade a capacious hole in it by pouring a lot of it out with, also at thesame time, however, a considerable degree of attentiveness in order notto upset any of the beer that was in it about the place. 

The debate which ensued was in its scope and progress an epitome of thecourse of life. Neither place nor council was lacking in dignity. Thedebaters were the keenest in the land, the theme they were engaged onthe loftiest and most vital. The high hall of Horne's house had neverbeheld an assembly so representative and so varied nor had theold rafters of that establishment ever listened to a language soencyclopaedic. A gallant scene in truth it made. Crotthers was there atthe foot of the table in his striking Highland garb, his face glowingfrom the briny airs of the Mull of Galloway. There too, opposite to him, was Lynch whose countenance bore already the stigmata of early depravityand premature wisdom. Next the Scotchman was the place assigned toCostello, the eccentric, while at his side was seated in stolid reposethe squat form of Madden. The chair of the resident indeed stood vacantbefore the hearth but on either flank of it the figure of Bannon inexplorer's kit of tweed shorts and salted cowhide brogues contrastedsharply with the primrose elegance and townbred manners of MalachiRoland St John Mulligan. Lastly at the head of the board was the youngpoet who found a refuge from his labours of pedagogy and metaphysicalinquisition in the convivial atmosphere of Socratic discussion, whileto right and left of him were accommodated the flippant prognosticator, fresh from the hippodrome, and that vigilant wanderer, soiled by thedust of travel and combat and stained by the mire of an indelibledishonour, but from whose steadfast and constant heart no lure or perilor threat or degradation could ever efface the image of that voluptuousloveliness which the inspired pencil of Lafayette has limned for agesyet to come. 

It had better be stated here and now at the outset that the pervertedtranscendentalism to which Mr S. Dedalus' (Div. Scep. ) contentionswould appear to prove him pretty badly addicted runs directly counter toaccepted scientific methods. Science, it cannot be too often repeated, deals with tangible phenomena. The man of science like the man in thestreet has to face hardheaded facts that cannot be blinked and explainthem as best he can. There may be, it is true, some questions whichscience cannot answer--at present--such as the first problem submittedby Mr L. Bloom (Pubb. Canv. ) regarding 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 birthof males or are the too long neglected spermatozoa or nemasperms thedifferentiating factors or is it, as most embryologists incline toopine, such as Culpepper, Spallanzani, Blumenbach, Lusk, Hertwig, Leopold and Valenti, a mixture of both? This would be tantamount toa cooperation (one of nature's favourite devices) between the _nisusformativus_ of the nemasperm on the one hand and on the other a happilychosen position, _succubitus felix_ of the passive element. The otherproblem raised by the same inquirer is scarcely less vital: infantmortality. It is interesting because, as he pertinently remarks, weare all born in the same way but we all die in different ways. Mr M. Mulligan (Hyg. Et Eug. Doc. ) blames the sanitary conditions in whichour greylunged citizens contract adenoids, pulmonary complaints etc. Byinhaling the bacteria which lurk in dust. These factors, he alleged, and the revolting spectacles offered by our streets, hideous publicityposters, religious ministers of all denominations, mutilated soldiersand sailors, exposed scorbutic cardrivers, the suspended carcases ofdead animals, paranoic bachelors and unfructified duennas--these, hesaid, were accountable for any and every fallingoff in the calibre ofthe race. Kalipedia, he prophesied, would soon be generally adoptedand all the graces of life, genuinely good music, agreeable literature, light philosophy, instructive pictures, plastercast reproductions ofthe classical statues such as Venus and Apollo, artistic colouredphotographs of prize babies, all these little attentions would enableladies who were in a particular condition to pass the intervening monthsin a most enjoyable manner. Mr J. Crotthers (Disc. Bacc. ) attributessome of these demises to abdominal trauma in the case of women workerssubjected to heavy labours in the workshop and to marital discipline inthe home but by far the vast majority to neglect, private or official, culminating in the exposure of newborn infants, the practice of criminalabortion or in the atrocious crime of infanticide. Although the former(we are thinking of neglect) is undoubtedly only too true the case hecites of nurses forgetting to count the sponges in the peritoneal cavityis too rare to be normative. In fact when one comes to look into it thewonder is that so many pregnancies and deliveries go off so well as theydo, all things considered and in spite of our human shortcomings whichoften baulk nature in her intentions. An ingenious suggestion isthat thrown out by Mr V. Lynch (Bacc. Arith. ) that both natality andmortality, as well as all other phenomena of evolution, tidal movements, lunar phases, blood temperatures, diseases in general, everything, infine, in nature's vast workshop from the extinction of some remote sunto the blossoming of one of the countless flowers which beautify ourpublic parks is subject to a law of numeration as yet unascertained. Still the plain straightforward question why a child of normally healthyparents and seemingly a healthy child and properly looked after succumbsunaccountably in early childhood (though other children of the samemarriage do not) must certainly, in the poet's words, give us pause. Nature, we may rest assured, has her own good and cogent reasons forwhatever she does and in all probability such deaths are due to some lawof anticipation by which organisms in which morbous germs have takenup their residence (modern science has conclusively shown that only theplasmic substance can be said to be immortal) tend to disappear at anincreasingly earlier stage of development, an arrangement which, thoughproductive of pain to some of our feelings (notably the maternal), isnevertheless, some of us think, in the long run beneficial to therace in general in securing thereby the survival of the fittest. Mr S. Dedalus' (Div. Scep. ) remark (or should it be called an interruption?)that an omnivorous being which can masticate, deglute, digest andapparently pass through the ordinary channel with pluterperfectimperturbability such multifarious aliments as cancrenous femalesemaciated by parturition, corpulent professional gentlemen, not to speakof jaundiced politicians and chlorotic nuns, might possibly find gastricrelief in an innocent collation of staggering bob, reveals as noughtelse could and in a very unsavoury light the tendency above alluded to. For the enlightenment of those who are not so intimately acquainted withthe minutiae of the municipal abattoir as this morbidminded esthete andembryo philosopher who for all his overweening bumptiousness in thingsscientific can scarcely distinguish an acid from an alkali prideshimself on being, it should perhaps be stated that staggering bob inthe vile parlance of our lowerclass licensed victuallers signifies thecookable and eatable flesh of a calf newly dropped from its mother. Ina recent public controversy with Mr L. Bloom (Pubb. Canv. ) which tookplace in the commons' hall of the National Maternity Hospital, 29, 30and 31 Holles street, of which, as is well known, Dr A. Horne (Lic. InMidw. , F. K. Q. C. P. I. ) is the able and popular master, he is reportedby eyewitnesses as having stated that once a woman has let the catinto the bag (an esthete's allusion, presumably, to one of the mostcomplicated and marvellous of all nature's processes--the act of sexualcongress) she must let it out again or give it life, as he phrased it, to save her own. At the risk of her own, was the telling rejoinder ofhis interlocutor, none the less effective for the moderate and measuredtone in which it was delivered. 

Meanwhile the skill and patience of the physician had brought about ahappy _accouchement. _ It had been a weary weary while both for patientand doctor. All that surgical skill could do was done and the bravewoman had manfully helped. She had. She had fought the good fight andnow she was very very happy. Those who have passed on, who have gonebefore, are happy too as they gaze down and smile upon the touchingscene. Reverently look at her as she reclines there with the motherlightin her eyes, that longing hunger for baby fingers (a pretty sight it isto see), in the first bloom of her new motherhood, breathing a silentprayer of thanksgiving to One above, the Universal Husband. And as herloving eyes behold her babe she wishes only one blessing more, to haveher dear Doady there with her to share her joy, to lay in his arms thatmite of God's clay, the fruit of their lawful embraces. He is older now(you and I may whisper it) and a trifle stooped in the shoulders yetin the whirligig of years a grave dignity has come to the conscientioussecond accountant of the Ulster bank, College Green branch. O Doady, loved one of old, faithful lifemate now, it may never be again, thatfaroff time of the roses! With the old shake of her pretty head sherecalls those days. God! How beautiful now across the mist of years! Buttheir children are grouped in her imagination about the bedside, hersand his, Charley, Mary Alice, Frederick Albert (if he had lived), Mamy, Budgy (Victoria Frances), Tom, Violet Constance Louisa, darling littleBobsy (called after our famous hero of the South African war, lord Bobsof Waterford and Candahar) and now this last pledge of their union, aPurefoy if ever there was one, with the true Purefoy nose. Young hopefulwill be christened Mortimer Edward after the influential third cousin ofMr Purefoy in the Treasury Remembrancer's office, Dublin Castle. And sotime wags on: but father Cronion has dealt lightly here. No, let no sighbreak from that bosom, dear gentle Mina. And Doady, knock the ashes fromyour pipe, the seasoned briar you still fancy when the curfew rings foryou (may it be the distant day!) and dout the light whereby you readin the Sacred Book for the oil too has run low, and so with a tranquilheart to bed, to rest. He knows and will call in His own good time. Youtoo have fought the good fight and played loyally your man's part. Sir, to you my hand. Well done, thou good and faithful servant!

There are sins or (let us call them as the world calls them) evilmemories which are hidden away by man in the darkest places of the heartbut 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 himselfthat they were not or at least were otherwise. Yet a chance word willcall them forth suddenly and they will rise up to confront him in themost various circumstances, a vision or a dream, or while timbreland harp soothe his senses or amid the cool silver tranquility of theevening 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 underher wrath, not for vengeance to cut him off from the living but shroudedin the piteous vesture of the past, silent, remote, reproachful. 

The stranger still regarded on the face before him a slow recession ofthat false calm there, imposed, as it seemed, by habit or some studiedtrick, upon words so embittered as to accuse in their speaker anunhealthiness, a _flair, _ for the cruder things of life. A scenedisengages itself in the observer's memory, evoked, it would seem, bya word of so natural a homeliness as if those days were really presentthere (as some thought) with their immediate pleasures. A shaven spaceof lawn one soft May evening, the wellremembered grove of lilacs atRoundtown, purple and white, fragrant slender spectators of the game butwith much real interest in the pellets as they run slowly forward overthe sward or collide and stop, one by its fellow, with a brief alertshock. And yonder about that grey urn where the water moves at timesin thoughtful irrigation you saw another as fragrant sisterhood, Floey, Atty, Tiny and their darker friend with I know not what of arresting inher pose then, Our Lady of the Cherries, a comely brace of them pendentfrom an ear, bringing out the foreign warmth of the skin so daintilyagainst the cool ardent fruit. A lad of four or five in linseywoolsey(blossomtime but there will be cheer in the kindly hearth when ere longthe bowls are gathered and hutched) is standing on the urn secured bythat circle of girlish fond hands. He frowns a little just as this youngman does now with a perhaps too conscious enjoyment of the danger butmust needs glance at whiles towards where his mother watches from thePIAZZETTA giving upon the flowerclose with a faint shadow of remotenessor of reproach (_alles Vergangliche_) in her glad look. 

Mark this farther and remember. The end comes suddenly. Enter thatantechamber of birth where the studious are assembled and note theirfaces. Nothing, as it seems, there of rash or violent. Quietude ofcustody, rather, befitting their station in that house, the vigilantwatch of shepherds and of angels about a crib in Bethlehem of Juda longago. But as before the lightning the serried stormclouds, heavy withpreponderant excess of moisture, in swollen masses turgidly distended, compass earth and sky in one vast slumber, impending above parched fieldand drowsy oxen and blighted growth of shrub and verdure till in aninstant a flash rives their centres and with the reverberation of thethunder the cloudburst pours its torrent, so and not otherwise was thetransformation, violent and instantaneous, upon the utterance of theword. 

Burke's! outflings my lord Stephen, giving the cry, and a tag andbobtail 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 andwhat not. A dedale of lusty youth, noble every student there. NurseCallan taken aback in the hallway cannot stay them nor smiling surgeoncoming downstairs with news of placentation ended, a full pound if amilligramme. They hark him on. The door! It is open? Ha! They are out, tumultuously, off for a minute's race, all bravely legging it, Burke'sof Denzille and Holles their ulterior goal. Dixon follows giving themsharp language but raps out an oath, he too, and on. Bloom stays withnurse a thought to send a kind word to happy mother and nurseling upthere. Doctor Diet and Doctor Quiet. Looks she too not other now? Wardof watching in Horne's house has told its tale in that washedout pallor. Then all being gone, a glance of motherwit helping, he whispers close ingoing: Madam, when comes the storkbird for thee?

The air without is impregnated with raindew moisture, life essencecelestial, glistening on Dublin stone there under starshiny _coelum. _God's air, the Allfather's air, scintillant circumambient cessile air. Breathe it deep into thee. By heaven, Theodore Purefoy, thou hast done adoughty deed and no botch! Thou art, I vow, the remarkablest progenitorbarring none in this chaffering allincluding most farraginous chronicle. Astounding! In her lay a Godframed Godgiven preformed possibility whichthou hast fructified with thy modicum of man's work. Cleave to her!Serve! Toil on, labour like a very bandog and let scholarment and allMalthusiasts go hang. Thou art all their daddies, Theodore. Art droopingunder thy load, bemoiled with butcher's bills at home and ingots (notthine!) in the countinghouse? Head up! For every newbegotten thou shaltgather thy homer of ripe wheat. See, thy fleece is drenched. Dost envyDarby Dullman there with his Joan? A canting jay and a rheumeyedcurdog is all their progeny. Pshaw, I tell thee! He is a mule, a deadgasteropod, without vim or stamina, not worth a cracked kreutzer. Copulation without population! No, say I! Herod's slaughter of theinnocents were the truer name. Vegetables, forsooth, and sterilecohabitation! Give her beefsteaks, red, raw, bleeding! She is a hoarypandemonium of ills, enlarged glands, mumps, quinsy, bunions, hayfever, bedsores, ringworm, floating kidney, Derbyshire neck, warts, biliousattacks, gallstones, cold feet, varicose veins. A truce to threnes andtrentals and jeremies and all such congenital defunctive music! Twentyyears of it, regret them not. With thee it was not as with many thatwill and would and wait and never--do. Thou sawest thy America, thylifetask, and didst charge to cover like the transpontine bison. Howsaith Zarathustra? _Deine Kuh Trübsal melkest Du. Nun Trinkst Du diesüsse Milch des Euters_. See! it displodes for thee in abundance. Drink, man, an udderful! Mother's milk, Purefoy, the milk of human kin, milktoo of those burgeoning stars overhead rutilant in thin rainvapour, punch milk, such as those rioters will quaff in their guzzling den, milkof madness, the honeymilk of Canaan's land. Thy cow's dug was tough, what? Ay, but her milk is hot and sweet and fattening. No dollop thisbut thick rich bonnyclaber. To her, old patriarch! Pap! _Per deamPartulam 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 oleBillyo. Any brollies or gumboots in the fambly? Where the Henry Nevil'ssawbones and ole clo? Sorra one o' me knows. Hurrah there, Dix! Forwardto the ribbon counter. Where's Punch? All serene. Jay, look at thedrunken minister coming out of the maternity hospal! _Benedicat vosomnipotens Deus, Pater et Filius_. A make, mister. The Denzille laneboys. Hell, blast ye! Scoot. Righto, Isaacs, shove em out of thebleeding limelight. Yous join uz, dear sir? No hentrusion in life. Louheap good man. Allee samee dis bunch. _En avant, mes enfants_! Fireaway number one on the gun. Burke's! Burke's! Thence they advanced fiveparasangs. Slattery's mounted foot. Where's that bleeding awfur? ParsonSteve, apostates' creed! No, no, Mulligan! Abaft there! Shove ahead. Keep a watch on the clock. Chuckingout time. Mullee! What's on you? _Mamère m'a mariée. _ British Beatitudes! _Retamplatan Digidi Boumboum_. Ayes have it. To be printed and bound at the Druiddrum press by twodesigning females. Calf covers of pissedon green. Last word in artshades. Most beautiful book come out of Ireland my time. _Silentium!_Get a spurt on. Tention. Proceed to nearest canteen and there annexliquor stores. March! Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are (atitudes!)parching. Beer, beef, business, bibles, bulldogs battleships, buggeryand bishops. Whether on the scaffold high. Beer, beef, trample thebibles. When for Irelandear. Trample the trampellers. Thunderation! Keepthe durned millingtary step. We fall. Bishops boosebox. Halt! Heave to. Rugger. Scrum in. No touch kicking. Wow, my tootsies! You hurt? Mostamazingly sorry!

Query. Who's astanding this here do? Proud possessor of damnall. Declaremisery. Bet to the ropes. Me nantee saltee. Not a red at me this weekgone. Yours? Mead of our fathers for the _Übermensch. _ Dittoh. Fivenumber ones. You, sir? Ginger cordial. Chase me, the cabby's caudle. Stimulate the caloric. Winding of his ticker. Stopped short never to goagain when the old. Absinthe for me, savvy? _Caramba!_ Have an eggnog ora prairie oyster. Enemy? Avuncular's got my timepiece. Ten to. Obligatedawful. Don't mention it. Got a pectoral trauma, eh, Dix? Pos fact. Gotbet be a boomblebee whenever he wus settin 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. Loveylovekin. None of your lean kine, not much. Pull down the blind, love. Two Ardilauns. Same here. Look slippery. If you fall don't wait to getup. Five, seven, nine. Fine! Got a prime pair of mincepies, no kid. Andher 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, Ogluepot. Sir? Spud again the rheumatiz? All poppycock, you'll scuse mesaying. For the hoi polloi. I vear thee beest a gert vool. Well, doc?Back fro Lapland? Your corporosity sagaciating O K? How's the squawsand papooses? Womanbody after going on the straw? Stand and deliver. Password. There's hair. Ours the white death and the ruddy birth. Hi!Spit in your own eye, boss! Mummer's wire. Cribbed out of Meredith. Jesified, orchidised, polycimical jesuit! Aunty mine's writing Pa Kinch. Baddybad Stephen lead astray goodygood Malachi. 

Hurroo! Collar the leather, youngun. Roun wi the nappy. Here, Jock brawHielentman's your barleybree. Lang may your lum reek and your kailpotboil! My tipple. _Merci. _ Here's to us. How's that? Leg before wicket. Don't stain my brandnew sitinems. Give's a shake of peppe, you there. Catch aholt. Caraway seed to carry away. Twig? Shrieks of silence. Everycove to his gentry mort. Venus Pandemos. _Les petites femmes_. Bold badgirl from the town of Mullingar. Tell her I was axing at her. HaudingSara by the wame. On the road to Malahide. Me? If she who seduced me hadleft 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? He've got thechink _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 theoof. Two bar and a wing. You larn that go off of they there Frenchybilks? Won't wash here for nuts nohow. Lil chile velly solly. Ise decutest colour coon down our side. Gawds teruth, Chawley. We are nae fou. We're nae tha fou. Au reservoir, mossoo. Tanks you. 

'Tis, 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, I'm jiggered. And been to barber he have. Too full for words. Witha railway bloke. How come you so? Opera he'd like? Rose of Castile. Rowsof cast. Police! Some H2O for a gent fainted. Look at Bantam's flowers. Gemini. He's going to holler. The colleen bawn. My colleen bawn. O, cheese it! Shut his blurry Dutch oven with a firm hand. Had the winnertoday till I tipped him a dead cert. The ruffin cly the nab of StephenHand as give me the jady coppaleen. He strike a telegramboy paddock wirebig bug Bass to the depot. Shove him a joey and grahamise. Mare on formhot order. Guinea to a goosegog. Tell a cram, that. Gospeltrue. Criminaldiversion? I think that yes. Sure thing. Land him in chokeechokee if theharman beck copped the game. Madden back Madden's a maddening back. Olust our refuge and our strength. Decamping. Must you go? Off to mammy. Stand by. Hide my blushes someone. All in if he spots me. Come ahome, our Bantam. Horryvar, mong vioo. Dinna forget the cowslips for hersel. Cornfide. Wha gev ye thon colt? Pal to pal. Jannock. Of John Thomas, herspouse. No fake, old man Leo. S'elp me, honest injun. Shiver my timbersif I had. There's a great big holy friar. Vyfor you no me tell? Vel, I ses, if that aint a sheeny nachez, vel, I vil get misha mishinnah. Through yerd our lord, Amen. 

You move a motion? Steve boy, you're going it some. More bluggydrunkables? Will immensely splendiferous stander permit one stooder ofmost extreme poverty and one largesize grandacious thirst to terminateone expensive inaugurated libation? Give's a breather. Landlord, landlord, have you good wine, staboo? Hoots, mon, a wee drap to pree. Cut and come again. Right. Boniface! Absinthe the lot. _Nos omnesbiberimus viridum toxicum diabolus capiat posterioria nostria_. Closingtime, gents. Eh? Rome boose for the Bloom toff. I hear you sayonions? Bloo? Cadges ads. Photo's papli, by all that's gorgeous. Playlow, pardner. Slide. _Bonsoir la compagnie_. And snares of the poxfiend. Where's the buck and Namby Amby? Skunked? Leg bail. Aweel, ye maun e'engang yer gates. Checkmate. King to tower. Kind Kristyann wil yu helpyung man hoose frend tuk bungellow kee tu find plais whear tu lay crownof his hed 2 night. Crickey, I'm about sprung. Tarnally dog gone myshins if this beent the bestest puttiest longbreak yet. Item, curate, couple of cookies for this child. Cot's plood and prandypalls, none! Nota pite of sheeses? Thrust syphilis down to hell and with him those otherlicensed spirits. Time, gents! Who wander through the world. Health all!_a la vôtre_!

Golly, whatten tunket's yon guy in the mackintosh? Dusty Rhodes. Peepat his wearables. By mighty! What's he got? Jubilee mutton. Bovril, by James. Wants it real bad. D'ye ken bare socks? Seedy cuss in theRichmond? Rawthere! Thought he had a deposit of lead in his penis. Trumpery insanity. Bartle the Bread we calls him. That, sir, was oncea prosperous cit. Man all tattered and torn that married a maiden allforlorn. Slung her hook, she did. Here see lost love. Walking Mackintoshof lonely canyon. Tuck and turn in. Schedule time. Nix for the hornies. Pardon? Seen him today at a runefal? Chum o' yourn passed in his checks?Ludamassy! Pore piccaninnies! Thou'll no be telling me thot, Pold veg!Did ums blubble bigsplash crytears cos fren Padney was took off in blackbag? Of all de darkies Massa Pat was verra best. I never see the likesince 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. Jappies? Highangle fire, inyah! Sunk by war specials. Be worse for him, says he, norany Rooshian. Time all. There's eleven of them. Get ye gone. Forward, woozy wobblers! Night. Night. May Allah the Excellent One your soul thisnight ever tremendously conserve. 

Your attention! We're nae tha fou. The Leith police dismisseth us. Theleast tholice. Ware hawks for the chap puking. Unwell in his abominableregions. Yooka. Night. Mona, my true love. Yook. Mona, my own love. Ook. 

Hark! Shut your obstropolos. Pflaap! Pflaap! Blaze on. There she goes. Brigade! Bout ship. Mount street way. Cut up! Pflaap! Tally ho. You notcome? Run, skelter, race. Pflaaaap!

Lynch! Hey? Sign on long o' me. Denzille lane this way. Change here forBawdyhouse. 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 hell's the johnny in the black duds? Hush! Sinnedagainst the light and even now that day is at hand when he shall come tojudge the world by fire. Pflaap! _Ut implerentur scripturae_. Strikeup a ballad. Then outspake medical Dick to his comrade medical Davy. Christicle, who's this excrement yellow gospeller on the Merrionhall? Elijah is coming! Washed in the blood of the Lamb. Come on youwinefizzling, ginsizzling, booseguzzling existences! Come on, youdog-gone, bullnecked, beetlebrowed, hogjowled, peanutbrained, weaseleyedfourflushers, false alarms and excess baggage! Come on, you tripleextract of infamy! Alexander J Christ Dowie, that's my name, that'syanked to glory most half this planet from Frisco beach to Vladivostok. The Deity aint no nickel dime bumshow. I put it to you that He's on thesquare and a corking fine business proposition. He's the grandest thingyet and don't you forget it. Shout salvation in King Jesus. You'llneed to rise precious early you sinner there, if you want to diddle theAlmighty God. Pflaaaap! Not half. He's got a coughmixture with a punchin it for you, my friend, in his back pocket. Just you try it on. 

_The Mabbot street entrance of nighttown, before which stretchesan uncobbled tramsiding set with skeleton tracks, red and greenwill-o'-the-wisps and danger signals. Rows of grimy houses with gapingdoors. Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins. Round Rabaiotti's halted icegondola stunted men and women squabble. They grab wafers between whichare wedged lumps of coral and copper snow. Sucking, they scatter slowly. Children. The swancomb of the gondola, highreared, forges on through themurk, white and blue under a lighthouse. Whistles call and answer. _

THE CALLS: Wait, my love, and I'll be with you. 

THE ANSWERS: Round behind the stable. 

_(A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance. A chain of children 's handsimprisons him. )_

THE CHILDREN: Kithogue! Salute!

THE IDIOT: _(Lifts a palsied left arm and gurgles)_ Grhahute!

THE CHILDREN: Where's the great light?

THE IDIOT: _(Gobbing)_ Ghaghahest. 

_(They release him. He jerks on. A pigmy woman swings on a rope slungbetween two railings, counting. A form sprawled against a dustbin andmuffled by its arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, andsnores again. On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouchesto shoulder a sack of rags and bones. A crone standing by with a smokyoillamp rams her last bottle in the maw of his sack. He heaves hisbooty, tugs askew his peaked cap and hobbles off mutely. The cronemakes back for her lair, swaying her lamp. A bandy child, asquat on thedoorstep with a paper shuttlecock, crawls sidling after her in spurts, clutches her skirt, scrambles up. A drunken navvy grips with both handsthe railings of an area, lurching heavily. At a comer two night watch inshouldercapes, their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall. A platecrashes: a woman screams: a child wails. Oaths of a man roar, mutter, cease. Figures wander, lurk, peer from warrens. In a room lit by acandle stuck in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the hairof a scrofulous child. Cissy Caffrey's voice, still young, sings shrillfrom a lane. )_

CISSY CAFFREY:

 _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 unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from theirmouths a volleyed fart. Laughter of men from the lane. A hoarse viragoretorts. )_

THE VIRAGO: Signs on you, hairy arse. More power the Cavan girl. 

CISSY CAFFREY: More luck to me. Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet. _(Shesings)_

 _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 tunicsbloodbright in a lampglow, black sockets of caps on their blond croppedpolls. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch pass through the crowd close to theredcoats. )_

PRIVATE COMPTON: _(Jerks his finger)_ Way for the parson. 

PRIVATE CARR: _(Turns and calls)_ What ho, parson!

CISSY CAFFREY: _(Her voice soaring higher)_

 _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 joythe_ 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 adoorway. )_

THE BAWD: _(Her voice whispering huskily)_ Sst! Come here till I tellyou. 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 shawlacross her nostrils. )_

EDY BOARDMAN: _(Bickering)_ And says the one: I seen you up Faithfulplace with your squarepusher, the greaser off the railway, in hiscometobed hat. Did you, says I. That's not for you to say, says I. Younever seen me in the mantrap with a married highlander, says I. Thelikes of her! Stag that one is! Stubborn as a mule! And her walking withtwo fellows the one time, Kilbride, the enginedriver, and lancecorporalOliphant. 

STEPHEN: _(Ttriumphaliter) Salvi facti sunt. _

_(He flourishes his ashplant, shivering the lamp image, shattering lightover 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 bea universal language, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the laysense but the first entelechy, the structural rhythm. 

LYNCH: Pornosophical philotheology. Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street!

STEPHEN: We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates. Eventhe allwisest Stagyrite was bitted, bridled and mounted by a light oflove. 

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, _ GeorginaJohnson, _ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam. _

_(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, downturned, in planes intersecting, the fingers about to part, the leftbeing higher. )_

LYNCH: Which is the jug of bread? It skills not. That or thecustomhouse. Illustrate thou. Here take your crutch and walk. 

_(They pass. Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a gaslamp and, clasping, climbsin spasms. From the top spur he slides down. Jacky Caffrey clasps toclimb. The navvy lurches against the lamp. The twins scuttle off in thedark. The navvy, swaying, presses a forefinger against a wing of hisnose and ejects from the farther nostril a long liquid jet of snot. Shouldering the lamp he staggers away through the crowd with his flaringcresset. _

_Snakes of river fog creep slowly. From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides stagnant fumes. A glow leaps in the southbeyond the seaward reaches of the river. The navvy, staggering forward, cleaves the crowd and lurches towards the tramsiding on the farther sideunder the railway bridge bloom appears, flushed, panting, cramming breadand chocolate into a sidepocket. From Gillen's hairdresser's window acomposite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image. A concave mirrorat the side presents to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom. GraveGladstone sees him level, Bloom for Bloom. He passes, struck by thestare of truculent Wellington, but in the convex mirror grin unstruckthe bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy. _

_At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the brightarclamp. He disappears. In a moment he reappears and hurries on. )_

BLOOM: Fish and taters. N. G. Ah!

_(He disappears into Olhausen's, the porkbutcher's, under the downcomingrollshutter. A few moments later he emerges from under the shutter, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. In each hand he holds a parcel, onecontaining a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper. He gasps, standing upright. Then bending toone 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 lampsetsiding. The glow leaps again. )_

BLOOM: What is that? A flasher? Searchlight. 

_(He stands at Cormack's corner, watching)_

BLOOM: _Aurora borealis_ or a steel foundry? Ah, the brigade, of course. South side anyhow. Big blaze. Might be his house. Beggar's bush. We'resafe. _(He hums cheerfully)_ London's burning, London's burning! Onfire, on fire! (_He catches sight of the navvy lurching through thecrowd at the farther side of Talbot street_) I'll miss him. Run. Quick. Better cross here. 

_(He darts to cross the road. Urchins shout. )_

THE URCHINS: Mind out, mister! (_Two cyclists, with lighted paperlanterns 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 suddenly. Through rising fog a dragonsandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon him, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the wire. Themotorman bangs his footgong. )_

THE GONG: Bang Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo. 

_(The brake cracks violently. Bloom, raising a policeman's whiteglovedhand, blunders stifflegged out of the track. The motorman, thrownforward, pugnosed, on the guidewheel, yells as he slides past overchains and keys. )_

THE MOTORMAN: Hey, shitbreeches, are you doing the hat trick?

BLOOM: _(Bloom trickleaps to the curbstone and halts again. He brushes amudflake from his cheek with a parcelled hand. )_ No thoroughfare. Closeshave that but cured the stitch. Must take up Sandow's exercises again. On the hands down. Insure against street accident too. The Providential. _(He feels his trouser pocket)_ Poor mamma's panacea. Heel easily catchin track or bootlace in a cog. Day the wheel of the black Maria peeledoff my shoe at Leonard's corner. Third time is the charm. Shoe trick. Insolent driver. I ought to report him. Tension makes them nervous. Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that horsey woman. Samestyle of beauty. Quick of him all the same. The stiff walk. True wordspoken in jest. That awful cramp in Lad lane. Something poisonous Iate. Emblem of luck. Why? Probably lost cattle. Mark of the beast. _(Hecloses his eyes an instant)_ Bit light in the head. Monthly or effect ofthe other. Brainfogfag. That tired feeling. Too much for me now. Ow!

(A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, avisage unknown, injected with dark mercury. From under a wideleavedsombrero the figure regards him with evil eye. )

BLOOM: _Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta?_

THE FIGURE: (_Impassive, raises a signal arm_) Password. _Sraid Mabbot. _

BLOOM: Haha. _Merci. _ Esperanto. _Slan leath. (He mutters)_ Gaelicleague spy, sent by that fireeater. 

_(He steps forward. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. He stepsleft, ragsackman left. )_

BLOOM: I beg. (_He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on_. )

BLOOM: Keep to the right, right, right. If there is a signpost plantedby the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon? I wholost my way and contributed to the columns of the _Irish Cyclist_ theletter headed _In darkest Stepaside_. Keep, keep, keep to the right. Rags and bones at midnight. A fence more likely. First place murderermakes for. Wash off his sins of the world. 

_(Jacky Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey, runs full tilt againstBloom. )_

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 thieves' dodge. Collide. Then snatchyour purse. 

_(The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the ground. A sprawled formsneezes. A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the long caftanof an elder in Zion and a smokingcap with magenta tassels. Hornedspectacles hang down at the wings of the nose. Yellow poison streaks areon the drawn face. )_

RUDOLPH: Second halfcrown waste money today. I told you not go withdrunken 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? _(withfeeble vulture talons he feels the silent face of Bloom)_ Are you notmy son Leopold, the grandson of Leopold? Are you not my dear son Leopoldwho left the house of his father and left the god of his fathers Abrahamand Jacob?

BLOOM: _(With precaution)_ I suppose so, father. Mosenthal. All that'sleft of him. 

RUDOLPH: _(Severely)_ One night they bring you home drunk as dog afterspend your good money. What you call them running chaps?

BLOOM: _(In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in brown Alpine hat, wearing gent's sterling silverwaterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, oneside of him coated with stiffening mud)_ Harriers, father. Only thatonce. 

RUDOLPH: Once! Mud head to foot. Cut your hand open. Lockjaw. They makeyou kaputt, Leopoldleben. You watch them chaps. 

BLOOM: _(Weakly)_ They challenged me to a sprint. It was muddy. Islipped. 

RUDOLPH: _(With contempt) Goim nachez_! Nice spectacles for your poormother!

BLOOM: Mamma!

ELLEN BLOOM: _(In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey'scrinoline 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 doneto him! My smelling salts! _(She hauls up a reef of skirt and ransacksthe pouch of her striped blay petticoat. A phial, an Agnus Dei, ashrivelled 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 inhis filled pockets but desists, muttering. )_

A VOICE: _(Sharply)_ Poldy!

BLOOM: Who? _(He ducks and wards off a blow clumsily)_ At your service. 

_(He looks up. Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman inTurkish costume stands before him. Opulent curves fill out her scarlettrousers and jacket, slashed with gold. A wide yellow cummerbund girdlesher. A white yashmak, violet in the night, covers her face, leaving freeonly her large dark eyes and raven hair. )_

BLOOM: Molly!

MARION: Welly? Mrs Marion from this out, my dear man, when you speak tome. _(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, questions, hopes, crubeens for her supper, things to tell her, excuse, desire, spellbound. A coin gleams on her forehead. On her feet are jewelledtoerings. Her ankles are linked by a slender fetterchain. Beside hera camel, hooded with a turreting turban, waits. A silk ladder ofinnumerable rungs climbs to his bobbing howdah. He ambles near withdisgruntled hindquarters. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her goldcurbwristbangles angriling, scolding him in Moorish. )_

MARION: Nebrakada! Femininum!

_(The camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a tree a large mango fruit, offers it to his mistress, blinking, in his cloven hoof, then droops hishead and, grunting, with uplifted neck, fumbles to kneel. Bloom stoopshis back for leapfrog. )_

BLOOM: I can give you. . . I mean as your business menagerer. . . MrsMarion. . . If you. . . 

MARION: So you notice some change? _(Her hands passing slowly over hertrinketed stomacher, a slow friendly mockery in her eyes)_ O Poldy, Poldy, you are a poor old stick in the mud! Go and see life. See thewide world. 

BLOOM: I was just going back for that lotion whitewax, orangeflowerwater. Shop closes early on Thursday. But the first thing in themorning. _(He pats divers pockets)_ This moving kidney. Ah!

_(He points to the south, then to the east. A cake of new clean lemonsoap arises, diffusing light and perfume. )_

THE SOAP: We're a capital couple are Bloom and I. He brightens theearth. I polish the sky. 

_(The freckled face of Sweny, the druggist, appears in the disc of thesoapsun. )_

SWENY: Three and a penny, please. 

BLOOM: Yes. For my wife. Mrs Marion. Special recipe. 

MARION: _(Softly)_ Poldy!

BLOOM: Yes, ma'am?

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 seizeshis sleeve, the bristles of her chinmole glittering. )_

THE BAWD: Ten shillings a maidenhead. Fresh thing was never touched. Fifteen. There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk. 

_(She points. In the gap of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, BridieKelly stands. )_

BRIDIE: Hatch street. Any good in your mind?

_(With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. A burly rough pursueswith booted strides. He stumbles on the steps, recovers, plunges intogloom. Weak squeaks of laughter are heard, weaker. )_

THE BAWD: _(Her wolfeyes shining)_ He's getting his pleasure. You won'tget a virgin in the flash houses. Ten shillings. Don't be all nightbefore the polis in plain clothes sees us. Sixtyseven is a bitch. 

_(Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward. She draws from behind, ogling, and shows coyly her bloodied clout. )_

GERTY: With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. _(She murmurs)_ Youdid that. I hate you. 

BLOOM: I? When? You're dreaming. I never saw you. 

THE BAWD: Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat. Writing the gentlemanfalse letters. Streetwalking and soliciting. Better for your mother takethe 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 fordoing that to me. 

_(She glides away crookedly. Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoatwith loose bellows pockets, stands in the causeway, her roguish eyeswideopen, smiling in all her herbivorous buckteeth. )_

MRS BREEN: Mr. . . 

BLOOM: _(Coughs gravely)_ Madam, when we last had this pleasure byletter dated the sixteenth instant. . . 

MRS BREEN: Mr Bloom! You down here in the haunts of sin! I caught younicely! Scamp!

BLOOM: _(Hurriedly)_ Not so loud my name. Whatever do you think of me?Don't give me away. Walls have ears. How do you do? It's ages since I. You're looking splendid. Absolutely it. Seasonable weather we are havingthis time of year. Black refracts heat. Short cut home here. Interestingquarter. Rescue of fallen women. Magdalen asylum. I am the secretary. . . 

MRS BREEN: _(Holds up a finger)_ Now, don't tell a big fib! I knowsomebody won't 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 she'd 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 atthe Livermore christies. Bohee brothers. Sweep for that matter. 

_(Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white duck suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large scarlet asters in their buttonholes, leap out. Each has his banjo slung. Their paler smaller negroid handsjingle the twingtwang wires. Flashing white Kaffir eyes and tusks theyrattle through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back toback, toe heel, heel toe, with smackfatclacking nigger lips. )_

TOM AND SAM:

 There's someone in the house with Dina There's someone in the house, I know, There's someone in the house with Dina Playing on the old banjo. 

_(They whisk black masks from 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, ifyou are so inclined? Would you like me perhaps to embrace you just for afraction of a second?

MRS BREEN: _(Screams gaily)_ O, you ruck! You ought to see yourself!

BLOOM: For old sake' sake. I only meant a square party, a mixed marriagemingling of our different little conjugials. You know I had a softcorner for you. _(Gloomily)_ 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the deargazelle. 

MRS BREEN: Glory Alice, you do look a holy show! Killing simply. _(Sheputs out her hand inquisitively)_ What are you hiding behind your back?Tell us, there's 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, harkingback in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, GeorginaSimpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? Subject, what is in thissnuffbox?

MRS BREEN: You were the lion of the night with your seriocomicrecitation and you looked the part. You were always a favourite with theladies. 

BLOOM: _(Squire of dames, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue masonic badge in his buttonhole, black bow and mother-of-pearlstuds, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his hand)_ Ladies andgentlemen, I give you Ireland, home and beauty. 

MRS BREEN: The dear dead days beyond recall. Love's old sweet song. 

BLOOM: _(Meaningfully dropping his voice)_ I confess I'm teapot withcuriosity to find out whether some person's something is a little teapotat present. 

MRS BREEN: _(Gushingly)_ Tremendously teapot! London's teapot and I'msimply teapot all over me! _(She rubs sides with him)_ After the parlourmystery games and the crackers from the tree we sat on the staircaseottoman. Under the mistletoe. Two is company. 

BLOOM: _(Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with an amber halfmoon, hisfingers and thumb passing slowly down to her soft moist meaty palm whichshe surrenders gently)_ The witching hour of night. I took the splinterout of this hand, carefully, slowly. _(Tenderly, as he slips on herfinger a ruby ring) Là ci darem la mano. _

MRS BREEN: _(In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, atinsel sylph's diadem on her brow with her dancecard fallen besideher moonblue satin slipper, curves her palm softly, breathing quickly)Voglio e non. _ You're hot! You're scalding! The left hand nearest theheart. 

BLOOM: When you made your present choice they said it was beauty andthe beast. I can never forgive you for that. _(His clenched fist athis brow)_ Think what it means. All you meant to me then. _(Hoarsely)_Woman, it's breaking me!

_(Denis Breen, whitetallhatted, with Wisdom Hely's 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 ofthe 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 theglad eye)_ Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well? You wanted to. 

BLOOM: _(Shocked)_ Molly's 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?

BLOOM: _(Offhandedly)_ Kosher. A snack for supper. The home withoutpotted meat is incomplete. I was at _Leah. _ Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. Unfortunately threw away theprogramme. Rattling good place round there for pigs' feet. Feel. 

_(Richie Goulding, three ladies' hats pinned on his head, appearsweighted to one side by the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on whicha skull and crossbones are painted in white limewash. He opens itand shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies andtightpacked pills. )_

RICHIE: Best value in Dub. 

_(Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands on the curbstone, folding hisnapkin, waiting to wait. )_

PAT: _(Advances with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy)_ Steak andkidney. 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, his hand to his back)_ Ah! Bright's!Lights!

BLOOM: _(Ooints to the navvy)_ A spy. Don't attract attention. I hatestupid crowds. I am not on pleasure bent. I am in a grave predicament. 

MRS BREEN: Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your cock andbull 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 particularreason. 

MRS BREEN: _(All agog)_ O, not for worlds. 

BLOOM: Let's walk on. Shall us?

MRS BREEN: Let's. 

_(The bawd makes an unheeded sign. Bloom walks on with Mrs Breen. Theterrier follows, whining piteously, wagging his tail. )_

THE BAWD: Jewman's melt!

BLOOM: _(In an oatmeal sporting suit, a sprig of woodbine in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, whitespats, fawn dustcoat on his arm, tawny red brogues, fieldglasses inbandolier and a grey billycock hat)_ Do you remember a long long time, years and years ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, wasweaned when we all went together to Fairyhouse races, was it?

MRS BREEN: _(In smart Saxe tailormade, white velours hat and spiderveil)_ Leopardstown. 

BLOOM: I mean, Leopardstown. And Molly won seven shillings on a threeyear old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that oldfiveseater shanderadan of a waggonette you were in your heyday then andyou had on that new hat of white velours with a surround of molefur thatMrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was marked down to nineteen andeleven, a bit of wire and an old rag of velveteen, and I'll lay you whatyou like she did it on purpose. . . 

MRS BREEN: She did, of course, the cat! Don't tell me! Nice adviser!

BLOOM: Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the other duckylittle tammy toque with the bird of paradise wing in it that I admiredon you and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was apity to kill it, you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a thing witha 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 asandwich of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. Frankly, though she had her advisers or admirers, I never cared much for herstyle. She was. . . 

MRS BREEN: Too. . . 

BLOOM: Yes. And Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reillywere mimicking a cock as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the tea merchant, drove past us in a gig with his daughter, Dancer Moseswas her name, and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you asked me if Iever 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 ontowards hellsgates. In an archway a standing woman, bent forward, herfeet apart, pisses cowily. Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of loitererslisten to a tale which their brokensnouted gaffer rasps out with raucoushumour. An armless pair of them flop wrestling, growling, in maimedsodden playfight. )_

THE GAFFER: _(Crouches, his voice twisted in his snout)_ And when Cairnscame down from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doingit into only into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on theshavings for Derwan's plasterers. 

THE LOITERERS: _(Guffaw with cleft palates)_ O jays!

_(Their paintspeckled hats wag. Spattered with size and lime of theirlodges they frisk limblessly about him. )_

BLOOM: Coincidence too. They think it funny. Anything but that. Broaddaylight. Trying to walk. Lucky no woman. 

THE LOITERERS: Jays, that's a good one. Glauber salts. O jays, into themen's porter. 

_(Bloom passes. Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners. )_

THE WHORES:

 Are you going far, queer fellow? How's 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. Froma bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk. In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the navvy and the tworedcoats. )_

THE NAVVY: _(Belching)_ Where's 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 forCarr. Just Carr. 

THE NAVVY: _(Shouts)_

We are the boys. Of Wexford. 

PRIVATE COMPTON: Say! What price the sergeantmajor?

PRIVATE CARR: Bennett? He's 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, his tongue outlolling, panting)_

BLOOM: Wildgoose chase this. Disorderly houses. Lord knows where theyare gone. Drunks cover distance double quick. Nice mixup. Scene atWestland row. Then jump in first class with third ticket. Then too far. Train with engine behind. Might have taken me to Malahide or a sidingfor the night or collision. Second drink does it. Once is a dose. Whatam I following him for? Still, he's the best of that lot. If I hadn'theard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't havemet. Kismet. He'll lose that cash. Relieving office here. Good biz forcheapjacks, organs. What do ye lack? Soon got, soon gone. Might havelost my life too with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut onlyfor presence of mind. Can't always save you, though. If I had passedTruelock's window that day two minutes later would have been shot. Absence of body. Still if bullet only went through my coat get damagesfor 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 carriagepaneat Kingstown. What's that like? _(Gaudy dollwomen loll in the lighteddoorways, in window embrasures, smoking birdseye cigarettes. Theodour of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in slow round ovallingwreaths. )_

THE WREATHS: Sweet are the sweets. Sweets of sin. 

BLOOM: My spine's a bit limp. Go or turn? And this food? Eat it and getall pigsticky. Absurd I am. Waste of money. One and eightpence toomuch. _(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. _ Stinkslike a polecat. _Chacun son gout_. He might be mad. Dogdays. Uncertainin his movements. Good fellow! Fido! Good fellow! Garryowen! _(Thewolfdog sprawls on his back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, hislong black tongue lolling out. )_ Influence of his surroundings. Giveand have done with it. Provided nobody. _(Calling encouraging words heshambles back with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the setter intoa dark stalestunk corner. He unrolls one parcel and goes to dump thecrubeen softly but holds back and feels the trotter. )_ Sizeable forthreepence. 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. Themastiff 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 Bloom's shoulder. )_

FIRST WATCH: Caught in the act. Commit no nuisance. 

BLOOM: _(Stammers)_ I am doing good to others. 

_(A covey of gulls, storm petrels, rises hungrily from Liffey slime withBanbury cakes in their beaks. )_

THE GULLS: Kaw kave kankury kake. 

BLOOM: The friend of man. Trained by kindness. 

_(He points. Bob Doran, toppling from a high barstool, sways over themunching spaniel. )_

BOB DORAN: Towser. Give us the paw. Give the paw. 

_(The bulldog growls, his scruff standing, a gobbet of pig's knucklebetween his molars through which rabid scumspittle dribbles. Bob Doranfills silently into an area. )_

SECOND WATCH: Prevention of cruelty to animals. 

BLOOM: _(Enthusiastically)_ A noble work! I scolded that tramdriver onHarold's cross bridge for illusing the poor horse with his harness scab. Bad French I got for my pains. Of course it was frosty and the lasttram. All tales of circus life are highly demoralising. 

_(Signor Maffei, passionpale, in liontamer's costume with diamond studsin his shirtfront, steps forward, holding a circus paperhoop, acurling carriagewhip and a revolver with which he covers the gorgingboarhound. )_

SIGNOR MAFFEI: _(With a sinister smile)_ Ladies and gentlemen, myeducated greyhound. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with mypatent spiked saddle for carnivores. Lash under the belly with a knottedthong. Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion toheel, no matter how fractious, even _Leo ferox_ there, the Libyanmaneater. A redhot crowbar and some liniment rubbing on the burning partproduced Fritz of Amsterdam, the thinking hyena. _(He glares)_ I possessthe Indian sign. The glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers. _(With a bewitching smile)_ I now introduce Mademoiselle Ruby, the prideof the ring. 

FIRST WATCH: Come. Name and address. 

BLOOM: I have forgotten for the moment. Ah, yes! _(He takes off his highgrade hat, saluting)_ Dr Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. You have heardof von Blum Pasha. Umpteen millions. _Donnerwetter!_ Owns half Austria. Egypt. Cousin. 

FIRST WATCH: Proof. 

_(A card falls from inside the leather headband of Bloom's hat. )_

BLOOM: _(In red fez, cadi's dress coat with broad green sash, wearinga false badge of the Legion of Honour, picks up the card hastily andoffers it)_ Allow me. My club is the Junior Army and Navy. Solicitors:Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. 

FIRST WATCH: _(Reads)_ Henry Flower. No fixed abode. Unlawfully watchingand besetting. 

SECOND WATCH: An alibi. You are cautioned. 

BLOOM: _(Produces from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower)_ Thisis the flower in question. It was given me by a man I don't know hisname. _(Plausibly)_ You know that old joke, rose of Castile. Bloom. Thechange of name. Virag. _(He murmurs privately and confidentially)_ Weare engaged you see, sergeant. Lady in the case. Love entanglement. _(Heshoulders the second watch gently)_ Dash it all. It's a way we gallantshave in the navy. Uniform that does it. _(He turns gravely to the firstwatch)_ Still, of course, you do get your Waterloo sometimes. Drop insome evening and have a glass of old Burgundy. _(To the second watchgaily)_ I'll introduce you, inspector. She's game. Do it in the shake ofa lamb's tail. 

_(A dark mercurialised face appears, leading a veiled figure. )_

THE DARK MERCURY: The Castle is looking for him. He was drummed out ofthe army. 

MARTHA: _(Thickveiled, a crimson halter round her neck, a copy ofthe_ 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 heartand lifting his right forearm on the square, he gives the sign anddueguard of fellowcraft)_ No, no, worshipful master, light of love. Mistaken identity. The Lyons mail. Lesurques and Dubosc. You rememberthe Childs fratricide case. We medical men. By striking him dead witha hatchet. I am wrongfully accused. Better one guilty escape thanninetynine wrongfully condemned. 

MARTHA: _(Sobbing behind her veil)_ Breach of promise. My real nameis Peggy Griffin. He wrote to me that he was miserable. I'll tell mybrother, the Bective rugger fullback, on you, heartless flirt. 

BLOOM: _(Behind his hand)_ She's drunk. The woman is inebriated. _(Hemurmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim)_ Shitbroleeth. 

SECOND WATCH: _(Tears in his eyes, to Bloom)_ You ought to be thoroughlywell ashamed of yourself. 

BLOOM: Gentlemen of the jury, let me explain. A pure mare's nest. I ama man misunderstood. I am being made a scapegoat of. I am a respectablemarried man, without a stain on my character. I live in Eccles street. My wife, I am the daughter of a most distinguished commander, a gallantupstanding gentleman, what do you call him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. Got hismajority for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift. 

FIRST WATCH: Regiment. 

BLOOM: _(Turns to the gallery)_ The royal Dublins, boys, the salt of theearth, known the world over. I think I see some old comrades in armsup 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 old dad toowas a J. P. I'm as staunch a Britisher as you are, sir. I fought withthe colours for king and country in the absentminded war under generalGough in the park and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, wasmentioned in dispatches. I did all a white man could. _(With quietfeeling)_ Jim Bludso. Hold her nozzle again the bank. 

FIRST WATCH: Profession or trade. 

BLOOM: Well, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. In factwe are just bringing out a collection of prize stories of which I am theinventor, something that is an entirely new departure. I am connectedwith the British and Irish press. If you ring up. . . 

_(Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a quill between his teeth. Hisscarlet beak blazes within the aureole of his straw hat. He danglesa hank of Spanish onions in one hand and holds with the other hand atelephone receiver nozzle to his ear. )_

MYLES CRAWFORD: _(His cock's wattles wagging)_ Hello, seventyseveneightfour. Hello. _Freeman's Urinal_ and _Weekly Arsewipe_ here. Paralyse Europe. You which? Bluebags? Who writes? Is it Bloom?

_(Mr Philip Beaufoy, palefaced, stands in the witnessbox, in accuratemorning dress, outbreast pocket with peak of handkerchief showing, creased lavender trousers and patent boots. He carries a large portfoliolabelled_ Matcham's Masterstrokes. )

BEAUFOY: _(Drawls)_ No, you aren't. Not by a long shot if I know it. I don't see it that's all. No born gentleman, no-one with the mostrudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularlyloathsome conduct. One of those, my lord. A plagiarist. A soapy sneakmasquerading as a litterateur. It's perfectly obvious that with the mostinherent baseness he has cribbed some of my bestselling copy, reallygorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneathsuspicion. The Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with whichyour lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout thekingdom. 

BLOOM: _(Murmurs with hangdog meekness glum)_ That bit about thelaughing witch hand in hand I take exception to, if I may. . . 

BEAUFOY: _(His lip upcurled, smiles superciliously on the court)_ Youfunny ass, you! You're too beastly awfully weird for words! I don'tthink you need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard. My literary agent Mr J. B. Pinker is in attendance. I presume, mylord, we shall receive the usual witnesses' fees, shan't we? We areconsiderably out of pocket over this bally pressman johnny, this jackdawof Rheims, who has not even been to a university. 

BLOOM: _(Indistinctly)_ University of life. Bad art. 

BEAUFOY: _(Shouts)_ It's a damnably foul lie, showing the moralrottenness of the man! _(He extends his portfolio)_ We have here damningevidence, the _corpus delicti_, my lord, a specimen of my maturer workdisfigured 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, yourotter! _(To the court)_ Why, look at the man's private life! Leadinga quadruple existence! Street angel and house devil. Not fit to bementioned 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 servant girl, approaches. She has a bucketon the crook of her arm and a scouringbrush in her hand. )_

SECOND WATCH: Another! Are you of the unfortunate class?

MARY DRISCOLL: _(Indignantly)_ I'm not a bad one. I bear a respectablecharacter and was four months in my last place. I was in a situation, six pounds a year and my chances with Fridays out and I had to leaveowing to his carryings on. 

FIRST WATCH: What do you tax him with?

MARY DRISCOLL: He made a certain suggestion but I thought more of myselfas poor as I am. 

BLOOM: _(In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, heellessslippers, 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. There's a medium in all things. Play cricket. 

MARY DRISCOLL: _(Excitedly)_ As God is looking down on me this night ifever 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 safetypin. He held me and I was discoloured in four places as a result. And heinterfered 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 itquiet. 

_(General laughter. )_

GEORGE FOTTRELL: _(Clerk of the crown and peace, resonantly)_ Order incourt! The accused will now make a bogus statement. 

_(Bloom, pleading not guilty and holding a fullblown waterlily, beginsa long unintelligible speech. They would hear what counsel had to say inhis stirring address to the grand jury. He was down and out but, thoughbranded as a black sheep, if he might say so, he meant to reform, toretrieve the memory of the past in a purely sisterly way and return tonature as a purely domestic animal. A sevenmonths' child, he had beencarefully brought up and nurtured by an aged bedridden parent. Theremight have been lapses of an erring father but he wanted to turn overa new leaf and now, when at long last in sight of the whipping post, to lead a homely life in the evening of his days, permeated by theaffectionate surroundings of the heaving bosom of the family. Anacclimatised Britisher, he had seen that summer eve from the footplateof an engine cab of the Loop line railway company while the rainrefrained from falling glimpses, as it were, through the windows ofloveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes trulyrural of happiness of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at oneand ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers tothe Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their pensums ormodel young ladies playing on the pianoforte or anon all with fervourreciting the family rosary round the crackling Yulelog while in theboreens and green lanes the colleens with their swains strolled whattimes the strains of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound withfour acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a sacrifice, greatest bargainever. . . _

_(Renewed laughter. He mumbles incoherently. Reporters complain thatthey cannot hear. )_

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: _(Without looking up from their notebooks)_Loosen his boots. 

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: _(From the presstable, coughs and calls)_ Cough itup, 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, some spinach. Crucialmoment. He did not look in the bucket Nobody. Rather a mess. Notcompletely. _ 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 acrosshis nose, talks inaudibly. )_

J. J. O'MOLLOY: _(In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking witha voice of pained protest)_ This is no place for indecent levity atthe expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor. We are not in abeargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice. Myclient is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch asa stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. The trumped upmisdemeanour was due to a momentary aberration of heredity, brought onby hallucination, such familiarities as the alleged guilty occurrencebeing quite permitted in my client's native place, the land of thePharaoh. _Prima facie_, I put it to you that there was no attempt atcarnally knowing. Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained ofby Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not repeated. I woulddeal in especial with atavism. There have been cases of shipwreck andsomnambulism in my client's family. If the accused could speak he coulda tale unfold--one of the strangest that have ever been narrated betweenthe covers of a book. He himself, my lord, is a physical wreck fromcobbler's weak chest. His submission is that he is of Mongolianextraction and irresponsible for his actions. Not all there, in fact. 

BLOOM: _(Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in lascar's vest and trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and looks abouthim dazedly, passing a slow hand across his forehead. Then he hitcheshis belt sailor fashion and with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutesthe court, pointing one thumb heavenward. )_ Him makee velly muchee finenight. _(He begins to lilt simply)_

 Li li poo lil chile Blingee pigfoot evly night Payee two shilly. . . 

_(He is howled down. )_

J. J. O'MOLLOY: _(Hotly to the populace)_ This is a lonehand fight. ByHades, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in thisfashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. The Mosaic code hassuperseded the law of the jungle. I say it and I say it emphatically, without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice, accusedwas not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tamperedwith. The young person was treated by defendant as if she were his veryown daughter. _(Bloom takes J. J. O'Molloy's hand and raises it to hislips. )_ I shall call rebutting evidence to prove up to the hilt that thehidden hand is again at its old game. When in doubt persecute Bloom. Myclient, an innately bashful man, would be the last man in the world todo anything ungentlemanly which injured modesty could object to orcast 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. Hewants to go straight. I regard him as the whitest man I know. He is downon his luck at present owing to the mortgaging of his extensive propertyat Agendath Netaim in faraway Asia Minor, slides of which will now beshown. _(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 insilver haze is projected on the wall. Moses Dlugacz, ferreteyed albino, in blue dungarees, stands up in the gallery, holding in each hand anorange citron and a pork kidney. )_

DLUGACZ: _(Hoarsely)_ Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W. 13. 

_(J. J. O'Molloy steps on to a low plinth and holds the lapel of hiscoat with solemnity. His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, withsunken eyes, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. He applies his handkerchief to his mouth and scrutinises thegalloping tide of rosepink blood. )_

J. J. O'MOLLOY: _(Almost voicelessly)_ Excuse me. I am suffering from asevere chill, have recently come from a sickbed. A few wellchosen words. _(He assumes the avine head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence ofSeymour Bushe. )_ When the angel's book comes to be opened if aughtthat the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and ofsoultransfiguring deserves to live I say accord the prisoner at the barthe sacred benefit of the doubt. _(A paper with something written on itis 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 thehighest. . . Queens of Dublin society. _(Carelessly)_ I was just chattingthis afternoon at the viceregal lodge to my old pals, sir Robert andlady Ball, astronomer royal at the levee. Sir Bob, I said. . . 

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: _(In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlengthivory gloves, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a comb ofbrilliants and panache of osprey in her hair)_ Arrest him, constable. Hewrote me an anonymous letter in prentice backhand when my husband wasin the North Riding of Tipperary on the Munster circuit, signed JamesLovebirch. He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes asI sat in a box of the _Theatre Royal_ at a command performance of _LaCigale_. I deeply inflamed him, he said. He made improper overturesto me to misconduct myself at half past four p. M. On the followingThursday, Dunsink time. He offered to send me through the post a workof fiction by Monsieur Paul de Kock, entitled _The Girl with the ThreePairs of Stays_. 

MRS BELLINGHAM: _(In cap and seal coney mantle, wrapped up to thenose, steps out of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshellquizzing-glasses which she takes from inside her huge opossum muff)_Also to me. Yes, I believe it is the same objectionable person. Becausehe closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety dayduring the cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of thewastepipe and the ballstop in my bath cistern were frozen. Subsequentlyhe enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the heights, as he said, in my honour. I had it examined by a botanical expert and elicited theinformation that it was ablossom of the homegrown potato plant purloinedfrom 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 fulsomecompliments as a Venus in furs and alleged profound pity for myfrostbound coachman Palmer while in the same breath he expressed himselfas envious of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his fortunateproximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my liveryand the armorial bearings of the Bellingham escutcheon garnished sable, a buck's head couped or. He lauded almost extravagantly my netherextremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, andeulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, he could conjure up. He urged me (stating that he felt ithis mission in life to urge me) to defile the marriage bed, to commitadultery at the earliest possible opportunity. 

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: _(In amazon costume, hard hat, jackboots cockspurred, vermilion waistcoat, fawn musketeer gauntletswith braided drums, long train held up and hunting crop with which shestrikes her welt constantly)_ Also me. Because he saw me on the pologround of the Phoenix park at the match All Ireland versus the Rest ofIreland. My eyes, I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain SloggerDennehy of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob_Centaur. _ This plebeian Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney carand sent me in double envelopes an obscene photograph, such as are soldafter dark on Paris boulevards, insulting to any lady. I have it still. It represents a partially nude señorita, frail and lovely (his wife, ashe solemnly assured me, taken by him from nature), practising illicitintercourse with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. He urged meto do likewise, to misbehave, to sin with officers of the garrison. Heimplored me to soil his letter in an unspeakable manner, to chastisehim as he richly deserves, to bestride and ride him, to give him a mostvicious horsewhipping. 

MRS BELLINGHAM: Me too. 

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Me too. 

