Urbane, to comfort them, the quaker librarian purred:
— And we have, have we not, those priceless pages of Wilhelm Meister. A great poet on a great brother poet. A hesitating soul taking arms against a sea of troubles, torn by conflicting doubts(3,3) as one sees in real life.
He (3made came3) a step a sinkapace forward on (3creaking neatsleather neatsleather creaking3) and a step backward (3creaking3) a sinkapace on the solemn floor.
A noiseless attendant(3,3) setting open the door but slightly(3,3) made him a noiseless beck.
— Directly, (3he said said he3), creaking to go, albeit lingering. The beautiful ineffectual dreamer who comes to grief against hard facts. One always feels that Goethe's judgments are so true. True in the larger analysis.
Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. Bald, (3most3) zealous(3,3) by the door he gave his large ear all to the attendant's words(3. Heard: heard3) them: and was gone.
— Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen sneered, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.
— Have you found those six brave medicals, John Eglinton asked with elder's gall, to write Paradise Lost at your dictation(3.?3)
Smile. Smile Cranly's smile.
First he tickled
Then he patted her
Then he passed the female catheter
For he was a medical
Jolly old medi(3 …3)
— I feel you would need one more for Hamlet. Seven is
to the mystic mind. The shining seven
W. B.3) calls them.
Glittereyed(3,3) his rufous skull close to his greencapped desklamp sought the face(3,3) bearded amid darkgreener shadow, an ollav, holyeyed. He laughed low: a sizar's laugh of Trinity: unanswered.
Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood
Tears such as angels weep(3.3)
Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta(3.3)
He holds my follies hostage.
Cranly's eleven true Wicklowmen to free their sireland. Gaptoothed Kathleen(3,3) her four beautiful green fields, the stranger in her house. And one (3more3) to hail him: (3ave, rabbi: ave, rabbi.3) (3the The3) Tinahely twelve. In the shadow of the glen he cooees for them. My (3Soul's soul's3) youth I gave him, night by night. (3God speed Godspeed3). Good hunting.
(3Folly. Persist. Mulligan has my telegram.3)
(3Mulligan has my telegram. Folly. Persist.3)
— Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton censured, have yet to create a figure which the world will set beside Saxon Shakespeare's Hamlet though I admire him, as old Ben did, on this side idolatry.
— All these questions are purely academic, Russell (3said oracled3) out of his shadow. I mean, (3if whether3) Hamlet is Shakespeare or James I or Essex. (3Clergymen's Clergyman's3) discussions of the historicity of Jesus. Art has to reveal to us ideas, formless spiritual essences. The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring. The painting of Gustave Moreau is the painting of ideas. The deepest poetry of Shelley, the words of Hamlet bring our (3minds mindº3) into contact with the eternal wisdom, Plato's world of ideas. All the rest is the speculation of schoolboys for schoolboys.
(3A. E. has been telling some interviewer.3) (3Well Wall3), tarnation strike me. (3A.E has been telling an interviewer.3)
— The schoolmen were schoolboys (3once first3), Stephen said superpolitely. Aristotle was once Plato's (3prize3) schoolboy.
— And has remained so, one should hope, John Eglinton
sedately said. One can see
A prize, a
model3) schoolboy with his diploma under his arm.
He laughed again at the now smiling bearded face.
Formless spiritual. Father, Son and Holy Breath. This verily is that. I am the fire upon the altar. I am the sacrificial butter.
Dunlop, Judge, the noblest Roman of them all,
Arval in heaven
K. H, their master. Adepts of the great white lodge always watching to see if they can
help. The Christ with the bridesister, moisture of light, born of a virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the plane of buddhi. Mrs Cooper Oakley once glimpsed our very illustrious sister H. P. B's elemental.
O, fie! Out on't! Pfuiteufel! You naughtn't to look, missus, so you naughtn't when a lady's ashowing of her elemental.
Mr Best entered, tall, young, mild, light. He bore in his hand with grace a notebook, new, large, clean, bright.
— That model schoolboy, Stephen said, would find (3Hamlet Hamlet's3) musings about (3the afterlife of3) his princely soul, the improbable, insignificant and undramatic monologue, as shallow as Plato's.
John Eglinton, frowning, said, waxing wroth:
— Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato.
— Which of the two, Stephen asked, would have banished (3Shakespeare me3) from his commonwealth(3.?3)
Unsheathe your dagger definitions. Streams of tendency and eons they worship. God: noise in the street: very peripatetic. Space: what you damn well have to see. Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which this vegetable world is but a shadow. Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.
Mr Best came forward, amiable, towards his colleague.
— Haines is gone, he said.
— Is he?
— I was showing him Jubainville's book. He's quite
enthusiastic, don't you know, about Hyde's Lovesongs of
Connacht. I couldn't bring him in to hear the discussion. He's gone to Gill's to buy it.
thee, forth, my booklet quick Bound thee
forth, my booklet, quick3)
(3To greet the callous public, To greet the callous public.3)
(3Writ, I ween, 'twas not my wish Writ, I ween, 'twas not my wish3)
(3In lean unlovely English. In lean unlovely English.3)
— The peatsmoke is going to his head, John Eglinton opined.
We feel in England. Penitent thief. Gone. I smoked his baccy. Green twinkling stone. An emerald set in the ring of the sea.
— People do not know how dangerous lovesongs can be, the
auric egg of Russell
occultly. The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the
dreams and visions in a peasant's heart on the hillside. For
them the earth is not an exploitable ground but the living mother. The rarefied air of the academy and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the musichall song. France produces the finest flower of corruption in Mallarmé but the desirable life is revealed only to the poor of heart, the life of Homer's Phaeecians.
From these words Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen.
— Mallarmé, don't you know, he said, has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to read to me in Paris. The one about Hamlet. He says: (3il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même3), don't you (3know know3), (3reading the book of himself reading the book of himself3). He describes Hamlet given in a French town, don't you know, a provincial town. They advertised it.
His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.
(3pièce de Shakespeare pièce de Shakespeare3)
He repeated to John Eglinton's newgathered frown:
— Pièce de Shakespeare, don't you know. It's so French(3. The, the3) French point of view. Hamlet ou …
— The absentminded beggar, Stephen ended.
John Eglinton laughed.
— Yes, I suppose it would be, he said. Excellent people, no doubt, but distressingly shortsighted in some matters.
Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder.
— A deathsman of the soul Robert Greene called him, Stephen said. Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his (3palms palmº3). Nine lives are taken off for his father's one. Our Father who art in purgatory. Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate to shoot. The shambles in act five is a forecast of the concentration camp sung by (3Algy Mr3) Swinburne.
(3Cranly, I his mute orderly, follows followingº battles from afar.3)
Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none
But we had spared …
— He will have it that Hamlet is a ghoststory, John Eglinton
said for Mr Best's behoof. Like the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to make our flesh creep.
(3List! List! O list! List! List! O list!3)
My flesh hears him: creeping, hears.
If thou didst ever …
— What is a ghost? Stephen said with tingling energy. One who has faded into impalpability through death, through absence, through change of manners. Elizabethan London lay as far from Stratford as corrupt Paris lies from virgin Dublin. Who is the ghost, returning to the world that has forgotten him? Who is (3King king3) Hamlet?
John Eglinton shifted his spare body, leaning back to judge.
— It is this hour of a June day, Stephen said, begging with a swift glance their hearing. The flag is up on the playhouse by the bankside. The bear Sackerson growls in the (3bearpit pit3) near it, Paris garden. Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the groundlings.
Local colour. Work in all you know. Make them accomplices.
