ULYSSES

Protodrafts

Early draft and fragments, draft level 1

MS NLI.7A(sirens) 1-18, NLI.7B 20, Private 1 Draft details


{ms, 001}

|1Miss Douse's and Miss Kennedy's head, bronze and º |aMiss Douse's and Miss Kennedy's heads, gold and Bronze by gold, Miss Kennedy's head by Miss Douse's head,a|1| bronze, over the blind of the Ormond Hotel |1saw the viceregal cavalcade go by1||1, and heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringing steel1|.

— Is that her? Miss Kennedy said

— Yes, Miss Douse said, |1that's her the one1| sitting beside his ex. |1Mother-of-pearl1| grey and |1crushed1| strawberry.

— And is that her? Miss Kennedy said. Exquisite contrast, isn't it, |1the grey and the pink the pink with the grey1|.

— Look at the fellow |1coming1| in the carriage after, Miss Douse |1said eagerly1|. Do you see? In the tall silk.

— Who? Where? Who is he? Miss Kennedy asked.

— Look at him, Miss Douse said, |1her wet lips1| laughing in the sun. |1He's killed looking back. Bye bye. Look, I declare to God he's looking back. Mind till I see. He's looking in here, I declare to God. Mind till I see.1|

She ran to the far corner of the window, flattening her face sideways against the pane in a halo of her |1excited flurried1| breath.

|1— He's killed |alooking turning to looka| back, she said. |agaily!a| O, wept, aren't men frightful idiots1|
|1|xSauntering and {hairpinning}x|1|

— It's them have the fine times, Miss Kennedy said. All the clothes they have.

The boots came across from the hall and laid his tray on the counter

— There's your teas, he said

Miss Kennedy |1came down the bar and1| conveyed the tray |1into a cosy nook behind down to an upturned lemonade |acase cratea|1|. |1|x{Spoon}x|1|

— What is it? the boots asked

— Find out, Miss Douce answered |1with disdain1| as she left her spyingpoint.

— Your |1master beau, is it1|?

If you give me any more of your I'll complain to |1Mr Tallon Mrs De Massey1| |1on you1|, Miss Douse answered |1him1| haughtily, if I hear any
{ms, 002}
moreº of your impertinent insolence
— Imthnthnthnthnthnthn, the boots's

— Imperthnthnthnthnthn, the boots's snouting snouted lips said mockingly as he |1went backed1| out |1as by the way1| he had come.

— That fellow is |1most aggravating1| going beyond the beyonds, Miss Douse said. Little brat. |1I'll box his ears well for him. I'll wring his ears a yard long.1|

— Take no notice of him, Miss Kennedy said.

She poured the |1a little of the |asomea|1| tea into a cup |1and, then1| back into the pot. In their nook they under the counter they sat on the low stools |1till it should draw properly to let it draw well1|. |1|xThey paw each other's blouses.x|1|

— Am I much |1burned sunburned1|? Miss Douse asked, showing her neck.

— No, Miss Kennedy said. It gets brown after. Did you try the cherry laurel water and borax?

Miss Douse, viewing her skin |1sideways askance1| in the mirror behind the hock and claret glasses, asked again:

|1But am I too red? |aBut am I awfully red? And leave it to my hands, she said.a|1|

— Why don't you try that with the glycerine? Miss Kennedy said.

— Ah, those things only bring out a rash on you, Miss Douse said. I asked that old fellow in Boyd's for something |1for m the skin1|.

Miss Kennedy, pouring tea, said made a grimace, saying:

— O, don't remind me of him for |1goodness' mercy'1| sake.

Miss Douse said gaily:

— But wait till I tell you.

Miss Kennedy |1set down the teapot1| put |1both1| her little fingers into her ears, saying:

— No, I won't listen.

Miss Douse said in a snuffy voice

For your what? he said.

— O, don't let me think of him, Miss
{ms, 003}
Kennedyº said, |1uncorking her ears,1| or I'll |1kick |ashriek expirea|1|. That awful old wretch. Do you remember the |1day you were buying the blank night in the Gaiety?1|

She drank distastefully from her cup.

— Here he was, Miss Douse said, leaning sideways and ruffling her nose. Huf! Huf!

A high shriek of laughter came from Miss Kennedy's throat while Miss Douse continued to blow through nostrils that quivered like a snout

— O, Miss Kennedy cried, will you ever forget his goggle |1eyes eye1|? |1And his1|

Without answering Miss Douse burst into loud laughter

|1The greasy little man! And your other eye!1| she said.

