7. Aeolus
Link every word (may take a few seconds)
[5351][ 7 ]
[5352]
[5353]IN THE HEART OF THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS
[5354]
[5355]Before Nelson’s pillar trams slowed, shunted, changed trolley, started
[5356]for Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Clonskea, Rathgar and Terenure,
[5357]Palmerston Park and upper Rathmines, Sandymount Green, Rathmines,
[5358]Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Harold’s Cross. The hoarse Dublin
[5359]United Tramway Company’s timekeeper bawled them off:
[5360]
[5361]—Rathgar and Terenure!
[5362]
[5363]—Come on, Sandymount Green!
[5364]
[5365]Right and left parallel clanging ringing a doubledecker and a singledeck
[5366]moved from their railheads, swerved to the down line, glided parallel.
[5367]
[5368]—Start, Palmerston Park!
[5369]
[5370]THE WEARER OF THE CROWN
[5371]
[5372]Under the porch of the general post office shoeblacks called and
[5373]polished. Parked in North Prince’s street His Majesty’s vermilion
[5374]mailcars, bearing on their sides the royal initials, E. R., received
[5375]loudly flung sacks of letters, postcards, lettercards, parcels, insured
[5376]and paid, for local, provincial, British and overseas delivery.
[5377]
[5378]GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS
[5379]
[5380]Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince’s stores
[5381]and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped
[5382]dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince’s
[5383]stores.
[5384]
[5385]—There it is, Red Murray said. Alexander Keyes.
[5386]
[5387]—Just cut it out, will you? Mr Bloom said, and I’ll take it round to
[5388]the Telegraph office.
[5389]
[5390]The door of Ruttledge’s office creaked again. Davy Stephens, minute
[5391]in a large capecoat, a small felt hat crowning his ringlets, passed out
[5392]with a roll of papers under his cape, a king’s courier.
[5393]
[5394]Red Murray’s long shears sliced out the advertisement from the
[5395]newspaper in four clean strokes. Scissors and paste.
[5396]
[5397]—I’ll go through the printingworks, Mr Bloom said, taking the cut
[5398]square.
[5399]
[5400]—Of course, if he wants a par, Red Murray said earnestly, a pen behind
[5401]his ear, we can do him one.
[5402]
[5403]—Right, Mr Bloom said with a nod. I’ll rub that in.
[5404]
[5405]We.
[5406]
[5407]WILLIAM BRAYDEN, ESQUIRE, OF OAKLANDS, SANDYMOUNT
[5408]
[5409]Red Murray touched Mr Bloom’s arm with the shears and whispered:
[5410]
[5411]—Brayden.
[5412]
[5413]Mr Bloom turned and saw the liveried porter raise his lettered cap as a
[5414]stately figure entered between the newsboards of the Weekly Freeman
[5415]and National Press and the Freeman’s Journal and National Press.
[5416]Dullthudding Guinness’s barrels. It passed statelily up the staircase,
[5417]steered by an umbrella, a solemn beardframed face. The broadcloth back
[5418]ascended each step: back. All his brains are in the nape of his neck,
[5419]Simon Dedalus says. Welts of flesh behind on him. Fat folds of neck,
[5420]fat, neck, fat, neck.
[5421]
[5422]—Don’t you think his face is like Our Saviour? Red Murray whispered.
[5423]
[5424]The door of Ruttledge’s office whispered: ee: cree. They always build
[5425]one door opposite another for the wind to. Way in. Way out.
[5426]
[5427]Our Saviour: beardframed oval face: talking in the dusk. Mary, Martha.
[5428]Steered by an umbrella sword to the footlights: Mario the tenor.
[5429]
[5430]—Or like Mario, Mr Bloom said.
[5431]
[5432]—Yes, Red Murray agreed. But Mario was said to be the picture of Our
[5433]Saviour.
[5434]
[5435]Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. Hand on his
[5436]heart. In Martha.
[5437]
[5438] Co-ome thou lost one,
[5439] Co-ome thou dear one!
[5440]THE CROZIER AND THE PEN
[5441]
[5442]—His grace phoned down twice this morning, Red Murray said gravely.
[5443]
[5444]They watched the knees, legs, boots vanish. Neck.
[5445]
[5446]A telegram boy stepped in nimbly, threw an envelope on the counter and
[5447]stepped off posthaste with a word:
[5448]
[5449]—Freeman!
[5450]
[5451]Mr Bloom said slowly:
[5452]
[5453]—Well, he is one of our saviours also.
[5454]
[5455]A meek smile accompanied him as he lifted the counterflap, as he passed
[5456]in through a sidedoor and along the warm dark stairs and passage,
[5457]along the now reverberating boards. But will he save the circulation?
[5458]Thumping. Thumping.
[5459]
[5460]He pushed in the glass swingdoor and entered, stepping over strewn
[5461]packing paper. Through a lane of clanking drums he made his way towards
[5462]Nannetti’s reading closet.
[5463]
[5464]WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT IS WE ANNOUNCE THE DISSOLUTION OF A MOST
[5465]RESPECTED DUBLIN BURGESS
[5466]
[5467]Hynes here too: account of the funeral probably. Thumping. Thump. This
[5468]morning the remains of the late Mr Patrick Dignam. Machines. Smash a man
[5469]to atoms if they got him caught. Rule the world today. His machineries
[5470]are pegging away too. Like these, got out of hand: fermenting. Working
[5471]away, tearing away. And that old grey rat tearing to get in.
[5472]
[5473]HOW A GREAT DAILY ORGAN IS TURNED OUT
[5474]
[5475]Mr Bloom halted behind the foreman’s spare body, admiring a glossy
[5476]crown.
[5477]
[5478]Strange he never saw his real country. Ireland my country. Member for
[5479]College green. He boomed that workaday worker tack for all it was worth.
[5480]It’s the ads and side features sell a weekly, not the stale news in
[5481]the official gazette. Queen Anne is dead. Published by authority in the
[5482]year one thousand and. Demesne situate in the townland of Rosenallis,
[5483]barony of Tinnahinch. To all whom it may concern schedule pursuant to
[5484]statute showing return of number of mules and jennets exported from
[5485]Ballina. Nature notes. Cartoons. Phil Blake’s weekly Pat and Bull
[5486]story. Uncle Toby’s page for tiny tots. Country bumpkin’s queries.
[5487]Dear Mr Editor, what is a good cure for flatulence? I’d like that
[5488]part. Learn a lot teaching others. The personal note. M. A. P. Mainly
[5489]all pictures. Shapely bathers on golden strand. World’s biggest
[5490]balloon. Double marriage of sisters celebrated. Two bridegrooms laughing
[5491]heartily at each other. Cuprani too, printer. More Irish than the Irish.
[5492]
[5493]The machines clanked in threefour time. Thump, thump, thump. Now if he
[5494]got paralysed there and no-one knew how to stop them they’d clank on
[5495]and on the same, print it over and over and up and back. Monkeydoodle
[5496]the whole thing. Want a cool head.
[5497]
[5498]—Well, get it into the evening edition, councillor, Hynes said.
[5499]
[5500]Soon be calling him my lord mayor. Long John is backing him, they say.
[5501]
[5502]The foreman, without answering, scribbled press on a corner of the sheet
[5503]and made a sign to a typesetter. He handed the sheet silently over the
[5504]dirty glass screen.
[5505]
[5506]—Right: thanks, Hynes said moving off.
[5507]
[5508]Mr Bloom stood in his way.
[5509]
[5510]—If you want to draw the cashier is just going to lunch, he said,
[5511]pointing backward with his thumb.
[5512]
[5513]—Did you? Hynes asked.
[5514]
[5515]—Mm, Mr Bloom said. Look sharp and you’ll catch him.
[5516]
[5517]—Thanks, old man, Hynes said. I’ll tap him too.
[5518]
[5519]He hurried on eagerly towards the Freeman’s Journal.
[5520]
[5521]Three bob I lent him in Meagher’s. Three weeks. Third hint.
[5522]
[5523]WE SEE THE CANVASSER AT WORK
[5524]
[5525]Mr Bloom laid his cutting on Mr Nannetti’s desk.
[5526]
[5527]—Excuse me, councillor, he said. This ad, you see. Keyes, you
[5528]remember?
[5529]
[5530]Mr Nannetti considered the cutting awhile and nodded.
[5531]
[5532]—He wants it in for July, Mr Bloom said.
[5533]
[5534]The foreman moved his pencil towards it.
[5535]
[5536]—But wait, Mr Bloom said. He wants it changed. Keyes, you see. He
[5537]wants two keys at the top.
[5538]
[5539]Hell of a racket they make. He doesn’t hear it. Nannan. Iron nerves.
[5540]Maybe he understands what I.
[5541]
[5542]The foreman turned round to hear patiently and, lifting an elbow, began
[5543]to scratch slowly in the armpit of his alpaca jacket.
[5544]
[5545]—Like that, Mr Bloom said, crossing his forefingers at the top.
[5546]
[5547]Let him take that in first.