_(Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper lettersreceived from Bloom. )_

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: _(Stamps her jingling spurs in asudden paroxysm of fury)_ I will, by the God above me. I'll scourge thepigeonlivered cur as long as I can stand over him. I'll 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! I'll make it hot foryou. I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that. 

MRS BELLINGHAM: Tan his breech well, the upstart! Write the stars andstripes on it!

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Disgraceful! There's no excuse for him! A marriedman!

BLOOM: All these people. I meant only the spanking idea. A warm tinglingglow without effusion. Refined birching to stimulate the circulation. 

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: _(Laughs derisively)_ O, did you, myfine fellow? Well, by the living God, you'll get the surprise of yourlife now, believe me, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargainedfor. 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 withinan inch of his life. The cat-o'-nine-tails. Geld him. Vivisect him. 

BLOOM: _(Shuddering, shrinking, joins his hands: with hangdog mien)_ Ocold! O shivery! It was your ambrosial beauty. Forget, forgive. Kismet. Let me off this once. _(He offers the other cheek)_

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: _(Severely)_ Don't do so on any account, MrsTalboys! He should be soundly trounced!

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: _(Unbuttoning her gauntletviolently)_ I'll do no such thing. Pigdog and always was ever sincehe was pupped! To dare address me! I'll flog him black and blue inthe public streets. I'll dig my spurs in him up to the rowel. He is awellknown cuckold. _(She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the air)_Take down his trousers without loss of time. Come here, sir! Quick!Ready?

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 Patrick's Day supplement. Containing the new addresses of allthe cuckolds in Dublin. 

_(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold cope elevates andexposes a marble timepiece. Before him Father Conroy and the reverendJohn 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 rapidly, revealing rapidly in the juryboxthe faces of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, SimonDedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the featureless face of aNameless One. )_

THE NAMELESS ONE: Bareback riding. Weight for age. Gob, he organisedher. 

THE JURORS: _(All their heads turned to his voice)_ Really?

THE NAMELESS ONE: _(Snarls)_ Arse over tip. Hundred shillings to five. 

THE JURORS: _(All their heads lowered in assent)_ Most of us thought asmuch. 

FIRST WATCH: He is a marked man. Another girl's plait cut. Wanted: Jackthe 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 awellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a publicnuisance to the citizens of Dublin and whereas at this commission ofassizes the most honourable. . . 

_(His Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, in judicialgarb of grey stone rises from the bench, stonebearded. He bears in hisarms an umbrella sceptre. From his forehead arise starkly the Mosaicramshorns. )_

THE RECORDER: I will put an end to this white slave traffic and ridDublin of this odious pest. Scandalous! _(He dons the black cap)_ Lethim be taken, Mr Subsheriff, from the dock where he now stands anddetained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasureand there be hanged by the neck until he is dead and therein fail notat your peril or may the Lord have mercy on your soul. Remove him. _(Ablack skullcap descends upon his head. )_

_(The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, smoking a pungent HenryClay. )_

LONG JOHN FANNING: _(Scowls and calls with rich rolling utterance)_Who'll hang Judas Iscariot?

_(H. Rumbold, master barber, in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner'sapron, a rope coiled over his shoulder, mounts the block. A lifepreserver and a nailstudded bludgeon are stuck in his belt. He rubsgrimly 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 ornothing. 

_(The bells of George's 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)_ Pelvicbasin. Her artless blush unmanned me. _(Overcome with emotion)_ I leftthe precincts. (He turns to a figure in the crowd, appealing) Hynes, mayI speak to you? You know me. That three shillings you can keep. If youwant 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. Pig's feet. I was at a funeral. 

FIRST WATCH: _(Draws his truncheon)_ Liar!

_(The beagle lifts his snout, showing the grey scorbutic face of PaddyDignam. He has gnawed all. He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath. He grows to human size and shape. His dachshund coat becomes a brownmortuary habit. His green eye flashes bloodshot. Half of one ear, allthe 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 diseasefrom natural causes. 

_(He lifts his mutilated ashen face moonwards and bays lugubriously. )_

BLOOM: _(In triumph)_ You hear?

PADDY DIGNAM: Bloom, I am Paddy Dignam's spirit. List, list, O list!

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 metempsychosis. 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 Bachelor's Walk. Now I am defunct, the wall of the heart hypertrophied. Hard lines. Thepoor wife was awfully cut up. How is she bearing it? Keep her off thatbottle of sherry. _(He looks round him)_ A lamp. I must satisfy ananimal need. That buttermilk didn't agree with me. 

_(The portly figure of John O'Connell, caretaker, stands forth, holdinga bunch of keys tied with crape. Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies. )_

FATHER COFFEY: _(Yawns, then chants with a hoarse croak)_ Namine. Jacobs. Vobiscuits. Amen. 

JOHN O'CONNELL: _(Foghorns stormily through his megaphone)_ Dignam, Patrick T, deceased. 

PADDY DIGNAM: _(With pricked up ears, winces)_ Overtones. _(He wrigglesforward and places an ear to the ground)_ My master's voice!

JOHN O'CONNELL: Burial docket letter number U. P. Eightyfive thousand. Field seventeen. House of Keys. Plot, one hundred and one. 

_(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his tailstiffpointcd, his ears cocked. )_

PADDY DIGNAM: Pray for the repose of his soul. 

_(He worms down through a coalhole, his brown habit trailing its tetherover rattling pebbles. After him toddles an obese grandfather rat onfungus turtle paws under a grey carapace. Dignam's voice, muffled, isheard baying under ground:_ Dignam's dead and gone below. _Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in cap and breeches, jumps from his twocolumnedmachine. )_

TOM ROCHFORD: _(A hand to his breastbone, bows)_ Reuben J. A florin Ifind 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 thecoalhole. Two discs on the columns wobble, eyes of nought. All recedes. Bloom plodges forward again through the sump. Kisses chirp amidthe rifts of fog a piano sounds. He stands before 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 forLeo! _(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 man's touch. Sad music. Church music. Perhaps here. 

_(Zoe Higgins, a young whore in a sapphire slip, closed with threebronze buckles, a slim black velvet fillet round her throat, nods, tripsdown the steps and accosts him. )_

ZOE: Are you looking for someone? He's inside with his friend. 

BLOOM: Is this Mrs Mack's?

ZOE: No, eightyone. Mrs Cohen's. You might go farther and fare worse. Mother Slipperslapper. _(Familiarly)_ She's on the job herself tonightwith the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays forher son in Oxford. Working overtime but her luck's turned today. _(Suspiciously)_ You're not his father, are you?

BLOOM: Not I!

ZOE: You both in black. Has little mousey any tickles tonight?

_(His skin, alert, feels her fingertips approach. A hand glides over hisleft thigh. )_

ZOE: How's 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)_ You've a hard chancre. 

BLOOM: Not likely. 

ZOE: I feel it. 

_(Her hand slides into his left trouser pocket and brings out a hardblack shrivelled potato. She regards it and Bloom with dumb moistlips. )_

BLOOM: A talisman. Heirloom. 

ZOE: For Zoe? For keeps? For being so nice, eh?

_(She puts the potato greedily into a pocket then links his arm, cuddling him with supple warmth. He smiles uneasily. Slowly, note bynote, oriental music is played. He gazes in the tawny crystal of hereyes, ringed with kohol. His smile softens. )_

ZOE: You'll know me the next time. 

BLOOM: _(Forlornly)_ I never loved a dear gazelle but it was sure to. . . 

_(Gazelles are leaping, feeding on the mountains. Near are lakes. Roundtheir shores file shadows black of cedargroves. Aroma rises, a stronghairgrowth of resin. It burns, the orient, a sky of sapphire, cleft bythe bronze flight of eagles. Under it lies the womancity nude, white, still, cool, in luxury. A fountain murmurs among damask roses. Mammothroses murmur of scarlet winegrapes. A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring. )_

ZOE: _(Murmuring singsong with the music, her odalisk lips lusciouslysmeared 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 onhim a cloying breath of stale garlic. The roses draw apart, disclose asepulchre of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones. )_

BLOOM: _(Draws back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a flatawkward hand)_ Are you a Dublin girl?

ZOE: _(Catches a stray hair deftly and twists it to her coil)_ No bloodyfear. I'm English. Have you a swaggerroot?

BLOOM: _(As before)_ Rarely smoke, dear. Cigar now and then. Childishdevice. _(Lewdly)_ The mouth can be better engaged than with a cylinderof rank weed. 

ZOE: Go on. Make a stump speech out of it. 

BLOOM: _(In workman's corduroy overalls, black gansy with red floatingtie and apache cap)_ Mankind is incorrigible. Sir Walter Ralegh broughtfrom the new world that potato and that weed, the one a killer ofpestilence by absorption, the other a poisoner of the ear, eye, heart, memory, will understanding, all. That is to say he brought the poisona hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought thefood. 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 alderman's gown and chain)_ Electors of Arran Quay, InnsQuay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline, I say, from the cattlemarket to the river. That's the music of the future. That's my programme. _Cui bono_? But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens intheir phantom ship of finance. . . 

AN ELECTOR: Three times three for our future chief magistrate!

_(The aurora borealis of the torchlight procession leaps. )_

THE TORCHBEARERS: Hooray!

_(Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the cityshake hands with Bloom and congratulate him. Timothy Harrington, latethrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold chain andwhite silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens. They nod vigorously in agreement. )_

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: _(In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoralchain and large white silk scarf)_ That alderman sir Leo Bloom's speechbe printed at the expense of the ratepayers. That the house in whichhe was born be ornamented with a commemorative tablet and that thethoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforthdesignated Boulevard Bloom. 

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: Carried unanimously. 

BLOOM: _(Impassionedly)_ These flying Dutchmen or lying Dutchmen asthey recline in their upholstered poop, casting dice, what reck they?Machines is their cry, their chimera, their panacea. Laboursavingapparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutualmurder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a horde of capitalistic lustsupon our prostituted labour. The poor man starves while they aregrassing their royal mountain stags or shooting peasants and phartridgesin their purblind pomp of pelf and power. But their reign is rover forrever and ever and ev. . . 

_(Prolonged applause. Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches springup. A streamer bearing the legends_ Cead Mile Failte _and_ Mah TtobMelek Israel _Spans the street. All the windows are thronged withsightseers, chiefly ladies. Along the route the regiments of theroyal Dublin Fusiliers, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the CameronHighlanders and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep backthe crowd. Boys from High school are perched on the lampposts, telegraph poles, windowsills, cornices, gutters, chimneypots, railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the cloud appears. Afife and drum band is heard in the distance playing the Kol Nidre. Thebeaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners andwaving oriental palms. The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the civic flag. The van of the processionappears headed by John Howard Parnell, city marshal, in a chessboardtabard, the Athlone Poursuivant and Ulster King of Arms. They arefollowed by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor ofDublin, his lordship the lord mayor of Cork, their worships themayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irishrepresentative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the clothof estate, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the chapter of thesaints of finance in their plutocratic order of precedence, the bishopof Down and Connor, His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop ofArmagh, primate of all Ireland, His Grace, the most reverend Dr WilliamAlexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, the chiefrabbi, the presbyterian moderator, the heads of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the honorary secretary of the societyof friends. After them march the guilds and trades and trainbandswith flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspapercanvassers, 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 repositoryhands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. Afterthem march gentlemen of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the master of horse, the lord great chamberlain, the earlmarshal, the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen'siron crown, the chalice and bible. Four buglers on foot blow a sennet. Beefeaters reply, winding clarions of welcome. Under an arch of triumphBloom appears, bareheaded, in a crimson velvet mantle trimmed withermine, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the dove, the curtana. He is seated on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimsontail, richly caparisoned, with golden headstall. Wild excitement. Theladies from their balconies throw down rosepetals. The air is perfumedwith essences. The men cheer. Bloom's boys run amid the bystanders withbranches of hawthorn and wrenbushes. )_

BLOOM'S BOYS:

 The wren, the wren, The king of all birds, Saint Stephen's his day Was caught in the furze. 

A BLACKSMITH: _(Murmurs)_ For the honour of God! And is that Bloom? Hescarcely looks thirtyone. 

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: That's the famous Bloom now, the world's greatestreformer. Hats off!

_(All uncover their heads. Women whisper eagerly. )_

A MILLIONAIRESS: _(Richly)_ Isn't he simply wonderful?

A NOBLEWOMAN: _(Nobly)_ All that man has seen!

A FEMINIST: _(Masculinely)_ And done!

A BELLHANGER: A classic face! He has the forehead of a thinker. 

_(Bloom's weather. A sunburst appears in the northwest. )_

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: I here present your undoubtedemperor-president and king-chairman, the most serene and potent and verypuissant 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 andConnor, with dignity)_ Thanks, somewhat eminent sir. 

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: _(In purple stock and shovel hat)_Will you to your power cause law and mercy to be executed in all yourjudgments in Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?

BLOOM: _(Placing his right hand on his testicles, swears)_ So may theCreator deal with me. All this I promise to do. 

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: _(Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom'shead) 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. Heascends and stands on the stone of destiny. The representative peers puton at the same time their twentyeight crowns. Joybells ring in Christchurch, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide. Mirus bazaarfireworks go up from all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnicdesigns. The peers do homage, one by one, approaching andgenuflecting. )_

THE PEERS: I do become your liege man of life and limb to earthlyworship. 

_(Bloom holds up his right hand on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noordiamond. His palfrey neighs. Immediate silence. Wirelessintercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for receptionof message. )_

BLOOM: My subjects! We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felixhereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we have this day repudiatedour former spouse and have bestowed our royal hand upon the princessSelene, the splendour of night. 

_(The former morganatic spouse of Bloom is hastily removed in the BlackMaria. The princess Selene, in moonblue robes, a silver crescent on herhead, descends from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants. An outburst ofcheering. )_

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: _(Raises the royal standard)_ Illustrious Bloom!Successor to my famous brother!

BLOOM: _(Embraces John Howard Parnell)_ We thank you from our heart, John, for this right royal welcome to green Erin, the promised land ofour common ancestors. 

_(The freedom of the city is presented to him embodied in a charter. Thekeys of Dublin, crossed on a crimson cushion, are given to him. He showsall that he is wearing green socks. )_

TOM KERNAN: You deserve it, your honour. 

BLOOM: On this day twenty years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy atLadysmith. Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines withtelling effect. Half a league onward! They charge! All is lost now! Dowe yield? No! We drive them headlong! Lo! We charge! Deploying to theleft our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, utteringtheir warcry _Bonafide Sabaoth_, sabred the Saracen gunners to a man. 

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: Hear! Hear!

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: There's the man that got away James Stephens. 

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: Bravo!

AN OLD RESIDENT: You're a credit to your country, sir, that's what youare. 

AN APPLEWOMAN: He's a man like Ireland wants. 

BLOOM: My beloved subjects, a new era is about to dawn. I, Bloom, tellyou verily it is even now at hand. Yea, on the word of a Bloom, ye shallere long enter into the golden city which is to be, the new Bloomusalemin 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 edifice with crystal roof, built in the shape of ahuge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms. In the course of itsextension several buildings and monuments are demolished. Governmentoffices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. Numerous housesare razed to the ground. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels andboxes, all marked in red with the letters: L. B. Several paupersfill from a ladder. A part of the walls of Dublin, crowded with loyalsightseers, collapses. )_

THE SIGHTSEERS: _(Dying) Morituri te salutant. (They die)_

_(A man in a brown macintosh springs up through a trapdoor. He points anelongated finger at Bloom. )_

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Don't you believe a word he says. That man isLeopold M'Intosh, the notorious fireraiser. His real name is Higgins. 

BLOOM: Shoot him! Dog of a christian! So much for M'Intosh!

_(A cannonshot. The man in the macintosh disappears. Bloom with hissceptre strikes down poppies. The instantaneous deaths of manypowerful enemies, graziers, members of parliament, members of standingcommittees, are reported. Bloom's bodyguard distribute Maundy money, commemoration medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensiveHenry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives insealed envelopes tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, _billets doux _in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, porringersof toad in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days'indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, season tickets available for all tramlines, coupons of the royal andprivileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints ofthe World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz (politic), Care of theBaby (infantilic), 50 Meals for 7/6 (culinic), Was Jesus a Sun Myth?(historic), Expel that Pain (medic), Infant's Compendium of theUniverse (cosmic), Let's All Chortle (hilaric), Canvasser's Vade Mecum(journalic), Loveletters of Mother Assistant (erotic), Who's Who inSpace (astric), Songs that Reached Our Heart (melodic), Pennywise's Wayto Wealth (parsimonic). A general rush and scramble. Women press forwardto touch the hem of Bloom's robe. The Lady Gwendolen Dubedat burststhrough the throng, leaps on his horse and kisses him on both cheeksamid 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 the shoulders of an old couple)_ Dear oldfriends! _(He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls)_Peep! Bopeep! _(He wheels twins in a perambulator)_ Ticktacktwowouldyousetashoe? _(He performs juggler's tricks, draws red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet silk handkerchiefs from hismouth)_ Roygbiv. 32 feet per second. _(He consoles a widow)_ Absencemakes the heart grow younger. _(He dances the Highland fling withgrotesque antics)_ Leg it, ye devils! _(He kisses the bedsores of apalsied veteran_) Honourable wounds! _(He trips up a fit policeman)_U. P: up. U. P: up. _(He whispers in the ear of a blushing waitress andlaughs kindly)_ Ah, naughty, naughty! _(He eats a raw turnip offeredhim by Maurice Butterly, farmer)_ Fine! Splendid! _(He refuses toaccept three shillings offered him by Joseph Hynes, journalist)_ My dearfellow, not at all! (He gives his coat to a beggar) Please accept. _(Hetakes 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 emeraldmuffler)_ May the good God bless him!

_(The rams' horns sound for silence. The standard of Zion is hoisted. )_

BLOOM: _(Uncloaks impressively, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper andreads solemnly)_ Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher YomKippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth AskenazimMeshuggah Talith. 

_(An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry, assistant townclerk. )_

JIMMY HENRY: The Court of Conscience is now open. His Most CatholicMajesty will now administer open air justice. Free medical and legaladvice, solution of doubles and other problems. All cordially invited. Given at this our loyal city of Dublin in the year I of the ParadisiacalEra. 

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 arebound over in your own recognisances for six months in the sum of fivepounds. 

J. J. O'MOLLOY: A Daniel did I say? Nay! A Peter O'Brien!

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. _

CHRIS CALLINAN: What is the parallax of the subsolar ecliptic ofAldebaran?

BLOOM: Pleased to hear from you, Chris. K. II. 

JOE HYNES: Why aren't you in uniform?

BLOOM: When my progenitor of sainted memory wore the uniform of theAustrian 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 O'ROURKE: An eightday licence for my new premises. You rememberme, sir Leo, when you were in number seven. I'm sending around a dozenof stout for the missus. 

BLOOM: _(Coldly)_ You have the advantage of me. Lady Bloom accepts nopresents. 

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 tencommandments. New worlds for old. 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 andnight. Electric dishscrubbers. Tuberculosis, lunacy, war and mendicancymust now cease. General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all, esperanto the universal language with universalbrotherhood. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. Free money, free rent, free love and a free lay church in a free laystate. 

O'MADDEN 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 nakedgoddesses, Venus Callipyge, Venus Pandemos, Venus Metempsychosis, andplaster figures, also naked, representing the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, PluralVoting, Gastronomy, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the People. )_

FATHER FARLEY: He is an episcopalian, an agnostic, an anythingarianseeking to overthrow our holy faith. 

MRS RIORDAN: _(Tears up her will)_ I'm disappointed in you! You bad man!

MOTHER GROGAN: _(Removes her boot to throw it at Bloom)_ You beast! Youabominable 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! There's nobody like him after all. 

PADDY LEONARD: Stage Irishman!

BLOOM: What railway opera is like a tramline in Gibraltar? The Rows ofCasteele. _(Laughter. )_

LENEHAN: Plagiarist! Down with Bloom!

THE VEILED SIBYL: _(Enthusiastically)_ I'm a Bloomite and I glory in it. I believe in him in spite of all. I'd give my life for him, the funniestman on earth. 

BLOOM: _(Winks at the bystanders)_ I bet she's a bonny lassie. 

THEODORE PUREFOY: _(In fishingcap and oilskin jacket)_ He employs amechanical 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 bystabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, openingtheir veins, refusing food, casting themselves under steamrollers, fromthe top of Nelson's Pillar, into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads in gasovens, hangingthemselves in stylish garters, leaping from windows of differentstoreys. )_

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: _(Violently)_ Fellowchristians and antiBloomites, theman called Bloom is from the roots of hell, a disgrace to christianmen. A fiendish libertine from his earliest years this stinking goatof Mendes gave precocious signs of infantile debauchery, recalling thecities 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 hisnostrils. The stake faggots and the caldron of boiling oil are for him. Caliban!

THE MOB: Lynch him! Roast him! He's as bad as Parnell was. Mr Fox!

_(Mother Grogan throws her boot at Bloom. Several shopkeepers from upperand lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, stale bread, sheep'stails, 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 brother Henry. He is my double. He lives in number 2 Dolphin's Barn. Slander, theviper, has wrongfully accused me. Fellowcountrymen, _sgenl inn ban batacoisde gan capall. _ I call on my old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sexspecialist, to give medical testimony on my behalf. 

DR MULLIGAN: _(In motor jerkin, green motorgoggles on his brow)_ DrBloom is bisexually abnormal. He has recently escaped from Dr Eustace'sprivate asylum for demented gentlemen. Born out of bedlock hereditaryepilepsy is present, the consequence of unbridled lust. Traces ofelephantiasis have been discovered among his ascendants. There aremarked symptoms of chronic exhibitionism. Ambidexterity is alsolatent. He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic inconsequence, a reformed rake, and has metal teeth. In consequence of afamily complex he has temporarily lost his memory and I believe himto be more sinned against than sinning. I have made a pervaginalexamination 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 cominggenerations I suggest that the parts affected should be preserved inspirits of wine in the national teratological museum. 

DR CROTTHERS: I have examined the patient's 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 finishedexample 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 quaintfellow on the whole, coy though not feebleminded in the medical sense. He has written a really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to the courtmissionary of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears upeverything. He is practically a total abstainer and I can affirm thathe sleeps on a straw litter and eats the most Spartan food, cold driedgrocer's peas. He wears a hairshirt of pure Irish manufacture winter andsummer and scourges himself every Saturday. He was, I understand, at onetime a firstclass misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory. Another reportstates that he was a very posthumous child. I appeal for clemency in thename of the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called uponto speak. He is about to have a baby. 

_(General commotion and compassion. Women faint. A wealthy Americanmakes a street collection for Bloom. Gold and silver coins, blankcheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I. O. U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and braceletsare rapidly collected. )_

BLOOM: O, I so want to be a mother. 

MRS THORNTON: _(In nursetender's gown)_ Embrace me tight, dear. You'llbe soon over it. Tight, dear. 

_(Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and whitechildren. They appear on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensiveplants. All the octuplets are handsome, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modernlanguages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences. Eachhas his name printed in legible letters on his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros. They are immediately appointed to positions ofhigh public trust in several different countries as managing directorsof banks, traffic managers of railways, chairmen of limited liabilitycompanies, 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 his left eye with his left ear, passesthrough several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the top ledgeby his eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters (shells included), healsseveral sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face so as to resemblemany historical personages, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses of Egypt, Moses Maimonides, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Ripvan Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each footsimultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger. )_

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: _(In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses asbreastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustachesand brown paper mitre) Leopoldi autem generatio. _ Moses begat Noahand Noah begat Eunuch and Eunuch begat O'Halloran and O'Halloran begatGuggenheim and Guggenheim begat Agendath and Agendath begat Netaim andNetaim begat Le Hirsch and Le Hirsch begat Jesurum and Jesurum begatMacKay and MacKay begat Ostrolopsky and Ostrolopsky begat Smerdozand Smerdoz begat Weiss and Weiss begat Schwarz and Schwarz begatAdrianopoli and Adrianopoli begat Aranjuez and Aranjuez begat LewyLawson and Lewy Lawson begat Ichabudonosor and Ichabudonosor begatO'Donnell Magnus and O'Donnell Magnus begat Christbaum and Christbaumbegat ben Maimun and ben Maimun begat Dusty Rhodes and Dusty Rhodesbegat Benamor and Benamor begat Jones-Smith and Jones-Smith begatSavorgnanovich and Savorgnanovich begat Jasperstone and Jasperstonebegat Vingtetunieme and Vingtetunieme begat Szombathely and Szombathelybegat Virag and Virag begat Bloom _et vocabitur nomen eius Emmanuel. _

A DEADHAND: _(Writes on the wall)_ Bloom is a cod. 

CRAB: _(In bushranger's kit)_ What did you do in the cattlecreep behindKilbarrack?

A FEMALE INFANT: _(Shakes a rattle)_ And under Ballybough bridge?

A HOLLYBUSH: And in the devil's glen?

BLOOM: _(Blushes furiously all over from frons to nates, three tearsfilling from his left eye)_ Spare my past. 

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: _(In bodycoats, kneebreeches, with Donnybrookfair shillelaghs)_ Sjambok him!

_(Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in the pillory with crossed arms, his feet protruding. He whistles_ Don Giovanni, a cenar teco. _Artaneorphans, joining hands, caper round him. Girls of the Prison GateMission, 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. 

HORNBLOWER: _(In ephod and huntingcap, announces)_ And he shall carrythe 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 from Mizraim, the land of Ham. 

_(All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom. Many bonafidetravellers and ownerless dogs come near him and defile him. Mastianskyand Citron approach in gaberdines, wearing long earlocks. They wag theirbeards at Bloom. )_

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: Belial! Laemlein of Istria, the false Messiah!Abulafia! Recant!

_(George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears, a tailor's goose under hisarm, 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 hisshoulders the drowned corpse of his son, approaches the pillory. )_

REUBEN J: _(Whispers hoarsely)_ The squeak is out. A split is gone forthe flatties. Nip the first rattler. 

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Pflaap!

BROTHER BUZZ: _(Invests Bloom in a yellow habit with embroidery ofpainted flames and high pointed hat. He places a bag of gunpowder roundhis neck and hands him over to the civil power, saying)_ Forgive him histrespasses. 

_(Lieutenant Myers of the Dublin Fire Brigade by general request setsfire to Bloom. Lamentations. )_

THE CITIZEN: Thank heaven!

BLOOM: _(In a seamless garment marked I. H. S. Stands upright amidphoenix flames)_ Weep not for me, O daughters of Erin. 

_(He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning. The daughters ofErin, in black garments, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candlesin their 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 Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us. 

_(A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, singsthe chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the lord god omnipotentreigneth, accompanied on the organ by Joseph Glynn. Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised. )_

ZOE: Talk away till you're black in the face. 

BLOOM: _(In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in the band, dusty brogues, anemigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his hand, leading a black bogoakpig by a sugaun, with a smile in his eye)_ Let me be going now, woman ofthe house, for by all the goats in Connemara I'm after having thefather 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 notto be. Life's dream is o'er. End it peacefully. They can live on. _(Hegazes far away mournfully)_ I am ruined. A few pastilles of aconite. Theblinds drawn. A letter. Then lie back to rest. _(He breathes softly)_ Nomore. I have lived. Fare. Farewell. 

ZOE: _(Stiffly, her finger in her neckfillet)_ Honest? Till the nexttime. _(She sneers)_ Suppose you got up the wrong side of the bed orcame too quick with your best girl. O, I can read your thoughts!

BLOOM: _(Bitterly)_ Man and woman, love, what is it? A cork and bottle. I'm sick of it. Let everything rip. 

ZOE: _(In sudden sulks)_ I hate a rotter that's insincere. Give ableeding whore a chance. 

BLOOM: _(Repentantly)_ I am very disagreeable. You are a necessary evil. Where are you from? London?

ZOE: _(Glibly)_ Hog's Norton where the pigs plays the organs. I'mYorkshire born. _(She holds his hand which is feeling for her nipple)_I say, Tommy Tittlemouse. Stop that and begin worse. Have you cash for ashort time? Ten shillings?

BLOOM: _(Smiles, nods slowly)_ More, houri, more. 

ZOE: And more's mother? _(She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws)_Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola? Come and I'llpeel off. 

BLOOM: _(Feeling his occiput dubiously with the unparalleledembarrassment of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her peeledpears)_ Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she knew. The greeneyedmonster. _(Earnestly)_ You know how difficult it is. I needn't tell you. 

ZOE: _(Flattered)_ What the eye can't see the heart can't grieve for. _(She pats him)_ Come. 

BLOOM: Laughing witch! The hand that rocks the cradle. 

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 achubby finger, his moist tongue lolling and lisping)_ One two tlee: tleetlwo tlone. 

THE BUCKLES: Love me. Love me not. Love me. 

ZOE: Silent means consent. _(With little parted talons she captures hishand, 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 towardsthe steps, drawing him by the odour of her armpits, the vice of herpainted eyes, the rustle of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks thelion reek of all the male brutes that have possessed her. )_

THE MALE BRUTES: _(Exhaling sulphur of rut and dung and ramping in theirloosebox, faintly roaring, their drugged heads swaying to and fro)_Good!

_(Zoe and Bloom reach the doorway where two sister whores are seated. They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile tohis hasty bow. He trips awkwardly. )_

ZOE: _(Her lucky hand instantly saving him)_ Hoopsa! Don't fallupstairs. 

BLOOM: The just man falls seven times. _(He stands aside at thethreshold)_ After you is good manners. 

ZOE: Ladies first, gentlemen after. 

_(She crosses the threshold. He hesitates. She turns and, holding outher hands, draws him over. He hops. On the antlered rack of the hallhang a man 's hat and waterproof. Bloom uncovers himself but, seeingthem, frowns, then smiles, preoccupied. A door on the return landing isflung open. A man in purple shirt and grey trousers, brownsocked, passeswith an ape's gait, his bald head and goatee beard upheld, hugging afull waterjugjar, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels. Avertinghis face quickly Bloom bends to examine on the halltable the spanieleyes of a running fox: then, his lifted head sniffing, follows Zoeinto the musicroom. A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of thechandelier. Round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping. Thefloor is covered with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabarrhomboids. Footmarks are stamped over it in all senses, heel to heel, heel to hollow, toe to toe, feet locked, a morris of shuffling feetwithout body phantoms, all in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy. The wallsare tapestried with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades. In the grateis spread a screen of peacock feathers. Lynch squats crosslegged onthe hearthrug of matted hair, his cap back to the front. With a wand hebeats time slowly. Kitty Ricketts, a bony pallid whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a coral wristlet, a chain purse inher hand, sits perched on the edge of the table swinging her leg andglancing at herself in the gilt mirror over the mantelpiece. A tagof her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket. Lynch indicatesmockingly the couple at the piano. )_

KITTY: _(Coughs behind her hand)_ She's a bit imbecillic. _(She signswith a waggling forefinger)_ Blemblem. _(Lynch lifts up her skirt andwhite petticoat with his wand she settles them down quickly. )_ Respectyourself. _(She hiccups, then bends quickly her sailor hat under whichher hair glows, red with henna)_ O, excuse!

ZOE: More limelight, Charley. _(She goes to the chandelier and turns thegas 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 Lynch's hand flashes: a brass poker. Stephen stands atthe pianola on which sprawl his hat and ashplant. With two fingers herepeats once more the series of empty fifths. Florry Talbot, a blondfeeble goosefat whore in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the sofacorner, her limp forearm pendent over thebolster, listening. A heavy stye droops over her sleepy eyelid. )_

KITTY: _(Hiccups again with a kick of her horsed foot)_ O, excuse!

ZOE: _(Promptly)_ Your boy's thinking of you. Tie a knot on your shift. 

_(Kitty Ricketts bends her head. Her boa uncoils, slides, glides overher shoulder, back, arm, chair to the ground. Lynch lifts the curledcaterpillar on his wand. She snakes her neck, nestling. Stephen glancesbehind at the squatted figure with its cap back to the front. )_

STEPHEN: As a matter of fact it is of no importance whether BenedettoMarcello found it or made it. The rite is the poet's rest. It may be anold hymn to Demeter or also illustrate _Coela enarrant gloriam Domini. _It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian andmixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David'sthat is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tipfrom the stable to his chief bassoonist about the alrightness of hisalmightiness. _Mais nom de nom, _ that is another pair of trousers. _Jetez la gourme. Faut que jeunesse se passe. (He stops, points atLynch's cap, smiles, laughs)_ Which side is your knowledge bump?

THE CAP: _(With saturnine spleen)_ Bah! It is because it is. Woman'sreason. Jewgreek is greekjew. Extremes meet. Death is the highest formof life. Bah!

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: Here's another for you. _(He frowns)_ The reason is becausethe fundamental and the dominant are separated by the greatest possibleinterval which. . . 

THE CAP: Which? Finish. You can't. 

STEPHEN: _(With an effort)_ Interval which. Is the greatest possibleellipse. Consistent 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 totraverse not itself, God, the sun, Shakespeare, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Wait amoment. Wait a second. Damn that fellow's noise in the street. Selfwhich it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become. _Ecco!_

LYNCH: _(With a mocking whinny of laughter grins at Bloom and ZoeHiggins)_ What a learned speech, eh?

ZOE: _(Briskly)_ God help your head, he knows more than you haveforgotten. 

_(With obese stupidity Florry Talbot regards Stephen. )_

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, myfoot's tickling. 

_(Ragged barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, yelling. )_

THE NEWSBOYS: Stop press edition. Result of the rockinghorse races. Seaserpent 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 hisspine, stumps forward. Across his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet fromwhich protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills. Aloft over hisshoulder he bears a long boatpole from the hook of which the soddenhuddled mass of his only son, saved from Liffey waters, hangs fromthe slack of its breeches. A hobgoblin in the image of Punch Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding foreheadand Ally Sloper nose, tumbles in somersaults through the gatheringdarkness. )_

ALL: What?

THE HOBGOBLIN: _(His jaws chattering, capers to and fro, goggling hiseyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, thenall at once thrusts his lipless face through the fork of his thighs) Ilvient! C'est moi! L'homme qui rit! L'homme primigene! (He whirls roundand round with dervish howls) Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux! (Hecrouches juggling. Tiny roulette planets fly from his hands. ) Les jeuxsont faits! (The planets rush together, uttering crepitant cracks) Rienva plus! (The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and away. Hesprings off into vacuum. )_

FLORRY: _(Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly)_ The end ofthe world!

_(A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her. Nebulous obscurityoccupies space. Through the drifting fog without the gramophone blaresover 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 Endof the World, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartanfilibegs, whirls through the murk, head over heels, in the form of theThree Legs of Man. )_

THE END OF THE WORLD: _(with a Scotch accent)_ Wha'll dance the keelrow, the keel row, the keel row?

_(Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah's voice, harshas a corncrake's, jars on high. Perspiring in a loose lawn surplice withfunnel sleeves he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which thebanner of old glory is draped. He thumps the parapet. )_

ELIJAH: No yapping, if you please, in this booth. Jake Crane, CreoleSue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do your coughing with your mouthsshut. Say, I am operating all this trunk line. Boys, do it now. God'stime is 12. 25. Tell mother you'll be there. Rush your order and you playa slick ace. Join on right here. Book through to eternity junction, thenonstop run. Just one word more. Are you a god or a doggone clod? If thesecond advent came to Coney Island are we ready? Florry Christ, StephenChrist, Zoe Christ, Bloom Christ, Kitty Christ, Lynch Christ, it's up toyou 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 somethingwithin, 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 oncenobble that, congregation, and a buck joyride to heaven becomes a backnumber. You got me? It's a lifebrightener, sure. The hottest stuff everwas. It's the whole pie with jam in. It's just the cutest snappiest lineout. It is immense, supersumptuous. It restores. It vibrates. I knowand I am some vibrator. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A. J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? O. K. Seventyseven west sixtyninth street. Got me? That's it. You call me upby sunphone any old time. Bumboosers, save your stamps. _(He shouts)_Now then our glory song. All join heartily in the singing. Encore! _(Hesings)_ Jeru. . . 

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 topof his voice, his arms uplifted)_ Big Brother up there, Mr President, you hear what I done just been saying to you. Certainly, I sort ofbelieve strong in you, Mr President. I certainly am thinking now MissHiggins and Miss Ricketts got religion way inside them. Certainly seemsto me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I done seed you. Mr President, you come longand help me save our sisters dear. _(He winks at his audience)_ Our MrPresident, 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 didon Constitution hill. I was confirmed by the bishop and enrolled inthe brown scapular. My mother's sister married a Montmorency. It was aworking 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 ofHennessy's three star. I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into thebed. 

STEPHEN: In the beginning was the word, in the end the world withoutend. Blessed be the eight beatitudes. 

_(The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching)_

THE BEATITUDES: _(Incoherently)_ Beer beef battledog buybull businumbarnum buggerum bishop. 

LYSTER: _(In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, saysdiscreetly)_ He is our friend. I need not mention names. Seek thou thelight. 

_(He corantos by. Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinilylaundered, his locks in curlpapers. He leads John Eglinton who wears amandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, lizardlettered, and a high pagodahat. )_

BEST: _(Smiling, lifts the hat and displays a shaven poll from the crownof which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with an orange topknot)_ I wasjust beautifying him, don't you know. A thing of beauty, don't you know, Yeats says, or I mean, Keats says. 

JOHN EGLINTON: _(Produces a greencapped dark lantern and flashes ittowards a corner: with carping accent)_ Esthetics and cosmetics are forthe boudoir. I am out for truth. Plain truth for a plain man. Tanderageewants the facts and means to get them. 

_(In the cone of the searchlight behind 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 hishead writhe eels and elvers. He is encrusted with weeds and shells. Hisright hand holds a bicycle pump. His left hand grasps a huge crayfish byits two talons. )_

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 won'thave my leg pulled. It has been said by one: beware the left, the cultof Shakti. _(With a cry of stormbirds)_ Shakti Shiva, darkhidden Father!_(He smites with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his left hand. On itscooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the zodiac. He wails withthe vehemence of the ocean. )_ Aum! Baum! Pyjaum! I am the light of thehomestead! I am the dreamery creamery butter. 

_(A skeleton judashand strangles the light. The green light wanes tomauve. The gasjet wails whistling. )_

THE GASJET: Pooah! Pfuiiiiiii!

_(Zoe runs to the chandelier and, crooking her leg, adjusts themantle. )_

ZOE: Who has a fag as I'm here?

LYNCH: _(Tossing a cigarette on to the table)_ Here. 

ZOE: _(Her head perched aside in mock pride)_ Is that the way to handthe _pot_ to a lady? _(She stretches up to light the cigarette over theflame, twirling it slowly, showing the brown tufts of her armpits. Lynchwith his poker lifts boldly a side of her slip. Bare from her garters upher flesh appears under the sapphire a nixie's green. She puffs calmlyat her cigarette. )_ Can you see the beautyspot of my behind?

LYNCH: I'm not looking

ZOE: _(Makes sheep's eyes)_ No? You wouldn't do a less thing. Would yousuck 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. Bluefluid again flows over her flesh. Bloom stands, smiling desirously, twirling his thumbs. Kitty Ricketts licks her middle finger with herspittle and, gazing in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the chimneyflue and strutstwo steps to the left on gawky pink stilts. He is sausaged into severalovercoats and wears a brown macintosh under which he holds a roll ofparchment. In his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connorFitzmaurice 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 inevidence hereabouts, eh? Inadvertently her backview revealed the factthat she is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which youare a particular devotee. The injection mark on the thigh I hope youperceived? Good. 

BLOOM: Granpapachi. But. . . 

VIRAG: Number two on the other hand, she of the cherry rouge andcoiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir ofgopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, Ishould opine. Backbone in front, so to say. Correct me but I alwaysunderstood that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses oflingerie appealed to you in virtue of its exhibitionististicicity. In aword. Hippogriff. Am I right?

BLOOM: She is rather lean. 

VIRAG: _(Not unpleasantly)_ Absolutely! Well observed and those pannierpockets of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggestbunchiness of hip. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gullhas been mulcted. Meretricious finery to deceive the eye. Observe theattention to details of dustspecks. Never put on you tomorrow what youcan wear today. Parallax! _(With a nervous twitch of his head)_ Did youhear 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 lefteye with a finger and barks hoarsely)_ Hoax! Beware of the flapperand bogus mournful. Lily of the alley. All possess bachelor's buttondiscovered by Rualdus Columbus. Tumble her. Columble her. Chameleon. _(More genially)_ Well then, permit me to draw your attention to itemnumber three. There is plenty of her visible to the naked eye. Observethe mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her skull. What ho, shebumps! 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 all brands, mild, medium and strong. Pay yourmoney, take your choice. How happy could you be with either. . . 

BLOOM: With. . . ?

VIRAG: _(His tongue upcurling)_ Lyum! Look. Her beam is broad. Sheis coated with quite a considerable layer of fat. Obviously mammal inweight of bosom you remark that she has in front well to the fore twoprotuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in thenoonday soupplate, while on her rere lower down are two additionalprotuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation, which leave nothing to be desired save compactness. Such fleshy partsare the product of careful nurture. When coopfattened their liversreach an elephantine size. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek andgumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green tea endow them during theirbrief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. Thatsuits your book, eh? Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Wallow init. 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 Greecein the consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros. For the rest Eve'ssovereign remedy. Not for sale. Hire only. Huguenot. _(He twitches)_ Itis a funny sound. _(He coughs encouragingly)_ But possibly it is only awart. I presume you shall have remembered what I will have taught you onthat head? Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. 

BLOOM: _(Reflecting)_ Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax. Thissearching ordeal. It has been an unusually fatiguing day, a chapter ofaccidents. Wait. I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you said. . . 

VIRAG: _(Severely, his nose hardhumped, his side eye winking)_ Stoptwirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk. See, you have forgotten. Exercise your mnemotechnic. _La causa è santa_. Tara. Tara. _(Aside)_ Hewill surely remember. 

BLOOM: Rosemary also did I understand you to say or willpower overparasitic tissues. Then nay no I have an inkling. The touch of adeadhand cures. Mnemo?

VIRAG: _(Excitedly)_ I say so. I say so. E'en so. Technic. _(He taps hisparchmentroll energetically)_ This book tells you how to act with alldescriptive particulars. Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. Virag is going to talk aboutamputation. Our old friend caustic. They must be starved. Snip off withhorsehair under the denned neck. But, to change the venue to the Bulgarand the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislikewomen in male habiliments? _(With a dry snigger)_ You intended to devotean entire year to the study of the religious problem and the summermonths of 1886 to square the circle and win that million. Pomegranate!From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step. Pyjamas, 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 veiledmauve light, hearing the everflying moth. )_

BLOOM: I wanted then to have now concluded. Nightdress was never. Hencethis. But tomorrow is a new day will be. Past was is today. What now iswill then morrow as now was be past yester. 

VIRAG: _(Prompts in a pig's whisper)_ Insects of the day spend theirbrief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the smell of theinferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nervein dorsal region. Pretty Poll! _(His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally)_They had a proverb in the Carpathians in or about the year five thousandfive hundred and fifty of our era. One tablespoonful of honey willattract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice maltvinegar. Bear's buzz bothers bees. But of this apart. At another timewe may resume. We were very pleased, we others. _(He coughs and, bendinghis brow, rubs his nose thoughtfully with a scooping hand)_ You shallfind that these night insects follow the light. An illusion for remembertheir complex unadjustable eye. For all these knotty points see theseventeenth book of my Fundamentals of Sexology or the Love Passionwhich Doctor L. B. Says is the book sensation of the year. Some, toexample, there are again whose movements are automatic. Perceive. Thatis his appropriate sun. Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Chase me, Charley!_(He blows into bloom's ear)_ Buzz!

BLOOM: Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed selfthen 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 gobblesgluttonously with turkey wattles)_ Bubbly jock! Bubbly jock! Where arewe? Open Sesame! Cometh forth! _(He unrolls his parchment rapidly andreads, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the letters which heclaws)_ Stay, good friend. I bring thee thy answer. Redbank oysters willshortly be upon us. I'm the best o'cook. Those succulent bivalves mayhelp us and the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through misteromnivorous porker, were unsurpassed in cases of nervous debility orviragitis. Though they stink yet they sting. _(He wags his head withcackling raillery)_ Jocular. With my eyeglass in my ocular. _(Hesneezes)_ Amen!

BLOOM: _(Absently)_ Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. Always opensesame. The cloven sex. Why they fear vermin, creeping things. Yet Eveand the serpent contradicts. Not a historical fact. Obvious analogyto my idea. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. Wind their waythrough miles of omnivorous forest to sucksucculent her breast dry. Likethose bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis. 

VIRAG: _(His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes stonily forlornlyclosed, psalms in outlandish monotone)_ That the cows with their thosedistended udders 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 saurian's lair in order to entrust theirteats to his avid suction. Ant milks aphis. _(Profoundly)_ Instinctrules the world. In life. In death. 

VIRAG: _(Head askew, arches his back and hunched wingshoulders, peersat the moth out of blear bulged eyes, points a horning claw and cries)_Who's moth moth? Who's dear Gerald? Dear Ger, that you? O dear, he isGerald. O, I much fear he shall be most badly burned. Will some pleashepershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclasstablenumpkin? _(He mews)_ Puss puss puss puss! _(He sighs, draws backand stares sideways down with dropping underjaw)_ Well, well. He dothrest anon. (He snaps his jaws suddenly on the air)

THE MOTH:

 I'm 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 prettypretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats. 

_(From left upper entrance with two gliding steps Henry Flower comesforward to left front centre. He wears a dark mantle and drooping plumedsombrero. He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a longstemmedbamboo Jacob's pipe, its clay bowl fashioned as a female head. He wearsdark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps. He has the romantic Saviour'sface with flowing locks, thin beard and moustache. His spindlelegs andsparrow feet are those of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia. He settlesdown his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a passage of hisamorous 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 regardsZoe's neck. Henry gallant turns with pendant dewlap to the piano. )_

STEPHEN: _(To himself)_ Play with your eyes shut. Imitate pa. Filling mybelly 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 oldDeasy or telegraph. Our interview of this morning has left on me a deepimpression. Though our ages. Will write fully tomorrow. I'm partiallydrunk, 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 vigorousmoustachework. )_

ARTIFONI: _Ci rifletta. Lei rovina tutto. _

FLORRY: Sing us something. Love's old sweet song. 

STEPHEN: No voice. I am a most finished artist. Lynch, did I show youthe letter about the lute?

FLORRY: _(Smirking)_ The bird that can sing and won't sing. 

_(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons withlawnmowers, appear in the window embrasure. Both are masked with MatthewArnold's face. )_

PHILIP SOBER: Take a fool's advice. All is not well. Work it out withthe buttend of a pencil, like a good young idiot. Three pounds twelveyou got, two notes, one sovereign, two crowns, if youth but knew. Mooney's en ville, Mooney's sur mer, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles streethospital, Burke's. Eh? I am watching you. 

PHILIP DRUNK: _(Impatiently)_ Ah, bosh, man. Go to hell! I paid my way. If I could 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 notAtkinson his card I have somewhere. Mac Somebody. Unmack I have it. Hetold 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? You're like someone I knew once. 

STEPHEN: Out of it now. _(To himself)_ Clever. 

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: _(Their lawnmowers purring with arigadoon of grasshalms)_ Clever ever. Out of it out of it. By thebye have you the book, the thing, the ashplant? Yes, there it, yes. Cleverever outofitnow. Keep in condition. Do like us. 

ZOE: There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit ofbusiness with his coat buttoned up. You needn't try to hide, I says tohim. I know you've a Roman collar. 

VIRAG: Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Fall of man. _(Harshly, his pupils waxing)_ To hell with the pope! Nothing new under the sun. Iam the Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. WhyI left the church of Rome. Read the Priest, the Woman and theConfessional. Penrose. Flipperty Jippert. _(He wriggles)_ Woman, undoingwith sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man'slingam. Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat. Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. Man loves her yonifiercely with big lingam, the stiff one. _(He cries) Coactus volui. _Then giddy woman will run about. Strong man grapses woman's wrist. Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fatyadgana. _(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 forshooting a bishop. 

ZOE: _(Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils)_ He couldn't get aconnection. Only, you know, sensation. A dry rush. 

BLOOM: Poor man!

ZOE: _(Lightly)_ Only for what happened him. 

BLOOM: How?

VIRAG: _(A diabolic rictus of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward. He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls. )Verfluchte Goim!_ He had a father, forty fathers. He never existed. PigGod! He had two left feet. He was Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, thepope's bastard. _(He 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 that was in the lock with the pox she got fromJimmy Pidgeon in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallowand was smothered with the convulsions in the mattress and we allsubscribed for the funeral. 

PHILIP DRUNK: _(Gravely) Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe?_

PHILIP SOBER: _(Gaily) c'était le sacré 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 awhore's shoulders. Lynch puts on her hat. She whips it off. )_

LYNCH: _(Laughs)_ And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculatedanthropoid apes. 

FLORRY: _(Nods)_ Locomotor ataxy. 

ZOE: _(Gaily)_ O, my dictionary. 

LYNCH: Three wise virgins. 

VIRAG: _(Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his bonyepileptic lips)_ She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower. Panther, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. _(He sticks outa flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his hand on his fork)_Messiah! He burst her tympanum. _(With gibbering baboon's cries he jerkshis hips in the cynical spasm)_ Hik! Hek! Hak! Hok! Huk! Kok! Kuk!

_(Ben Jumbo Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, standsforth, his loins and genitals tightened into a pair of black bathingbagslops. )_

BEN DOLLARD: _(Nakkering castanet bones in his huge padded paws, yodelsjovially in base barreltone)_ When love absorbs my ardent soul. 

_(The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through theringkeepers 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)_ Thineheart, mine love. _(He plucks his lutestrings)_ When first I saw. . . 

VIRAG: _(Sloughing his skins, his multitudinous plumage moulting)_ Rats!_(He yawns, showing a coalblack throat, and closes his jaws by an upwardpush 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 pocketcomband gives a cow's lick to his hair. Steered by his rapier, he glides tothe door, his wild harp slung behind him. Virag reaches the door in twoungainly stilthops, his tail cocked, and deftly claps sideways on thewall 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. )_

VIRAG'S HEAD: Quack!

_(Exeunt severally. )_

STEPHEN: _(Over his shoulder to zoe)_ You would have preferredthe fighting parson who founded the protestant error. But bewareAntisthenes, the dog sage, and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. Theagony in the closet. 

LYNCH: All one and the same God to her. 

STEPHEN: _(Devoutly)_ And sovereign Lord of all things. 

FLORRY: _(To Stephen)_ I'm sure you're a spoiled priest. Or a monk. 

LYNCH: He is. A cardinal's 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. Sevendwarf simian acolytes, also in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it. He wears a battered silk hat sideways on his head. Histhumbs are stuck in his armpits and his palms outspread. Round hisneck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his breast in a corkscrew cross. Releasing his thumbs, he invokes grace from on high with large wavegestures and proclaims with bloated pomp:)_

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 leftcheek puffed out. Then, unable to repress his merriment, he rocks to andfro, 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 Flaherty's duckloving drake. 

_(A multitude of midges swarms white over his robe. He scratches himselfwith crossed arms at his ribs, grimacing, and exclaims:)_

I'm suffering the agony of the damned. By the hoky fiddle, thanks be toJesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous. If they were they'dwalk me off the face of the bloody globe. 

_(His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swayinghis hat from side to side, shrinking quickly to the size of histrainbearers. The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. His voice is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious:)_

 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 takingthe waterproof and hat from the rack. Bloom starts forward involuntarilyand, half closing the door as he passes, takes the chocolate from hispocket and offers it nervously to Zoe. )_

ZOE: _(Sniffs his hair briskly)_ Hmmm! Thank your mother for therabbits. I'm 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 doubleevent?

ZOE: _(Tears open the silverfoil)_ Fingers was made before forks. _(Shebreaks off and nibbles a piece gives a piece to Kitty Ricketts and thenturns kittenishly to Lynch)_ No objection to French lozenges? _(He nods. She taunts him. )_ Have it now or wait till you get it? _(He opens hismouth, his head cocked. She whirls the prize in left circle. His headfollows. She whirls it back in right circle. He eyes her. )_ Catch!

_(She tosses a piece. With an adroit snap he catches it and bites itthrough with a crack. )_

KITTY: _(Chewing)_ The engineer I was with at the bazaar does havelovely ones. Full of the best liqueurs. And the viceroy was there withhis lady. The gas we had on the Toft's hobbyhorses. I'm giddy still. 

BLOOM: _(In Svengali's fur overcoat, with folded arms and Napoleonicforelock, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glancetowards the door. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swiftpass with impelling fingers and gives the sign of past master, drawinghis right arm downwards from his left shoulder. )_ Go, go, go, I conjureyou, whoever you are!

_(A male cough and tread are heard passing through the mist outside. Bloom's features relax. He places a hand in his waistcoat, posingcalmly. Zoe offers him chocolate. )_

BLOOM: _(Solemnly)_ Thanks. 

ZOE: Do as you're bid. Here!

_(A firm heelclacking tread is heard on the stairs. )_

BLOOM: _(Takes the chocolate)_ Aphrodisiac? Tansy and pennyroyal. But Ibought it. Vanilla calms or? Mnemo. Confused light confuses memory. Redinfluences lupus. Colours affect women's characters, any they have. Thisblack makes me sad. Eat and be merry for tomorrow. _(He eats)_ Influencetaste too, mauve. But it is so long since I. Seems new. Aphro. Thatpriest. Must come. Better late than never. Try truffles at Andrews. 

_(The door opens. Bella Cohen, a massive whoremistress, enters. Sheis dressed in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the hem withtasselled selvedge, and cools herself flirting a black horn fan likeMinnie Hauck in_ Carmen. _On her left hand are wedding and keeper rings. Her eyes are deeply carboned. She has a sprouting moustache. Herolive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetaintednostrils. She has large pendant beryl eardrops. )_

BELLA: My word! I'm all of a mucksweat. 

_(She glances round her at the couples. Then her eyes rest on Bloom withhard insistence. Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneckand 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 youforgotten me?

BLOOM: Yes. Yo. 

THE FAN: _(Folded akimbo against her waist)_ Is me her was you dreamedbefore? Was then she him you us since knew? Am all them and the same nowwe?

_(Bella approaches, gently tapping with the fan. )_

BLOOM: _(Wincing)_ Powerful being. In my eyes read that slumber whichwomen love. 

THE FAN: _(Tapping)_ We have met. You are mine. It is fate. 

BLOOM: _(Cowed)_ Exuberant female. Enormously I desiderate yourdomination. I am exhausted, abandoned, no more young. I stand, so tospeak, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee beforethe too late box of the general postoffice of human life. The doorand window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet persecond according to the law of falling bodies. I have felt this instanta 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 believedin animal heat. A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat. Near theend, remembering king David and the Sunamite, he shared his bed withAthos, faithful after death. A dog's spittle as you probably. . . _(Hewinces)_ Ah!

RICHIE GOULDING: _(Bagweighted, passes the door)_ Mocking is catch. Bestvalue in Dub. Fit for a prince's. 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 oflife. Every phenomenon has a natural cause. 

THE FAN: _(Points downwards slowly)_ You may. 

BLOOM: _(Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace)_ We areobserved. 

THE FAN: _(Points downwards quickly)_ You must. 

BLOOM: _(With desire, with reluctance)_ I can make a true black knot. Learned when I served my time and worked the mail order line forKellett's. 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 theedge of a chair a plump buskined hoof and a full pastern, silksocked. Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over her hoof and with gentle fingersdraws out and in her laces. )_

BLOOM: _(Murmurs lovingly)_ To be a shoefitter in Manfield's was mylove's young dream, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to laceup crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, soincredibly impossibly small, of Clyde Road ladies. Even their wax modelRaymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick of rhubarbtoe, 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, I'll kick your football for you. 

BLOOM: Not to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the night of the bazaardance. Bad 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 raiseshis head. Her heavy face, her eyes strike him in midbrow. His eyes growdull, darker and pouched, his nose thickens. )_

BLOOM: _(Mumbles)_ Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen, . . . 

BELLO: _(With a hard basilisk stare, in a baritone voice)_ Hound ofdishonour!

BLOOM: _(Infatuated)_ Empress!

BELLO: _(His heavy cheekchops sagging)_ Adorer of the adulterous rump!

BLOOM: _(Plaintively)_ Hugeness!

BELLO: Dungdevourer!

BLOOM: _(With sinews semiflexed)_ Magmagnificence!

BELLO: Down! _(He taps her on the shoulder with his fan)_ Incline feetforward! 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 she sinks on all fours, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his feet: then lies, shamming dead, with eyes shuttight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground in the attitude of mostexcellent master. )_

BELLO: _(With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round hisshaven mouth, in mountaineer's puttees, green silverbuttoned coat, sportskirt and alpine hat with moorcock's feather, his hands stuck deep inhis breeches pockets, places his heel on her neck and grinds it in)_Footstool! Feel my entire weight. Bow, bondslave, before the throne ofyour despot's glorious heels so glistening in their proud erectness. 

BLOOM: _(Enthralled, bleats)_ I promise never to disobey. 

BELLO: _(Laughs loudly)_ Holy smoke! You little know what's in store foryou. I'm the Tartar to settle your little lot and break you in! I'll betKentucky cocktails all round I shame it out of you, old son. Cheek me, I dare you. If you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to beinflicted in gym costume. 

_(Bloom creeps under the sofa and peers out through the fringe. )_

ZOE: _(Widening her slip to screen her)_ She's not here. 

BLOOM: _(Closing her eyes)_ She's not here. 

FLORRY: _(Hiding her with her gown)_ She didn't mean it, Mr Bello. She'll be good, sir. 

KITTY: Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello. Sure you won't, ma'amsir. 

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)_ There's a good girly now. _(Bello grabs her hair violently and drags her forward)_ I only wantto correct you for your own good on a soft safe spot. How's that tenderbehind? O, ever so gently, pet. Begin to get ready. 

BLOOM: _(Fainting)_ Don't tear my. . . 

BELLO: _(Savagely)_ The nosering, the pliers, the bastinado, the hanginghook, the knout I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubianslave of old. You're in for it this time! I'll make you remember me forthe balance of your natural life. _(His forehead veins swollen, his facecongested)_ I shall sit on your ottoman saddleback every morning aftermy thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a bottleof Guinness's porter. _(He belches)_ And suck my thumping good StockExchange cigar while I read the _Licensed Victualler's Gazette_. Verypossibly I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my stables andenjoy a slice of you with crisp crackling from the baking tin bastedand baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. It willhurt you. _(He twists her arm. Bloom squeals, turning turtle. )_

BLOOM: Don't be cruel, nurse! Don't!

BELLO: _(Twisting)_ Another!

BLOOM: _(Screams)_ O, it's hell itself! Every nerve in my body acheslike mad!

BELLO: _(Shouts)_ Good, by the rumping jumping general! That's the bestbit of news I heard these six weeks. Here, don't keep me waiting, damnyou! _(He slaps her face)_

BLOOM: _(Whimpers)_ You're after hitting me. I'll tell. . . 

BELLO: Hold him down, girls, till I squat on him. 

ZOE: Yes. Walk on him! I will. 

FLORRY: I will. Don't be greedy. 

KITTY: No, me. Lend him to me. 

_(The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in a greasy bib, men's grey and green socks and brogues, floursmeared, a rollingpin stuckwith 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 Bloom's upturned face, puffingcigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg)_ I see Keating Clay is electedvicechairman of the Richmond asylum and by the by Guinness's preferenceshares are at sixteen three quaffers. Curse me for a fool that didn'tbuy 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 Bloom's ear)_ Where's that Goddamnedcursed ashtray?

BLOOM: _(Goaded, buttocksmothered)_ O! O! Monsters! Cruel one!

BELLO: Ask for that every ten minutes. Beg. Pray for it as you neverprayed before. _(He thrusts out a figged fist and foul cigar)_ Here, kiss that. Both. Kiss. _(He throws a leg astride and, pressing withhorseman's knees, calls in a hard voice)_ Gee up! A cockhorse to Banburycross. I'll ride him for the Eclipse stakes. _(He bends sideways andsqueezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting)_ Ho! Off we pop! I'llnurse you in proper fashion. _(He horserides cockhorse, leaping in thesaddle)_ The lady goes a pace a pace and the coachman goes a trot a trotand the gentleman goes a gallop a gallop a gallop a gallop. 

FLORRY: _(Pulls at Bello)_ Let me on him now. You had enough. I askedbefore you. 

ZOE: _(Pulling at florry)_ Me. Me. Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress?

BLOOM: _(Stifling)_ Can't. 

BELLO: Well, I'm not. Wait. _(He holds in his breath)_ Curse it. Here. This bung's about burst. _(He uncorks himself behind: then, contortinghis features, farts loudly)_ Take that! _(He recorks himself)_ Yes, byJingo, 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 hascome to pass. Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a thingunder the yoke. Now for your punishment frock. You will shed your malegarments, you understand, Ruby Cohen? and don the shot silk luxuriouslyrustling over head and shoulders. And quickly too!

BLOOM: _(Shrinks)_ Silk, mistress said! O crinkly! scrapy! Must Itiptouch it with my nails?