— Shakespeare has left the huguenot's house in Silver street and walks by the swanmews along the riverbank. But he does not stay to feed the pen chivying her (3brood game of cygnets3) towards the rushes. The swan of Avon has other thoughts.
Composition of place. Ignatius Loyola, make haste to help me!
— The play begins. A player comes on under the shadow, clad in the castoff mail of a court buck, a wellset man with a bass voice. It is the ghost, (3King king3) Hamlet(3:,3) and the player is Shakespeare. He speaks the words (3of his part3) to Burbage, the young player who stands before him, calling him by a name(3,:3)
Hamlet, I am thy father's spirit(3,3)
bidding him list. To a son he speaks, the son of his soul, the prince, young Hamlet and to the son of his body, Hamlet Shakespeare who has died in Stratford that his namesake may live for ever.
Is it possible that that player Shakespeare, a ghost by absence, and in the
elder Hamlet buried
Denmark3), a ghost by
death, speaking his own words to his own son's name (had Hamlet Shakespeare
lived he would have been prince Hamlet's twin) is it possible
want to know,
probable3) that he did
not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those
you are the dispossessedº
son.3) I am the murdered father: (3you are the dispossessed son:3) your mother is the guilty queen, Ann Shakespeare, born Hathaway?
— But this prying into the family life of a great man, Russell began impatiently.
Art thou there, truepenny?
— Interesting only to the parish clerk. I mean, we have the plays. I mean when we read the poetry of King Lear what is it to us how the poet lived? As for living our servants can do that for us, Villiers de l'Isle said. Peeping and prying into (3the3) greenroom gossip of the day, the poet's drinking, the (3poets' poet's3) debts. We have King Lear(3. And: and3) it is immortal.
Mr Best's face, appealed to, agreed.
Flow over them with your waves and with your waters, Mananaan,
Mananaan MacLir …..
By the way(3,3) that pound he lent you when you were hungry?
I wanted it.
Take thou this noble.
You spent most of it in Georgina Johnson's bed, clergyman's daughter.
Do you intend to pay it back?
Well … (3No no3).
I paid my way. I paid my way.
Steady on. He's from north of Boyne water. You owe it.
Wait. Five months. Molecules all change. I am other I now. Other I got pound.
But I, entelechy, form of forms, am I by memory under (3everchanging ever changing3) forms.
I that sinned and prayed and fasted.
A child Conmee saved from pandies.
I, I and I. (3I.3)
A. E. I. O. U.
— Do you mean to fly in the face of the tradition of three
John Eglinton's carping voice asked. Her ghost at least has been laid for
ever. She died, for literature at least, before she was born.
— She died, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she was born. She saw him into and out of the world. She took his first embraces. She bore (3and bred3) his children and she (3put laid3) pennies on his eyes to keep his eyelids closed when he lay on his deathbed.
Mother's deathbed. Candle. The sheeted mirror. Who brought me into this world lies there, bronzelidded, under few cheap flowers. Liliata rutilantium.
I wept alone.
John Eglinton looked in the tangled glowworm of his lamp.
— The world believes that Shakespeare made a mistake, he said, and got out of it as quickly and as best he could.
— Bosh! Stephen said rudely. A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.
Portal of discovery opened to let in the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, (3bald, eared and3) assiduous(3, bald and eared3).
— A shrew, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is not a useful
portal of discovery, one should imagine. What useful discovery did Socrates
— Dialectic, Stephen answered: and from his mother how to bring thought into the world. But neither the midwife's lore nor the caudlelectures saved him from the archons of Sinn Fein and their (3cup naggin3) of hemlock.
— But Ann Hathaway? Mr Best's quiet voice said forgetfully. Yes, we seem to (3have forgotten be forgetting3) her as Shakespeare himself forgot her.
His (3face look3) went from brooder's beard to carper's skull, to remind, to chide them (3kindly not unkindly3), then to the (3pinkbald quaker pumpkin baldpink lollard costard3), guiltless though maligned.
— He had a good groatsworth of wit, Stephen said, and no truant memory. He carried a memory in his wallet as he trudged to Romeville whistling The (3Girl girl3) I left behind me. If the earthquake did not time (3Venus and Adonis it3) we should know where to place poor Wat, sitting in his form(3;,3) the studded bridle and her blue windows. That memory(3, Venus and Adonis,3) lay in the bedchamber of every light-of-love in London. Is Katharine the shrew illfavoured? Hortensio calls her young and beautiful. Do you think the writer of Antony and Cleopatra, a passionate pilgrim, had his eyes in the back of his head that he chose the ugliest doxy in all Warwickshire to lie withal? Good: he left her and gained the world of men(3:.3) But his boywomen are the women of a boy. Their life, thought, speech are lent them by males. He chose badly? He was chosen, it seems to me. If others have their will Ann hath a way. By cock, she was to blame. She put the comether on him, sweet and twentysix. The goddess who bends over the boy Adonis is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a cornfield a lover younger than herself.
And my turn? When?
— Ryefield, Mr Best said brightly, gladly, raising his new book, gladly, brightly.
He murmured then with blond delight for all:
— Between the acres of the rye
These pretty countryfolk would lie(3.3)
Paris: the wellpleased pleaser.
A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from its shadow and (3unchained unveiled3) its cooperative watch.
— I am afraid I am due at the Homestead.
Whither away? Exploitable ground.
— Are you going(3?,3) John Eglinton's eyebrows asked. Shall we see you at Moore's tonight(3.?3) Piper is coming.
— Piper! Mr Best (3said piped3). Is Piper back?
Peter Piper pecked a peck of pick of peck of pickled pepper.
— I don't know if I can. Thursday. We have our meeting. If I can get away in time.
Yogibogeybox in (3Dawsons Chambers Dawson chambers3). Isis Unveiled. Their Pali book we tried to pawn. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he (3broods thrones3) an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, mahamahatma. The faithful hermetists await the light, ringroundabout him. Louis(3,3) H. Victory. T. Caulfield Irwin. Lotus ladies (3watch tend them i'the eyes,3) (3the their3) pineal glands aglow. Filled with his god(3,3) he thrones, Buddh under plantain. Gulfer of souls, engulfer. Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls. Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they bewail.
quintessential triviality In quintessential
(3For years in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt For years in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt.3)
— They say we are to have a literary surprise, the quaker librarian said, friendly and earnest(3.3) Mr Russell, rumour has it, (3has gathered is gathering3) together a sheaf of our younger poets' verses. We are all looking forward anxiously.
Anxiously he glanced in the cone of lamplight where three (3lighted faces faces, lighted,3) shone.
See this. Remember.
Stephen looked down on a wide headless caubeen, hung on his ashplant handle over his knee. My casque and sword.
Young Colum and Starkey. George Roberts is doing the commercial part.
Longworth will give it a good puff in the Express. O, will he? I liked
Yes, I think he has that queer
genius. Do you think he has genius really? Yeats admired his
As3) in wild earth a Grecian vase. Did he?
I hope you'll be able to come tonight. Malachi Mulligan is coming too. Moore asked him to bring Haines. Did you hear Miss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martyn(3.?3) That Moore is Martyn's wild oats? Awfully clever, isn't it? They remind one of (3Don don3) Quixote and Sancho Panza. Our national epic has yet to (3come be written 3). Moore is the man for it. A knight of the rueful countenance here in Dublin. With a saffron kilt? O'Neill Russell? O, yes, he must speak the grand old tongue. And his Dulcinea? James Stephens is doing some clever sketches. We are becoming important, it seems.
Cordelia. (3Cordoglio Cordoglio3). Lir's loneliest daughter.
Now your best French polish.