Their unresisting voices blended in a |1giggling1| peal |1of laughter |aof mirtha|1|. Then they threw their heads back to let their laughter free, signalling to each other by high piercing notes. Panting and sighing their mirth died down. Miss Kennedy took her cup again and had drunk a mouthful when Miss Douse bent over the teatray and, ruffling her nose again, began to roll droll fattened eyes. Miss Kennedy spluttered into her teacup and, convulsed with laughter and coughing, said cried:

— O, greasy eyes! Imagine being married to a |1thing man1| like that! |1The bit of beard.1|

Miss Douse gave a |1full1| woman's scream of delight and indignation

— Married to the greasy nose! she said

They broke again into high and deep laughter, urging each other to peal after peal: and then lay against the laid their shaken heads against the
{ms, 004}
counterº ledge, flushed, panting, sweated.

— Lord, Miss Douse sighed to the |1trembling1| rose |1jumping1| on her bosom. I wish I hadn't the laughed so much. I'm |1wringing |aall wringinga|1| wet.

— O, you horrid thing, Miss Kennedy said, flushing more.

Mr Dedalus came into the bar |1idly |aabsentlya|1| picking chips off one of his rocky thumbnails.
—How do you do, Miss Douse

— O, how do you do, Miss Douse, he said dropping his |1suddenly1| agreeably |1|awhen asa| she rose |ain her seata|1|. Back again.

|1Miss Douse shook his hand. |aMiss Douse stood up and shook his hand. He held her He held her genteelly |bofferedb| hand over the countera|1|

— And how did you enjoy your holidays?

— Tiptop, Miss Douse said.

— I hope you had nice weather in Rostrevor.

— Gorgeous, Miss Douse said. Look at the |1holy1| show I am from |1|athe air and the sun |bthe sea air and the sunb|a|1| I was lying out on the |1rocks half the strand every1| day.

You naughty That was very naughty of you, Mr Dedalus |1said1|, shaking his head indulgently. Tempting poor |1sinners simple man innocent innocent creatures1|.

— O, go away out of that |1now1|, Miss Douse said, pulling back her satined arm. I'm sure you're very |1innocent simple1|.

— Well now I am, Mr Dedalus said |1to himself1|. I looked so |1simple when I was a child innocent in the cradle1| that they christened me |1simple1| Simon. So they tell me, at |1least all events1|.

|1Yes,1| I don't think, Miss Douse said. And what |1may I have the pleasure … |ahas the doctor proscribed |bhas the doctor ordered did the doctor orderb|a| today?1|

— Whatever you say yourself, Mr Dedalus answered. Well I'll just take. Let me see now. I'll take a … No, I think I'll have trouble you for some |1fresh1| water and a half glass of whisky.

With the greatest alacrity, Miss Douse said.

She turned |1towards the glass before the mirror and drew off the measure back towards the mirror to the crystal kegs to draw off a bright measure1|
{ms, 005}
Mrº Dedalus took forth pipe and pouch from the skirt pocket of his coat and blew a husky whistle down the pipeshank.

— By Jove, he said. Rostrevor. Well now I am |1Well1| I often wanted to see Rostrevor. But a long threatening comes at last, they say. Yes, yes.

He fingered tobacco into the bowl nodding as the drink was set before him. Miss Douse began to polish a glass, humming:

O, Idolores, queen of the eastern sea

— Was Mr Lidwell in today?

Lenehan entered the bar and looked about him.

— He was in at lunchtime, Miss Kennedy said, patting her mouth with her handkerchief and making a sign to Miss Douse who sat down to her tea

|1She1| came down to the beerpull and stood flicking crumbs from off her tulle front.

— Has Mr Boylan been looking for me? Lenehan said coming to the counter.

— No, Mr Lenehan, Miss Kennedy said. Was Mr Boylan in while I was upstairs, Miss Douse?

Miss Douse, seated |1at her by the1| crate |1with a poised teacup1|, answered without looking up from |1the her1| book:

I didn't No, he was not.

Lenehan craned his short body round the sandwich bell towards her voice, saying:

— Peep! |1Who spoke? Who's in the corner?1|

As she d Unrewarded by a glance, he said to her:

|1Be sure to read only only read1| the black ones. |1Round o and crooked ess.