BELLO: _(Points to his whores)_ As they are now so will you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with smoothshaven armpits. Tapemeasurements will be taken next your skin. You will be laced with cruelforce into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk tothe diamondtrimmed pelvis, 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 things stamped, of course, with my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice and nicescent for Alice. Alice will feel the pullpull. Martha and Mary will bea little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frillyflimsiness of lace round your bare knees will remind you. . . 

BLOOM: _(A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, mustard hair and largemale hands and nose, leering mouth)_ I tried her things on only twice, a small prank, in Holles street. When we were hard up I washed them tosave the laundry bill. My own shirts I turned. It was the purest thrift. 

BELLO: _(Jeers)_ Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh? And showedoff coquettishly in your domino at the mirror behind closedrawn blindsyour unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various poses of surrender, eh? Ho! ho! I have to laugh! That secondhand black operatop shift andshort trunkleg naughties all split up the stitches at her last rape thatMrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the Shelbourne hotel, eh?

BLOOM: Miriam. Black. Demimondaine. 

BELLO: _(Guffaws)_ Christ Almighty it's too tickling, this! You werea nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs andlay swooning in the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to beviolated 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, thevarsity wetbob eight from old Trinity, Ponto, her splendid Newfoundlandand Bobs, dowager duchess of Manorhamilton. _(He guffaws again)_ Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh?

BLOOM: _(Her hands and features working)_ It was Gerald converted me tobe a true corsetlover when I was female impersonator in the High Schoolplay _Vice Versa_. It was dear Gerald. He got that kink, fascinated bysister's stays. Now dearest Gerald uses pinky greasepaint and gilds hiseyelids. Cult of the beautiful. 

BELLO: _(With wicked glee)_ Beautiful! Give us a breather! When youtook your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on thesmoothworn throne. 

BLOOM: Science. To compare the various joys we each enjoy. _(Earnestly)_And really it's better the position. . . Because often I used to wet. . . 

BELLO: _(Sternly)_ No insubordination! The sawdust is there in thecorner for you. I gave you strict instructions, didn't I? Do itstanding, sir! I'll teach you to behave like a jinkleman! If I catch atrace on your swaddles. Aha! By the ass of the Dorans you'll find I'm amartinet. 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 formof clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the shadow of theBlack church. Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunnat an address in D'Olier street while he presented himself indecently tothe instrument in the callbox. By word and deed he frankly encourageda nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitaryouthouse attached to empty premises. In five public convenienceshe wrote pencilled messages offering his nuptial partner to allstrongmembered males. And by the offensively smelling vitriol works didhe not pass night after night by loving courting couples to see if andwhat and how much he could see? Did he not lie in bed, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented tohim by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order?

BELLO: _(Whistles loudly)_ Say! What was the most revolting piece ofobscenity in all your career of crime? Go the whole hog. Puke it out! Becandid for once. 

_(Mute inhuman faces throng forward, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom. Poldy Kock, Bootlaces a penny Cassidy's hag, blindstripling, Larry Rhinoceros, the girl, the woman, the whore, the other, the. . . )_

BLOOM: Don't ask me! Our mutual faith. Pleasants street. I only thoughtthe half of the. . . I swear on my sacred oath. . . 

BELLO: _(Peremptorily)_ Answer. Repugnant wretch! I insist on knowing. Tell me something to amuse me, smut or a bloody good ghoststory or aline of poetry, quick, quick, quick! Where? How? What time? With howmany? 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! Speakwhen you're spoken to. 

BLOOM: _(Bows)_ Master! Mistress! Mantamer!

_(He lifts his arms. His bangle bracelets fill. )_

BELLO: _(Satirically)_ By day you will souse and bat our smellingunderclothes also when we ladies are unwell, and swab out our latrineswith dress pinned up and a dishclout tied to your tail. Won't that benice? _(He places a ruby ring on her finger)_ And there now! With thisring I thee own. Say, thank you, mistress. 

BLOOM: Thank you, mistress. 

BELLO: You will make the beds, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots inthe different rooms, including old Mrs Keogh's the cook's, 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 I'll lecture youon your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and spank your bare bot right well, miss, with the hairbrush. You'll be taught the error of your ways. At nightyour wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton glovesnewpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. For suchfavours knights of old laid down their lives. _(He chuckles)_ My boyswill be no end charmed to see you so ladylike, the colonel, aboveall, when they come here the night before the wedding to fondle my newattraction in gilded heels. First I'll have a go at you myself. A man Iknow on the turf named Charles Alberta Marsh (I was in bed with him justnow and another gentleman out of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office) ison 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. Trainedby owner to fetch and carry, basket in mouth. _(He bares his arm andplunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva)_ There's fine depth for you!What, boys? That give you a hardon? _(He shoves his arm in a bidder'sface)_ Here wet the deck and wipe it round!

A BIDDER: A florin. 

_(Dillon's 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 andcheap at the price. Fourteen hands high. Touch and examine his points. Handle him. This downy skin, these soft muscles, this tender flesh. IfI had only my gold piercer here! And quite easy to milk. Three newlaidgallons a day. A pure stockgetter, due to lay within the hour. Hissire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Whoa my jewel! Beg up! Whoa! _(He brands his initial C on Bloom'scroup)_ So! Warranted Cohen! What advance on two bob, gentlemen?

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 shortskirt, riding up at the knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is apotent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with thelong straight seam trailing up beyond the knee, appeal to the betterinstincts of the _blasé_ man about town. Learn the smooth mincing walkon four inch Louis Quinze heels, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the thighs fluescent, knees modestly kissing. Bring all your powers offascination to bear on them. Pander to their Gomorrahan vices. 

BLOOM: _(Bends his blushing face into his armpit and simpers withforefinger in mouth)_ O, I know what you're hinting at now!

BELLO: What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you? _(Hestoops and, peering, pokes with his fan rudely under the fat suet foldsof Bloom's haunches)_ Up! Up! Manx cat! What have we here? Where's yourcurly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, cockyolly? Sing, birdy, sing. It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart. Buya bucket or sell your pump. _(Loudly)_ Can you do a man's job?

BLOOM: Eccles street. . . 

BELLO: _(Sarcastically)_ I wouldn't hurt your feelings for the world butthere's a man of brawn in possession there. The tables are turned, mygay young fellow! He is something like a fullgrown outdoor man. Well foryou, you muff, if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts allover it. He shot his bolt, I can tell you! Foot to foot, knee to knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! He's no eunuch. A shock of red hair hehas sticking out of him behind like a furzebush! Wait for nine months, my lad! Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and down in her gutsalready! That makes you wild, don't it? Touches the spot? _(He spits incontempt)_ Spittoon!

BLOOM: I was indecently treated, I. . . Inform the police. Hundredpounds. Unmentionable. I. . . 

BELLO: Would if you could, lame duck. A downpour we want not yourdrizzle. 

BLOOM: To drive me mad! Moll! I forgot! Forgive! Moll. . . We. . . Still. . . 

BELLO: _(Ruthlessly)_ No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed by woman's willsince you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of twenty years. Return and see. 

_(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 diamondpanes, cries out)_ I see her! It's she! The first night at Mat Dillon's!But that dress, the green! And her hair is dyed gold and he. . . 

BELLO: _(Laughs mockingly)_ That's your daughter, you owl, with aMullingar student. 

_(Milly Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, her blue scarfin the seawind simply swirling, breaks from the arms of her lover andcalls, her young eyes wonderwide. )_

MILLY: My! It's Papli! But, O Papli, how old you've grown!

BELLO: Changed, eh? Our whatnot, our writingtable where we never wrote, aunt Hegarty's armchair, our classic reprints of old masters. A man andhis menfriends are living there in clover. The _Cuckoos' Rest!_ Why not?How many women had you, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you male prostitute?Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. Turn about. Sauce for thegoose, my gander O. 

BLOOM: They. . . I. . . 

BELLO: _(Cuttingly)_ Their heelmarks will stamp the Brusselette carpetyou bought at Wren's auction. In their horseplay with Moll the romp tofind the buck flea in her breeches they will deface the little statueyou carried home in the rain for art for art' sake. They will violatethe secrets of your bottom drawer. Pages will be torn from your handbookof astronomy to make them pipespills. And they will spit in your tenshilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. 

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 histeeth. )_

BELLO: As a paying guest or a kept man? Too late. You have made yoursecondbest bed and others must lie in it. Your epitaph is written. Youare down and out and don't you forget it, old bean. 

BLOOM: Justice! All Ireland versus one! Has nobody. . . ? _(He bites histhumb)_

BELLO: Die and be damned to you if you have any sense of decencyor grace about you. I can give you a rare old wine that'll send youskipping to hell and back. Sign a will and leave us any coin you have!If you have none see you damn well get it, steal it, rob it! We'll buryyou in our shrubbery jakes where you'll be dead and dirty with old CuckCohen, my stepnephew I married, the bloody old gouty procurator andsodomite with a crick in his neck, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever the buggers' names were, suffocated in the one cesspool. _(Heexplodes in a loud phlegmy laugh)_ We'll manure you, Mr Flower! _(Hepipes scoffingly)_ Byby, Poldy! Byby, Papli!

BLOOM: _(Clasps his head)_ My willpower! Memory! I have sinned! I havesuff. . . 

_(He weeps tearlessly)_

BELLO: _(Sneers)_ Crybabby! Crocodile tears!

_(Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the sacrifice, sobs, his face tothe earth. The passing bell is heard. Darkshawled figures of thecircumcised, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the wailing wall. M. Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The Reverend LeopoldAbramovitz, Chazen. With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over therecreant Bloom. )_

THE CIRCUMCISED: _(In dark guttural chant as they cast dead sea fruitupon him, no flowers) Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. _

VOICES: _(Sighing)_ So he's gone. Ah yes. Yes, indeed. Bloom? Neverheard of him. No? Queer kind of chap. There's the widow. That so? Ah, yes. 

_(From the suttee pyre the flame of gum camphire ascends. The pall ofincense smoke screens and disperses. Out of her oakframe a nymph withhair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from hergrotto 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 under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with dignity)_ This position. I felt it was expected of me. Force ofhabit. 

THE NYMPH: Mortal! You found me in evil company, highkickers, costerpicnicmakers, pugilists, popular generals, immoral panto boys infleshtights and the nifty shimmy dancers, La Aurora and Karini, musicalact, the hit of the century. I was hidden in cheap pink paper that smeltof rock oil. I was surrounded by the stale smut of clubmen, stories todisturb callow youth, ads for transparencies, truedup dice and bustpads, proprietary articles and why wear a truss with testimonial from rupturedgentleman. Useful hints to the married. 

BLOOM: _(Lifts a turtle head towards her lap)_ We have met before. Onanother star. 

THE NYMPH: _(Sadly)_ Rubber goods. Neverrip brand as supplied to thearistocracy. Corsets for men. I cure fits or money refunded. Unsolicitedtestimonials for Professor Waldmann's wonderful chest exuber. My bustdeveloped 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 meabove your marriage couch. Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me infour places. And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes, my bosom and myshame. 

BLOOM: _(Humbly kisses her long hair)_ Your classic curves, beautifulimmortal, 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 worstside of everyone, children perhaps excepted. I know I fell out of bedor rather was pushed. Steel wine is said to cure snoring. For the restthere is that English invention, pamphlet of which I received some daysago, incorrectly addressed. It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensivevent. _(He sighs)_ 'Twas ever thus. Frailty, thy name is marriage. 

THE NYMPH: _(Her fingers in her ears)_ And words. They are not in mydictionary. 

BLOOM: You understood them?

THE YEWS: Ssh!

THE NYMPH: _(Covers her face with her hands)_ What have I not seen inthat chamber? What must my eyes look down on?

BLOOM: _(Apologetically)_ I know. Soiled personal linen, wrong side upwith care. The quoits are loose. From Gibraltar by long sea long ago. 

THE NYMPH: _(Bends her head)_ Worse, worse!

BLOOM: _(Reflects precautiously)_ That antiquated commode. It wasn't herweight. She scaled just eleven stone nine. She put on nine poundsafter weaning. It was a crack and want of glue. Eh? And that absurdorangekeyed utensil which has only one handle. 

_(The sound of a waterfall is heard in bright cascade. )_

THE WATERFALL:

 Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. 

THE YEWS: _(Mingling their boughs)_ Listen. Whisper. She is right, oursister. We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall. We gave shade on languoroussummer days. 

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: _(In the background, in Irish National Forester'suniform, doffs his plumed hat)_ Prosper! Give shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland!

THE YEWS: _(Murmuring)_ Who came to Poulaphouca with the High Schoolexcursion? Who left his nutquesting classmates to seek our shade?

BLOOM: _(Scared)_ High School of Poula? Mnemo? Not in full possession offaculties. Concussion. Run over by tram. 

THE ECHO: Sham!

BLOOM: _(Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in nondescriptjuvenile grey and black striped suit, too small for him, white tennisshoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a red schoolcap withbadge)_ I was in my teens, a growing boy. A little then sufficed, ajolting car, the mingling odours of the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the throng penned tight on the old Royal stairs (for they love crushes, instinct of the herd, and the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridlesvice), even a pricelist of their hosiery. And then the heat. There weresunspots that summer. End of school. And tipsycake. Halcyon days. 

_(Halcyon days, high school boys in blue and white football jerseys andshorts, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Abraham Chatterton, Master OwenGoldberg, Master Jack Meredith, Master Percy Apjohn, stand in a clearingof the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom. )_

THE HALCYON DAYS: Mackerel! Live us again. Hurray! _(They cheer)_

BLOOM: _(Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spentsnowballs, struggles to rise)_ Again! I feel sixteen! What a lark! Let'sring all the bells in Montague street. _(He cheers feebly)_ Hurray forthe High School!

THE ECHO: Fool!

THE YEWS: _(Rustling)_ She is right, our sister. Whisper. _(Whisperedkisses are heard in all the wood. Faces of hamadryads peep out fromthe boles and among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom. )_ Whoprofaned 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:

 Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca. 

THE NYMPH: _(With wide fingers)_ O, infamy!

BLOOM: I was precocious. Youth. The fauna. I sacrificed to the god ofthe forest. The flowers that bloom in the spring. It was pairingtime. Capillary attraction is a natural phenomenon. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtainswith poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly. She rolleddownhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with her flow of animal spirits. She climbed their crooked tree and I. . . A saint couldn't resist it. Thedemon possessed me. Besides, who saw?

_(Staggering Bob, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head withhumid 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 whenI went girling. Too ugly. They wouldn't play. . . 

_(High on Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants. )_

THE NANNYGOAT: _(Bleats)_ Megeggaggegg! Nannannanny!

BLOOM: _(Hatless, flushed, covered with burrs of thistledown andgorsespine)_ Regularly engaged. Circumstances alter cases. _(He gazesintently downwards on the water)_ Thirtytwo head over heels per second. Press nightmare. Giddy Elijah. Fall from cliff. Sad end of governmentprinter's clerk. _(Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom, rolled in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the Lion's Head cliff into thepurple waiting waters. )_

THE DUMMYMUMMY: Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

_(Far out in the bay between bailey and kish lights the_ Erin's King_sails, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her funnel towardsthe land. )_

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: _(Alone on deck, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his hand in his waistcoat opening, declaims)_ When my country takes herplace among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let myepitaph be written. I have. . . 

BLOOM: Done. Prff!

THE NYMPH: _(Loftily)_ We immortals, as you saw today, have not sucha place and no hair there either. We are stonecold and pure. We eatelectric light. _(She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placingher forefinger in her mouth)_ Spoke to me. Heard from behind. How thencould you. . . ?

BLOOM: _(Pawing the heather abjectly)_ O, I have been a perfect pig. Enemas too I have administered. One third of a pint of quassia to whichadd a tablespoonful of rocksalt. Up the fundament. With Hamilton Long'ssyringe, the ladies' friend. 

THE NYMPH: In my presence. The powderpuff. _(She blushes and makes aknee)_ And the rest!

BLOOM: _(Dejected)_ Yes. _Peccavi!_ I have paid homage on that livingaltar where the back changes name. _(With sudden fervour)_ For whyshould 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. 

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: _(A birdchief, bluestreaked and feathered in warpanoply with his assegai, striding through a crackling canebrake overbeechmast and acorns)_ Hot! Hot! Ware Sitting Bull!

BLOOM: It overpowers me. The warm impress of her warm form. Even to sitwhere a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as though togrant the last favours, most especially with previously well upliftedwhite sateen coatpans. So womanly, full. It fills me full. 

THE WATERFALL:

 _Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. _

THE YEWS: Ssh! Sister, speak!

THE NYMPH: _(Eyeless, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly, with remote eyes)_ Tranquilla convent. Sister Agatha. MountCarmel. The apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. No more desire. _(Shereclines her head, sighing)_ Only the ethereal. Where dreamy creamy gullwaves o'er 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:

 O, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers He didn't know what to do, To keep it up, To keep it up. 

BLOOM: _(Coldly)_ You have broken the spell. The last straw. If therewere only ethereal where would you all be, postulants and novices? Shybut willing like an ass pissing. 

THE YEWS: _(Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their skinny armsaging 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 herrobe)_ Sully my innocence! You are not fit to touch the garment of apure woman. _(She clutches again in her robe)_ Wait. Satan, you'll singno more lovesongs. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. _(She draws a poniard and, clad in the sheathmail of an elected knight of nine, strikes at hisloins)_ Nekum!

BLOOM: _(Starts up, seizes her hand)_ Hoy! Nebrakada! Cat o' nine lives!Fair play, madam. No pruningknife. The fox and the grapes, is it? Whatdo you lack with your barbed wire? Crucifix not thick enough? _(Heclutches 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?

THE NYMPH: _(With a cry flees from him unveiled, her plaster castcracking, a cloud of stench escaping from the cracks)_ Poli. . . !

BLOOM: _(Calls after her)_ As if you didn't get it on the doubleyourselves. No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you. I tried it. Your strength our weakness. What's our studfee? What will you pay onthe nail? You fee mendancers on the Riviera, I read. _(The fleeing nymphraises a keen)_ Eh? I have sixteen years of black slave labour behindme. And would a jury give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh? Foolsomeone else, not me. _(He sniffs)_ Rut. Onions. Stale. Sulphur. Grease. 

_(The figure of Bella Cohen stands before him. )_

BELLA: You'll know me the next time. 

BLOOM: _(Composed, regards her) Passée. _ Mutton dressed as lamb. Longin the tooth and superfluous hair. A raw onion the last thing at nightwould benefit your complexion. And take some double chin drill. Youreyes are as vapid as the glasseyes of your stuffed fox. They have thedimensions of your other features, that's all. I'm not a triple screwpropeller. 

BELLA: _(Contemptuously)_ You're not game, in fact. _(Her sowcuntbarks)_ Fbhracht!

BLOOM: _(Contemptuously)_ Clean your nailless middle finger first, yourbully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb. Take a handful ofhay 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 marchfrom _Saul?_

ZOE: Me. Mind your cornflowers. _(She darts to the piano and bangschords on it with crossed arms)_ The cat's ramble through the slag. _(She glances back)_ Eh? Who's making love to my sweeties? _(She dartsback to the table)_ What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own. 

_(Kitty, disconcerted, coats her teeth with the silver paper. Bloomapproaches 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 God'll ask you where is that You'll say you don't know God'll send you down below. 

BLOOM: There is a memory attached 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 hidesknows where to find. 

BELLA: _(Frowns)_ Here. This isn't a musical peepshow. And don't yousmash that piano. Who's paying here?

_(She goes to the pianola. Stephen fumbles in his pocket and, taking outa banknote by its corner, hands it to her. )_

STEPHEN: _(With exaggerated politeness)_ This silken purse I made outof the sow's ear of the public. Madam, excuse me. If you allow me. _(Heindicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom)_ We are all in the same sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch. _Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état_. 

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 andKitty)_ Do you want three girls? It's ten shillings here. 

STEPHEN: _(Delightedly)_ A hundred thousand apologies. _(He fumblesagain and takes out and hands her two crowns)_ Permit, _brevi manu_, mysight is somewhat troubled. 

_(Bella goes to the table to count the money while Stephen talks tohimself in monosyllables. Zoe bends over the table. Kitty leans overZoe's neck. Lynch gets up, rights his cap and, clasping Kitty's waist, adds his head to the group. )_

FLORRY: _(Strives heavily to rise)_ Ow! My foot's asleep. _(She limpsover to the table. Bloom approaches. )_

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: _(Chattering and squabbling)_ Thegentleman. . . Ten shillings. . . Paying for the three. . . Allow me amoment. . . This gentleman pays separate. . . Who's touching it?. . . Ow!. . . Mind who you're pinching. . . Are you staying the night or a shorttime?. . . Who did?. . . You're a liar, excuse me. . . The gentleman paiddown like a gentleman. . . Drink. . . It's long after eleven. 

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 thetop 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)_

FLORRY: And me?

LYNCH: Hoopla! _(He lifts her, carries her and bumps her down on thesofa. )_

STEPHEN:

 The fox crew, the cocks flew, The bells in heaven Were striking eleven. 'Tis time for her poor soul To get out of heaven. 

BLOOM: _(Quietly lays a half sovereign on the table between bella andflorry)_ So. Allow me. _(He takes up the poundnote)_ Three times ten. We're square. 

BELLA: _(Admiringly)_ You're such a slyboots, old cocky. I could kissyou. 

ZOE: _(Points)_ Him? Deep as a drawwell. _(Lynch bends Kitty back overthe sofa and kisses her. Bloom goes with the poundnote to Stephen. )_

BLOOM: This is yours. 

STEPHEN: How is that? _Les distrait_ or absentminded beggar. _(Hefumbles again in his pocket and draws out a handful of coins. An objectfills. )_ That fell. 

BLOOM: _(Stooping, picks up and hands a box of matches)_ This. 

STEPHEN: Lucifer. Thanks. 

BLOOM: _(Quietly)_ You had better hand over that cash to me to take careof. 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, andfive. Six. Eleven. I don't answer for what you may have lost. 

STEPHEN: Why striking eleven? Proparoxyton. Moment before the nextLessing 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: Doesn't matter a rambling damn. 

BLOOM: No, but. . . 

STEPHEN: _(Comes to the table)_ Cigarette, please. _(Lynch tosses acigarette from the sofa to the table)_ And so Georgina Johnson is deadand married. _(A cigarette appears on the table. Stephen looks at it)_Wonder. Parlour magic. Married. Hm. _(He strikes a match and proceeds tolight the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy)_

LYNCH: _(Watching him)_ You would have a better chance of lighting it ifyou held the match nearer. 

STEPHEN: _(Brings the match near his eye)_ Lynx eye. Must get glasses. Broke them yesterday. Sixteen years ago. Distance. The eye sees allflat. _(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 withhim. 

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 's fingers. Bloom picks it up andthrows it in the grate. )_

BLOOM: Don't smoke. You ought to eat. Cursed dog I met. _(To Zoe)_ Youhave nothing?

ZOE: Is he hungry?

STEPHEN: _(Extends his hand to her smiling and chants to the air of thebloodoath in the_ Dusk of the Gods)

 Hangende Hunger, Fragende Frau, Macht uns alle kaputt. 

ZOE: _(Tragically)_ Hamlet, I am thy father's gimlet! _(She takeshis hand)_ Blue eyes beauty I'll read your hand. _(She points to hisforehead)_ No wit, no wrinkles. _(She counts)_ Two, three, Mars, that'scourage. _(Stephen shakes his head)_ No kid. 

LYNCH: Sheet lightning courage. The youth who could not shiver andshake. _(To Zoe)_ Who taught you palmistry?

ZOE: _(Turns)_ Ask my ballocks that I haven't got. _(To Stephen)_ I seeit 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. )_

FATHER DOLAN: Any boy want flogging? Broke his glasses? Lazy idle littleschemer. See it in your eye. 

_(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the head of Don John Conmee risesfrom the pianola coffin. )_

DON JOHN CONMEE: Now, Father Dolan! Now. I'm sure that Stephen is a verygood little boy!

ZOE: _(Examining Stephen's palm)_ Woman's hand. 

STEPHEN: _(Murmurs)_ Continue. Lie. Hold me. Caress. I never could readHis handwriting except His criminal thumbprint on the haddock. 

ZOE: What day were you born?

STEPHEN: Thursday. Today. 

ZOE: Thursday's child has far to go. _(She traces lines on his hand)_Line of fate. Influential friends. 

FLORRY: _(Pointing)_ Imagination. 

ZOE: Mount of the moon. You'll meet with a. . . _(She peers at his handsabruptly)_ I won't tell you what's not good for you. Or do you want toknow?

BLOOM: _(Detaches her fingers and offers his palm)_ More harm than good. Here. Read mine. 

BELLA: Show. _(She turns up bloom's hand)_ I thought so. Knobby knucklesfor the women. 

ZOE: _(Peering at bloom's palm)_ Gridiron. Travels beyond the sea andmarry money. 

BLOOM: Wrong. 

ZOE: _(Quickly)_ O, I see. Short little finger. Henpecked husband. Thatwrong?

_(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)_

BLOOM: _(Points to his hand)_ That weal there is an accident. Fell andcut 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 agohe was twentytwo too. Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled. Twentytwoyears ago he sixteen fell off his hobbyhorse. _(He winces)_ Hurt my handsomewhere. Must see a dentist. Money?

_(Zoe whispers to Florry. They giggle. Bloom releases his hand andwrites idly on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves. )_

FLORRY: What?

_(A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with agallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past. Blazes Boylan and Lenehan sprawl swaying on thesideseats. The Ormond boots crouches behind on the axle. Sadly over thecrossblind 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)_

_(Over the well of the car Blazes Boylan leans, his boater straw setsideways, a red flower in his mouth. Lenehan in yachtsman's cap andwhite shoes officiously detaches a long hair from Blazes Boylan's coatshoulder. )_

LENEHAN: Ho! What do I here behold? Were you brushing the cobwebs off afew quims?

BOYLAN: _(Seated, smiles)_ Plucking a turkey. 

LENEHAN: A good night's work. 

BOYLAN: _(Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, winks)_ BlazesKate! Up to sample 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 flunkey's prune plush coat and kneebreeches, buff stockingsand powdered wig)_ I'm 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 Bloom's antlered head)_ Show mein. I have a little private business with your wife, you understand?

BLOOM: Thank you, sir. Yes, sir. Madam Tweedy is in her bath, sir. 

MARION: He ought to feel himself highly honoured. _(She plops splashingout of the water)_ Raoul darling, come and dry me. I'm in my pelt. Onlymy new hat and a carriage sponge. 

BOYLAN: _(A merry twinkle in his eye)_ Topping!

BELLA: What? What is it?

_(Zoe whispers to her. )_

MARION: Let him look, the pishogue! Pimp! And scourge himself! I'llwrite to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the bearded woman, toraise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signedand stamped receipt. 

BOYLAN: (clasps himself) Here, I can't 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 thekeyhole 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 witnessthe deed and take a snapshot? _(He holds out an ointment jar)_ Vaseline, sir? Orangeflower. . . ? Lukewarm water. . . ?

KITTY: _(From the sofa)_ Tell us, Florry. Tell us. What. 

_(Florry whispers to her. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplappingloudly, poppysmic plopslop. )_

MINA KENNEDY: _(Her eyes upturned)_ O, it must be like the scent ofgeraniums and lovely peaches! O, he simply idolises every bit of her!Stuck together! Covered with kisses!

LYDIA DOUCE: _(Her mouth opening)_ Yumyum. O, he's carrying her roundthe room doing it! Ride a cockhorse. You could hear them in Paris andNew York. Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream. 

KITTY: _(Laughing)_ Hee hee hee. 

BOYLAN'S VOICE: _(Sweetly, hoarsely, in the pit of his stomach)_ Ah!Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht!

MARION'S 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 the mirror. The face of William Shakespeare, beardless, appears there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by thereflection of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the hall. )_

SHAKESPEARE: _(In dignified ventriloquy)_ 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaksthe vacant mind. _(To Bloom)_ Thou thoughtest as how thou wastestinvisible. Gaze. _(He crows with a black capon's laugh)_ Iagogo! How myOldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun. Iagogogo!

BLOOM: _(Smiles yellowly at the three whores)_ When will I hear thejoke?

ZOE: Before you're twice married and once a widower. 

BLOOM: Lapses are condoned. Even the great Napoleon when measurementswere taken next the skin after his death. . . 

_(Mrs Dignam, widow woman, her snubnose and cheeks flushed withdeathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her weeds, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, apen chivvying her brood of cygnets. Beneath her skirt appear her latehusband's everyday trousers and turnedup boots, large eights. She holdsa Scottish widows' insurance policy and a large marquee umbrella underwhich her brood run with her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his collarloose, a hank of porksteaks dangling, freddy whimpering, Susy with acrying cod's mouth, Alice struggling with the baby. She cuffs them on, her streamers flaunting aloft. )_

FREDDY: Ah, ma, you're 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 Shakespeare'sbeardless face. The marquee umbrella sways drunkenly, the children runaside. Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat andkimono 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 bloodyawful demirep!

STEPHEN: _Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti. _ Queens lay with prize bulls. Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the firstconfessionbox. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scionsof the house of Lambert. And Noah was drunk with wine. And his ark wasopen. 

BELLA: None of that here. Come to the wrong shop. 

LYNCH: Let him alone. He's 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 hestands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a painted smileon his face. )_

LYNCH: _(Oommelling on the sofa)_ Rmm Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm. 

STEPHEN: _(Gabbles with marionette jerks)_ Thousand places ofentertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling glovesand other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionablehouse very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much aboutprincesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneriesextra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor englishhow much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous. Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell showwith mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night. Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen inuniversal world. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty thendisrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh youngwith _dessous troublants_. _(He clacks his tongue loudly)_ _Ho, la la!Ce pif qu'il 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 holyapostles big damn ruffians. _Demimondaines_ nicely handsome sparkling ofdiamonds very amiable costumed. Or do you are fond better what belongsthey moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans? _(He points about him withgrotesque gestures which Lynch and the whores reply to)_ Caoutchoucstatue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities verylesbic the kiss five ten times. Enter, gentleman, to see in mirror everypositions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire actawfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet onthe belly _pièce de Shakespeare. _

BELLA: _(Clapping her belly sinks back on the sofa, with a shout oflaughter)_ An omelette on the. . . Ho! ho! ho! ho!. . . Omelette on the. . . 

STEPHEN: _(Mincingly)_ I love you, sir darling. Speak you englishmantongue for _double entente cordiale. _ O yes, _mon loup_. How much cost?Waterloo. Watercloset. _(He ceases suddenly and holds up a forefinger)_

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. InSerpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a fubsy widow. Where's thered carpet spread?

BLOOM: _(Approaching Stephen)_ Look. . . 

STEPHEN: No, I flew. My foes beneath me. And ever shall be. Worldwithout end. _(He cries) P_ater! Free!

BLOOM: I say, look. . . 

STEPHEN: Break my spirit, will he? _O merde alors! (He cries, hisvulture talons sharpened)_ Hola! Hillyho!

_(Simon Dedalus' voice hilloes in answer, somewhat sleepy but ready. )_

SIMON: That's all right. _(He swoops uncertainly through the air, wheeling, uttering cries of heartening, on strong ponderous buzzardwings)_ Ho, boy! Are you going to win? Hoop! Pschatt! Stable with thosehalfcastes. Wouldn't let them within the bawl of an ass. Head up! Keepour flag flying! An eagle gules volant in a field argent displayed. Ulster king at arms! Haihoop! _(He makes the beagle's call, givingtongue)_ 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 hisgrandmother, runs swift for the open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, under the leaves. The pack of staghounds follows, nose to the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be blooded. WardUnion huntsmen and huntswomen live with them, hot for a kill. From SixMile Point, Flathouse, Nine Mile Stone follow the footpeople with knottysticks, hayforks, salmongaffs, lassos, flockmasters with stockwhips, bearbaiters with tomtoms, toreadors with bullswords, greynegroeswaving torches. The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in highwizard hats 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! I'll 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 ofbucking mounts. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the Duke of Beaufort'sCeylon, prix de Paris. Dwarfs ride them, rustyarmoured, leaping, leapingin their, in their saddles. Last in a drizzle of rain on a brokenwindedisabelle nag, Cock of the North, the favourite, honey cap, green jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a hockeystick atthe ready. His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rockyroad. )_

THE ORANGE LODGES: _(Jeering)_ Get down and push, mister. Last lap!You'll be home the night!

GARRETT DEASY: _(Bolt upright, his nailscraped face plastered withpostagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his blue eyes flashing in theprism of the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop)_

_Per vias rectas!_

_(A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and his rearing nag a torrentof mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes. )_

THE GREEN LODGES: Soft day, sir John! Soft day, your honour!

_(Private Carr, Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey pass beneath thewindows, 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 I've a sort a Yorkshire relish for. . . 

ZOE: That's me. _(She claps her hands)_ Dance! Dance! _(She runs to thepianola)_ Who has twopence?

BLOOM: Who'll. . . ?

LYNCH: _(Handing her coins)_ Here. 

STEPHEN: _(Cracking his fingers impatiently)_ Quick! Quick! Where's myaugur's rod? _(He runs to the piano and takes his ashplant, beating hisfoot in tripudium)_

ZOE: _(Turns the drumhandle)_ There. 

_(She drops two pennies in the slot. Gold, pink and violet lightsstart forth. The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz. ProfessorGoodwin, in a bowknotted periwig, in court dress, wearing a stainedinverness cape, bent in two from incredible age, totters across theroom, his hands fluttering. He sits tinily on the pianostool and liftsand beats handless sticks of arms on the keyboard, nodding with damsel'sgrace, his bowknot bobbing)_

ZOE: _(Twirls round herself, heeltapping)_ Dance. Anybody here forthere? Who'll dance? Clear the table. 

_(The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the prelude of_My Girl's a Yorkshire Girl. _Stephen throws his ashplant on the tableand seizes Zoe round the waist. Florry and Bella push the table towardsthe fireplace. Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, begins towaltz her round the room. Bloom stands aside. Her sleeve filling fromgracing arms reveals a white fleshflower of vaccination. Between thecurtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the toepoint of which spinsa silk hat. With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his crown andjauntyhatted skates in. He wears a slate frockcoat with claret silklapels, a gorget of cream tulle, a green lowcut waistcoat, stock collarwith white kerchief, tight lavender trousers, patent pumps and canarygloves. In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia. He twirls in reverseddirections a clouded cane, then wedges it tight in his oxter. He placesa hand lightly on his breastbone, bows, and fondles his flower andbuttons. )_

MAGINNI: The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. No connectionwith Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Fancy dress balls arranged. Deportment. The Katty Lanner step. So. Watch me! My terpsichoreanabilities. _(He minuets forward three paces on tripping bee's feet) Toutle monde en avant! Révérence! Tout le monde en place!_

_(The prelude ceases. Professor Goodwin, beating vague arms shrivels, sinks, his live cape filling about the stool. The air in firmer waltztime 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 they'd left behind. . . 

_(From a corner the morning hours run out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in girlish blue, waspwaisted, with innocent hands. Nimbly they dance, twirling their skipping ropes. The hours of noon follow in amber gold. Laughing, linked, high haircombs flashing, they catch the sun in mockingmirrors, lifting their arms. )_

MAGINNI: _(Clipclaps glovesilent hands) Carré! Avant deux!_ Breatheevenly! _Balance!_

_(The morning and noon hours waltz in their places, turning, advancingto each other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis. Cavaliers behindthem arch and suspend their arms, with hands descending to, touching, rising from their shoulders. )_

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 with looser swing. The twilight hoursadvance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, theircheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom. They are in greygauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the land breeze. )_

MAGINNI: _Avant huit! Traversé! Salut! Cours de mains! Croisé!_

_(The night hours, one by one, steal to the last place. Morning, noonand twilight hours retreat before them. They are masked, with daggeredhair 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! Chaîne de dames! La corbeille! Dos à dos!_

_(Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling, simply swirling. )_

ZOE: I'm giddy!

_(She frees herself, droops on a chair. Stephen seizes Florry and turnswith her. )_

MAGINNI: Boulangère! Les ronds! Les ponts! Chevaux de bois! Escargots!

_(Twining, receding, with interchanging hands the night hours link eacheach with arching arms in a mosaic of movements. Stephen and Florry turncumbrously. )_

MAGINNI: _Dansez avec vos dames! Changez de dames! Donnez le petitbouquet à votre dame! Remerciez!_

THE PIANOLA:

 Best, best of all, Baraabum!

KITTY: (JUMPS UP) O, they played that on the hobbyhorses at the Mirusbazaar!

_(She runs to Stephen. He leaves florry brusquely and seizes Kitty. A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. GroangrousegurglingToft's cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room right roundabout theroom. )_

THE PIANOLA:

 My girl's a Yorkshire girl. 

ZOE:

Yorkshire through and through. 

Come on all!

_(She seizes Florry and waltzes her. )_

STEPHEN: _Pas seul!_

_(He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, snatches up his ashplant fromthe table and takes the floor. All wheel whirl waltz twirl. BloombellaKittylynch Florryzoe jujuby women. Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplitsin middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part underthigh. With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellowflashes Toft's cumbersome turns with hobbyhorse riders from gildedsnakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fallagain. )_

THE PIANOLA:

 Though she's a factory lass And wears no fancy clothes. 

_(Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding theyscootlootshoot lumbering by. Baraabum!)_

TUTTI: Encore! Bis! Bravo! Encore!

SIMON: Think of your mother's people!

STEPHEN: Dance of death. 

_(Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, horse, nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfoldedropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through. Baraabum! Onnags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stoneonehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pramfilling bawling gum he's a champion. Fuseblue peer from barrel rev. Evensong Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dillywith snowcake no fancy clothes. Then in last switchback lumbering upand down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for tublumberbumpshire rose. Baraabum!)_

_(The couples fall aside. Stephen whirls giddily. Room whirls back. Eyesclosed he totters. Red rails fly spacewards. Stars all around suns turnroundabout. Bright midges dance on walls. He stops dead. )_

STEPHEN: Ho!

_(Stephen's mother, emaciated, rises stark through the floor, in lepergrey with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a torn bridal veil, herface worn and noseless, green with gravemould. Her hair is scant andlank. She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and opensher toothless mouth uttering a silent word. A choir of virgins andconfessors sing voicelessly. )_

THE CHOIR:

 Liliata rutilantium te confessorum. . . Iubilantium te virginum. . . 

_(from the top of a tower Buck Mulligan, in particoloured jester's dressof puce and yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, stands gaping ather, a smoking buttered split scone in his hand. )_

BUCK MULLIGAN: She's beastly dead. The pity of it! Mulligan meets theafflicted mother. _(He upturns his eyes)_ Mercurial Malachi!

THE MOTHER: _(With the subtle smile of death's madness)_ I was once thebeautiful May Goulding. I am dead. 

STEPHEN: _(Horrorstruck)_ Lemur, who are you? No. What bogeyman's trickis this?

BUCK MULLIGAN: _(Shakes his curling capbell)_ The mockery of it! Kinchdogsbody killed her bitchbody. She kicked the bucket. _(Tears of moltenbutter fall from his eyes on to the scone)_ Our great sweet mother! _Epioinopa ponton. _

THE MOTHER: _(Comes nearer, breathing upon him softly her breath ofwetted ashes)_ All must go through it, Stephen. More women than men inthe world. You too. Time will come. 

STEPHEN: _(Choking with fright, remorse and horror)_ They say I killedyou, 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. _Love's bitter mystery. _

STEPHEN: _(Eagerly)_ Tell me the word, mother, if you know now. The wordknown to all men. 

THE MOTHER: Who saved you the night you jumped into the train atDalkey with Paddy Lee? Who had pity for you when you were sad among thestrangers? Prayer is allpowerful. Prayer for the suffering souls in theUrsuline manual and forty days' indulgence. Repent, Stephen. 

STEPHEN: The ghoul! Hyena!

THE MOTHER: I pray for you in my other world. Get Dilly to make you thatboiled rice every night after your brainwork. Years and years I lovedyou, O, my son, my firstborn, when you lay in my womb. 

ZOE: _(Fanning herself with the grate fan)_ I'm melting!

FLORRY: _(Points to Stephen)_ Look! He's white. 

BLOOM: _(Goes to the window to open it more)_ Giddy. 

THE MOTHER: _(With smouldering eyes)_ Repent! O, the fire of hell!

STEPHEN: _(Panting)_ His noncorrosive sublimate! The corpsechewer! Rawhead and bloody bones. 

THE MOTHER: _(Her face drawing near and nearer, sending out an ashenbreath)_ Beware! _(She raises her blackened withered right arm slowlytowards Stephen's breast with outstretched finger)_ Beware God's hand!_(A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws inStephen's heart. )_

STEPHEN: _(Strangled with rage)_ Shite! _(His features grow drawn greyand old)_

BLOOM: _(At the window)_ What?

STEPHEN: _Ah non, par exemple!_ The intellectual imagination! With meall 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 SacredHeart of Jesus, have mercy on him! Save him from hell, O Divine SacredHeart!

STEPHEN: No! No! No! Break my spirit, all of you, if you can! I'll bringyou 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 with love, grief and agony on Mount Calvary. 

STEPHEN: _Nothung_!

_(He lifts his ashplant high with both hands and smashes the chandelier. Time's livid final flame leaps and, in the following darkness, ruin ofall space, shattered glass and toppling masonry. )_

THE GASJET: Pwfungg!

BLOOM: Stop!

LYNCH: _(Rushes forward and seizes Stephen's hand)_ Here! Hold on! Don'trun 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 stampedefrom the room. They talk excitedly. Bloom follows, returns. )_

THE WHORES: _(Jammed in the doorway, pointing)_ Down there. 

ZOE: _(Pointing)_ There. There's something up. 

BELLA: Who pays for the lamp? _(She seizes Bloom's coattail)_ Here, youwere with him. The lamp's broken. 

BLOOM: _(Rushes to the hall, rushes back)_ What lamp, woman?

A WHORE: He tore his coat. 

BELLA: _(Her eyes hard with anger and cupidity, points)_ Who's to payfor that? Ten shillings. You're a witness. 

BLOOM: _(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant)_ Me? Ten shillings? Haven't youlifted enough off him? Didn't he. . . ?

BELLA: _(Loudly)_ Here, none of your tall talk. This isn't a brothel. Aten shilling house. 

BLOOM: _(His head under the lamp, pulls the chain. Puling, the gasjetlights up a crushed mauve purple shade. He raises the ashplant. )_ Onlythe chimney's broken. Here is all he. . . 

BELLA: _(Shrinks back and screams)_ Jesus! Don't!

BLOOM: _(Warding off a blow)_ To show you how he hit the paper. There'snot 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 he's a Trinity student. Patrons of your establishment. Gentlemen that pay the rent. _(He makesa masonic sign)_ Know what I mean? Nephew of the vice-chancellor. Youdon't want a scandal. 

BELLA: _(Angrily)_ Trinity. Coming down here ragging after the boatracesand paying nothing. Are you my commander here or? Where is he? I'llcharge 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)_ There's a row on. 

BLOOM: What? Where? _(He throws a shilling on the table and starts)_That's 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 whoresclustered talk volubly, pointing to the right where the fog has clearedoff. From the left arrives a jingling hackney car. It slows to in frontof the house. Bloom at the halldoor perceives Corny Kelleher who isabout to dismount from the car with two silent lechers. He avertshis face. Bella from within the hall urges on her whores. They blowickylickysticky yumyum kisses. Corny Kelleher replies with a ghastlylewd smile. The silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey. Zoe and Kittystill point right. Bloom, parting them swiftly, draws his caliph's hoodand poncho and hurries down the steps with sideways face. Incog Harounal Raschid he flits behind the silent lechers and hastens on by therailings with fleet step of a pard strewing the drag behind him, tornenvelopes drenched in aniseed. The ashplant marks his stride. A packof bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip intallyho cap and an old pair of grey trousers, follow from fir, pickingup the scent, nearer, baying, panting, at fault, breaking away, throwingtheir tongues, 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, woman'sslipperslappers. After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallopsin hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, 66 C, night watch, John HenryMenton, Wisdom Hely, V. B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The Nameless One, Mrs Riordan, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, SirCharles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Hynes, red Murray, editor Brayden, T. M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, JohnHoward Parnell, the reverend Tinned Salmon, Professor Joly, MrsBreen, Denis Breen, Theodore Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, the WestlandRow postmistress, C. P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs JoeGallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Bob Doran, Mrs Kennefick, MrsWyse Nolan, John Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwidebehindinClonskeatram, the bookseller of_ Sweets of Sin, _MissDubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, 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, aretriever, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her lovers. )_

THE HUE AND CRY: _(Helterskelterpelterwelter)_ He's Bloom! Stop Bloom!Stopabloom! Stopperrobber! Hi! Hi! Stophim on the corner!

_(At the corner of Beaver Street beneath the scaffolding Bloom pantingstops on the fringe of the noisy quarrelling knot, a lot not knowing ajot what hi! hi! row and wrangle round the whowhat brawlaltogether. )_

STEPHEN: _(With elaborate gestures, breathing deeply and slowly)_ Youare my guests. Uninvited. By virtue of the fifth of George and seventhof Edward. History to blame. Fabled by mothers of memory. 

PRIVATE CARR: _(To Cissy Caffrey)_ Was he insulting you?

STEPHEN: Addressed her in vocative feminine. Probably neuter. Ungenitive. 

VOICES: No, he didn't. I seen him. The girl there. He was in MrsCohen's. What's up? Soldier and civilian. 

CISSY CAFFREY: I was in company with the soldiers and they left me todo--you know, and the young man run up behind me. But I'm faithful tothe man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore. 

STEPHEN: _(Catches sight of Lynch's and Kitty's 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 doesn't half want a thick ear, the blighter. Biffhim one, Harry. 

PRIVATE CARR: _(To Cissy)_ Was he insulting you while me and him washaving a piss?

LORD TENNYSON: _(Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricketflannels, bareheaded, flowingbearded)_ Theirs not to reason why. 

PRIVATE COMPTON: Biff him, Harry. 

STEPHEN: _(To Private Compton)_ I don't know your name but you are quiteright. Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in theirshirts. 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 everylady for example. . . 

PRIVATE CARR: _(His cap awry, advances to Stephen)_ Say, how would itbe, governor, if I was to bash in your jaw?

STEPHEN: _(Looks up to the sky)_ How? Very unpleasant. Noble art ofselfpretence. Personally, I detest action. _(He waves his hand)_ Handhurts 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 signof the heroine of Jericho)_ Rahab. Cook's son, goodbye. Safe home toDolly. 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 Stephen's sleevevigorously)_ Come now, professor, that carman is waiting. 

STEPHEN: _(Turns)_ Eh? _(He disengages himself)_ Why should I not speakto him or to any human being who walks upright upon this oblate orange?_(He points his finger)_ I'm not afraid of what I can talk to if I seehis 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 haveforgotten the trick. Let us sit down somewhere and discuss. Strugglefor life is the law of existence but but human philirenists, notably thetsar and the king of England, have invented arbitration. _(He taps hisbrow)_ But in here it is I must kill the priest and the king. 

BIDDY THE CLAP: Did you hear what the professor said? He's a professorout of the college. 

CUNTY KATE: I did. I heard that. 

BIDDY THE CLAP: He expresses himself with such marked refinement ofphraseology. 

CUNTY KATE: Indeed, yes. And at the same time with such appositetrenchancy. 

PRIVATE CARR: _(Pulls himself free and comes forward)_ What's thatyou're saying about my king?

_(Edward the Seventh appears in an archway. He wars a white jersey onwhich an image of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the insignia ofGarter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner'sand Probyn's horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourableartillery company of Massachusetts. He sucks a red jujube. He is robedas a grand elect perfect and sublime mason with trowel and apron, marked_ made in Germany. _In his left hand he holds a plasterer's bucketon which is printed_ Défense d'uriner. _A roar of welcome greets him. )_

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: _(Slowly, solemnly but indistinctly)_ Peace, perfectpeace. For identification, bucket in my hand. Cheerio, boys. _(He turnsto his subjects)_ We have come here to witness a clean straight fightand we heartily wish both men the best of good luck. Mahak makar a bak. 

_(He shakes hands with Private Carr, Private Compton, Stephen, Bloom andLynch. General applause. Edward the Seventh lifts his bucket graciouslyin acknowledgment. )_

PRIVATE CARR: _(To Stephen)_ Say it again. 

STEPHEN: _(Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up)_ I understand your pointof view though I have no king myself for the moment. This is the age ofpatent medicines. A discussion is difficult down here. But this is thepoint. You die for your country. Suppose. _(He places his arm on PrivateCarr's sleeve)_ Not that I wish it for you. But I say: Let my countrydie for me. Up to the present it has done so. I didn't want it to die. Damn death. Long live life!

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: _(Levitates over heaps of slain, in the garb andwith the halo of Joking Jesus, a white jujube in his phosphorescentface)_

My methods are new and are causing surprise. To make the blind see Ithrow dust in their eyes. 

STEPHEN: Kings and unicorns! _(He fills back a pace)_ Come somewhere andwe'll. . . What was that girl saying?. . . 

PRIVATE COMPTON: Eh, Harry, give him a kick in the knackers. Stick oneinto Jerry. 

BLOOM: _(To the privates, softly)_ He doesn't know what he's saying. Taken a little more than is good for him. Absinthe. Greeneyed monster. Iknow him. He's a gentleman, a poet. It's all right. 

STEPHEN: _(Nods, smiling and laughing)_ Gentleman, patriot, scholar andjudge of impostors. 

PRIVATE CARR: I don't give a bugger who he is. 

PRIVATE COMPTON: We don't give a bugger who he is. 

STEPHEN: I seem to annoy them. Green rag to a bull. 

_(Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and peep-o'-dayboy's hat signs to Stephen. )_

KEVIN EGAN: H'lo! _Bonjour!_ The _vieille ogresse_ with the _dentsjaunes_. 

_(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his rabbitface nibbling a quinceleaf. )_

PATRICE: _Socialiste!_

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: _(In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on his helm, with noble indignation points amailed hand against the privates)_ Werf those eykes to footboden, biggrand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy!

BLOOM: _(To Stephen)_ Come home. You'll get into trouble. 

STEPHEN: _(Swaying)_ I don't avoid it. He provokes my intelligence. 

BIDDY THE CLAP: One immediately observes that he is of patricianlineage. 

THE VIRAGO: Green above the red, says he. Wolfe Tone. 

THE BAWD: The red's as good as the green. And better. Up the soldiers!Up King Edward!

A ROUGH: _(Laughs)_ Ay! Hands up to De Wet. 

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 issuingbowels 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 Voisindismembered the wife of a compatriot and hid remains in a sheet in thecellar, the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear. Phialcontaining arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddonto the gallows. 

_(He jerks the rope. The assistants leap at the victim's legs and draghim downward, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently. )_

THE CROPPY BOY:

Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. 

_(He gives up the ghost. A violent erection of the hanged sends goutsof sperm spouting through his deathclothes on to the cobblestones. MrsBellingham, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboysrush forward with their handkerchiefs to sop it up. )_

RUMBOLD: I'm near it myself. _(He undoes the noose)_ Rope which hangedthe 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 outhis head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails)_ My painfulduty has now been done. God save the king!

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: _(Dances slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket, andsings with soft contentment)_

On coronation day, on coronation day, O, won't we have a merry time, Drinking whisky, beer and wine!

PRIVATE CARR: Here. What are you saying about my king?

STEPHEN: _(Throws up his hands)_ O, this is too monotonous! Nothing. He wants my money and my life, though want must be his master, forsome brutish empire of his. Money I haven't. _(He searches his pocketsvaguely)_ GAVE IT TO SOMEONE. 

PRIVATE CARR: Who wants your bleeding money?

STEPHEN: _(Tries to move off)_ Will someone tell me where I am leastlikely to meet these necessary evils? _Ça se voit aussi à paris. _ Notthat I. . . But, by Saint Patrick. . . !

_(The women's heads coalesce. Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appearsseated on a toadstool, the deathflower of the potato blight on herbreast. )_

STEPHEN: Aha! I know you, gammer! Hamlet, revenge! The old sow that eatsher farrow!

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: _(Rocking to and fro)_ Ireland's sweetheart, the kingof Spain's daughter, alanna. Strangers in my house, bad manners to them!_(She keens with banshee woe)_ Ochone! Ochone! Silk of the kine! _(Shewails)_ You met with poor old Ireland and how does she stand?

STEPHEN: How do I stand you? The hat trick! Where's the third person ofthe 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)_ I'll wring the neck of any fuckersays a word against my fucking king. 

BLOOM: _(Terrified)_ He said nothing. Not a word. A puremisunderstanding. 

THE CITIZEN: _Erin go bragh!_

_(Major Tweedy and the Citizen exhibit to each other medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds. Both salute with fiercehostility. )_

PRIVATE COMPTON: Go it, Harry. Do him one in the eye. He's a proboer. 

STEPHEN: Did I? When?

BLOOM: _(To the redcoats)_ We fought for you in South Africa, Irishmissile troops. Isn't that history? Royal Dublin Fusiliers. Honoured byour monarch. 

THE NAVVY: _(Staggering past)_ O, yes! O God, yes! O, make the kwawr akrowawr! O! Bo!

_(Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of guttedspearpoints. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, inbearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with epaulettes, giltchevrons and sabretaches, his breast bright with medals, toes the line. He gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the knights templars. )_

MAJOR TWEEDY: _(Growls gruffly)_ Rorke's Drift! Up, guards, and at them!Mahar shalal hashbaz. 

PRIVATE CARR: I'll do him in. 

PRIVATE COMPTON: _(Waves the crowd back)_ Fair play, here. Make ableeding butcher's shop of the bugger. 

_(Massed bands blare_ Garryowen _and_ God save the King. )

CISSY CAFFREY: They're 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 merrysaint George for me!

STEPHEN:

The harlot's cry from street to street Shall weave Old Ireland'swindingsheet. 

PRIVATE CARR: _(Loosening his belt, shouts)_ I'll wring the neck of anyfucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king. 

BLOOM: _(Shakes Cissy Caffrey's shoulders)_ Speak, you! Are you struckdumb? You are the link between nations and generations. Speak, woman, sacred lifegiver!

CISSY CAFFREY: _(Alarmed, seizes Private Carr's sleeve)_ Amn't I withyou? Amn't I your girl? Cissy's 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: Dublin's burning! Dublin's burning! On fire, on fire!

_(Brimstone fires spring up. Dense clouds roll past. Heavy Gatling gunsboom. Pandemonium. Troops deploy. Gallop of hoofs. Artillery. Hoarsecommands. Bells clang. Backers shout. Drunkards bawl. Whores screech. Foghorns hoot. Cries of valour. Shrieks of dying. Pikes clash oncuirasses. 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. Themidnight sun is darkened. The earth trembles. The dead of Dublinfrom Prospect and Mount Jerome in white sheepskin overcoats and blackgoatfell cloaks arise and appear to many. A chasm opens with a noiselessyawn. Tom Rochford, winner, in athlete's singlet and breeches, arrivesat the head of the national hurdle handicap and leaps into the void. He is followed by a race of runners and leapers. In wild attitudes theyspring from the brink. Their bodies plunge. Factory lasses with fancyclothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. Society ladies lift theirskirts above their heads to protect themselves. Laughing witches in redcutty sarks ride through the air on broomsticks. Quakerlyster plastersblisters. It rains dragons' teeth. Armed heroes spring up from furrows. They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the red cross and fightduels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, SmithO'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against LordGerald Fitzedward, The O'Donoghue of the Glens against The Glens of TheO'Donoghue. On an eminence, the centre of the earth, rises the feldaltarof Saint Barbara. Black candles rise from its gospel and epistle horns. From the high barbacans of the tower two shafts of light fall on thesmokepalled altarstone. On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, goddess ofunreason, lies, naked, fettered, a chalice resting on her swollen belly. Father Malachi O'Flynn in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, histwo left feet back to the front, celebrates camp mass. The Reverend MrHugh C Haines Love M. A. In a plain cassock and mortarboard, his headand collar back to the front, holds over the celebrant's head an openumbrella. )_

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: _Introibo ad altare diaboli. _

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: To the devil which hath made glad my youngdays. 

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: _(Takes from the chalice and elevates ablooddripping host) Corpus meum. _

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: _(Raises high behind the celebrant'spetticoat, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which a carrotis 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 Omnipotentreigneth!

_(From on high the voice of Adonai calls. )_

ADONAI: Goooooooooood!

_(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factionssing_ Kick the Pope _and_ Daily, daily sing to Mary. )

PRIVATE CARR: _(With ferocious articulation)_ I'll do him in, so help mefucking Christ! I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fuckingwindpipe!

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: _(Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's hand)_ Removehim, acushla. At 8. 35 a. M. You will be in heaven and Ireland will befree. _(She prays)_ O good God, take him!

(THE RETRIEVER, NOSING ON THE FRINGE OF THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY. )

BLOOM: _(Runs to lynch)_ Can't you get him away?

LYNCH: He likes dialectic, the universal language. Kitty! _(To Bloom)_Get him away, you. He won't 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. Here's your stick. 

STEPHEN: Stick, no. Reason. This feast of pure reason. 

CISSY CAFFREY: _(Pulling Private Carr)_ Come on, you're boosed. Heinsulted me but I forgive him. _(Shouting in his ear)_ I forgive him forinsulting me. 

BLOOM: _(Over Stephen's shoulder)_ Yes, go. You see he's incapable. 

PRIVATE CARR: _(Breaks loose)_ I'll insult him. 

_(He rushes towards Stephen, fist outstretched, and strikes him in theface. Stephen totters, collapses, falls, stunned. He lies prone, hisface to the sky, his hat rolling to the wall. Bloom follows and picks itup. )_

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! Don't strike him when he's down! Air! Who? Thesoldier hit him. He's a professor. Is he hurted? Don't manhandle him!He's fainted!

A HAG: What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman and he underthe influence. Let them go and fight the Boers!

THE BAWD: Listen to who's talking! Hasn't the soldier a right to go withhis girl? He gave him the coward's blow. 

_(They grab at each other's hair, claw at each other and spit)_

THE RETRIEVER: _(Barking)_ Wow wow wow. 

BLOOM: _(Shoves them back, loudly)_ Get back, stand back!

PRIVATE COMPTON: _(Tugging his comrade)_ Here. Bugger off, Harry. Here'sthe cops! _(Two raincaped watch, tall, stand in the group. )_

FIRST WATCH: What's wrong here?

PRIVATE COMPTON: We were with this lady. And he insulted us. Andassaulted 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. He'll 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. I'm a witness. Constable, take his regimental number. 

SECOND WATCH: I don't want your instructions in the discharge of myduty. 

PRIVATE COMPTON: _(Pulling his comrade)_ Here, bugger off Harry. OrBennett'll shove you in the lockup. 

PRIVATE CARR: _(Staggering as he is pulled away)_ God fuck old Bennett. He's a whitearsed bugger. I don't give a shit for him. 

FIRST WATCH: _(Takes out his notebook)_ What's his name?

BLOOM: _(Peering over the crowd)_ I just see a car there. If you give mea 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 Dedalus' 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)_ That's 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. That'll be all right. _(Helaughs, shaking his head)_ We were often as bad ourselves, ay or worse. What? Eh, what?

FIRST WATCH: _(Laughs)_ I suppose so. 

CORNY KELLEHER: _(Nudges the second watch)_ Come and wipe your name offthe slate. _(He lilts, wagging his head)_ With my tooraloom tooraloomtooraloom tooraloom. What, eh, do you follow me?

SECOND WATCH: _(Genially)_ Ah, sure we were too. 

CORNY KELLEHER: _(Winking)_ Boys will be boys. I've a car round there. 

SECOND WATCH: All right, Mr Kelleher. Good night. 

CORNY KELLEHER: I'll see to that. 

BLOOM: _(Shakes hands with both of the watch in turn)_ Thank you verymuch, gentlemen. Thank you. _(He mumbles confidentially)_ We don't wantany scandal, you understand. Father is a wellknown highly respectedcitizen. Just a little wild oats, you understand. 

FIRST WATCH: O. I understand, sir. 

SECOND WATCH: That's all right, sir. 

FIRST WATCH: It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to reportit at the station. 

BLOOM: _(Nods rapidly)_ Naturally. Quite right. Only your bounden duty. 

SECOND WATCH: It's our duty. 

CORNY KELLEHER: Good night, men. 

THE WATCH: _(Saluting together)_ Night, gentlemen. _(They move off withslow heavy tread)_

BLOOM: _(Blows)_ Providential you came on the scene. You have a car?. . . 

CORNY KELLEHER: _(Laughs, pointing his thumb over his right shoulder tothe car brought up against the scaffolding)_ Two commercials that werestanding fizz in Jammet's. Like princes, faith. One of them lost twoquid on the race. Drowning his grief. And were on for a go with thejolly girls. So I landed them up on Behan's 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. _(Helaughs again and leers with lacklustre eye)_ Thanks be to God we have itin the house, what, eh, do you follow me? Hah, hah, hah!

BLOOM: _(Tries to laugh)_ He, he, he! Yes. Matter of fact I was justvisiting an old friend of mine there, Virag, you don't know him (poorfellow, he's laid up for the past week) and we had a liquor together andI was just making my way home. . . 

_(The horse neighs. )_

THE HORSE: Hohohohohohoh! Hohohohome!

