Time: 　12:00 noon, Thursday, June 16, 1904 Scene: the newspaper offices of the Freeman's Journal (and the Evening Telegraph), 4-8 Prince's Street North in the northeast quadrant of Dublin near the General Post Off- ice and Nelson's Pillar Organ:　lungs Art:　rhetoric Colors:　red Symbol: editor Technique: enthymemic [in logic an enthymeme is a syllogism in which one of the premises is only implicit or is based on probability instead of true for all cases; an enthy- meme thus resembles a syllogism but is an enthy- meme thus resembles a syllogism but is more rheto- rical than it is logical) Correspondences: Aeolus-Crawford; Incest [since Aeolus gave his six daughters to his six sons in marriage]-Journalism; Floating Island [Homer describes Aeolus's island as "adrift upon the sea, ringed round with brazen ram- parts on a sheer cliffside"]-the Press Background: In Book 10 of The Odyssey, after the unfortunate en- counter with the Cyclops, Odysseus reaches Aeolia, ruled by Aeolus, whom Zeus had made "warden of the winds". Aeolus entertains Odysseus and tries to help him by confining all the unfavorable winds in a bag, which O-dysseus stows in his ship. Within sight of Ithaca, Odysseus "nods" at the tiller. His men sus- pect him of having hidden some extraordinary trea- sure in the bag; they open it, release the winds, and the ships are driven back to Aeolis, where Aeolus re- fuses any further help to Odysseus and drives him away as "a man the blessed gods detest."

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　IN THE HEART OF THE HIBERNIAN
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　METROPOLIS

Before Nelson's pillar1 trams slowed, shunted, changed trolley,
started for Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey,2 Clonskea, Rathgar and
Terenure, Palmerston Park3 and upper Rathmines, Sandymount Green,
Rathmines,4 Ringsend and Sandymount Tower,5 Harold's Cross.6 The
hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's7 timekeeper bawled them off:

--Rathgar and Terenure!

--Come on, Sandymount Green!

Right and left parallel clanging ringing a doubledecker and a
singledeck moved from their railheads, swerved to the down line,
glided parallel.

--Start, Palmerston Park!


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　THE WEARER OF THE CROWN


Under the porch of the general post office8 shoeblacks called and
polished. Parked in North Prince's street His Majesty's vermilion
mailcars, bearing on their sides the royal initials, E. R.,9 received
loudly flung sacks of letters, postcards, lettercards, parcels, insur-
ed and paid, for local, provincial, British and overseas delivery.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS


Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's
stores and bumped them up on the brewery float.10 On the brewery
float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out
of Prince's stores.11

--There it is, Red Murray12 said. Alexander Keyes.13

--Just cut it out, will you? Mr Bloom said, and I'll take it round to
the Telegraph office.14

The door of Ruttledge's office15 creaked again. Davy Stephens,16 min-
ute in a large capecoat, a small felt hat crowning his ringlets, passed
out with a roll of papers under his cape, a king's courier.

Red Murray's long shears sliced out the advertisement from the newspaper
in four clean strokes. Scissors and paste.

--I'll go through the printingworks, Mr Bloom said, taking the cut square.

--Of course, if he wants a par,17 Red Murray said earnestly, a pen behind
his ear, we can do him one.

--Right, Mr Bloom said with a nod. I'll rub that in.

We.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　WILLIAM BRAYDEN, ESQUIRE, OF OAKLANDS,
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　SANDYMOUNT18


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 a
stately figure entered between the newsboards of the Weekly Freeman and
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 back ascended each
step: back. All his brains are in the nape of his neck, Simon Dedalus says.
Welts of flesh behind on him. Fat folds of neck, fat, neck, fat, neck.

--Don't you think his face is like Our Saviour? Red Murray whispered.

The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: ee: cree. They always build
one door opposite another for the wind to. Way in. Way out.

Our Saviour: beardframed oval face: talking in the dusk. Mary, Martha.19
Steered by an umbrella sword to the footlights: Mario the tenor.20

--Or like Mario, Mr Bloom said.

--Yes, Red Murray agreed. But Mario was said to be the picture of Our
Saviour.

Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. Hand on his
heart. In Martha.21


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　Co-ome thou lost one,
　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　Co-ome thou dear one! 22


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　THE CROZIER AND THE PEN


--His grace phoned down twice this morning,23 Red Murray said gravely.

They watched the knees, legs, boots vanish. Neck.

A telegram boy stepped in nimbly, threw an envelope on the counter
and stepped off posthaste with a word:

--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 pass-
ed in through a sidedoor and along the warm dark stairs and passage,
along the now reverberating boards. But will he save the circulation?
Thumping. Thumping.

He pushed in the glass swingdoor and entered, stepping over strewn
packing paper. Through a lane of clanking drums24 he made his way to-
wards Nannetti's25 reading closet.

Hynes here too: account of the funeral probably. Thumping. Thump.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT IS WE
　　　　　　　 　　　　ANNOUNCE THE DISSOLUTION OF A MOST
　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　RESPECTED DUBLIN BURGESS


This morning the remains of the late Mr Patrick Dignam. Machines. Smash
a man to atoms if they got him caught. Rule the world today. His machine-
ries are pegging away too. Like these, got out of hand: fermenting. Work-
ing away, tearing away. And that old grey rat tearing to get in.


　　　　　　　 　　　　HOW A GREAT DAILY ORGAN IS TURNED OUT


Mr Bloom halted behind the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy
crown.