[5548]
[5549]Mr Bloom, glancing sideways up from the cross he had made, saw the
[5550]foreman’s sallow face, think he has a touch of jaundice, and beyond
[5551]the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. Clank it. Clank
[5552]it. Miles of it unreeled. What becomes of it after? O, wrap up meat,
[5553]parcels: various uses, thousand and one things.
[5554]
[5555]Slipping his words deftly into the pauses of the clanking he drew
[5556]swiftly on the scarred woodwork.
[5557]
[5558]HOUSE OF KEY(E)S
[5559]
[5560]—Like that, see. Two crossed keys here. A circle. Then here the name.
[5561]Alexander Keyes, tea, wine and spirit merchant. So on.
[5562]
[5563]Better not teach him his own business.
[5564]
[5565]—You know yourself, councillor, just what he wants. Then round the
[5566]top in leaded: the house of keys. You see? Do you think that’s a good
[5567]idea?
[5568]
[5569]The foreman moved his scratching hand to his lower ribs and scratched
[5570]there quietly.
[5571]
[5572]—The idea, Mr Bloom said, is the house of keys. You know, councillor,
[5573]the Manx parliament. Innuendo of home rule. Tourists, you know, from the
[5574]isle of Man. Catches the eye, you see. Can you do that?
[5575]
[5576]I could ask him perhaps about how to pronounce that voglio. But then if
[5577]he didn’t know only make it awkward for him. Better not.
[5578]
[5579]—We can do that, the foreman said. Have you the design?
[5580]
[5581]—I can get it, Mr Bloom said. It was in a Kilkenny paper. He has a
[5582]house there too. I’ll just run out and ask him. Well, you can do that
[5583]and just a little par calling attention. You know the usual. Highclass
[5584]licensed premises. Longfelt want. So on.
[5585]
[5586]The foreman thought for an instant.
[5587]
[5588]—We can do that, he said. Let him give us a three months’ renewal.
[5589]
[5590]A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage. He began to check it
[5591]silently. Mr Bloom stood by, hearing the loud throbs of cranks, watching
[5592]the silent typesetters at their cases.
[5593]
[5594]ORTHOGRAPHICAL
[5595]
[5596]Want to be sure of his spelling. Proof fever. Martin Cunningham forgot
[5597]to give us his spellingbee conundrum this morning. It is amusing to view
[5598]the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it? double ess ment of a
[5599]harassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a y of a peeled pear
[5600]under a cemetery wall. Silly, isn’t it? Cemetery put in of course on
[5601]account of the symmetry.
[5602]
[5603]I should have said when he clapped on his topper. Thank you. I ought
[5604]to have said something about an old hat or something. No. I could have
[5605]said. Looks as good as new now. See his phiz then.
[5606]
[5607]Sllt. The nethermost deck of the first machine jogged forward its
[5608]flyboard with sllt the first batch of quirefolded papers. Sllt. Almost
[5609]human the way it sllt to call attention. Doing its level best to speak.
[5610]That door too sllt creaking, asking to be shut. Everything speaks in its
[5611]own way. Sllt.
[5612]
[5613]NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR
[5614]
[5615]The foreman handed back the galleypage suddenly, saying:
[5616]
[5617]—Wait. Where’s the archbishop’s letter? It’s to be repeated in
[5618]the Telegraph. Where’s what’s his name?
[5619]
[5620]He looked about him round his loud unanswering machines.
[5621]
[5622]—Monks, sir? a voice asked from the castingbox.
[5623]
[5624]—Ay. Where’s Monks?
[5625]
[5626]—Monks!
[5627]
[5628]Mr Bloom took up his cutting. Time to get out.
[5629]
[5630]—Then I’ll get the design, Mr Nannetti, he said, and you’ll give
[5631]it a good place I know.
[5632]
[5633]—Monks!
[5634]
[5635]—Yes, sir.
[5636]
[5637]Three months’ renewal. Want to get some wind off my chest first.
[5638]Try it anyhow. Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month. Ballsbridge.
[5639]Tourists over for the show.
[5640]
[5641]A DAYFATHER
[5642]
[5643]He walked on through the caseroom passing an old man, bowed, spectacled,
[5644]aproned. Old Monks, the dayfather. Queer lot of stuff he must have put
[5645]through his hands in his time: obituary notices, pubs’ ads, speeches,
[5646]divorce suits, found drowned. Nearing the end of his tether now. Sober
[5647]serious man with a bit in the savingsbank I’d say. Wife a good cook
[5648]and washer. Daughter working the machine in the parlour. Plain Jane, no
[5649]damn nonsense.
[5650]
[5651]AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER
[5652]
[5653]He stayed in his walk to watch a typesetter neatly distributing type.
[5654]Reads it backwards first. Quickly he does it. Must require some practice
[5655]that. mangiD kcirtaP. Poor papa with his hagadah book, reading backwards
[5656]with his finger to me. Pessach. Next year in Jerusalem. Dear, O dear!
[5657]All that long business about that brought us out of the land of Egypt
[5658]and into the house of bondage alleluia. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu. No,
[5659]that’s the other. Then the twelve brothers, Jacob’s sons. And then
[5660]the lamb and the cat and the dog and the stick and the water and the
[5661]butcher. And then the angel of death kills the butcher and he kills the
[5662]ox and the dog kills the cat. Sounds a bit silly till you come to look
[5663]into it well. Justice it means but it’s everybody eating everyone
[5664]else. That’s what life is after all. How quickly he does that job.
[5665]Practice makes perfect. Seems to see with his fingers.
[5666]
[5667]Mr Bloom passed on out of the clanking noises through the gallery on to
[5668]the landing. Now am I going to tram it out all the way and then catch
[5669]him out perhaps. Better phone him up first. Number? Yes. Same as
[5670]Citron’s house. Twentyeight. Twentyeight double four.
[5671]
[5672]ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP
[5673]
[5674]He went down the house staircase. Who the deuce scrawled all over those
[5675]walls with matches? Looks as if they did it for a bet. Heavy greasy
[5676]smell there always is in those works. Lukewarm glue in Thom’s next
[5677]door when I was there.
[5678]
[5679]He took out his handkerchief to dab his nose. Citronlemon? Ah, the soap
[5680]I put there. Lose it out of that pocket. Putting back his handkerchief
[5681]he took out the soap and stowed it away, buttoned, into the hip pocket
[5682]of his trousers.
[5683]
[5684]What perfume does your wife use? I could go home still: tram: something
[5685]I forgot. Just to see: before: dressing. No. Here. No.
[5686]
[5687]A sudden screech of laughter came from the Evening Telegraph office.
[5688]Know who that is. What’s up? Pop in a minute to phone. Ned Lambert it
[5689]is.
[5690]
[5691]He entered softly.
[5692]
[5693]ERIN, GREEN GEM OF THE SILVER SEA
[5694]
[5695]—The ghost walks, professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to
[5696]the dusty windowpane.
[5697]
[5698]Mr Dedalus, staring from the empty fireplace at Ned Lambert’s quizzing
[5699]face, asked of it sourly:
[5700]
[5701]—Agonising Christ, wouldn’t it give you a heartburn on your arse?
[5702]
[5703]Ned Lambert, seated on the table, read on:
[5704]
[5705]—Or again, note the meanderings of some purling rill as it babbles on
[5706]its way, tho’ quarrelling with the stony obstacles, to the tumbling
[5707]waters of Neptune’s blue domain, ’mid mossy banks, fanned by
[5708]gentlest zephyrs, played on by the glorious sunlight or ’neath the
[5709]shadows cast o’er its pensive bosom by the overarching leafage of the
[5710]giants of the forest. What about that, Simon? he asked over the fringe
[5711]of his newspaper. How’s that for high?
[5712]
[5713]—Changing his drink, Mr Dedalus said.
[5714]
[5715]Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper on his knees, repeating:
[5716]
[5717]—The pensive bosom and the overarsing leafage. O boys! O boys!
[5718]
[5719]—And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Dedalus said, looking again on
[5720]the fireplace and to the window, and Marathon looked on the sea.
[5721]
[5722]—That will do, professor MacHugh cried from the window. I don’t want
[5723]to hear any more of the stuff.
[5724]
[5725]He ate off the crescent of water biscuit he had been nibbling and,
[5726]hungered, made ready to nibble the biscuit in his other hand.
[5727]
[5728]High falutin stuff. Bladderbags. Ned Lambert is taking a day off I see.
[5729]Rather upsets a man’s day, a funeral does. He has influence they
[5730]say. Old Chatterton, the vicechancellor, is his granduncle or his
[5731]greatgranduncle. Close on ninety they say. Subleader for his death
[5732]written this long time perhaps. Living to spite them. Might go first
[5733]himself. Johnny, make room for your uncle. The right honourable Hedges
[5734]Eyre Chatterton. Daresay he writes him an odd shaky cheque or two on
[5735]gale days. Windfall when he kicks out. Alleluia.
[5736]
[5737]—Just another spasm, Ned Lambert said.
[5738]
[5739]—What is it? Mr Bloom asked.