CORNY KELLEHER: Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me afterwe left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up andgot off to see. _(He laughs)_ Sober hearsedrivers a speciality. Will Igive 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, drawlsat the horse. Bloom, in gloom, looms down. )_

CORNY KELLEHER: _(Scratches his nape)_ Sandycove! _(He bends down andcalls to Stephen)_ Eh! _(He calls again)_ Eh! He's covered with shavingsanyhow. Take care they didn't lift anything off him. 

BLOOM: No, no, no. I have his money and his hat here and stick. 

CORNY KELLEHER: Ah, well, he'll get over it. No bones broken. Well, I'llshove along. _(He laughs)_ I've a rendezvous in the morning. Burying thedead. Safe home!

THE HORSE: _(Neighs)_ Hohohohohome. 

BLOOM: Good night. I'll just wait and take him along in a few. . . 

_(Corny Kelleher returns to the outside car and mounts it. The horseharness jingles. )_

CORNY KELLEHER: _(From the car, standing)_ Night. 

BLOOM: Night. 

_(The jarvey chucks the reins and raises his whip encouragingly. Thecar and horse back slowly, awkwardly, and turn. Corny Kelleher on thesideseat sways his head to and fro in sign of mirth at Bloom's plight. The jarvey joins in the mute pantomimic merriment nodding from thefarther seat. Bloom shakes his head in mute mirthful reply. With thumband palm Corny Kelleher reassures that the two bobbies will allow thesleep to continue for what else is to be done. With a slow nod Bloomconveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs. The carjingles tooraloom round the corner of the tooraloom lane. Corny Kelleheragain reassuralooms with his hand. Bloom with his hand assuralooms CornyKelleher that he is reassuraloomtay. The tinkling hoofs and jinglingharness grow fainter with their tooralooloo looloo lay. Bloom, holdingin his hand Stephen's hat, festooned with shavings, and ashplant, standsirresolute. 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 bendsagain and hesitating, brings his mouth near the face of the prostrateform)_ Stephen! _(There is no answer. He calls again. )_ Stephen!

STEPHEN: _(Groans)_ Who? Black panther. Vampire. _(He sighs andstretches himself, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels)_

 Who. . . Drive. . . Fergus now And pierce. . . Wood's woven shade?. . . 

_(He turns on his left side, sighing, doubling himself together. )_

BLOOM: Poetry. Well educated. Pity. _(He bends again and undoesthe buttons of Stephen's waistcoat)_ To breathe. _(He brushes thewoodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and fingers)_ Onepound 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 onStephen's face and form. )_

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. Agirl. Some girl. Best thing could happen him. _(He murmurs)_. . . Swearthat I will always hail, ever conceal, never reveal, any part or parts, art or arts. . . _(He murmurs)_. . . In the rough sands of the sea. . . Acabletow's length from the shore. . . Where the tide ebbs. . . And flows. . . 

_(Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands on guard, his fingers at his lipsin the attitude of secret master. Against the dark wall a figure appearsslowly, a fairy boy of eleven, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in aneton suit with glass shoes and a little bronze helmet, holding a bookin his hand. He reads from right to left inaudibly, smiling, kissing thepage. )_

BLOOM: _(Wonderstruck, calls inaudibly)_ Rudy!

RUDY: _(Gazes, unseeing, into Bloom's eyes and goes on reading, kissing, smiling. He has a delicate mauve face. On his suit he has diamond andruby buttons. In his free left hand he holds a slim ivory cane with aviolet bowknot. A white lambkin peeps out of his waistcoat pocket. )_

-- III --

Preparatory to anything else Mr Bloom brushed off the greater bulk ofthe shavings and handed Stephen the hat and ashplant and bucked him upgenerally in orthodox Samaritan fashion which he very badly needed. His(Stephen's) mind was not exactly what you would call wandering but a bitunsteady and on his expressed desire for some beverage to drink MrBloom in view of the hour it was and there being no pump of Vartry wateravailable for their ablutions let alone drinking purposes hit upon anexpedient by suggesting, off the reel, the propriety of the cabman'sshelter, as it was called, hardly a stonesthrow away near Butt bridgewhere they might hit upon some drinkables in the shape of a milk andsoda or a mineral. But how to get there was the rub. For the nonce hewas rather nonplussed but inasmuch as the duty plainly devolved upon himto take some measures on the subject he pondered suitable ways and meansduring which Stephen repeatedly yawned. So far as he could see he wasrather pale in the face so that it occurred to him as highly advisableto get a conveyance of some description which would answer in theirthen condition, both of them being e. D. Ed, particularly Stephen, alwaysassuming that there was such a thing to be found. Accordingly after afew such preliminaries as brushing, in spite of his having forgottento take up his rather soapsuddy handkerchief after it had done yeomanservice in the shaving line, they both walked together along Beaverstreet or, more properly, lane as far as the farrier's and thedistinctly fetid atmosphere of the livery stables at the corner ofMontgomery street where they made tracks to the left from thencedebouching into Amiens street round by the corner of Dan Bergin's. Butas he confidently anticipated there was not a sign of a Jehu plying forhire anywhere to be seen except a fourwheeler, probably engaged by somefellows inside on the spree, outside the North Star hotel and there wasno symptom of its budging a quarter of an inch when Mr Bloom, who wasanything but a professional whistler, endeavoured to hail it by emittinga kind of a whistle, holding his arms arched over his head, twice. 

This was a quandary but, bringing common sense to bear on it, evidentlythere was nothing for it but put a good face on the matter and foot itwhich they accordingly did. So, bevelling around by Mullett's and theSignal House which they shortly reached, they proceeded perforce in thedirection of Amiens street railway terminus, Mr Bloom being handicappedby 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 madelight of the mischance. So as neither of them were particularly pressedfor time, as it happened, and the temperature refreshing since itcleared up after the recent visitation of Jupiter Pluvius, they danderedalong past by where the empty vehicle was waiting without a fare or ajarvey. As it so happened a Dublin United Tramways Company's sandstrewerhappened to be returning and the elder man recounted to his companion _àpropos_ of the incident his own truly miraculous escape of some littlewhile back. They passed the main entrance of the Great Northern railwaystation, the starting point for Belfast, where of course all traffic wassuspended at that late hour and passing the backdoor of the morgue(a not very enticing locality, not to say gruesome to a degree, moreespecially at night) ultimately gained the Dock Tavern and in due courseturned into Store street, famous for its C division police station. Between this point and the high at present unlit warehouses of Beresfordplace Stephen thought to think of Ibsen, associated with Baird's thestonecutter's in his mind somehow in Talbot place, first turning on theright, while the other who was acting as his _fidus Achates_ inhaledwith internal satisfaction the smell of James Rourke's city bakery, situated quite close to where they were, the very palatable odour indeedof our daily bread, of all commodities of the public the primary andmost indispensable. Bread, the staff of life, earn your bread, O tell mewhere is fancy bread, at Rourke's the baker's it is said. 

_En route_ to his taciturn and, not to put too fine a point on it, notyet perfectly sober companion Mr Bloom who at all events was in completepossession of his faculties, never more so, in fact disgustingly sober, spoke a word of caution re the dangers of nighttown, women of ill fameand swell mobsmen, which, barely permissible once in a while though notas a habitual practice, was of the nature of a regular deathtrap foryoung fellows of his age particularly if they had acquired drinkinghabits under the influence of liquor unless you knew a little jiujitsufor every contingency as even a fellow on the broad of his back couldadminister a nasty kick if you didn't look out. Highly providentialwas the appearance on the scene of Corny Kelleher when Stephen wasblissfully unconscious but for that man in the gap turning up at theeleventh hour the finis might have been that he might have been acandidate for the accident ward or, failing that, the bridewell andan appearance in the court next day before Mr Tobias or, he being thesolicitor rather, old Wall, he meant to say, or Mahony which simplyspelt ruin for a chap when it got bruited about. The reason he mentionedthe fact was that a lot of those policemen, whom he cordially disliked, were admittedly unscrupulous in the service of the Crown and, as MrBloom put it, recalling a case or two in the A division in Clanbrassilstreet, prepared to swear a hole through a ten gallon pot. Never onthe spot when wanted but in quiet parts of the city, Pembroke road forexample, the

guardians of the law were well in evidence, the obvious reason beingthey were paid to protect the upper classes. Another thing he commentedon was equipping soldiers with firearms or sidearms of any descriptionliable to go off at any time which was tantamount to inciting themagainst civilians should by any chance they fall out over anything. Youfrittered away your time, he very sensibly maintained, and health andalso character besides which, the squandermania of the thing, fast womenof the _demimonde_ ran away with a lot of l s. D. Into the bargain andthe greatest danger of all was who you got drunk with though, touchingthe much vexed question of stimulants, he relished a glass of choice oldwine in season as both

nourishing and bloodmaking and possessing aperient virtues (notably agood burgundy which he was a staunch believer in) still never beyonda certain point where he invariably drew the line as it simply led totrouble all round to say nothing of your being at the tender mercy ofothers practically. Most of all he commented adversely on the desertionof Stephen by all his pubhunting _confreres_ but one, a most glaringpiece of ratting on the part of his brother medicos under all the circs. 

--And that one was Judas, Stephen said, who up to then had said nothingwhatsoever of any kind. 

Discussing these and kindred topics they made a beeline across the backof the Customhouse and passed under the Loop Line bridge where a brazierof coke burning in front of a sentrybox or something like one attractedtheir rather lagging footsteps. Stephen of his own accord stopped forno special reason to look at the heap of barren cobblestones and bythe light emanating from the brazier he could just make out the darkerfigure of the corporation watchman inside the gloom of the sentrybox. Hebegan to remember that this had happened or had been mentioned as havinghappened before but it cost him no small effort before he rememberedthat he recognised in the sentry a quondam friend of his father's, Gumley. To avoid a meeting he drew nearer to the pillars of the railwaybridge. 

--Someone saluted you, Mr Bloom said. 

A figure of middle height on the prowl evidently under the archessaluted again, calling:

--_Night!_

Stephen of course started rather dizzily and stopped to return thecompliment. Mr Bloom actuated by motives of inherent delicacy inasmuchas he always believed in minding his own business moved off butnevertheless remained on the _qui vive_ with just a shade of anxietythough not funkyish in the least. Though unusual in the Dublin area heknew that it was not by any means unknown for desperadoes who had nextto nothing to live on to be abroad waylaying and generally terrorisingpeaceable pedestrians by placing a pistol at their head in somesecluded spot outside the city proper, famished loiterers of theThames embankment category they might be hanging about there or simplymarauders ready to decamp with whatever boodle they could in one fellswoop at a moment's notice, your money or your life, leaving you thereto point a moral, gagged and garrotted. 

Stephen, that is when the accosting figure came to close quarters, though he was not in an over sober state himself recognised Corley'sbreath redolent of rotten cornjuice. Lord John Corley some called himand his genealogy came about in this wise. He was the eldest son ofinspector Corley of the G division, lately deceased, who had marrieda certain Katherine Brophy, the daughter of a Louth farmer. Hisgrandfather Patrick Michael Corley of New Ross had married the widowof a publican there whose maiden name had been Katherine (also) Talbot. Rumour had it (though not proved) that she descended from the house ofthe lords Talbot de Malahide in whose mansion, really an unquestionablyfine residence of its kind and well worth seeing, her mother or aunt orsome relative, a woman, as the tale went, of extreme beauty, had enjoyedthe distinction of being in service in the washkitchen. This thereforewas the reason why the still comparatively young though dissoluteman who now addressed Stephen was spoken of by some with facetiousproclivities 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 night's lodgings. His friendshad all deserted him. Furthermore he had a row with Lenehan and calledhim to Stephen a mean bloody swab with a sprinkling of a number of otheruncalledfor expressions. He was out of a job and implored of Stephen totell him where on God's earth he could get something, anything at all, to do. No, it was the daughter of the mother in the washkitchen thatwas fostersister to the heir of the house or else they were connectedthrough the mother in some way, both occurrences happening at the sametime if the whole thing wasn't a complete fabrication from start tofinish. Anyhow he was all in. 

--I wouldn't ask you only, pursued he, on my solemn oath and God knowsI'm on the rocks. 

--There'll be a job tomorrow or next day, Stephen told him, in a boys'school at Dalkey for a gentleman usher. Mr Garrett Deasy. Try it. Youmay mention my name. 

--Ah, God, Corley replied, sure I couldn't teach in a school, man. I wasnever one of your bright ones, he added with a half laugh. I got stucktwice in the junior at the christian brothers. 

--I have no place to sleep myself, Stephen informed him. 

Corley at the first go-off was inclined to suspect it was something todo with Stephen being fired out of his digs for bringing in a bloodytart off the street. There was a dosshouse in Marlborough street, MrsMaloney's, but it was only a tanner touch and full of undesirables butM'Conachie told him you got a decent enough do in the Brazen Head overin Winetavern street (which was distantly suggestive to the personaddressed of friar Bacon) for a bob. He was starving too though hehadn't said a word about it. 

Though this sort of thing went on every other night or very near itstill Stephen's feelings got the better of him in a sense though he knewthat Corley's brandnew rigmarole on a par with the others was hardlydeserving of much credence. However _haud ignarus malorum miserissuccurrere disco_ etcetera as the Latin poet remarks especially as luckwould have it he got paid his screw after every middle of the month onthe sixteenth which was the date of the month as a matter of fact thougha good bit of the wherewithal was demolished. But the cream of the jokewas nothing would get it out of Corley's head that he was living inaffluence and hadn't 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 foodthere but thinking he might lend him anything up to a bob or so in lieuso that he might endeavour at all events and get sufficient to eat butthe result was in the negative for, to his chagrin, he found his cashmissing. A few broken biscuits were all the result of his investigation. He tried his hardest to recollect for the moment whether he had lostas well he might have or left because in that contingency it was not apleasant lookout, very much the reverse in fact. He was altogether toofagged out to institute a thorough search though he tried to recollect. About biscuits he dimly remembered. Who now exactly gave them hewondered or where was or did he buy. However in another pocket he cameacross what he surmised in the dark were pennies, erroneously however, as it turned out. 

--Those are halfcrowns, man, Corley corrected him. 

And so in point of fact they turned out to be. Stephen anyhow lent himone of them. 

--Thanks, Corley answered, you're a gentleman. I'll pay you back onetime. Who's that with you? I saw him a few times in the Bleeding Horsein Camden street with Boylan, the billsticker. You might put in a goodword for us to get me taken on there. I'd carry a sandwichboard onlythe girl in the office told me they're full up for the next three weeks, man. God, you've to book ahead, man, you'd think it was for the CarlRosa. I don't give a shite anyway so long as I get a job, even as acrossing sweeper. 

Subsequently being not quite so down in the mouth after the two and sixhe got he informed Stephen about a fellow by the name of Bags Comiskythat he said Stephen knew well out of Fullam's, the shipchandler's, bookkeeper there that used to be often round in Nagle's back with O'Maraand a little chap with a stutter the name of Tighe. Anyhow he was laggedthe night before last and fined ten bob for a drunk and disorderly andrefusing to go with the constable. 

210

Mr Bloom in the meanwhile kept dodging about in the vicinity of thecobblestones near the brazier of coke in front of the corporationwatchman's sentrybox who evidently a glutton for work, it struck him, was having a quiet forty winks for all intents and purposes on his ownprivate account while Dublin slept. He threw an odd eye at the same timenow and then at Stephen's anything but immaculately attired interlocutoras if he had seen that nobleman somewhere or other though where he wasnot 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 inpoint of shrewd observation he also remarked on his very dilapidatedhat and slouchy wearing apparel generally testifying to a chronicimpecuniosity. Palpably he was one of his hangerson but for thematter of that it was merely a question of one preying on his nextdoorneighbour all round, in every deep, so to put it, a deeper depth and forthe matter of that if the man in the street chanced to be in the dockhimself penal servitude with or without the option of a fine would bea very rara avis altogether. In any case he had a consummate amount ofcool 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 hispractised eye, was not without perceiving that he had succumbed to theblandiloquence of the other parasite. Alluding to the encounter he said, laughingly, Stephen, that is:

--He is down on his luck. He asked me to ask you to ask somebody namedBoylan, a billsticker, to give him a job as a sandwichman. 

At this intelligence, in which he seemingly evinced little interest, MrBloom gazed abstractedly for the space of a half a second or so in thedirection of a bucketdredger, rejoicing in the farfamed name of Eblana, moored alongside Customhouse quay and quite possibly out of repair, whereupon he observed evasively:

--Everybody gets their own ration of luck, they say. Now you mention ithis face was familiar to me. But, leaving that for the moment, how muchdid you part with, he queried, if I am not too inquisitive?

--Half a crown, Stephen responded. I daresay he needs it to sleepsomewhere. 

--Needs! Mr Bloom ejaculated, professing not the least surprise atthe intelligence, I can quite credit the assertion and I guarantee heinvariably does. Everyone according to his needs or everyone accordingto his deeds. But, talking about things in general, where, added he witha smile, will you sleep yourself? Walking to Sandycove is out ofthe question. And even supposing you did you won't get in after whatoccurred at Westland Row station. Simply fag out there for nothing. Idon't mean to presume to dictate to you in the slightest degree but whydid you leave your father's house?

--To seek misfortune, was Stephen's answer. 

--I met your respected father on a recent occasion, Mr Bloomdiplomatically returned, today in fact, or to be strictly accurate, onyesterday. Where does he live at present? I gathered in the course ofconversation that he had moved. 

--I believe he is in Dublin somewhere, Stephen answered unconcernedly. Why?

--A gifted man, Mr Bloom said of Mr Dedalus senior, in more respectsthan one and a born _raconteur_ if ever there was one. He takes greatpride, quite legitimate, out of you. You could go back perhaps, hehasarded, still thinking of the very unpleasant scene at Westland Rowterminus when it was perfectly evident that the other two, Mulligan, that is, and that English tourist friend of his, who eventually euchredtheir third companion, were patently trying as if the whole ballystation 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 itwas, Stephen's mind's eye being too busily engaged in repicturing hisfamily hearth the last time he saw it with his sister Dilly sitting bythe ingle, her hair hanging down, waiting for some weak Trinidad shellcocoa that was in the sootcoated kettle to be done so that she and hecould drink it with the oatmealwater for milk after the Friday herringsthey had eaten at two a penny with an egg apiece for Maggy, Boody andKatey, the cat meanwhile under the mangle devouring a mess of eggshellsand charred fish heads and bones on a square of brown paper, inaccordance with the third precept of the church to fast and abstainon the days commanded, it being quarter tense or if not, ember days orsomething like that. 

--No, Mr Bloom repeated again, I wouldn't personally repose much trustin that boon companion of yours who contributes the humorous element, DrMulligan, as a guide, philosopher and friend if I were in your shoes. Heknows which side his bread is buttered on though in all probability henever realised what it is to be without regular meals. Of course youdidn't notice as much as I did. But it wouldn't occasion me the leastsurprise to learn that a pinch of tobacco or some narcotic was put inyour drink for some ulterior object. 

He understood however from all he heard that Dr Mulligan was a versatileallround man, by no means confined to medicine only, who was rapidlycoming to the fore in his line and, if the report was verified, badefair to enjoy a flourishing practice in the not too distant future asa tony medical practitioner drawing a handsome fee for his servicesin addition to which professional status his rescue of that man fromcertain drowning by artificial respiration and what they call firstaid at Skerries, or Malahide was it?, was, he was bound to admit, anexceedingly plucky deed which he could not too highly praise, so thatfrankly he was utterly at a loss to fathom what earthly reason could beat the back of it except he put it down to sheer cussedness or jealousy, pure and simple. 

--Except it simply amounts to one thing and he is what they call pickingyour brains, he ventured to throw out. 

The guarded glance of half solicitude half curiosity augmented byfriendliness which he gave at Stephen's at present morose expressionof features did not throw a flood of light, none at all in fact on theproblem as to whether he had let himself be badly bamboozled to judge bytwo or three lowspirited remarks he let drop or the other way about sawthrough the affair and for some reason or other best known to himselfallowed matters to more or less. Grinding poverty did have that effectand he more than conjectured that, high educational abilities though hepossessed, he experienced no little difficulty in making both ends meet. 

Adjacent to the men's public urinal they perceived an icecream car roundwhich a group of presumably Italians in heated altercation were gettingrid of voluble expressions in their vivacious language in a particularlyanimated way, there being some little differences between the parties. 

--_Puttana madonna, che ci dia i quattrini! Ho ragione? Culo rotto!_

_--Intendiamoci. Mezzo sovrano piu. . . _

_--Dice lui, pero!_

_--Mezzo. _

_--Farabutto! Mortacci sui!_

_--Ma ascolta! Cinque la testa piu. . . _

Mr Bloom and Stephen entered the cabman's shelter, an unpretentiouswooden structure, where, prior to then, he had rarely if ever beenbefore, the former having previously whispered to the latter a fewhints anent the keeper of it said to be the once famous Skin-the-GoatFitzharris, the invincible, though he could not vouch for the actualfacts which quite possibly there was not one vestige of truth in. A fewmoments later saw our two noctambules safely seated in a discreet corneronly to be greeted by stares from the decidedly miscellaneous collectionof waifs and strays and other nondescript specimens of the genus _homo_already there engaged in eating and drinking diversified by conversationfor whom they seemingly formed an object of marked curiosity. 

--Now touching a cup of coffee, Mr Bloom ventured to plausibly suggestto break the ice, it occurs to me you ought to sample something in theshape of solid food, say, a roll of some description. 

Accordingly his first act was with characteristic _sangfroid_ to orderthese commodities quietly. The _hoi polloi_ of jarvies or stevedoresor whatever they were after a cursory examination turned their eyesapparently dissatisfied, away though one redbearded bibulous individualportion of whose hair was greyish, a sailor probably, still stared forsome appreciable time before transferring his rapt attention to thefloor. Mr Bloom, availing himself of the right of free speech, he havingjust a bowing acquaintance with the language in dispute, though, to besure, rather in a quandary over _voglio_, remarked to his _protégé_ inan audible tone of voice _a propos_ of the battle royal in the streetwhich was still raging fast and furious:

--A beautiful language. I mean for singing purposes. Why do you notwrite your poetry in that language? _Bella Poetria_! It is so melodiousand full. _Belladonna. Voglio. _

Stephen, who was trying his dead best to yawn if he could, sufferingfrom lassitude generally, replied:

--To fill the ear of a cow elephant. They were haggling over money. 

--Is that so? Mr Bloom asked. Of course, he subjoined pensively, at theinward reflection of there being more languages to start with than wereabsolutely necessary, it may be only the southern glamour that surroundsit. 

The keeper of the shelter in the middle of this _tête-â-tête_ put aboiling swimming cup of a choice concoction labelled coffee on the tableand a rather antediluvian specimen of a bun, or so it seemed. Afterwhich he beat a retreat to his counter, Mr Bloom determining to havea good square look at him later on so as not to appear to. For whichreason he encouraged Stephen to proceed with his eyes while he didthe honours by surreptitiously pushing the cup of what was temporarilysupposed to be called coffee gradually nearer him. 

--Sounds 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. What's in a name?

--Yes, to be sure, Mr Bloom unaffectedly concurred. Of course. Our namewas changed too, he added, pushing the socalled roll across. 

The redbearded sailor who had his weather eye on the newcomers boardedStephen, whom he had singled out for attention in particular, squarelyby asking:

--And what might your name be?

Just in the nick of time Mr Bloom touched his companion's boot butStephen, apparently disregarding the warm pressure from an unexpectedquarter, answered:

--Dedalus. 

The sailor stared at him heavily from a pair of drowsy baggy eyes, rather bunged up from excessive use of boose, preferably good oldHollands and water. 

--You know Simon Dedalus? he asked at length. 

--I've heard of him, Stephen said. 

Mr Bloom was all at sea for a moment, seeing the others evidentlyeavesdropping too. 

--He's Irish, the seaman bold affirmed, staring still in much the sameway and nodding. All Irish. 

--All too Irish, Stephen rejoined. 

As for Mr Bloom he could neither make head or tail of the whole businessand he was just asking himself what possible connection when the sailorof his own accord turned to the other occupants of the shelter with theremark:

--I seen him shoot two eggs off two bottles at fifty yards over hisshoulder. The lefthand dead shot. 

Though he was slightly hampered by an occasional stammer and hisgestures being also clumsy as it was still he did his best to explain. 

--Bottles 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 hescrewed his features up someway sideways and glared out into the nightwith an unprepossessing cast of countenance. 

--Pom! he then shouted once. 

The entire audience waited, anticipating an additional detonation, therebeing still a further egg. 

--Pom! he shouted twice. 

Egg two evidently demolished, he nodded and winked, addingbloodthirstily:

_--Buffalo Bill shoots to kill, Never missed nor he never will. _

A silence ensued till Mr Bloom for agreeableness' sake just felt likeasking him whether it was for a marksmanship competition like theBisley. 

--Beg pardon, the sailor said. 

--Long ago? Mr Bloom pursued without flinching a hairsbreadth. 

--Why, the sailor replied, relaxing to a certain extent under the magicinfluence of diamond cut diamond, it might be a matter of ten years. Hetoured the wide world with Hengler's Royal Circus. I seen him do that inStockholm. 

--Curious coincidence, Mr Bloom confided to Stephen unobtrusively. 

--Murphy's my name, the sailor continued. D. B. Murphy of Carrigaloe. Know where that is?

--Queenstown harbour, Stephen replied. 

--That's right, the sailor said. Fort Camden and Fort Carlisle. That'swhere I hails from. I belongs there. That's where I hails from. Mylittle woman's down there. She's waiting for me, I know. _For England, home and beauty_. She's my own true wife I haven't seen for seven yearsnow, sailing about. 

Mr Bloom could easily picture his advent on this scene, the homecomingto the mariner's roadside shieling after having diddled Davy Jones, a rainy night with a blind moon. Across the world for a wife. Quite anumber of stories there were on that particular Alice Ben Bolt topic, Enoch Arden and Rip van Winkle and does anybody hereabouts remember CaocO'Leary, a favourite and most trying declamation piece by the way ofpoor John Casey and a bit of perfect poetry in its own small way. Never about the runaway wife coming back, however much devoted to theabsentee. The face at the window! Judge of his astonishment when hefinally did breast the tape and the awful truth dawned upon him anenthis better half, wrecked in his affections. You little expected me butI've 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 thedeep. And there sits uncle Chubb or Tomkin, as the case might be, thepublican of the Crown and Anchor, in shirtsleeves, eating rumpsteak andonions. No chair for father. Broo! The wind! Her brandnew arrival is onher knee, _post mortem_ child. With a high ro! and a randy ro! and mygalloping tearing tandy, O! Bow to the inevitable. Grin and bear it. Iremain with much love your brokenhearted husband D B Murphy. 

The sailor, who scarcely seemed to be a Dublin resident, turned to oneof the jarvies with the request:

--You don't 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 ofplug from his good jacket hanging on a nail and the desired object waspassed from hand to hand. 

--Thank you, the sailor said. 

He deposited the quid in his gob and, chewing and with some slowstammers, proceeded:

--We come up this morning eleven o'clock. The threemaster _Rosevean_from Bridgwater with bricks. I shipped to get over. Paid off thisafternoon. There's my discharge. See? D. B. Murphy. A. B. S. 

In confirmation of which statement he extricated from an inside pocketand handed to his neighbour a not very cleanlooking folded document. 

--You must have seen a fair share of the world, the keeper remarked, leaning on the counter. 

--Why, the sailor answered upon reflection upon it, I've circumnavigateda bit since I first joined on. I was in the Red Sea. I was in China andNorth 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 everscuttled a ship. I seen Russia. _Gospodi pomilyou_. That's how theRussians prays. 

--You seen queer sights, don't be talking, put in a jarvey. 

--Why, the sailor said, shifting his partially chewed plug. I seenqueer things too, ups and downs. I seen a crocodile bite the fluke of ananchor same as I chew that quid. 

He took out of his mouth the pulpy quid and, lodging it between histeeth, bit ferociously:

--Khaan! Like that. And I seen maneaters in Peru that eats corpses andthe livers of horses. Look here. Here they are. A friend of mine sentme. 

He fumbled out a picture postcard from his inside pocket which seemed tobe in its way a species of repository and pushed it along the table. Theprinted matter on it stated: _Choza de Indios. Beni, Bolivia. _

All focussed their attention at the scene exhibited, a group of savagewomen in striped loincloths, squatted, blinking, suckling, frowning, sleeping amid a swarm of infants (there must have been quite a score ofthem) outside some primitive shanties of osier. 

--Chews coca all day, the communicative tarpaulin added. Stomachslike breadgraters. Cuts off their diddies when they can't bear no morechildren. 

See them sitting there stark ballocknaked eating a dead horse's liverraw. 

His postcard proved a centre of attraction for Messrs the greenhorns forseveral minutes if not more. 

--Know how to keep them off? he inquired generally. 

Nobody volunteering a statement he winked, saying:

--Glass. That boggles 'em. Glass. 

Mr Bloom, without evincing surprise, unostentatiously turned over thecard to peruse the partially obliterated address and postmark. It ranas follows: _Tarjeta Postal, Señor A Boudin, Galeria Becche, Santiago, Chile. _ There was no message evidently, as he took particular notice. Though not an implicit believer in the lurid story narrated (or theeggsniping transaction for that matter despite William Tell and theLazarillo-Don Cesar de Bazan incident depicted in _Maritana_ on whichoccasion the former's ball passed through the latter's hat) havingdetected a discrepancy between his name (assuming he was the personhe represented himself to be and not sailing under false coloursafter having boxed the compass on the strict q. T. Somewhere) andthe fictitious addressee of the missive which made him nourish somesuspicions of our friend's _bona fides_ nevertheless it reminded him ina way of a longcherished plan he meant to one day realise some Wednesdayor Saturday of travelling to London via long sea not to say that he hadever travelled extensively to any great extent but he was at heart aborn adventurer though by a trick of fate he had consistently remaineda landlubber except you call going to Holyhead which was his longest. Martin Cunningham frequently said he would work a pass through Egan butsome deuced hitch or other eternally cropped up with the net result thatthe scheme fell through. But even suppose it did come to plankingdown the needful and breaking Boyd's heart it was not so dear, pursepermitting, a few guineas at the outside considering the fare toMullingar 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 inevery way thoroughly pleasurable, especially for a chap whose liver wasout of order, seeing the different places along the route, Plymouth, Falmouth, Southampton and so on culminating in an instructive tour ofthe sights of the great metropolis, the spectacle of our modern Babylonwhere doubtless he would see the greatest improvement, tower, abbey, wealth of Park lane to renew acquaintance with. Another thing juststruck him as a by no means bad notion was he might have a gaze aroundon the spot to see about trying to make arrangements about a concerttour 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 Channelislands and similar bijou spots, which might prove highly remunerative. Not, of course, with a hole and corner scratch company or local ladieson the job, witness Mrs C P M'Coy type lend me your valise and I'll postyou the ticket. No, something top notch, an all star Irish caste, theTweedy-Flower grand opera company with his own legal consort as leadinglady as a sort of counterblast to the Elster Grimes and Moody-Manners, perfectly simple matter and he was quite sanguine of success, providingpuffs in the local papers could be managed by some fellow with a bit ofbounce who could pull the indispensable wires and thus combine businesswith pleasure. But who? That was the rub. Also, without being actuallypositive, it struck him a great field was to be opened up in the lineof opening up new routes to keep pace with the times _apropos_ of theFishguard-Rosslare route which, it was mooted, was once more on the_tapis_ in the circumlocution departments with the usual quantity of redtape and dillydallying of effete fogeydom and dunderheads generally. Agreat opportunity there certainly was for push and enterprise to meetthe 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 nosmall blame to our vaunted society that the man in the street, when thesystem really needed toning up, for the matter of a couple of paltrypounds was debarred from seeing more of the world they lived in insteadof being always and ever cooped up since my old stick-in-the-mud took mefor a wife. After all, hang it, they had their eleven and more humdrummonths of it and merited a radical change of _venue_ after the grindof city life in the summertime for choice when dame Nature is at herspectacular best constituting nothing short of a new lease of life. There were equally excellent opportunities for vacationists in the homeisland, delightful sylvan spots for rejuvenation, offering a plethoraof attractions as well as a bracing tonic for the system in and aroundDublin and its picturesque environs even, Poulaphouca to which there wasa steamtram, but also farther away from the madding crowd in Wicklow, rightly termed the garden of Ireland, an ideal neighbourhood for elderlywheelmen so long as it didn't come down, and in the wilds of Donegalwhere if report spoke true the _coup d'oeil_ was exceedingly grandthough the lastnamed locality was not easily getatable so that theinflux of visitors was not as yet all that it might be considering thesignal benefits to be derived from it while Howth with its historicassociations and otherwise, Silken Thomas, Grace O'Malley, George IV, rhododendrons several hundred feet above sealevel was a favourite hauntwith all sorts and conditions of men especially in the spring when youngmen's fancy, though it had its own toll of deaths by falling off thecliffs by design or accidentally, usually, by the way, on their leftleg, it being only about three quarters of an hour's run from thepillar. Because of course uptodate tourist travelling was as yet merelyin its infancy, so to speak, and the accommodation left much to bedesired. Interesting to fathom it seemed to him from a motive ofcuriosity, pure and simple, was whether it was the traffic that createdthe route or viceversa or the two sides in fact. He turned back theother side of the card, picture, and passed it along to Stephen. 

--I seen a Chinese one time, related the doughty narrator, that hadlittle pills like putty and he put them in the water and they opened andevery 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 theglobetrotter went on, adhering to his adventures. 

--And I seen a man killed in Trieste by an Italian chap. Knife in hisback. Knife like that. 

Whilst speaking he produced a dangerouslooking claspknife quite inkeeping with his character and held it in the striking position. 

--In a knockingshop it was count of a tryon between two smugglers. Fellow hid behind a door, come up behind him. Like that. _Prepare tomeet your God_, says he. Chuk! It went into his back up to the butt. 

His heavy glance drowsily roaming about kind of defied their furtherquestions even should they by any chance want to. 

--That's a good bit of steel, repeated he, examining his formidable_stiletto_. 

After which harrowing _denouement_ sufficient to appal the stoutest hesnapped the blade to and stowed the weapon in question away as before inhis chamber of horrors, otherwise pocket. 

--They're great for the cold steel, somebody who was evidently quite inthe dark said for the benefit of them all. That was why they thoughtthe park murders of the invincibles was done by foreigners on account ofthem using knives. 

At this remark passed obviously in the spirit of _where ignoranceis bliss_ Mr B. And Stephen, each in his own particular way, bothinstinctively exchanged meaning glances, in a religious silence of thestrictly _entre nous_ variety however, towards where Skin-the-Goat, _alias_ the keeper, not turning a hair, was drawing spurts of liquidfrom his boiler affair. His inscrutable face which was really a workof art, a perfect study in itself, beggaring description, conveyedthe impression that he didn't understand one jot of what was going on. Funny, very!

There ensued a somewhat lengthy pause. One man was reading in fits andstarts a stained by coffee evening journal, another the card with thenatives _choza de_, another the seaman's discharge. Mr Bloom, so faras he was personally concerned, was just pondering in pensive mood. Hevividly recollected when the occurrence alluded to took place as wellas yesterday, roughly some score of years previously in the days of theland troubles, when it took the civilised world by storm, figurativelyspeaking, early in the eighties, eightyone to be correct, when he wasjust turned fifteen. 

--Ay, boss, the sailor broke in. Give us back them papers. 

The request being complied with he clawed them up with a scrape. 

--Have you seen the rock of Gibraltar? Mr Bloom inquired. 

The sailor grimaced, chewing, in a way that might be read as yes, ay orno. 

--Ah, you've touched there too, Mr Bloom said, Europa point, thinking hehad, in the hope that the rover might possibly by some reminiscences buthe failed to do so, simply letting spirt a jet of spew into the sawdust, and shook his head with a sort of lazy scorn. 

--What year would that be about? Mr B interrogated. Can you recall theboats?

Our _soi-disant_ sailor munched heavily awhile hungrily beforeanswering:

--I'm 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 notlikely 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 theglobe, suffice it to say that, as a casual glance at the map revealed, it covered fully three fourths of it and he fully realised accordinglywhat it meant to rule the waves. On more than one occasion, a dozenat the lowest, near the North Bull at Dollymount he had remarked asuperannuated old salt, evidently derelict, seated habitually near thenot particularly redolent sea on the wall, staring quite obliviously atit and it at him, dreaming of fresh woods and pastures new as someonesomewhere sings. And it left him wondering why. Possibly he had tried tofind out the secret for himself, floundering up and down the antipodesand 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 nosecret about it at all. Nevertheless, without going into the _minutiae_of the business, the eloquent fact remained that the sea was there inall its glory and in the natural course of things somebody or other hadto sail on it and fly in the face of providence though it merely wentto show how people usually contrived to load that sort of onus on to theother fellow like the hell idea and the lottery and insurance which wererun on identically the same lines so that for that very reason if noother lifeboat Sunday was a highly laudable institution to which thepublic at large, no matter where living inland or seaside, as the casemight be, having it brought home to them like that should extend itsgratitude also to the harbourmasters and coastguard service who hadto man the rigging and push off and out amid the elements whatever theseason when duty called _Ireland expects that every man_ and so on andsometimes had a terrible time of it in the wintertime not forgetting theIrish lights, Kish and others, liable to capsize at any moment, roundingwhich he once with his daughter had experienced some remarkably choppy, not to say stormy, weather. 

--There was a fellow sailed with me in the Rover, the old seadog, himself a rover, proceeded, went ashore and took up a soft job asgentleman's valet at six quid a month. Them are his trousers I've onme and he gave me an oilskin and that jackknife. I'm game for that job, shaving and brushup. I hate roaming about. There's my son now, Danny, run off to sea and his mother got him took in a draper's in Cork wherehe could be drawing easy money. 

--What age is he? queried one hearer who, by the way, seen from theside, bore a distant resemblance to Henry Campbell, the townclerk, awayfrom the carking cares of office, unwashed of course and in a seedygetup and a strong suspicion of nosepaint about the nasal appendage. 

--Why, the sailor answered with a slow puzzled utterance, my son, Danny?He'd be about eighteen now, way I figure it. 

The Skibbereen father hereupon tore open his grey or unclean anyhowshirt with his two hands and scratched away at his chest on which was tobe seen an image tattooed in blue Chinese ink intended to represent ananchor. 

--There was lice in that bunk in Bridgwater, he remarked, sure as nuts. I must get a wash tomorrow or next day. It's them black lads I objectsto. I hate those buggers. Suck your blood dry, they does. 

Seeing they were all looking at his chest he accommodatingly draggedhis shirt more open so that on top of the timehonoured symbol of themariner's hope and rest they had a full view of the figure 16 and ayoung man's sideface looking frowningly rather. 

--Tattoo, the exhibitor explained. That was done when we were Iyingbecalmed off Odessa in the Black Sea under Captain Dalton. Fellow, thename of Antonio, done that. There he is himself, a Greek. 

--Did it hurt much doing it? one asked the sailor. 

That worthy, however, was busily engaged in collecting round the. Someway in his. Squeezing or. 

--See here, he said, showing Antonio. There he is cursing the mate. Andthere he is now, he added, the same fellow, pulling the skin with hisfingers, some special knack evidently, and he laughing at a yarn. 

And in point of fact the young man named Antonio's livid face didactually look like forced smiling and the curious effect excited theunreserved admiration of everybody including Skin-the-Goat, who thistime stretched over. 

--Ay, ay, sighed the sailor, looking down on his manly chest. He's gonetoo. Ate by sharks after. Ay, ay. 

He let go of the skin so that the profile resumed the normal expressionof before. 

--Neat bit of work, one longshoreman said. 

--And what's the number for? loafer number two queried. 

--Eaten alive? a third asked the sailor. 

--Ay, ay, sighed again the latter personage, more cheerily thistime with some sort of a half smile for a brief duration only in thedirection of the questioner about the number. Ate. A Greek he was. 

And then he added with rather gallowsbird humour considering his allegedend:

_--As bad as old Antonio, For he left me on my ownio. _

The face of a streetwalker glazed and haggard under a black straw hatpeered askew round the door of the shelter palpably reconnoitring onher own with the object of bringing more grist to her mill. MrBloom, scarcely knowing which way to look, turned away on the momentflusterfied but outwardly calm, and, picking up from the table the pinksheet of the Abbey street organ which the jarvey, if such he was, hadlaid aside, he picked it up and looked at the pink of the paper thoughwhy pink. His reason for so doing was he recognised on the momentround the door the same face he had caught a fleeting glimpse of thatafternoon on Ormond quay, the partially idiotic female, namely, of thelane 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 seemedrather vague than not, your washing. Still candour compelled him toadmit he had washed his wife's undergarments when soiled in Hollesstreet and women would and did too a man's similar garments initialledwith Bewley and Draper's marking ink (hers were, that is) if they reallyloved him, that is to say, love me, love my dirty shirt. Still justthen, being on tenterhooks, he desired the female's room more than hercompany so it came as a genuine relief when the keeper made her a rudesign to take herself off. Round the side of the Evening Telegraph hejust caught a fleeting glimpse of her face round the side of the doorwith a kind of demented glassy grin showing that she was not exactly allthere, viewing with evident amusement the group of gazers round skipperMurphy's nautical chest and then there was no more of her. 

--The gunboat, the keeper said. 

--It beats me, Mr Bloom confided to Stephen, medically I am speaking, how a wretched creature like that from the Lock hospital reeking withdisease can be barefaced enough to solicit or how any man in his sobersenses, if he values his health in the least. Unfortunate creature! Ofcourse 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, merelyremarking:

--In this country people sell much more than she ever had and do aroaring trade. Fear not them that sell the body but have not power tobuy 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 astop to _instanter_ to say that women of that stamp (quite apart fromany oldmaidish squeamishness on the subject), a necessary evil, w erenot licensed and medically inspected by the proper authorities, a thing, he could truthfully state, he, as a _paterfamilias_, was a stalwartadvocate of from the very first start. Whoever embarked on a policy ofthe sort, he said, and ventilated the matter thoroughly would confer alasting boon on everybody concerned. 

--You as a good catholic, he observed, talking of body and soul, believein 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. Ibelieve in that myself because it has been explained by competent men asthe convolutions of the grey matter. Otherwise we would never have suchinventions as X rays, for instance. Do you?

Thus cornered, Stephen had to make a superhuman effort of memory to tryand concentrate and remember before he could say:

--They tell me on the best authority it is a simple substance andtherefore incorruptible. It would be immortal, I understand, but for thepossibility of its annihilation by its First Cause Who, from all Ican hear, is quite capable of adding that to the number of His otherpractical jokes, _corruptio per se_ and _corruptio per accidens_ bothbeing excluded by court etiquette. 

Mr Bloom thoroughly acquiesced in the general gist of this though themystical finesse involved was a bit out of his sublunary depth stillhe felt bound to enter a demurrer on the head of simple, promptlyrejoining:

--Simple? I shouldn't think that is the proper word. Of course, I grantyou, to concede a point, you do knock across a simple soul once in ablue moon. But what I am anxious to arrive at is it is one thing forinstance 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 naturalphenomenon such as electricity but it's a horse of quite another colourto say you believe in the existence of a supernatural God. 

--O that, Stephen expostulated, has been proved conclusively by severalof the bestknown passages in Holy Writ, apart from circumstantialevidence. 

On this knotty point however the views of the pair, poles apart as theywere both in schooling and everything else with the marked difference intheir respective ages, clashed. 

--Has been? the more experienced of the two objected, sticking to hisoriginal point with a smile of unbelief. I'm not so sure about that. That's a matter for everyman's opinion and, without dragging in thesectarian side of the business, I beg to differ with you _in toto_there. My belief is, to tell you the candid truth, that those bits weregenuine forgeries all of them put in by monks most probably or it's thebig question of our national poet over again, who precisely wrote themlike _Hamlet_ and Bacon, as, you who know your Shakespeare infinitelybetter than I, of course I needn't tell you. Can't you drink thatcoffee, by the way? Let me stir it. And take a piece of that bun. It'slike one of our skipper's bricks disguised. Still no-one can give whathe hasn't got. Try a bit. 

--Couldn't, Stephen contrived to get out, his mental organs for themoment refusing to dictate further. 

Faultfinding being a proverbially bad hat Mr Bloom thought well to stiror try to the clotted sugar from the bottom and reflected with somethingapproaching acrimony on the Coffee Palace and its temperance (andlucrative) work. To be sure it was a legitimate object and beyond yea ornay did a world of good, shelters such as the present one they were inrun on teetotal lines for vagrants at night, concerts, dramatic eveningsand useful lectures (admittance free) by qualified men for the lowerorders. On the other hand he had a distinct and painful recollectionthey paid his wife, Madam Marion Tweedy who had been prominentlyassociated with it at one time, a very modest remuneration indeed forher pianoplaying. The idea, he was strongly inclined to believe, wasto do good and net a profit, there being no competition to speakof. Sulphate of copper poison SO4 or something in some dried peas heremembered reading of in a cheap eatinghouse somewhere but he couldn'tremember when it was or where. Anyhow inspection, medical inspection, of all eatables seemed to him more than ever necessary which possiblyaccounted for the vogue of Dr Tibble's Vi-Cocoa on account of themedical analysis involved. 

--Have a shot at it now, he ventured to say of the coffee after beingstirred. 

Thus prevailed on to at any rate taste it Stephen lifted the heavy mugfrom the brown puddle it clopped out of when taken up by the handle andtook a sip of the offending beverage. 

--Still it's solid food, his good genius urged, I'm a stickler for solidfood, his one and only reason being not gormandising in the least butregular meals as the _sine qua non_ for any kind of proper work, mentalor manual. You ought to eat more solid food. You would feel a differentman. 

--Liquids I can eat, Stephen said. But O, oblige me by taking away thatknife. I can't look at the point of it. It reminds me of Roman history. 

Mr Bloom promptly did as suggested and removed the incriminated article, a blunt hornhandled ordinary knife with nothing particularly Roman orantique about it to the lay eye, observing that the point was the leastconspicuous point about it. 

--Our mutual friend's stories are like himself, Mr Bloom _apropos_ ofknives remarked to his _confidante sotto voce_. Do you think they aregenuine? He could spin those yarns for hours on end all night long andlie like old boots. Look at him. 

Yet still though his eyes were thick with sleep and sea air life wasfull of a host of things and coincidences of a terrible nature and itwas quite within the bounds of possibility that it was not anentire fabrication though at first blush there was not much inherentprobability in all the spoof he got off his chest being strictlyaccurate gospel. 

He had been meantime taking stock of the individual in front of him andSherlockholmesing him up ever since he clapped eyes on him. Though awellpreserved man of no little stamina, if a trifle prone to baldness, there was something spurious in the cut of his jib that suggested a jaildelivery and it required no violent stretch of imagination to associatesuch a weirdlooking specimen with the oakum and treadmill fraternity. Hemight even have done for his man supposing it was his own case he told, as people often did about others, namely, that he killed him himselfand had served his four or five goodlooking years in durance vile to saynothing of the Antonio personage (no relation to the dramatic personageof identical name who sprang from the pen of our national poet) whoexpiated his crimes in the melodramatic manner above described. On theother hand he might be only bluffing, a pardonable weakness becausemeeting unmistakable mugs, Dublin residents, like those jarvies waitingnews from abroad would tempt any ancient mariner who sailed the oceanseas to draw the long bow about the schooner _Hesperus_ and etcetera. And when all was said and done the lies a fellow told about himselfcouldn't probably hold a proverbial candle to the wholesale whoppersother fellows coined about him. 

--Mind you, I'm not saying that it's all a pure invention, he resumed. Analogous scenes are occasionally, if not often, met with. Giants, though that is rather a far cry, you see once in a way, Marcella themidget queen. In those waxworks in Henry street I myself saw someAztecs, as they are called, sitting bowlegged, they couldn't straightentheir legs if you paid them because the muscles here, you see, heproceeded, indicating on his companion the brief outline of the sinewsor whatever you like to call them behind the right knee, were utterlypowerless from sitting that way so long cramped up, being adored asgods. There's an example again of simple souls. 

However reverting to friend Sinbad and his horrifying adventures (whoreminded him a bit of Ludwig, _alias_ Ledwidge, when he occupiedthe boards of the Gaiety when Michael Gunn was identified with themanagement in the _Flying Dutchman_, a stupendous success, and his hostof admirers came in large numbers, everyone simply flocking to hear himthough ships of any sort, phantom or the reverse, on the stage usuallyfell a bit flat as also did trains) there was nothing intrinsicallyincompatible about it, he conceded. On the contrary that stab in theback touch was quite in keeping with those italianos though candidly hewas none the less free to admit those icecreamers and friers in the fishway not to mention the chip potato variety and so forth over in littleItaly there near the Coombe were sober thrifty hardworking fellowsexcept perhaps a bit too given to pothunting the harmless necessaryanimal of the feline persuasion of others at night so as to have a goodold succulent tuckin with garlic _de rigueur_ off him or her next day onthe quiet and, he added, on the cheap. 

--Spaniards, for instance, he continued, passionate temperaments likethat, impetuous as Old Nick, are given to taking the law into their ownhands and give you your quietus doublequick with those poignards theycarry 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 couldactually claim Spanish nationality if she wanted, having been born in(technically) Spain, i. E. Gibraltar. She has the Spanish type. Quitedark, regular brunette, black. I for one certainly believe climateaccounts for character. That's why I asked you if you wrote your poetryin Italian. 

--The temperaments at the door, Stephen interposed with, were verypassionate about ten shillings. _Roberto ruba roba sua_. 

--Quite so, Mr Bloom dittoed. 

--Then, Stephen said staring and rambling on to himself or some unknownlistener somewhere, we have the impetuosity of Dante and the isoscelestriangle miss Portinari he fell in love with and Leonardo and sanTommaso Mastino. 

--It's in the blood, Mr Bloom acceded at once. All are washed in theblood of the sun. Coincidence I just happened to be in the Kildarestreet museum 890 today, shortly prior to our meeting if I can so callit, and I was just looking at those antique statues there. The splendidproportions of hips, bosom. You simply don't knock against those kind ofwomen here. An exception here and there. Handsome yes, pretty in a wayyou find but what I'm talking about is the female form. Besides theyhave so little taste in dress, most of them, which greatly enhances awoman's natural beauty, no matter what you say. Rumpled stockings, itmay be, possibly is, a foible of mine but still it's a thing I simplyhate to see. 

Interest, however, was starting to flag somewhat all round and then theothers got on to talking about accidents at sea, ships lost in a fog, goo collisions with icebergs, all that sort of thing. Shipahoy of coursehad his own say to say. He had doubled the cape a few odd times andweathered a monsoon, a kind of wind, in the China seas and through allthose perils of the deep there was one thing, he declared, stood to himor words to that effect, a pious medal he had that saved him. 

So then after that they drifted on to the wreck off Daunt's rock, wreckof that illfated Norwegian barque nobody could think of her name forthe moment till the jarvey who had really quite a look of Henry Campbellremembered it _Palme_ on Booterstown strand. That was the talk of thetown that year (Albert William Quill wrote a fine piece of originalverse of 910 distinctive merit on the topic for the Irish _Times_), breakers running over her and crowds and crowds on the shore incommotion petrified with horror. Then someone said something about thecase of the s. S. _Lady Cairns_ of Swansea run into by the _Mona_ whichwas on an opposite tack in rather muggyish weather and lost with allhands on deck. No aid was given. Her master, the _Mona's_, said hewas afraid his collision bulkhead would give way. She had no water, itappears, in her hold. 

At this stage an incident happened. It having become necessary for himto unfurl a reef the sailor vacated his seat. 

--Let me cross your bows mate, he said to his neighbour who was justgently 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 boredue left. While he was in the act of getting his bearings Mr Bloom whonoticed when he stood up that he had two flasks of presumably ship'srum sticking one out of each pocket for the private consumption of hisburning interior, saw him produce a bottle and uncork it or unscrew and, applying its nozz1e to his lips, take a good old delectable swig out ofit with a gurgling noise. The irrepressible Bloom, who also had ashrewd suspicion that the old stager went out on a manoeuvre after thecounterattraction in the shape of a female who however had disappearedto all intents and purposes, could by straining just perceive him, whenduly refreshed by his rum puncheon exploit, gaping up at the piers andgirders of the Loop line rather out of his depth as of course it was allradically altered since his last visit and greatly improved. Some personor persons invisible directed him to the male urinal erected by thecleansing committee all over the place for the purpose but after a briefspace of time during which silence reigned supreme the sailor, evidentlygiving it a wide berth, eased himself closer at hand, the noise of hisbilgewater some little time subsequently splashing on the ground whereit apparently awoke a horse of the cabrank. A hoof scooped anyway fornew foothold after sleep and harness jingled. Slightly disturbed in hissentrybox by the brazier of live coke the watcher of the corporationstones who, though now broken down and fast breaking up, was none otherin stern reality than the Gumley aforesaid, now practically on theparish rates, given the temporary job by Pat Tobin in all humanprobability from dictates of humanity knowing him before shifted aboutand shuffled in his box before composing his limbs again in to the armsof Morpheus, a truly amazing piece of hard lines in its most virulentform on a fellow most respectably connected and familiarised with decenthome comforts all his life who came in for a cool 100 pounds a yearat one time which of course the doublebarrelled ass proceeded to makegeneral ducks and drakes of. And there he was at the end of his tetherafter having often painted the town tolerably pink without a beggarlystiver. He drank needless to be told and it pointed only once more amoral when he might quite easily be in a large way of business if--abig if, however--he had contrived to cure himself of his particularpartiality. 

All meantime were loudly lamenting the falling off in Irish shipping, coastwise and foreign as well, which was all part and parcel of the samething. A Palgrave Murphy boat was put off the ways at Alexandra basin, the only launch that year. Right enough the harbours were there only noships ever called. 

There were wrecks and wreckers, the keeper said, who was evidently _aufait_. 

What he wanted to ascertain was why that ship ran bang against the onlyrock in Galway bay when the Galway harbour scheme was mooted by a MrWorthington or some name like that, eh? Ask the then captain, he advisedthem, how much palmoil the British government gave him for that day'swork, Captain John Lever of the Lever Line. 

--Am I right, skipper? he queried of the sailor, now returning after hisprivate potation and the rest of his exertions. 

That worthy picking up the scent of the fagend of the song or wordsgrowled in wouldbe music but with great vim some kind of chanty or otherin seconds or thirds. Mr Bloom's sharp ears heard him then expectoratethe plug probably (which it was), so that he must have lodged it for thetime being in his fist while he did the drinking and making water jobsand found it a bit sour after the liquid fire in question. Anyhow inhe rolled after his successful libation-_cum_-potation, introducing anatmosphere of drink into the _soirée_, boisterously trolling, like averitable son of a seacook:

 _--The biscuits was as hard as brass And the beef as salt as Lot's wife's arse. O, Johnny Lever! Johnny Lever, O!_

After which effusion the redoubtable specimen duly arrived on the sceneand regaining his seat he sank rather than sat heavily on the formprovided. Skin-the-Goat, assuming he was he, evidently with an axe togrind, was airing his grievances in a forcible-feeble philippic anentthe natural resources of Ireland or something of that sort which hedescribed in his lengthy dissertation as the richest country bar none onthe face of God's earth, far and away superior to England, with coal inlarge quantities, six million pounds worth of pork exported every year, ten millions between butter and eggs and all the riches drained out ofit by England levying taxes on the poor people that paid through thenose always and gobbling up the best meat in the market and a lot moresurplus steam in the same vein. Their conversation accordingly becamegeneral and all agreed that that was a fact. You could grow any mortalthing in Irish soil, he stated, and there was that colonel Everard downthere in Navan growing tobacco. Where would you find anywhere the likeof Irish bacon? But a day of reckoning, he stated _crescendo_ with nouncertain voice, thoroughly monopolising all the conversation, was instore for mighty England, despite her power of pelf on account of hercrimes. There would be a fall and the greatest fall in history. The Germans and the Japs were going to have their little lookin, heaffirmed. The Boers were the beginning of the end. Brummagem England wastoppling already and her downfall would be Ireland, her Achilles heel, which he explained to them about the vulnerable point of Achilles, theGreek hero, a point his auditors at once seized as he completely grippedtheir attention by showing the tendon referred to on his boot. Hisadvice to every Irishman was: stay in the land of your birth and workfor Ireland and live for Ireland. Ireland, Parnell said, could not sparea single one of her sons. 

Silence all round marked the termination of his _finale_. The imperviousnavigator heard these lurid tidings, undismayed. 

--Take a bit of doing, boss, retaliated that rough diamond palpably abit peeved in response to the foregoing truism. 

To which cold douche referring to downfall and so on the keeperconcurred but nevertheless held to his main view. 

--Who's the best troops in the army? the grizzled old veteran iratelyinterrogated. And the best jumpers and racers? And the best admirals andgenerals we've got? Tell me that. 

--The Irish, for choice, retorted the cabby like Campbell, facialblemishes apart. 

--That's right, the old tarpaulin corroborated. The Irish catholicpeasant. He's the backbone of our empire. You know Jem Mullins?

While allowing him his individual opinions as everyman the keeper addedhe cared nothing for any empire, ours or his, and considered no Irishmanworthy of his salt that served it. Then they began to have a fewirascible words when it waxed hotter, both, needless to say, appealingto the listeners who followed the passage of arms with interest so longas they didn't indulge in recriminations and come to blows. 

From inside information extending over a series of years Mr Bloom wasrather inclined to poohpooh the suggestion as egregious balderdash for, pending that consummation devoutly to be or not to be wished for, he wasfully cognisant of the fact that their neighbours across the channel, unless they were much bigger fools than he took them for, ratherconcealed their strength than the opposite. It was quite on a par withthe quixotic idea in certain quarters that in a hundred million yearsthe coal seam of the sister island would be played out and if, astime went on, that turned out to be how the cat jumped all he couldpersonally say on the matter was that as a host of contingencies, equally relevant to the issue, might occur ere then it was highlyadvisable in the interim to try to make the most of both countries eventhough poles apart. Another little interesting point, the amours ofwhores and chummies, to put it in common parlance, reminded him Irishsoldiers had as often fought for England as against her, more so, infact. And now, why? So the scene between the pair of them, the licenseeof the place rumoured to be or have been Fitzharris, the famousinvincible, and the other, obviously bogus, reminded him forcibly asbeing on all fours with the confidence trick, supposing, that is, it wasprearranged 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 wasn't the other person at all, he (B. ) couldn't helpfeeling and most properly it was better to give people like that thegoby unless you were a blithering idiot altogether and refuse to haveanything to do with them as a golden rule in private life and theirfelonsetting, there always being the offchance of a Dannyman comingforward and turning queen's evidence or king's now like Denis or PeterCarey, an idea he utterly repudiated. Quite apart from that he dislikedthose careers of wrongdoing and crime on principle. Yet, though suchcriminal propensities had never been an inmate of his bosom in anyshape or form, he certainly did feel and no denying it (while inwardlyremaining what he was) a certain kind of admiration for a man whohad actually brandished a knife, cold steel, with the courage of hispolitical convictions (though, personally, he would never be a party toany 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 wordspassed between the two concerning her relations with the other luckymortal (he having had the pair watched), inflicted fatal injuries onhis adored one as a result of an alternative postnuptial _liaison_by plunging his knife into her, until it just struck him thatFitz, nicknamed Skin-the-Goat, merely drove the car for the actualperpetrators 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 somelegal luminary saved his skin on. In any case that was very ancienthistory by now and as for our friend, the pseudo Skin-the-etcetera, hehad transparently outlived his welcome. He ought to have either diednaturally or on the scaffold high. Like actresses, always farewellpositively last performance then come up smiling again. Generous to afault of course, temperamental, no economising or any idea of the sort, always snapping at the bone for the shadow. So similarly he had a veryshrewd suspicion that Mr Johnny Lever got rid of some l s d. In thecourse of his perambulations round the docks in the congenial atmosphereof the _Old Ireland_ tavern, come back to Erin and so on. Then as forthe other he had heard not so long before the same identical lingo as hetold Stephen how he simply but effectually silenced the offender. 

--He took umbrage at something or other, that muchinjured but on thewhole eventempered person declared, I let slip. He called me a jew andin a heated fashion offensively. So I without deviating from plain factsin the least told him his God, I mean Christ, was a jew too and all hisfamily like me though in reality I'm not. That was one for him. A softanswer turns away wrath. He hadn't a word to say for himself as everyonesaw. Am I not right?

He turned a long you are wrong gaze on Stephen of timorous dark prideat the soft impeachment with a glance also of entreaty for he seemed toglean in a kind of a way that it wasn't all exactly. 

--_Ex quibus_, Stephen mumbled in a noncommittal accent, their two orfour eyes conversing, _Christus_ or Bloom his name is or after all anyother, _secundum carnem_. 

--Of course, Mr B. Proceeded to stipulate, you must look at both sidesof the question. It is hard to lay down any hard and fast rules as toright and wrong but room for improvement all round there certainly isthough every country, they say, our own distressful included, has thegovernment it deserves. But with a little goodwill all round. It's allvery fine to boast of mutual superiority but what about mutual equality. I resent violence and intolerance in any shape or form. It neverreaches anything or stops anything. A revolution must come on the dueinstalments plan. It's a patent absurdity on the face of it to hatepeople because they live round the corner and speak another vernacular, in the next house so to speak. 