— Thank you very much, Mr Russell, Stephen said, rising. If you will be so kind as to give the letter to Mr Norman …
— O, yes. If he considers it important (3of course3) it will go in. We have so much correspondence.
— I understand, Stephen said. Thank you.
The pigs' paper. Bullockbefriending.
Synge has promised me an article for Dana too. Are we going to be read? I feel we are. The Gaelic (3League league3) wants something in Irish. I hope you will come round tonight. Bring Starkey.
Stephen sat down.
The quaker librarian came from the leavetakers. Blushing(3,3) his mask said:
— Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating.
He creaked to and fro, tiptoing up (3nearer heaven by3) the altitude of a chopine, and, covered by the noise of outgoing, said (3low3):
— Is it your view, then, that she was not faithful to the poet?
Alarmed face asks me. Why did he come? Courtesy or an inner light?
— Where there is a reconciliation, Stephen said, there must have been first a sundering.
Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a runaway in blighted treeforks from hue
and cry. Knowing no vixen, walking lonely in the chase. Women he won to him,
tender people, a whore of Babylon,
ladies ladies of
of tapsters bully tapsters'
wives3). Fox and
geese. And in New
place3) a slack dishonoured body that once
was comely, once as sweet, as fresh as cinnamon, now her leaves falling, all, bare, frighted of the narrow grave and unforgiven.
— Yes. So you think …
The door closed behind the outgoer.
Rest, suddenly(3,3) possessed the discreet vaulted cell, (3the3) rest of warm and brooding air.
A vestal's lamp.
Here he ponders things that were not: what Caesar would have (3done lived to do3) had he believed the soothsayer: what might have been: possibilities of the possible as possible: (3on3) things not known: what name Achilles bore when he lived among women.
Coffined thoughts around me, in (3mummy cases mummycases3), embalmed in spice of words. Thoth, god of libraries, a birdgod, moonycrowned. And I heard the voice of that Egyptian highpriest. (3In “painted chambers loaded with tilebooks” In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks3).
They are still. Once quick in the (3live3) brains of men. Still: but (3the an3) itch of death is in them, to tell me in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to wreak their will.
— Certainly, John Eglinton mused, of all great men he is the most enigmatic. We know nothing but that he lived and suffered. (3Not even so much. Others abide our question.3) A shadow hangs over all the rest.
— But Hamlet is so personal, isn't it(3,?3) Mr Best pleaded. I mean, a kind of (3personal3) private paper, don't you know, of his private life. I mean(3,3) I don't care a button, don't you know, who is killed or who is guilty …
He rested an innocent book(3, smiling his defiance,3) on the edge of the desk(3, smiling his defiance3). His private papers. Ta an bad ar an tir. Taim (3in mo imo3) (3sagart shagart3). (3In my priest.3) (3Littlejohn, put Put3) beurla on it(3, littlejohn3).
(3Littlejohn Eglinton said Quoth littlejohn Eglinton3):
— I was prepared for paradoxes from what Malachi Mulligan told (3me us3) but I may as well warn you that if you want to shake my belief that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have a stern task before you.
Bear with me.
Stephen withstood the bane of miscreant eyes(3,3) glinting (3from under3) stern (3under3) wrinkled brows. (3Basilisk eyes A basilisk3). E quando vede l'uomo l'attosca. Messer Brunetto, I thank thee for the word.
— As we, or
Dana, weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen said, from day to day, their
molecules shuttled to and fro, so does the artist weave and unweave his image.
And as the mole on my right
is where it was when I was born, though all my body has been woven of new stuff
time after time, so through the ghost of the unquiet father the image of the
unliving son looks forth. In the intense instant of imagination,
the mind, Shelley says, is a fading coal, that which I was is that which I am and that which in
possibility I (3shall may3) come to be. So(3,3) in the future, (3the3) sister of the past, I (3see that I shall may3) see
myself as I sit here now (3today3) but by reflection from that which then I shall be.
Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at that stile.
— Yes, Mr Best said youngly. I feel Hamlet quite young. The bitterness might be from the father but the passages with Ophelia are surely from the son.
Has the wrong sow by the (3ear lug3).
— That mole is the last to go, Stephen said, laughing.
(3John Eglinton made a nothing pleasing mow.3)
— If that were the birthmark of genius, (3John Eglinton he3) said (3with a sour mow3), genius would be a drug in the market. The plays of Shakespeare's later years which Renan admired so much breathe another spirit.
— The spirit of reconciliation, the quaker librarian (3said appeasingly breathed3).
— There can be no reconciliation, Stephen said, if there has not been a sundering.
— If you want to know what are the events which cast their shadow over the (3period time3) of King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida look to see when and how the shadow lifts. What softens the heart of a man, shipwrecked in life's storms, tried, like another Ulysses, Pericles, prince of Tyre?
Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded.
— A child, a girl(3,3) placed in his arms, Marina.
— The leaning of sophists towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a constant quantity, John Eglinton detected. The highroads are dreary but they lead to the town.
Good Bacon: (3smoked gone3) musty. (3Shakespeare Bacon's wild oats.º3) Cypherjugglers going the highroads. What town, good masters? Mummed in names: A. E, eon: Magee, John Eglinton. East of the sun, west of the moon: (3Tir nan Og Tir nan Og3). Booted the twain and staved.
How many miles to Dublin?
Three score and ten, sir.
Will we be there by candlelight?
— Mr Brandes accepts it, Stephen said, as the first play of the closing period.
— Does he? What does Mr Sidney Lee, or Mr Simon Lazarus(3,3) as some aver his name is, say of it?
— Marina, Stephen said, a child of storm, Miranda, a wonder,
Perdita, that which was lost. What was lost is given back to him: his daughter's child.
dearest wife, Pericles says, was like this maid. Will any man love the daughter if he has not loved the mother?
— The art of being a grandfather, Mr Best (3murmured gan murmur3). (3L'art d'être grandp …º3) (3⇑3) (3Will he not see reborn in her, with the memory of his own youth added, another image?3) (3⇑3) (3Do you know what you are talking about? Love, yes. Word known to all men. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus …3)
— His own image to a man with that queer thing genius is the standard of all experience, material and moral. Such an appeal will touch him. The images of other males of his (3brood blood3) will repel him. He will see in them grotesque attempts of nature to foretell or (3to3) repeat himself.
The benign forehead of the quaker librarian enkindled rosily with hope.
— I hope Mr Dedalus will work out his theory for the enlightenment of the public. And we ought to mention another Irish commentator(3,3) Mr Frank Harris. His articles on Shakespeare in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant. Oddly enough he too draws for us an unhappy relation with the dark lady of the sonnets. The favoured rival is William Herbert, earl of Pembroke. I own that if the poet (3is to must3) be rejected such a rejection would seem more in harmony with — what shall I say? — our notions of what ought not to have been.
Felicitously he ceased and held a meek head among them, auk's egg, prize of their fray.
He thous (3and theesº3) her with grave husbandwords. Dost love, Miriam? Dost love thy man?
— That may be too, Stephen said. There is a saying of Goethe's which Mr Magee likes to quote. Beware of what you wish for in youth because you will get it in middle life. Why does he send to one who is a (3buonaroba buonaroba3), a bay where all men ride, a maid of honour with a scandalous girlhood, a lordling to woo for him(3.?3) He was himself a lord of language and had made himself a coistrel gentleman and (3he3) had written Romeo and Juliet. Why? Belief in himself has been untimely killed. He was overborne in a cornfield first(3,3) (a ryefield, I should say) and he will never be a victor in his own eyes after(3.3) (3Nor nor3) play victoriously the game of laugh and lie down. Assumed dongiovannism will not save him. No later undoing will undo the first undoing. If the shrew is worsted there remains to her woman's invisible weapon. There is, I feel in the words, some goad of the flesh driving him into a new passion, a darker shadow of the first, darkening (3also even3) his own understanding of himself. A like fate awaits him and the (3double two3) rages commingle in a whirlpool.