[5740]
[5741]—A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh answered
[5742]with pomp of tone. Our lovely land.
[5743]
[5744]SHORT BUT TO THE POINT
[5745]
[5746]—Whose land? Mr Bloom said simply.
[5747]
[5748]—Most pertinent question, the professor said between his chews. With
[5749]an accent on the whose.
[5750]
[5751]—Dan Dawson’s land Mr Dedalus said.
[5752]
[5753]—Is it his speech last night? Mr Bloom asked.
[5754]
[5755]Ned Lambert nodded.
[5756]
[5757]—But listen to this, he said.
[5758]
[5759]The doorknob hit Mr Bloom in the small of the back as the door was
[5760]pushed in.
[5761]
[5762]—Excuse me, J. J. O’Molloy said, entering.
[5763]
[5764]Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside.
[5765]
[5766]—I beg yours, he said.
[5767]
[5768]—Good day, Jack.
[5769]
[5770]—Come in. Come in.
[5771]
[5772]—Good day.
[5773]
[5774]—How are you, Dedalus?
[5775]
[5776]—Well. And yourself?
[5777]
[5778]J. J. O’Molloy shook his head.
[5779]
[5780]SAD
[5781]
[5782]Cleverest fellow at the junior bar he used to be. Decline, poor chap.
[5783]That hectic flush spells finis for a man. Touch and go with him.
[5784]What’s in the wind, I wonder. Money worry.
[5785]
[5786]—Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks.
[5787]
[5788]—You’re looking extra.
[5789]
[5790]—Is the editor to be seen? J. J. O’Molloy asked, looking towards the
[5791]inner door.
[5792]
[5793]—Very much so, professor MacHugh said. To be seen and heard. He’s in
[5794]his sanctum with Lenehan.
[5795]
[5796]J. J. O’Molloy strolled to the sloping desk and began to turn back the
[5797]pink pages of the file.
[5798]
[5799]Practice dwindling. A mighthavebeen. Losing heart. Gambling. Debts of
[5800]honour. Reaping the whirlwind. Used to get good retainers from D. and T.
[5801]Fitzgerald. Their wigs to show the grey matter. Brains on their sleeve
[5802]like the statue in Glasnevin. Believe he does some literary work for the
[5803]Express with Gabriel Conroy. Wellread fellow. Myles Crawford began on
[5804]the Independent. Funny the way those newspaper men veer about when
[5805]they get wind of a new opening. Weathercocks. Hot and cold in the same
[5806]breath. Wouldn’t know which to believe. One story good till you hear
[5807]the next. Go for one another baldheaded in the papers and then all blows
[5808]over. Hail fellow well met the next moment.
[5809]
[5810]—Ah, listen to this for God’ sake, Ned Lambert pleaded. Or again if
[5811]we but climb the serried mountain peaks...
[5812]
[5813]—Bombast! the professor broke in testily. Enough of the inflated
[5814]windbag!
[5815]
[5816]—Peaks, Ned Lambert went on, towering high on high, to bathe our
[5817]souls, as it were...
[5818]
[5819]—Bathe his lips, Mr Dedalus said. Blessed and eternal God! Yes? Is he
[5820]taking anything for it?
[5821]
[5822]—As ’twere, in the peerless panorama of Ireland’s portfolio,
[5823]unmatched, despite their wellpraised prototypes in other vaunted prize
[5824]regions, for very beauty, of bosky grove and undulating plain and
[5825]luscious pastureland of vernal green, steeped in the transcendent
[5826]translucent glow of our mild mysterious Irish twilight...
[5827]
[5828]HIS NATIVE DORIC
[5829]
[5830]—The moon, professor MacHugh said. He forgot Hamlet.
[5831]
[5832]—That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of
[5833]the moon shine forth to irradiate her silver effulgence...
[5834]
[5835]—O! Mr Dedalus cried, giving vent to a hopeless groan. Shite and
[5836]onions! That’ll do, Ned. Life is too short.
[5837]
[5838]He took off his silk hat and, blowing out impatiently his bushy
[5839]moustache, welshcombed his hair with raking fingers.
[5840]
[5841]Ned Lambert tossed the newspaper aside, chuckling with delight. An
[5842]instant after a hoarse bark of laughter burst over professor MacHugh’s
[5843]unshaven blackspectacled face.
[5844]
[5845]—Doughy Daw! he cried.
[5846]
[5847]WHAT WETHERUP SAID
[5848]
[5849]All very fine to jeer at it now in cold print but it goes down like hot
[5850]cake that stuff. He was in the bakery line too, wasn’t he? Why they
[5851]call him Doughy Daw. Feathered his nest well anyhow. Daughter engaged
[5852]to that chap in the inland revenue office with the motor. Hooked that
[5853]nicely. Entertainments. Open house. Big blowout. Wetherup always said
[5854]that. Get a grip of them by the stomach.
[5855]
[5856]The inner door was opened violently and a scarlet beaked face, crested
[5857]by a comb of feathery hair, thrust itself in. The bold blue eyes stared
[5858]about them and the harsh voice asked:
[5859]
[5860]—What is it?
[5861]
[5862]—And here comes the sham squire himself! professor MacHugh said
[5863]grandly.
[5864]
[5865]—Getonouthat, you bloody old pedagogue! the editor said in
[5866]recognition.
[5867]
[5868]—Come, Ned, Mr Dedalus said, putting on his hat. I must get a drink
[5869]after that.
[5870]
[5871]—Drink! the editor cried. No drinks served before mass.
[5872]
[5873]—Quite right too, Mr Dedalus said, going out. Come on, Ned.
[5874]
[5875]Ned Lambert sidled down from the table. The editor’s blue eyes roved
[5876]towards Mr Bloom’s face, shadowed by a smile.
[5877]
[5878]—Will you join us, Myles? Ned Lambert asked.
[5879]
[5880]MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED
[5881]
[5882]—North Cork militia! the editor cried, striding to the mantelpiece. We
[5883]won every time! North Cork and Spanish officers!
[5884]
[5885]—Where was that, Myles? Ned Lambert asked with a reflective glance at
[5886]his toecaps.
[5887]
[5888]—In Ohio! the editor shouted.
[5889]
[5890]—So it was, begad, Ned Lambert agreed.
[5891]
[5892]Passing out he whispered to J. J. O’Molloy:
[5893]
[5894]—Incipient jigs. Sad case.
[5895]
[5896]—Ohio! the editor crowed in high treble from his uplifted scarlet
[5897]face. My Ohio!
[5898]
[5899]—A perfect cretic! the professor said. Long, short and long.
[5900]
[5901]O, HARP EOLIAN!
[5902]
[5903]He took a reel of dental floss from his waistcoat pocket and, breaking
[5904]off a piece, twanged it smartly between two and two of his resonant
[5905]unwashed teeth.
[5906]
[5907]—Bingbang, bangbang.
[5908]
[5909]Mr Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made for the inner door.
[5910]
[5911]—Just a moment, Mr Crawford, he said. I just want to phone about an
[5912]ad.
[5913]
[5914]He went in.
[5915]
[5916]—What about that leader this evening? professor MacHugh asked, coming
[5917]to the editor and laying a firm hand on his shoulder.
[5918]
[5919]—That’ll be all right, Myles Crawford said more calmly. Never you
[5920]fret. Hello, Jack. That’s all right.
[5921]
[5922]—Good day, Myles, J. J. O’Molloy said, letting the pages he held
[5923]slip limply back on the file. Is that Canada swindle case on today?
[5924]
[5925]The telephone whirred inside.
[5926]
[5927]—Twentyeight... No, twenty... Double four... Yes.
[5928]
[5929]SPOT THE WINNER
[5930]
[5931]Lenehan came out of the inner office with Sport’s tissues.
[5932]
[5933]—Who wants a dead cert for the Gold cup? he asked. Sceptre with O.
[5934]Madden up.
[5935]
[5936]He tossed the tissues on to the table.
[5937]
[5938]Screams of newsboys barefoot in the hall rushed near and the door was
[5939]flung open.
[5940]
[5941]—Hush, Lenehan said. I hear feetstoops.
[5942]
[5943]Professor MacHugh strode across the room and seized the cringing urchin
[5944]by the collar as the others scampered out of the hall and down the
[5945]steps. The tissues rustled up in the draught, floated softly in the air
[5946]blue scrawls and under the table came to earth.
[5947]
[5948]—It wasn’t me, sir. It was the big fellow shoved me, sir.
[5949]
[5950]—Throw him out and shut the door, the editor said. There’s a
[5951]hurricane blowing.
[5952]
[5953]Lenehan began to paw the tissues up from the floor, grunting as he
[5954]stooped twice.
[5955]
[5956]—Waiting for the racing special, sir, the newsboy said. It was Pat
[5957]Farrell shoved me, sir.
[5958]
[5959]He pointed to two faces peering in round the doorframe.
[5960]
[5961]—Him, sir.
[5962]
[5963]—Out of this with you, professor MacHugh said gruffly.
[5964]
[5965]He hustled the boy out and banged the door to.