Strange he never saw his real country. Ireland my country.26 Member for
College green. He boomed that workaday worker tack27 for all it was worth.
It's the ads and side features sell a weekly, not the stale news in the
official gazette.28 Queen Anne is dead.29 Published by authority in the year
one thousand and. Demesne situate in the townland of Rosenallis, barony
of Tinnahinch.30 To all whom it may concern schedule pursuant to statute
showing return of number of mules and jennets exported from Ballina.31
Nature notes.32 Cartoons.33 Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story.34 Unc-
le Toby's page for tiny tots.35 Country bumpkin's queries. Dear Mr Editor,
what is a good cure for flatulence?36 I'd like that part. Learn a lot
teaching others. The personal note. M. A. P.37 Mainly all pictures.
Shapely bathers on golden strand. World's biggest balloon. Double
marriage of sisters celebrated. Two bridegrooms laughing heartily at
each other. Cuprani too, printer.38 More Irish than the Irish.39

The machines clanked in threefour time. Thump, thump, thump.
Now if he got paralysed there and no-one knew how to stop them they'd
clank on and on the same, print it over and over and up and back.
Monkeydoodle the whole thing. Want a cool head.

--Well, get it into the evening edition, councillor, Hynes said.

Soon be calling him my lord mayor.40 Long John41 is backing him, they say.

The foreman, without answering, scribbled press on a corner of the sheet
and made a sign to a typesetter. He handed the sheet silently over the
dirty 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, point-
ing 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.42 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 wants
two 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, began
to 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 the
foreman's sallow face, think he has a touch of jaundice, and beyond the
obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. Clank it. Clank it. Miles
of it unreeled. What becomes of it after? O, wrap up meat, parcels: var-
ious uses, thousand and one things.

Slipping his words deftly into the pauses of the clanking he drew swiftly
on the scarred woodwork.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　 　HOUSE OF KEY(E)S43


--Like that, see. Two crossed keys44 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 top in
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 scratched there
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 the isle
of Man. Catches the eye, you see. Can you do that?

I could ask him perhaps about how to pronounce that voglio.45 But then if 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 Kilkenny46 paper. He has a house
there too. I'll just run out and ask him. Well, you can do that and just a
little par calling attention. You know the usual. Highclass licensed prem-
ises. 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 it silently.
Mr Bloom stood by, hearing the loud throbs of cranks, watching the silent
typesetters at their cases.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　 　ORTHOGRAPHICAL


Want to be sure of his spelling. Proof fever. Martin Cunningham forgot to
give us his spellingbee conundrum this morning. It is amusing to view the
unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it? double ess ment of a harassed
pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a y of a peeled pear under a cem-
etery wall. Silly, isn't it? Cemetery put in of course on account of the
symmetry.

I should have said when he clapped on his topper. Thank you. I ought to
have said something about an old hat or something. No. I could have said.
Looks as good as new now. See his phiz47 then.

Sllt. The nethermost deck of the first machine jogged forward its flyboard48
with sllt the first batch of quirefolded49 papers. Sllt. Almost human 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 its own way. Sllt.


　 　　　　　　　　　　　 　NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL
　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　 　CONTRIBUTOR


The foreman handed back the galleypage suddenly, saying:

--Wait. Where's the archbishop's letter?50 It's to be repeated in the Tele-
graph. Where's what's his name?

He looked about him round his loud unanswering machines.

--Monks,51 sir? a voice asked from the castingbox.52

--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 a good
place I know.

--Monks!

--Yes, sir.

Three months' renewal. Want to get some wind off my chest first. Try it
anyhow. Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month. Ballsbridge.53 Tourists
over for the show.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　 　A DAYFATHER54


He walked on through the caseroom passing an old man, bowed, spectacled,
aproned. Old Monks, the dayfather. Queer lot of stuff he must have put
through his hands in his time: obituary notices, pubs' ads, speeches,
divorce suits, found drowned.55 Nearing the end of his tether now. Sober
serious man with a bit in the savingsbank I'd say. Wife a good cook
and washer. Daughter working the machine in the parlour.56 Plain Jane,
no damn nonsense.


　　　　　　　AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER57


He stayed in his walk to watch a typesetter neatly distributing type.
Reads it backwards first. Quickly he does it. Must require some practice
that. mangiD kcirtaP. Poor papa with his hagadah book,58 reading backwards
with his finger to me. Pessach.59 Next year in Jerusalem.60 Dear, O dear!
All that long business about that brought us out of the land of Egypt and
into the house of bondage61 alleluia.62 Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu.63 No,
that's the other.64 Then the twelve brothers, Jacob's sons.65 And then the
lamb and the cat and the dog and the stick and the water and the butcher.
And then the angel of death kills the butcher and he kills the ox and the
dog kills the cat.66 Sounds a bit silly till you come to look into 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. Practice makes perfect. Seems
to see with his fingers.

Mr Bloom passed on out of the clanking noises through the gallery on to
the landing. Now am I going to tram it out all the way and then catch
him out perhaps. Better phone him up first. Number? Yes. Same as Cit-
ron's house.67 Twentyeight. Twentyeight double four.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP


He went down the house staircase. Who the deuce scrawled all over those
walls with matches? Looks as if they did it for a bet. Heavy greasy smell
there always is in those works. Lukewarm glue in Thom's68 next door when
I was there.

He took out his handkerchief to dab his nose. Citronlemon? Ah, the soap I
put there.69 Lose it out of that pocket. Putting back his handkerchief he
took out the soap and stowed it away, buttoned, into the hip pocket of
his trousers.

What perfume does your wife use? I could go home still: tram: something
I 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 it
is.

He entered softly.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　ERIN, GREEN GEM OF THE SILVER SEA70


--The ghost walks,71 professor MacHugh72 murmured softly, biscuitfully to the
dusty windowpane.

Mr Dedalus, staring from the empty fireplace at Ned Lambert's quizzing face,
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 babbles on its
way, tho' quarrelling with the stony obstacles, to the tumbling waters of
Neptune's blue domain, 'mid mossy banks, fanned by gentlest zephyrs, played
on by the glorious sunlight or 'neath the shadows cast o'er its pensive
bosom by the overarching leafage of the giants of the forest.73 What about
that, Simon? he asked over the fringe of his newspaper. How's that for
high?