He |aplappered plappering by rotea| flatly to her |ain |bsolfaed solfab|a|:

— Ah fox met ah stork. Said thee fox to thee stork: will you put your bill down my troath and pull up ah bone?1|

He greeted Mr Dedalus who nodded slightly

— Ah me, O my, he said|1, sighing1|.
{ms, 006}
'Twasº ever thus. |1And how is your famous son, Mr Dedalus? Greetings from the famous son of a famous father.1|

|1Whose son? |aWhose son is that? Who is he?a|1| Mr Dedalus asked

Lenehan opened his arms genially.

— Can you ask? he said. Stephen|1, son1| of the tribe of Dedalus.

— O, I see, Mr Dedalus said, laying down his |1filled1| pipe. I didn't recognise him for the moment. I believe he is keeping very select company |1lately1|. I haven't had the pleasure of seeing him |1for some time lately1|. Are you a friend of his?

— I have quaffed the winecup |1of friendship1| with him, Lenehan said |1laughing1| to Miss Kennedy's waiting eyes, |1today this very day1|. In Mooney's sur Mer. |1He had received |asome ofa| the rhino for the labour of his muse.1| The wise ones of |1Ireland Erin1| hung |1so to speak1| on his lips. Professor MacHugh, Dublin's darling editor and O'Madden Burke the bard that |1sweet1| minstrel |1boy of the west1| known to the muses as O'Madden Burke.

— Indeed, Mr Dedalus said. That must have been very interesting. I see.

He lifted his glass and drank. Then, glancing towards the inner saloon, he said:

— I see you have moved the piano.

— The tuner was in this morning, Miss Kennedy said|1, tuning it1|. |1He played it exquisitely. |aHe played it something exquisitely.a| And I never heard such an exquisite player.1|

— Is that a fact? Mr Dedalus said

— Didn't he, Miss Douse? Miss Kennedy said. |1The1| Real classical, you know. And the poor fellow blind too. Not twenty years old |1I'm sure he was1|.

— Is that so, Mr Dedalus said

He |1saundered strayed1| off towards the open saloon door.

— So sad to look at his face, Miss |1Douse Kennedy1|
{ms, 007}
said.º

A diner's bell |1tinkled in the restaurant |atinked cried tinka|1| to her |1compassion pity1|.

|1— O, I never served the gentleman, she said.

Enter Pat1| She went out by the end of the bar. The bardoor She went out into the restaurant. Lenehan eyed what he could see of Miss Douse's reading gold hair, reading. In drowsy silence came th from the saloon the buzz a |1pure sound call1|, long in dying: and once more, as Mr Dedalus struck as the tuningfork Mr Dedalus struck and |1held poised1| lightly on the pianocase |1sang sweetly with throbbed purely|a, ever softer,a| from1| its buzzing prongs. |1On the keys under his fingers, twinkling in chords of1| harpings |1harping starrily, sang of1| his youth |1youth's morn:1|

|1Aº duodene of |ascaling |bbright trebleb|a| notes outshone the sound scaled brightly answered. |aIn answera|1|

|1A |abrighta| duodene of |abrighta| notes |aanswered swiftly chirruped swift answera| |aThen in the pause Then amid their pausea| the twinkling keys of a harpsichord |atwinkling twinkleda|, in their chorded voices |aharping their chordsa| and singing of youth, of youth's morn, and |ayoung as morning winda| and1|

|1A duodene of notes chirruped bright answer. Then |ain followinga| their pause the keys twinkling linked themselves, harpsichording, calling any voice |anear bya| to sing with them |ain toa| the strains of youth's morn.1|

|1A duodene of notes chirruped bright answer. Then in their pause |atwinkling thea| keys |atwinklinga| linked themselves |ain chords chords of a harpsichorda| calling to |athe somea| voice to sing to them, recalling youth's morn.1|

The bright stars fade, the morn is breaking

|1|xdecoyx|1| Lenehan's lips blew over the counter a soft whistle of decoy |1|xmakes a punx|1|

— But look this way, he said. Rose of Castile

Miss Douse turned |1dreaming1| a page|1, dreamily1|.

— Does she feel as if she felt? Lenehan asked. What is the name of it?

|1Nothing for you Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies1|, Miss Douse said, rising

Blazes Boylan's |1spruce figure entered spruce stride creaked smartly1|.

— See the conquering hero comes, Lenehan said.

— I heard you were round, Blazes Boylan said. What is it?