--Memorable bloody bridge battle and seven minutes' war, Stephenassented, between Skinner's alley and Ormond market. 

Yes, Mr Bloom thoroughly agreed, entirely endorsing the remark, thatwas overwhelmingly right. And the whole world was full of that sort ofthing. 

--You just took the words out of my mouth, he said. A hocuspocus ofconflicting evidence that candidly you couldn't remotely. . . 

All those wretched quarrels, in his humble opinion, stirring upbad blood, from some bump of combativeness or gland of some kind, erroneously supposed to be about a punctilio of honour and a flag, werevery largely a question of the money question which was at the back ofeverything greed and jealousy, people never knowing when to stop. 

--They accuse, remarked he audibly. 

He turned away from the others who probably and spoke nearer to, so asthe others in case they. 

--Jews, he softly imparted in an aside in Stephen's ear, are accused ofruining. Not a vestige of truth in it, I can safely say. History, wouldyou be surprised to learn, proves up to the hilt Spain decayed when theinquisition 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. Theyare practical and are proved to be so. I don't want to indulge in anybecause you know the standard works on the subject and then orthodox asyou are. But in the economic, not touching religion, domain the priestspells poverty. Spain again, you saw in the war, compared with goaheadAmerica. Turks. It's in the dogma. Because if they didn't believe they'dgo straight to heaven when they die they'd try to live better, at leastso I think. That's the juggle on which the p. P's raise the wind on falsepretences. I'm, he resumed with dramatic force, as good an Irishmanas that rude person I told you about at the outset and I want to seeeveryone, concluded he, all creeds and classes _pro rata_ having acomfortable tidysized income, in no niggard fashion either, somethingin the neighbourhood of 300 pounds per annum. That's the vital issueat stake and it's feasible and would be provocative of friendlierintercourse between man and man. At least that's my idea for what it'sworth. I call that patriotism. _Ubi patria_, as we learned a smatteringof in our classical days in _Alma Mater, vita bene_. Where you can livewell, the sense is, if you work. 

Over his untastable apology for a cup of coffee, listening to thissynopsis of things in general, Stephen stared at nothing in particular. He could hear, of course, all kinds of words changing colour like thosecrabs about Ringsend in the morning burrowing quickly into all coloursof different sorts of the same sand where they had a home somewherebeneath or seemed to. Then he looked up and saw the eyes that said ordidn't say the words the voice he heard said, if you work. 

--Count me out, he managed to remark, meaning work. 

The eyes were surprised at this observation because as he, the personwho owned them pro tem. Observed or rather his voice speaking did, allmust work, have to, together. 

--I mean, of course, the other hastened to affirm, work in the widestpossible sense. Also literary labour not merely for the kudos ofthe thing. Writing for the newspapers which is the readiest channelnowadays. That's work too. Important work. After all, from the littleI know of you, after all the money expended on your education you areentitled to recoup yourself and command your price. You have every bitas much right to live by your pen in pursuit of your philosophy as thepeasant has. What? You both belong to Ireland, the brain and the brawn. Each is equally important. 

--You suspect, Stephen retorted with a sort of a half laugh, that I maybe important because I belong to the _faubourg Saint Patrice_ calledIreland for short. 

--I would go a step farther, Mr Bloom insinuated. 

--But I suspect, Stephen interrupted, that Ireland must be importantbecause it belongs to me. 

--What belongs, queried Mr Bloom bending, fancying he was perhaps undersome misapprehension. Excuse me. Unfortunately, I didn't catch thelatter portion. What was it you. . . ?

Stephen, patently crosstempered, repeated and shoved aside his mug ofcoffee or whatever you like to call it none too politely, adding: 1170

--We can't change the country. Let us change the subject. 

At this pertinent suggestion Mr Bloom, to change the subject, lookeddown but in a quandary, as he couldn't tell exactly what constructionto put on belongs to which sounded rather a far cry. The rebuke of somekind was clearer than the other part. Needless to say the fumes ofhis recent orgy spoke then with some asperity in a curious bitter wayforeign to his sober state. Probably the homelife to which Mr B attachedthe utmost importance had not been all that was needful or he hadn'tbeen familiarised with the right sort of people. With a touch of fearfor the young man beside him whom he furtively scrutinised with an airof some consternation remembering he had just come back from Paris, the eyes more especially reminding him forcibly of father and sister, failing to throw much light on the subject, however, he brought to mindinstances of cultured fellows that promised so brilliantly nipped in thebud of premature decay and nobody to blame but themselves. For instancethere was the case of O'Callaghan, for one, the halfcrazy faddist, respectably connected though of inadequate means, with his mad vagariesamong whose other gay doings when rotto and making himself a nuisanceto everybody all round he was in the habit of ostentatiously sporting inpublic 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 hotwater and had to be spirited away by a few friends, after a strong hintto a blind horse from John Mallon of Lower Castle Yard, so as not tobe made amenable under section two of the criminal law amendment act, certain names of those subpoenaed being handed in but not divulgedfor reasons which will occur to anyone with a pick of brains. Briefly, putting two and two together, six sixteen which he pointedly turned adeaf ear to, Antonio and so forth, jockeys and esthetes and the tattoowhich was all the go in the seventies or thereabouts even in the houseof lords because early in life the occupant of the throne, then heirapparent, the other members of the upper ten and other high personagessimply following in the footsteps of the head of the state, he reflectedabout the errors of notorieties and crowned heads running counter tomorality such as the Cornwall case a number of years before under theirveneer in a way scarcely intended by nature, a thing good Mrs Grundy, as the law stands, was terribly down on though not for the reason theythought they were probably whatever it was except women chiefly who werealways fiddling more or less at one another it being largely a matter ofdress and all the rest of it. Ladies who like distinctive underclothingshould, and every welltailored man must, trying to make the gap widerbetween them by innuendo and give more of a genuine filip to acts ofimpropriety between the two, she unbuttoned his and then he untied her, mind the pin, whereas savages in the cannibal islands, say, at ninetydegrees in the shade not caring a continental. However, reverting to theoriginal, there were on the other hand others who had forced their wayto the top from the lowest rung by the aid of their bootstraps. Sheerforce of natural genius, that. With brains, sir. 

For which and further reasons he felt it was his interest and duty evento wait on and profit by the unlookedfor occasion though why he couldnot exactly tell being as it was already several shillings to thebad having in fact let himself in for it. Still to cultivate theacquaintance of someone of no uncommon calibre who could provide foodfor 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, thewhole galaxy of events, all went to make up a miniature cameo of theworld we live in especially as the lives of the submerged tenth, viz. Coalminers, divers, scavengers etc. , were very much under the microscopelately. To improve the shining hour he wondered whether he might meetwith anything approaching the same luck as Mr Philip Beaufoy if takendown in writing suppose he were to pen something out of the commongroove (as he fully intended doing) at the rate of one guinea percolumn. _My Experiences_, let us say, _in a Cabman's Shelter_. 

The pink edition extra sporting of the _Telegraph_ tell a graphic lielay, as luck would have it, beside his elbow and as he was just puzzlingagain, far from satisfied, over a country belonging to him and thepreceding rebus the vessel came from Bridgwater and the postcard wasaddressed A. Boudin find the captain's age, his eyes went aimlesslyover the respective captions which came under his special province theallembracing give us this day our daily press. First he got a bit of astart but it turned out to be only something about somebody named H. Du Boyes, agent for typewriters or something like that. Great battle, Tokio. Lovemaking in Irish, 200 pounds damages. Gordon Bennett. Emigration Swindle. Letter from His Grace. William. Ascot meeting, the Gold Cup. Victory of outsider _Throwaway_ recalls Derby of '92 whenCapt. Marshall's dark horse _Sir Hugo_ captured the blue ribband at longodds. New York disaster. Thousand lives lost. Foot and Mouth. Funeral ofthe late Mr Patrick Dignam. 

So to change the subject he read about Dignam R. I. P. Which, hereflected, was anything but a gay sendoff. Or a change of addressanyway. 

--_This morning_ (Hynes put it in of course) _the remains of the late MrPatrick Dignam were removed from his residence, no 9 Newbridge Avenue, Sandymount, for interment in Glasnevin. The deceased gentleman was amost popular and genial personality in city life and his demise after abrief illness came as a great shock to citizens of all classes by whomhe is deeply regretted. The obsequies, at which many friends of thedeceased were present, were carried out_ (certainly Hynes wrote it witha nudge from Corny) _by Messrs H. J. O'Neill and Son, 164 North StrandRoad. The mourners included: Patk. Dignam (son), Bernard Corrigan(brother-in-law), Jno. Henry Menton, solr, Martin Cunningham, JohnPower, eatondph 1/8 ador dorador douradora_ (must be where he calledMonks the dayfather about Keyes's ad) _Thomas Kernan, Simon Dedalus, Stephen Dedalus B. , 4. , Edw. J. Lambert, Cornelius T. Kelleher, JosephM'C Hynes, L. Boom, CP M'Coy, --M'lntosh and several others_. 

Nettled not a little by L. _Boom_ (as it incorrectly stated) and theline of bitched type but tickled to death simultaneously by C. P. M'Coyand Stephen Dedalus B. A. Who were conspicuous, needless to say, bytheir total absence (to say nothing of M'Intosh) L. Boom pointed itout to his companion B. A. Engaged in stifling another yawn, halfnervousness, not forgetting the usual crop of nonsensical howlers ofmisprints. 

--Is that first epistle to the Hebrews, he asked as soon as his bottomjaw would let him, in? Text: open thy mouth and put thy foot in it. 

--It is. Really, Mr Bloom said (though first he fancied he alluded tothe archbishop till he added about foot and mouth with which there couldbe no possible connection) overjoyed to set his mind at rest and a bitflabbergasted at Myles Crawford's after all managing to. There. 

While the other was reading it on page two Boom (to give him for thenonce his new misnomer) whiled away a few odd leisure moments in fitsand starts with the account of the third event at Ascot on page three, his side. Value 1000 sovs with 3000 sovs in specie added. For entirecolts and fillies. Mr F. Alexander's _Throwaway_, b. H. By _Rightaway_, 5 yrs, 9 st 4 lbs (W. Lane) 1, lord Howard de Walden's _Zinfandel_ (M. Cannon) z, Mr W. Bass's _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 anybody's race then the rank outsider drew tothe fore, got long lead, beating lord Howard de Walden's chestnutcolt and Mr W. Bass's bay filly Sceptre on a 2 1/2 mile course. Winnertrained by Braime so that Lenehan's version of the business was all purebuncombe. Secured the verdict cleverly by a length. 1000 sovs with3000 in specie. Also ran: J de Bremond's (French horse Bantam Lyons wasanxiously inquiring after not in yet but expected any minute) _MaximumII_. Different ways of bringing off a coup. Lovemaking damages. Thoughthat halfbaked Lyons ran off at a tangent in his impetuosity to getleft. Of course gambling eminently lent itself to that sort of thingthough as the event turned out the poor fool hadn't much reason tocongratulate himself on his pick, the forlorn hope. Guesswork it reduceditself to eventually. 

--There was every indication they would arrive at that, he, Bloom, said. 

--Who? 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 wasin that shelter one night and said he saw him in South Africa. Pride itwas killed him. He ought to have done away with himself or lain low fora time after committee room no 15 until he was his old self again withno-one to point a finger at him. Then they would all to a man have gonedown on their marrowbones to him to come back when he had recoveredhis senses. Dead he wasn't. Simply absconded somewhere. The coffin theybrought over was full of stones. He changed his name to De Wet, the Boergeneral. 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 theirmemories for in nine cases out of ten it was a case of tarbarrels andnot singly but in their thousands and then complete oblivion because itwas twenty odd years. Highly unlikely of course there was even a shadowof truth in the stones and, even supposing, he thought a return highlyinadvisable, all things considered. Something evidently riled them inhis death. Either he petered out too tamely of acute pneumonia just whenhis various different political arrangements were nearing completionor whether it transpired he owed his death to his having neglected tochange his boots and clothes-after a wetting when a cold resulted andfailing to consult a specialist he being confined to his room till heeventually died of it amid widespread regret before a fortnight was atan end or quite possibly they were distressed to find the job was takenout of their hands. Of course nobody being acquainted with his movementseven before there was absolutely no clue as to his whereabouts whichwere decidedly of the _Alice, where art thou_ order even prior to hisstarting to go under several aliases such as Fox and Stewart so theremark which emanated from friend cabby might be within the bounds ofpossibility. Naturally then it would prey on his mind as a born leaderof men which undoubtedly he was and a commanding figure, a sixfooteror at any rate five feet ten or eleven in his stockinged feet, whereasMessrs So and So who, though they weren't even a patch on the formerman, ruled the roost after their redeeming features were very few andfar between. It certainly pointed a moral, the idol with feet of clay, and then seventytwo of his trusty henchmen rounding on him with mutualmudslinging. And the identical same with murderers. You had to comeback. That haunting sense kind of drew you. To show the understudy inthe title _rôle_ how to. He saw him once on the auspicious occasionwhen they broke up the type in the _Insuppressible_ or was it _UnitedIreland_, 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 notwithstandingthe little misadventure mentioned between the cup and the lip: what'sbred in the bone. Still as regards return. You were a lucky dog ifthey didn't set the terrier at you directly you got back. Then a lot ofshillyshally usually followed, Tom for and Dick and Harry against. Andthen, number one, you came up against the man in possession and had toproduce your credentials like the claimant in the Tichborne case, Roger Charles Tichborne, _Bella_ was the boat's name to the best of hisrecollection he, the heir, went down in as the evidence went to showand there was a tattoo mark too in Indian ink, lord Bellew was it, as hemight very easily have picked up the details from some pal on board shipand then, when got up to tally with the description given, introducehimself with: _Excuse me, my name is So and So_ or some such commonplaceremark. 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. 

--That bitch, that English whore, did for him, the shebeen proprietorcommented. She put the first nail in his coffin. 

--Fine lump of a woman all the same, the _soi-disant_ townclerk HenryCampbell remarked, and plenty of her. She loosened many a man's thighs. I seen her picture in a barber's. The husband was a captain or anofficer. 

--Ay, Skin-the-Goat amusingly added, he was and a cottonball one. 

This gratuitous contribution of a humorous character occasioned a fairamount of laughter among his _entourage_. As regards Bloom he, withoutthe faintest suspicion of a smile, merely gazed in the direction ofthe door and reflected upon the historic story which had arousedextraordinary interest at the time when the facts, to make mattersworse, were made public with the usual affectionate letters that passedbetween them full of sweet nothings. First it was strictly Platonic tillnature intervened and an attachment sprang up between them till bit bybit matters came to a climax and the matter became the talk of the towntill the staggering blow came as a welcome intelligence to not a fewevildisposed, however, who were resolved upon encompassing his downfallthough the thing was public property all along though not to anythinglike the sensational extent that it subsequently blossomed into. Sincetheir names were coupled, though, since he was her declared favourite, where was the particular necessity to proclaim it to the rank and filefrom the housetops, the fact, namely, that he had shared her bedroomwhich came out in the witnessbox on oath when a thrill went through thepacked court literally electrifying everybody in the shape of witnessesswearing to having witnessed him on such and such a particular date inthe act of scrambling out of an upstairs apartment with the assistanceof a ladder in night apparel, having gained admittance in the samefashion, a fact the weeklies, addicted to the lubric a little, simplycoined shoals of money out of. Whereas the simple fact of the case wasit was simply a case of the husband not being up to the scratch, withnothing in common between them beyond the name, and then a real manarriving on the scene, strong to the verge of weakness, falling a victimto her siren charms and forgetting home ties, the usual sequel, to baskin the loved one's smiles. The eternal question of the life connubial, needless to say, cropped up. Can real love, supposing there happens tobe another chap in the case, exist between married folk? Poser. Though it was no concern of theirs absolutely if he regarded her withaffection, carried away by a wave of folly. A magnificent specimen ofmanhood he was truly augmented obviously by gifts of a high order, ascompared with the other military supernumerary that is (who was just theusual everyday _farewell, my gallant captain_ kind of an individual inthe light dragoons, the 18th hussars to be accurate) and inflammabledoubtless (the fallen leader, that is, not the other) in his ownpeculiar way which she of course, woman, quickly perceived as highlylikely to carve his way to fame which he almost bid fair to do till thepriests and ministers of the gospel as a whole, his erstwhile staunchadherents, and his beloved evicted tenants for whom he had done yeomanservice in the rural parts of the country by taking up the cudgels ontheir behalf in a way that exceeded their most sanguine expectations, very effectually cooked his matrimonial goose, thereby heaping coals offire on his head much in the same way as the fabled ass's kick. Lookingback now in a retrospective kind of arrangement all seemed a kind ofdream. And then coming back was the worst thing you ever did because itwent without saying you would feel out of place as things always movedwith the times. Why, as he reflected, Irishtown strand, a locality hehad not been in for quite a number of years looked different somehowsince, as it happened, he went to reside on the north side. North orsouth, however, it was just the wellknown case of hot passion, pure andsimple, upsetting the applecart with a vengeance and just bore out thevery thing he was saying as she also was Spanish or half so, types thatwouldn't do things by halves, passionate abandon of the south, castingevery shred of decency to the winds. 

--Just bears out what I was saying, he, with glowing bosom said toStephen, about blood and the sun. And, if I don't greatly mistake shewas Spanish too. 

--The king of Spain's daughter, Stephen answered, adding something orother rather muddled about farewell and adieu to you Spanish onions andthe first land called the Deadman and from Ramhead to Scilly was so andso many. 

--Was she? Bloom ejaculated, surprised though not astonished by anymeans, I never heard that rumour before. Possible, especially there, itwas as she lived there. So, Spain. 

Carefully avoiding a book in his pocket _Sweets of_, which reminded himby the by of that Cap l street library book out of date, he took out hispocketbook and, turning over the various contents it contained rapidlyfinally he. 

--Do you consider, by the by, he said, thoughtfully selecting a fadedphoto which he laid on the table, that a Spanish type?

Stephen, obviously addressed, looked down on the photo showing a largesized lady with her fleshy charms on evidence in an open fashion as shewas in the full bloom of womanhood in evening dress cut ostentatiouslylow for the occasion to give a liberal display of bosom, with more thanvision of breasts, her full lips parted and some perfect teeth, standingnear, ostensibly with gravity, a piano on the rest of which was _In OldMadrid_, a ballad, pretty in its way, which was then all the vogue. Her(the lady's) eyes, dark, large, looked at Stephen, about to smile aboutsomething to be admired, Lafayette of Westmoreland street, Dublin'spremier photographic artist, being responsible for the estheticexecution. 

--Mrs Bloom, my wife the _prima donna_ Madam Marion Tweedy, Bloomindicated. Taken a few years since. In or about ninety six. Very likeher then. 

Beside the young man he looked also at the photo of the lady now his1440 legal wife who, he intimated, was the accomplished daughter ofMajor Brian Tweedy and displayed at an early age remarkable proficiencyas a singer having even made her bow to the public when her yearsnumbered barely sweet sixteen. As for the face it was a speakinglikeness in expression but it did not do justice to her figure whichcame in for a lot of notice usually and which did not come out to thebest advantage in that getup. She could without difficulty, he said, have posed for the ensemble, not to dwell on certain opulent curves ofthe. He dwelt, being a bit of an artist in his spare time, on the femaleform in general developmentally because, as it so happened, no laterthan that afternoon he had seen those Grecian statues, 1450 perfectlydeveloped as works of art, in the National Museum. Marble could givethe original, shoulders, back, all the symmetry, all the rest. Yes, puritanisme, it does though Saint Joseph's sovereign thievery alors(Bandez!) Figne toi trop. Whereas no photo could because it simplywasn't art in a word. 

The spirit moving him he would much have liked to follow Jack Tar's goodexample and leave the likeness there for a very few minutes to speak foritself on the plea he so that the other could drink in the beauty forhimself, her stage presence being, frankly, a treat in itself which thecamera could not at all do justice to. But it was scarcely professionaletiquette so. Though it was a warm pleasant sort of a night now yetwonderfully cool for the season considering, for sunshine after storm. And he did feel a kind of need there and then to follow suit like akind of inward voice and satisfy a possible need by moving a motion. Nevertheless he sat tight just viewing the slightly soiled photo creasedby opulent curves, none the worse for wear however, and looked awaythoughtfully with the intention of not further increasing theother's possible embarrassment while gauging her symmetry of heaving_embonpoint_. In fact the slight soiling was only an added charm likethe case of linen slightly soiled, good as new, much better in factwith the starch out. Suppose she was gone when he? I looked for the lampwhich she told me came into his mind but merely as a passing fancy ofhis because he then recollected the morning littered bed etcetera andthe book about Ruby with met him pike hoses (_sic_) in it which musthave fell down sufficiently appropriately beside the domestic chamberpotwith apologies to Lindley Murray. 

The vicinity of the young man he certainly relished, educated, _distingué_ and impulsive into the bargain, far and away the pick of thebunch though you wouldn't think he had it in him yet you would. Besideshe said the picture was handsome which, say what you like, it was thoughat the moment she was distinctly stouter. And why not? An awful lot ofmakebelieve went on about that sort of thing involving a lifelong slurwith the usual splash page of gutterpress about the same old matrimonialtangle alleging misconduct with professional golfer or the neweststage favourite instead of being honest and aboveboard about the wholebusiness. How they were fated to meet and an attachment sprang upbetween the two so that their names were coupled in the public eyewas told in court with letters containing the habitual mushy andcompromising expressions leaving no loophole to show that they openlycohabited two or three times a week at some wellknown seaside hotel andrelations, when the thing ran its normal course, became in due courseintimate. Then the decree _nisi_ and the King's proctor tries to showcause why and, he failing to quash it, _nisi_ was made absolute. But asfor that the two misdemeanants, wrapped up as they largely were in oneanother, could safely afford to ignore it as they very largely did tillthe matter was put in the hands of a solicitor who filed a petition forthe party wronged in due course. He, B, enjoyed the distinction of beingclose to Erin's uncrowned king in the flesh when the thing occurred onthe historic _fracas_ when the fallen leader's, who notoriously stuck tohis guns to the last drop even when clothed in the mantle of adultery, (leader's) trusty henchmen to the number of ten or a dozen orpossibly even more than that penetrated into the printing works of the_Insuppressible_ or no it was _United Ireland_ (a by no means by theby appropriate appellative) and broke up the typecases with hammers orsomething like that all on account of some scurrilous effusions fromthe facile pens of the O'Brienite scribes at the usual mudslingingoccupation reflecting on the erstwhile tribune's private morals. Thoughpalpably a radically altered man he was still a commanding figure thoughcarelessly garbed as usual with that look of settled purpose which wenta long way with the shillyshallyers till they discovered to their vastdiscomfiture that their idol had feet of clay after placing him upon apedestal which she, however, was the first to perceive. As those wereparticularly hot times in the general hullaballoo Bloom sustained aminor injury from a nasty prod of some chap's elbow in the crowd thatof course congregated lodging some place about the pit of the stomach, fortunately not of a grave character. His hat (Parnell's) a silk one wasinadvertently knocked off and, as a matter of strict history, Bloom wasthe man who picked it up in the crush after witnessing the occurrencemeaning to return it to him (and return it to him he did with the utmostcelerity) who panting and hatless and whose thoughts were miles awayfrom his hat at the time all the same being a gentleman born with astake in the country he, as a matter of fact, having gone into it morefor the kudos of the thing than anything else, what's bred in the boneinstilled into him in infancy at his mother's knee in the shape ofknowing what good form was came out at once because he turned round tothe donor and thanked him with perfect _aplomb_, saying: _Thank you, sir_, though in a very different tone of voice from the ornament of thelegal profession whose headgear Bloom also set to rights earlier in thecourse of the day, history repeating itself with a difference, afterthe burial of a mutual friend when they had left him alone in his gloryafter the grim task of having committed his remains to the grave. 

On the other hand what incensed him more inwardly was the blatant jokesof the cabman and so on who passed it all off as a jest, laughing 1530immoderately, pretending to understand everything, the why and thewherefore, and in reality not knowing their own minds, it being a casefor the two parties themselves unless it ensued that the legitimatehusband happened to be a party to it owing to some anonymous letter fromthe usual boy Jones, who happened to come across them at the crucialmoment in a loving position locked in one another's arms, drawingattention to their illicit proceedings and leading up to a domesticrumpus and the erring fair one begging forgiveness of her lord andmaster upon her knees and promising to sever the connection and notreceive his visits any more if only the aggrieved husband would overlookthe matter and let bygones be bygones with tears in her eyes thoughpossibly with her tongue in her fair cheek at the same time as quitepossibly there were several others. He personally, being of a scepticalbias, believed and didn't make the smallest bones about saying so eitherthat man or men in the plural were always hanging around on the waitinglist about a lady, even supposing she was the best wife in the worldand 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 onfor a little flutter in polite debauchery to press their attentions onher with improper intent, the upshot being that her affections centredon another, the cause of many _liaisons_ between still attractivemarried women getting on for fair and forty and younger men, no doubt asseveral famous cases of feminine infatuation proved up to the hilt. 

It was a thousand pities a young fellow, blessed with an allowance ofbrains as his neighbour obviously was, should waste his valuable timewith profligate women who might present him with a nice dose to last himhis lifetime. In the nature of single blessedness he would one day takeunto himself a wife when Miss Right came on the scene but in the interimladies' society was a _conditio sine qua non_ though he had the gravestpossible doubts, not that he wanted in the smallest to pump Stephenabout Miss Ferguson (who was very possibly the particular lodestar whobrought him down to Irishtown so early in the morning), as to whether hewould find much satisfaction basking in the boy and girl courtship ideaand the company of smirking misses without a penny to their names bi ortriweekly with the orthodox preliminary canter of complimentplaying andwalking out leading up to fond lovers' ways and flowers and chocs. Tothink of him house and homeless, rooked by some landlady worse than anystepmother, was really too bad at his age. The queer suddenly thingshe popped out with attracted the elder man who was several years theother's senior or like his father but something substantial he certainlyought to eat even were it only an eggflip made on unadulterated maternalnutriment or, failing that, the homely Humpty Dumpty boiled. 

--At what o'clock did you dine? he questioned of the slim form and tiredthough unwrinkled face. 

--Some time yesterday, Stephen said. 

--Yesterday! exclaimed Bloom till he remembered it was already tomorrowFriday. Ah, you mean it's after twelve!

--The day before yesterday, Stephen said, improving on himself. 

Literally astounded at this piece of intelligence Bloom reflected. Though they didn't see eye to eye in everything a certain analogy theresomehow was as if both their minds were travelling, so to speak, in theone train of thought. At his age when dabbling in politics roughlysome score of years previously when he had been a _quasi_ aspirant toparliamentary honours in the Buckshot Foster days he too recollected inretrospect (which was a source of keen satisfaction in itself) he hada sneaking regard for those same ultra ideas. For instance when theevicted tenants question, then at its first inception, bulked largely inpeople's mind though, it goes without saying, not contributing a copperor pinning his faith absolutely to its dictums, some of which wouldn'texactly hold water, he at the outset in principle at all events was inthorough sympathy with peasant possession as voicing the trend of modernopinion (a partiality, however, which, realising his mistake, he wassubsequently partially cured of) and even was twitted with going astep farther than Michael Davitt in the striking views he at one timeinculcated as a backtothelander, which was one reason he stronglyresented the innuendo put upon him in so barefaced a fashion by ourfriend at the gathering of the clans in Barney Kiernan's so that he, though often considerably misunderstood and the least pugnacious ofmortals, be it repeated, departed from his customary habit to givehim (metaphorically) one in the gizzard though, so far as politicsthemselves were concerned, he was only too conscious of the casualtiesinvariably resulting from propaganda and displays of mutual animosityand the misery and suffering it entailed as a foregone conclusion onfine young fellows, chiefly, destruction of the fittest, in a word. 

Anyhow upon weighing up the pros and cons, getting on for one, as itwas, it was high time to be retiring for the night. The crux was itwas a bit risky to bring him home as eventualities might possibly ensue(somebody having a temper of her own sometimes) and spoil the hashaltogether as on the night he misguidedly brought home a dog (breedunknown) with a lame paw (not that the cases were either identical orthe reverse though he had hurt his hand too) to Ontario Terrace as hevery distinctly remembered, having been there, so to speak. On theother hand it was altogether far and away too late for the Sandymountor Sandycove suggestion so that he was in some perplexity as to which ofthe two alternatives. Everything pointed to the fact that it behoved himto avail himself to the full of the opportunity, all things considered. His initial impression was he was a shade standoffish or not overeffusive but it grew on him someway. For one thing he mightn't what youcall jump at the idea, if approached, and what mostly worried him washe didn't know how to lead up to it or word it exactly, supposing hedid entertain the proposal, as it would afford him very great personalpleasure if he would allow him to help to put coin in his way or somewardrobe, if found suitable. At all events he wound up by concluding, eschewing for the nonce hidebound precedent, a cup of Epps's cocoa anda shakedown for the night plus the use of a rug or two and overcoatdoubled into a pillow at least he would be in safe hands and as warm asa toast on a trivet he failed to perceive any very vast amount of harmin 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 grasswidowerin question who appeared to be glued to the spot, didn't appear in anyparticular hurry to wend his way home to his dearly beloved Queenstownand it was highly likely some sponger's bawdyhouse of retired beautieswhere age was no bar off Sheriff street lower would be the best clueto that equivocal character's whereabouts for a few days to come, alternately racking their feelings (the mermaids') with sixchamberrevolver anecdotes verging on the tropical calculated to freezethe marrow of anybody's bones and mauling their largesized charmsbetweenwhiles with rough and tumble gusto to the accompaniment of largepotations of potheen and the usual blarney about himself for as to whohe in reality was let x equal my right name and address, as Mr Algebraremarks _passim_. At the same time he inwardly chuckled over his gentlerepartee to the blood and ouns champion about his god being a jew. People could put up with being bitten by a wolf but what properly riledthem was a bite from a sheep. The most vulnerable point too of tenderAchilles. Your god was a jew. Because mostly they appeared to imagine hecame from Carrick-on-Shannon or somewhereabouts in the county Sligo. 

--I propose, our hero eventually suggested after mature reflection whileprudently pocketing her photo, as it's rather stuffy here you just comehome with me and talk things over. My diggings are quite close in thevicinity. You can't drink that stuff. Do you like cocoa? Wait. I'll justpay this lot. 

The best plan clearly being to clear out, the remainder being plainsailing, he beckoned, while prudently pocketing the photo, to the keeperof the shanty who didn't seem to. 

--Yes, that's the best, he assured Stephen to whom for the matter ofthat Brazen Head or him or anywhere else was all more or less. 

All kinds of Utopian plans were flashing through his (B's) busy brain, education (the genuine article), literature, journalism, prize titbits, up to date billing, concert tours in English watering resorts packedwith hydros and seaside theatres, turning money away, duets in Italianwith the accent perfectly true to nature and a quantity of otherthings, no necessity, of course, to tell the world and his wife from thehousetops about it, and a slice of luck. An opening was all was wanted. Because he more than suspected he had his father's voice to bank hishopes on which it was quite on the cards he had so it would be just aswell, by the way no harm, to trail the conversation in the direction ofthat particular red herring just to. 

The cabby read out of the paper he had got hold of that the formerviceroy, earl Cadogan, had presided at the cabdrivers' associationdinner in London somewhere. Silence with a yawn or two accompanied thisthrilling announcement. Then the old specimen in the corner who appearedto have some spark of vitality left read out that sir Anthony MacDonnellhad left Euston for the chief secretary's lodge or words to that effect. To which absorbing piece of intelligence echo answered why. 

--Give us a squint at that literature, grandfather, the ancient marinerput in, manifesting some natural impatience. 

--And welcome, answered the elderly party thus addressed. 

The sailor lugged out from a case he had a pair of greenish goggleswhich he very slowly hooked over his nose and both ears. 

--Are you bad in the eyes? the sympathetic personage like the townclerkqueried. 

--Why, answered the seafarer with the tartan beard, who seemingly wasa bit of a literary cove in his own small way, staring out of seagreenportholes 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 favouriteand _Red as a Rose is She. _

Hereupon he pawed the journal open and pored upon Lord only knows what, found drowned or the exploits of King Willow, Iremonger having made ahundred and something second wicket not out for Notts, during whichtime (completely regardless of Ire) the keeper was intensely occupiedloosening an apparently new or secondhand boot which manifestly pinchedhim as he muttered against whoever it was sold it, all of them who weresufficiently awake enough to be picked out by their facial expressions, that is to say, either simply looking on glumly or passing a trivialremark. 

To cut a long story short Bloom, grasping the situation, was the firstto rise from his seat so as not to outstay their welcome having firstand foremost, being as good as his word that he would foot the bill forthe occasion, taken the wise precaution to unobtrusively motion to minehost as a parting shot a scarcely perceptible sign when the others werenot looking to the effect that the amount due was forthcoming, making agrand total of fourpence (the amount he deposited unobtrusively infour coppers, literally the last of the Mohicans), he having previouslyspotted on the printed pricelist for all who ran to read opposite himin unmistakable figures, coffee 2d, confectionery do, and honestly wellworth twice the money once in a way, as Wetherup used to remark. 

--Come, he counselled to close the _séance_. 

Seeing that the ruse worked and the coast was clear they left theshelter or shanty together and the _élite_ society of oilskin andcompany whom nothing short of an earthquake would move out of their_dolce far niente_. Stephen, who confessed to still feeling poorly andfagged out, paused at the, for a moment, the door. 

--One thing I never understood, he said to be original on the spur ofthe moment. Why they put tables upside down at night, I mean chairsupside down, on the tables in cafes. To which impromptu the neverfailingBloom replied without a moment's hesitation, saying straight off:

--To sweep the floor in the morning. 

So saying he skipped around, nimbly considering, frankly at the sametime apologetic to get on his companion's right, a habit of his, by thebye, his right side being, in classical idiom, his tender Achilles. Thenight air was certainly now a treat to breathe though Stephen was a bitweak on his pins. 

--It will (the air) do you good, Bloom said, meaning also the walk, ina moment. The only thing is to walk then you'll feel a different man. Come. It's not far. Lean on me. 

Accordingly he passed his left arm in Stephen's right and led him onaccordingly. 

--Yes, Stephen said uncertainly because he thought he felt a strangekind of flesh of a different man approach him, sinewless and wobbly andall that. 

Anyhow they passed the sentrybox with stones, brazier etc. Wherethe municipal supernumerary, ex Gumley, was still to all intents andpurposes wrapped in the arms of Murphy, as the adage has it, dreamingof fresh fields and pastures new. And _apropos_ of coffin of stones theanalogy was not at all bad as it was in fact a stoning to death on thepart of seventytwo out of eighty odd constituencies that ratted at thetime of the split and chiefly the belauded peasant class, probably theselfsame evicted tenants he had put in their holdings. 

So they turned on to chatting about music, a form of art for whichBloom, as a pure amateur, possessed the greatest love, as they madetracks arm in arm across Beresford place. Wagnerian music, thoughconfessedly grand in its way, was a bit too heavy for Bloom and hard tofollow at the first go-off but the music of Mercadante's _Huguenots_, Meyerbeer's _Seven Last Words on the Cross_ and Mozart's _Twelfth Mass_he simply revelled in, the _Gloria_ in that being, to his mind, the acmeof first class music as such, literally knocking everything else intoa cocked hat. He infinitely preferred the sacred music of the catholicchurch to anything the opposite shop could offer in that line such asthose Moody and Sankey hymns or _Bid me to live and i will livethy protestant to be_. He also yielded to none in his admiration ofRossini's _Stabat Mater_, a work simply abounding in immortal numbers, in which his wife, Madam Marion Tweedy, made a hit, a veritablesensation, he might safely say, greatly adding to her other laureis andputting the others totally in the shade, in the jesuit fathers' churchin upper Gardiner street, the sacred edifice being thronged to thedoors to hear her with virtuosos, or _virtuosi_ rather. There was theunanimous opinion that there was none to come up to her and suffice itto say in a place of worship for music of a sacred character there wasa generally voiced desire for an encore. On the whole though favouringpreferably light opera of the _Don Giovanni_ description and _Martha_, a gem in its line, he had a _penchant_, though with only a surfaceknowledge, for the severe classical school such as Mendelssohn. Andtalking of that, taking it for granted he knew all about the oldfavourites, he mentioned _par excellence_ Lionel's air in _Martha, M'appari_, which, curiously enough, he had heard or overheard, to bemore accurate, on yesterday, a privilege he keenly appreciated, from thelips of Stephen's respected father, sung to perfection, a study of thenumber, in fact, which made all the others take a back seat. Stephen, inreply to a politely put query, said he didn't sing it but launchedout into praises of Shakespeare's songs, at least of in or about thatperiod, the lutenist Dowland who lived in Fetter lane near Gerard theherbalist, who _anno ludendo hausi, Doulandus_, an instrument he wascontemplating purchasing from Mr Arnold Dolmetsch, whom B. Did not quiterecall though the name certainly sounded familiar, for sixtyfive guineasand Farnaby and son with their _dux_ and _comes_ conceits and Byrd(William) who played the virginals, he said, in the Queen's chapel oranywhere else he found them and one Tomkins who made toys or airs andJohn Bull. 

On the roadway which they were approaching whilst still speaking beyondthe 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 notperfectly certain whether he had caught aright the allusion to sixtyfiveguineas and John Bull. He inquired if it was John Bull the politicalcelebrity of that ilk, as it struck him, the two identical names, as astriking coincidence. 

By the chains the horse slowly swerved to turn, which perceiving, Bloom, who was keeping a sharp lookout as usual, plucked the other's sleevegently, jocosely remarking:

--Our lives are in peril tonight. Beware of the steamroller. 

They thereupon stopped. Bloom looked at the head of a horse not worthanything like sixtyfive guineas, suddenly in evidence in the dark quitenear so that it seemed new, a different grouping of bones and even fleshbecause palpably it was a fourwalker, a hipshaker, a blackbuttocker, ataildangler, a headhanger putting his hind foot foremost the while thelord of his creation sat on the perch, busy with his thoughts. But sucha good poor brute he was sorry he hadn't a lump of sugar but, as hewisely reflected, you could scarcely be prepared for every emergencythat might crop up. He was just a big nervous foolish noodly kind of ahorse, without a second care in the world. But even a dog, he reflected, take that mongrel in Barney Kiernan's, of the same size, would be a holyhorror to face. But it was no animal's fault in particular if he wasbuilt that way like the camel, ship of the desert, distilling grapesinto potheen in his hump. Nine tenths of them all could be caged ortrained, nothing beyond the art of man barring the bees. Whale with aharpoon hairpin, alligator tickle the small of his back and he sees thejoke, chalk a circle for a rooster, tiger my eagle eye. These timelyreflections anent the brutes of the field occupied his mind somewhatdistracted from Stephen's words while the ship of the street wasmanoeuvring and Stephen went on about the highly interesting old. 

--What's this I was saying? Ah, yes! My wife, he intimated, plunging_in medias res_, would have the greatest of pleasure in making youracquaintance as she is passionately attached to music of any kind. 

He looked sideways in a friendly fashion at the sideface of Stephen, image of his mother, which was not quite the same as the usual handsomeblackguard type they unquestionably had an insatiable hankering after ashe was perhaps not that way built. 

Still, supposing he had his father's gift as he more than suspected, it opened up new vistas in his mind such as Lady Fingall's Irishindustries, concert on the preceding Monday, and aristocracy in general. 

Exquisite variations he was now describing on an air _Youth here hasEnd_ by Jans Pieter Sweelinck, a Dutchman of Amsterdam where the frowscome 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 whichhe did. 

A phenomenally beautiful tenor voice like that, the rarest of boons, which Bloom appreciated at the very first note he got out, could easily, if properly handled by some recognised authority on voice productionsuch as Barraclough and being able to read music into the bargain, command its own price where baritones were ten a penny and procure forits fortunate possessor in the near future an _entrée_ into fashionablehouses in the best residential quarters of financial magnates in a largeway of business and titled people where with his university degree ofB. A. (a huge ad in its way) and gentlemanly bearing to all the moreinfluence the good impression he would infallibly score a distinctsuccess, being blessed with brains which also could be utilised for thepurpose and other requisites, if his clothes were properly attendedto so as to the better worm his way into their good graces as he, ayouthful tyro in--society's sartorial niceties, hardly understood how alittle thing like that could militate against you. It was in fact only amatter of months and he could easily foresee him participating in theirmusical and artistic _conversaziones_ during the festivities of theChristmas season, for choice, causing a slight flutter in the dovecotesof the fair sex and being made a lot of by ladies out for sensation, cases of which, as he happened to know, were on record--in fact, withoutgiving the show away, he himself once upon a time, if he cared to, couldeasily have. Added to which of course would be the pecuniary emolumentby no means to be sneezed at, going hand in hand with his tuitionfees. Not, he parenthesised, that for the sake of filthy lucre he neednecessarily embrace the lyric platform as a walk in life for any lengthyspace of time. But a step in the required direction it was beyond yea ornay and both monetarily and mentally it contained no reflection on hisdignity in the smallest and it often turned in uncommonly handy tobe handed a cheque at a muchneeded moment when every little helped. Besides, though taste latterly had deteriorated to a degree, originalmusic like that, different from the conventional rut, would rapidlyhave a great vogue as it would be a decided novelty for Dublin's musicalworld after the usual hackneyed run of catchy tenor solos foisted on aconfiding public by Ivan St Austell and Hilton St Just and their _genusomne_. Yes, beyond a shadow of a doubt he could with all the cards inhis hand and he had a capital opening to make a name for himself and wina high place in the city's esteem where he could command a stiff figureand, booking ahead, give a grand concert for the patrons of the Kingstreet house, given a backerup, if one were forthcoming to kick himupstairs, so to speak, a big _if_, however, with some impetus of thegoahead sort to obviate the inevitable procrastination which oftentripped-up a too much fêted prince of good fellows. And it need notdetract from the other by one iota as, being his own master, he wouldhave heaps of time to practise literature in his spare moments whendesirous of so doing without its clashing with his vocal career orcontaining anything derogatory whatsoever as it was a matter for himselfalone. In fact, he had the ball at his feet and that was the very reasonwhy the other, possessed of a remarkably sharp nose for smelling a ratof any sort, hung on to him at all. 

The horse was just then. And later on at a propitious opportunity hepurposed (Bloom did), without anyway prying into his private affairs onthe _fools step in where angels_ principle, advising him to sever hisconnection with a certain budding practitioner who, he noticed, wasprone to disparage and even to a slight extent with some hilariouspretext when not present, deprecate him, or whatever you like to call itwhich in Bloom's humble opinion threw a nasty sidelight on that side ofa person's 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 onthe floor which the brush would soon brush up and polish, three smokingglobes of turds. Slowly three times, one after another, from a fullcrupper he mired. And humanely his driver waited till he (or she) hadended, patient in his scythed car. 

Side by side Bloom, profiting by the _contretemps_, with Stephen passedthrough the gap of the chains, divided by the upright, and, steppingover 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 brücken. _

The driver never said a word, good, bad or indifferent, but merelywatched the two figures, as he sat on his lowbacked car, both black, one full, one lean, walk towards the railway bridge, _to be married byFather Maher_. As they walked they at times stopped and walked againcontinuing their _tête-à-tête_ (which, of course, he was utterly outof) about sirens enemies of man's reason, mingled with a number of othertopics of the same category, usurpers, historical cases of the kindwhile the man in the sweeper car or you might as well call it in thesleeper car who in any case couldn't possibly hear because they were toofar simply sat in his seat near the end of lower Gardiner street _andlooked after their lowbacked car_. 

What parallel courses did Bloom and Stephen follow returning?

Starting united both at normal walking pace from Beresford place theyfollowed in the order named Lower and Middle Gardiner streets andMountjoy square, west: then, at reduced pace, each bearing left, Gardiner's place by an inadvertence as far as the farther corner ofTemple street: then, at reduced pace with interruptions of halt, bearingright, Temple street, north, as far as Hardwicke place. Approaching, disparate, at relaxed walking pace they crossed both the circus beforeGeorge's church diametrically, the chord in any circle being less thanthe 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 andglowlamps on the growth of adjoining paraheliotropic trees, exposedcorporation emergency dustbuckets, the Roman catholic church, ecclesiastical celibacy, the Irish nation, jesuit education, careers, the study of medicine, the past day, the maleficent influence of thepresabbath, Stephen's collapse. 

Did Bloom discover common factors of similarity between their respectivelike and unlike reactions to experience?

Both were sensitive to artistic impressions, musical in preference toplastic or pictorial. Both preferred a continental to an insular mannerof life, a cisatlantic to a transatlantic place of residence. Bothindurated by early domestic training and an inherited tenacity ofheterodox resistance professed their disbelief in many orthodoxreligious, national, social and ethical doctrines. Both admittedthe alternately stimulating and obtunding influence of heterosexualmagnetism. 

Were their views on some points divergent?

Stephen dissented openly from Bloom's views on the importance of dietaryand civic selfhelp while Bloom dissented tacitly from Stephen's viewson the eternal affirmation of the spirit of man in literature. Bloomassented covertly to Stephen's rectification of the anachronisminvolved in assigning the date of the conversion of the Irish nation tochristianity 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 ofLeary to the year 260 or thereabouts in the reign of Cormac MacArt (died266 A. D. ), suffocated by imperfect deglutition of aliment at Slettyand interred at Rossnaree. The collapse which Bloom ascribed togastric inanition and certain chemical compounds of varying degrees ofadulteration and alcoholic strength, accelerated by mental exertion andthe velocity of rapid circular motion in a relaxing atmosphere, Stephenattributed to the reapparition of a matutinal cloud (perceived by bothfrom two different points of observation Sandycove and Dublin) at firstno bigger than a woman's hand. 

Was there one point on which their views were equal and negative?

The influence of gaslight or electric light on the growth of adjoiningparaheliotropic trees. 

Had Bloom discussed similar subjects during nocturnal perambulations inthe past?

In 1884 with Owen Goldberg and Cecil Turnbull at night on publicthoroughfares between Longwood avenue and Leonard's corner and Leonard'scorner and Synge street and Synge street and Bloomfield avenue. 

In 1885 with Percy Apjohn in the evenings, reclined against the wallbetween Gibraltar villa and Bloomfield house in Crumlin, baronyof Uppercross. In 1886 occasionally with casual acquaintances andprospective purchasers on doorsteps, in front parlours, in third classrailway carriages of suburban lines. In 1888 frequently with major BrianTweedy and his daughter Miss Marion Tweedy, together and separately onthe lounge in Matthew Dillon's house in Roundtown. Once in 1892 and oncein 1893 with Julius (Juda) Mastiansky, on both occasions in the parlourof his (Bloom's) 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 attheir destination?

He reflected that the progressive extension of the field of individualdevelopment and experience was regressively accompanied by a restrictionof the converse domain of interindividual relations. 

As in what ways?

From inexistence to existence he came to many and was as one received:existence with existence he was with any as any with any: from existenceto 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, number7 Eccles street, he inserted his hand mechanically into the back pocketof his trousers to obtain his latchkey. 

Was it there?

It was in the corresponding pocket of the trousers which he had worn onthe day but one preceding. 

Why was he doubly irritated?

Because he had forgotten and because he remembered that he had remindedhimself 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. 

Bloom's decision?

A stratagem. Resting his feet on the dwarf wall, he climbed over thearea railings, compressed his hat on his head, grasped two points atthe lower union of rails and stiles, lowered his body gradually by itslength of five feet nine inches and a half to within two feet ten inchesof the area pavement and allowed his body to move freely in space byseparating himself from the railings and crouching in preparation forthe impact of the fall. 

Did he fall?

By his body's known weight of eleven stone and four pounds inavoirdupois measure, as certified by the graduated machine forperiodical selfweighing in the premises of Francis Froedman, pharmaceutical chemist of 19 Frederick street, north, on the last feastof the Ascension, to wit, the twelfth day of May of the bissextile yearone thousand nine hundred and four of the christian era (jewish era fivethousand six hundred and sixtyfour, mohammadan era one thousand threehundred 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 bythe impact, raised the latch of the area door by the exertion of forceat its freely moving flange and by leverage of the first kind appliedat its fulcrum, gained retarded access to the kitchen through thesubadjacent scullery, ignited a lucifer match by friction, set freeinflammable coal gas by turningon the ventcock, lit a high flame which, by regulating, he reduced to quiescent candescence and lit finally aportable candle. 

What discrete succession of images did Stephen meanwhile perceive?

Reclined against the area railings he perceived through the transparentkitchen panes a man regulating a gasflame of 14 CP, a man lighting acandle of 1 CP, a man removing in turn each of his two boots, a manleaving the kitchen holding a candle. 

Did the man reappear elsewhere?

After a lapse of four minutes the glimmer of his candle was discerniblethrough the semitransparent semicircular glass fanlight over thehalldoor. The halldoor turned gradually on its hinges. In the open spaceof 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 followedsoftly along the hallway the man's back and listed feet and lightedcandle past a lighted crevice of doorway on the left and carefully downa turning staircase of more than five steps into the kitchen of Bloom'shouse. 

What did Bloom do?

He extinguished the candle by a sharp expiration of breath upon itsflame, drew two spoonseat deal chairs to the hearthstone, one forStephen with its back to the area window, the other for himself whennecessary, knelt on one knee, composed in the grate a pyre of crosslaidresintipped sticks and various coloured papers and irregular polygonsof best Abram coal at twentyone shillings a ton from the yard of MessrsFlower and M'Donald of 14 D'Olier street, kindled it at three projectingpoints of paper with one ignited lucifer match, thereby releasingthe potential energy contained in the fuel by allowing its carbon andhydrogen 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 thecollege of the Society of Jesus at Clongowes Wood, Sallins, in thecounty of Kildare: of his father, Simon Dedalus, in an unfurnished roomof his first residence in Dublin, number thirteen Fitzgibbon street:of his godmother Miss Kate Morkan in the house of her dying sister MissJulia Morkan at 15 Usher's Island: of his aunt Sara, wife of Richie(Richard) Goulding, in the kitchen of their lodgings at 62 Clanbrassilstreet: of his mother Mary, wife of Simon Dedalus, in the kitchen ofnumber twelve North Richmond street on the morning of the feast ofSaint Francis Xavier 1898: of the dean of studies, Father Butt, in thephysics' theatre of university College, 16 Stephen's Green, north: ofhis sister Dilly (Delia) in his father's house in Cabra. 

What did Stephen see on raising his gaze to the height of a yard fromthe fire towards the opposite wall?

Under a row of five coiled spring housebells a curvilinear rope, stretched between two holdfasts athwart across the recess beside thechimney pier, from which hung four smallsized square handkerchiefsfolded unattached consecutively in adjacent rectangles and one pair ofladies' grey hose with Lisle suspender tops and feet in their habitualposition clamped by three erect wooden pegs two at their outerextremities 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 ironkettle to the sink in order to tap the current by turning the faucet tolet it flow. 

Did it flow?

Yes. From Roundwood reservoir in county Wicklow of a cubic capacity of2400 million gallons, percolating through a subterranean aqueduct offilter mains of single and double pipeage constructed at an initialplant 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, through a system ofrelieving tanks, by a gradient of 250 feet to the city boundary atEustace bridge, upper Leeson street, though from prolonged summer drouthand daily supply of 12 1/2 million gallons the water had fallen belowthe sill of the overflow weir for which reason the borough surveyor andwaterworks engineer, Mr Spencer Harty, C. E. , on the instructions ofthe waterworks committee had prohibited the use of municipal water forpurposes other than those of consumption (envisaging the possibility ofrecourse being had to the impotable water of the Grand and Royal canalsas in 1893) particularly as the South Dublin Guardians, notwithstandingtheir ration of 15 gallons per day per pauper supplied through a 6 inchmeter, had been convicted of a wastage of 20, 000 gallons per night bya reading of their meter on the affirmation of the law agent ofthe corporation, Mr Ignatius Rice, solicitor, thereby acting to thedetriment of another section of the public, selfsupporting taxpayers, solvent, sound. 

What in water did Bloom, waterlover, drawer of water, watercarrier, returning to the range, admire?

Its universality: its democratic equality and constancy to its naturein seeking its own level: its vastness in the ocean of Mercator'sprojection: its unplumbed profundity in the Sundam trench of the Pacificexceeding 8000 fathoms: the restlessness of its waves and surfaceparticles visiting in turn all points of its seaboard: the independenceof its units: the variability of states of sea: its hydrostaticquiescence in calm: its hydrokinetic turgidity in neap and spring tides:its subsidence after devastation: its sterility in the circumpolaricecaps, arctic and antarctic: its climatic and commercial significance:its preponderance of 3 to 1 over the dry land of the globe: itsindisputable hegemony extending in square leagues over all the regionbelow the subequatorial tropic of Capricorn: the multisecular stabilityof its primeval basin: its luteofulvous bed: its capacity to dissolveand hold in solution all soluble substances including millions oftons of the most precious metals: its slow erosions of peninsulas andislands, its persistent formation of homothetic islands, peninsulasand downwardtending promontories: its alluvial deposits: its weight andvolume 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 andconfluent oceanflowing rivers with their tributaries and transoceaniccurrents, gulfstream, north and south equatorial courses: its violencein seaquakes, waterspouts, Artesian 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 andlatent humidity, revealed by rhabdomantic or hygrometric instrumentsand exemplified by the well by the hole in the wall at Ashtowngate, saturation of air, distillation of dew: the simplicity of itscomposition, two constituent parts of hydrogen with one constituent partof oxygen: its healing virtues: its buoyancy in the waters of the DeadSea: its persevering penetrativeness in runnels, gullies, inadequatedams, leaks on shipboard: its properties for cleansing, quenching thirstand fire, nourishing vegetation: its infallibility as paradigm andparagon: its metamorphoses as vapour, mist, cloud, rain, sleet, snow, hail: its strength in rigid hydrants: its variety of forms in loughsand bays and gulfs and bights and guts and lagoons and atolls andarchipelagos and sounds and fjords and minches and tidal estuaries andarms of sea: its solidity in glaciers, icebergs, icefloes: its docilityin working hydraulic millwheels, turbines, dynamos, electric powerstations, bleachworks, tanneries, scutchmills: its utility in canals, rivers, if navigable, floating and graving docks: its potentialityderivable from harnessed tides or watercourses falling from levelto level: its submarine fauna and flora (anacoustic, photophobe), numerically, if not literally, the inhabitants of the globe: itsubiquity as constituting 90 percent of the human body: the noxiousnessof its effluvia in lacustrine marshes, pestilential fens, fadedflowerwater, stagnant pools in the waning moon. 

Having set the halffilled kettle on the now burning coals, why did hereturn to the stillflowing tap?

To wash his soiled hands with a partially consumed tablet ofBarrington's lemonflavoured soap, to which paper still adhered, (boughtthirteen hours previously for fourpence and still unpaid for), in freshcold neverchanging everchanging water and dry them, face and hands, in along redbordered holland cloth passed over a wooden revolving roller. 

What reason did Stephen give for declining Bloom's offer?

That he was hydrophobe, hating partial contact by immersion or total bysubmersion in cold water, (his last bath having taken place in the monthof October of the preceding year), disliking the aqueous substances ofglass and crystal, distrusting aquacities of thought and language. 

What impeded Bloom from giving Stephen counsels of hygiene andprophylactic to which should be added suggestions concerning apreliminary wetting of the head and contraction of the muscles withrapid splashing of the face and neck and thoracic and epigastric regionin case of sea or river bathing, the parts of the human anatomy mostsensitive 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 caloricenergy in bacon, salt ling and butter, the absence of the former in thelastnamed 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 andrecuperation. 

What concomitant phenomenon took place in the vessel of liquid by theagency of fire?

The phenomenon of ebullition. Fanned by a constant updraught ofventilation between the kitchen and the chimneyflue, ignition wascommunicated from the faggots of precombustible fuel to polyhedralmasses of bituminous coal, containing in compressed mineral form thefoliated fossilised decidua of primeval forests which had in turnderived their vegetative existence from the sun, primal source of heat(radiant), transmitted through omnipresent luminiferous diathermanousether. Heat (convected), a mode of motion developed by suchcombustion, was constantly and increasingly conveyed from the sourceof calorification to the liquid contained in the vessel, being radiatedthrough the uneven unpolished dark surface of the metal iron, in partreflected, in part absorbed, in part transmitted, gradually raisingthe temperature of the water from normal to boiling point, a rise intemperature expressible as the result of an expenditure of 72 thermalunits needed to raise 1 pound of water from 50 degrees to 212 degreesFahrenheit. 

What announced the accomplishment of this rise in temperature?

A double falciform ejection of water vapour from under the kettlelid atboth sides simultaneously. 

For what personal purpose could Bloom have applied the water so boiled?

To shave himself. 

What advantages attended shaving by night?

A softer beard: a softer brush if intentionally allowed to remain fromshave to shave in its agglutinated lather: a softer skin if unexpectedlyencountering female acquaintances in remote places at incustomary hours:quiet reflections upon the course of the day: a cleaner sensation whenawaking after a fresher sleep since matutinal noises, premonitions andperturbations, a clattered milkcan, a postman's double knock, a paperread, reread while lathering, relathering the same spot, a shock, ashoot, with thought of aught he sought though fraught with nought mightcause a faster rate of shaving and a nick on which incision plaster withprecision 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 masculinefeminine passive active hand. 

What quality did it (his hand) possess but with what counteractinginfluence?

The operative surgical quality but that he was reluctant to shed humanblood even when the end justified the means, preferring, in theirnatural order, heliotherapy, psychophysicotherapeutics, osteopathicsurgery. 

What lay under exposure on the lower, middle and upper shelves of thekitchen dresser, opened by Bloom?

On the lower shelf five vertical breakfast plates, six horizontalbreakfast saucers on which rested inverted breakfast cups, amoustachecup, uninverted, and saucer of Crown Derby, four whitegoldrimmed eggcups, an open shammy purse displaying coins, mostlycopper, and a phial of aromatic (violet) comfits. On the middle shelfa chipped eggcup containing pepper, a drum of table salt, fourconglomerated black olives in oleaginous paper, an empty pot ofPlumtree's potted meat, an oval wicker basket bedded with fibre andcontaining one Jersey pear, a halfempty bottle of William Gilbey andCo's white invalid port, half disrobed of its swathe of coralpink tissuepaper, a packet of Epps's soluble cocoa, five ounces of Anne Lynch'schoice tea at 2/- per lb in a crinkled leadpaper bag, a cylindricalcanister containing the best crystallised lump sugar, two onions, one, the larger, Spanish, entire, the other, smaller, Irish, bisected withaugmented surface and more redolent, a jar of Irish Model Dairy's cream, a jug of brown crockery containing a naggin and a quarter of souredadulterated milk, converted by heat into water, acidulous serum andsemisolidified curds, which added to the quantity subtracted for MrBloom's and Mrs Fleming's breakfasts, made one imperial pint, the totalquantity originally delivered, two cloves, a halfpenny and a small dishcontaining a slice of fresh ribsteak. On the upper shelf a battery ofjamjars (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 coincidences, truth stranger than fiction, preindicative of the result of the Gold Cup flat handicap, the officialand definitive result of which he had read in the _Evening Telegraph_, late pink edition, in the cabman's shelter, at Butt bridge. 

Where had previous intimations of the result, effected or projected, been received by him?

In Bernard Kiernan's licensed premises 8, 9 and 10 little Britainstreet: in David Byrne's licensed premises, 14 Duke street: in O'Connellstreet lower, outside Graham Lemon's when a dark man had placed inhis hand a throwaway (subsequently thrown away), advertising Elijah, restorer of the church in Zion: in Lincoln place outside the premises ofF. W. Sweny and Co (Limited), dispensing chemists, when, when FrederickM. (Bantam) Lyons had rapidly and successively requested, perused andrestituted the copy of the current issue of the _Freeman's Journal andNational Press_ which he had been about to throw away (subsequentlythrown away), he had proceeded towards the oriental edifice ofthe Turkish and Warm Baths, 11 Leinster street, with the light ofinspiration shining in his countenance and bearing in his arms thesecret of the race, graven in the language of prediction. 

What qualifying considerations allayed his perturbations?

The difficulties of interpretation since the significance of any eventfollowed its occurrence as variably as the acoustic report followed theelectrical discharge and of counterestimating against an actual lossby failure to interpret the total sum of possible losses proceedingoriginally from a successful interpretation. 

His mood?

He had not risked, he did not expect, he had not been disappointed, hewas satisfied. 

What satisfied him?

To have sustained no positive loss. To have brought a positive gain toothers. Light to the gentiles. 

How did Bloom prepare a collation for a gentile?

He poured into two teacups two level spoonfuls, four in all, of Epps'ssoluble cocoa and proceeded according to the directions for use printedon the label, to each adding after sufficient time for infusion theprescribed ingredients for diffusion in the manner and in the quantityprescribed. 

What supererogatory marks of special hospitality did the host show hisguest?

Relinquishing his symposiarchal right to the moustache cup of imitationCrown Derby presented to him by his only daughter, Millicent (Milly), he substituted a cup identical with that of his guest and servedextraordinarily to his guest and, in reduced measure, to himself theviscous cream ordinarily reserved for the breakfast of his wife Marion(Molly). 

Was the guest conscious of and did he acknowledge these marks ofhospitality?

His attention was directed to them by his host jocosely, and he acceptedthem seriously as they drank in jocoserious silence Epps's massproduct, the creature cocoa. 