--Changing his drink,74 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 on
the fireplace and to the window, and Marathon looked on the sea.75

--That will do, professor MacHugh cried from the window. I don't want
to hear 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.76 Ned Lambert is taking a day off I see.
Rather upsets a man's day, a funeral does. He has influence they say.
Old Chatterton, the vicechancellor,77 is his granduncle or his greatgrand-
uncle. Close on ninety they say. Subleader78 for his death written this
long time perhaps. Living to spite them. Might go first himself. Johnny,
make room for your uncle.79 The right honourable Hedges Eyre Chatterton.
Daresay he writes him an odd shaky cheque or two on gale days.80 Windfall
when he kicks out. Alleluia.

--Just another spasm, Ned Lambert said.

--What is it? Mr Bloom asked.

--A recently discovered fragment of Cicero,81 professor MacHugh answered
with 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 an
accent on the whose.

--Dan Dawson's82 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 was pushed
in.

--Excuse me, J. J. O'Molloy83 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's in 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 the inner
door.

--Very much so, professor MacHugh said. To be seen and heard. He's in his
sanctum with Lenehan.84

J. J. O'Molloy strolled to the sloping desk and began to turn back the pink
pages85 of the file.

Practice dwindling. A mighthavebeen. Losing heart. Gambling. Debts of
honour.86 Reaping the whirlwind.87 Used to get good retainers from D. and
T. Fitzgerald.88 Their wigs to show the grey matter. Brains on their sleeve
like the statue in Glasnevin.89 Believe he does some literary work for the
Express90 with Gabriel Conroy.91 Wellread fellow. Myles Crawford began on
the Independent.92 Funny the way those newspaper men veer about when they
get wind of a new opening. Weathercocks. Hot and cold in the same breath.93
Wouldn't know which to believe. One story good till you hear the next. Go
for one another baldheaded94 in the papers and then all blows over. Hail
fellow well met the next moment.

--Ah, listen to this for God' sake, Ned Lambert pleaded. Or again if we but
climb the serried mountain peaks . . .

--Bombast! the professor broke in testily. Enough of the inflated windbag!

--peaks, Ned Lambert went on, towering high on high, to bathe our souls,
as it were . . .

--Bathe his lips, Mr Dedalus said. Blessed and eternal God! Yes? Is he
taking anything for it?

--As 'twere, in the peerless panorama of Ireland's portfolio, unmatched,
despite their wellpraised prototypes in other vaunted prize regions, for
very beauty, of bosky grove and undulating plain and luscious pastureland
of vernal green, steeped in the transcendent translucent glow of our mild
mysterious Irish twilight . . .


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　 HIS NATIVE DORIC95


--The moon, professor MacHugh said. He forgot Hamlet.96

--That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of the
moon shine forth to irradiate her silver effulgence . . .

--O! Mr Dedalus cried, giving vent to a hopeless groan. Shite and onions!
That'll do, Ned. Life is too short.

He took off his silk hat and, blowing out impatiently his bushy moustache,
welshcombed97 his hair with raking fingers.

Ned Lambert tossed the newspaper aside, chuckling with delight. An instant
after a hoarse bark of laughter burst over professor MacHugh's unshaven
blackspectacled face.

--Doughy Daw!98 he cried.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　WHAT WETHERUP SAID99


All very fine to jeer at it now in cold print but it goes down like hot cake
that stuff.100 He was in the bakery line too, wasn't he? Why they call him
Doughy Daw. Feathered his nest well anyhow. Daughter engaged to that
chap in the inland revenue office101 with the motor.102 Hooked that nicely.
Entertainments. Open house. Big blowout. Wetherup always said that. Get
a grip of them by the stomach.

The inner door was opened violently and a scarlet beaked face, crested
by a comb of feathery hair, thrust itself in. The bold blue eyes stared
about them and the harsh voice asked:

--What is it?

--And here comes the sham squire himself!103 professor MacHugh said grandly.

--Getonouthat, you bloody old pedagogue! the editor said in recognition.

--Come, Ned, Mr Dedalus said, putting on his hat. I must get a drink after
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 roved to-
wards 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. We won
every time! North Cork and Spanish officers!

--Where was that, Myles? Ned Lambert asked with a reflective glance at his
toecaps.

--In Ohio!104 the editor shouted.

--So it was, begad, Ned Lambert agreed.

Passing out he whispered to J. J. O'Molloy:

--Incipient jigs.105 Sad case.

--Ohio! the editor crowed in high treble from his uplifted scarlet face. My
Ohio!106

--A perfect cretic!107 the professor said. Long, short and long.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　 　O, HARP EOLIAN!108


He took a reel of dental floss from his waistcoat pocket and, breaking off
a piece, twanged it smartly between two and two of his resonant unwashed
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, coming to
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 slip limply
back on the file. Is that Canada swindle case109 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.110

--Who wants a dead cert for the Gold cup? he asked. Sceptre with O. Madden111
up.

He tossed the tissues on to the table.

Screams of newsboys barefoot in the hall rushed near and the door was flung
open.

--Hush, Lenehan said. I hear feetstoops.

Professor MacHugh strode across the room and seized the cringing urchin by
the collar as the others scampered out of the hall and down the steps. The
tissues rustled up in the draught, floated softly in the air blue scrawls
and under the table came to earth.

--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 hurricane
blowing.112

Lenehan began to paw the tissues up from the floor, grunting as he stooped
twice.

--Waiting for the racing special, sir, the newsboy said. It was Pat Farrell
shoved me, sir.

He pointed to two faces peering in round the doorframe.