He touched the slanted rim to of his straw hat to Miss Douse who |1rising1| preened herself at her leisure, amiably.
|1You're very backward in coming forward, Lenehan told her.1|

— What's your cry? Blazes Boylan |1asked bespoke1|. A half one? Give us a half one, Miss D, and a sloe gin, please. Is the wire in yet?

|1Miss Douse reached high to take a flagon, reaching,

— O, O, O, O, Lenehan said as she reached.

Easily she seized it and brought it |adown lowa| in triumph.

— Grow up, Lenehan said. I like them sizeable.

— Fine goods in small parcels, Miss Douse said winsomely.1|

— Not yet, Lenehan said.

— Here's fortune, Blazes Boylan said.

|1What's How's1| the time? Blazes Boylan said. Half three. I met that Bantam Lyons in
{ms, 008}
Graftonº street. He |1was going to plunge told me he plunged1| |1on Zinfandel too1|.

He was |1talking ramblingly1| about some fi horse …..

— Sceptre will win, hands down, Lenehan said, taking his glass to him.

— I put a bit on her |1for a friend of mine1|, Blazes Boylan |1said1|. Not for my own fancy, you know. Friend of mine.

Lenehan sipped, smiling finely at the tilted gold he drank.

— Here's fortune, Blazes Boylan said.

He drank half and |1placed |arang pitched on the countera|1| a coin |1that rang1| on the counter smartly. A clockface clacked its tongue.

— Half three is it? he said, |1glancing looking1| among the gaudy glasses reflections.

— That clock's fast, Lenehan said. Isn't it, Miss Douse?

— Fivepence, |1Miss Douse said demurely demure Miss Douse said1|, handing |1damp1| change.

Lenehan pulled the cocca of Blazes Boylan's coat, his eyes hungering on her face.

— Let's hear the time, he said. He has an appointment he can't miss.

Miss Douse {sunny} eyes glanced archly at the slanted straw hat for an instant.

— Go on, Lenehan said urgently. He never heard that.

|1 …... to Flora's lips did hie
Did hie. |xher rosex|

The high note |arose pealeda| in |athea| treble clear.1|

Miss Douse |1communing with her rose that moved1| glanced again at Blazes Boylan's bold eyes and tie |1|a, smiling at her moving rosea|1|.

|1Go on Please1|, Lenehan said pleading with the returning chords from the saloon.

His voice pleaded |1with over1| the song's |1soft chords returning |aphrases phrasea|1| of avowal: I could not leave thee though I said

I could not leave thee …

|1— Afterwits, Miss Douse said coyly.1|

|1Go on No, now1|, he said. Sonnez la cloche! Do.

Miss Douse bent suddenly |1and nipped her dress at the knee, nipping a peak of her skirt out at a knee1|. The chords |1from the chord of the piano1| strayed from the air shakily, feeling for it again, shaking. The two li kindled faces watched her bend. Her eyes taunted them an instant still. |1Then ere she released, the warm smack of her garter smacked her thigh. |aThen ere her hand set free with a warm smack of her garter smacked her thigh. Her |bwilfulb| eyes taunted them still an instant ere her |bwilfulb| hand wi set freea|1|

|1For still an instant her wilful eyes delayed them ere her hand set free the warm rebound of her garter smack on her |astockingeda| thigh |xdemurelyx|1|
{ms, 009}

Laº cloche! Lenehan cried, content. I taught her that. Trained by owner.

|1— You're the essence of vulgarity, Miss Douse said, |asmiling superciliouslya|.1|

Blazes Boylan raised |1the dainty |ato his greedy lipsa| a tiny1| chalice and tasted swallowed |1the his1| sloe gin at his ease, his eyes following Miss Douse's |1figure head1|. |1It moved to the end of She glided down1| the bar and concerted, gold with bronze, with Miss Kennedy's over the diner's bill, whispering.

— No |1flies, flies sawdust there?1| Lenehan said. Eh?

…. sweetheart, goodbye.

— I'm off, Blazes Boylan said brusquely

|1With bold blank1| He sucked |1boldly1| the |1violet1| dregs |1of his sloe gin1|, |1he1| slid his glass away and gathered |1the change up his change1|.

— Where? Lenehan said, taking his glass up. |1Have you the horn?1| Wait a minute. What way are you going?

— Come on|1, damn you to blazes1|, Blazes Boylan said. I can't wait, curse you.