They (3listen list3). And in the porches of their ears I pour.
soul has been before stricken mortally, a poison poured in the
porch of a sleeping ear.3) (3Those But those3) who are done to death in sleep cannot know the manner of their quell unless (3the creator endows their Creator endow3) their souls with that
knowledge in the life to come. (3The soul has been before stricken mortally, a poison poured in the porch of a sleeping ear.3) The poisoning and the (3lust beast with two backs3) that urged it (3the ghost of King Hamlet king Hamlet's ghost3) could not know of were (3it he3) not endowed with knowledge by (3its his3) creator. That is why the speech is always turned elsewhere, backward. Ravisher and ravished go with him from (3Lucrece to Imogen Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, with its mole cinquespotted3). He goes back, weary of the creation he has piled up to hide (3himself him3) from himself, (3to lick his an old dog licking an old3) sore. But, because loss is his gain, he passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the wisdom he has (3uttered written3) or by the laws he has revealed. His beaver is up. He is a ghost(3,3) a shadow now (3or,3) the wind (3around by3) Elsinore's rocks or (3what you will,3) the sea's voice, a voice heard only in the heart of him who is the substance of his shadow, the son consubstantial with the father.
— Amen! (3was3) responded from the doorway.
Hast thou found me, O mine enemy?
A ribald face, sullen (3an instant as a dean's3), Buck Mulligan came forward, (3then3) blithe in (3his3) motley(3,3) towards the greeting of their smiles. My telegram.
— You were speaking of the gaseous vertebrate(3,3) if I mistake not? he asked of Stephen.
Primrosevested he greeted gaily with his doffed Panama as with a bauble.
They make him welcome.
Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudo Malachi, Johann Most.
He Who Himself begot(3,3) (3middles middler3) the Holy Ghost(3,3) and Himself sent Himself, agenbuyer, between Himself and others, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was nailed like a bat (3on to3) a barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who let Him bury, stood up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the right hand of His Own Self but yet shall come in the latter day to doom the quick and dead when all the quick shall be dead already.
(3Glo-ria in ex-cel-sis De-o Glo-ria in ex—cel—sis De—o3).
He lifts his hands. Veils fall. O, flowers! Bells with bells with bells aquiring.
— Yes, indeed, the quaker librarian said. A most
discussion. Mr Mulligan, I'll be bound, has his theory too of the play and
of Shakespeare. All sides of life should be represented.
He smiled on all sides equally.
Buck Mulligan(3,3) thought, puzzled:
— Shakespeare? he said. I seem to know the name.
A flying sunny smile rayed in his loose features.
— To be sure, he said, remembering brightly. The chap that writes like Synge.
Mr Best turned to him(3.:3)
— Haines missed you, he said. Did you meet him? He'll (3meet see3) you after at the D. B. C. He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht.
— I came through the museum, Buck Mulligan said. Was he here?
— The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton answered, are rather tired perhaps of our brilliancies of theorising. I hear that an actress is playing (3Hamlet Hamlet3) in Dublin. (3Vining held that the prince was a woman.3) Has no-one made him out to be an Irishman? He swears by saint Patrick.
— The most brilliant of all is that story of Wilde's, Mr Best said, lifting his brilliant notebook. That Portrait of Mr W.H. where he proves that the sonnets were written by a Willie Hughes, a man all hues.
— For Willie Hughes, is it not? the quaker librarian asked.
Or (3Hughy Hughie3) Wills(3?.3)
— I mean, for Willie Hughes, Mr Best said, amending his gloss easily. Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues(3,3) the colour, but it's so typical the way he works it out. It's the very essence of Wilde, don't you know. The light touch.
His glance touched their faces lightly as he smiled, a blond ephebe. Tame essence of Wilde.
You're (3damn darned3) witty. Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats.
How much did I spend(3.?3) O, few shillings.
For a plump of pressmen. Humour wet and dry.
You would give your five wits for
Lineaments3) of gratified desire.
(3There be many mo.3) Take her for me. In pairing time. (3Jove, a cool ruttime send them.3) Yea, turtledove her.
Eve. (3O naked Naked3) wheatbellied sin. A snake coils her(3. Fang, fang3) in's kiss.
— Do you think it is only a paradox(3?,3) the quaker librarian was asking. The mocker is never taken seriously when he is (3most3) serious.
They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness.
Buck Mulligan's again heavy face eyed Stephen awhile. Then,
(3wagging3), he came near, drew a folded telegram from his pocket. His mobile lips read, smiling with new delight.
— Telegram! he said. Wonderful inspiration! Telegram! A papal bull!
He sat on a corner of the unlit desk, reading aloud joyfully:
— The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a thing done. Signed: Dedalus. Where did you launch it from(3.?3) The kips? No. College Green. Have you drunk the four quid? Telegram! Malachi Mulligan, The Ship, (3Middle lower3) Abbey (3Street street3). O, you peerless mummer! O, you priestified (3Kinchite kinchite3)!
Joyfully he thrust message and envelope into (3his a3) pocket but (3crooned keened3) in (3a3) querulous brogue:
— It's what I'm telling you, mister honey, it's queer and sick we were, Haines and myself, the time himself brought it in. And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece.
(3⇒3) He wailed (3softly3):
(3—3) And we to be there(3, mavrone,3) and you to be unbeknownst sending your conglomerations the way we to have our tongues out a yard long like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a pussful.
Quickly (3and,3) warningfully Buck Mulligan bent down(3.:3)
— The tramper Synge is looking for you, he said, to murder you. He heard you pissed on his halldoor in Glasthule. He's out (3in pampooties3) to murder you (3in pampooties3).
— Me! Stephen exclaimed. That was your contribution to literature.
Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, laughing (3up at to3) the dark eavesdropping ceiling.
— Murder you! he laughed.
Harsh gargoyle face that warred against
over our mess of hash of
lights in (3rue Saint André des Arts rue saint André des Arts3). In words of words for words, palabras. Oisin with Patrick. Faunman he met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle. (3C'est vendredi saint! C'est vendredi saint!3) His image, wandering, he met. I mine. I met a fool i'the forest.
— Mr Lyster, an attendant said (3with fromº3) the door ajar.
— … in which everyone can find his own. So Mr Justice Madden in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the hunting terms … Yes? What is it?
— There's a gentleman here, sir, the attendant said,
coming forward and offering a card. From the Freeman. He wants to see the
files of the Kilkenny People for last year.
— Certainly, certainly, certainly. Is the gentleman …?
He took the eager card, glanced, not saw, laid down(3,3) unglanced(3,3) looked, asked, creaked, asked:
— Is he …? O, there!
Brisk (3as in3) a galliard he was off(3, and3) out. In the daylit corridor he talked with (3all the voluble3) pains of zeal(3,3) in duty bound, most fair, most kind, most honest broadbrim.
— This gentleman? Freeman's Journal? Kilkenny People? To be sure. Good day, sir. Kilkenny … We have certainly …
A patient silhouette waited, listening.
— All the leading provincial(3. …3) Northern Whig. Cork Examiner. Enniscorthy Guardian. (3Last year.3) 1903 … Will you (3please … please …?º3) Evans, conduct this gentleman … If you just follow the atten … Or(3,3) please allow me … This way … Please, sir …
Voluble, dutiful, he led the way all the (3principal provincial3) papers, a bowing (3dark3) figure following his hasty heels.
The door closed.