--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? . . .113
Aha! I see . . . Right. I'll catch him.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　A COLLISION ENSUES


The bell whirred again as he rang off. He came in quickly and bumped
against Lenehan who was struggling up with the second tissue.

--Pardon, Monsieur, Lenehan said, clutching him for an instant and making
a grimace.

--My fault, Mr Bloom said, suffering his grip. Are you hurt? I'm in a hurry.

--Knee, Lenehan said.

He made a comic face and whined, rubbing his knee:

--The accumulation of the anno Domini.114

--Sorry, Mr Bloom said.

He went to the door and, holding it ajar, paused. J. J. O'Molloy slapped
the heavy pages over. The noise of two shrill voices, a mouthorgan, echoed
in the bare hallway from the newsboys squatted on the doorsteps:

--We are the Boys of Wexford
Who fought with heart and hand. 115


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　 　EXIT BLOOM


--I'm just running round to Bachelor's walk, Mr Bloom said, about this ad
of Keyes's. Want to fix it up. They tell me he's round there in Dillon'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.116

--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 his black-
rimmed spectacles over the crossblind.117 Look at the young scamps after him.

--Show. Where? Lenehan cried, running to the window.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　A STREET CORTEGE


Both smiled over the crossblind at the file of capering newsboys in Mr Bloom's
wake, the last zigzagging white on the breeze a mocking kite, a tail 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 spaugs118 and the walk. Small nines.119
Steal upon larks.120

He began to mazurka121 in swift caricature across the floor on sliding feet
past the fireplace to J. J. O'Molloy who placed the tissues in his receiv-
ing hands.

--What's that? Myles Crawford said with a start. Where are the other two
gone?

--Who? the professor said, turning. They're gone round to the Oval122 for a drink.
Paddy Hooper123 is there with Jack Hall.124 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 his jacket, jingling
his keys in his back pocket. They jingled then in the air and against the wood as
he locked his desk drawer.

--He's pretty well on,125 professor MacHugh said in a low voice.

--Seems to be, J. J. O'Molloy said, taking out a cigarettecase in murmuring
meditation, but it is not always as it seems. Who has the most matches?


　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　THE CALUMET OF PEACE126


He offered a cigarette to the professor and took one himself. Lenehan promptly
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. He declaim-
ed in song, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh:

--'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee,
'Twas Empire charmed thy heart. 127

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 him with quick
grace, said:

--Silence for my brandnew riddle!

--Imperium Romanum,128 J. J. O'Molloy said gently. It sounds nobler than British or
Brixton.129 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 ROME130


--Wait a moment, professor MacHugh said, raising two quiet claws. We mustn'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.131 The
Jews in the wilderness and on the mountaintop said: It is meet to be here. Let
us build an altar to Jehovah.132 The Roman, like the Englishman who follows in
his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which he set his foot (on our
shore he never set it)133 only his cloacal obsession.134 He gazed about him in
his toga and he said: It is meet to be here. Let us construct a waterclos-
et.

--Which they accordingly did do, Lenehan said. Our old ancient ancestors, as
we read in the first chapter of Guinness's,135 were partial to the running
stream.

--They were nature's gentlemen, J. J. O'Molloy murmured. But we have also
Roman law.136

--And Pontius Pilate is its prophet,137 professor MacHugh responded.

--Do you know that story about chief baron Palles?138 J. J. O'Molloy asked. It
was at the royal university dinner.139 Everything was going swimmingly . . .

--First my riddle, Lenehan said. Are you ready?

Mr O'Madden Burke,140 tall in copious grey of Donegal tweed,141 came in from
the hallway. Stephen Dedalus, behind him, uncovered as he entered.

--Entrez, mes enfants! 142 Lenehan cried.

--I escort a suppliant, Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously. Youth led by
Experience visits Notoriety.

--How do you do? the editor said, holding out a hand. Come in. Your governor143
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 and signature.

--Who? the editor asked.

Bit torn off.

--Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said.

--That old pelters,144 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. 145

--Good day, Stephen, the professor said, coming to peer over their shoulders.
Foot and mouth? Are you turned . . .?

Bullockbefriending bard.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT


--Good day, sir, Stephen answered blushing. The letter is not mine. Mr Garrett
Deasy asked me to . . .

--O, I know him, Myles Crawford said, and I knew his wife too. The bloodiest
old tartar God ever made. By Jesus, she had the foot and mouth disease and
no mistake! The night she threw the soup in the waiter's face in the Star and
Garter.146 Oho!

A woman brought sin into the world. For Helen, the runaway wife of Menelaus,
ten years the Greeks. O'Rourke, prince of Breffni.147

--Is he a widower? Stephen asked.

--Ay, a grass one,148 Myles Crawford said, his eye running down the typescript.
Emperor's horses.149 Habsburg.150 An Irishman saved his life on the ramparts of
Vienna. Don't you forget! Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland.151
Sent his heir over to make the king an Austrian fieldmarshal now.152 Going to be
trouble there one day. Wild geese.153 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.154

Professor MacHugh turned on him.

--And if not? he said.

--I'll tell you how it was, Myles Crawford began. A Hungarian it was one
day . . .155


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　 　LOST CAUSES
　　 　　　　　　　　　　　 　NOBLE MARQUESS MENTIONED


--We were always loyal to lost causes,156 the professor said. Success for us is
the death of the intellect and of the imagination. We were never loyal to the
successful. We serve them. I teach the blatant Latin language. I speak the
tongue of a race the acme of whose mentality is the maxim: time is money.157
Material domination. Dominus!158 Lord! Where is the spirituality? Lord Jesus?
Lord Salisbury?159 A sofa in a westend club.160 But the Greek!


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　 　KYRIE ELEISON!161


A smile of light brightened his darkrimmed eyes, lengthened his long
lips.