[5966]
[5967]J. J. O’Molloy turned the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking:
[5968]
[5969]—Continued on page six, column four.
[5970]
[5971]—Yes, Evening Telegraph here, Mr Bloom phoned from the inner office.
[5972]Is the boss...? Yes, Telegraph... To where? Aha! Which auction rooms?...
[5973]Aha! I see... Right. I’ll catch him.
[5974]
[5975]A COLLISION ENSUES
[5976]
[5977]The bell whirred again as he rang off. He came in quickly and bumped
[5978]against Lenehan who was struggling up with the second tissue.
[5979]
[5980]—Pardon, monsieur, Lenehan said, clutching him for an instant and
[5981]making a grimace.
[5982]
[5983]—My fault, Mr Bloom said, suffering his grip. Are you hurt? I’m in a
[5984]hurry.
[5985]
[5986]—Knee, Lenehan said.
[5987]
[5988]He made a comic face and whined, rubbing his knee:
[5989]
[5990]—The accumulation of the anno Domini.
[5991]
[5992]—Sorry, Mr Bloom said.
[5993]
[5994]He went to the door and, holding it ajar, paused. J. J. O’Molloy
[5995]slapped the heavy pages over. The noise of two shrill voices, a
[5996]mouthorgan, echoed in the bare hallway from the newsboys squatted on the
[5997]doorsteps:
[5998]
[5999] —We are the boys of Wexford
[6000] Who fought with heart and hand.
[6001]EXIT BLOOM
[6002]
[6003]—I’m just running round to Bachelor’s walk, Mr Bloom said, about
[6004]this ad of Keyes’s. Want to fix it up. They tell me he’s round there
[6005]in Dillon’s.
[6006]
[6007]He looked indecisively for a moment at their faces. The editor who,
[6008]leaning against the mantelshelf, had propped his head on his hand,
[6009]suddenly stretched forth an arm amply.
[6010]
[6011]—Begone! he said. The world is before you.
[6012]
[6013]—Back in no time, Mr Bloom said, hurrying out.
[6014]
[6015]J. J. O’Molloy took the tissues from Lenehan’s hand and read them,
[6016]blowing them apart gently, without comment.
[6017]
[6018]—He’ll get that advertisement, the professor said, staring through
[6019]his blackrimmed spectacles over the crossblind. Look at the young scamps
[6020]after him.
[6021]
[6022]—Show. Where? Lenehan cried, running to the window.
[6023]
[6024]A STREET CORTÈGE
[6025]
[6026]Both smiled over the crossblind at the file of capering newsboys in Mr
[6027]Bloom’s wake, the last zigzagging white on the breeze a mocking kite,
[6028]a tail of white bowknots.
[6029]
[6030]—Look at the young guttersnipe behind him hue and cry, Lenehan said,
[6031]and you’ll kick. O, my rib risible! Taking off his flat spaugs and the
[6032]walk. Small nines. Steal upon larks.
[6033]
[6034]He began to mazurka in swift caricature across the floor on sliding feet
[6035]past the fireplace to J. J. O’Molloy who placed the tissues in his
[6036]receiving hands.
[6037]
[6038]—What’s that? Myles Crawford said with a start. Where are the other
[6039]two gone?
[6040]
[6041]—Who? the professor said, turning. They’re gone round to the Oval
[6042]for a drink. Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Came over last night.
[6043]
[6044]—Come on then, Myles Crawford said. Where’s my hat?
[6045]
[6046]He walked jerkily into the office behind, parting the vent of his
[6047]jacket, jingling his keys in his back pocket. They jingled then in the
[6048]air and against the wood as he locked his desk drawer.
[6049]
[6050]—He’s pretty well on, professor MacHugh said in a low voice.
[6051]
[6052]—Seems to be, J. J. O’Molloy said, taking out a cigarettecase in
[6053]murmuring meditation, but it is not always as it seems. Who has the most
[6054]matches?
[6055]
[6056]THE CALUMET OF PEACE
[6057]
[6058]He offered a cigarette to the professor and took one himself. Lenehan
[6059]promptly struck a match for them and lit their cigarettes in turn. J. J.
[6060]O’Molloy opened his case again and offered it.
[6061]
[6062]—Thanky vous, Lenehan said, helping himself.
[6063]
[6064]The editor came from the inner office, a straw hat awry on his brow. He
[6065]declaimed in song, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh:
[6066]
[6067] ’Twas rank and fame that tempted thee,
[6068] ’Twas empire charmed thy heart.
[6069]The professor grinned, locking his long lips.
[6070]
[6071]—Eh? You bloody old Roman empire? Myles Crawford said.
[6072]
[6073]He took a cigarette from the open case. Lenehan, lighting it for him
[6074]with quick grace, said:
[6075]
[6076]—Silence for my brandnew riddle!
[6077]
[6078]—Imperium romanum, J. J. O’Molloy said gently. It sounds nobler than
[6079]British or Brixton. The word reminds one somehow of fat in the fire.
[6080]
[6081]Myles Crawford blew his first puff violently towards the ceiling.
[6082]
[6083]—That’s it, he said. We are the fat. You and I are the fat in the
[6084]fire. We haven’t got the chance of a snowball in hell.
[6085]
[6086]THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME
[6087]
[6088]—Wait a moment, professor MacHugh said, raising two quiet claws. We
[6089]mustn’t be led away by words, by sounds of words. We think of Rome,
[6090]imperial, imperious, imperative.
[6091]
[6092]He extended elocutionary arms from frayed stained shirtcuffs, pausing:
[6093]
[6094]—What was their civilisation? Vast, I allow: but vile. Cloacae:
[6095]sewers. The Jews in the wilderness and on the mountaintop said: It is
[6096]meet to be here. Let us build an altar to Jehovah. The Roman, like the
[6097]Englishman who follows in his footsteps, brought to every new shore on
[6098]which he set his foot (on our shore he never set it) only his cloacal
[6099]obsession. He gazed about him in his toga and he said: It is meet to be
[6100]here. Let us construct a watercloset.
[6101]
[6102]—Which they accordingly did do, Lenehan said. Our old ancient
[6103]ancestors, as we read in the first chapter of Guinness’s, were partial
[6104]to the running stream.
[6105]
[6106]—They were nature’s gentlemen, J. J. O’Molloy murmured. But we
[6107]have also Roman law.
[6108]
[6109]—And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh responded.
[6110]
[6111]—Do you know that story about chief baron Palles? J. J. O’Molloy
[6112]asked. It was at the royal university dinner. Everything was going
[6113]swimmingly ...
[6114]
[6115]—First my riddle, Lenehan said. Are you ready?
[6116]
[6117]Mr O’Madden Burke, tall in copious grey of Donegal tweed, came in from
[6118]the hallway. Stephen Dedalus, behind him, uncovered as he entered.
[6119]
[6120]—Entrez, mes enfants! Lenehan cried.
[6121]
[6122]—I escort a suppliant, Mr O’Madden Burke said melodiously. Youth led
[6123]by Experience visits Notoriety.
[6124]
[6125]—How do you do? the editor said, holding out a hand. Come in. Your
[6126]governor is just gone.
[6127]
[6128]???
[6129]
[6130]Lenehan said to all:
[6131]
[6132]—Silence! What opera resembles a railwayline? Reflect, ponder,
[6133]excogitate, reply.
[6134]
[6135]Stephen handed over the typed sheets, pointing to the title and
[6136]signature.
[6137]
[6138]—Who? the editor asked.
[6139]
[6140]Bit torn off.
[6141]
[6142]—Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said.
[6143]
[6144]—That old pelters, the editor said. Who tore it? Was he short taken?
[6145]
[6146] On swift sail flaming
[6147] From storm and south
[6148] He comes, pale vampire,
[6149] Mouth to my mouth.
[6150]—Good day, Stephen, the professor said, coming to peer over their
[6151]shoulders. Foot and mouth? Are you turned...?
[6152]
[6153]Bullockbefriending bard.
[6154]
[6155]SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT
[6156]
[6157]—Good day, sir, Stephen answered blushing. The letter is not mine. Mr
[6158]Garrett Deasy asked me to...
[6159]
[6160]—O, I know him, Myles Crawford said, and I knew his wife too. The
[6161]bloodiest old tartar God ever made. By Jesus, she had the foot and mouth
[6162]disease and no mistake! The night she threw the soup in the waiter’s
[6163]face in the Star and Garter. Oho!
[6164]
[6165]A woman brought sin into the world. For Helen, the runaway wife of
[6166]Menelaus, ten years the Greeks. O’Rourke, prince of Breffni.
[6167]
[6168]—Is he a widower? Stephen asked.
[6169]
[6170]—Ay, a grass one, Myles Crawford said, his eye running down the
[6171]typescript. Emperor’s horses. Habsburg. An Irishman saved his life on
[6172]the ramparts of Vienna. Don’t you forget! Maximilian Karl O’Donnell,
[6173]graf von Tirconnell in Ireland. Sent his heir over to make the king
[6174]an Austrian fieldmarshal now. Going to be trouble there one day. Wild
[6175]geese. O yes, every time. Don’t you forget that!