— The sheeny! Buck Mulligan cried.
He jumped up and snatched the card.
— What's his name? Ikey Moses? Bloom.
He rattled on:
— Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is no more. I found him over in the museum where I went to hail the foamborn Aphrodite. The Greek mouth that has never been twisted in prayer. Every day we must do homage to her. Life of life, thy lips enkindle(3 ….3)
Suddenly he turned to Stephen(3.:3)
— He knows
he said3). He
knows your old fellow. O, I fear me, he is Greeker than the Greeks. His pale
Galilean eyes were upon her
parts mesial groove3). Venus
(3Callipyge, the world's desire Kalipyge3). O, the thunder of those loins! The god pursuing, the maiden hid.
— We want to hear more, John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's approval. We begin to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we had thought of her, if at all, as a patient Griselda, a Penelope (3stay-at-home stayathomeº3).
— Antisthenes, pupil of Gorgias, Stephen said, took the palm
of beauty from Kyrios Menelaus' broodmare, Argive Helen, and handed it to
poor Penelope. Twenty years he lived in London and, during part of that time, he
drew a salary equal to that of the lord chancellor of Ireland. His life was
rich. His art, more than the art of
as Walt Whitman called it, is the art of surfeit. Hot herringpies, green mugs of
sack, honeysauces, gooseberried pigeons, ringocandies. Sir Walter Raleigh, when
they arrested him, had half a million francs on his back. The gombeenwoman
Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to vie with her of Sheba. Twenty years he dallied there. You know Bannington's story of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her bed after she had seen him in (3Richard III Richard III3) and how Shakespeare(3, overhearing,3) took the cow by the horns and, when Burbage (3knocked came knocking 3), answered from the blankets(3:3) (3“William the conqueror came first” William the conqueror came before Richard III3). And mistress Fitton, mount and cry O, and his dainty birdsnies, lady Penelope Rich, and the punks of the bankside(3,3) a penny a time.
(3Cours la Reine Cours la Reine.3) (3⇑3) (3Encore vingt sous. Nous ferons des petites cochonneries. Minette? Tu veux? Encore vingt sous. Nous ferons des petites cochonneries. Minette? Tu veux?3)
— The height of fine society. And sir William Davenant of Oxford's mother with her cup of canary for (3any cock canary every cockcanary3).
Buck Mulligan(3, his pious eyes upturned,3) prayed (3with pious eyes3):
— Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock!
— And Harry of six wives' daughter(3. And and3) other lady friends from neighbour seats(3,3) as Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet, (3has it sings3). But all those twenty years what do you suppose poor Penelope in Stratford was doing behind the diamond panes?
Do and do. Thing done.
rosery of Fetter lane of Gerard, herbalist, he walks, greyedauburn. An azured
harebell like her veins.
violets3). He walks.
One life is all. One body. Do. But do. Afar, in a reek of
squalor, hands are laid on whiteness.
Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's desk sharply.
— Whom do you suspect? he (3said challenged3).
— Say that he is the spurned lover in the sonnets. Once spurned twice spurned. But the court wanton spurned him for a lord, (3dear my love his dearmylove3).
Love that dare not speak its name.
— As an Englishman, you mean, John sturdy Eglinton put in, he loved a lord.
Old wall where sudden lizards flash. At Charenton I watched them.
— It seems so, Stephen said, when he wants to do for him, and for all other and singular uneared wombs, the office an ostler does for the stallion. Maybe, like Socrates, he had a midwife to mother as he had a shrew to wife. But she, the wanton, did not break a bedvow. Two deeds are rank in that ghost's mind(3:3) a broken vow and the dullbrained yokel on whom her favour has declined. Sweet (3Anne Ann3), I take it, was hot in the blood. Once a wooer(3,3) twice a wooer.
Stephen turned boldly in his chair.
— The burden of proof is with you not with me, he said(3,3) frowning. If you deny that in the (3blank fifth3) scene (3in of3) Hamlet he has branded her with infamy tell me why there is no mention of her during the thirtyfour years between the day (3he she3) married (3her him3) and the day she buried him. (3All those women saw their men down and under: Mary, her goodman John, Ann, her William, when he died on her, Joan, her four brothers, Judith, her husband and all her sons, Susan, her husband too while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, to use granddaddy's words, wed her second, having killed her first.3)
(3⇒3) O, yes, (3mention3) there is. In the years when he was living richly in royal London to pay a debt she had to borrow (3five bob forty shillings3) from her father's shepherd. Explain you then. Explain the swansong too wherein he has commended her to posterity.
He faced their silence.
To whom thus Eglinton:
You mean the will.
(3But that That3) has been explained, I believe, by jurists.
She was entitled to her widow's dower
At common law. His legal knowledge was great
Our judges tell us.
Him Satan fleers,
And therefore he left out her name
From the first draft but he did not leave out
The presents for his granddaughter, for his daughters,
For his sister, for his old cronies in Stratford
And in London. And therefore when he was urged,
As I believe, to name her
He left her his
— Pretty countryfolk had few chattles then, John Eglinton observed, as they have still if our peasant plays are true to type.
— He was a rich (3country gentleman countrygentleman3), Stephen said, with a coat of arms and landed estate (3at Stratford and a house in Ireland yard, a capitalist shareholder, a bill promoter, a tithefarmer3). Why did he not leave her his best bed if he wished her to snore away the rest of her nights in peace?
— It is clear that there were two beds, (3a best and a secondbest,3) Mr (3Secondbest3) Best said finely.
— Separatio a mensa et a thalamo, said Buck Mulligan and was smiled on.
— Antiquity mentions famous beds, John Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling. Let me think.
— Do you mean he died so? Mr Best asked with concern. I mean …
— He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan stated. A quart of ale is a dish for a king. O, I must tell you what Dowden said!
— What? asked Besteglinton.
William Shakespeare and company, limited. The people's William. For terms apply: (3Edward E.3) Dowden, Highfield house …
— Lovely! Buck Mulligan suspired amorously. I asked him what he thought of the charge of pederasty brought against the bard. He lifted his hands and said: All we can say is that life ran very high in those days. Lovely!
— The sense of beauty leads us astray, Mr Best with some sadness said.
Will they wrest from us, from me, the palm of beauty?
— And the sense of property, Stephen said. He drew Shylock
out of his own long pocket. The son of a maltjobber and moneylender he was
himself a cornjobber and
with ten tods of corn hoarded in famine
years. His borrowers are no doubt (3the unread those3) divers of worship mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. He sued a fellowplayer for the price of a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent. How (3can else3) could Aubrey's ostler and callboy get rich quick? All events brought grist to his mill. Shylock chimes with the jewbaiting that followed the hanging and quartering of the queen's leech Lopez, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the sheeny was yet alive: Hamlet and Macbeth with the coming to the throne of a Scotch philosophaster with a turn for witchroasting. The lost armada is his jeer in Love's Labour Lost. His pageants, the histories, sail fullbellied on a tide of Mafeking enthusiasm. (3Warwickshire jesuits are tried and we have a porter's theory of equivocation. The Sea Venture comes home from Bermudas and the play Renan admired is written with Patsy Caliban, our American cousin.3) (3His The3) sugared sonnets follow Sidney's. As for (3fay Elizabeth, 3) the gross virgin who inspired (3the the3) Merry Wives of Windsor (3let her be.3) (3A Meinherr from Almany will be her champion let some meinherr from Almany grope his life long for deephid meanings in the depths of the buckbasket3).
I think you're getting on very nicely. Just mix up a mixture of
minxi, mictum, mingere Mingo, minxi,
— Prove that he was a jew, John Eglinton dared, expectantly. Your dean of studies holds he was a holy Roman.