--The Greek! he said again. Kyrios! 162 Shining word! The vowels the Semite
and the Saxon know not.163 Kyrie! The radiance of the intellect. I ought to
profess Greek, the language of the mind. Kyrie Eleison! The closetmaker
and the cloacamaker will never be lords of our spirit. We are liege subjects
of the catholic chivalry of Europe that foundered at Trafalgar164 and of the
empire of the spirit, not an imperium, that went under with the Athenian
fleets at Aegospotami.165 Yes, yes. They went under. Pyrrhus, misled by
an oracle, made a last attempt to retrieve the fortunes of Greece.166 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 they always
fell.167

--Boohoo! Lenehan wept with a little noise. Owing to a brick received in
the latter half of the matinee. Poor, poor, poor Pyrrhus!168

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.169 Can you?

In mourning for Sallust,170 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 be all 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.171 See the wheeze?172 Rows of cast steel. Gee!

He poked Mr O'Madden Burke mildly in the spleen. Mr O'Madden Burke fell back
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 rustling
tissues.

The professor, returning by way of the files, swept his hand across Stephen's
and Mr O'Madden Burke's loose ties.

--Paris, past and present, he said. You look like communards.173

--Like fellows who had blown up the Bastile,174 J. J. O'Molloy said in quiet
mockery. Or was it you shot the lord lieutenant of Finland between you? You
look as though you had done the deed. General Bobrikoff.175


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　 OMINUM GATHERUM176


--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 of advertisement.

--And Madam Bloom, Mr O'Madden Burke added. The vocal muse. Dublin's prime
favourite.

Lenehan gave a loud cough.

--Ahem! he said very softly. O, for a fresh of breath air! I caught a cold
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 bite in it.
You can do it. I see it in your face. In the lexicon of youth . . .177

See it in your face. See it in your eye. Lazy idle little schemer.178

--Foot and mouth disease! the editor cried in scornful invective. Great
nationalist meeting in Borris-in-Ossory.179 All balls! Bulldosing the public!180
Give them something with a bite in it. Put us all into it, damn its soul.
Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy.180

--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 GALLAHER181


--You can do it, Myles Crawford repeated, clenching his hand in emphasis.
Wait a minute. We'll paralyse Europe as Ignatius Gallaher used to say when he
was on the shaughraun,182 doing billiardmarking183 in the Clarence.184 Gallaher,
that was a pressman for you. That was a pen. You know how he made his mark?
I'll tell you. That was the smartest piece of journalism ever known.185 That
was in eightyone, sixth of May, time of the invincibles, murder in the
Phoenix park,186 before you were born,187 I suppose. I'll show you.

He pushed past them to the files.

--Look at here, he said turning. The New York World 188 cabled for a special.
Remember that time?

Professor MacHugh nodded.

--New York World, the editor said, excitedly pushing back his straw hat.
Where it took place. Tim Kelly, or Kavanagh I mean. Joe Brady189 and the
rest of them. Where Skin-the-Goat drove the car.190 Whole route, see?

--Skin-the-Goat, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Fitzharris. He has that cabman's
shelter,191 they say, down there at Butt bridge.192 Holohan told me. You know
Holohan?

--Hop and carry one, is it? Myles Crawford said.

--And poor Gumley193 is down there too, so he told me, minding stones for
the 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 mind the
stones, see they don't run away. Look at here. What did Ignatius Gallaher
do? I'll tell you. Inspiration of genius. Cabled right away. Have you
Weekly Freeman of 17 March?194 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,195 let us say. Have
you got that? Right.

The telephone whirred.


　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　A DISTANT VOICE


--I'll answer it, the professor said, going.

--B is parkgate.196 Good.

His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating.

--T is viceregal lodge.197 C is where murder took place. K is Knockmaroon
gate.198

The loose flesh of his neck shook like a cock's wattles. An illstarched
dicky jutted up and with a rude gesture he thrust it back into his waistcoat.

--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.199 F.A.B.P. Got that?
X is Davy's publichouse200 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's publichouse,
see?


　　　　　　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　CLEVER, VERY


--Clever, Lenehan said. Very.

--Gave it to them on a hot plate, Myles Crawford said, the whole bloody
history.

Nightmare from which you will never awake.201

--I saw it, the editor said proudly. I was present. Dick Adams,202 the
besthearted bloody Corkman the Lord ever put the breath of life in,203
and myself.

Lenehan bowed to a shape of air, announcing:

--Madam, I'm Adam. And Able was I ere I saw Elba.204

--History! Myles Crawford cried. The Old Woman of Prince's street205 was
there first. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth206 over that. Out of an
advertisement. Gregor Grey207 made the design for it. That gave him the leg
up. Then Paddy Hooper worked Tay Pay208 who took him on to the Star.209
Now he's got in with Blumenfeld.210 That's press. That's talent. Pyatt!211 He
was all their daddies!

--The father of scare journalism,212 Lenehan confirmed, and the brother-in-
law of Chris Callinan.213

--Hello? Are you there? Yes, he's here still. Come across yourself.

--Where do you find a pressman like that now, eh? the editor cried.

He flung 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 hawkers
were up before the recorder . . .214

--O yes, J. J. O'Molloy said eagerly. Lady Dudley215 was walking home through
the park to see all the trees that were blown down by that cyclone last year216
and thought she'd buy a view of Dublin. And it turned out to be a commemora-
tion postcard of Joe Brady or Number One217 or Skin-the-Goat. Right outside
the viceregal lodge, imagine!

--They're only in the hook and eye department,218 Myles Crawford said.
Psha! Press and the bar! Where have you a man now at the bar like those
fellows, like Whiteside,219 like Isaac Butt,220 like silvertongued O'Hagan.221 Eh?
Ah, bloody nonsense. Psha! Only in the halfpenny place.222

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 you
write it then?