[6176]
[6177]—The moot point is did he forget it, J. J. O’Molloy said quietly,
[6178]turning a horseshoe paperweight. Saving princes is a thank you job.
[6179]
[6180]Professor MacHugh turned on him.
[6181]
[6182]—And if not? he said.
[6183]
[6184]—I’ll tell you how it was, Myles Crawford began. A Hungarian it was
[6185]one day...
[6186]
[6187]LOST CAUSES NOBLE MARQUESS MENTIONED
[6188]
[6189]—We were always loyal to lost causes, the professor said. Success for
[6190]us is the death of the intellect and of the imagination. We were never
[6191]loyal to the successful. We serve them. I teach the blatant Latin
[6192]language. I speak the tongue of a race the acme of whose mentality is
[6193]the maxim: time is money. Material domination. Dominus! Lord! Where is
[6194]the spirituality? Lord Jesus? Lord Salisbury? A sofa in a westend club.
[6195]But the Greek!
[6196]
[6197]KYRIE ELEISON!
[6198]
[6199]A smile of light brightened his darkrimmed eyes, lengthened his long
[6200]lips.
[6201]
[6202]—The Greek! he said again. Kyrios! Shining word! The vowels the Semite
[6203]and the Saxon know not. Kyrie! The radiance of the intellect. I ought to
[6204]profess Greek, the language of the mind. Kyrie eleison! The closetmaker
[6205]and the cloacamaker will never be lords of our spirit. We are liege
[6206]subjects of the catholic chivalry of Europe that foundered at Trafalgar
[6207]and of the empire of the spirit, not an imperium, that went under with
[6208]the Athenian fleets at Aegospotami. Yes, yes. They went under. Pyrrhus,
[6209]misled by an oracle, made a last attempt to retrieve the fortunes of
[6210]Greece. Loyal to a lost cause.
[6211]
[6212]He strode away from them towards the window.
[6213]
[6214]—They went forth to battle, Mr O’Madden Burke said greyly, but they
[6215]always fell.
[6216]
[6217]—Boohoo! Lenehan wept with a little noise. Owing to a brick received
[6218]in the latter half of the matinée. Poor, poor, poor Pyrrhus!
[6219]
[6220]He whispered then near Stephen’s ear:
[6221]
[6222]LENEHAN’S LIMERICK
[6223]
[6224] There’s a ponderous pundit MacHugh
[6225] Who wears goggles of ebony hue.
[6226] As he mostly sees double
[6227] To wear them why trouble?
[6228] I can’t see the Joe Miller. Can you?
[6229]In mourning for Sallust, Mulligan says. Whose mother is beastly dead.
[6230]
[6231]Myles Crawford crammed the sheets into a sidepocket.
[6232]
[6233]—That’ll be all right, he said. I’ll read the rest after.
[6234]That’ll be all right.
[6235]
[6236]Lenehan extended his hands in protest.
[6237]
[6238]—But my riddle! he said. What opera is like a railwayline?
[6239]
[6240]—Opera? Mr O’Madden Burke’s sphinx face reriddled.
[6241]
[6242]Lenehan announced gladly:
[6243]
[6244]—The Rose of Castile. See the wheeze? Rows of cast steel. Gee!
[6245]
[6246]He poked Mr O’Madden Burke mildly in the spleen. Mr O’Madden Burke
[6247]fell back with grace on his umbrella, feigning a gasp.
[6248]
[6249]—Help! he sighed. I feel a strong weakness.
[6250]
[6251]Lenehan, rising to tiptoe, fanned his face rapidly with the rustling
[6252]tissues.
[6253]
[6254]The professor, returning by way of the files, swept his hand across
[6255]Stephen’s and Mr O’Madden Burke’s loose ties.
[6256]
[6257]—Paris, past and present, he said. You look like communards.
[6258]
[6259]—Like fellows who had blown up the Bastile, J. J. O’Molloy said in
[6260]quiet mockery. Or was it you shot the lord lieutenant of Finland between
[6261]you? You look as though you had done the deed. General Bobrikoff.
[6262]
[6263]OMNIUM GATHERUM
[6264]
[6265]—We were only thinking about it, Stephen said.
[6266]
[6267]—All the talents, Myles Crawford said. Law, the classics...
[6268]
[6269]—The turf, Lenehan put in.
[6270]
[6271]—Literature, the press.
[6272]
[6273]—If Bloom were here, the professor said. The gentle art of
[6274]advertisement.
[6275]
[6276]—And Madam Bloom, Mr O’Madden Burke added. The vocal muse.
[6277]Dublin’s prime favourite.
[6278]
[6279]Lenehan gave a loud cough.
[6280]
[6281]—Ahem! he said very softly. O, for a fresh of breath air! I caught a
[6282]cold in the park. The gate was open.
[6283]
[6284]“YOU CAN DO IT!”
[6285]
[6286]The editor laid a nervous hand on Stephen’s shoulder.
[6287]
[6288]—I want you to write something for me, he said. Something with a bite
[6289]in it. You can do it. I see it in your face. In the lexicon of youth...
[6290]
[6291]See it in your face. See it in your eye. Lazy idle little schemer.
[6292]
[6293]—Foot and mouth disease! the editor cried in scornful invective.
[6294]Great nationalist meeting in Borris-in-Ossory. All balls! Bulldosing the
[6295]public! Give them something with a bite in it. Put us all into it, damn
[6296]its soul. Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M’Carthy.
[6297]
[6298]—We can all supply mental pabulum, Mr O’Madden Burke said.
[6299]
[6300]Stephen raised his eyes to the bold unheeding stare.
[6301]
[6302]—He wants you for the pressgang, J. J. O’Molloy said.
[6303]
[6304]THE GREAT GALLAHER
[6305]
[6306]—You can do it, Myles Crawford repeated, clenching his hand in
[6307]emphasis. Wait a minute. We’ll paralyse Europe as Ignatius Gallaher
[6308]used to say when he was on the shaughraun, doing billiardmarking in the
[6309]Clarence. Gallaher, that was a pressman for you. That was a pen. You
[6310]know how he made his mark? I’ll tell you. That was the smartest piece
[6311]of journalism ever known. That was in eightyone, sixth of May, time of
[6312]the invincibles, murder in the Phoenix park, before you were born, I
[6313]suppose. I’ll show you.
[6314]
[6315]He pushed past them to the files.
[6316]
[6317]—Look at here, he said turning. The New York World cabled for a
[6318]special. Remember that time?
[6319]
[6320]Professor MacHugh nodded.
[6321]
[6322]—New York World, the editor said, excitedly pushing back his straw
[6323]hat. Where it took place. Tim Kelly, or Kavanagh I mean. Joe Brady and
[6324]the rest of them. Where Skin-the-Goat drove the car. Whole route, see?
[6325]
[6326]—Skin-the-Goat, Mr O’Madden Burke said. Fitzharris. He has that
[6327]cabman’s shelter, they say, down there at Butt bridge. Holohan told
[6328]me. You know Holohan?
[6329]
[6330]—Hop and carry one, is it? Myles Crawford said.
[6331]
[6332]—And poor Gumley is down there too, so he told me, minding stones for
[6333]the corporation. A night watchman.
[6334]
[6335]Stephen turned in surprise.
[6336]
[6337]—Gumley? he said. You don’t say so? A friend of my father’s, is
[6338]it?
[6339]
[6340]—Never mind Gumley, Myles Crawford cried angrily. Let Gumley mind
[6341]the stones, see they don’t run away. Look at here. What did Ignatius
[6342]Gallaher do? I’ll tell you. Inspiration of genius. Cabled right away.
[6343]Have you Weekly Freeman of 17 March? Right. Have you got that?
[6344]
[6345]He flung back pages of the files and stuck his finger on a point.
[6346]
[6347]—Take page four, advertisement for Bransome’s coffee, let us say.
[6348]Have you got that? Right.
[6349]
[6350]The telephone whirred.
[6351]
[6352]A DISTANT VOICE
[6353]
[6354]—I’ll answer it, the professor said, going.
[6355]
[6356]—B is parkgate. Good.
[6357]
[6358]His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating.
[6359]
[6360]—T is viceregal lodge. C is where murder took place. K is Knockmaroon
[6361]gate.
[6362]
[6363]The loose flesh of his neck shook like a cock’s wattles. An
[6364]illstarched dicky jutted up and with a rude gesture he thrust it back
[6365]into his waistcoat.
[6366]
[6367]—Hello? Evening Telegraph here... Hello?... Who’s there?... Yes...
[6368]Yes... Yes.
[6369]
[6370]—F to P is the route Skin-the-Goat drove the car for an alibi,
[6371]Inchicore, Roundtown, Windy Arbour, Palmerston Park, Ranelagh. F.A.B.P.
[6372]Got that? X is Davy’s publichouse in upper Leeson street.
[6373]
[6374]The professor came to the inner door.
[6375]
[6376]—Bloom is at the telephone, he said.