(3Sufflamindanus Sufflaminandus3) sum.
— He was made in Germany, Stephen replied, as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.
— A myriadminded man, Mr Best reminded. Coleridge called him myriadminded.
Amplius. In societate humana hoc est maxime necessarium ut sit amicitia inter multos.
— Saint Thomas, Stephen began …
— Ora pro nobis, (3Buck Monk3) Mulligan groaned, sinking to a chair.
(3He keened to There he keened3) a (3wailing3) rune.
— It's destroyed we are from this day(3,!3) (3It's It is3) destroyed we are surely(3.!3)
All smiled (3their smiles.3)
— Saint Thomas,
said, writing of incest from a
point3) different from
that of the Viennese school Mr Magee spoke of, likens it in his wise and curious
way to an avarice of the emotions. He means that the love so given to one near
in blood is covetously withheld from
stranger who, it may be, hungers for it. Jews, whom christians tax with avarice,
are of all races the most given to intermarriage.
are made in anger. The christian laws
which built up the hoards of the jews (for (3whom3), (3like as for3) the lollards, storm was (3their3) shelter) bound their affections too with hoops of steel. Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us at (3the3) doomsday leet. But a man who holds so tightly to what he calls his rights over what he calls his debts will hold tightly also to what he calls his rights over her whom he calls his wife. No sir smile neighbour shall covet his ox or his wife or his manservant or his maidservant or his jackass.
— Or (3his3) jennyass, Buck Mulligan antiphoned.
— Gentle Will is being roughly handled, (3gently gentle3) Mr Best said gently.
— Which will? asked (3sweetlyº3) Buck Mulligan. We are getting mixed.
— The will to live, John Eglinton philosophised(3. Poor, for poor3) Ann, Will's widow, is the will to die.
What of all the will to do?
It has vanished long ago …3)
(3—3) She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that secondbest bed even though you prove that a bed in those days was as rare as a motorcar is now and that its carvings were the wonder of seven parishes. In old age she takes up with gospellers (one stayed (3with her3) at New Place and drank a quart of sack the town (3council3) paid for but in which bed he slept it skills not (3to ask3)) and heard she had a soul. Venus has twisted her lips in prayer. Agenbite of inwit(3,:3) remorse of conscience. It is an age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god.
— (3That appears History shows that3) to be true, (3John Eglinton said, chronolologos inquit Eglinton Chronolologos3). The ages succeed one another. But (3it has been said we have it on high authority3) that a man's worst enemies shall be those of his own house and family. I feel that (3A. E. Russell3) is right. What do we care for his wife (3or and3) father? I should say that only family poets have family lives. Falstaff was not a family man. I feel that the fat knight is his supreme creation.
Lean, he lay back. Shy, deny thy kindred, the unco guid. Shy, supping with
godless3), he sneaks
the cup. A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him. Visits him here
Mr Magee, sir, there's a gentleman to see you. Me? Says he's your
father, sir. Give me
Wordsworth. Enter Magee Mor Matthew, a rugged, rough, rugheaded kern, his nether
bemired3) with clauber of ten forests, a wilding in his hand.
Your own? He knows your old fellow.
Hurrying to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the quayside I touched his hand. The voice, new warmth, speaking. Dr Bob Kenny is attending her. The eyes that wish me well. But do not know me.
— A father, Stephen said, battling
against hopelessness, is a necessary evil. He wrote the play in the months that
followed his father's death. If you hold that he, a greying man with two
years of life,
mezzo del cammin nel mezzo del cammin di
fifty of experience is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you must
hold that his seventyyear old mother is the lustful queen. No. The corpse of
John Shakespeare does not walk the night. From hour to hour
it3) rots and rots. He rests,
disarmed of fatherhood, having devised that mystical estate upon his son. Boccaccio's Calandrino was the first and last man who felt himself with child. Fatherhood, in the sense of conscious begetting, is unknown to man. It is a mystical estate, an apostolic succession, from only begetter to only begotten. On (3this that3) mystery and not on the madonna (3whom which3) the cunning Italian intellect flung to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the world, macro and microcosm, upon the void. Upon incertitude, upon unlikelihood. Amor matris, subjective and objective genitive, may be the only true thing in life. Paternity may be a legal fiction. Who is the father of any son that any son should love him or he any son?
What the hell are you driving at?
I know. Shut up. Blast you(3.!3) I have reasons.
(3Amplius. Adhuc. Rursus. Postea. Amplius. Adhuc. Iterum. Postea.3)
Are you condemned to do this?
— They are sundered by bodily shame so steadfast that the criminal annals of the world, stained with all other incests and bestialities(3,º3) do not record its breach(3. Sons: sons3) with mothers, sires with daughters, (3lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak their name,3) nephews with grandmothers, queens with prize bulls. The (3unborn son son unborn3) mars beauty(3,:3) born, he brings pain, divides affection, increases care. He is a (3new3) male: his growth is his father's decline, his youth his father's envy, his friend his father's enemy.
(3In rue Monsieur le Prince I thought it.3)
(3—3) What links them in nature? An instant of blind rut.
Am I a father? If I were?
Shrunken uncertain hand.
— Sabellius, the African, subtlest
heresiarchs heresiarch of all the beasts of
the field,3) held that
the Father was Himself His Own Son. The bulldog of Aquin, with whom no word
shall be impossible, refutes him.
if the father who has
not a son be not a father can the son who has not a father be a son? When (3Rutland-Bacon-Southampton-Shakespeare Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare 3) wrote Hamlet he was not the father of his own son merely but(3,3) being no more a son, he was and felt himself the father of all his race, the father of his own grandfather, the father of his unborn grandson who, by the same token, never was born for nature, as Mr Magee understands her, abhors perfection.
Eglintoneyes, quick with pleasure, looked up shybrightly.
Flatter. Rarely. But flatter.
— Himself his own father, (3Buck Mulligan Sonmulligan3) told himself. Wait. I am big with child. I have an unborn child in (3Minerv3) my brain. Pallas Athena! A play! The play's the thing! Let me parturiate!
He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding hands.
— As for his family, Stephen said, his mother's name lives in the forest of Arden. Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. His boyson's death (3is3) the deathscene of prince Arthur in King John. Hamlet(3,3) (3The the3) black prince(3,3) is Hamlet Shakespeare. Who the girls (3are3) in The Tempest, in Pericles, in Winter's Tale (3are3) we know. (3who Venus and who Cressid Who Cressid and Venus are3) we may guess. But there is another member of his family who is recorded.
— The plot thickens, John Eglinton said.
The quaker librarian (3here,3) quaking(3,3) tiptoed in, quake, his mask, quake, with haste, quake, quack.
(3Closed door Door closed3). Cell. Day.
They list. Three. They.
I you he they.
He had three brothers, Gilbert, Edmund, Richard. Gilbert in his old age told some cavaliers he seen his brud (3one time in a play3) wud a man on his back (3in a play one time3). The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul. (3He is nowhere: but3) (3An an3) Edmund and a Richard are recorded in the (3plays works3) of William.
Names! What's in a name?
That is my name, Richard(3, don't you know3). I hope you are going to say (3something favourably about a good word for3) Richard, (3for my sake,3) don't you know(3, for my sake3).
((3piano, piano diminuendo piano. diminuendo.3))
once was a medical Dick
Who possessed a phenomenal — stick
Though burly and blunt … Then outspoke medical Dick
To his comrade medical Davy …3)
In his trinity of (3stagevillains black Wills, the villain shakebags, Iago,3) Richard Crookback, (3Iago,3) Edmund in (3King Lear King Lear3), two bear his brothers' names. Nay, that (3last3) play was written or being written while his brother Edmund (3was lay3) dying in Southwark.