Were there marks of hospitality which he contemplated but suppressed, reserving them for another and for himself on future occasions tocomplete the act begun?

The reparation of a fissure of the length of 1 1/2 inches in the rightside of his guest's jacket. A gift to his guest of one of the fourlady's handkerchiefs, if and when ascertained to be in a presentablecondition. 

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 steadyflow of heat was conducted, three sips to his opponent's one, six totwo, nine to three. 

What cerebration accompanied his frequentative act?

Concluding by inspection but erroneously that his silent companion wasengaged in mental composition he reflected on the pleasures derived fromliterature of instruction rather than of amusement as he himself hadapplied to the works of William Shakespeare more than once for thesolution 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 poet, at the age of 11 in 1877 on the occasion of the offeringof three prizes of 10/-, 5/- 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 you'll 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 (kineticpoet) sent to Miss Marion (Molly) Tweedy on the 14 February 1888?

 _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 from 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, thevalley of diamonds, of the second edition (30 January 1893) of the grandannual Christmas pantomime _Sinbad the Sailor_ (produced by R Shelton26 December 1892, written by Greenleaf Whittier, scenery by GeorgeA. Jackson and Cecil Hicks, costumes by Mrs and Miss Whelan underthe personal supervision of Mrs Michael Gunn, ballets by Jessie Noir, harlequinade by Thomas Otto) and sung by Nelly Bouverist, principalgirl?

Firstly, oscillation between events of imperial and of local interest, the anticipated diamond jubilee of Queen Victoria (born 1820, acceded1837) and the posticipated opening of the new municipal fish market:secondly, apprehension of opposition from extreme circles on thequestions of the respective visits of Their Royal Highnesses theduke and duchess of York (real) and of His Majesty King Brian Boru(imaginary): thirdly, a conflict between professional etiquette andprofessional emulation concerning the recent erections of the GrandLyric Hall on Burgh Quay and the Theatre Royal in Hawkins street:fourthly, distraction resultant from compassion for Nelly Bouverist'snon-intellectual, non-political, non-topical expression of countenanceand concupiscence caused by Nelly Bouverist's revelations of whitearticles of non-intellectual, non-political, non-topical underclothingwhile she (Nelly Bouverist) was in the articles: fifthly, thedifficulties of the selection of appropriate music and humorousallusions from _Everybody's Book of Jokes_ (1000 pages and a laugh inevery one): sixthly, the rhymes, homophonous and cacophonous, associatedwith the names of the new lord mayor, Daniel Tallon, the new highsheriff, Thomas Pile and the new solicitorgeneral, Dunbar PlunketBarton. 

What relation existed between their ages?

16 years before in 1888 when Bloom was of Stephen's present age Stephenwas 6. 16 years after in 1920 when Stephen would be of Bloom's presentage Bloom would be 54. In 1936 when Bloom would be 70 and Stephen 54their ages initially in the ratio of 16 to 0 would be as 17 1/2 to 131/2, the proportion increasing and the disparity diminishing accordingas arbitrary future years were added, for if the proportion existing in1883 had continued immutable, conceiving that to be possible, till then1904 when Stephen was 22 Bloom would be 374 and in 1920 when Stephenwould be 38, as Bloom then was, Bloom would be 646 while in 1952 whenStephen would have attained the maximum postdiluvian age of 70 Bloom, being 1190 years alive having been born in the year 714, would havesurpassed by 221 years the maximum antediluvian age, that of Methusalah, 969 years, while, if Stephen would continue to live until he wouldattain that age in the year 3072 A. D. , Bloom would have been obliged tohave been alive 83, 300 years, having been obliged to have been born inthe year 81, 396 B. C. 

What events might nullify these calculations?

The cessation of existence of both or either, the inauguration of anew era or calendar, the annihilation of the world and consequentextermination of the human species, inevitable but impredictable. 

How many previous encounters proved their preexisting acquaintance?

Two. The first in the lilacgarden of Matthew Dillon's house, MedinaVilla, Kimmage road, Roundtown, in 1887, in the company of Stephen'smother, Stephen being then of the age of 5 and reluctant to give hishand in salutation. The second in the coffeeroom of Breslin's hotel on arainy Sunday in the January of 1892, in the company of Stephen's fatherand Stephen's granduncle, Stephen being then 5 years older. 

Did Bloom accept the invitation to dinner given then by the son andafterwards seconded by the father?

Very gratefully, with grateful appreciation, with sincere appreciativegratitude, in appreciatively grateful sincerity of regret, he declined. 

Did their conversation on the subject of these reminiscences reveal athird connecting link between them?

Mrs Riordan (Dante), a widow of independent means, had resided in thehouse of Stephen's parents from 1 September 1888 to 29 December 1891 andhad also resided during the years 1892, 1893 and 1894 in the City ArmsHotel owned by Elizabeth O'Dowd of 54 Prussia street where, during partsof the years 1893 and 1894, she had been a constant informant of Bloomwho resided also in the same hotel, being at that time a clerk in theemployment of Joseph Cuffe of 5 Smithfield for the superintendence ofsales 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 propelled her on warm summer evenings, an infirm widowof independent, if limited, means, in her convalescent bathchairwith slow revolutions of its wheels as far as the corner of the NorthCircular road opposite Mr Gavin Low's place of business where she hadremained for a certain time scanning through his onelensed binocularfieldglasses unrecognisable citizens on tramcars, roadster bicyclesequipped with inflated pneumatic tyres, hackney carriages, tandems, private and hired landaus, dogcarts, ponytraps and brakes passing fromthe 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 rondelof bossed glass of a multicoloured pane the spectacle offered withcontinual changes of the thoroughfare without, pedestrians, quadrupeds, velocipedes, vehicles, passing slowly, quickly, evenly, round and roundand round the rim of a round and round precipitous globe. 

What distinct different memories had each of her now eight yearsdeceased?

The older, her bezique cards and counters, her Skye terrier, hersuppositious wealth, her lapses of responsiveness and incipientcatarrhal deafness: the younger, her lamp of colza oil before the statueof the Immaculate Conception, her green and maroon brushes for CharlesStewart Parnell and for Michael Davitt, her tissue papers. 

Were there no means still remaining to him to achieve the rejuvenationwhich these reminiscences divulged to a younger companion rendered themore desirable?

The indoor exercises, formerly intermittently practised, subsequentlyabandoned, prescribed in Eugen Sandow's _Physical Strength and How toObtain It_ which, designed particularly for commercial men engaged insedentary occupations, were to be made with mental concentration infront of a mirror so as to bring into play the various families ofmuscles and produce successively a pleasant rigidity, a more pleasantrelaxation and the most pleasant repristination of juvenile agility. 

Had any special agility been his in earlier youth?

Though ringweight lifting had been beyond his strength and the fullcircle gyration beyond his courage yet as a High school scholar hehad excelled in his stable and protracted execution of the half levermovement on the parallel bars in consequence of his abnormally developedabdominal muscles. 

Did either openly allude to their racial difference?

Neither. 

What, reduced to their simplest reciprocal form, were Bloom's thoughtsabout Stephen's thoughts about Bloom and about Stephen's thoughts aboutBloom's thoughts about Stephen?

He thought that he thought that he was a jew whereas he knew that heknew that he knew that he was not. 

What, the enclosures of reticence removed, were their respectiveparentages?

Bloom, only born male transubstantial heir of Rudolf Virag (subsequentlyRudolph Bloom) of Szombathely, Vienna, Budapest, Milan, London andDublin and of Ellen Higgins, second daughter of Julius Higgins (bornKaroly) and Fanny Higgins (born Hegarty). Stephen, eldest surviving maleconsubstantial heir of Simon Dedalus of 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 orlayman?

Bloom (three times), by the reverend Mr Gilmer Johnston M. A. , alone, in the protestant church of Saint Nicholas Without, Coombe, by JamesO'Connor, Philip Gilligan and James Fitzpatrick, together, under a pumpin the village of Swords, and by the reverend Charles Malone C. C. , inthe church of the Three Patrons, Rathgar. Stephen (once) by the reverendCharles 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 successivelythrough a dame's school and the high school. Substituting Bloom forStephen Blephen would have passed successively through the preparatory, junior, middle and senior grades of the intermediate and through thematriculation, first arts, second arts and arts degree courses of theroyal university. 

Why did Bloom refrain from stating that he had frequented the universityof life?

Because of his fluctuating incertitude as to whether this observationhad 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 adduce to prove that his tendency was towardsapplied, rather than towards pure, science?

Certain possible inventions of which he had cogitated when recliningin a state of supine repletion to aid digestion, stimulated by hisappreciation of the importance of inventions now common but oncerevolutionary, for example, the aeronautic parachute, the reflectingtelescope, the spiral corkscrew, the safety pin, the mineral watersiphon, the canal lock with winch and sluice, the suction pump. 

Were these inventions principally intended for an improved scheme ofkindergarten?

Yes, rendering obsolete popguns, elastic airbladders, games of hazard, catapults. They comprised astronomical kaleidoscopes exhibiting thetwelve constellations of the zodiac from Aries to Pisces, miniaturemechanical orreries, arithmetical gelatine lozenges, geometricalto correspond with zoological biscuits, globemap playing balls, historically costumed dolls. 

What also stimulated him in his cogitations?

The financial success achieved by Ephraim Marks and Charles A. James, the former by his 1d bazaar at 42 George's street, south, the latterat his 6 1/2d shop and world's fancy fair and waxwork exhibition at 30Henry street, admission 2d, children 1d: and the infinite possibilitieshitherto unexploited of the modern art of advertisement if condensedin triliteral monoideal symbols, vertically of maximum visibility(divined), horizontally of maximum legibility (deciphered) and ofmagnetising efficacy to arrest involuntary attention, to interest, toconvince, to decide. 

Such as?

K. II. Kino's 11/- Trousers. House of Keys. Alexander J. Keyes. 

Such as not?

Look at this long candle. Calculate when it burns out and you receivegratis 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). Uwantit (Combinedpocket twoblade penknife with corkscrew, nailfile and pipecleaner). 

Such as never?

What is home without Plumtree's Potted Meat?

Incomplete. 

With it an abode of bliss. 

Manufactured by George Plumtree, 23 Merchants' quay, Dublin, put up in4 oz pots, and inserted by Councillor Joseph P. Nannetti, M. P. , RotundaWard, 19 Hardwicke street, under the obituary notices and anniversariesof 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 thatoriginality, though producing its own reward, does not invariablyconduce to success?

His own ideated and rejected project of an illuminated showcart, drawnby a beast of burden, in which two smartly dressed girls were to beseated engaged in writing. 

What suggested scene was then constructed by Stephen?

Solitary hotel in mountain pass. Autumn. Twilight. Fire lit. In darkcorner young man seated. Young woman enters. Restless. Solitary. Shesits. 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. Heseizes solitary paper. He holds it towards fire. Twilight. He reads. Solitary. 

What?

In sloping, upright and backhands: Queen's Hotel, Queen's Hotel, Queen'sHotel. Queen's Ho. . . 

What suggested scene was then reconstructed by Bloom?

The Queen's Hotel, Ennis, county Clare, where Rudolph Bloom (RudolfVirag) died on the evening of the 27 June 1886, at some hour unstated, in consequence of an overdose of monkshood (aconite) selfadministered inthe form of a neuralgic liniment composed of 2 parts of aconite linimentto I of chloroform liniment (purchased by him at 10. 20 a. M. On themorning of 27 June 1886 at the medical hall of Francis Dennehy, 17Church street, Ennis) after having, though not in consequence of having, purchased at 3. 15 p. M. On the afternoon of 27 June 1886 a new boaterstraw hat, extra smart (after having, though not in consequence ofhaving, purchased at the hour and in the place aforesaid, the toxinaforesaid), at the general drapery store of James Cullen, 4 Main street, Ennis. 

Did he attribute this homonymity to information or coincidence orintuition?

Coincidence. 

Did he depict the scene verbally for his guest to see?

He preferred himself to see another's face and listen to another'swords by which potential narration was realised and kinetic temperamentrelieved. 

Did he see only a second coincidence in the second scene narrated tohim, described by the narrator as _A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or TheParable of the Plums_?

It, with the preceding scene and with others unnarrated but existent byimplication, 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 andin conjunction with the personal equation certain possibilities offinancial, social, personal and sexual success, whether speciallycollected and selected as model pedagogic themes (of cent per centmerit) for the use of preparatory and junior grade students orcontributed in printed form, following the precedent of Philip Beaufoyor Doctor Dick or Heblon's _Studies in Blue_, to a publication ofcertified circulation and solvency or employed verbally as intellectualstimulation for sympathetic auditors, tacitly appreciative of successfulnarrative and confidently augurative of successful achievement, duringthe increasingly longer nights gradually following the summer solsticeon the day but three following, videlicet, Tuesday, 21 June (S. AloysiusGonzaga), sunrise 3. 33 a. M. , sunset 8. 29 p. M. 

Which domestic problem as much as, if not more than, any otherfrequently 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, draughts, chess or backgammon): embroidery, darning or knitting for thepoliceaided clothing society: musical duets, mandoline and guitar, pianoand flute, guitar and piano: legal scrivenery or envelope addressing:biweekly visits to variety entertainments: commercial activity aspleasantly commanding and pleasingly obeyed mistress proprietress ina cool dairy shop or warm cigar divan: the clandestine satisfaction oferotic irritation in masculine brothels, state inspected and medicallycontrolled: social visits, at regular infrequent prevented intervalsand with regular frequent preventive superintendence, to and from femaleacquaintances of recognised respectability in the vicinity: courses ofevening instruction specially designed to render liberal instructionagreeable. 

What instances of deficient mental development in his wife inclined himin favour of the lastmentioned (ninth) solution?

In disoccupied moments she had more than once covered a sheet of paperwith signs and hieroglyphics which she stated were Greek and Irish andHebrew characters. She had interrogated constantly at varying intervalsas to the correct method of writing the capital initial of the name ofa city in Canada, Quebec. She understood little of politicalcomplications, internal, or balance of power, external. In calculatingthe addenda of bills she frequently had recourse to digital aid. After completion of laconic epistolary compositions she abandonedthe implement of calligraphy in the encaustic pigment, exposed tothe corrosive action of copperas, green vitriol and nutgall. Unusualpolysyllables of foreign origin she interpreted phonetically or by falseanalogy or by both: metempsychosis (met him pike hoses), _alias_ (amendacious person mentioned in sacred scripture). 

What compensated in the false balance of her intelligence for these andsuch deficiencies of judgment regarding persons, places and things?

The false apparent parallelism of all perpendicular arms of allbalances, proved true by construction. The counterbalance of herproficiency 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 acertain page: by assuming in her, when alluding explanatorily, latentknowledge: by open ridicule in her presence of some absent other'signorant lapse. 

With what success had he attempted direct instruction?

She followed not all, a part of the whole, gave attention with interestcomprehended with surprise, with care repeated, with greater difficultyremembered, forgot with ease, with misgiving reremembered, rerepeatedwith error. 

What system had proved more effective?

Indirect suggestion implicating selfinterest. 

Example?

She disliked umbrella with rain, he liked woman with umbrella, shedisliked new hat with rain, he liked woman with new hat, he bought newhat with rain, she carried umbrella with new hat. 

Accepting the analogy implied in his guest's parable which examples ofpostexilic 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 Mendelssohnof such eminence that from Moses (of Egypt) to Moses (Mendelssohn) therearose none like Moses (Maimonides). 

What statement was made, under correction, by Bloom concerning a fourthseeker of pure truth, by name Aristotle, mentioned, with permission, byStephen?

That the seeker mentioned had been a pupil of a rabbinical philosopher, name uncertain. 

Were other anapocryphal illustrious sons of the law and children of aselected or rejected 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 Irishlanguages were cited with modulations of voice and translation of textsby guest to host and by host to guest?

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 m'baad l'zamatejch_ (thy templeamid thy hair is as a slice of pomegranate). 

How was a glyphic comparison of the phonic symbols of both languagesmade in substantiation of the oral comparison?

By juxtaposition. On the penultimate blank page of a book of inferiorliterary style, entituled _Sweets of Sin_ (produced by Bloom and somanipulated that its front cover came in contact with the surface ofthe table) with a pencil (supplied by Stephen) Stephen wrote the Irishcharacters for gee, eh, dee, em, simple and modified, and Bloom in turnwrote the Hebrew characters ghimel, aleph, daleth and (in the absence ofmem) a substituted qoph, explaining their arithmetical values as ordinaland cardinal numbers, videlicet 3, 1, 4, and 100. 

Was the knowledge possessed by both of each of these languages, theextinct and the revived, theoretical or practical?

Theoretical, being confined to certain grammatical rules of accidenceand syntax and practically excluding vocabulary. 

What points of contact existed between these languages and between thepeoples who spoke them?

The presence of guttural sounds, diacritic aspirations, epenthetic andservile letters in both languages: their antiquity, both having beentaught on the plain of Shinar 242 years after the deluge in the seminaryinstituted by Fenius Farsaigh, descendant of Noah, progenitor of Israel, and ascendant of Heber and Heremon, progenitors of Ireland: theirarchaeological, genealogical, hagiographical, exegetical, homiletic, toponomastic, historical and religious literatures comprising the worksof 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: theisolation of their synagogical and ecclesiastical rites in ghetto (S. Mary's Abbey) and masshouse (Adam and Eve's tavern): the proscriptionof their national costumes in penal laws and jewish dress acts: therestoration in Chanah David of Zion and the possibility of Irishpolitical autonomy or devolution. 

What anthem did Bloom chant partially in anticipation of that multiple, ethnically irreducible consummation?

 _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 epigraphichieroglyphs to the Greek and Roman alphabets and the anticipation ofmodern stenography and telegraphic code in the cuneiform inscriptions(Semitic) and the virgular quinquecostate ogham writing (Celtic). Didthe guest comply with his host's request?

Doubly, by appending his signature in Irish and Roman characters. 

What was Stephen's auditive sensation?

He heard in a profound ancient male unfamiliar melody the accumulationof the past. 

What was Bloom's visual sensation?

He saw in a quick young male familiar form the predestination of afuture. 

What were Stephen's and Bloom's quasisimultaneous volitionalquasisensations of concealed identities?

Visually, Stephen's: The traditional figure of hypostasis, depictedby Johannes Damascenus, Lentulus Romanus and Epiphanius Monachus asleucodermic, sesquipedalian with winedark hair. Auditively, Bloom's: Thetraditional accent of the ecstasy of catastrophe. 

What future careers had been possible for Bloom in the past and withwhat exemplars?

In the church, Roman, Anglican or Nonconformist: exemplars, the veryreverend John Conmee S. J. , the reverend T. Salmon, D. D. , provost ofTrinity college, Dr Alexander J. Dowie. At the bar, English or Irish:exemplars, Seymour Bushe, K. C. , Rufus Isaacs, K. C. On the stage modernor Shakespearean: exemplars, Charles Wyndham, high comedian OsmondTearle (died 1901), exponent of Shakespeare. 

Did the host encourage his guest to chant in a modulated voice a strangelegend on an allied theme?

Reassuringly, their place, where none could hear them talk, beingsecluded, reassured, the decocted beverages, allowing for subsolidresidual sediment of a mechanical mixture, water plus sugar plus creamplus 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 o'er the jew's garden wall. And the very second ball little Harry Hughes played He broke the jew's windows all. _

How did the son of Rudolph receive this first part?

With unmixed feeling. Smiling, a jew he heard with pleasure and saw theunbroken kitchen window. 

Recite the second part (minor) of the legend. 

 _Then out there came the jew's daughter And she all dressed in green. "Come back, come back, you pretty little boy, And play your ball again. "

 "I can't come back and I won't come back Without my schoolfellows all. For if my master he did hear He'd make it a sorry ball. "

 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. 

 She took a penknife out of her pocket And cut off his little head. And now he'll 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 jew'sdaughter, all dressed in green. 

Condense Stephen's commentary. 

One of all, the least of all, is the victim predestined. Once byinadvertence twice by design he challenges his destiny. It comes when heis abandoned and challenges him reluctant and, as an apparition of hopeand youth, holds him unresisting. It leads him to a strange habitation, 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 deed should be told of a deed not by himshould 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 evidences for and against ritual murder: theincitations of the hierarchy, the superstition of the populace, thepropagation of rumour in continued fraction of veridicity, the envy ofopulence, the influence of retaliation, the sporadic reappearance ofatavistic delinquency, the mitigating circumstances of fanaticism, hypnotic suggestion and somnambulism. 

From which (if any) of these mental or physical disorders was he nottotally immune?

From hypnotic suggestion: once, waking, he had not recognised hissleeping apartment: more than once, waking, he had been for anindefinite time incapable of moving or uttering sounds. Fromsomnambulism: once, sleeping, his body had risen, crouched andcrawled in the direction of a heatless fire and, having attainedits destination, there, curled, unheated, in night attire had lain, sleeping. 

Had this latter or any cognate phenomenon declared itself in any memberof his family?

Twice, in Holles street and in Ontario terrace, his daughter Millicent(Milly) at the ages of 6 and 8 years had uttered in sleep an exclamationof terror and had replied to the interrogations of two figures in nightattire with a vacant mute expression. 

What other infantile memories had he of her?

15 June 1889. A querulous newborn female infant crying to cause andlessen congestion. A child renamed Padney Socks she shook with shocksher moneybox: counted his three free moneypenny 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, Britishnavy. 

What endemic characteristics were present?

Conversely the nasal and frontal formation was derived in a directline of lineage which, though interrupted, would continue at distantintervals to more distant intervals to its most distant intervals. 

What memories had he of her adolescence?

She relegated her hoop and skippingrope to a recess. On the duke's lawn, entreated by an English visitor, she declined to permit him to make andtake away her photographic image (objection not stated). On the SouthCircular road in the company of Elsa Potter, followed by an individualof sinister aspect, she went half way down Stamer street and turnedabruptly back (reason of change not stated). On the vigil of the 15thanniversary of her birth she wrote a letter from Mullingar, countyWestmeath, making a brief allusion to a local student (faculty and yearnot stated). 

Did that first division, portending 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

(Mullingar student) or of a healing herb (valerian). Differently, because of different possible returns to the inhabitants or to thehabitation. 

In other respects were their differences similar?

In passivity, in economy, in the instinct of tradition, inunexpectedness. 

As?

Inasmuch as leaning she sustained her blond hair for him to ribbon itfor her (cf neckarching cat). Moreover, on the free surface of the lakein Stephen's green amid inverted reflections of trees her uncommentedspit, describing concentric circles of waterrings, indicated by theconstancy of its permanence the locus of a somnolent prostrate fish (cfmousewatching cat). 

Again, in order to remember the date, combatants, issue and consequencesof a famous military engagement she pulled a plait of her hair (cfearwashing cat). Furthermore, silly Milly, she dreamed of having hadan unspoken unremembered conversation with a horse whose name had beenJoseph to whom (which) she had offered a tumblerful of lemonade whichit (he) had appeared to have accepted (cf hearthdreaming cat). Hence, inpassivity, in economy, in the instinct of tradition, in unexpectedness, their differences were similar. 

In what way had he utilised gifts (1) an owl, (2) a clock, given asmatrimonial auguries, to interest and to instruct her?

As object lessons to explain: 1) the nature and habits of oviparousanimals, the possibility of aerial flight, certain abnormalities ofvision, the secular process of imbalsamation: 2) the principle of thependulum, exemplified in bob, wheelgear and regulator, the translationin terms of human or social regulation of the various positions ofclockwise moveable indicators on an unmoving dial, the exactitude of therecurrence per hour of an instant in each hour when the longer and theshorter indicator were at the same angle of inclination, _videlicet_, 55/11 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 tohim a breakfast moustachecup of imitation Crown Derby porcelain ware. She provided: at quarter day or thereabouts if or when purchaseshad been made by him not for her she showed herself attentive to hisnecessities, anticipating his desires. She admired: a natural phenomenonhaving been explained by him to her she expressed the immediate desireto possess without gradual acquisition a fraction of his science, themoiety, the quarter, a thousandth part. 

What proposal did Bloom, diambulist, father of Milly, somnambulist, maketo Stephen, noctambulist?

To pass in repose the hours intervening between Thursday (proper) andFriday (normal) on an extemporised cubicle in the apartment immediatelyabove the kitchen and immediately adjacent to the sleeping apartment ofhis host and hostess. 

What various advantages would or might have resulted from a prolongationof such an extemporisation?

For the guest: security of domicile and seclusion of study. For thehost: rejuvenation of intelligence, vicarious satisfaction. For thehostess: disintegration of obsession, acquisition of correct Italianpronunciation. 

Why might these several provisional contingencies between a guest anda hostess not necessarily preclude or be precluded by a permanenteventuality of reconciliatory union between a schoolfellow and a jew'sdaughter?

Because the way to daughter led through mother, the way to motherthrough daughter. 

To what inconsequent polysyllabic question of his host did the guestreturn a monosyllabic negative answer?

If he had known the late Mrs Emily Sinico, accidentally killed at SydneyParade railway station, 14 October 1903. 

What inchoate corollary statement was consequently suppressed by thehost?

A statement explanatory of his absence on the occasion of the intermentof Mrs Mary Dedalus (born Goulding), 26 June 1903, vigil of theanniversary 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 tothe former. 

What counterproposals were alternately advanced, accepted, modified, declined, restated in other terms, reaccepted, ratified, reconfirmed?

To inaugurate a prearranged course of Italian instruction, placethe residence of the instructed. To inaugurate a course of vocalinstruction, place the residence of the instructress. To inauguratea series of static semistatic and peripatetic intellectual dialogues, places the residence of both speakers (if both speakers were resident inthe same place), the Ship hotel and tavern, 6 Lower Abbey street (W. AndE. Connery, proprietors), the National Library of Ireland, 10 Kildarestreet, the National Maternity Hospital, 29, 30 and 31 Holles street, apublic garden, the vicinity of a place of worship, a conjunction of twoor more public thoroughfares, the point of bisection of a right linedrawn between their residences (if both speakers were resident indifferent places). 

What rendered problematic for Bloom the realisation of these mutuallyselfexcluding propositions?

The irreparability of the past: once at a performance of AlbertHengler's circus in the Rotunda, Rutland square, Dublin, an intuitiveparticoloured clown in quest of paternity had penetrated from the ringto a place in the auditorium where Bloom, solitary, was seated and hadpublicly declared to an exhilarated audience that he (Bloom) was his(the clown's) papa. The imprevidibility of the future: once in thesummer of 1898 he (Bloom) had marked a florin (2/-) with three notcheson the milled edge and tendered it m payment of an account due to andreceived by J. And T. Davy, family grocers, 1 Charlemont Mall, GrandCanal, for circulation on the waters of civic finance, for possible, circuitous or direct, return. 

Was the clown Bloom's son?

No. 

Had Bloom's coin returned?

Never. 

Why would a recurrent frustration the more depress him?

Because at the critical turningpoint of human existence he desired toamend many social conditions, the product of inequality and avarice andinternational animosity. He believed then that human life was infinitelyperfectible, eliminating these conditions?

There remained the generic conditions imposed by natural, as distinctfrom human law, as integral parts of the human whole: the necessity ofdestruction to procure alimentary sustenance: the painful character ofthe ultimate functions of separate existence, the agonies of birth anddeath: the monotonous menstruation of simian and (particularly) humanfemales extending from the age of puberty to the menopause: inevitableaccidents at sea, in mines and factories: certain very painful maladiesand their resultant surgical operations, innate lunacy and congenitalcriminality, decimating epidemics: catastrophic cataclysms which maketerror the basis of human mentality: seismic upheavals the epicentresof which are located in densely populated regions: the fact of vitalgrowth, through convulsions of metamorphosis, from infancy throughmaturity to decay. 

Why did he desist from speculation?

Because it was a task for a superior intelligence to substitute othermore acceptable phenomena in the place of the less acceptable phenomenato be removed. 

Did Stephen participate in his dejection?

He affirmed his significance as a conscious rational animal proceedingsyllogistically from the known to the unknown and a conscious rationalreagent between a micro and a macrocosm ineluctably constructed upon theincertitude 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 fromthe unknown to the known through the incertitude of the void. 

In what order of precedence, with what attendant ceremony was the exodusfrom the house of bondage to the wilderness of inhabitation effected?

Lighted Candle in Stick borne by

BLOOM

Diaconal Hat on Ashplant borne by

STEPHEN:

With what intonation secreto of what commemorative psalm?

The 113th, _modus peregrinus: In exitu Israel de Egypto: domus Jacob depopulo 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 them when they, first the host, then theguest, emerged silently, doubly dark, from obscurity by a passage fromthe 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 hiscompanion of various constellations?

Meditations of evolution increasingly vaster: of the moon invisible inincipient lunation, approaching perigee: of the infinite lattiginousscintillating uncondensed milky way, discernible by daylight by anobserver placed at the lower end of a cylindrical vertical shaft 5000ft deep sunk from the surface towards the centre of the earth: of Sirius(alpha in Canis Maior) 10 lightyears (57, 000, 000, 000, 000 miles) distantand in volume 900 times the dimension of our planet: of Arcturus: of theprecession of equinoxes: of Orion with belt and sextuple sun theta andnebula in which 100 of our solar systems could be contained: of moribundand of nascent new stars such as Nova in 1901: of our system plungingtowards the constellation of Hercules: of the parallax or parallacticdrift of socalled fixed stars, in reality evermoving wanderers fromimmeasurably remote eons to infinitely remote futures in comparison withwhich the years, threescore and ten, of allotted human life formed aparenthesis of infinitesimal brevity. 

Were there obverse meditations of involution increasingly less vast?

Of the eons of geological periods recorded in the stratifications of theearth: of the myriad minute entomological organic existences concealedin cavities of the earth, beneath removable stones, in hives and mounds, of microbes, germs, bacteria, bacilli, spermatozoa: of the incalculabletrillions of billions of millions of imperceptible molecules containedby cohesion of molecular affinity in a single pinhead: of the universeof human serum constellated with red and white bodies, themselvesuniverses of void space constellated with other bodies, each, incontinuity, its universe of divisible component bodies of which each wasagain divisible in divisions of redivisible component bodies, dividendsand divisors ever diminishing without actual division till, if theprogress were carried far enough, nought nowhere was never reached. 

Why did he not elaborate these calculations to a more precise result?

Because some years previously in 1886 when occupied with the problemof the quadrature of the circle he had learned of the existence of anumber computed to a relative degree of accuracy to be of such magnitudeand of 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 1000pages each of innumerable quires and reams of India paper would have tobe requisitioned in order to contain the complete tale of its printedintegers of units, tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions, tens of millions, hundreds of millions, billions, the nucleus of the nebula of every digit of every seriescontaining succinctly the potentiality of being raised to the utmostkinetic elaboration of any power of any of its powers. 

Did he find the problems of the inhabitability of the planets and theirsatellites by a race, given in species, and of the possible social andmoral redemption of said race by a redeemer, easier of solution?

Of a different order of difficulty. Conscious that the human organism, normally capable of sustaining an atmospheric pressure of 19 tons, when elevated to a considerable altitude in the terrestrial atmospheresuffered with arithmetical progression of intensity, according asthe line of demarcation between troposphere and stratosphere wasapproximated from nasal hemorrhage, impeded respiration and vertigo, when proposing this problem for solution, he had conjectured as aworking hypothesis which could not be proved impossible that a moreadaptable and differently anatomically constructed race of beings mightsubsist otherwise under Martian, Mercurial, Veneral, Jovian, Saturnian, Neptunian or Uranian sufficient and equivalent conditions, thoughan apogean humanity of beings created in varying forms with finitedifferences resulting similar to the whole and to one another wouldprobably there as here remain inalterably and inalienably attached tovanities, to vanities of vanities and to all that is vanity. 

 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 magnitudes revealed up to and including the 7th: their positions:the waggoner's star: Walsingham way: the chariot of David: the annularcinctures of Saturn: the condensation of spiral nebulae into suns: theinterdependent gyrations of double suns: the independent synchronousdiscoveries of Galileo, Simon Marius, Piazzi, Le Verrier, Herschel, Galle: the systematisations attempted by Bode and Kepler of cubesof distances and squares of times of revolution: the almost infinitecompressibility of hirsute comets and their vast elliptical egressiveand reentrant orbits from perihelion to aphelion: the sidereal origin ofmeteoric stones: the Libyan floods on Mars about the period of the birthof the younger astroscopist: the annual recurrence of meteoric showersabout the period of the feast of S. Lawrence (martyr, lo August): themonthly recurrence known as the new moon with the old moon in her arms:the posited influence of celestial on human bodies: the appearance of astar (1st magnitude) of exceeding brilliancy dominating by night andday (a new luminous sun generated by the collision and amalgamation inincandescence of two nonluminous exsuns) about the period of thebirth of William Shakespeare over delta in the recumbent neversettingconstellation of Cassiopeia and of a star (2nd magnitude) of similarorigin but of lesser brilliancy which had appeared in and disappearedfrom the constellation of the Corona Septentrionalis about the periodof the birth of Leopold Bloom and of other stars of (presumably) similarorigin which had (effectively or presumably) appeared in and disappearedfrom the constellation of Andromeda about the period of the birth ofStephen Dedalus, and in and from the constellation of Auriga some yearsafter the birth and death of Rudolph Bloom, junior, and in and fromother constellations some years before or after the birth or death ofother 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 crepuscularanimals, persistence of infernal light, obscurity of terrestrial waters, pallor of human beings. 

His (Bloom's) logical conclusion, having weighed the matter and allowingfor possible error?

That it was not a heaventree, not a heavengrot, not a heavenbeast, nota heavenman. That it was a Utopia, there being no known method fromthe known to the unknown: an infinity renderable equally finite by thesuppositious apposition of one or more bodies equally of the same and ofdifferent magnitudes: a mobility of illusory forms immobilised in space, remobilised in air: a past which possibly had ceased to exist as apresent before its probable spectators had entered actual presentexistence. 

Was he more convinced of the esthetic value of the spectacle?

Indubitably in consequence of the reiterated examples of poets in thedelirium of the frenzy of attachment or in the abasement of rejectioninvoking ardent sympathetic constellations or the frigidity of thesatellite of their planet. 

Did he then accept as an article of belief the theory of astrologicalinfluences upon sublunary disasters?

It seemed to him as possible of proof as of confutation and thenomenclature employed in its selenographical charts as attributable toverifiable intuition as to fallacious analogy: the lake of dreams, thesea of rains, the gulf of dews, the ocean of fecundity. 

What special affinities appeared to him to exist between the moon andwoman?

Her antiquity in preceding and surviving successive telluriangenerations: her nocturnal predominance: her satellitic dependence:her luminary reflection: her constancy under all her phases, risingand setting by her appointed times, waxing and waning: the forcedinvariability of her aspect: her indeterminate response to inaffirmativeinterrogation: her potency over effluent and refluent waters: her powerto enamour, to mortify, to invest with beauty, to render insane, toincite to and aid delinquency: the tranquil inscrutability of hervisage: the terribility of her isolated dominant implacable resplendentpropinquity: her omens of tempest and of calm: the stimulation of herlight, her motion and her presence: the admonition of her craters, herarid seas, her silence: her splendour, when visible: her attraction, when invisible. 

What visible luminous sign attracted Bloom's, who attracted Stephen's, gaze?

In the second storey (rere) of his (Bloom's) house the light of aparaffin oil lamp with oblique shade projected on a screen of rollerblind supplied by Frank O'Hara, window blind, curtain pole and revolvingshutter manufacturer, 16 Aungier street. 

How did he elucidate the mystery of an invisible attractive person, hiswife Marion (Molly) Bloom, denoted by a visible splendid sign, a lamp?

With indirect and direct verbal allusions or affirmations: with subduedaffection and admiration: with description: with impediment: withsuggestion. 

Both then were silent?

Silent, each contemplating the other in both mirrors of the reciprocalflesh of theirhisnothis fellowfaces. 

Were they indefinitely inactive?

At Stephen's suggestion, at Bloom's instigation both, first Stephen, then Bloom, in penumbra urinated, their sides contiguous, their organsof micturition reciprocally rendered invisible by manual circumposition, their gazes, first Bloom's, then Stephen's, elevated to the projectedluminous and semiluminous shadow. 

Similarly?

The trajectories of their, first sequent, then simultaneous, urinationswere dissimilar: Bloom's longer, less irruent, in the incomplete form ofthe bifurcated penultimate alphabetical letter, who in his ultimateyear at High School (1880) had been capable of attaining the pointof greatest altitude against the whole concurrent strength of theinstitution, 210 scholars: Stephen's higher, more sibilant, who in theultimate hours of the previous day had augmented by diuretic consumptionan insistent vesical pressure. 

What different problems presented themselves to each concerning theinvisible audible 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 fromunnecessary servile work) and the problem as to whether the divineprepuce, the carnal bridal ring of the holy Roman catholic apostolicchurch, conserved in Calcata, were deserving of simple hyperduly or ofthe fourth degree of latria accorded to the abscission of such divineexcrescences as hair and toenails. 

What celestial sign was by both simultaneously observed?

A star precipitated with great apparent velocity across the firmamentfrom Vega in the Lyre above the zenith beyond the stargroup of the Tressof Berenice towards the zodiacal sign of Leo. 

How did the centripetal remainer afford egress to the centrifugaldeparter?

By inserting the barrel of an arruginated male key in the hole of anunstable female lock, obtaining a purchase on the bow of the key andturning its wards from right to left, withdrawing a bolt from itsstaple, pulling inward spasmodically an obsolescent unhinged door andrevealing 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 itsbase, the lines of their valedictory arms, meeting at any point andforming 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 bellsin 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. Chorusexcipiat. _

By Bloom:

 _Heigho, heigho, Heigho, heigho. _

Where were the several members of the company which with Bloom that dayat the bidding of that peal had travelled from Sandymount in the southto 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), JohnHenry 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, thedouble vibration of a jew's harp in the resonant lane. 

Alone, what did Bloom feel?

The cold of interstellar space, thousands of degrees below freezingpoint or the absolute zero of Fahrenheit, Centigrade or Reaumur: theincipient intimations of proximate dawn. 

Of what did bellchime and handtouch and footstep and lonechill remindhim?

Of companions now in various manners in different places defunct: PercyApjohn (killed in action, Modder River), Philip Gilligan (phthisis, Jervis Street hospital), Matthew F. Kane (accidental drowning, DublinBay), Philip Moisel (pyemia, Heytesbury 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 daybreak, theapparition of a new solar disk. 

Had he ever been a spectator of those phenomena?

Once, in 1887, after a protracted performance of charades in the houseof Luke Doyle, Kimmage, he had awaited with patience the apparitionof the diurnal phenomenon, seated on a wall, his gaze turned in thedirection of Mizrach, the east. 

He remembered the initial paraphenomena?

More active air, a matutinal distant cock, ecclesiastical clocks atvarious points, avine music, the isolated tread of an early wayfarer, the visible diffusion of the light of an invisible luminous body, thefirst golden limb of the resurgent sun perceptible low on the horizon. 

Did he remain?

With deep inspiration he returned, retraversing the garden, reenteringthe passage, reclosing the door. With brief suspiration he reassumed thecandle, 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 intocontact with a solid timber angle where, an infinitesimal but sensiblefraction of a second later, a painful sensation was located inconsequence of antecedent sensations transmitted and registered. 

Describe the alterations effected in the disposition of the articles offurniture. 

A sofa upholstered in prune plush had been translocated from oppositethe door to the ingleside near the compactly furled Union Jack (analteration which he had frequently intended to execute): the blue andwhite checker inlaid majolicatopped table had been placed opposite thedoor in the place vacated by the prune plush sofa: the walnut sideboard(a projecting angle of which had momentarily arrested his ingress) hadbeen moved from its position beside the door to a more advantageous butmore perilous position in front of the door: two chairs had been movedfrom right and left of the ingleside to the position originally occupiedby the blue and white checker inlaid majolicatopped table. 

Describe them. 

One: a squat stuffed easychair, with stout arms extended and backslanted to the rere, which, repelled in recoil, had then upturned anirregular fringe of a rectangular rug and now displayed on its amplyupholstered seat a centralised diffusing and diminishing discolouration. The other: a slender splayfoot chair of glossy cane curves, placeddirectly opposite the former, its frame from top to seat and from seatto base being varnished dark brown, its seat being a bright circle ofwhite plaited rush. 

What significances attached to these two chairs?

Significances of similitude, of posture, of symbolism, of circumstantialevidence, of testimonial supermanence. 

What occupied the position originally occupied by the sideboard?

A vertical piano (Cadby) with exposed keyboard, its closed coffinsupporting a pair of long yellow ladies' gloves and an emerald ashtraycontaining four consumed matches, a partly consumed cigarette and twodiscoloured ends of cigarettes, its musicrest supporting the music inthe key of G natural for voice and piano of _Love's Old Sweet Song_(words by G. Clifton Bingham, composed by J. L. Molloy, sung by MadamAntoinette 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 candlestick: with pain, feeling on his righttemple a contused tumescence: with attention, focussing his gaze ona large dull passive and a slender bright active: with solicitation, bending and downturning the upturned rugfringe: with amusement, remembering Dr Malachi Mulligan's scheme of colour containing thegradation of green: with pleasure, repeating the words and antecedentact and perceiving through various channels of internal sensibilitythe consequent and concomitant tepid pleasant diffusion of gradualdiscolouration. 

His next proceeding?

From an open box on the majolicatopped table he extracted a blackdiminutive cone, one inch in height, placed it on its circular base ona small tin plate, placed his candlestick on the right corner of themantelpiece, produced from his waistcoat a folded page of prospectus(illustrated) entitled Agendath Netaim, unfolded the same, examinedit superficially, rolled it into a thin cylinder, ignited it in thecandleflame, applied it when ignited to the apex of the cone till thelatter reached the stage of rutilance, placed the cylinder in the basinof the candlestick disposing its unconsumed part in such a manner as tofacilitate total combustion. 

What followed this operation?

The truncated conical crater summit of the diminutive volcano emitted avertical and serpentine fume redolent of aromatic oriental incense. 

What homothetic objects, other than the candlestick, stood on themantelpiece?

A timepiece of striated Connemara marble, stopped at the hour of 4. 46a. M. On the 21 March 1896, matrimonial gift of Matthew Dillon: a dwarftree of glacial arborescence under a transparent bellshade, matrimonialgift of Luke and Caroline Doyle: an embalmed owl, matrimonial gift ofAlderman John Hooper. 

What interchanges of looks took place between these three objects andBloom?

In the mirror of the giltbordered pierglass the undecorated back of thedwarf tree regarded the upright back of the embalmed owl. Beforethe mirror the matrimonial gift of Alderman John Hooper with a clearmelancholy wise bright motionless compassionate gaze regarded Bloomwhile Bloom with obscure tranquil profound motionless compassionatedgaze regarded the matrimonial gift of Luke and Caroline Doyle. 

What composite asymmetrical image in the mirror then attracted hisattention?

The image of a solitary (ipsorelative) mutable (aliorelative) man. 

Why solitary (ipsorelative)?

_Brothers and sisters had he none. Yet that man's father was hisgrandfather's son. _

Why mutable (aliorelative)?

From infancy to maturity he had resembled his maternal procreatrix. From maturity to senility he would increasingly resemble his paternalprocreator. 

What final visual impression was communicated to him by the mirror?

The optical reflection of several inverted volumes improperly arrangedand not in the order of their common letters with scintillating titleson the two bookshelves opposite. 

Catalogue these books. 

_Thom's Dublin Post Office Directory, 1886_. Denis Florence M'Carthy's_Poetical Works_ (copper beechleaf bookmark at p. 5). Shakespeare's_Works_ (dark crimson morocco, goldtooled). 

_The Useful Ready Reckoner_ (brown cloth). 

_The Secret History of the Court of Charles II_ (red cloth, tooledbinding). _The Child's Guide_ (blue cloth). 

_The Beauties of Killarney_ (wrappers). 

_When We Were Boys_ by William O'Brien M. P. (green cloth, slightlyfaded, envelope bookmark at p. 217). 

_Thoughts from Spinoza_ (maroon leather). 

_The Story of the Heavens_ by Sir Robert Ball (blue cloth). Ellis's_Three Trips to Madagascar_ (brown cloth, title obliterated). 

_The Stark-Munro Letters_ by A. Conan Doyle, property of the City ofDublin Public Library, 106 Capel street, lent 21 May (Whitsun Eve) 1904, due 4 June 1904, 13 days overdue (black cloth binding, bearing whiteletternumber ticket). 

_Voyages in China_ by "Viator" (recovered with brown paper, red inktitle). 

_Philosophy of the Talmud_ (sewn pamphlet). Lockhart's _Life ofNapoleon_ (cover wanting, marginal annotations, minimising victories, aggrandising defeats of the protagonist). 

_Soll und Haben_ by Gustav Freytag (black boards, Gothic characters, cigarette coupon bookmark at p. 24). Hozier's _History of theRusso-Turkish War_ (brown cloth, a volumes, with gummed label, GarrisonLibrary, Governor's Parade, Gibraltar, on verso of cover). 

_Laurence Bloomfield in Ireland_ by William Allingham (second edition, green cloth, gilt trefoil design, previous owner's name on recto offlyleaf erased). 

_A Handbook of Astronomy_ (cover, brown leather, detached, S plates, antique letterpress long primer, author's footnotes nonpareil, marginalclues brevier, captions small pica). 

_The Hidden Life of Christ_ (black boards). 

_In the Track of the Sun_ (yellow cloth, titlepage missing, recurrenttitle 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 Bifhop's Head, MDCCXI, with dedicatoryepiftle to his worthy friend Charles Cox, efquire, Member of Parliamentfor the burgh of Southwark and having ink calligraphed statement on theflyleaf certifying that the book was the property of Michael Gallagher, dated this 10th day of May 1822 and requefting the perfon who shouldfind it, if the book should be loft or go aftray, to reftore it toMichael Gallagher, carpenter, Dufery Gate, Ennifcorthy, county Wicklow, the fineft place in the world. 

What reflections occupied his mind during the process of reversion ofthe inverted volumes?

The necessity of order, a place for everything and everything in itsplace: the deficient appreciation of literature possessed by females:the incongruity of an apple incuneated in a tumbler and of an umbrellainclined in a closestool: the insecurity of hiding any secret documentbehind, beneath or between the pages of a book. 

Which volume was the largest in bulk?

Hozier's _History of the Russo-Turkish war. _

What among other data did the second volume of the work in questioncontain?

The name of a decisive battle (forgotten), frequently remembered by adecisive 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 aninterval of amnesia, when, seated at the central table, about to consultthe work in question, he remembered by mnemotechnic the name of themilitary engagement, Plevna. 

What caused him consolation in his sitting posture?

The candour, nudity, pose, tranquility, youth, grace, sex, counsel of astatue erect in the centre of the table, an image of Narcissus purchasedby auction from P. A. Wren, 9 Bachelor's Walk. 

What caused him irritation in his sitting posture? Inhibitory pressureof collar (size 17) and waistcoat (5 buttons), two articles of clothingsuperfluous in the costume of mature males and inelastic to alterationsof mass by expansion. 

How was the irritation allayed?

He removed his collar, with contained black necktie and collapsiblestud, from his neck to a position on the left of the table. Heunbuttoned successively in reversed direction waistcoat, trousers, shirtand vest along the medial line of irregular incrispated black hairsextending in triangular convergence from the pelvic basin over thecircumference of the abdomen and umbilicular fossicle along the medialline of nodes to the intersection of the sixth pectoral vertebrae, thence produced both ways at right angles and terminating in circlesdescribed about two equidistant points, right and left, on the summitsof the mammary prominences. He unbraced successively each of six minusone braced trouser buttons, arranged in pairs, of which one incomplete. 

What involuntary actions followed?

He compressed between 2 fingers the flesh circumjacent to a cicatrice inthe left infracostal region below the diaphragm resulting from a stinginflicted 2 weeks and 3 days previously (23 May 1904) by a bee. He scratched imprecisely with his right hand, though insensible ofprurition, various points and surfaces of his partly exposed, whollyabluted skin. He inserted his left hand into the left lower pocket ofhis waistcoat and extracted and replaced a silver coin (I shilling), placed there (presumably) on the occasion (17 October 1903) of theinterment of Mrs Emily Sinico, Sydney Parade. 

Compile the budget for 16 June 1904. DEBIT

 1 Pork Kidney 1 Copy FREEMAN'S JOURNAL 1 Bath And Gratification Tramfare 1 In Memoriam Patrick Dignam 2 Banbury cakes 1 Lunch 1 Renewal fee for book 1 Packet Notepaper and Envelopes 1 Dinner and Gratification 1 Postal Order and Stamp Tramfare 1 Pig's Foot 1 Sheep's Trotter 1 Cake Fry's Plain Chocolate 1 Square Soda Bread 1 Coffee and Bun Loan (Stephen Dedalus) refunded BALANCE

 L. S. D. 0--0--3 0--0--1 0--1--6 0--0--1 0--5--0 0--0--1 0--0--7 0--1--0 0--0--2 0--2--0 0--2--8 0--0--1 0--0--4 0--0--3 0--0--1 0--0--4 0--0--4 1--7--0 0-17--5 2-19--3 CREDIT

 Cash in hand Commission recd. _Freeman's Journal_ Loan (Stephen Dedalus)

 L. S. D. 0--4--9 1--7--6 1--7--0

 2-19--3

Did the process of divestiture continue?

Sensible of a benignant persistent ache in his footsoles he extendedhis foot to one side and observed the creases, protuberances and salientpoints caused by foot pressure in the course of walking repeatedly inseveral different directions, then, inclined, he disnoded the laceknots, unhooked and loosened the laces, took off each of his two boots for thesecond time, detached the partially moistened right sock through thefore part of which the nail of his great toe had again effracted, raisedhis right foot and, having unhooked a purple elastic sock suspender, took off his right sock, placed his unclothed right foot on the marginof the seat of his chair, picked at and gently lacerated the protrudingpart of the great toenail, raised the part lacerated to his nostrils andinhaled the odour of the quick, then, with satisfaction, threw away thelacerated ungual fragment. 

Why with satisfaction?

Because the odour inhaled corresponded to other odours inhaled of otherungual fragments, picked and lacerated by Master Bloom, pupil of MrsEllis's juvenile school, patiently each night in the act of briefgenuflection and nocturnal prayer and ambitious meditation. 

In what ultimate ambition had all concurrent and consecutive ambitionsnow coalesced?

Not to inherit by right of primogeniture, gavelkind or borough English, or possess in perpetuity an extensive demesne of a sufficient number ofacres, roods and perches, statute land measure (valuation 42 pounds), ofgrazing turbary surrounding a baronial hall with gatelodge and carriagedrive nor, on the other hand, a terracehouse or semidetached villa, described as _Rus in Urbe_ or _Qui si sana_, but to purchase by privatetreaty in fee simple a thatched bungalowshaped 2 storey dwellinghouse ofsoutherly aspect, surmounted by vane and lightning conductor, connectedwith the earth, with porch covered by parasitic plants (ivy or Virginiacreeper), halldoor, olive green, with smart carriage finish and neatdoorbrasses, stucco front with gilt tracery at eaves and gable, rising, if possible, upon a gentle eminence with agreeable prospect from balconywith stone pillar parapet over unoccupied and unoccupyable interjacentpastures and standing in 5 or 6 acres of its own ground, at sucha distance from the nearest public thoroughfare as to render itshouselights visible at night above and through a quickset hornbeam hedgeof topiary cutting, situate at a given point not less than 1 statutemile from the periphery of the metropolis, within a time limit of notmore than 15 minutes from tram or train line (e. G. , Dundrum, south, orSutton, north, both localities equally reported by trial to resemble theterrestrial poles in being favourable climates for phthisical subjects), the premises to be held under feefarm grant, lease 999 years, themessuage to consist of 1 drawingroom with baywindow (2 lancets), thermometer affixed, 1 sittingroom, 4 bedrooms, 2 servants' rooms, tiledkitchen with close range and scullery, lounge hall fitted with linenwallpresses, fumed oak sectional bookcase containing the EncyclopaediaBritannica and New Century Dictionary, transverse obsolete medieval andoriental weapons, dinner gong, alabaster lamp, bowl pendant, vulcaniteautomatic telephone receiver with adjacent directory, handtuftedAxminster carpet with cream ground and trellis border, loo table withpillar and claw legs, hearth with massive firebrasses and ormolu mantelchronometer clock, guaranteed timekeeper with cathedral chime, barometerwith hygrographic chart, comfortable lounge settees and corner fitments, upholstered in ruby plush with good springing and sunk centre, threebanner Japanese screen and cuspidors (club style, rich winecolouredleather, gloss renewable with a minimum of labour by use of linseedoil and vinegar) and pyramidically prismatic central chandelier lustre, bentwood perch with fingertame parrot (expurgated language), embossedmural paper at 10/- per dozen with transverse swags of carmine floraldesign and top crown frieze, staircase, three continuous flights atsuccessive right angles, of varnished cleargrained oak, treads andrisers, newel, balusters and handrail, with steppedup panel dado, dressed with camphorated wax: bathroom, hot and cold supply, recliningand shower: water closet on mezzanine provided with opaque singlepaneoblong window, tipup seat, bracket lamp, brass tierod and brace, armrests, footstool and artistic oleograph on inner face of door:ditto, plain: servants' apartments with separate sanitary and hygienicnecessaries for cook, general and betweenmaid (salary, rising bybiennial unearned increments of 2 pounds, with comprehensive fidelityinsurance, annual bonus (1 pound) and retiring allowance (based onthe 65 system) after 30 years' service), pantry, buttery, larder, refrigerator, outoffices, coal and wood cellarage with winebin (stilland sparkling vintages) for distinguished guests, if entertained todinner (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 summerhousewith tropical palms, equipped in the best botanical manner, a rockerywith waterspray, a beehive arranged on humane principles, ovalflowerbeds in rectangular grassplots set with eccentric ellipses ofscarlet and chrome tulips, blue scillas, crocuses, polyanthus, sweetWilliam, sweet pea, lily of the valley (bulbs obtainable from sir JamesW. Mackey (Limited) wholesale and retail seed and bulb merchants andnurserymen, agents for chemical manures, 23 Sackville street, upper), anorchard, kitchen garden and vinery protected against illegal trespassersby glasstopped mural enclosures, a lumbershed with padlock for variousinventoried implements. 

As?

Eeltraps, lobsterpots, fishingrods, hatchet, steelyard, grindstone, clodcrusher, swatheturner, carriagesack, telescope ladder, 10 toothrake, 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(lady's and gentleman's), a sundial shaded and sheltered by laburnumor lilac trees, an exotically harmonically accorded Japanese tinklegatebell affixed to left lateral gatepost, a capacious waterbutt, a lawnmower with side delivery and grassbox, a lawnsprinkler withhydraulic hose. 

What facilities of transit were desirable?

When citybound frequent connection by train or tram from theirrespective intermediate station or terminal. When countryboundvelocipedes, a chainless freewheel roadster cycle with side basketcarattached, or draught conveyance, a donkey with wicker trap or smartphaeton with good working solidungular cob (roan gelding, 14 h). 

What might be the name of this erigible or erected residence?

Bloom Cottage. Saint Leopold's. Flowerville. 

Could Bloom of 7 Eccles street foresee Bloom of Flowerville?

In loose allwool garments with Harris tweed cap, price 8/6, and usefulgarden boots with elastic gussets and wateringcan, planting alignedyoung firtrees, syringing, pruning, staking, sowing hayseed, trundling aweedladen wheelbarrow without excessive fatigue at sunset amid the scentof newmown hay, ameliorating the soil, multiplying wisdom, achievinglongevity. 

What syllabus of intellectual pursuits was simultaneously possible?

Snapshot photography, comparative study of religions, folklore relativeto various amatory and superstitious practices, contemplation of thecelestial constellations. 

What lighter recreations?

Outdoor: garden and fieldwork, cycling on level macadamised causewaysascents of moderately high hills, natation in secluded fresh water andunmolested river boating in secure wherry or light curricle with kedgeanchor on reaches free from weirs and rapids (period of estivation), vespertinal perambulation or equestrian circumprocession with inspectionof sterile landscape and contrastingly agreeable cottagers' fires ofsmoking peat turves (period of hibernation). Indoor: discussion intepid security of unsolved historical and criminal problems: lecture ofunexpurgated exotic erotic masterpieces: house carpentry with toolboxcontaining hammer, awl nails, screws, tintacks, gimlet, tweezers, bullnose plane and turnscrew. Might he become a gentleman farmer offield produce and live stock?

Not impossibly, with 1 or 2 stripper cows, 1 pike of upland hay andrequisite farming implements, e. G. , an end-to-end churn, a turnip pulperetc. 

What would be his civic functions and social status among the countyfamilies and landed gentry?

Arranged successively in ascending powers of hierarchical order, thatof gardener, groundsman, cultivator, breeder, and at the zenith of hiscareer, resident magistrate or justice of the peace with a family crestand 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 incourt and fashionable intelligence (Mr and Mrs Leopold Bloom have leftKingstown for England). 

What course of action did he outline for himself in such capacity?

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 mitigantsof the widest possible latitude but exactable to the uttermost farthingwith confiscation of estate, real and personal, to the crown. Loyal tothe highest constituted power in the land, actuated by an innate love ofrectitude his aims would be the strict maintenance of public order, the repression of many abuses though not of all simultaneously (everymeasure of reform or retrenchment being a preliminary solution to becontained by fluxion in the final solution), the upholding of the letterof the law (common, statute and law merchant) against all traversers incovin and trespassers acting in contravention of bylaws and regulations, all resuscitators (by trespass and petty larceny of kindlings) ofvenville rights, obsolete by desuetude, all orotund instigatorsof international persecution, all perpetuators of internationalanimosities, all menial molestors of domestic conviviality, allrecalcitrant violators of domestic connubiality. 

Prove that he had loved rectitude from his earliest youth. 

To Master Percy Apjohn at High School in 1880 he had divulged hisdisbelief in the tenets of the Irish (protestant) church (to which hisfather Rudolf Virag (later Rudolph Bloom) had been converted from theIsraelitic faith and communion in 1865 by the Society for promotingChristianity among the jews) subsequently abjured by him in favour ofRoman catholicism at the epoch of and with a view to his matrimonyin 1888. To Daniel Magrane and Francis Wade in 1882 during a juvenilefriendship (terminated by the premature emigration of the former) hehad advocated during nocturnal perambulations the political theory ofcolonial (e. G. Canadian) expansion and the evolutionary theories ofCharles Darwin, expounded in _The Descent of Man_ and _The Originof Species_. In 1885 he had publicly expressed his adherence to thecollective and national economic programme advocated by James FintanLalor, John Fisher Murray, John Mitchel, J. F. X. O'Brien and others, the agrarian policy of Michael Davitt, the constitutional agitation ofCharles Stewart Parnell (M. P. For Cork City), the programme ofpeace, retrenchment and reform of William Ewart Gladstone (M. P. ForMidlothian, N. B. ) and, in support of his political convictions, hadclimbed up into a secure position amid the ramifications of a treeon Northumberland road to see the entrance (2 February 1888) into thecapital of a demonstrative torchlight procession of 20, 000 torchbearers, divided into 120 trade corporations, bearing 2000 torches in escort ofthe 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 NationalisedFriendly Stateaided Building Society (incorporated 1874), a maximumof 60 pounds per annum, being 1/6 of an assured income, derived fromgiltedged securities, representing at 5 % simple interest on capital of1200 pounds (estimate of price at 20 years' purchase), of which to bepaid on acquisition and the balance in the form of annual rent, viz. 800pounds plus 2 1/2 % interest on the same, repayable quarterly in equalannual instalments until extinction by amortisation of loan advanced forpurchase within a period of 20 years, amounting to an annual rental of64 pounds, headrent included, the titledeeds to remain in possessionof the lender or lenders with a saving clause envisaging forced sale, foreclosure and mutual compensation in the event of protracted failureto pay the terms assigned, otherwise the messuage to become the absoluteproperty of the tenant occupier upon expiry of the period of yearsstipulated. 

What rapid but insecure means to opulence might facilitate immediatepurchase?

A private wireless telegraph which would transmit by dot and dash systemthe result of a national equine handicap (flat or steeplechase) of I ormore miles and furlongs won by an outsider at odds of 50 to 1 at 3 hr8 m p. M. At Ascot (Greenwich time), the message being received andavailable for betting purposes in Dublin at 2. 59 p. M. (Dunsink time). The unexpected discovery of an object of great monetary value (preciousstone, 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, diagonalsurcharge, Luxemburg, 1878), antique dynastical ring, unique relic) inunusual repositories or by unusual means: from the air (dropped by aneagle in flight), by fire (amid the carbonised remains of an incendiatededifice), in the sea (amid flotsam, jetsam, lagan and derelict), onearth (in the gizzard of a comestible fowl). A Spanish prisoner'sdonation of a distant treasure of valuables or specie or bullion lodgedwith a solvent banking corporation loo years previously at 5% compoundinterest of the collective worth of 5, 000, 000 pounds stg (five millionpounds sterling). A contract with an inconsiderate contractee for thedelivery of 32 consignments of some given commodity in consideration ofcash payment on delivery per delivery at the initial rate of 1/4d to beincreased constantly in the geometrical progression of 2 (1/4d, 1/2d, 1d, 2d, 4d, 8d, 1s 4d, 2s 8d to 32 terms). A prepared schemebased on a study of the laws of probability to break the bank at MonteCarlo. A solution of the secular problem of the quadrature of thecircle, government premium 1, 000, 000 pounds sterling. 