[6377]
[6378]—Tell him go to hell, the editor said promptly. X is Davy’s
[6379]publichouse, see?
[6380]
[6381]CLEVER, VERY
[6382]
[6383]—Clever, Lenehan said. Very.
[6384]
[6385]—Gave it to them on a hot plate, Myles Crawford said, the whole bloody
[6386]history.
[6387]
[6388]Nightmare from which you will never awake.
[6389]
[6390]—I saw it, the editor said proudly. I was present. Dick Adams, the
[6391]besthearted bloody Corkman the Lord ever put the breath of life in, and
[6392]myself.
[6393]
[6394]Lenehan bowed to a shape of air, announcing:
[6395]
[6396]—Madam, I’m Adam. And Able was I ere I saw Elba.
[6397]
[6398]—History! Myles Crawford cried. The Old Woman of Prince’s street was
[6399]there first. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth over that. Out of
[6400]an advertisement. Gregor Grey made the design for it. That gave him the
[6401]leg up. Then Paddy Hooper worked Tay Pay who took him on to the Star.
[6402]Now he’s got in with Blumenfeld. That’s press. That’s talent.
[6403]Pyatt! He was all their daddies!
[6404]
[6405]—The father of scare journalism, Lenehan confirmed, and the
[6406]brother-in-law of Chris Callinan.
[6407]
[6408]—Hello?... Are you there?... Yes, he’s here still. Come across
[6409]yourself.
[6410]
[6411]—Where do you find a pressman like that now, eh? the editor cried.
[6412]
[6413]He flung the pages down.
[6414]
[6415]—Clamn dever, Lenehan said to Mr O’Madden Burke.
[6416]
[6417]—Very smart, Mr O’Madden Burke said.
[6418]
[6419]Professor MacHugh came from the inner office.
[6420]
[6421]—Talking about the invincibles, he said, did you see that some hawkers
[6422]were up before the recorder...
[6423]
[6424]—O yes, J. J. O’Molloy said eagerly. Lady Dudley was walking home
[6425]through the park to see all the trees that were blown down by that
[6426]cyclone last year and thought she’d buy a view of Dublin. And it
[6427]turned out to be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady or Number One or
[6428]Skin-the-Goat. Right outside the viceregal lodge, imagine!
[6429]
[6430]—They’re only in the hook and eye department, Myles Crawford said.
[6431]Psha! Press and the bar! Where have you a man now at the bar like those
[6432]fellows, like Whiteside, like Isaac Butt, like silvertongued O’Hagan.
[6433]Eh? Ah, bloody nonsense. Psha! Only in the halfpenny place.
[6434]
[6435]His mouth continued to twitch unspeaking in nervous curls of disdain.
[6436]
[6437]Would anyone wish that mouth for her kiss? How do you know? Why did you
[6438]write it then?
[6439]
[6440]RHYMES AND REASONS
[6441]
[6442]Mouth, south. Is the mouth south someway? Or the south a mouth? Must be
[6443]some. South, pout, out, shout, drouth. Rhymes: two men dressed the same,
[6444]looking the same, two by two.
[6445]
[6446] ........................ la tua pace
[6447] .................. che parlar ti piace
[6448] Mentre che il vento, come fa, si tace.
[6449]He saw them three by three, approaching girls, in green, in rose,
[6450]in russet, entwining, per l’aer perso, in mauve, in purple, quella
[6451]pacifica oriafiamma, gold of oriflamme, di rimirar fè più ardenti.
[6452]But I old men, penitent, leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night: mouth
[6453]south: tomb womb.
[6454]
[6455]—Speak up for yourself, Mr O’Madden Burke said.
[6456]
[6457]SUFFICIENT FOR THE DAY...
[6458]
[6459]J. J. O’Molloy, smiling palely, took up the gage.
[6460]
[6461]—My dear Myles, he said, flinging his cigarette aside, you put a false
[6462]construction on my words. I hold no brief, as at present advised, for
[6463]the third profession qua profession but your Cork legs are running away
[6464]with you. Why not bring in Henry Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes and
[6465]Edmund Burke? Ignatius Gallaher we all know and his Chapelizod boss,
[6466]Harmsworth of the farthing press, and his American cousin of the Bowery
[6467]guttersheet not to mention Paddy Kelly’s Budget, Pue’s Occurrences
[6468]and our watchful friend The Skibbereen Eagle. Why bring in a master
[6469]of forensic eloquence like Whiteside? Sufficient for the day is the
[6470]newspaper thereof.
[6471]
[6472]LINKS WITH BYGONE DAYS OF YORE
[6473]
[6474]—Grattan and Flood wrote for this very paper, the editor cried in his
[6475]face. Irish volunteers. Where are you now? Established 1763. Dr Lucas.
[6476]Who have you now like John Philpot Curran? Psha!
[6477]
[6478]—Well, J. J. O’Molloy said, Bushe K.C., for example.
[6479]
[6480]—Bushe? the editor said. Well, yes: Bushe, yes. He has a strain of it
[6481]in his blood. Kendal Bushe or I mean Seymour Bushe.
[6482]
[6483]—He would have been on the bench long ago, the professor said, only
[6484]for .... But no matter.
[6485]
[6486]J. J. O’Molloy turned to Stephen and said quietly and slowly:
[6487]
[6488]—One of the most polished periods I think I ever listened to in
[6489]my life fell from the lips of Seymour Bushe. It was in that case of
[6490]fratricide, the Childs murder case. Bushe defended him.
[6491]
[6492]And in the porches of mine ear did pour.
[6493]
[6494]By the way how did he find that out? He died in his sleep. Or the other
[6495]story, beast with two backs?
[6496]
[6497]—What was that? the professor asked.
[6498]
[6499]ITALIA, MAGISTRA ARTIUM
[6500]
[6501]—He spoke on the law of evidence, J. J. O’Molloy said, of Roman
[6502]justice as contrasted with the earlier Mosaic code, the lex talionis.
[6503]And he cited the Moses of Michelangelo in the vatican.
[6504]
[6505]—Ha.
[6506]
[6507]—A few wellchosen words, Lenehan prefaced. Silence!
[6508]
[6509]Pause. J. J. O’Molloy took out his cigarettecase.
[6510]
[6511]False lull. Something quite ordinary.
[6512]
[6513]Messenger took out his matchbox thoughtfully and lit his cigar.
[6514]
[6515]I have often thought since on looking back over that strange time that
[6516]it was that small act, trivial in itself, that striking of that match,
[6517]that determined the whole aftercourse of both our lives.
[6518]
[6519]A POLISHED PERIOD
[6520]
[6521]J. J. O’Molloy resumed, moulding his words:
[6522]
[6523]—He said of it: that stony effigy in frozen music, horned and
[6524]terrible, of the human form divine, that eternal symbol of wisdom and
[6525]of prophecy which, if aught that the imagination or the hand of sculptor
[6526]has wrought in marble of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring
[6527]deserves to live, deserves to live.
[6528]
[6529]His slim hand with a wave graced echo and fall.
[6530]
[6531]—Fine! Myles Crawford said at once.
[6532]
[6533]—The divine afflatus, Mr O’Madden Burke said.
[6534]
[6535]—You like it? J. J. O’Molloy asked Stephen.
[6536]
[6537]Stephen, his blood wooed by grace of language and gesture, blushed. He
[6538]took a cigarette from the case. J. J. O’Molloy offered his case to
[6539]Myles Crawford. Lenehan lit their cigarettes as before and took his
[6540]trophy, saying:
[6541]
[6542]—Muchibus thankibus.
[6543]
[6544]A MAN OF HIGH MORALE
[6545]
[6546]—Professor Magennis was speaking to me about you, J. J. O’Molloy
[6547]said to Stephen. What do you think really of that hermetic crowd, the
[6548]opal hush poets: A. E. the mastermystic? That Blavatsky woman started
[6549]it. She was a nice old bag of tricks. A. E. has been telling some yankee
[6550]interviewer that you came to him in the small hours of the morning to
[6551]ask him about planes of consciousness. Magennis thinks you must have
[6552]been pulling A. E.’s leg. He is a man of the very highest morale,
[6553]Magennis.
[6554]
[6555]Speaking about me. What did he say? What did he say? What did he say
[6556]about me? Don’t ask.
[6557]
[6558]—No, thanks, professor MacHugh said, waving the cigarettecase aside.
[6559]Wait a moment. Let me say one thing. The finest display of oratory I
[6560]ever heard was a speech made by John F Taylor at the college historical
[6561]society. Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, the present lord justice of appeal, had
[6562]spoken and the paper under debate was an essay (new for those days),
[6563]advocating the revival of the Irish tongue.
[6564]
[6565]He turned towards Myles Crawford and said:
[6566]
[6567]—You know Gerald Fitzgibbon. Then you can imagine the style of his
[6568]discourse.
[6569]
[6570]—He is sitting with Tim Healy, J. J. O’Molloy said, rumour has it,
[6571]on the Trinity college estates commission.
[6572]
[6573]—He is sitting with a sweet thing, Myles Crawford said, in a child’s
[6574]frock. Go on. Well?