(3I thank I give thanks to3) providence there was no brother (3John. of my name.3)
I hope Edmund is going to catch it. I don't want Richard, my name …
(3(a tempo.)3) But he that filches from me my good name …
(3(stringendo.)3) He has hidden his own name(3, a fair name, William,3) in the plays, a super here, a clown there, as a painter (3in of3) old Italy (3put set3) his face in a dark corner of his canvas. He has revealed it in the sonnets where there is (3will Will3) in overplus. Like John o' Gaunt his name is dear to him, as dear as the coat (3and crest of arms3) he toadied for, (3on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus,3) dearer than his glory of (3the3) greatest shakescene in the country. What's in (3his a3) name? That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name that we are told is ours. A star, (3a star shining by day a daystarº3), a firedrake(3,3) rose at his birth. It shone by day in the heavens alone (3brighter than Venus in the night,3) and by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the recumbent constellation which is the signature of his initial among the stars. (3Pillar of cloud and pillar of fire, eh?3) His eyes watched it, lowlying on the horizon, eastward of the bear, as he walked by the slumberous summer fields at midnight(3,3) returning from Shottery and from her arms.
Both satisfied. I too.
tell them he was nine years old when it was quenched.3)
(3And from her arms.3)
Wait to be wooed and won. Ay, imbecile. Who (3would will3) woo you?
Read the skies. (3Autontimorumenos. Bous Stephanoumenos. Autontimorumenosº. Bous Stephanoumenos.3) Where's your configuration? S. D: (3sua donna sua donnaº3). (3Già: di lui. Gelindo risolve di non amare S. D. Già: di lui. Gelindo risolve di non amareº S. D.3)
— What is that, Mr Dedalus? the quaker librarian asked. Was it a celestial phenomenon?
— A star by night, Stephen said(3. A, a3) pillar of the cloud by day.
What more's to (3say speak3)?
Stephen looked on his hat, his stick, his boots.
(3My Stephanos, my3) crown. My sword. His boots are spoiling the shape of my feet. Buy a pair. Holes in my socks. (3Handkerchief too.3)
— You make good use of the name, John Eglinton allowed. Your own (3name3) is strange enough. I suppose it explains your fantastical humour.
Me, Magee and Mulligan.
Fabulous artificer(3. The, the3) hawklike man. You flew. Whereto? Newhaven-Dieppe, steerage passenger. Paris and back. Lapwing. Icarus. (3Pater, ait Pater, ait3). Seabedabbled, fallen(3,3) weltering. Lapwing you are. Lapwing be.
Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his book to say:
— That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, we find also in the old Irish myths. Just what you say. The three brothers Shakespeare. In Grimm too, don't you know, the (3fairytale fairytales3). The third brother that (3alwaysº3) marries the sleeping beauty and (3gets wins3) the best prize (3always3).
Best of Best brothers. Good, better, best.
The quaker librarian (3came anear springhalted near3).
— I should like to know, he said, which brother you … I understand you to suggest there was misconduct with one of the brothers … But perhaps I am anticipating?
He caught himself in the act: looked at all: refrained.
An attendant from the doorway called:
— Mr Lyster! Father Dineen wants …
— O(3,!3) Father Dineen! Directly.
Swiftly rectly creaking rectly rectly (3rectly3) he was rectly gone.
John Eglinton touched the foil.
— Come, he said. Let us hear what you have to say of Richard and Edmund. You kept them for the last, didn't you?
— In asking you to remember nuncle Richie
and nuncle Edmund, Stephen answered, I feel I am asking too much perhaps. A brother is as easily forgotten as an umbrella.
Where is your brother? Apothecaries' (3Hall hall3). My whetstone. Him, then Cranly, Mulligan: now these. Speech, speech. But act. Act speech. They mock to try you. Act. (3Be acted on.3)
I am tired of my voice.
— You will say those names were already in the chronicles from which he took the stuff of his plays. Why did he take them rather than others? Richard, a crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a widowed Ann (3(what's in a name?)3), woos and wins her. Richard the conqueror came after William the conquered. The other four acts of (3the that3) play hang limply from that first. Of all his kings Richard is the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the angel of the world. Why is the underplot of (3King Lear King Lear3) in which Edmund figures lifted out of Sidney's (3Arcadia Arcadia3) and spatchcocked on to a Celtic legend older than history(3.?3)
— That was Will's way, John Eglinton defended. We should not now combine a Norse saga with an excerpt from a novel by George Meredith. (3Que voulez-vous? Que voulez-vous?3) (3George3) Moore would say. He puts Bohemia on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle.
— Why? Stephen answered himself. Because the theme of the
false or the usurping or the adulterous brother or all three in one is to
what the poor
not, always with him. The note of
from the heart,
home, sounds uninterruptedly from The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till
down his wand and burns his books breaks his
staff, buries it certain fathoms in the earth and drowns his
book3). It doubles
itself in the middle of his life, reflects itself in another, repeats itself.
repeats itself again when he is near the grave, when his married daughter Susan,
chip of the old block, is accused of
adultery.3) But it was
original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his will and left in him
a strong inclination to evil. The words are those of
lords bishops of
original sin and, like original sin, committed by another in
has3) sinned. It is
between the lines of his last written words, it is petrified on his tombstone
under which her four bones are not to be laid. Age has not withered it. Beauty and peace have not done it away. It is in
infinite variety everywhere in the world he has created, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice in As You Like It, in The Tempest, in Hamlet, in Measure for Measure — and in the other plays which I have not read.
He laughed to free his mind from his mind's bondage.
Judge Eglinton summed up.
— The truth is midway, he affirmed. He is the ghost and the prince (3too3). He is all in all.
— (3Yes He is3), Stephen said. The boy of act one (3becomes a is the3) mature man (3in of3) act five. All in all. In Cymbeline(3,3) in Othello he is (3pimp bawd3) and cuckold. He acts and is acted on. His unremitting intellect is the Iago ceaselessly willing that the moor in him shall suffer.
— Cuckoo! (3cuckoo Cuckoo3)! Buck Mulligan (3cooed softly clucked lewdly3). O word of fear!
(3Dark dome received, reverbed.3)
— And what a character is Iago! undaunted John Eglinton exclaimed. When all is said Dumas (or is it Victor Hugo?) is right. After God Shakespeare has created most.
— Man delights him not nor woman neither, Stephen said. He
returns after a life of absence to that spot of earth where he was born, where
and there, his journey of life ended, he plants his
tree mulberrytree in the
earth3). Then dies.
Gravediggers bury Hamlet
they buried Hamlet's
you like the last scene look long on it: prosperous
the good man
Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, and nuncle Richie, the bad man taken off by
justice3) to the place
where the bad niggers go. He found in
world without as actual
was in his world within as possible. Maeterlinck says: If Socrates leave his
house today he will find the sage seated on
doorstep,3) If Judas
go forth tonight it is to Judas his steps will go. Every life is many days, day
after day. We walk through
giants3), old men,
young men, wives, but always meeting ourselves. The
who wrote this world and wrote it badly (He gave us light first and the sun two
days later), the lord of things as they are whom the most Roman of catholics
call dio boia, hangman god, is
all in all in all of us, ostler and
and would be
cuckold (3also too3) but that in the economy of heaven(3, foretold by Hamlet,3) there are no more marriages, (3the3) glorified man being a wife unto himself.
— (3Eureka! Eureka!º3) Buck Mulligan cried. (3Eureka! Eureka!3)
(3At once Suddenly3) happied(3,3) he jumped up and reached in a stride John Eglinton's desk.