Was vast wealth acquirable through industrial channels?

The reclamation of dunams of waste arenary soil, proposed in theprospectus of Agendath Netaim, Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W. 15, by thecultivation of orange plantations and melonfields and reafforestation. The utilisation of waste paper, fells of sewer rodents, human excrementpossessing chemical properties, in view of the vast production of thefirst, vast number of the second and immense quantity of the third, every normal human being of average vitality and appetite producingannually, cancelling byproducts of water, a sum total of 80 lbs. (mixedanimal and vegetable diet), to be multiplied by 4, 386, 035, the totalpopulation 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 harbourcommissioners for the exploitation of white coal (hydraulic power), obtained by hydroelectric plant at peak of tide at Dublin bar or athead of water at Poulaphouca or Powerscourt or catchment basins of mainstreams for the economic production of 500, 000 W. H. P. Of electricity. A scheme to enclose the peninsular delta of the North Bull at Dollymountand erect on the space of the foreland, used for golf links and rifleranges, 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 earlymorning milk. A scheme for the development of Irish tourist traffic inand around Dublin by means of petrolpropelled riverboats, plying in thefluvial fairway between Island bridge and Ringsend, charabancs, narrowgauge local railways, and pleasure steamers for coastwise navigation(10/- per person per day, guide (trilingual) included). A scheme forthe repristination of passenger and goods traffics over Irish waterways, when freed from weedbeds. A scheme to connect by tramline the CattleMarket (North Circular road and Prussia street) with the quays (Sheriffstreet, lower, and East Wall), parallel with the Link line railwaylaid (in conjunction with the Great Southern and Western railway line)between the cattle park, Liffey junction, and terminus of Midland GreatWestern Railway 43 to 45 North

Wall, in proximity to the terminal stations or Dublin branches of GreatCentral Railway, Midland Railway of England, City of Dublin Steam PacketCompany, Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway Company, Dublin and GlasgowSteam Packet Company, Glasgow, Dublin and Londonderry Steam PacketCompany (Laird line), British and Irish Steam Packet Company, Dublinand Morecambe Steamers, London and North Western Railway Company, DublinPort and Docks Board Landing Sheds and transit sheds of Palgrave, Murphyand Company, steamship owners, agents for steamers from Mediterranean, Spain, Portugal, France, Belgium and Holland and for LiverpoolUnderwriters' Association, the cost of acquired rolling stock foranimal transport and of additional mileage operated by the Dublin UnitedTramways Company, limited, to be covered by graziers' fees. 

Positing what protasis would the contraction for such several schemesbecome a natural and necessary apodosis?

Given a guarantee equal to the sum sought, the support, by deed ofgift and transfer vouchers during donor's lifetime or by bequestafter donor's painless extinction, of eminent financiers (Blum Pasha, Rothschild Guggenheim, Hirsch, Montefiore, Morgan, Rockefeller)possessing fortunes in 6 figures, amassed during a successful life, andjoining 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 automaticrelation to himself of a narrative concerning himself or tranquilrecollection of the past when practised habitually before retiring forthe night alleviated fatigue and produced as a result sound repose andrenovated vitality. 

His justifications?

As a physicist he had learned that of the 70 years of complete humanlife at least 2/7, viz. 20 years are passed in sleep. As a philosopherhe knew that at the termination of any allotted life only aninfinitesimal part of any person's desires has been realised. As aphysiologist he believed in the artificial placation of malignantagencies chiefly operative during somnolence. 

What did he fear?

The committal of homicide or suicide during sleep by an aberrationof the light of reason, the incommensurable categorical intelligencesituated in the cerebral convolutions. 

What were habitually his final meditations?

Of some one sole unique advertisement to cause passers to stop inwonder, a poster novelty, with all extraneous accretions excluded, reduced to its simplest and most efficient terms not exceeding the spanof casual vision and congruous with the velocity of modern life. 

What did the first drawer unlocked contain?

A Vere Foster's handwriting copybook, property of Milly (Millicent)Bloom, certain pages of which bore diagram drawings, marked _Papli_, which showed a large globular head with 5 hairs erect, 2 eyes inprofile, the trunk full front with 3 large buttons, 1 triangular foot: 2fading photographs of queen Alexandra of England and of Maud Branscombe, actress and professional beauty: a Yuletide card, bearing on it apictorial representation of a parasitic plant, the legend _Mizpah_, thedate Xmas 1892, the name of the senders: from Mr + Mrs M. Comerford, theversicle: _May this Yuletide bring to thee, Joy and peace and welcomeglee_: a butt of red partly liquefied sealing wax, obtained from thestores department of Messrs Hely's, Ltd. , 89, 90, and 91 Dame street:a box containing the remainder of a gross of gilt "J" pennibs, obtainedfrom same department of same firm: an old sandglass which rolledcontaining sand which rolled: a sealed prophecy (never unsealed) writtenby Leopold Bloom in 1886 concerning the consequences of the passing intolaw of William Ewart Gladstone's Home Rule bill of 1886 (never passedinto law): a bazaar ticket, no 2004, of S. Kevin's Charity Fair, price6d, 100 prizes: an infantile epistle, dated, small em monday, reading:capital pee Papli comma capital aitch How are you note of interrogationcapital eye I am very well full stop new paragraph signature withflourishes capital em Milly no stop: a cameo brooch, property of EllenBloom (born Higgins), deceased: a cameo scarfpin, property of RudolphBloom (born Virag), deceased: 3 typewritten letters, addressee, HenryFlower, c/o. P. O. Westland Row, addresser, Martha Clifford, c/o. P. O. Dolphin's Barn: the transliterated name and address of the addresserof the 3 letters in reversed alphabetic boustrophedonic punctatedquadrilinear cryptogram (vowels suppressed) N. IGS. /WI. UU. OX/W. OKS. MH/Y. IM: a press cutting from an English weekly periodical _ModernSociety_, subject corporal chastisement in girls' schools: a pink ribbonwhich had festooned an Easter egg in the year 1899: two partly uncoiledrubber preservatives with reserve pockets, purchased by post from Box32, P. O. , Charing Cross, London, W. C. : 1 pack of 1 dozen creamlaidenvelopes and feintruled notepaper, watermarked, now reduced by 3: someassorted Austrian-Hungarian coins: 2 coupons of the Royal and PrivilegedHungarian Lottery: a lowpower magnifying glass: 2 erotic photocardsshowing a) buccal coition between nude senorita (rere presentation, superior position) and nude torero (fore presentation, inferiorposition) b) anal violation by male religious (fully clothed, eyesabject) of female religious (partly clothed, eyes direct), purchased bypost from Box 32, P. O. , Charing Cross, London, W. C. : a press cuttingof recipe for renovation of old tan boots: a Id adhesive stamp, lavender, of the reign of Queen Victoria: a chart of the measurementsof Leopold Bloom compiled before, during and after 2 months' consecutiveuse of Sandow-Whiteley's pulley exerciser (men's 15/-, athlete's 20/-)viz. Chest 28 in and 29 1/2 in, biceps 9 in and 10 in, forearm 8 1/2 inand 9 in, thigh 10 in and 12 in, calf 11 in and 12 in: 1 prospectus ofThe Wonderworker, the world's greatest remedy for rectal complaints, direct from Wonderworker, Coventry House, South Place, London E C, addressed (erroneously) to Mrs L. Bloom with brief accompanying notecommencing (erroneously): Dear Madam. 

Quote the textual terms in which the prospectus claimed advantages forthis thaumaturgic remedy. 

It heals and soothes while you sleep, in case of trouble in breakingwind, assists nature in the most formidable way, insuring instant reliefin discharge of gases, keeping parts clean and free natural action, aninitial outlay of 7/6 making a new man of you and life worth living. Ladies find Wonderworker especially useful, a pleasant surprise whenthey note delightful result like a cool drink of fresh spring water ona sultry summer's 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, cityman, hospital nurse, lady, mother of five, absentminded beggar. 

How did absentminded beggar's concluding testimonial conclude?

What a pity the government did not supply our men with wonderworkersduring the South African campaign! What a relief it would have been!

What object did Bloom add to this collection of objects?

A 4th typewritten letter received 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 magneticface, form and address had been favourably received during the course ofthe preceding day by a wife (Mrs Josephine Breen, born Josie Powell), a nurse, Miss Callan (Christian name unknown), a maid, Gertrude (Gerty, family name unknown). 

What possibility suggested itself?

The possibility of exercising virile power of fascination in the notimmediate future after an expensive repast in a private apartment inthe company of an elegant courtesan, of corporal beauty, moderatelymercenary, variously instructed, a lady by origin. 

What did the 2nd drawer contain?

Documents: the birth certificate of Leopold Paula Bloom: an endowmentassurance policy of 500 pounds in the Scottish Widows' AssuranceSociety, intestated Millicent (Milly) Bloom, coming into force at 25years as with profit policy of 430 pounds, 462/10/0 and 500 pounds at60 years or death, 65 years or death and death, respectively, orwith profit policy (paidup) of 299/10/0 together with cash payment of133/10/0, at option: a bank passbook issued by the Ulster Bank, CollegeGreen branch showing statement of a/c for halfyear ending 31 December1903, balance in depositor's favour: 18/14/6 (eighteen pounds, fourteenshillings and sixpence, sterling), net personalty: certificate ofpossession of 900 pounds, Canadian 4 percent (inscribed) governmentstock (free of stamp duty): dockets of the Catholic Cemeteries'(Glasnevin) Committee, relative to a graveplot purchased: a local presscutting concerning change of name by deedpoll. 

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 noticethat I have assumed and intend henceforth upon all occasions and at alltimes to be known by the name of Rudolph Bloom. 

What other objects relative to Rudolph Bloom (born Virag) were in the2nd drawer?

An indistinct daguerreotype of Rudolf Virag and his father LeopoldVirag 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 convexspectacles inserted marked the passage of thanksgiving in the ritualprayers for Pessach (Passover): a photocard of the Queen's Hotel, Ennis, proprietor, Rudolph Bloom: an envelope addressed: _To My Dear SonLeopold_. 

What fractions of phrases did the lecture of those five whole wordsevoke?

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_. . . 

What reminiscences of a human subject suffering from progressivemelancholia did these objects evoke in Bloom?

An old man, widower, unkempt of hair, in bed, with head covered, sighing: an infirm dog, Athos: aconite, resorted to by increasing dosesof grains and scruples as a palliative of recrudescent neuralgia: theface in death of a septuagenarian, suicide by poison. 

Why did Bloom experience a sentiment of remorse?

Because in immature impatience he had treated with disrespect certainbeliefs and practices. 

As?

The prohibition of the use of fleshmeat and milk at one meal: thehebdomadary symposium of incoordinately abstract, perfervidly concretemercantile coexreligionist excompatriots: the circumcision ofmale infants: the supernatural character of Judaic scripture: theineffability 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 thanother 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) aretrospective arrangement of migrations and settlements in and betweenDublin, London, Florence, Milan, Vienna, Budapest, Szombathely withstatements of satisfaction (his grandfather having seen Maria Theresia, empress of Austria, queen of Hungary), with commercial advice (havingtaken care of pence, the pounds having taken care of themselves). Leopold Bloom (aged 6) had accompanied these narrations by constantconsultation of a geographical map of Europe (political) and bysuggestions for the establishment of affiliated business premises in thevarious centres mentioned. 

Had time equally but differently obliterated the memory of thesemigrations in narrator and listener?

In narrator by the access of years and in consequence of the use ofnarcotic toxin: in listener by the access of years and in consequence ofthe action of distraction upon vicarious experiences. 

What idiosyncracies of the narrator were concomitant products ofamnesia?

Occasionally he ate without having previously removed his hat. Occasionally he drank voraciously the juice of gooseberry fool from aninclined plate. Occasionally he removed from his lips the traces of foodby means of a lacerated envelope or other accessible fragment of paper. 

What two phenomena of senescence were more frequent?

The myopic digital calculation of coins, eructation consequent uponrepletion. 

What object offered partial consolation for these reminiscences?

The endowment policy, the bank passbook, the certificate of thepossession of scrip. 

Reduce Bloom by cross multiplication of reverses of fortune, from whichthese supports protected him, and by elimination of all positive valuesto a negligible negative irrational unreal quantity. 

Successively, in descending helotic order: Poverty: that of the outdoorhawker of imitation jewellery, the dun for the recovery of bad anddoubtful debts, the poor rate and deputy cess collector. Mendicancy:that of the fraudulent bankrupt with negligible assets paying 1s. 4d. In the pound, sandwichman, distributor of throwaways, nocturnal vagrant, insinuating sycophant, maimed sailor, blind stripling, superannuatedbailiffs man, marfeast, lickplate, spoilsport, pickthank, eccentricpublic laughingstock seated on bench of public park under discardedperforated umbrella. Destitution: the inmate of Old Man's House (RoyalHospital) Kilmainham, the inmate of Simpson's Hospital for reduced butrespectable men permanently disabled by gout or want of sight. Nadir ofmisery: the aged impotent disfranchised ratesupported moribund lunaticpauper. 

With which attendant indignities?

The unsympathetic indifference of previously amiable females, thecontempt of muscular males, the acceptance of fragments of bread, the simulated ignorance of casual acquaintances, the latration ofillegitimate unlicensed vagabond dogs, the infantile discharge ofdecomposed vegetable missiles, worth little or nothing, nothing or lessthan 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 necessityto counteract by impermanent sojourn the permanence of arrest. 

What considerations rendered departure not irrational?

The parties concerned, uniting, had increased and multiplied, whichbeing done, offspring produced and educed to maturity, the parties, ifnot disunited were obliged to reunite for increase and multiplication, which was absurd, to form by reunion the original couple of unitingparties, 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 orin special ordnance survey charts by employment of scale numerals andhachures. 

In Ireland?

The cliffs of Moher, the windy wilds of Connemara, lough Neagh withsubmerged petrified city, the Giant's Causeway, Fort Camden and FortCarlisle, the Golden Vale of Tipperary, the islands of Aran, thepastures of royal Meath, Brigid's elm in Kildare, the Queen's Islandshipyard in Belfast, the Salmon Leap, the lakes of Killarney. 

Abroad?

Ceylon (with spicegardens supplying tea to Thomas Kernan, agent forPulbrook, Robertson and Co, 2 Mincing Lane, London, E. C. , 5 Damestreet, Dublin), Jerusalem, the holy city (with mosque of Omar and gateof Damascus, goal of aspiration), the straits of Gibraltar (the uniquebirthplace of Marion Tweedy), the Parthenon (containing statues of nudeGrecian divinities), the Wall street money market (which controlledinternational finance), the Plaza de Toros at La Linea, Spain (whereO'Hara of the Camerons had slain the bull), Niagara (over which no humanbeing had passed with impunity), the land of the Eskimos (eatersof soap), the forbidden country of Thibet (from which no travellerreturns), the bay of Naples (to see which was to die), the Dead Sea. 

Under what guidance, following what signs?

At sea, septentrional, by night the polestar, located at the point ofintersection of the right line from beta to alpha in Ursa Maior producedand divided externally at omega and the hypotenuse of the rightangledtriangle formed by the line alpha omega so produced and the line alphadelta of Ursa Maior. On land, meridional, a bispherical moon, revealedin imperfect varying phases of lunation through the posterior intersticeof the imperfectly occluded skirt of a carnose negligent perambulatingfemale, a pillar of the cloud by day. 

What public advertisement would divulge the occultation of the departed?

5 pounds reward, lost, stolen or strayed from his residence 7 Ecclesstreet, missing gent about 40, answering to the name of Bloom, Leopold(Poldy), height 5 ft 9 1/2 inches, full build, olive complexion, mayhave since grown a beard, when last seen was wearing a black suit. Abovesum will be paid for information leading to his discovery. 

What universal binomial denominations would be his as entity andnonentity?

Assumed by any or known to none. Everyman or Noman. 

What tributes his?

Honour and gifts of strangers, the friends of Everyman. A nymphimmortal, beauty, the bride of Noman. 

Would the departed never nowhere nohow reappear?

Ever he would wander, selfcompelled, to the extreme limit of hiscometary orbit, beyond the fixed stars and variable suns and telescopicplanets, astronomical waifs and strays, to the extreme boundary ofspace, passing from land to land, among peoples, amid events. Somewhereimperceptibly he would hear and somehow reluctantly, suncompelled, obeythe summons of recall. Whence, disappearing from the constellation ofthe Northern Crown he would somehow reappear reborn above delta in theconstellation of Cassiopeia and after incalculable eons of peregrinationreturn an estranged avenger, a wreaker of justice on malefactors, a darkcrusader, 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 throughreversible space and an exodus and return in space through irreversibletime. 

What play of forces, inducing inertia, rendered departure undesirable?

The lateness of the hour, rendering procrastinatory: the obscurityof the night, rendering invisible: the uncertainty of thoroughfares, rendering perilous: the necessity for repose, obviating movement: theproximity of an occupied bed, obviating research: the anticipation ofwarmth (human) tempered with coolness (linen), obviating desire andrendering desirable: the statue of Narcissus, sound without echo, desired desire. 

What advantages were possessed by an occupied, as distinct from anunoccupied bed?

The removal of nocturnal solitude, the superior quality of human(mature female) to inhuman (hotwaterjar) calefaction, the stimulation ofmatutinal contact, the economy of mangling done on the premises in thecase of trousers accurately folded and placed lengthwise between thespring mattress (striped) and the woollen mattress (biscuit section). 

What past consecutive causes, before rising preapprehended, ofaccumulated fatigue did Bloom, before rising, silently recapitulate?

The preparation of breakfast (burnt offering): intestinal congestion andpremeditative defecation (holy of holies): the bath (rite of John): thefuneral (rite of Samuel): the advertisement of Alexander Keyes (Urim andThummim): the unsubstantial lunch (rite of Melchisedek): the visit tomuseum and national library (holy place): the bookhunt along Bedfordrow, Merchants' Arch, Wellington Quay (Simchath Torah): the music in theOrmond Hotel (Shira Shirim): the altercation with a truculent troglodytein Bernard Kiernan's premises (holocaust): a blank period of timeincluding a cardrive, a visit to a house of mourning, a leavetaking(wilderness): the eroticism produced by feminine exhibitionism (rite ofOnan): the prolonged delivery of Mrs Mina Purefoy (heave offering):the visit to the disorderly house of Mrs Bella Cohen, 82 Tyronestreet, lower and subsequent brawl and chance medley in Beaver street(Armageddon)--nocturnal perambulation to and from the cabman's shelter, Butt Bridge (atonement). 

What selfimposed enigma did Bloom about to rise in order to go so as toconclude lest he should not conclude involuntarily apprehend?

The cause of a brief sharp unforeseen heard loud lone crack emitted bythe insentient material of a strainveined timber table. 

What selfinvolved enigma did Bloom risen, going, gathering multicolouredmultiform multitudinous garments, voluntarily apprehending, notcomprehend?

Who was M'Intosh?

What selfevident enigma pondered with desultory constancy during 30years did Bloom now, having effected natural obscurity by the extinctionof artificial light, silently suddenly comprehend?

Where was Moses when the candle went out?

What imperfections in a perfect day did Bloom, walking, charged withcollected articles of recently disvested male wearing apparel, silently, successively, enumerate?

A provisional failure to obtain renewal of an advertisement: to obtaina certain quantity of tea from Thomas Kernan (agent for Pulbrook, Robertson and Co, 5 Dame Street, Dublin, and 2 Mincing Lane, London E. C. ): to certify the presence or absence of posterior rectal orifice inthe case of Hellenic female divinities: to obtain admission (gratuitousor paid) to the performance of Leah by Mrs Bandmann Palmer at the GaietyTheatre, 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 DublinFusiliers, of Gibraltar and Rehoboth, Dolphin's Barn. 

What recurrent impressions of the same were possible by hypothesis?

Retreating, at the terminus of the Great Northern Railway, Amiensstreet, with constant uniform acceleration, along parallel linesmeeting at infinity, if produced: along parallel lines, reproduced frominfinity, with constant uniform retardation, at the terminus of theGreat Northern Railway, Amiens street, returning. 

What miscellaneous effects of female personal wearing apparel wereperceived by him?

A pair of new inodorous halfsilk black ladies' hose, a pair of newviolet garters, a pair of outsize ladies' drawers of India mull, cut ongenerous lines, redolent of opoponax, jessamine and Muratti's Turkishcigarettes and containing a long bright steel safety pin, foldedcurvilinear, a camisole of batiste with thin lace border, an accordionunderskirt of blue silk moirette, all these objects being disposedirregularly on the top of a rectangular trunk, quadruple battened, having capped corners, with multicoloured labels, initialled on its foreside in white lettering B. C. T. (Brian Cooper Tweedy). 

What impersonal objects were perceived?

A commode, one leg fractured, totally covered by square cretonnecutting, apple design, on which rested a lady's black straw hat. Orangekeyed ware, bought of Henry Price, basket, fancy goods, chinawareand ironmongery manufacturer, 21, 22, 23 Moore street, disposedirregularly on the washstand and floor and consisting of basin, soapdishand brushtray (on the washstand, together), pitcher and night article(on the floor, separate). 

Bloom's acts?

He deposited the articles of clothing on a chair, removed his remainingarticles of clothing, took from beneath the bolster at the head of thebed a folded long white nightshirt, inserted his head and arms into theproper apertures of the nightshirt, removed a pillow from the head tothe foot of the bed, prepared the bedlinen accordingly and entered thebed. 

How?

With circumspection, as invariably when entering an abode (his own ornot his own): with solicitude, the snakespiral springs of the mattressbeing old, the brass quoits and pendent viper radii loose and tremulousunder stress and strain: prudently, as entering a lair or ambush oflust or adders: lightly, the less to disturb: reverently, the bed ofconception and of birth, of consummation of marriage and of breach ofmarriage, 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 toenter whereas he is always the last term of a preceding series even ifthe 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 noralone in a series originating in and repeated to infinity. 

What preceding series?

Assuming Mulvey to be the first term of his series, Penrose, Bartelld'Arcy, professor Goodwin, Julius Mastiansky, John Henry Menton, FatherBernard Corrigan, a farmer at the Royal Dublin Society's Horse Show, Maggot O'Reilly, Matthew Dillon, Valentine Blake Dillon (Lord Mayorof Dublin), Christopher Callinan, Lenehan, an Italian organgrinder, an unknown gentleman in the Gaiety Theatre, Benjamin Dollard, SimonDedalus, Andrew (Pisser) Burke, Joseph Cuffe, Wisdom Hely, Alderman JohnHooper, Dr Francis Brady, Father Sebastian of Mount Argus, a bootblackat the General Post Office, Hugh E. (Blazes) Boylan and so each and soon to no last term. 

What were his reflections concerning the last member of this series andlate occupant of the bed?

Reflections on his vigour (a bounder), corporal proportion (abillsticker), commercial ability (a bester), impressionability (aboaster). 

Why for the observer impressionability in addition to vigour, corporalproportion and commercial ability?

Because he had observed with augmenting frequency in the precedingmembers of the same series the same concupiscence, inflammablytransmitted, first with alarm, then with understanding, then withdesire, finally with fatigue, with alternating symptoms of epicenecomprehension and apprehension. 

With what antagonistic sentiments were his subsequent reflectionsaffected?

Envy, jealousy, abnegation, equanimity. 

Envy?

Of a bodily and mental male organism specially adapted for thesuperincumbent posture of energetic human copulation and energeticpiston and cylinder movement necessary for the complete satisfaction ofa constant but not acute concupiscence resident in a bodily and mentalfemale organism, passive but not obtuse. 

Jealousy?

Because a nature full and volatile in its free state, was alternatelythe agent and reagent of attraction. Because attraction between agent(s)and reagent(s) at all instants varied, with inverse proportion ofincrease and decrease, with incessant circular extension and radialreentrance. Because the controlled contemplation of the fluctuation ofattraction produced, if desired, a fluctuation of pleasure. 

Abnegation?

In virtue of a) acquaintance initiated in September 1903 in theestablishment of George Mesias, merchant tailor and outfitter, 5 EdenQuay, b) hospitality extended and received in kind, reciprocated andreappropriated in person, c) comparative youth subject to impulses ofambition and magnanimity, colleagual altruism and amorous egoism, d)extraracial attraction, intraracial inhibition, supraracial prerogative, e) an imminent provincial musical tour, common current expenses, netproceeds divided. 

Equanimity?

As as natural as any and every natural act of a nature expressed orunderstood executed in natured nature by natural creatures in accordancewith his, her and their natured natures, of dissimilar similarity. As not so calamitous as a cataclysmic annihilation of the planet inconsequence of a collision with a dark sun. As less reprehensible thantheft, highway robbery, cruelty to children and animals, obtaining moneyunder false pretences, forgery, embezzlement, misappropriation of publicmoney, betrayal of public trust, malingering, mayhem, corruption ofminors, 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 king's enemies, impersonation, criminal assault, manslaughter, wilful and premeditatedmurder. As not more abnormal than all other parallel processes ofadaptation to altered conditions of existence, resulting in a reciprocalequilibrium between the bodily organism and its attendant circumstances, foods, beverages, acquired habits, indulged inclinations, significantdisease. As more than inevitable, irreparable. 

Why more abnegation than jealousy, less envy than equanimity?

From outrage (matrimony) to outrage (adultery) there arose nought butoutrage (copulation) yet the matrimonial violator of the matrimoniallyviolated had not been outraged by the adulterous violator of theadulterously violated. 

What retribution, if any?

Assassination, never, as two wrongs did not make one right. Duel bycombat, no. Divorce, not now. Exposure by mechanical artifice (automaticbed) or individual testimony (concealed ocular witnesses), not yet. Suitfor damages by legal influence or simulation of assault with evidence ofinjuries sustained (selfinflicted), not impossibly. Hushmoney by moralinfluence possibly. If any, positively, connivance, introduction ofemulation (material, a prosperous rival agency of publicity: moral, a successful rival agent of intimacy), depreciation, alienation, humiliation, separation protecting the one separated from the other, protecting the separator from both. 

By what reflections did he, a conscious reactor against the void ofincertitude, justify to himself his sentiments?

The preordained frangibility of the hymen: the presupposed intangibilityof the thing in itself: the incongruity and disproportion betweenthe selfprolonging tension of the thing proposed to be done and theselfabbreviating relaxation of the thing done; the fallaciously inferreddebility of the female: the muscularity of the male: the variations ofethical codes: the natural grammatical transition by inversion involvingno alteration of sense of an aorist preterite proposition (parsed asmasculine subject, monosyllabic onomatopoeic transitive verb with directfeminine object) from the active voice into its correlative aoristpreterite proposition (parsed as feminine subject, auxiliary verband quasimonosyllabic onomatopoeic past participle with complementarymasculine agent) in the passive voice: the continued product ofseminators by generation: the continual production of semen bydistillation: the futility of triumph or protest or vindication: theinanity of extolled virtue: the lethargy of nescient matter: the apathyof the stars. 

In what final satisfaction did these antagonistic sentiments andreflections, reduced to their simplest forms, converge?

Satisfaction at the ubiquity in eastern and western terrestrialhemispheres, in all habitable lands and islands explored or unexplored(the land of the midnight sun, the islands of the blessed, the isles ofGreece, the land of promise), of adipose anterior and posterior femalehemispheres, redolent of milk and honey and of excretory sanguine andseminal 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: atentative revelation: a silent contemplation. 

Then?

He kissed the plump mellow yellow smellow melons of her rump, on eachplump melonous hemisphere, in their mellow yellow furrow, with obscureprolonged provocative melonsmellonous osculation. 

The visible signs of postsatisfaction?

A silent contemplation: a tentative velation: a gradual abasement: asolicitous aversion: a proximate erection. 

What followed this silent action?

Somnolent invocation, less somnolent recognition, incipient excitation, catechetical interrogation. 

With what modifications did the narrator reply to this interrogation?

Negative: he omitted to mention the clandestine correspondence betweenMartha Clifford and Henry Flower, the public altercation at, in andin the vicinity of the licensed premises of Bernard Kiernan and Co, Limited, 8, 9 and 10 Little Britain street, the erotic provocationand response thereto caused by the exhibitionism of Gertrude (Gerty), surname unknown. Positive: he included mention of a performance by MrsBandmann Palmer of LEAH at the Gaiety Theatre, 46, 47, 48, 49 South Kingstreet, an invitation to supper at Wynn's (Murphy's) Hotel, 35, 36 and37 Lower Abbey street, a volume of peccaminous pornographical tendencyentituled SWEETS OF SIN, anonymous author a gentleman of fashion, atemporary concussion caused by a falsely calculated movement in thecourse of a postcenal gymnastic display, the victim (since completelyrecovered) being Stephen Dedalus, professor and author, eldest survivingson of Simon Dedalus, of no fixed occupation, an aeronautical featexecuted by him (narrator) in the presence of a witness, the professorand author aforesaid, with promptitude of decision and gymnasticflexibility. 

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 wereperceived by listener and narrator concerning themselves during thecourse of this intermittent and increasingly more laconic narration?

By the listener a limitation of fertility inasmuch as marriage had beencelebrated 1 calendar month after the 18th anniversary of her birth (8September 1870), viz. 8 October, and consummated on the same date withfemale issue born 15 June 1889, having been anticipatorily consummatedon the lo September of the same year and complete carnal intercourse, with ejaculation of semen within the natural female organ, having lasttaken place 5 weeks previous, viz. 27 November 1893, to the birth on 29December 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 daysduring which carnal intercourse had been incomplete, without ejaculationof semen within the natural female organ. By the narrator a limitationof activity, mental and corporal, inasmuch as complete mentalintercourse between himself and the listener had not taken place sincethe consummation of puberty, indicated by catamenic hemorrhage, of thefemale issue of narrator and listener, 15 September 1903, there remaineda period of 9 months and 1 day during which, in consequence of apreestablished natural comprehension in incomprehension between theconsummated females (listener and issue), complete corporal liberty ofaction had been circumscribed. 

How?

By various reiterated feminine interrogation concerning the masculinedestination whither, the place where, the time at which, the durationfor which, the object with which in the case of temporary absences, projected or effected. 

What moved visibly above the listener's and the narrator's invisiblethoughts?

The upcast reflection of a lamp and shade, an inconstant series ofconcentric 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 parallelof latitude, N. , and 6th meridian of longitude, W. : at an angle of 45degrees to the terrestrial equator. 

In what state of rest or motion?

At rest relatively to themselves and to each other. In motion being eachand both carried westward, forward and rereward respectively, by theproper perpetual motion of the earth through everchanging tracks ofneverchanging space. 

In what posture?

Listener: reclined semilaterally, left, left hand under head, rightleg extended in a straight line and resting on left leg, flexed, in theattitude of Gea-Tellus, fulfilled, recumbent, big with seed. Narrator:reclined laterally, left, with right and left legs flexed, the indexfinger and thumb of the right hand resting on the bridge of the nose, inthe attitude depicted in a snapshot photograph made by Percy Apjohn, thechildman weary, the manchild in the womb. 

Womb? Weary?

He rests. He has travelled. 

With?

Sinbad the Sailor and Tinbad the Tailor and Jinbad the Jailer andWhinbad the Whaler and Ninbad the Nailer and Finbad the Failer andBinbad the Bailer and Pinbad the Pailer and Minbad the Mailer and Hinbadthe Hailer and Rinbad the Railer and Dinbad the Kailer and Vinbad theQuailer and Linbad the Yailer and Xinbad the Phthailer. 

When?

Going to dark bed there was a square round Sinbad the Sailor roc's auk'segg in the night of the bed of all the auks of the rocs of Darkinbad theBrightdayler. 

Where?

Yes because he never did a thing like that before as ask to get hisbreakfast in bed with a couple of eggs since the _City Arms_ hotelwhen he used to be pretending to be laid up with a sick voice doing hishighness to make himself interesting for that old faggot Mrs Riordanthat he thought he had a great leg of and she never left us a farthingall for masses for herself and her soul greatest miser ever was actuallyafraid to lay out 4d for her methylated spirit telling me all herailments she had too much old chat in her about politics and earthquakesand the end of the world let us have a bit of fun first God help theworld if all the women were her sort down on bathingsuits and lownecksof course nobody wanted her to wear them I suppose she was pious becauseno man would look at her twice I hope Ill never be like her a wondershe didnt want us to cover our faces but she was a welleducated womancertainly and her gabby talk about Mr Riordan here and Mr Riordan thereI suppose he was glad to get shut of her and her dog smelling my fur andalways edging to get up under my petticoats especially then still I likethat in him polite to old women like that and waiters and beggars toohes not proud out of nothing but not always if ever he got anythingreally serious the matter with him its much better for them to go intoa hospital where everything is clean but I suppose Id have to dring itinto him for a month yes and then wed have a hospital nurse next thingon the carpet have him staying there till they throw him out or a nunmaybe like the smutty photo he has shes as much a nun as Im not yesbecause theyre so weak and puling when theyre sick they want a womanto get well if his nose bleeds youd think it was O tragic and thatdyinglooking one off the south circular when he sprained his foot atthe choir party at the sugarloaf Mountain the day I wore that dressMiss Stack bringing him flowers the worst old ones she could find at thebottom of the basket anything at all to get into a mans bedroom withher old maids voice trying to imagine he was dying on account of her tonever see thy face again though he looked more like a man with his bearda bit grown in the bed father was the same besides I hate bandaging anddosing when he cut his toe with the razor paring his corns afraid hedget bloodpoisoning but if it was a thing I was sick then wed see whatattention only of course the woman hides it not to give all the troublethey do yes he came somewhere Im sure by his appetite anyway love itsnot or hed be off his feed thinking of her so either it was one of thosenight women if it was down there he was really and the hotel story hemade up a pack of lies to hide it planning it Hynes kept me who did Imeet ah yes I met do you remember Menton and who else who let me seethat big babbyface I saw him and he not long married flirting with ayoung girl at Pooles Myriorama and turned my back on him when he slinkedout looking quite conscious what harm but he had the impudence to makeup to me one time well done to him mouth almighty and his boiled eyes ofall the big stupoes I ever met and thats called a solicitor only forI hate having a long wrangle in bed or else if its not that its somelittle bitch or other he got in with somewhere or picked up on thesly if they only knew him as well as I do yes because the day beforeyesterday he was scribbling something a letter when I came into thefront room to show him Dignams death in the paper as if something toldme and he covered it up with the blottingpaper pretending to be thinkingabout business so very probably that was it to somebody who thinksshe has a softy in him because all men get a bit like that at his ageespecially getting on to forty he is now so as to wheedle any money shecan out of him no fool like an old fool and then the usual kissing mybottom was to hide it not that I care two straws now who he does it withor knew before that way though Id like to find out so long as I donthave the two of them under my nose all the time like that slut that Marywe had in Ontario terrace padding out her false bottom to excite him badenough to get the smell of those painted women off him once or twiceI had a suspicion by getting him to come near me when I found thelong hair on his coat without that one when I went into the kitchenpretending he was drinking water 1 woman is not enough for them it wasall his fault of course ruining servants then proposing that she couldeat at our table on Christmas day if you please O no thank you not in myhouse stealing my potatoes and the oysters 2/6 per doz going out to seeher aunt if you please common robbery so it was but I was sure he hadsomething on with that one it takes me to find out a thing like that hesaid you have no proof it was her proof O yes her aunt was very fond ofoysters but I told her what I thought of her suggesting me to go out tobe alone with her I wouldnt lower myself to spy on them the garters Ifound in her room the Friday she was out that was enough for me a littlebit too much her face swelled up on her with temper when I gave her herweeks notice I saw to that better do without them altogether do out therooms myself quicker only for the damn cooking and throwing out the dirtI gave it to him anyhow either she or me leaves the house I couldnt eventouch him if I thought he was with a dirty barefaced liar and slovenlike that one denying it up to my face and singing about the place inthe W C too because she knew she was too well off yes because he couldntpossibly do without it that long so he must do it somewhere and the lasttime he came on my bottom when was it the night Boylan gave my hand agreat squeeze going along by the Tolka in my hand there steals anotherI just pressed the back of his like that with my thumb to squeeze backsinging the young May moon shes beaming love because he has an ideaabout him and me hes not such a fool he said Im dining out and going tothe Gaiety though Im not going to give him the satisfaction in any caseGod knows hes a change in a way not to be always and ever wearing thesame old hat unless I paid some nicelooking boy to do it since I cant doit myself a young boy would like me Id confuse him a little alone withhim if we were Id let him see my garters the new ones and make him turnred looking at him seduce him I know what boys feel with that downon their cheek doing that frigging drawing out the thing by the hourquestion and answer would you do this that and the other with thecoalman yes with a bishop yes I would because I told him about some deanor bishop was sitting beside me in the jews temples gardens when I wasknitting that woollen thing a stranger to Dublin what place was it andso on about the monuments and he tired me out with statues encouraginghim making him worse than he is who is in your mind now tell me who areyou thinking of who is it tell me his name who tell me who the germanEmperor is it yes imagine Im him think of him can you feel him trying tomake a whore of me what he never will he ought to give it up now at thisage of his life simply ruination for any woman and no satisfaction in itpretending to like it till he comes and then finish it off myself anywayand it makes your lips pale anyhow its done now once and for all withall the talk of the world about it people make its only the first timeafter that its just the ordinary do it and think no more about it whycant you kiss a man without going and marrying him first you sometimeslove to wildly when you feel that way so nice all over you you cant helpyourself I wish some man or other would take me sometime when hes thereand kiss me in his arms theres nothing like a kiss long and hot down toyour soul almost paralyses you then I hate that confession when I usedto go to Father Corrigan he touched me father and what harm if he didwhere and I said on the canal bank like a fool but whereabouts on yourperson my child on the leg behind high up was it yes rather high up wasit where you sit down yes O Lord couldnt he say bottom right out andhave done with it what has that got to do with it and did you whateverway he put it I forget no father and I always think of the real fatherwhat did he want to know for when I already confessed it to God he hada nice fat hand the palm moist always I wouldnt mind feeling it neitherwould he Id say by the bullneck in his horsecollar I wonder did he knowme in the box I could see his face he couldnt see mine of course hednever turn or let on still his eyes were red when his father died theyrelost for a woman of course must be terrible when a man cries let alonethem Id like to be embraced by one in his vestments and the smell ofincense off him like the pope besides theres no danger with a priest ifyoure married hes too careful about himself then give something to HH the pope for a penance I wonder was he satisfied with me one thing Ididnt like his slapping me behind going away so familiarly in the hallthough I laughed Im not a horse or an ass am I I suppose he was thinkingof his fathers I wonder is he awake thinking of me or dreaming am I init who gave him that flower he said he bought he smelt of some kind ofdrink not whisky or stout or perhaps the sweety kind of paste they sticktheir bills up with some liqueur Id like to sip those richlooking greenand yellow expensive drinks those stagedoor johnnies drink with theopera hats I tasted once with my finger dipped out of that American thathad the squirrel talking stamps with father he had all he could do tokeep himself from falling asleep after the last time after we took theport and potted meat it had a fine salty taste yes because I felt lovelyand tired myself and fell asleep as sound as a top the moment I poppedstraight into bed till that thunder woke me up God be merciful to usI thought the heavens were coming down about us to punish us when Iblessed myself and said a Hail Mary like those awful thunderbolts inGibraltar as if the world was coming to an end and then they come andtell you theres no God what could you do if it was running and rushingabout nothing only make an act of contrition the candle I lit thatevening in Whitefriars street chapel for the month of May see it broughtits luck though hed scoff if he heard because he never goes to churchmass or meeting he says your soul you have no soul inside only greymatter because he doesnt know what it is to have one yes when I lit thelamp because he must have come 3 or 4 times with that tremendous big redbrute of a thing he has I thought the vein or whatever the dickens theycall it was going to burst though his nose is not so big after I tookoff all my things with the blinds down after my hours dressing andperfuming and combing it like iron or some kind of a thick crowbarstanding all the time he must have eaten oysters I think a few dozen hewas in great singing voice no I never in all my life felt anyone hadone the size of that to make you feel full up he must have eaten a wholesheep after whats the idea making us like that with a big hole in themiddle of us or like a Stallion driving it up into you because thats allthey want out of you with that determined vicious look in his eye I hadto halfshut my eyes still he hasnt such a tremendous amount of spunk inhim when I made him pull out and do it on me considering how big it isso much the better in case any of it wasnt washed out properly the lasttime I let him finish it in me nice invention they made for women forhim to get all the pleasure but if someone gave them a touch of itthemselves theyd know what I went through with Milly nobody wouldbelieve cutting her teeth too and Mina Purefoys husband give us a swingout of your whiskers filling her up with a child or twins once a yearas regular as the clock always with a smell of children off her the onethey called budgers or something like a nigger with a shock of hair onit Jesusjack the child is a black the last time I was there a squad ofthem falling over one another and bawling you couldnt hear your earssupposed to be healthy not satisfied till they have us swollen out likeelephants or I dont know what supposing I risked having another not offhim though still if he was married Im sure hed have a fine strong childbut I dont know Poldy has more spunk in him yes thatd be awfully jollyI suppose it was meeting Josie Powell and the funeral and thinking aboutme and Boylan set him off well he can think what he likes now if thatlldo him any good I know they were spooning a bit when I came on the scenehe was dancing and sitting out with her the night of Georgina Simpsonshousewarming and then he wanted to ram it down my neck it was on accountof not liking to see her a wallflower that was why we had the standuprow over politics he began it not me when he said about Our Lord being acarpenter at last he made me cry of course a woman is so sensitive abouteverything I was fuming with myself after for giving in only for I knewhe was gone on me and the first socialist he said He was he annoyed meso much I couldnt put him into a temper still he knows a lot of mixedupthings especially about the body and the inside I often wanted to studyup that myself what we have inside us in that family physician I couldalways hear his voice talking when the room was crowded and watch himafter that I pretended I had a coolness on with her over him because heused to be a bit on the jealous side whenever he asked who are you goingto and I said over to Floey and he made me the present of Byron's poemsand the three pairs of gloves so that finished that I could quite easilyget him to make it up any time I know how Id even supposing he got inwith her again and was going out to see her somewhere Id know if herefused to eat the onions I know plenty of ways ask him to tuck down thecollar of my blouse or touch him with my veil and gloves on going out Ikiss then would send them all spinning however alright well see then lethim go to her she of course would only be too delighted to pretend shesmad in love with him that I wouldnt so much mind Id just go to her andask her do you love him and look her square in the eyes she couldnt foolme but he might imagine he was and make a declaration to her with hisplabbery kind of a manner like he did to me though I had the devils ownjob to get it out of him though I liked him for that it showed he couldhold in and wasnt to be got for the asking he was on the pop of askingme too the night in the kitchen I was rolling the potato cake theressomething I want to say to you only for I put him off letting on I wasin a temper with my hands and arms full of pasty flour in any case I letout too much the night before talking of dreams so I didnt want to lethim know more than was good for him she used to be always embracing meJosie whenever he was there meaning him of course glauming me over andwhen I said I washed up and down as far as possible asking me and didyou wash possible the women are always egging on to that putting it onthick when hes there they know by his sly eye blinking a bit putting onthe indifferent when they come out with something the kind he is whatspoils him I dont wonder in the least because he was very handsome atthat time trying to look like Lord Byron I said I liked though hewas too beautiful for a man and he was a little before we got engagedafterwards though she didnt like it so much the day I was in fits oflaughing with the giggles I couldnt stop about all my hairpins fallingout one after another with the mass of hair I had youre always in greathumour she said yes because it grigged her because she knew what itmeant because I used to tell her a good bit of what went on between usnot all but just enough to make her mouth water but that wasnt my faultshe didnt darken the door much after we were married I wonder what shesgot like now after living with that dotty husband of hers she had herface beginning to look drawn and run down the last time I saw her shemust have been just after a row with him because I saw on the moment shewas edging to draw down a conversation about husbands and talk about himto run him down what was it she told me O yes that sometimes he used togo to bed with his muddy boots on when the maggot takes him just imaginehaving to get into bed with a thing like that that might murder youany moment what a man well its not the one way everyone goes mad Poldyanyhow whatever he does always wipes his feet on the mat when he comesin wet or shine and always blacks his own boots too and he always takesoff his hat when he comes up in the street like then and now hes goingabout in his slippers to look for 10000 pounds for a postcard U p upO sweetheart May wouldnt a thing like that simply bore you stiff toextinction actually too stupid even to take his boots off now whatcould you make of a man like that Id rather die 20 times over than marryanother of their sex of course hed never find another woman like me toput up with him the way I do know me come sleep with me yes and he knowsthat too at the bottom of his heart take that Mrs Maybrick that poisonedher husband for what I wonder in love with some other man yes it wasfound out on her wasnt she the downright villain to go and do a thinglike that of course some men can be dreadfully aggravating drive you madand always the worst word in the world what do they ask us to marry themfor if were so bad as all that comes to yes because they cant get onwithout us white Arsenic she put in his tea off flypaper wasnt it Iwonder why they call it that if I asked him hed say its from the Greekleave us as wise as we were before she must have been madly in love withthe other fellow to run the chance of being hanged O she didnt care ifthat was her nature what could she do besides theyre not brutes enoughto go and hang a woman surely are they

theyre all so different Boylan talking about the shape of my foot henoticed at once even before he was introduced when I was in the D B Cwith Poldy laughing and trying to listen I was waggling my foot we bothordered 2 teas and plain bread and butter I saw him looking with histwo old maids of sisters when I stood up and asked the girl where it waswhat do I care with it dropping out of me and that black closed breecheshe made me buy takes you half an hour to let them down wetting allmyself always with some brandnew fad every other week such a long one Idid I forgot my suede gloves on the seat behind that I never got aftersome robber of a woman and he wanted me to put it in the Irish timeslost in the ladies lavatory D B C Dame street finder return to MrsMarion Bloom and I saw his eyes on my feet going out through the turningdoor he was looking when I looked back and I went there for tea 2 daysafter in the hope but he wasnt now how did that excite him because I wascrossing them when we were in the other room first he meant the shoesthat are too tight to walk in my hand is nice like that if I only had aring with the stone for my month a nice aquamarine Ill stick him for oneand a gold bracelet I dont like my foot so much still I made him spendonce with my foot the night after Goodwins botchup of a concert so coldand windy it was well we had that rum in the house to mull and the firewasnt black out when he asked to take off my stockings lying on thehearthrug in Lombard street west and another time it was my muddy bootshed like me to walk in all the horses dung I could find but of coursehes not natural like the rest of the world that I what did he say Icould give 9 points in 10 to Katty Lanner and beat her what does thatmean I asked him I forget what he said because the stoppress editionjust passed and the man with the curly hair in the Lucan dairy thats sopolite I think I saw his face before somewhere I noticed him when I wastasting the butter so I took my time Bartell dArcy too that he used tomake fun of when he commenced kissing me on the choir stairs after Isang Gounods _Ave Maria_ what are we waiting for O my heart kiss mestraight on the brow and part which is my brown part he was pretty hotfor all his tinny voice too my low notes he was always raving about ifyou can believe him I liked the way he used his mouth singing then hesaid wasnt it terrible to do that there in a place like that I dont seeanything so terrible about it Ill tell him about that some day not nowand surprise him ay and Ill take him there and show him the very placetoo we did it so now there you are like it or lump it he thinks nothingcan happen without him knowing he hadnt an idea about my mother till wewere engaged otherwise hed never have got me so cheap as he did he waslo times worse himself anyhow begging me to give him a tiny bit cut offmy drawers that was the evening coming along Kenilworth square he kissedme in the eye of my glove and I had to take it off asking me questionsis it permitted to enquire the shape of my bedroom so I let him keep itas if I forgot it to think of me when I saw him slip it into his pocketof course hes mad on the subject of drawers thats plain to be seenalways skeezing at those brazenfaced things on the bicycles with theirskirts blowing up to their navels even when Milly and I were out withhim at the open air fete that one in the cream muslin standing rightagainst the sun so he could see every atom she had on when he saw mefrom behind following in the rain I saw him before he saw me howeverstanding at the corner of the Harolds cross road with a new raincoat onhim with the muffler in the Zingari colours to show off his complexionand the brown hat looking slyboots as usual what was he doing therewhere hed no business they can go and get whatever they like fromanything at all with a skirt on it and were not to ask any questions butthey want to know where were you where are you going I could feel himcoming along skulking after me his eyes on my neck he had been keepingaway from the house he felt it was getting too warm for him so Ihalfturned and stopped then he pestered me to say yes till I took off myglove slowly watching him he said my openwork sleeves were too cold forthe rain anything for an excuse to put his hand anear me drawers drawersthe whole blessed time till I promised to give him the pair off my dollto carry about in his waistcoat pocket _O Maria Santisima_ he did looka big fool dreeping in the rain splendid set of teeth he had made mehungry to look at them and beseeched of me to lift the orange petticoatI had on with the sunray pleats that there was nobody he said hed kneeldown in the wet if I didnt so persevering he would too and ruin his newraincoat you never know what freak theyd take alone with you theyre sosavage for it if anyone was passing so I lifted them a bit and touchedhis trousers outside the way I used to Gardner after with my ring handto keep him from doing worse where it was too public I was dying to findout was he circumcised he was shaking like a jelly all over they wantto do everything too quick take all the pleasure out of it and fatherwaiting all the time for his dinner he told me to say I left my purse inthe butchers and had to go back for it what a Deceiver then he wrote methat letter with all those words in it how could he have the face to anywoman after his company manners making it so awkward after when we metasking me have I offended you with my eyelids down of course he saw Iwasnt he had a few brains not like that other fool Henny Doyle he wasalways breaking or tearing something in the charades I hate an unluckyman and if I knew what it meant of course I had to say no for form sakedont understand you I said and wasnt it natural so it is of courseit used to be written up with a picture of a womans on that wall inGibraltar with that word I couldnt find anywhere only for childrenseeing it too young then writing every morning a letter sometimes twicea day I liked the way he made love then he knew the way to take a womanwhen he sent me the 8 big poppies because mine was the 8th then I wrotethe night he kissed my heart at Dolphins barn I couldnt describe itsimply it makes you feel like nothing on earth but he never knew how toembrace well like Gardner I hope hell come on Monday as he said at thesame time four I hate people who come at all hours answer the door youthink its the vegetables then its somebody and you all undressed orthe door of the filthy sloppy kitchen blows open the day old frostyfaceGoodwin called about the concert in Lombard street and I just afterdinner all flushed and tossed with boiling old stew dont look at meprofessor I had to say Im a fright yes but he was a real old gent in hisway it was impossible to be more respectful nobody to say youre out youhave to peep out through the blind like the messengerboy today I thoughtit was a putoff first him sending the port and the peaches first and Iwas just beginning to yawn with nerves thinking he was trying to make afool of me when I knew his tattarrattat at the door he must have beena bit late because it was l/4 after 3 when I saw the 2 Dedalus girlscoming from school I never know the time even that watch he gave menever seems to go properly Id want to get it looked after when I threwthe penny to that lame sailor for England home and beauty when I waswhistling there is a charming girl I love and I hadnt even put on myclean shift or powdered myself or a thing then this day week were to goto Belfast just as well he has to go to Ennis his fathers anniversarythe 27th it wouldnt be pleasant if he did suppose our rooms at the hotelwere beside each other and any fooling went on in the new bed I couldnttell him to stop and not bother me with him in the next room or perhapssome protestant clergyman with a cough knocking on the wall then hednever believe the next day we didnt do something its all very well ahusband but you cant fool a lover after me telling him we never didanything of course he didnt believe me no its better hes going wherehe is besides something always happens with him the time going to theMallow concert at Maryborough ordering boiling soup for the two ofus then the bell rang out he walks down the platform with the soupsplashing about taking spoonfuls of it hadnt he the nerve and the waiterafter him making a holy show of us screeching and confusion for theengine to start but he wouldnt pay till he finished it the two gentlemenin the 3rd class carriage said he was quite right so he was too hes sopigheaded sometimes when he gets a thing into his head a good job he wasable to open the carriage door with his knife or theyd have taken us onto Cork I suppose that was done out of revenge on him O I love jauntingin a train or a car with lovely soft cushions I wonder will he takea 1st class for me he might want to do it in the train by tipping theguard well O I suppose therell be the usual idiots of men gaping atus with their eyes as stupid as ever they can possibly be that was anexceptional man that common workman that left us alone in the carriagethat day going to Howth Id like to find out something about him l or 2tunnels perhaps then you have to look out of the window all the nicerthen coming back suppose I never came back what would they say elopedwith him that gets you on on the stage the last concert I sang at whereits over a year ago when was it St Teresas hall Clarendon St littlechits of missies they have now singing Kathleen Kearney and her likeon account of father being in the army and my singing the absentmindedbeggar and wearing a brooch for Lord Roberts when I had the map of itall and Poldy not Irish enough was it him managed it this time I wouldntput it past him like he got me on to sing in the _Stabat Mater_ by goingaround saying he was putting Lead Kindly Light to music I put him up tothat till the jesuits found out he was a freemason thumping the pianolead Thou me on copied from some old opera yes and he was going aboutwith some of them Sinner Fein lately or whatever they call themselvestalking his usual trash and nonsense he says that little man he showedme without the neck is very intelligent the coming man Griffiths is hewell he doesnt look it thats all I can say still it must have been himhe knew there was a boycott I hate the mention of their politics afterthe war that Pretoria and Ladysmith and Bloemfontein where Gardner lieutStanley G 8th Bn 2nd East Lancs Rgt of enteric fever he was a lovelyfellow in khaki and just the right height over me Im sure he was bravetoo he said I was lovely the evening we kissed goodbye at the canal lockmy Irish beauty he was pale with excitement about going away or wed beseen from the road he couldnt stand properly and I so hot as I neverfelt they could have made their peace in the beginning or old oom Pauland the rest of the other old Krugers go and fight it out between theminstead of dragging on for years killing any finelooking men there werewith their fever if he was even decently shot it wouldnt have been sobad I love to see a regiment pass in review the first time I saw theSpanish cavalry at La Roque it was lovely after looking across the bayfrom Algeciras all the lights of the rock like fireflies or those shambattles on the 15 acres the Black Watch with their kilts in time at themarch past the 10th hussars the prince of Wales own or the lancers O thelancers theyre grand or the Dublins that won Tugela his father made hismoney over selling the horses for the cavalry well he could buy me anice present up in Belfast after what I gave him theyve lovely linen upthere or one of those nice kimono things I must buy a mothball like Ihad before to keep in the drawer with them it would be exciting goinground with him shopping buying those things in a new city better leavethis ring behind want to keep turning and turning to get it over theknuckle there or they might bell it round the town in their papers ortell the police on me but theyd think were married O let them all go andsmother themselves for the fat lot I care he has plenty of money and hesnot a marrying man so somebody better get it out of him if I could findout whether he likes me I looked a bit washy of course when I lookedclose in the handglass powdering a mirror never gives you the expressionbesides scrooching down on me like that all the time with his bighipbones hes heavy too with his hairy chest for this heat always havingto lie down for them better for him put it into me from behind the wayMrs Mastiansky told me her husband made her like the dogs do it andstick out her tongue as far as ever she could and he so quiet and mildwith his tingating cither can you ever be up to men the way it takesthem lovely stuff in that blue suit he had on and stylish tie and sockswith the skyblue silk things on them hes certainly well off I know bythe cut his clothes have and his heavy watch but he was like a perfectdevil for a few minutes after he came back with the stoppress tearing upthe tickets and swearing blazes because he lost 20 quid he said he lostover that outsider that won and half he put on for me on account ofLenehans tip cursing him to the lowest pits that sponger he was makingfree with me after the Glencree dinner coming back that long joult overthe featherbed mountain after the lord Mayor looking at me with hisdirty eyes Val Dillon that big heathen I first noticed him at dessertwhen I was cracking the nuts with my teeth I wished I could have pickedevery morsel of that chicken out of my fingers it was so tastyand browned and as tender as anything only for I didnt want to eateverything on my plate those forks and fishslicers were hallmarkedsilver too I wish I had some I could easily have slipped a couple intomy muff when I was playing with them then always hanging out of them formoney in a restaurant for the bit you put down your throat we have tobe thankful for our mangy cup of tea itself as a great compliment to benoticed the way the world is divided in any case if its going to go on Iwant at least two other good chemises for one thing and but I dont knowwhat kind of drawers he likes none at all I think didnt he say yes andhalf the girls in Gibraltar never wore them either naked as God madethem that Andalusian singing her Manola she didnt make much secret ofwhat she hadnt yes and the second pair of silkette stockings is ladderedafter one days wear I could have brought them back to Lewers thismorning and kicked up a row and made that one change them only not toupset myself and run the risk of walking into him and ruining the wholething and one of those kidfitting corsets Id want advertised cheap inthe Gentlewoman with elastic gores on the hips he saved the one I havebut thats no good what did they say they give a delightful figure line11/6 obviating that unsightly broad appearance across the lower back toreduce flesh my belly is a bit too big Ill have to knock off thestout at dinner or am I getting too fond of it the last they sent fromORourkes was as flat as a pancake he makes his money easy Larry theycall him the old mangy parcel he sent at Xmas a cottage cake and abottle of hogwash he tried to palm off as claret that he couldnt getanyone to drink God spare his spit for fear hed die of the drouth orI must do a few breathing exercises I wonder is that antifat any goodmight overdo it the thin ones are not so much the fashion now gartersthat much I have the violet pair I wore today thats all he bought meout of the cheque he got on the first O no there was the face lotionI finished the last of yesterday that made my skin like new I told himover and over again get that made up in the same place and dont forgetit God only knows whether he did after all I said to him 111 know bythe bottle anyway if not I suppose 111 only have to wash in my piss likebeeftea or chickensoup with some of that opoponax and violet I thoughtit was beginning to look coarse or old a bit the skin underneath is muchfiner where it peeled off there on my finger after the burn its a pityit isnt all like that and the four paltry handkerchiefs about 6/- in allsure you cant get on in this world without style all going in food andrent when I get it Ill lash it around I tell you in fine style I alwayswant to throw a handful of tea into the pot measuring and mincing ifI buy a pair of old brogues itself do you like those new shoes yes howmuch were they Ive no clothes at all the brown costume and the skirt andjacket and the one at the cleaners 3 whats that for any woman cuttingup this old hat and patching up the other the men wont look at you andwomen try to walk on you because they know youve no man then with allthe things getting dearer every day for the 4 years more I have of lifeup to 35 no Im what am I at all 111 be 33 in September will I what Owell look at that Mrs Galbraith shes much older than me I saw her whenI was out last week her beautys on the wane she was a lovely womanmagnificent head of hair on her down to her waist tossing it back likethat like Kitty OShea in Grantham street 1st thing I did every morningto look across see her combing it as if she loved it and was full of itpity I only got to know her the day before we left and that Mrs Langtrythe jersey lily the prince of Wales was in love with I suppose hes likethe first man going the roads only for the name of a king theyre allmade the one way only a black mans Id like to try a beauty up to whatwas she 45 there was some funny story about the jealous old husband whatwas it at all and an oyster knife he went no he made her wear a kindof a tin thing round her and the prince of Wales yes he had the oysterknife cant be true a thing like that like some of those books he bringsme the works of Master Francois Somebody supposed to be a priest abouta child born out of her ear because her bumgut fell out a nice word forany priest to write and her a--e as if any fool wouldnt know what thatmeant I hate that pretending of all things with that old blackguardsface on him anybody can see its not true and that Ruby and Fair Tyrantshe brought me that twice I remember when I came to page 5 o the partabout where she hangs him up out of a hook with a cord flagellatesure theres nothing for a woman in that all invention made up about hedrinking the champagne out of her slipper after the ball was over likethe infant Jesus in the crib at Inchicore in the Blessed Virgins armssure no woman could have a child that big taken out of her and I thoughtfirst it came out of her side because how could she go to the chamberwhen she wanted to and she a rich lady of course she felt honoured H R Hhe was in Gibraltar the year I was born I bet he found lilies there toowhere he planted the tree he planted more than that in his time he mighthave planted me too if hed come a bit sooner then I wouldnt be here asI am he ought to chuck that Freeman with the paltry few shillingshe knocks out of it and go into an office or something where hed getregular pay or a bank where they could put him up on a throne to countthe money all the day of course he prefers plottering about the houseso you cant stir with him any side whats your programme today I wish hedeven smoke a pipe like father to get the smell of a man or pretendingto be mooching about for advertisements when he could have been in MrCuffes still only for what he did then sending me to try and patch it upI could have got him promoted there to be the manager he gave me a greatmirada once or twice first he was as stiff as the mischief really andtruly Mrs Bloom only I felt rotten simply with the old rubbishy dressthat I lost the leads out of the tails with no cut in it but theyrecoming into fashion again I bought it simply to please him I knew it wasno good by the finish pity I changed my mind of going to Todd and Bumsas I said and not Lees it was just like the shop itself rummage sale alot of trash I hate those rich shops get on your nerves nothing kills mealtogether only he thinks he knows a great lot about a womans dress andcooking mathering everything he can scour off the shelves into it ifI went by his advices every blessed hat I put on does that suit me yestake that thats alright the one like a weddingcake standing up milesoff my head he said suited me or the dishcover one coming down on mybackside on pins and needles about the shopgirl in that place in Graftonstreet I had the misfortune to bring him into and she as insolent asever she could be with her smirk saying Im afraid were giving you toomuch trouble what shes there for but I stared it out of her yes he wasawfully stiff and no wonder but he changed the second time he lookedPoldy pigheaded as usual like the soup but I could see him looking veryhard at my chest when he stood up to open the door for me it was nice ofhim to show me out in any case Im extremely sorry Mrs Bloom believe mewithout making it too marked the first time after him being insulted andme being supposed to be his wife I just half smiled I know my chest wasout that way at the door when he said Im extremely sorry and Im sure youwere