— As bad as that? Lenehan said |1tossing off his drink1|. |1I'm coming too.1|

He followed the |1loud |ahastya|1| creaking |1hasty1| shoes out, standing |1neatly1| by |1neatly1| as a bulky and a slender form crossed the |1|agloom penumbraa| of1| threshold, to salute:

|1<>1| |1Good day,1|

— How do you do, Mr Dollard?

|1|aWhen the Thea| long fellow is all right1| Eh? God bless you! Ben |1Dollard Dollard's bass1| said vaguely, turning |1his voice1| a moment from Father Cowley's ear. He won't give you any trouble. I know |1long Long1| John. We'll put a barleystraw in that Antichrist's ear, |1I tell you anyhow1|.

Sighing, |1Mr Dedalus A sigh from1| came towards the door of the saloon, a finger soothing his eyelid.

— O, we will, Ben Dollard said. Come on, Simon. Where's the piano? |1I We1| heard you coming in.

— What's that? Mr Dedalus said. I was only struming.

— Come on, come on, Ben Dollard cheerily. Begone dull care. Come in, Bob.

He ambled before them |1b1| into the saloon and, plumping himself heavily on the stool, his big gouty hands struck
{ms, 010}
offº chords.

Love and War, Mr Dedalus said. God be with the past, Ben.

|1I Poor old Goodwin1| was the pianist that night, Father Cowley said.

— And a nice hash he made of it! Mr Dedalus said. A symposium |1of all1| his own.

— I remember, Father Cowley said. What became of that Marie Fallon Powell sang too. What became of her, Simon? I never see her name. |1|xA buxom piecex|1| Is she alive?

— Alive and kicking, Mr Dedalus said began. She married Yes |1Soldier's daughter. My Irish Molly O. From the rock of Gibraltar.1|

Ben Dollard |1thundered boomed1| over their voices with |1{strong} crashing1| chords:

When love absorbs my ardent soul.

— War! War! Father Cowley said, turning to him. |1You're the warrior.1|

— O, so I am, Ben Dollard said, stopping

He |1shook wagged1| his laughing face and huge beard over his |1error blunder1|.

— Sure, you'd burst the tympanum of her ear, man, Mr Dedalus said, with an organ like yours.

Ben Dollard shook in |1fat bass abundant1| laughter over the keys.

Another mem To say nothing of another membrane, Father Cowley added. Get up, Ben|1, a moment1|. |1Half time.1| Let me there.

————

|1Blank face all the same. Virgin. Write some thing on it. If you don't what becomes of them. |aGet into despair. Reallya| They want it.1|

|1She viewed herself sideways. Mirror there. Molly always does before she answers |athe door a knocka|. |aTitivating herself.a|1|

Mr Bloom watched in silence the liquid eyeball at gaze |1calm and pitiless under its narrowed lid and saw its fence of lashes behind its fence of lashes calm and pitiless under its narrowed lid1|. |1|xPolite interest. But they don't like too much politeness. Why a fellow like himx|1| |1I could |asay make her heara| something from here. Ventriloquism. Close my lips. Want to think it in my stomach? What? Will? You? I. Want. To. |a|bTo beb| Admired. Keeps them young. Admire themselves.a|1| At each slow heave of her |1satin1| bosom (her heaving embonpoint) |1the her1| red rose rose and sank with satin and all her tiny foils trembled of maidenhair. She knows I'm looking, knows without looking. |1Molly (has a) devil of a quick eye to notice if anyone is looking at her. All women.1| Heat and spices of drinks floated round her. On the jutting beerpull lay (?) her hand lightly, plumply, white as the enamel: and to and fro (she knows I'm looking) over the h polished knob her thumb and finger slid passed, repassed, gently touching and then slid smoothly, slowly down, as
{ms, 11}
coolº firm baton then white protruding out of thin sliding ring.

A vision was given her. She pulled a full pull down, down, and pulled it down. Ale gushed |1|ain the to hera| tankard1|, gushed & foamed.

————

— Thereº was an |1arrangement put up job1| between them, Father Cowley said. About ten she'd |1telephone down to the husband ring up the hubby1| about the |1poor1| child and if Bloom had |1won anything raked in the pot1| |1he was begod1| off |1with him1| in a brace of shakes |1saying the child was bad1|. There was nothing wrong with the child |1at all1|. But old Mat Dillon spotted the game.

————

— To hear that fellow croaking, is it, Mr Dedalus said, with a belly on him like a poisoned pup

— He'd want a stiff glass of grog to coo keep his pecker up, Ben Dollard said.