— May I? he said. (3The Lord has spoken to Malachi.3)
He began to scribble on a slip of paper.
some slips from the counter going out.3)
— Those who are married, Mr Best (3douceº herald,3) said (3quoted3), all save one, shall live. The rest shall keep as they are.
He laughed, unmarried, at (3John3) Eglinton (3Johannes3), of arts a bachelor.
(3Uncaught Unwed3), unfancied, (3they ware3) of wiles, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the Shrew.
— You are a delusion, said roundly John Eglinton to Stephen. You have brought us all this way to show us a French triangle. Do you believe your own theory?
— No, Stephen said promptly.
— Are you going to write it? Mr (3Bests Best3) asked. You ought to make it a dialogue, don't you know, like the (3Platonian Platonic3) dialogues Wilde wrote.
John Eglinton smiled doubly.
— Well, in that case, he said, I don't see why you should expect payment for it since you don't believe it yourself. Dowden believes there is (3a some3) mystery in Hamlet but will say no more. (3Piper met that man in Berlin,3) (3the Mr Herr3) Bleibtreu (3I mentioned. He, the man Piper met in Berlin who is working up that Rutland theory,3) believes (3that3) the secret is hidden in the Stratford monument. (3The Rutland theory.3) He is going to visit the present duke(3, Piper says, and prove to him that his ancestor wrote the plays. It will come as a surprise to his grace3). But he believes his theory.
I believe, O Lord, help my unbelief. That is, help me to believe or help me to unbelieve? Who helps to believe? (3I myself Egomen3). Who to unbelieve? Other chap.
— You are the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver. Then I don't know about the next number. Fred Ryan wants space for an article on economics.
(3Fred Ryan Fraidrine3). Two pieces of silver he lent me. (3To tide Tide3) you over. Economics.
— For a guinea, Stephen said, you can publish this interview.
Buck Mulligan stood up from his laughing scribbling, laughing: and then gravely said, honeying malice:
— I called upon the bard Kinch at his summer residence in (3upper3) Mecklenburgh street and found him deep in the study of the Summa contra Gentiles in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the coalquay whore.
He broke away.
— Come, Kinch. Come, wandering Aengus of the birds.
Come, Kinch(3. You, you3) have eaten all we left. Ay. I will serve you your orts and offals.
Life is many days. This will end.
— We shall see you tonight, John Eglinton said. Notre
ami Moore says Malachi Mulligan must be there.
Buck Mulligan (3waved flaunted3) his slip and panama.
— (3Monsieur Moore, he said,3) (3Lecturer lecturer3) on French letters to (3young Ireland, he said the youth of Ireland3). I'll be there. Come, Kinch, the bards must drink. Can you walk straight?
Laughing(3,3) he …
Swill till (3midnight eleven3). Irish nights entertainment.
Stephen followed a lubber …
One day in the national library we had a (3I a3) discussion. Shakes. After(3.3) (3His his3) lub back(3:3) I followed.
(3Stephen, greeting, then all amort, followed3) (3A a3) lubber jester(3, a wellkempt head, newbarbered,3) out of the vaulted cell (3out of3) into (3a3) shattering daylight of no (3thought thoughts3).
What (3did I learn have I learned3)? Of them? Of me?
Walk like Haines now.
The constant readers' room. In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables. Item(3,:3) was Hamlet mad? The quaker's pate godlily with a priesteen in booktalk.
Is that …? Blueribboned hat …(3?3) Idly writing …(3?3) What(3 …3)? Looked …?
Puck Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling:
Eglinton, my jo, John John Eglinton, my jo,
(3Why won't you wed a wife? Why won't you wed a wife?3)
He spluttered to the air:
— O, the chinless Chinaman! We went over to their playbox, (3Haines and I,3) the plumbers' hall. Abbey (3Theatre theatre3)! I smell the pubic sweat of monks.
He spat blank.
Forgot: any more than he forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him. And left (3her, femme de trente ans the femme de trente ans3). And why no other children born?
Afterwit. Go back.
The dour recluse still there and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, Phedo's toyable fair hair.
Eh … I just eh … wanted … I forgot … eh …
— Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson were there …
(3Buck Puck3) Mulligan footed featly, trilling:
hardly hear a purlieu cry I hardly hear a
(3Or a Tommy talk as I pass one by Or a Tommy talk as I pass one by3)
(3Before my thoughts begin to run Before my thoughts begin to run3)
(3On F. McCurdy Atkinson On F. M'Curdy Atkinson,3)
(3The same that had the wooden leg The same that had the wooden leg3)
(3And that filibustering filibeg And that filibustering filibegº3)
(3That never dared to slake his drouth That never dared to slake his drought,3)
(3Magee that had the chinless mouth. Magee that had the chinless mouth …3)
Jest on. Know thyself.
Halted(3,3) below me, a quizzer looks at me. I halt.
— Mournful mummer, Buck Mulligan moaned. Synge has left off wearing black to be like nature. Only crows, priests and English coal are black.
A laugh tripped over his lips.
— Longworth is awfully sick, he said, after what you wrote about that old hake Gregory. O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit! She gets you a job on the paper and then you go and slate her book to Jaysus. Couldn't you do the Yeats touch?
He went on and down, chanting with waving graceful arms:
— The most beautiful book that has come out of Ireland in my time.
He stopped at the stairfoot.
— I have conceived a play for the mummers, he said solemnly.
The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined. Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices.
(3With In3) sweetly varying voices Buck Mulligan read his tablet:
(3— ⇒3) (3Everyman His Own Wife Everyman His Own Wife3)
(3A Honeymoon in the Hand A Honeymoon in the Hand3)
((3a national immorality in three orgasms a national immorality in three orgasms3))
(3Ballocky Mulligan Ballocky Mulligan3)
He turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen, saying:
— The disguise, I fear, is thin. But listen.
He read, (3marking marcato3):
(a ruined Pole)
Crab (a bushranger)
Medical Davy (two birds with one stone)
Mother Grogan (a watercarrier)
Rosalie(3,3) (3(3) the coalquay whore(3)3).
He laughed, lolling a to and fro head, walking on, followed by Stephen: and mirthfully he told the shadows, souls of (3moors men3):
— O, the night in the Camden hall
the daughters of Erin had to lift
their skirts to step over you as you lay in your mulberrycoloured(3,3) multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!
— The most innocent son of Erin, Stephen said, for whom they ever lifted them.
About to pass through the doorway, feeling one behind, he stood aside(3:.3)
Part. The moment is now. Where then? If Socrates leave his house today, if Judas go forth tonight. Why? That lies in space which I in time must come to, ineluctably.
My will(3,:3) his will that fronts me. Seas between.
A man passed out between them, bowing, greeting:
— Good day again, Buck Mulligan said.
Here I watched the birds for augury. Aengus of the birds. They go, they come. Last night I flew. Easily flew. Men wondered. Street of harlots after. (3The A3) creamfruit melon he held to me. In. You will see.
— The wandering jew, Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe. Did you see his eye? He looked upon you to lust after you. I fear thee, ancient mariner. O, Kinch, thou art in peril. Get thee a breechpad.
Manner of Oxenford.
Day. Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge.
A dark back went before them, step of a pard, down, out by the gateway, under portcullis barbs.
Offend me still. Speak on.
Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street. No birds. Frail from the housetops two plumes of smoke ascended, pluming, and in a flaw of softness, softly were blown.
Cease to strive. Peace of the (3druid druids3) priests of Cymbeline(3:3) hierophantic: from wide earth an altar.
we the gods Laud we the
(3And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils3)
(3From our bless'd altars. From our bless'd altars.3)