yes I think he made them a bit firmer sucking them like that so long hemade me thirsty titties he calls them I had to laugh yes this one anyhowstiff the nipple gets for the least thing Ill get him to keep that upand Ill take those eggs beaten up with marsala fatten them out for himwhat are all those veins and things curious the way its made 2 the samein case of twins theyre supposed to represent beauty placed up therelike those statues in the museum one of them pretending to hide it withher hand are they so beautiful of course compared with what a man lookslike with his two bags full and his other thing hanging down out ofhim or sticking up at you like a hatrack no wonder they hide it with acabbageleaf that disgusting Cameron highlander behind the meat market orthat other wretch with the red head behind the tree where the statueof the fish used to be when I was passing pretending he was pissingstanding out for me to see it with his babyclothes up to one side theQueens own they were a nice lot its well the Surreys relieved themtheyre always trying to show it to you every time nearly I passedoutside the mens greenhouse near the Harcourt street station just totry some fellow or other trying to catch my eye as if it was I of the7 wonders of the world O and the stink of those rotten places the nightcoming home with Poldy after the Comerfords party oranges and lemonadeto make you feel nice and watery I went into r of them it was so bitingcold I couldnt keep it when was that 93 the canal was frozen yes it wasa few months after a pity a couple of the Camerons werent there to seeme squatting in the mens place meadero I tried to draw a picture ofit before I tore it up like a sausage or something I wonder theyre notafraid going about of getting a kick or a bang of something there thewoman is beauty of course thats admitted when he said I could pose for apicture naked to some rich fellow in Holles street when he lost thejob in Helys and I was selling the clothes and strumming in the coffeepalace would I be like that bath of the nymph with my hair down yes onlyshes younger or Im a little like that dirty bitch in that Spanish photohe has nymphs used they go about like that I asked him about her andthat word met something with hoses in it and he came out with somejawbreakers about the incarnation he never can explain a thing simplythe way a body can understand then he goes and burns the bottom out ofthe pan all for his Kidney this one not so much theres the mark of histeeth still where he tried to bite the nipple I had to scream out arentthey fearful trying to hurt you I had a great breast of milk with Millyenough for two what was the reason of that he said I could have got apound a week as a wet nurse all swelled out the morning that delicatelooking student that stopped in no 28 with the Citrons Penrose nearlycaught me washing through the window only for I snapped up the towel tomy face that was his studenting hurt me they used to weaning her till hegot doctor Brady to give me the belladonna prescription I had to get himto suck them they were so hard he said it was sweeter and thicker thancows then he wanted to milk me into the tea well hes beyond everything Ideclare somebody ought to put him in the budget if I only could rememberthe I half of the things and write a book out of it the works of MasterPoldy yes and its so much smoother the skin much an hour he was at themIm sure by the clock like some kind of a big infant I had at me theywant everything in their mouth all the pleasure those men get out of awoman I can feel his mouth O Lord I must stretch myself I wished he washere or somebody to let myself go with and come again like that I feelall fire inside me or if I could dream it when he made me spend the 2ndtime tickling me behind with his finger I was coming for about 5 minuteswith my legs round him I had to hug him after O Lord I wanted to shoutout all sorts of things fuck or shit or anything at all only not to lookugly or those lines from the strain who knows the way hed take it youwant to feel your way with a man theyre not all like him thank God someof them want you to be so nice about it I noticed the contrast he doesit and doesnt talk I gave my eyes that look with my hair a bit loosefrom the tumbling and my tongue between my lips up to him the savagebrute Thursday Friday one Saturday two Sunday three O Lord I cant waittill Monday

frseeeeeeeefronnnng train somewhere whistling the strength those engineshave in them like big giants and the water rolling all over and out ofthem all sides like the end of Loves old sweeeetsonnnng the poor menthat have to be out all the night from their wives and families in thoseroasting engines stifling it was today Im glad I burned the half ofthose old Freemans and Photo Bits leaving things like that lying abouthes getting very careless and threw the rest of them up in the W C 111get him to cut them tomorrow for me instead of having them there forthe next year to get a few pence for them have him asking wheres lastJanuarys paper and all those old overcoats I bundled out of the hallmaking the place hotter than it is that rain was lovely and refreshingjust after my beauty sleep I thought it was going to get like Gibraltarmy goodness the heat there before the levanter came on black as nightand the glare of the rock standing up in it like a big giant comparedwith their 3 Rock mountain they think is so great with the red sentrieshere and there the poplars and they all whitehot and the smell of therainwater in those tanks watching the sun all the time weltering down onyou faded all that lovely frock fathers friend Mrs Stanhope sent me fromthe B Marche paris what a shame my dearest Doggerina she wrote on itshe was very nice whats this her other name was just a p c to tell you Isent the little present have just had a jolly warm bath and feel a veryclean dog now enjoyed it wogger she called him wogger wd give anythingto be back in Gib and hear you sing Waiting and in old Madrid Conconeis the name of those exercises he bought me one of those new some wordI couldnt make out shawls amusing things but tear for the least thingstill there lovely I think dont you will always think of the lovely teaswe had together scrumptious currant scones and raspberry wafers I adorewell now dearest Doggerina be sure and write soon kind she left outregards to your father also captain Grove with love yrs affly Hester xx x x x she didnt look a bit married just like a girl he was years olderthan her wogger he was awfully fond of me when he held down the wirewith his foot for me to step over at the bullfight at La Linea whenthat matador Gomez was given the bulls ear these clothes we have to wearwhoever invented them expecting you to walk up Killiney hill then forexample at that picnic all staysed up you cant do a blessed thing inthem in a crowd run or jump out of the way thats why I was afraid whenthat other ferocious old Bull began to charge the banderilleros withthe sashes and the 2 things in their hats and the brutes of men shoutingbravo toro sure the women were as bad in their nice white mantillasripping all the whole insides out of those poor horses I never heard ofsuch a thing in all my life yes he used to break his heart at me takingoff the dog barking in bell lane poor brute and it sick what becameof them ever I suppose theyre dead long ago the 2 of them its like allthrough a mist makes you feel so old I made the scones of course I hadeverything all to myself then a girl Hester we used to compare our hairmine was thicker than hers she showed me how to settle it at the backwhen I put it up and whats this else how to make a knot on a thread withthe one hand we were like cousins what age was I then the night of thestorm I slept in her bed she had her arms round me then we were fightingin the morning with the pillow what fun he was watching me whenever hegot an opportunity at the band on the Alameda esplanade when I was withfather and captain Grove I looked up at the church first and then at thewindows then down and our eyes met I felt something go through me likeall needles my eyes were dancing I remember after when I lookedat myself in the glass hardly recognised myself the change he wasattractive to a girl in spite of his being a little bald intelligentlooking disappointed and gay at the same time he was like Thomas inthe shadow of Ashlydyat I had a splendid skin from the sun and theexcitement like a rose I didnt get a wink of sleep it wouldnt have beennice on account of her but I could have stopped it in time she gave methe Moonstone to read that was the first I read of Wilkie Collins EastLynne I read and the shadow of Ashlydyat Mrs Henry Wood Henry Dunbar bythat other woman I lent him afterwards with Mulveys photo in it so as hesee I wasnt without and Lord Lytton Eugene Aram Molly bawn she gave meby Mrs Hungerford on account of the name I dont like books with a Mollyin them like that one he brought me about the one from Flanders a whorealways shoplifting anything she could cloth and stuff and yards of itO this blanket is too heavy on me thats better I havent even one decentnightdress this thing gets all rolled under me besides him and hisfooling thats better I used to be weltering then in the heat my shiftdrenched with the sweat stuck in the cheeks of my bottom on the chairwhen I stood up they were so fattish and firm when I got up on the sofacushions to see with my clothes up and the bugs tons of them at nightand the mosquito nets I couldnt read a line Lord how long ago it seemscenturies of course they never came back and she didnt put her addressright on it either she may have noticed her wogger people were alwaysgoing away and we never I remember that day with the waves and theboats with their high heads rocking and the smell of ship those Officersuniforms on shore leave made me seasick he didnt say anything he wasvery serious I had the high buttoned boots on and my skirt was blowingshe kissed me six or seven times didnt I cry yes I believe I did or nearit my lips were taittering when I said goodbye she had a Gorgeous wrapof some special kind of blue colour on her for the voyage made verypeculiarly to one side like and it was extremely pretty it got as dullas the devil after they went I was almost planning to run away mad outof it somewhere were never easy where we are father or aunt or marriagewaiting always waiting to guiiiide him toooo me waiting nor speeeedhis flying feet their damn guns bursting and booming all over the shopespecially the Queens birthday and throwing everything down in alldirections if you didnt open the windows when general Ulysses Grantwhoever he was or did supposed to be some great fellow landed off theship and old Sprague the consul that was there from before the flooddressed up poor man and he in mourning for the son then the same oldbugles for reveille in the morning and drums rolling and the unfortunatepoor devils of soldiers walking about with messtins smelling the placemore than the old longbearded jews in their jellibees and levitesassembly and sound clear and gunfire for the men to cross the lines andthe warden marching with his keys to lock the gates and the bagpipes andonly captain Groves and father talking about Rorkes drift and Plevna andsir Garnet Wolseley and Gordon at Khartoum lighting their pipes forthem everytime they went out drunken old devil with his grog on thewindowsill catch him leaving any of it picking his nose trying to thinkof some other dirty story to tell up in a corner but he never forgothimself when I was there sending me out of the room on some blind excusepaying his compliments the Bushmills whisky talking of course but heddo the same to the next woman that came along I suppose he died ofgalloping drink ages ago the days like years not a letter from a livingsoul except the odd few I posted to myself with bits of paper in them sobored sometimes I could fight with my nails listening to that old Arabwith the one eye and his heass of an instrument singing his heah heahaheah all my compriments on your hotchapotch of your heass as bad as nowwith the hands hanging off me looking out of the window if there was anice fellow even in the opposite house that medical in Holles street thenurse was after when I put on my gloves and hat at the window to showI was going out not a notion what I meant arent they thick neverunderstand what you say even youd want to print it up on a big posterfor them not even if you shake hands twice with the left he didntrecognise me either when I half frowned at him outside Westland rowchapel where does their great intelligence come in Id like to knowgrey matter they have it all in their tail if you ask me those countrygougers up in the City Arms intelligence they had a damn sight less thanthe bulls and cows they were selling the meat and the coalmans bell thatnoisy bugger trying to swindle me with the wrong bill he took out of hishat what a pair of paws and pots and pans and kettles to mend any brokenbottles for a poor man today and no visitors or post ever except hischeques or some advertisement like that wonderworker they sent himaddressed dear Madam only his letter and the card from Milly thismorning see she wrote a letter to him who did I get the last letter fromO Mrs Dwenn now what possessed her to write from Canada after so manyyears to know the recipe I had for pisto madrileno Floey Dillon sinceshe wrote to say she was married to a very rich architect if Im tobelieve all I hear with a villa and eight rooms her father was anawfully nice man he was near seventy always goodhumoured well now MissTweedy or Miss Gillespie theres the piannyer that was a solid silvercoffee service he had too on the mahogany sideboard then dying so faraway I hate people that have always their poor story to tell everybodyhas their own troubles that poor Nancy Blake died a month ago of acuteneumonia well I didnt know her so well as all that she was Floeys friendmore than mine poor Nancy its a bother having to answer he always tellsme the wrong things and no stops to say like making a speech your sadbereavement symphathy I always make that mistake and newphew with 2double yous in I hope hell write me a longer letter the next time if itsa thing he really likes me O thanks be to the great God I got somebodyto give me what I badly wanted to put some heart up into me youve nochances at all in this place like you used long ago I wish somebodywould write me a loveletter his wasnt much and I told him he could writewhat he liked yours ever Hugh Boylan in old Madrid stuff silly womenbelieve love is sighing I am dying still if he wrote it I suppose theredbe some truth in it true or no it fills up your whole day and lifealways something to think about every moment and see it all round youlike a new world I could write the answer in bed to let him imagine meshort just a few words not those long crossed letters Atty Dillon usedto write to the fellow that was something in the four courts that jiltedher after out of the ladies letterwriter when I told her to say a fewsimple words he could twist how he liked not acting with precipat precipitancy with equal candour the greatest earthly happiness answer to agentlemans proposal affirmatively my goodness theres nothing else itsall very fine for them but as for being a woman as soon as youre oldthey 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 Rubiobrought it in with the coffee she stood there standing when I asked herto hand me and I pointing at them I couldnt think of the word a hairpinto open it with ah horquilla disobliging old thing and it staring herin the face with her switch of false hair on her and vain about herappearance ugly as she was near 80 or a loo her face a mass of wrinkleswith all her religion domineering because she never could get over theAtlantic fleet coming in half the ships of the world and the Union Jackflying with all her carabineros because 4 drunken English sailors tookall the rock from them and because I didnt run into mass often enough inSanta Maria to please her with her shawl up on her except when there wasa marriage on with all her miracles of the saints and her black blessedvirgin with the silver dress and the sun dancing 3 times on EasterSunday morning and when the priest was going by with the bell bringingthe vatican to the dying blessing herself for his Majestad an admirerhe signed it I near jumped out of my skin I wanted to pick him up whenI saw him following me along the Calle Real in the shop window thenhe tipped me just in passing but I never thought hed write making anappointment I had it inside my petticoat bodice all day reading it upin every hole and corner while father was up at the drill instructing tofind out by the handwriting or the language of stamps singing I remembershall I wear a white rose and I wanted to put on the old stupid clock tonear the time he was the first man kissed me under the Moorish wall mysweetheart when a boy it never entered my head what kissing meant tillhe put his tongue in my mouth his mouth was sweetlike young I put myknee up to him a few times to learn the way what did I tell him I wasengaged for for fun to the son of a Spanish nobleman named Don Miguel dela Flora and he believed me that I was to be married to him in 3 yearstime theres many a true word spoken in jest there is a flower thatbloometh a few things I told him true about myself just for him to beimagining the Spanish girls he didnt like I suppose one of them wouldnthave him I got him excited he crushed all the flowers on my bosom hebrought me he couldnt count the pesetas and the perragordas till Itaught him Cappoquin he came from he said on the black water but it wastoo short then the day before he left May yes it was May when the infantking of Spain was born Im always like that in the spring Id like a newfellow every year up on the tiptop under the rockgun near OHaras towerI told him it was struck by lightning and all about the old Barbary apesthey sent to Clapham without a tail careering all over the show on eachothers back Mrs Rubio said she was a regular old rock scorpion robbingthe chickens out of Inces farm and throw stones at you if you went anearhe was looking at me I had that white blouse on open in the front toencourage him as much as I could without too openly they were justbeginning to be plump I said I was tired we lay over the firtree covea wild place I suppose it must be the highest rock in existence thegalleries and casemates and those frightful rocks and Saint Michaelscave with the icicles or whatever they call them hanging down andladders all the mud plotching my boots Im sure thats the way down themonkeys go under the sea to Africa when they die the ships out far likechips that was the Malta boat passing yes the sea and the sky you coulddo what you liked lie there for ever he caressed them outside they lovedoing that its the roundness there I was leaning over him with my whitericestraw hat to take the newness out of it the left side of my face thebest my blouse open for his last day transparent kind of shirt he had Icould see his chest pink he wanted to touch mine with his for a momentbut I wouldnt lee him he was awfully put out first for fear you neverknow consumption or leave me with a child embarazada that old servantInes told me that one drop even if it got into you at all after I triedwith the Banana but I was afraid it might break and get lost up in mesomewhere because they once took something down out of a woman that wasup there for years covered with limesalts theyre all mad to get in therewhere they come out of youd think they could never go far enough up andthen theyre done with you in a way till the next time yes because theresa wonderful feeling there so tender all the time how did we finish itoff yes O yes I pulled him off into my handkerchief pretending not tobe excited but I opened my legs I wouldnt let him touch me inside mypetticoat because I had a skirt opening up the side I tormented thelife out of him first tickling him I loved rousing that dog in the hotelrrrsssstt awokwokawok his eyes shut and a bird flying below us he wasshy all the same I liked him like that moaning I made him blush a littlewhen I got over him that way when I unbuttoned him and took his out anddrew back the skin it had a kind of eye in it theyre all Buttons mendown the middle on the wrong side of them Molly darling he called mewhat was his name Jack Joe Harry Mulvey was it yes I think a lieutenanthe was rather fair he had a laughing kind of a voice so I went round tothe whatyoucallit everything was whatyoucallit moustache had he he saidhed come back Lord its just like yesterday to me and if I was marriedhed do it to me and I promised him yes faithfully Id let him block menow flying perhaps hes dead or killed or a captain or admiral its nearly20 years if I said firtree cove he would if he came up behind me andput his hands over my eyes to guess who I might recognise him hes youngstill about 40 perhaps hes married some girl on the black water and isquite changed they all do they havent half the character a woman has shelittle knows what I did with her beloved husband before he ever dreamtof her in broad daylight too in the sight of the whole world you mightsay they could have put an article about it in the Chronicle I was a bitwild after when I blew out the old bag the biscuits were in from BenadyBros and exploded it Lord what a bang all the woodcocks and pigeonsscreaming coming back the same way that we went over middle hill roundby the old guardhouse and the jews burialplace pretending to read outthe Hebrew on them I wanted to fire his pistol he said he hadnt one hedidnt know what to make of me with his peak cap on that he always worecrooked as often as I settled it straight H M S Calypso swinging my hatthat old Bishop that spoke off the altar his long preach about womanshigher functions about girls now riding the bicycle and wearing peakcaps and the new woman bloomers God send him sense and me more money Isuppose theyre called after him I never thought that would be myname Bloom when I used to write it in print to see how it looked on avisiting card or practising for the butcher and oblige M Bloom yourelooking blooming Josie used to say after I married him well its betterthan Breen or Briggs does brig or those awful names with bottom in themMrs Ramsbottom or some other kind of a bottom Mulvey I wouldnt go madabout either or suppose I divorced him Mrs Boylan my mother whoever shewas might have given me a nicer name the Lord knows after the lovelyone she had Lunita Laredo the fun we had running along Williss road toEuropa point twisting in and out all round the other side of Jersey theywere shaking and dancing about in my blouse like Millys little ones nowwhen she runs up the stairs I loved looking down at them I was jumpingup at the pepper trees and the white poplars pulling the leaves off andthrowing them at him he went to India he was to write the voyages thosemen have to make to the ends of the world and back its the least theymight get a squeeze or two at a woman while they can going out to bedrowned or blown up somewhere I went up Windmill hill to the flatsthat Sunday morning with captain Rubios that was dead spyglass like thesentry had he said hed have one or two from on board I wore that frockfrom the B Marche paris and the coral necklace the straits shining Icould see over to Morocco almost the bay of Tangier white and the Atlasmountain with snow on it and the straits like a river so clear HarryMolly darling I was thinking of him on the sea all the time after atmass when my petticoat began to slip down at the elevation weeks andweeks I kept the handkerchief under my pillow for the smell of him therewas no decent perfume to be got in that Gibraltar only that cheap peaudEspagne that faded and left a stink on you more than anything else Iwanted to give him a memento he gave me that clumsy Claddagh ring forluck that I gave Gardner going to south Africa where those Boers killedhim with their war and fever but they were well beaten all the same asif it brought its bad luck with it like an opal or pearl still it musthave been pure 18 carrot gold because it was very heavy but what couldyou get in a place like that the sandfrog shower from Africa and thatderelict ship that came up to the harbour Marie the Marie whatyoucallitno he hadnt a moustache that was Gardner yes I can see his facecleanshaven Frseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeefrong that train again weeping toneonce in the dear deaead days beyondre call close my eyes breath my lipsforward kiss sad look eyes open piano ere oer the world the mists beganI hate that istsbeg comes loves sweet sooooooooooong Ill let that outfull when I get in front of the footlights again Kathleen Kearneyand her lot of squealers Miss This Miss That Miss Theother lot ofsparrowfarts skitting around talking about politics they know as muchabout as my backside anything in the world to make themselves somewayinteresting Irish homemade beauties soldiers daughter am I ay and whoseare you bootmakers and publicans I beg your pardon coach I thought youwere a wheelbarrow theyd die down dead off their feet if ever they gota chance of walking down the Alameda on an officers arm like me on thebandnight my eyes flash my bust that they havent passion God help theirpoor head I knew more about men and life when I was I S than theyll allknow at 50 they dont know how to sing a song like that Gardner said noman could look at my mouth and teeth smiling like that and not think ofit I was afraid he mightnt like my accent first he so English all fatherleft me in spite of his stamps Ive my mothers eyes and figure anyhowhe always said theyre so snotty about themselves some of those cads hewasnt a bit like that he was dead gone on my lips let them get a husbandfirst thats fit to be looked at and a daughter like mine or see if theycan excite a swell with money that can pick and choose whoever he wantslike Boylan to do it 4 or 5 times locked in each others arms or thevoice either I could have been a prima donna only I married him comeslooooves old deep down chin back not too much make it double My LadysBower is too long for an encore about the moated grange at twilight andvaunted rooms yes Ill sing Winds that blow from the south that he gaveafter the choirstairs performance Ill change that lace on my black dressto show off my bubs and Ill yes by God Ill get that big fan mended makethem burst with envy my hole is itching me always when I think of him Ifeel I want to I feel some wind in me better go easy not wake him havehim at it again slobbering after washing every bit of myself back bellyand sides if we had even a bath itself or my own room anyway I wish hedsleep in some bed by himself with his cold feet on me give us room evento let a fart God or do the least thing better yes hold them like thata bit on my side piano quietly sweeeee theres that train far awaypianissimo eeeee one more song

that was a relief wherever you be let your wind go free who knows ifthat pork chop I took with my cup of tea after was quite good with theheat I couldnt smell anything off it Im sure that queerlooking man inthe porkbutchers is a great rogue I hope that lamp is not smoking fillmy nose up with smuts better than having him leaving the gas on allnight I couldnt rest easy in my bed in Gibraltar even getting up to seewhy am I so damned nervous about that though I like it in the winter itsmore company O Lord it was rotten cold too that winter when I wasonly about ten was I yes I had the big doll with all the funny clothesdressing her up and undressing that icy wind skeeting across from thosemountains the something Nevada sierra nevada standing at the fire withthe little bit of a short shift I had up to heat myself I loved dancingabout in it then make a race back into bed Im sure that fellow oppositeused to be there the whole time watching with the lights out in thesummer and I in my skin hopping around I used to love myself thenstripped at the washstand dabbing and creaming only when it came to thechamber performance I put out the light too so then there were 2 of usgoodbye to my sleep for this night anyhow I hope hes not going to get inwith those medicals leading him astray to imagine hes young again comingin at 4 in the morning it must be if not more still he had the mannersnot to wake me what do they find to gabber about all night squanderingmoney and getting drunker and drunker couldnt they drink water then hestarts giving us his orders for eggs and tea and Findon haddy and hotbuttered toast I suppose well have him sitting up like the king ofthe country pumping the wrong end of the spoon up and down in his eggwherever he learned that from and I love to hear him falling up thestairs of a morning with the cups rattling on the tray and then playwith the cat she rubs up against you for her own sake I wonder has shefleas shes as bad as a woman always licking and lecking but I hate theirclaws I wonder do they see anything that we cant staring like that whenshe sits at the top of the stairs so long and listening as I wait alwayswhat a robber too that lovely fresh place I bought I think Ill get a bitof fish tomorrow or today is it Friday yes I will with some blancmangewith black currant jam like long ago not those 2 lb pots of mixed plumand apple from the London and Newcastle Williams and Woods goes twice asfar only for the bones I hate those eels cod yes Ill get a nice pieceof cod Im always getting enough for 3 forgetting anyway Im sick of thateverlasting butchers meat from Buckleys loin chops and leg beef and ribsteak and scrag of mutton and calfs pluck the very name is enough ora picnic suppose we all gave 5/- each and or let him pay it and invitesome other woman for him who Mrs Fleming and drove out to the furry glenor the strawberry beds wed have him examining all the horses toenailsfirst like he does with the letters no not with Boylan there yes withsome cold veal and ham mixed sandwiches there are little houses downat the bottom of the banks there on purpose but its as hot as blazes hesays not a bank holiday anyhow I hate those ruck of Mary Ann coalboxesout for the day Whit Monday is a cursed day too no wonder that bee bithim better the seaside but Id never again in this life get into a boatwith him after him at Bray telling the boatman he knew how to row ifanyone asked could he ride the steeplechase for the gold cup hed sayyes then it came on to get rough the old thing crookeding about and theweight all down my side telling me pull the right reins now pull theleft and the tide all swamping in floods in through the bottom and hisoar slipping out of the stirrup its a mercy we werent all drowned he canswim of course me no theres no danger whatsoever keep yourself calm inhis flannel trousers Id like to have tattered them down off him beforeall the people and give him what that one calls flagellate till he wasblack and blue do him all the good in the world only for that longnosedchap I dont know who he is with that other beauty Burke out of the CityArms hotel was there spying around as usual on the slip always where hewasnt wanted if there was a row on youd vomit a better face there was nolove lost between us thats 1 consolation I wonder what kind is that bookhe brought me Sweets of Sin by a gentleman of fashion some other Mr deKock I suppose the people gave him that nickname going about with histube from one woman to another I couldnt even change my new white shoesall ruined with the saltwater and the hat I had with that feather allblowy and tossed on me how annoying and provoking because the smell ofthe sea excited me of course the sardines and the bream in Catalan bayround the back of the rock they were fine all silver in the fishermensbaskets old Luigi near a hundred they said came from Genoa and the tallold chap with the earrings I dont like a man you have to climb up to toget at I suppose theyre all dead and rotten long ago besides I dont likebeing alone in this big barracks of a place at night I suppose Ill haveto put up with it I never brought a bit of salt in even when we movedin the confusion musical academy he was going to make on the first floordrawingroom with a brassplate or Blooms private hotel he suggested goand ruin himself altogether the way his father did down in Ennis likeall the things he told father he was going to do and me but I sawthrough him telling me all the lovely places we could go for thehoneymoon Venice by moonlight with the gondolas and the lake of Como hehad a picture cut out of some paper of and mandolines and lanterns Ohow nice I said whatever I liked he was going to do immediately ifnot sooner will you be my man will you carry my can he ought to get aleather medal with a putty rim for all the plans he invents then leavingus here all day youd never know what old beggar at the door for a crustwith his long story might be a tramp and put his foot in the way toprevent me shutting it like that picture of that hardened criminal hewas called in Lloyds Weekly news 20 years in jail then he comes out andmurders an old woman for her money imagine his poor wife or mother orwhoever she is such a face youd run miles away from I couldnt rest easytill I bolted all the doors and windows to make sure but its worse againbeing locked up like in a prison or a madhouse they ought to be all shotor the cat of nine tails a big brute like that that would attack a poorold woman to murder her in her bed Id cut them off him so I would notthat hed be much use still better than nothing the night I was sureI heard burglars in the kitchen and he went down in his shirt with acandle and a poker as if he was looking for a mouse as white as a sheetfrightened out of his wits making as much noise as he possibly couldfor the burglars benefit there isnt much to steal indeed the Lord knowsstill its the feeling especially now with Milly away such an idea forhim to send the girl down there to learn to take photographs on accountof his grandfather instead of sending her to Skerrys academy where shedhave to learn not like me getting all IS at school only hed do a thinglike that all the same on account of me and Boylan thats why he didit Im certain the way he plots and plans everything out I couldnt turnround with her in the place lately unless I bolted the door first gaveme the fidgets coming in without knocking first when I put the chairagainst the door just as I was washing myself there below with the gloveget on your nerves then doing the loglady all day put her in a glasscasewith two at a time to look at her if he knew she broke off the hand offthat little gimcrack statue with her roughness and carelessness beforeshe left that I got that little Italian boy to mend so that you cantsee the join for 2 shillings wouldnt even teem the potatoes for you ofcourse shes right not to ruin her hands I noticed he was always talkingto her lately at the table explaining things in the paper and shepretending to understand sly of course that comes from his side of thehouse he cant say I pretend things can he Im too honest as a matter offact and helping her into her coat but if there was anything wrong withher its me shed tell not him I suppose he thinks Im finished out andlaid on the shelf well Im not no nor anything like it well see well seenow shes well on for flirting too with Tom Devans two sons imitatingme whistling with those romps of Murray girls calling for her can Millycome out please shes in great demand to pick what they can out of herround in Nelson street riding Harry Devans bicycle at night its as wellhe sent her where she is she was just getting out of bounds wanting togo on the skatingrink and smoking their cigarettes through their nose Ismelt it off her dress when I was biting off the thread of the buttonI sewed on to the bottom of her jacket she couldnt hide much from me Itell you only I oughtnt to have stitched it and it on her it brings aparting and the last plumpudding too split in 2 halves see it comes outno matter what they say her tongue is a bit too long for my tasteyour blouse is open too low she says to me the pan calling the kettleblackbottom and I had to tell her not to cock her legs up like that onshow on the windowsill before all the people passing they all look ather like me when I was her age of course any old rag looks well onyou then a great touchmenot too in her own way at the Only Way in theTheatre royal take your foot away out of that I hate people touchingme afraid of her life Id crush her skirt with the pleats a lot of thattouching must go on in theatres in the crush in the dark theyre alwaystrying to wiggle up to you that fellow in the pit at the Gaiety forBeerbohm Tree in Trilby the last time Ill ever go there to be squashedlike that for any Trilby or her barebum every two minutes tipping methere and looking away hes a bit daft I think I saw him after trying toget near two stylishdressed ladies outside Switzers window at the samelittle game I recognised him on the moment the face and everything buthe didnt remember me yes and she didnt even want me to kiss her at theBroadstone going away well I hope shell get someone to dance attendanceon her the way I did when she was down with the mumps and her glandsswollen wheres this and wheres that of course she cant feel anythingdeep yet I never came properly till I was what 22 or so it went into thewrong place always only the usual girls nonsense and giggling thatConny Connolly writing to her in white ink on black paper sealed withsealingwax though she clapped when the curtain came down because helooked so handsome then we had Martin Harvey for breakfast dinner andsupper I thought to myself afterwards it must be real love if a mangives up his life for her that way for nothing I suppose there are afew men like that left its hard to believe in it though unless it reallyhappened to me the majority of them with not a particle of love in theirnatures to find two people like that nowadays full up of each other thatwould feel the same way as you do theyre usually a bit foolish in thehead his father must have been a bit queer to go and poison himselfafter her still poor old man I suppose he felt lost shes always makinglove to my things too the few old rags I have wanting to put her hair upat I S my powder too only ruin her skin on her shes time enough for thatall her life after of course shes restless knowing shes pretty with herlips so red a pity they wont stay that way I was too but theres no usegoing to the fair with the thing answering me like a fishwoman whenI asked to go for a half a stone of potatoes the day we met Mrs JoeGallaher at the trottingmatches and she pretended not to see us in hertrap with Friery the solicitor we werent grand enough till I gave her 2damn fine cracks across the ear for herself take that now for answeringme like that and that for your impudence she had me that exasperated ofcourse contradicting I was badtempered too because how was it there wasa weed in the tea or I didnt sleep the night before cheese I ate was itand I told her over and over again not to leave knives crossed like thatbecause she has nobody to command her as she said herself well if hedoesnt correct her faith I will that was the last time she turned on theteartap I was just like that myself they darent order me about the placeits his fault of course having the two of us slaving here instead ofgetting in a woman long ago am I ever going to have a proper servantagain of course then shed see him coming Id have to let her know or shedrevenge it arent they a nuisance that old Mrs Fleming you have to bewalking round after her putting the things into her hands sneezing andfarting into the pots well of course shes old she cant help it a goodjob I found that rotten old smelly dishcloth that got lost behind thedresser I knew there was something and opened the area window to let outthe smell bringing in his friends to entertain them like the night hewalked home with a dog if you please that might have been mad especiallySimon Dedalus son his father such a criticiser with his glasses up withhis tall hat on him at the cricket match and a great big hole in hissock one thing laughing at the other and his son that got all thoseprizes for whatever he won them in the intermediate imagine climbingover the railings if anybody saw him that knew us I wonder he didnt teara big hole in his grand funeral trousers as if the one nature gave wasntenough for anybody hawking him down into the dirty old kitchen now is heright in his head I ask pity it wasnt washing day my old pair of drawersmight have been hanging up too on the line on exhibition for all hedever care with the ironmould mark the stupid old bundle burned on themhe might think was something else and she never even rendered down thefat I told her and now shes going such as she was on account of herparalysed husband getting worse theres always something wrong with themdisease or they have to go under an operation or if its not that itsdrink and he beats her Ill have to hunt around again for someone everyday I get up theres some new thing on sweet God sweet God well when Imstretched out dead in my grave I suppose 111 have some peace I want toget up a minute if Im let wait O Jesus wait yes that thing has come onme yes now wouldnt that afflict you of course all the poking and rootingand ploughing he had up in me now what am I to do Friday Saturday Sundaywouldnt that pester the soul out of a body unless he likes it some mendo God knows theres always something wrong with us 5 days every 3 or 4weeks usual monthly auction isnt it simply sickening that night it cameon me like that the one and only time we were in a box that Michael Gunngave him to see Mrs Kendal and her husband at the Gaiety something hedid about insurance for him in Drimmies I was fit to be tied though Iwouldnt give in with that gentleman of fashion staring down at me withhis glasses and him the other side of me talking about Spinoza and hissoul thats dead I suppose millions of years ago I smiled the best Icould all in a swamp leaning forward as if I was interested having tosit it out then to the last tag I wont forget that wife of Scarli ina hurry supposed to be a fast play about adultery that idiot in thegallery hissing the woman adulteress he shouted I suppose he went andhad a woman in the next lane running round all the back ways afterto make up for it I wish he had what I had then hed boo I bet the catitself is better off than us have we too much blood up in us or what Opatience above its pouring out of me like the sea anyhow he didnt makeme pregnant as big as he is I dont want to ruin the clean sheets I justput on I suppose the clean linen I wore brought it on too damn it damnit and they always want to see a stain on the bed to know youre a virginfor them all thats troubling them theyre such fools too you could be awidow or divorced 40 times over a daub of red ink would do or blackberryjuice no thats too purply O Jamesy let me up out of this pooh sweets ofsin whoever suggested that business for women what between clothes andcooking and children this damned old bed too jingling like the dickensI suppose they could hear us away over the other side of the park till Isuggested to put the quilt on the floor with the pillow under my bottomI wonder is it nicer in the day I think it is easy I think Ill cutall this hair off me there scalding me I might look like a young girlwouldnt he get the great suckin the next time he turned up my clothes onme Id give anything to see his face wheres the chamber gone easy Ive aholy horror of its breaking under me after that old commode I wonderwas I too heavy sitting on his knee I made him sit on the easychairpurposely when I took off only my blouse and skirt first in the otherroom he was so busy where he oughtnt to be he never felt me I hope mybreath was sweet after those kissing comfits easy God I remember onetime I could scout it out straight whistling like a man almost easy OLord how noisy I hope theyre bubbles on it for a wad of money from somefellow 111 have to perfume it in the morning dont forget I bet henever saw a better pair of thighs than that look how white they are thesmoothest place is right there between this bit here how soft like apeach easy God I wouldnt mind being a man and get up on a lovely womanO Lord what a row youre making like the jersey lily easy easy O how thewaters come down at Lahore

who knows is there anything the matter with my insides or have Isomething growing in me getting that thing like that every week when wasit last I Whit Monday yes its only about 3 weeks I ought to go to thedoctor only it would be like before I married him when I had that whitething coming from me and Floey made me go to that dry old stick DrCollins for womens diseases on Pembroke road your vagina he called it Isuppose thats how he got all the gilt mirrors and carpets getting roundthose rich ones off Stephens green running up to him for every littlefiddlefaddle her vagina and her cochinchina theyve money of course sotheyre all right I wouldnt marry him not if he was the last man inthe world besides theres something queer about their children alwayssmelling around those filthy bitches all sides asking me if what I didhad an offensive odour what did he want me to do but the one thing goldmaybe what a question if I smathered it all over his wrinkly old facefor him with all my compriments I suppose hed know then and could youpass it easily pass what I thought he was talking about the rock ofGibraltar the way he put it thats a very nice invention too by theway only I like letting myself down after in the hole as far as I cansqueeze and pull the chain then to flush it nice cool pins and needlesstill theres something in it I suppose I always used to know by Millyswhen she was a child whether she had worms or not still all the samepaying him for that how much is that doctor one guinea please and askingme had I frequent omissions where do those old fellows get all the wordsthey have omissions with his shortsighted eyes on me cocked sideways Iwouldnt trust him too far to give me chloroform or God knows what elsestill I liked him when he sat down to write the thing out frowning sosevere his nose intelligent like that you be damned you lying strap Oanything no matter who except an idiot he was clever enough to spotthat of course that was all thinking of him and his mad crazy lettersmy Precious one everything connected with your glorious Body everythingunderlined that comes from it is a thing of beauty and of joy for eversomething he got out of some nonsensical book that he had me always atmyself 4 and 5 times a day sometimes and I said I hadnt are you sureO yes I said I am quite sure in a way that shut him up I knew what wascoming next only natural weakness it was he excited me I dont know howthe first night ever we met when I was living in Rehoboth terrace westood staring at one another for about lo minutes as if we met somewhereI suppose on account of my being jewess looking after my mother he usedto amuse me the things he said with the half sloothering smile on himand all the Doyles said he was going to stand for a member of ParliamentO wasnt I the born fool to believe all his blather about home ruleand the land league sending me that long strool of a song out of theHuguenots to sing in French to be more classy O beau pays de la Tourainethat I never even sang once explaining and rigmaroling about religionand persecution he wont let you enjoy anything naturally then might heas a great favour the very 1st opportunity he got a chance in Brightonsquare running into my bedroom pretending the ink got on his hands towash it off with the Albion milk and sulphur soap I used to use and thegelatine still round it O I laughed myself sick at him that day I betternot make an alnight sitting on this affair they ought to make chambers anatural size so that a woman could sit on it properly he kneels down todo it I suppose there isnt in all creation another man with the habitshe has look at the way hes sleeping at the foot of the bed how can hewithout a hard bolster its well he doesnt kick or he might knock outall my teeth breathing with his hand on his nose like that Indian godhe took me to show one wet Sunday in the museum in Kildare street allyellow in a pinafore lying on his side on his hand with his ten toessticking out that he said was a bigger religion than the jews andOur Lords both put together all over Asia imitating him as hes alwaysimitating everybody I suppose he used to sleep at the foot of the bedtoo with his big square feet up in his wifes mouth damn this stinkingthing anyway wheres this those napkins are ah yes I know I hope the oldpress doesnt creak ah I knew it would hes sleeping hard had a good timesomewhere still she must have given him great value for his money ofcourse he has to pay for it from her O this nuisance of a thing I hopetheyll have something better for us in the other world tying ourselvesup God help us thats all right for tonight now the lumpy old jinglybed always reminds me of old Cohen I suppose he scratched himself in itoften enough and he thinks father bought it from Lord Napier that I usedto admire when I was a little girl because I told him easy piano OI like my bed God here we are as bad as ever after 16 years how manyhouses were we in at all Raymond terrace and Ontario terrace and Lombardstreet and Holles street and he goes about whistling every time were onthe run again his huguenots or the frogs march pretending to help themen with our 4 sticks of furniture and then the City Arms hotel worseand worse says Warden Daly that charming place on the landing alwayssomebody inside praying then leaving all their stinks after themalways know who was in there last every time were just getting on rightsomething happens or he puts his big foot in it Thoms and Helys and MrCuffes and Drimmies either hes going to be run into prison over his oldlottery tickets that was to be all our salvations or he goes and givesimpudence well have him coming home with the sack soon out of theFreeman too like the rest on account of those Sinner Fein or thefreemasons then well see if the little man he showed me dribblingalong in the wet all by himself round by Coadys lane will give him muchconsolation that he says is so capable and sincerely Irish he is indeedjudging by the sincerity of the trousers I saw on him wait theresGeorges church bells wait 3 quarters the hour l wait 2 oclock wellthats a nice hour of the night for him to be coming home at to anybodyclimbing down into the area if anybody saw him Ill knock him off thatlittle habit tomorrow first Ill look at his shirt to see or Ill see ifhe has that French letter still in his pocketbook I suppose he thinks Idont know deceitful men all their 20 pockets arent enough for their liesthen why should we tell them even if its the truth they dont believe youthen tucked up in bed like those babies in the Aristocrats Masterpiecehe brought me another time as if we hadnt enough of that in real lifewithout some old Aristocrat or whatever his name is disgusting you morewith those rotten pictures children with two heads and no legs thats thekind of villainy theyre always dreaming about with not another thing intheir empty heads they ought to get slow poison the half of them thentea and toast for him buttered on both sides and newlaid eggs I supposeIm nothing any more when I wouldnt let him lick me in Holles street onenight man man tyrant as ever for the one thing he slept on the floorhalf the night naked the way the jews used when somebody dies belongedto them and wouldnt eat any breakfast or speak a word wanting to bepetted so I thought I stood out enough for one time and let him he doesit all wrong too thinking only of his own pleasure his tongue is tooflat or I dont know what he forgets that wethen I dont Ill make him doit again if he doesnt mind himself and lock him down to sleep in thecoalcellar with the blackbeetles I wonder was it her Josie off her headwith my castoffs hes such a born liar too no hed never have the couragewith a married woman thats why he wants me and Boylan though as for herDenis as she calls him that forlornlooking spectacle you couldnt callhim a husband yes its some little bitch hes got in with even when I waswith him with Milly at the College races that Hornblower with the childsbonnet on the top of his nob let us into by the back way he was throwinghis sheeps eyes at those two doing skirt duty up and down I tried towink at him first no use of course and thats the way his money goes thisis the fruits of Mr Paddy Dignam yes they were all in great style at thegrand funeral in the paper Boylan brought in if they saw a real officersfuneral thatd be something reversed arms muffled drums the poor horsewalking behind in black L Boom and Tom Kernan that drunken littlebarrelly man that bit his tongue off falling down the mens W C drunkin some place or other and Martin Cunningham and the two Dedaluses andFanny MCoys husband white head of cabbage skinny thing with a turn inher eye trying to sing my songs shed want to be born all over again andher old green dress with the lowneck as she cant attract them any otherway like dabbling on a rainy day I see it all now plainly and they callthat friendship killing and then burying one another and they all withtheir wives and families at home more especially Jack Power keeping thatbarmaid he does of course his wife is always sick or going to be sickor just getting better of it and hes a goodlooking man still thoughhes getting a bit grey over the ears theyre a nice lot all of them welltheyre not going to get my husband again into their clutches if I canhelp it making fun of him then behind his back I know well when he goeson with his idiotics because he has sense enough not to squander everypenny piece he earns down their gullets and looks after his wife andfamily goodfornothings poor Paddy Dignam all the same Im sorry in away for him what are his wife and 5 children going to do unless he wasinsured comical little teetotum always stuck up in some pub corner andher or her son waiting Bill Bailey wont you please come home her widowsweeds wont improve her appearance theyre awfully becoming though ifyoure goodlooking what men wasnt he yes he was at the Glencree dinnerand Ben Dollard base barreltone the night he borrowed the swallowtailto sing out of in Holles street squeezed and squashed into them andgrinning all over his big Dolly face like a wellwhipped childs bottydidnt he look a balmy ballocks sure enough that must have been aspectacle on the stage imagine paying 5/- in the preserved seats forthat to see him trotting off in his trowlers and Simon Dedalus too hewas always turning up half screwed singing the second verse first theold love is the new was one of his so sweetly sang the maiden on thehawthorn bough he was always on for flirtyfying too when I sang Maritanawith him at Freddy Mayers private opera he had a delicious gloriousvoice Phoebe dearest goodbye _sweet_heart sweetheart he always sang itnot like Bartell Darcy sweet tart goodbye of course he had the gift ofthe voice so there was no art in it all over you like a warm showerbathO Maritana wildwood flower we sang splendidly though it was a bit toohigh for my register even transposed and he was married at the time toMay Goulding but then hed say or do something to knock the good out ofit hes a widower now I wonder what sort is his son he says hes an authorand going to be a university professor of Italian and Im to take lessonswhat is he driving at now showing him my photo its not good of me Iought to have got it taken in drapery that never looks out of fashionstill I look young in it I wonder he didnt make him a present of italtogether and me too after all why not I saw him driving down to theKingsbridge station with his father and mother I was in mourning thats11 years ago now yes hed be 11 though what was the good in going intomourning for what was neither one thing nor the other the first cry wasenough for me I heard the deathwatch too ticking in the wall of coursehe insisted hed go into mourning for the cat I suppose hes a man now bythis time he was an innocent boy then and a darling little fellow in hislord Fauntleroy suit and curly hair like a prince on the stage when Isaw him at Mat Dillons he liked me too I remember they all do wait byGod yes wait yes hold on he was on the cards this morning when I laidout the deck union with a young stranger neither dark nor fair you metbefore I thought it meant him but hes no chicken nor a stranger eitherbesides my face was turned the other way what was the 7th card afterthat the 10 of spades for a journey by land then there was a letter onits way and scandals too the 3 queens and the 8 of diamonds for a risein society yes wait it all came out and 2 red 8s for new garments lookat that and didnt I dream something too yes there was something aboutpoetry in it I hope he hasnt long greasy hair hanging into his eyes orstanding up like a red Indian what do they go about like that for onlygetting themselves and their poetry laughed at I always liked poetrywhen I was a girl first I thought he was a poet like lord Byron and notan ounce of it in his composition I thought he was quite different Iwonder is he too young hes about wait 88 I was married 88 Milly is 15yesterday 89 what age was he then at Dillons 5 or 6 about 88 I supposehes 20 or more Im not too old for him if hes 23 or 24 I hope hes notthat stuckup university student sort no otherwise he wouldnt go sittingdown in the old kitchen with him taking Eppss cocoa and talking ofcourse he pretended to understand it all probably he told him he wasout of Trinity college hes very young to be a professor I hope hes nota professor like Goodwin was he was a potent professor of John Jamesonthey all write about some woman in their poetry well I suppose he wontfind many like me where softly sighs of love the light guitar wherepoetry is in the air the blue sea and the moon shining so beautifullycoming back on the nightboat from Tarifa the lighthouse at Europa pointthe guitar that fellow played was so expressive will I ever go backthere again all new faces two glancing eyes a lattice hid Ill sing thatfor him theyre my eyes if hes anything of a poet two eyes as darklybright as loves own star arent those beautiful words as loves young staritll be a change the Lord knows to have an intelligent person to talkto about yourself not always listening to him and Billy Prescotts adand Keyess ad and Tom the Devils ad then if anything goes wrong in theirbusiness we have to suffer Im sure hes very distinguished Id like tomeet a man like that God not those other ruck besides hes young thosefine young men I could see down in Margate strand bathingplace from theside of the rock standing up in the sun naked like a God or somethingand then plunging into the sea with them why arent all men like thatthered be some consolation for a woman like that lovely little statue hebought I could look at him all day long curly head and his shouldershis finger up for you to listen theres real beauty and poetry for youI often felt I wanted to kiss him all over also his lovely young cockthere so simple I wouldnt mind taking him in my mouth if nobody waslooking as if it was asking you to suck it so clean and white he lookswith his boyish face I would too in 1/2 a minute even if some of it wentdown what its only like gruel or the dew theres no danger besides hedbe so clean compared with those pigs of men I suppose never dream ofwashing it from I years end to the other the most of them only thatswhat gives the women the moustaches Im sure itll be grand if I can onlyget in with a handsome young poet at my age Ill throw them the 1st thingin the morning till I see if the wishcard comes out or Ill try pairingthe lady herself and see if he comes out Ill read and study all I canfind or learn a bit off by heart if I knew who he likes so he wont thinkme stupid if he thinks all women are the same and I can teach him theother part Ill make him feel all over him till he half faints underme then hell write about me lover and mistress publicly too with our 2photographs in all the papers when he becomes famous O but then what amI going to do about him though

no thats no way for him has he no manners nor no refinement nor nonothing in his nature slapping us behind like that on my bottom becauseI didnt call him Hugh the ignoramus that doesnt know poetry from acabbage thats what you get for not keeping them in their proper placepulling off his shoes and trousers there on the chair before me sobarefaced without even asking permission and standing out that vulgarway in the half of a shirt they wear to be admired like a priest or abutcher or those old hypocrites in the time of Julius Caesar of coursehes right enough in his way to pass the time as a joke sure you mightas well be in bed with what with a lion God Im sure hed have somethingbetter to say for himself an old Lion would O well I suppose its becausethey were so plump and tempting in my short petticoat he couldnt resistthey excite myself sometimes its well for men all the amount of pleasurethey get off a womans body were so round and white for them always Iwished I was one myself for a change just to try with that thing theyhave swelling up on you so hard and at the same time so soft when youtouch it my uncle John has a thing long I heard those cornerboys sayingpassing the comer of Marrowbone lane my aunt Mary has a thing hairybecause it was dark and they knew a girl was passing it didnt make meblush why should it either its only nature and he puts his thing longinto my aunt Marys hairy etcetera and turns out to be you put the handlein a sweepingbrush men again all over they can pick and choose what theyplease a married woman or a fast widow or a girl for their differenttastes like those houses round behind Irish street no but were to bealways chained up theyre not going to be chaining me up no damn fearonce I start I tell you for their stupid husbands jealousy why cant weall remain friends over it instead of quarrelling her husband found itout what they did together well naturally and if he did can he undo ithes coronado anyway whatever he does and then he going to the othermad extreme about the wife in Fair Tyrants of course the man never evencasts a 2nd thought on the husband or wife either its the woman he wantsand he gets her what else were we given all those desires for Id like toknow I cant help it if Im young still can I its a wonder Im not an oldshrivelled hag before my time living with him so cold never embracingme except sometimes when hes asleep the wrong end of me not knowing Isuppose who he has any man thatd kiss a womans bottom Id throw my hat athim after that hed kiss anything unnatural where we havent I atom of anykind of expression in us all of us the same 2 lumps of lard before everId do that to a man pfooh the dirty brutes the mere thought is enoughI kiss the feet of you senorita theres some sense in that didnt he kissour halldoor yes he did what a madman nobody understands his crackedideas but me still of course a woman wants to be embraced 20 times a dayalmost to make her look young no matter by who so long as to be in loveor loved by somebody if the fellow you want isnt there sometimes by theLord God I was thinking would I go around by the quays there some darkevening where nobodyd know me and pick up a sailor off the sea thatd behot on for it and not care a pin whose I was only do it off up in a gatesomewhere or one of those wildlooking gipsies in Rathfarnham had theircamp pitched near the Bloomfield laundry to try and steal our things ifthey could I only sent mine there a few times for the name modellaundry sending me back over and over some old ones odd stockings thatblackguardlooking fellow with the fine eyes peeling a switch attack mein the dark and ride me up against the wall without a word or a murdereranybody what they do themselves the fine gentlemen in their silk hatsthat K C lives up somewhere this way coming out of Hardwicke lane thenight he gave us the fish supper on account of winning over the boxingmatch of course it was for me he gave it I knew him by his gaiters andthe walk and when I turned round a minute after just to see there wasa woman after coming out of it too some filthy prostitute then he goeshome to his wife after that only I suppose the half of those sailors arerotten again with disease O move over your big carcass out of that forthe love of Mike listen to him the winds that waft my sighs to thee sowell he may sleep and sigh the great Suggester Don Poldo de la Flora ifhe knew how he came out on the cards this morning hed have something tosigh for a dark man in some perplexity between 2 7s too in prison forLord knows what he does that I dont know and Im to be slooching arounddown in the kitchen to get his lordship his breakfast while hes rolledup like a mummy will I indeed did you ever see me running Id just liketo see myself at it show them attention and they treat you like dirtI dont care what anybody says itd be much better for the world to begoverned by the women in it you wouldnt see women going and killing oneanother and slaughtering when do you ever see women rolling around drunklike they do or gambling every penny they have and losing it on horsesyes because a woman whatever she does she knows where to stop sure theywouldnt be in the world at all only for us they dont know what it is tobe a woman and a mother how could they where would they all of them beif they hadnt all a mother to look after them what I never had thatswhy I suppose hes running wild now out at night away from his booksand studies and not living at home on account of the usual rowy house Isuppose well its a poor case that those that have a fine son like thattheyre not satisfied and I none was he not able to make one it wasnt myfault we came together when I was watching the two dogs up in her behindin the middle of the naked street that disheartened me altogether Isuppose I oughtnt to have buried him in that little woolly jacket Iknitted crying as I was but give it to some poor child but I knew wellId never have another our 1st death too it was we were never the samesince O Im not going to think myself into the glooms about that anymore I wonder why he wouldnt stay the night I felt all the time it wassomebody strange he brought in instead of roving around the city meetingGod knows who nightwalkers and pickpockets his poor mother wouldntlike that if she was alive ruining himself for life perhaps still its alovely hour so silent I used to love coming home after dances the air ofthe night they have friends they can talk to weve none either he wantswhat he wont get or its some woman ready to stick her knife in you Ihate that in women no wonder they treat us the way they do we are adreadful lot of bitches I suppose its all the troubles we have makes usso snappy Im not like that he could easy have slept in there on the sofain the other room I suppose he was as shy as a boy he being so younghardly 20 of me in the next room hed have heard me on the chamber arrahwhat harm Dedalus I wonder its like those names in Gibraltar DelapazDelagracia they had the devils queer names there father Vilaplana ofSanta Maria that gave me the rosary Rosales y OReilly in the Calle lasSiete Revueltas and Pisimbo and Mrs Opisso in Governor street O what aname Id go and drown myself in the first river if I had a name likeher O my and all the bits of streets Paradise ramp and Bedlam ramp andRodgers ramp and Crutchetts ramp and the devils gap steps well smallblame to me if I am a harumscarum I know I am a bit I declare to God Idont feel a day older than then I wonder could I get my tongue roundany of the Spanish como esta usted muy bien gracias y usted see I haventforgotten it all I thought I had only for the grammar a noun is thename of any person place or thing pity I never tried to read that novelcantankerous Mrs Rubio lent me by Valera with the questions in it allupside down the two ways I always knew wed go away in the end I cantell him the Spanish and he tell me the Italian then hell see Im notso ignorant what a pity he didnt stay Im sure the poor fellow was deadtired and wanted a good sleep badly I could have brought him in hisbreakfast in bed with a bit of toast so long as I didnt do it onthe knife for bad luck or if the woman was going her rounds with thewatercress and something nice and tasty there are a few olives in thekitchen he might like I never could bear the look of them in AbrinesI could do the criada the room looks all right since I changed it theother way you see something was telling me all the time Id have tointroduce myself not knowing me from Adam very funny wouldnt it Im hiswife or pretend we were in Spain with him half awake without a Godsnotion where he is dos huevos estrellados senor Lord the cracked thingscome into my head sometimes itd be great fun supposing he stayed with uswhy not theres the room upstairs empty and Millys bed in the back roomhe could do his writing and studies at the table in there for all thescribbling he does at it and if he wants to read in bed in the morninglike me as hes making the breakfast for I he can make it for 2 Im sureIm not going to take in lodgers off the street for him if he takesa gesabo of a house like this Id love to have a long talk with anintelligent welleducated person Id have to get a nice pair of redslippers like those Turks with the fez used to sell or yellow and anice semitransparent morning gown that I badly want or a peachblossomdressing jacket like the one long ago in Walpoles only 8/6 or 18/6 Illjust give him one more chance Ill get up early in the morning Im sick ofCohens old bed in any case I might go over to the markets to see allthe vegetables and cabbages and tomatoes and carrots and all kinds ofsplendid fruits all coming in lovely and fresh who knows whod be the 1stman Id meet theyre out looking for it in the morning Mamy Dillon usedto say they are and the night too that was her massgoing Id love abig juicy pear now to melt in your mouth like when I used to be in thelonging way then Ill throw him up his eggs and tea in the moustachecupshe gave him to make his mouth bigger I suppose hed like my nice creamtoo I know what Ill do Ill go about rather gay not too much singing abit now and then mi fa pieta Masetto then Ill start dressing myself togo out presto non son piu forte Ill put on my best shift and drawers lethim have a good eyeful out of that to make his micky stand for him Illlet him know if thats what he wanted that his wife is I s l o fucked yesand damn well fucked too up to my neck nearly not by him 5 or 6 timeshandrunning theres the mark of his spunk on the clean sheet I wouldntbother to even iron it out that ought to satisfy him if you dont believeme feel my belly unless I made him stand there and put him into me Ive amind to tell him every scrap and make him do it out in front of me servehim right its all his own fault if I am an adulteress as the thing inthe gallery said O much about it if thats all the harm ever we did inthis vale of tears God knows its not much doesnt everybody only theyhide it I suppose thats what a woman is supposed to be there for orHe wouldnt have made us the way He did so attractive to men then if hewants to kiss my bottom Ill drag open my drawers and bulge it right outin his face as large as life he can stick his tongue 7 miles up my holeas hes there my brown part then Ill tell him I want LI or perhaps 30/-Ill tell him I want to buy underclothes then if he gives me that well hewont be too bad I dont want to soak it all out of him like other womendo I could often have written out a fine cheque for myself and write hisname on it for a couple of pounds a few times he forgot to lock it upbesides he wont spend it Ill let him do it off on me behind provided hedoesnt smear all my good drawers O I suppose that cant be helped Ill dothe indifferent l or 2 questions Ill know by the answers when hes likethat he cant keep a thing back I know every turn in him Ill tighten mybottom well and let out a few smutty words smellrump or lick my shit orthe first mad thing comes into my head then Ill suggest about yes O waitnow sonny my turn is coming Ill be quite gay and friendly over it Obut I was forgetting this bloody pest of a thing pfooh you wouldnt knowwhich to laugh or cry were such a mixture of plum and apple no Ill haveto wear the old things so much the better itll be more pointed hellnever know whether he did it or not there thats good enough for youany old thing at all then Ill wipe him off me just like a business hisomission then Ill go out Ill have him eying up at the ceiling where isshe gone now make him want me thats the only way a quarter after what anunearthly hour I suppose theyre just getting up in China now combing outtheir pigtails for the day well soon have the nuns ringing the angelustheyve nobody coming in to spoil their sleep except an odd priest or twofor his night office or the alarmclock next door at cockshout clatteringthe brains out of itself let me see if I can doze off 1 2 3 4 5 whatkind of flowers are those they invented like the stars the wallpaperin Lombard street was much nicer the apron he gave me was like thatsomething only I only wore it twice better lower this lamp and try againso as I can get up early Ill go to Lambes there beside Findlaters andget them to send us some flowers to put about the place in case hebrings him home tomorrow today I mean no no Fridays an unlucky day firstI want to do the place up someway the dust grows in it I think while Imasleep then we can have music and cigarettes I can accompany him first Imust clean the keys of the piano with milk whatll I wear shall I weara white rose or those fairy cakes in Liptons I love the smell of a richbig shop at 7 1/2d a lb or the other ones with the cherries in themand the pinky sugar I Id a couple of lbs of those a nice plant for themiddle of the table Id get that cheaper in wait wheres this I saw themnot long ago I love flowers Id love to have the whole place swimming inroses God of heaven theres nothing like nature the wild mountains thenthe sea and the waves rushing then the beautiful country with the fieldsof oats and wheat and all kinds of things and all the fine cattle goingabout that would do your heart good to see rivers and lakes and flowersall sorts of shapes and smells and colours springing up even out of theditches primroses and violets nature it is as for them saying theres noGod I wouldnt give a snap of my two fingers for all their learning whydont they go and create something I often asked him atheists or whateverthey call themselves go and wash the cobbles off themselves first thenthey go howling for the priest and they dying and why why because theyreafraid of hell on account of their bad conscience ah yes I know themwell who was the first person in the universe before there was anybodythat made it all who ah that they dont know neither do I so there youare they might as well try to stop the sun from rising tomorrow the sunshines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons onHowth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him topropose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouthand it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that longkiss I near lost my breath yes he said I was a flower of the mountainyes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was one true thing hesaid in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why Iliked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knewI could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I couldleading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldnt answer firstonly looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so manythings he didnt know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father andold captain Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I say stoopand washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in frontof the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devilhalf roasted and the Spanish girls laughing in their shawls and theirtall combs and the auctions in the morning the Greeks and the jews andthe Arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe andDuke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby Sharonsand the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in thecloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the cartsof the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and thosehandsome Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sitdown in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old windows of theposadas 2 glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the ironand the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night wemissed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going about serene with hislamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimsonsometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in theAlameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and the pinkand blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine andgeraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flowerof the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusiangirls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under theMoorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I askedhim with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes tosay yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes anddrew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and hisheart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes. 

Trieste-Zurich-Paris 1914-1921