Rhymes and reasons

Mouth, south. Is the mouth south someway? Or the south a mouth? Must be some.
South, pout, out, shout, drouth. Rhymes: two men dressed the same, looking
the same,223 two by two.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . La tua pace
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Che parlar ti piace
. . . . .Mentrem che il vento, come fa, si tace.224


He saw them three by three, approaching girls, in green, in rose, in russet,
entwining, per l'aer perso,225 in mauve, in purple,226 quella pacifica oria-
fiamma,227 gold of oriflamme, di rimirar fe piu ardenti.228 But I old men,
penitent, leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night:229 mouth south: tomb
womb.

--Speak up for yourself, Mr O'Madden Burke said.


　　　　　　　　　　　　 　　　SUFFICIENT FOR THE DAY. . .230


J. J. O'Molloy, smiling palely, took up the gage.

--My dear Myles, he said, flinging his cigarette aside, you put a false con-
struction on my words. I hold no brief, as at present advised, for the third
profession231 qua profession but your Cork legs232 are running away with
you. Why not bring in Henry Grattan233 and Flood234 and Demosthenes235
and Edmund Burke?236 Ignatius Gallaher we all know and his Chapelizod boss,
Harmsworth237 of the farthing press,238 and his American cousin of the
Bowery guttersheet239 not to mention Paddy Kelly's budget,240 Pue's oc-
currences 241 and our watchful friend The Skibbereen Eagle.242 Why bring
in a master of forensic eloquence like Whiteside?243 Sufficient for the day
is the newspaper thereof.244


　　　　　　　　　　　　LINKS WITH BYGONE DAYS OF YORE


--Grattan and Flood245 wrote for this very paper, the editor cried in his face.
Irish volunteers.246 Where are you now? Established 1763. Dr Lucas.247 Who
have you now like John Philpot Curran?248 Psha!

--Well, J. J. O'Molloy said, Bushe K.C.,249 for example.

--Bushe? the editor said. Well, yes: Bushe, yes. He has a strain of it in
his blood. Kendal Bushe250 or I mean Seymour Bushe.

--He would have been on the bench long ago, the professor said, only for
. . .251 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 life fell
from the lips of Seymour Bushe. It was in that case of fratricide, the Childs
murder case.252 Bushe defended him.

And in the porches of mine ear did pour.253

By the way how did he find that out? He died in his sleep. Or the other story,
beast with two backs?254

--What was that? the professor asked.


　　　　　　　　　　　　 　　　ITALIA, MAGISTRA ARTIUM255


--He spoke on the law of evidence, J. J. O'Molloy said, of Roman justice as
contrasted with the earlier Mosaic code, the Lex Talionis.256 And he cited the
Moses of Michelangelo in the vatican.257

--Ha.

--A few wellchosen words, Lenehan prefaced. Silence!

Pause. J. J. O'Molloy took out his cigarettecase.

False lull. Something quite ordinary.

Messenger258 took out his matchbox thoughtfully and lit his cigar.

I have often thought since on looking back over that strange time that it
was that small act, trivial in itself, that striking of that match, that deter-
mined the whole aftercourse of both our lives.259


　　　　　　　　　　　　　 　　　　A POLISHED PERIOD


J. J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words:

--He said of it: that stony effigy in frozen music,260 horned and terrible, of
the human form divine,261 that eternal symbol of wisdom and of prophecy which,
if aught that the imagination or the hand of sculptor has wrought in marble of
soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live, deserves to live.

His slim hand with a wave graced echo and fall.

--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. He
took a cigarette from the case. J. J. O'Molloy offered his case to Myles
Crawford. Lenehan lit their cigarettes as before and took his trophy,
saying:

--Muchibus thankibus.


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　A MAN OF HIGH MORALE


--Professor Magennis262 was speaking to me about you, J. J. O'Molloy said to
Stephen. What do you think really of that hermetic crowd,263 the opal hush
poets:264 A. E. the mastermystic? That Blavatsky woman265 started it. She was
a nice old bag of tricks. A. E. has been telling some yankee interviewer266 that
you came to him in the small hours of the morning to ask him about planes
of consciousness.267 Magennis thinks you must have been 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 say about
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 I ever heard
was a speech made by John F Taylor268 at the college historical society.269 Mr
Justice Fitzgibbon,270 the present lord justice of appeal, had spoken and
the paper under debate was an essay (new for those days), advocating the
revival of the Irish tongue.271

He turned towards Myles Crawford and said:

--You know Gerald Fitzgibbon. Then you can imagine the style of his dis-
course.

--He is sitting with Tim Healy,272 J. J. O'Molloy said, rumour has it, on the
Trinity college estates commission.273

--He is sitting with a sweet thing, Myles Crawford said, in a child's frock.274
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 will not say the
vials of his wrath275 but pouring the proud man's contumely276 upon the new
movement. It was then a new movement. We were weak,277 therefore worthless.

He closed his long thin lips an instant but, eager to be on, raised an out-
spanned hand to his spectacles and, with trembling thumb and ringfinger
touching lightly the black rims, steadied them to a new focus.


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　IMPROMPTU


In ferial tone he addressed J. J. O'Molloy:

--Taylor had come there, you must know, from a sickbed. That he had
prepared his speech I do not believe for there was not even one
shorthandwriter in the hall. His dark lean face had a growth of shaggy
beard round it. He wore a loose white silk neckcloth and altogether he
looked (though he was not) a dying man.

His gaze turned at once but slowly from J. J. O'Molloy's towards Stephen's
face and then bent at once to the ground, seeking. His unglazed linen col-
lar appeared behind his bent head, soiled by his withering 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.278

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 in listening to
the remarks addressed to the youth of Ireland a moment since by my learned
friend. It seemed to me that I had been transported into a country far away
from this country, into an age remote from this age, that I stood in ancient
Egypt and that I was listening to the speech of some highpriest of that land
addressed to the youthful Moses.279

His listeners held their cigarettes poised to hear, their smokes ascending
in frail stalks that flowered with his speech. And let our crooked smokes.280
Noble words coming. Look out. Could you try your hand at it yourself?