[6575]
[6576]—It was the speech, mark you, the professor said, of a finished
[6577]orator, full of courteous haughtiness and pouring in chastened diction
[6578]I will not say the vials of his wrath but pouring the proud man’s
[6579]contumely upon the new movement. It was then a new movement. We were
[6580]weak, therefore worthless.
[6581]
[6582]He closed his long thin lips an instant but, eager to be on, raised
[6583]an outspanned hand to his spectacles and, with trembling thumb and
[6584]ringfinger touching lightly the black rims, steadied them to a new
[6585]focus.
[6586]
[6587]IMPROMPTU
[6588]
[6589]In ferial tone he addressed J. J. O’Molloy:
[6590]
[6591]—Taylor had come there, you must know, from a sickbed. That he
[6592]had prepared his speech I do not believe for there was not even one
[6593]shorthandwriter in the hall. His dark lean face had a growth of shaggy
[6594]beard round it. He wore a loose white silk neckcloth and altogether he
[6595]looked (though he was not) a dying man.
[6596]
[6597]His gaze turned at once but slowly from J. J. O’Molloy’s towards
[6598]Stephen’s face and then bent at once to the ground, seeking. His
[6599]unglazed linen collar appeared behind his bent head, soiled by his
[6600]withering hair. Still seeking, he said:
[6601]
[6602]—When Fitzgibbon’s speech had ended John F Taylor rose to reply.
[6603]Briefly, as well as I can bring them to mind, his words were these.
[6604]
[6605]He raised his head firmly. His eyes bethought themselves once more.
[6606]Witless shellfish swam in the gross lenses to and fro, seeking outlet.
[6607]
[6608]He began:
[6609]
[6610]—Mr Chairman, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my admiration in
[6611]listening to the remarks addressed to the youth of Ireland a moment
[6612]since by my learned friend. It seemed to me that I had been transported
[6613]into a country far away from this country, into an age remote from
[6614]this age, that I stood in ancient Egypt and that I was listening to the
[6615]speech of some highpriest of that land addressed to the youthful Moses.
[6616]
[6617]His listeners held their cigarettes poised to hear, their smokes
[6618]ascending in frail stalks that flowered with his speech. And let our
[6619]crooked smokes. Noble words coming. Look out. Could you try your hand at
[6620]it yourself?
[6621]
[6622]—And it seemed to me that I heard the voice of that Egyptian
[6623]highpriest raised in a tone of like haughtiness and like pride. I heard
[6624]his words and their meaning was revealed to me.
[6625]
[6626]FROM THE FATHERS
[6627]
[6628]It was revealed to me that those things are good which yet are corrupted
[6629]which neither if they were supremely good nor unless they were good
[6630]could be corrupted. Ah, curse you! That’s saint Augustine.
[6631]
[6632]—Why will you jews not accept our culture, our religion and our
[6633]language? You are a tribe of nomad herdsmen: we are a mighty people. You
[6634]have no cities nor no wealth: our cities are hives of humanity and
[6635]our galleys, trireme and quadrireme, laden with all manner merchandise
[6636]furrow the waters of the known globe. You have but emerged from
[6637]primitive conditions: we have a literature, a priesthood, an agelong
[6638]history and a polity.
[6639]
[6640]Nile.
[6641]
[6642]Child, man, effigy.
[6643]
[6644]By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man supple
[6645]in combat: stonehorned, stonebearded, heart of stone.
[6646]
[6647]—You pray to a local and obscure idol: our temples, majestic and
[6648]mysterious, are the abodes of Isis and Osiris, of Horus and Ammon Ra.
[6649]Yours serfdom, awe and humbleness: ours thunder and the seas. Israel
[6650]is weak and few are her children: Egypt is an host and terrible are her
[6651]arms. Vagrants and daylabourers are you called: the world trembles at
[6652]our name.
[6653]
[6654]A dumb belch of hunger cleft his speech. He lifted his voice above it
[6655]boldly:
[6656]
[6657]—But, ladies and gentlemen, had the youthful Moses listened to and
[6658]accepted that view of life, had he bowed his head and bowed his will
[6659]and bowed his spirit before that arrogant admonition he would never have
[6660]brought the chosen people out of their house of bondage, nor followed
[6661]the pillar of the cloud by day. He would never have spoken with the
[6662]Eternal amid lightnings on Sinai’s mountaintop nor ever have come down
[6663]with the light of inspiration shining in his countenance and bearing in
[6664]his arms the tables of the law, graven in the language of the outlaw.
[6665]
[6666]He ceased and looked at them, enjoying a silence.
[6667]
[6668]OMINOUS—FOR HIM!
[6669]
[6670]J. J. O’Molloy said not without regret:
[6671]
[6672]—And yet he died without having entered the land of promise.
[6673]
[6674]
[6675]—A—sudden—at—the—moment—though—from—lingering—illness—often—previously—expectorated—demise,
[6676]Lenehan added. And with a great future behind him.
[6677]
[6678]The troop of bare feet was heard rushing along the hallway and pattering
[6679]up the staircase.
[6680]
[6681]—That is oratory, the professor said uncontradicted.
[6682]
[6683]Gone with the wind. Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the kings. Miles of
[6684]ears of porches. The tribune’s words, howled and scattered to the four
[6685]winds. A people sheltered within his voice. Dead noise. Akasic records
[6686]of all that ever anywhere wherever was. Love and laud him: me no more.
[6687]
[6688]I have money.
[6689]
[6690]—Gentlemen, Stephen said. As the next motion on the agenda paper may I
[6691]suggest that the house do now adjourn?
[6692]
[6693]—You take my breath away. It is not perchance a French compliment?
[6694]Mr O’Madden Burke asked. ’Tis the hour, methinks, when the winejug,
[6695]metaphorically speaking, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry.
[6696]
[6697]—That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. All that are in favour
[6698]say ay, Lenehan announced. The contrary no. I declare it carried. To
[6699]which particular boosing shed...? My casting vote is: Mooney’s!
[6700]
[6701]He led the way, admonishing:
[6702]
[6703]—We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will we not? Yes,
[6704]we will not. By no manner of means.
[6705]
[6706]Mr O’Madden Burke, following close, said with an ally’s lunge of his
[6707]umbrella:
[6708]
[6709]—Lay on, Macduff!
[6710]
[6711]—Chip of the old block! the editor cried, clapping Stephen on the
[6712]shoulder. Let us go. Where are those blasted keys?
[6713]
[6714]He fumbled in his pocket pulling out the crushed typesheets.
[6715]
[6716]—Foot and mouth. I know. That’ll be all right. That’ll go in.
[6717]Where are they? That’s all right.
[6718]
[6719]He thrust the sheets back and went into the inner office.
[6720]
[6721]LET US HOPE
[6722]
[6723]J. J. O’Molloy, about to follow him in, said quietly to Stephen:
[6724]
[6725]—I hope you will live to see it published. Myles, one moment.
[6726]
[6727]He went into the inner office, closing the door behind him.
[6728]
[6729]—Come along, Stephen, the professor said. That is fine, isn’t it? It
[6730]has the prophetic vision. Fuit Ilium! The sack of windy Troy. Kingdoms
[6731]of this world. The masters of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today.
[6732]
[6733]The first newsboy came pattering down the stairs at their heels and
[6734]rushed out into the street, yelling:
[6735]
[6736]—Racing special!
[6737]
[6738]Dublin. I have much, much to learn.
[6739]
[6740]They turned to the left along Abbey street.
[6741]
[6742]—I have a vision too, Stephen said.
[6743]
[6744]—Yes? the professor said, skipping to get into step. Crawford will
[6745]follow.
[6746]
[6747]Another newsboy shot past them, yelling as he ran:
[6748]
[6749]—Racing special!
[6750]
[6751]DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN
[6752]
[6753]Dubliners.
[6754]
[6755]—Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said, elderly and pious, have lived fifty
[6756]and fiftythree years in Fumbally’s lane.
[6757]
[6758]—Where is that? the professor asked.
[6759]
[6760]—Off Blackpitts, Stephen said.
[6761]
[6762]Damp night reeking of hungry dough. Against the wall. Face glistering
[6763]tallow under her fustian shawl. Frantic hearts. Akasic records. Quicker,
[6764]darlint!
[6765]
[6766]On now. Dare it. Let there be life.
[6767]
[6768]—They want to see the views of Dublin from the top of Nelson’s
[6769]pillar. They save up three and tenpence in a red tin letterbox moneybox.
[6770]They shake out the threepenny bits and sixpences and coax out the
[6771]pennies with the blade of a knife. Two and three in silver and one and
[6772]seven in coppers. They put on their bonnets and best clothes and take
[6773]their umbrellas for fear it may come on to rain.
[6774]
[6775]—Wise virgins, professor MacHugh said.