— He has a fair share concealed about his person, if you ask me, Mr Dedalus said.

————

Mr Bloom heard the voice in lamentation. Martha, Martha, ah return, love. Her name. Strange. I am waiting here. |1Lovely Glorious1| voice he has. For thee. Co-ome, thou lost one. Cruel it is |1let1| people get fond of each. Thou dear one. Then tear them asunder. |1Way out of that.1| Alone. Canst com. Fort me. Human life that is. And she
{ms, 12}
oneº day with him. And I. Ah Martha |1re return1|. All. Asunder. Despair. Tuurn Turn tooooooo me.

————

|1Ben Dollard had to get a loan of a dresscoat from L.B. |aHe had no wedding garment.a|1|

|1Ay He |adid wasa|1|, Father Cowley said, |1|xThey were hard up at that time.x| The missus used to play the piano in the coffee palace.1| he used to do something in |1the1| hanging clothes line too when they lived in Holles street. The wife used to buy up opera cloaks and dresses out of houses in Merrion square and sell them so much a week. Splendid things too.

— Ay, Mr Dedalus nodded. Mrs |1Marion1| Bloom has left off clothes of all descriptions

————

|1Italian is the only language to sing, Ben Dollard said.1|

— I used to hear them as a boy in Queenstown, Mr Dedalus said, walking along in the moonlight with those earthquake hats on their ears and they used to blend their voices together.

He held a phalange of hand shielding his singing lips and sang a nightcall |1and with1| its echo blended.

————

Mr Bloom observed the drawn face before him. He's |1the next |aitem on the programmea| on the list1| going too. |1There is a Green H Down Among the Dead Men is his song. Appropriate.1| Backache pills |1between drinks1|. |1So particular about the whiskey he drinks.1| Taking matches from counters to save. Then spending half a sovereign |1in dribs and drabs1|, standing drinks. But you can't touch them for money. Never have a cent. Queer people. Contradictions.

————

(Lenehan) The match whizzed from his hand

————
{ms, 13}

Herº face was a blank page reading a printed page. They believe all they in black and white. But it was in the paper. Blank. Write on it.

————

— The two of them were hard at it in the City Arms |1in Prussia street1|, chewing the fat. But sure she'd screech the head off him. |1She had a fine head of |ablack flowinga| hair. Faith she had. Down to her middle. Many a morning I saw her combing it. Begob he was up at cockshout every married morning. How did he lose that job? Thereby hangs a tale.1|

————

(He thought) If she then I. Would be different then. But she has? Or has she?

————

— The most beautiful |1tenor1| air ever written, Richie Goulding |1said began1|, is that

|1⇒ Coming out with a whopper now. Greatest liar unhung. Believes them himself, I believe.

— Which air is that? Mr Bloom asked.
1| in La Sonambula. I remember Joe Maas singing that. All is lost now.

He set his lips |1awhistle1| and from a long |1incipient sweet1| note of all loss of all |1a thrush, a throstle,1| his breath fluted a sweet, a mournful, a surrendered fall. |1White teeth he has1|

Mr Bloom |1gave bent1| ear |1turning down the turned up edge of a square doyley under the breadtray1|: sadness and, |1betrayal betrayed1|. In her sleep. Innocently. But What then led her in her sleep? (Desire) Waking desire. Innocently?

————

He had an idea of starting Sunday concerts, Father Cowley said. Badly wanted, you know. But the archbishop squashed it, I believe.

— Interferes with his own |1box office Punch & Judy1|, Mr Dedalus said.

— You know Crofton? Ben Dollard asked

— What? Bill Crofton?

— Yes, Bill. Tell you a good one about him |1after he got married1|. You know he |1howls a bit on his own does a howl now & then in his free time1|. But the
{ms, 14}
wifeº is true blue and won't have any music in the house on Sundays except |1hymns about the Lord goodygoody1|. |1And poor1| Bill didn't know what to do but at last he struck on Bid me to live and I will live thy protestant to be. She thinks it's a hymn, begod.

————

Chamber music. Course you could make a joke about that. Still it is a kind of music. When she. |1I often thought1| Tinkling. Drops. |1There's acoustics in that. Because the resonance changes according as the.1| Like Liszt's Liszt those rhapsodies. Hungarian. |1Diddleooddleaddleooddleooddle Lum lum lum1|

————

|1Two headless sardines lay on their A headless sardine, lying in state on its1| mortuary buttered slice On the star bath of |1the an1| epergne, |1where it a |amute lonea| headless sardine1| lay in state on bread.