--And it seemed to me that I heard the voice of that Egyptian highpriest raised
in a tone of like haughtiness and like pride. I heard his words and their mean-
ing was revealed to me.


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　FROM THE FATHERS281


It was revealed to me that those things are good which yet are corrupted
which neither if they were supremely good nor unless they were good could
be corrupted.282 Ah, curse you! That's saint Augustine.

--Why will you Jews not accept our culture, our religion and our language?
You are a tribe of nomad herdsmen: we are a mighty people. You have no cities
nor no wealth: our cities are hives of humanity and our galleys, trireme and
quadrireme,283 laden with all manner merchandise furrow the waters of the
known globe. You have but emerged from primitive conditions: we have a
literature, a priesthood, an agelong history and a polity.

Nile.

Child, man, effigy.284

By the Nilebank the babemaries285 kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man supple in
combat:286 stonehorned, stonebearded, heart of stone.287

--You pray to a local and obscure idol:288 our temples, majestic and mysterious,
are the abodes of Isis and Osiris, of Horus and Ammon Ra.291 Yours serfdom, awe
and humbleness: ours thunder and the seas. Israel is weak and few are her
children: Egypt is an host and terrible are her arms. Vagrants and daylabour-
ers are you called: the world trembles at our name.

A dumb belch of hunger cleft his speech. He lifted his voice above it bold-
ly:

--But, ladies and gentlemen, had the youthful Moses listened to and accepted
that view of life, had he bowed his head and bowed his will and bowed his spirit
before that arrogant admonition he would never have brought the chosen people
out of their house of bondage,292 nor followed the pillar of the cloud by day.293
He would never have spoken with the Eternal amid lightnings on Sinai's mountain-
top294 nor ever have come down with the Light of Inspiration shining in his coun-
tenance and bearing in his arms the Tables of the Law,295 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.296

--A sudden--at--the--moment--though--from--lingering--illness--often--previ-
ous-ly--expectorated--demise, Lenehan added. And with a great future behind him.

The troop of bare feet was heard rushing along the hallway and pattering up the
staircase.

--That is oratory, the professor said uncontradicted.

Gone with the wind.297 Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the kings. Miles of ears
of porches. The tribune's words, howled and scattered to the four winds. A pe-
ople sheltered within his voice.298 Dead noise. Akasic records299 of all that ever
anywhere wherever was. Love and laud him:300 me no more.

I have money.

--Gentlemen, Stephen said. As the next motion on the agenda paper may I suggest
that the house do now adjourn?

--You take my breath away. It is not perchance a French compliment?301 Mr O'Mad-
den 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 favour say ay,
Lenehan announced. The contrary no. I declare it carried. To which particular
boosing shed? . . . My casting vote is: Mooney's!302

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 his umbrella:

--Lay on, Macduff!303

--Chip of the old block! the editor cried, clapping Stephen on the shoulder. Let
us go. Where are those blasted keys?

He fumbled in his pocket pulling out the crushed typesheets.

--Foot and mouth. I know. That'll be all right. That'll go in. Where are they?
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? It has the pro-
phetic vision. Fuit Ilium! 304 The sack of windy Troy.305 Kingdoms of this world.306
The masters of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today.307

The first newsboy came pattering down the stairs at their heels and rushed out
into the street, yelling:

--Racing special!

Dublin. I have much, much to learn.

They turned to the left along Abbey street.308

--I have a vision too, Stephen said.

--Yes? the professor said, skipping to get into step. Crawford will follow.

Another newsboy shot past them, yelling as he ran:

--Racing special!


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN309


Dubliners.

--Two Dublin vestals,310 Stephen said, elderly and pious, have lived fifty and
fiftythree years in Fumbally's lane.

--Where is that? the professor asked.

--Off Blackpitts,311 Stephen said.

Damp night reeking of hungry dough. Against the wall. Face glistering tallow
under her fustian shawl. Frantic hearts. Akasic records. Quicker, darlint!312

On now. Dare it. Let there be life.313

--They want to see the views of Dublin from the top of Nelson's pillar.314 They
save up three and tenpence in a red tin letterbox moneybox. They shake out
the threepenny bits and sixpences and coax out the pennies with the blade of
a knife. Two and three in silver and one and seven in coppers. They put on
their bonnets and best clothes and take their umbrellas for fear it may come
on to rain.

--Wise virgins,315 professor MacHugh said.


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　LIFE ON THE RAW


--They buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn316 and four slices of panloaf317
at the north city diningrooms in Marlborough street from Miss Kate Collins, propri-
etress . . .318 They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from a girl at the foot
of Nelson's pillar to take off the thirst of the brawn. They give two three-
penny bits to the gentleman at the turnstile and begin to waddle slowly up
the winding staircase, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid of the dark,
panting, one asking the other have you the brawn, praising God and the Bless-
ed Virgin, threatening to come down, peeping at the airslits. Glory be to God.
They had no idea it was that high.

Their names are Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe.319 Anne Kearns has the
lumbago for which she rubs on Lourdes water,320 given her by a lady who got a
bottleful from a passionist father.321 Florence MacCabe takes a crubeen322 and
a bottle of double X323 for supper every Saturday.

--Antithesis, the professor said nodding twice. Vestal virgins. I can see them.
What's keeping our friend?

He turned.

A bevy of scampering newsboys rushed down the steps, scattering in all direct-
ions, yelling, their white papers fluttering. Hard after them Myles Crawford
appeared on the steps, his hat aureoling his scarlet face, 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 THE BLOOM324


--Yes, he said. I see them.