[6776]
[6777]LIFE ON THE RAW
[6778]
[6779]—They buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn and four slices of panloaf
[6780]at the north city diningrooms in Marlborough street from Miss Kate
[6781]Collins, proprietress... They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from
[6782]a girl at the foot of Nelson’s pillar to take off the thirst of the
[6783]brawn. They give two threepenny bits to the gentleman at the turnstile
[6784]and begin to waddle slowly up the winding staircase, grunting,
[6785]encouraging each other, afraid of the dark, panting, one asking
[6786]the other have you the brawn, praising God and the Blessed Virgin,
[6787]threatening to come down, peeping at the airslits. Glory be to God. They
[6788]had no idea it was that high.
[6789]
[6790]Their names are Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe. Anne Kearns has the
[6791]lumbago for which she rubs on Lourdes water, given her by a lady who got
[6792]a bottleful from a passionist father. Florence MacCabe takes a crubeen
[6793]and a bottle of double X for supper every Saturday.
[6794]
[6795]—Antithesis, the professor said nodding twice. Vestal virgins. I can
[6796]see them. What’s keeping our friend?
[6797]
[6798]He turned.
[6799]
[6800]A bevy of scampering newsboys rushed down the steps, scattering in all
[6801]directions, yelling, their white papers fluttering. Hard after them
[6802]Myles Crawford appeared on the steps, his hat aureoling his scarlet
[6803]face, talking with J. J. O’Molloy.
[6804]
[6805]—Come along, the professor cried, waving his arm.
[6806]
[6807]He set off again to walk by Stephen’s side.
[6808]
[6809]RETURN OF BLOOM
[6810]
[6811]—Yes, he said. I see them.
[6812]
[6813]Mr Bloom, breathless, caught in a whirl of wild newsboys near the
[6814]offices of the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called:
[6815]
[6816]—Mr Crawford! A moment!
[6817]
[6818]—Telegraph! Racing special!
[6819]
[6820]—What is it? Myles Crawford said, falling back a pace.
[6821]
[6822]A newsboy cried in Mr Bloom’s face:
[6823]
[6824]—Terrible tragedy in Rathmines! A child bit by a bellows!
[6825]
[6826]INTERVIEW WITH THE EDITOR
[6827]
[6828]—Just this ad, Mr Bloom said, pushing through towards the steps,
[6829]puffing, and taking the cutting from his pocket. I spoke with Mr Keyes
[6830]just now. He’ll give a renewal for two months, he says. After he’ll
[6831]see. But he wants a par to call attention in the Telegraph too, the
[6832]Saturday pink. And he wants it copied if it’s not too late I told
[6833]councillor Nannetti from the Kilkenny People. I can have access to it in
[6834]the national library. House of keys, don’t you see? His name is Keyes.
[6835]It’s a play on the name. But he practically promised he’d give
[6836]the renewal. But he wants just a little puff. What will I tell him, Mr
[6837]Crawford?
[6838]
[6839]K.M.A.
[6840]
[6841]—Will you tell him he can kiss my arse? Myles Crawford said throwing
[6842]out his arm for emphasis. Tell him that straight from the stable.
[6843]
[6844]A bit nervy. Look out for squalls. All off for a drink. Arm in arm.
[6845]Lenehan’s yachting cap on the cadge beyond. Usual blarney. Wonder is
[6846]that young Dedalus the moving spirit. Has a good pair of boots on him
[6847]today. Last time I saw him he had his heels on view. Been walking in
[6848]muck somewhere. Careless chap. What was he doing in Irishtown?
[6849]
[6850]—Well, Mr Bloom said, his eyes returning, if I can get the design I
[6851]suppose it’s worth a short par. He’d give the ad, I think. I’ll
[6852]tell him...
[6853]
[6854]K.M.R.I.A.
[6855]
[6856]—He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford cried loudly over his
[6857]shoulder. Any time he likes, tell him.
[6858]
[6859]While Mr Bloom stood weighing the point and about to smile he strode on
[6860]jerkily.
[6861]
[6862]RAISING THE WIND
[6863]
[6864]—Nulla bona, Jack, he said, raising his hand to his chin. I’m up to
[6865]here. I’ve been through the hoop myself. I was looking for a fellow to
[6866]back a bill for me no later than last week. Sorry, Jack. You must take
[6867]the will for the deed. With a heart and a half if I could raise the wind
[6868]anyhow.
[6869]
[6870]J. J. O’Molloy pulled a long face and walked on silently. They caught
[6871]up on the others and walked abreast.
[6872]
[6873]—When they have eaten the brawn and the bread and wiped their twenty
[6874]fingers in the paper the bread was wrapped in they go nearer to the
[6875]railings.
[6876]
[6877]—Something for you, the professor explained to Myles Crawford. Two old
[6878]Dublin women on the top of Nelson’s pillar.
[6879]
[6880]SOME COLUMN!—THAT’S WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID
[6881]
[6882]—That’s new, Myles Crawford said. That’s copy. Out for the
[6883]waxies’ Dargle. Two old trickies, what?
[6884]
[6885]—But they are afraid the pillar will fall, Stephen went on. They see
[6886]the roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines’
[6887]blue dome, Adam and Eve’s, saint Laurence O’Toole’s. But it makes
[6888]them giddy to look so they pull up their skirts...
[6889]
[6890]THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES
[6891]
[6892]—Easy all, Myles Crawford said. No poetic licence. We’re in the
[6893]archdiocese here.
[6894]
[6895]—And settle down on their striped petticoats, peering up at the statue
[6896]of the onehandled adulterer.
[6897]
[6898]—Onehandled adulterer! the professor cried. I like that. I see the
[6899]idea. I see what you mean.
[6900]
[6901]DAMES DONATE DUBLIN’S CITS SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, BELIEF
[6902]
[6903]—It gives them a crick in their necks, Stephen said, and they are too
[6904]tired to look up or down or to speak. They put the bag of plums between
[6905]them and eat the plums out of it, one after another, wiping off with
[6906]their handkerchiefs the plumjuice that dribbles out of their mouths and
[6907]spitting the plumstones slowly out between the railings.
[6908]
[6909]He gave a sudden loud young laugh as a close. Lenehan and Mr O’Madden
[6910]Burke, hearing, turned, beckoned and led on across towards Mooney’s.
[6911]
[6912]—Finished? Myles Crawford said. So long as they do no worse.
[6913]
[6914]SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON PROBOSCIS. SPARTANS GNASH
[6915]MOLARS. ITHACANS VOW PEN IS CHAMP.
[6916]
[6917]—You remind me of Antisthenes, the professor said, a disciple of
[6918]Gorgias, the sophist. It is said of him that none could tell if he were
[6919]bitterer against others or against himself. He was the son of a noble
[6920]and a bondwoman. And he wrote a book in which he took away the palm of
[6921]beauty from Argive Helen and handed it to poor Penelope.
[6922]
[6923]Poor Penelope. Penelope Rich.
[6924]
[6925]They made ready to cross O’Connell street.
[6926]
[6927]HELLO THERE, CENTRAL!
[6928]
[6929]At various points along the eight lines tramcars with motionless
[6930]trolleys stood in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines,
[6931]Rathfarnham, Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Sandymount Green, Ringsend
[6932]and Sandymount Tower, Donnybrook, Palmerston Park and Upper Rathmines,
[6933]all still, becalmed in short circuit. Hackney cars, cabs, delivery
[6934]waggons, mailvans, private broughams, aerated mineral water floats with
[6935]rattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled, horsedrawn, rapidly.
[6936]
[6937]WHAT?—AND LIKEWISE—WHERE?
[6938]
[6939]—But what do you call it? Myles Crawford asked. Where did they get the
[6940]plums?
[6941]
[6942]VIRGILIAN, SAYS PEDAGOGUE. SOPHOMORE PLUMPS FOR OLD MAN MOSES.
[6943]
[6944]—Call it, wait, the professor said, opening his long lips wide to
[6945]reflect. Call it, let me see. Call it: deus nobis hæc otia fecit.
[6946]
[6947]—No, Stephen said. I call it A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or The
[6948]Parable of The Plums.
[6949]
[6950]—I see, the professor said.
[6951]
[6952]He laughed richly.
[6953]
[6954]—I see, he said again with new pleasure. Moses and the promised land.
[6955]We gave him that idea, he added to J. J. O’Molloy.
[6956]
[6957]HORATIO IS CYNOSURE THIS FAIR JUNE DAY
[6958]
[6959]J. J. O’Molloy sent a weary sidelong glance towards the statue and
[6960]held his peace.
[6961]
[6962]—I see, the professor said.
[6963]
[6964]He halted on sir John Gray’s pavement island and peered aloft at
[6965]Nelson through the meshes of his wry smile.
[6966]
[6967]DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR FRISKY FRUMPS. ANNE WIMBLES,
[6968]FLO WANGLES—YET CAN YOU BLAME THEM?
[6969]
[6970]—Onehandled adulterer, he said smiling grimly. That tickles me, I must
[6971]say.
[6972]
[6973]—Tickled the old ones too, Myles Crawford said, if the God
[6974]Almighty’s truth was known.
[6975]
[6976]
[6977]
[6978]
[6979]
[6980]