————

If she found out. |1Better not Never1| tell her all. Sauce for the goose.

————

There's no swindle. |1Course Still1| it is a swindle. Well so is insurance. Work it out on probability. Course every fellow thinks other fellow is going to lose.

————

— Is he musical?

— Well, Ben Dollard. I heard he put Lead, Kindly Light to music. He wanted the
{ms, 15}
wifeº to sing it in Haddington street choir.

————

— Shout! Ben Dollard said, pouring

— That'll do, Father Cowley said.

————

Old Bloom must have thought his son was going to be the blank

————

— Well, I must say you're looking rubicund, Ben, Mr Dedalus said cheerily. Isn't he, Bob. You must have great feeding up in that swagger hotel. I'm told |1 It's1| A fine place.

— What! Father Cowley said. The Iveagh Home.

— Cubicle number thirty seven, Ben Dollard said, smacking his lips on his drink. To such base uses are we come, Simon.

— I don't know, Mr Dedalus said. You have a good deal of adipose tissue concelead about your person, Ben.

— The fat of death, Simon, Ben Dollard growled lugubriously.

————

|1Show me Let me peruse1| that document here, Bob, Mr Dedalus said.

Father Cowley took from his |1sidepocket pocket1| a letter and handed it. Mr Dedalus scanned the envelope at his (leisure) turning it at many angles.

————

Chap that |1plays wallops1| the toy drum, for instance. His vocation in life. Wonder when it first struck him. |1|xImagine him at home sitting in armchair. Pom. Pompedy. Pom.x|1| Asses' skins they are made out of. Welt them black and blue while they live and then welt them after death. Seems to be what you call backsheesh no I mean kismet. Point of view of the ass.

————

|11904 {-} 16 {=} 18881|
{ms, 16}

Aº frowsy whore with black straw hat askew came towards Mr Bloom. She's the one|1, yes,1| that night |1in — Lane1|. Sst! Any chance of your washing. Knew Molly. Turn aside.

Mr Bloom stood to view (?) picture in —'s window. O. Interesting.

How they know. Stout lady I seen you with in the brown costume. Put me off |1your my1| stroke. Is she passed? |1Robert Emmet. When my country takes her place. Softly. Must be the cider or the burgun. Among the nations of the earth. No-one behind me. Then & not till then. Just coming. Yes. Must be the burgund. Let my epitaph be written. I have. Bffffffff. Done. |aNow if I did that in company everyone would laugh. Lovely tone his voice has.a|1|

————

Ben Dollard with bulky grace kechuckadº some steps |1nakkering as in the air1| his gouty fingers |1nakkering as in the air1| by his ears as castaquettes

— Winds that blow from the.

————

His voice told them with consenting chords

————

Better not blot. He might read backwards. Idea for a story. Prize Titbit. Incriminating something written on blottingpaper. Payment at the rate of one guinea per column.

————

He's witty in his own way, Father Cow Ben Dollard said. One night at a spread I sang had to sing. Someone asked Bloom what Dan Dawson said in his speech. And says Bloom: I could hear what he said. Alderman O'Reilly was eating his soup.

————

Soulful eyes. What do they think about? Night we were in the |1box stalls box Michael Gunn gave me1| at the Gaiety for Tree in Trilby (?) I spoke to her about the
{ms, 17}
soulº what Spinoza says in the that book of papa's. She listened. Her crocus dress lowcut. |1Full to be seen.1| |1Footlights glowering on the gilt pillars of the stage.1| |1Clove in her mouth, nibbling, breath. To keep it sweet.1| She listened, quietly, meditative eyes. Chap |1in dress circle1| in evening suit staring |1at down into1| her through his operaglasses from. Of course philosophy.

————

|1Inº nomine Dei. In God's name penitent he confessed. The pianist A false priest's servant bade him welcome with traitor's smile, with curleques of chords.1|

The harping chords were heard |1slow1|, and and penances. Ben The voice of the penitent intoned a {ground} of penances. Since Easter day thrice he |1had1| cursed. And |1at1| masstime once he |1played had gone to play1|. And by the churchyard in haste he |1went had gone1| and for his mother's rest |1forgot to pray he had not prayed1|.