Mr Bloom, breathless, caught in a whirl of wild newsboys near the offices of
the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal,325 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 Keyes just now. He'll
give a renewal for two months, he says. After he'll see. 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 told councillor Nannetti from the Kilkenny
People.326 I can have access to it in the national library. House of keys,327
don't you see? His name is Keyes. It's a play on the name. But he pract-
ically promised he'd give the renewal. But he wants just a little puff.
What will I tell him, Mr Crawford?


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　K.M.A.


--Will you tell him he can kiss my arse?328 Myles Crawford said throwing
out his arm for emphasis. Tell him that straight from the stable.

A bit nervy. Look out for squalls.329 All off for a drink. Arm in arm.
Lenehan's yachting cap on the cadge beyond. Usual blarney. Wonder is
that young Dedalus the moving spirit. Has a good pair of boots on him
today. Last time I saw him he had his heels on view. Been walking in
muck somewhere. Careless chap. What was he doing in Irishtown?330

--Well, Mr Bloom said, his eyes returning, if I can get the design I suppose
it's worth a short par. He'd give the ad, I think. I'll tell him . . .


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　K.M.R.I.A.331


--He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford cried loudly over his
shoulder. Any time he likes, tell him.

While Mr Bloom stood weighing the point and about to smile he strode on
jerkily.


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　RAISING THE WIND332


--Nulla Bona,333 Jack, he said, raising his hand to his chin. I'm up to here.
I've been through the hoop myself.334 I was looking for a fellow to back a bill335
for me no later than last week. Sorry, Jack. You must take the will for the
deed. With a heart and a half if I could raise the wind anyhow.

J. J. O'Molloy pulled a long face and walked on silently. They caught up on the
others and walked abreast.

--When they have eaten the brawn and the bread and wiped their twenty fingers
in the paper the bread was wrapped in they go nearer to the railings.

--Something for you, the professor explained to Myles Crawford. Two old Dublin
women on the top of Nelson's pillar.


　　　　　　　　　　SOME COLUMN! -- THAT'S WHAT ONE WADDLER SAID


--That's new, Myles Crawford said. That's copy. Out for the waxies Dargle.336
Two old trickies, what?

--But they are afraid the pillar will fall, Stephen went on. They see the roofs and
argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue dome,337 Adam and
Eve's,338 saint Laurence O'Toole's.339 But it makes them giddy to look so they pull
up their skirts . . .


　　　　　　　　　　　　THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES


--Easy all, Myles Crawford said. No poetic licence. We're in the archdiocese340
here.

--And settle down on their striped petticoats, peering up at the statue of the
onehandled adulterer.341

--Onehandled adulterer! the professor cried. I like that. I see the idea. I see
what you mean.


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　DAMES DONATE DUBLIN'S CITS
　　　　　　　　　　　　SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, BELIEF342


--It gives them a crick in their necks, Stephen said, and they are too tired to
look up or down or to speak. They put the bag of plums between them and eat
the plums out of it, one after another, wiping off with their handkerchiefs the
plumjuice that dribbles out of their mouths and spitting the plumstones slowly
out between the railings.

He gave a sudden loud young laugh as a close. Lenehan and Mr O'Madden
Burke, hearing, turned, beckoned and led on across towards Moon-
ey's.

--Finished? Myles Crawford said. So long as they do no worse.


　　　　　　　　　　　　SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE
　　　　　　　　　　　　ON PROBOSCIS. SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　ITHICANS VOW PEN IS CHAMP


--You remind me of Antisthenes,343 the professor said, a disciple of Gorgias,344
the sophist. It is said of him that none could tell if he were bitterer against
others or against himself. He was the son of a noble and a bondwoman. And he
wrote a book in which he took away the palm of beauty from Argive Helen and
handed it to poor Penelope.

Poor Penelope. Penelope Rich.345

They made ready to cross O'Connell street.


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 　　　HELLO THERE, CENTRAL!346


At various points along the eight lines tramcars with motionless trolleys
stood in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, Rathfarnham, Blackrock,
Kingstown and Dalkey, Sandymount Green, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Don-
nybrook, Palmerston Park and Upper Rathmines,347 all still, becalmed in short
circuit.348 Hackney cars, cabs, delivery waggons, mailvans, private broughams,
aerated mineral water floats with rattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled,
horsedrawn, rapidly.

What? --And likewise --where?

--But what do you call it? Myles Crawford asked. Where did they get the
plums?


　　　　　　　　　　　　VIRGILIAN, SAYS PEDAGOGUE. SOPHOMORE
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　PLUMPS FOR OLD MAN MOSES.349


--Call it, wait, the professor said, opening his long lips wide to reflect.
Call it, let me see. Call it: Deus nobis haec otia fecit.350

--No, Stephen said. I call it A Pisgah Sight of Palestine351 or The Parable of
The Plums.352

--I see, the professor said.

He laughed richly.

--I see, he said again with new pleasure. Moses and the promised land.353 We gave
him that idea, he added to J. J. O'Molloy.


　　　　　　　　　　　HORATIO IS CYNOSURE THIS FAIR JUNY DAY


J. J. O'Molloy sent a weary sidelong glance towards the statue and held his
peace.

--I see, the professor said.

He halted on sir John Gray's pavement354 island and peered aloft at Nelson through
the meshes of his wry smile.


　　　　　　　　　　　DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING
　　　　　　　　　　　　FOR FRISKY FRUMPS. ANNE WIMBLES, FLO
　　　　　　　　　　　　　WANGLES355 -- YET CAN YOU BLAME THEM?


--Onehandled adulterer, he said smiling grimly. That tickles me, I must
say.

--Tickled the old ones too, Myles Crawford said, if the God Almighty's truth
was known.

* * * * *

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