————

|1|xCuffex|1|

— It was the devil's own firm, Father Cowley said. I heard it from little Peake who was bookkeeper there. Bloom put up a good fight. He w He's a hardworking chap, you see, attends to his business. Cuffe used to glare at him every time he met him. |1And1| Bloom at it quite coolly. Music without words. In the end Bloom made some mistake or other and be damned Cuffe wrote him a hell of a letter and the same night. But, faith, Bloom stood up to him. What did he do but he tore up the letter into little bits and sent it back |1by in a1| registered envelope. |1Cuffe was fit to be tied.1| And from that good day to this he was never seen in the office.

————

Folly is it I am writing. Husbands don't. |1Their wives.1| It's because I. Away from her. If I. But how? She must have.

————

— Bravo, Ben, Father Cowley cried. True men like you men are plenty here today. Eh, Simon?

— I hope so, Mr Dedalus |1said affirmed1|.

————

With fatigue his voice |1called to bade1| hear good men and true.

————

|1Forº instance that ringing sometimes in the ear, Blood is a sea. Mr Bloom saw a delicate |acowrya| shell held and heard. You hear noise. It's not the sea. It's the sea of your own blood. |aHer own ears like a pink shell. Is too. Only see the lobe. Hair braided over it. Shell with seaweed. |bNo admittance except on business.b| Hide the way the Turkish women hide their mouths. Yashmak. Molly in the bed, dark |bhair eyesb| over the sheet. |xAphrodite?x|a|1|
{ms, 18}

— Giveº us Qui Sdegno, Ben, Father Cowley said.

— No, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. Give us The Croppy Boy.

————

Ben Dollard's voice that is. Good ship's chandler's business he did at one time. Fine voice too. Living in the Iveagh Home. Number one Bass did that. Then Ruin them. Then build cubicles for them to die in |1after all the pints1|. |1Hushaby. Lullaby. Do a die. Put me in my little. Die dog, little dog, dies1| |1Thinks he's Thought he was1| going to win a prize in that Answers puzzle great writers' |1picture1| puzzle. Bird sitting on the side of a nest with an egg in it. Thought it meant The Lay of the Last Minstrel. Bass Number one Bass must have addled his brain a bit

————

|1One morning saying |xdittyx|1|

|1Bold Father Maguire she released from bondage
When Anne MacGaragan again him swore
1|

— Nell Flaherty's Drake, Simon, Father Cowley said. How is this that goes?

— That was Jack Mountain's song, Mr Dedalus said. {Sure}, I forget it now.

He followed them, crooning |1& unreadling a planxty1|:

— O, the poor little fellow,
His legs they were yellow
He was plump, fat and heavy
And brisk as a snake
But some bloody savage
To grease his white cabbage
He murdered Nell Flaherty's
Duckloving drake.

————

At Geneva barrack he died. At Passage was his body laid. Calling to prayer the voice soared |1to bliss1|. His soul should soar. Pray for him. You in peace, in joy. A prayer breathe. A tear for the croppy boy.

————

Must be careful to write Greek ees. Dear Mady. Wonder can he see. Few lines. |1Got your letter.1| Am in trouble. Change that ee. You know why. Accept little present enclosed. Tell me how will you punish me.

————

They held it to an ear, each after other, hearing each for him, the plash of waves loudly, and each for other, the silent roar.

Ben Dollard laid it by

— What are the wild waves saying, he asked.
{ms, 019}
NOTESº
{ms, 020}

(LB on RG).º Quite bald {here} behind. You could paint a second face there for a lark. Thing he'd do himself. Then he'd be looking both ways. There is some God. Besides the back when you think of it quite as unread characteristic. I easily recognise fellow from behind. Woman, of course.

————

Old Glynn that instrument make it talk, was his soul. Growling |1|xAngryx|1| Queer up there alone in the loft with his back to the whole thing performance with his keys and stops. Growling surly, then shrieking, cursing, |1Want to have cottonwool in his ears or go deaf.1| then wee soft wee like wind somewhere in a garden.

————

Tuning up. Queer. Shah of Persia at the concert |1in London1| said he liked that best. Reminds him of home sweet home probably. Dulcimers. |1|xAntientx| Lumteetumtoo.1| unreadonsured girls sitting crosslegged. Wiped his nose in a window curtain. So Wonder what else he did. All depends on the custom.
{ms, 021p}

Byº Bachelor's walk jogjingle jaunted Blazes Boylan, bachelor. In sun, in heat, warmseated, sprawled, mare's glossy rump atrot. Horn. Have you the? Horn. Have you the? Haw haw horn.