Ulysses by James Joyce

Leopold Bloom Telemachus
Scylla and Charybdis
Wandering Rocks
Oxen of the Sun

This is a hypertextual, self-referential edition of
Ulysses by James Joyce.
The text was prepared using the Project Gutenberg edition.

Click on any word to see its occurrences in the text;
click on line numbers to go to that line;
click on chapter names to go to that chapter;
or search using the form below.
Search terms can contain spaces and punctuation.

The concordance for Ulysses ordered alphanumerically,
and listed in order of word frequency. Click here for more texts.

[1]            -- I --
[6]        lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown,
[7]        ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him by the mild morning air. He
[8]        held the bowl aloft and intoned:
[12]       Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called out coarsely:
[14]       --Come up, Kinch! Come up, you fearful jesuit!
[16]       Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about
[17]       and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the
[18]       awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent
[19]       towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and
[20]       shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms
[21]       on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling
[22]       face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured
[23]       hair, grained and hued like pale oak.
[25]       Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered
[26]       the bowl smartly.
[28]       --Back to barracks! he said sternly.
[30]       He added in a preacher's tone:
[32]       --For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and
[33]       blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A
[34]       little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.
[36]       He peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused
[37]       awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there
[38]       with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered
[39]       through the calm.
[41]       --Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the
[42]       current, will you?
[44]       He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering
[45]       about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and
[46]       sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A
[47]       pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.
[49]       --The mockery of it! he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek!
[51]       He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet,
[52]       laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily
[53]       halfway and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he
[54]       propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and
[55]       lathered cheeks and neck.
[57]       Buck Mulligan's gay voice went on.
[59]       --My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a
[60]       Hellenic ring, hasn't it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We
[61]       must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty
[62]       quid?
[64]       He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:
[66]       --Will he come? The jejune jesuit!
[68]       Ceasing, he began to shave with care.
[70]       --Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.
[72]       --Yes, my love?
[74]       --How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?
[76]       Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.
[78]       --God, isn't he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He thinks
[79]       you're not a gentleman. God, these bloody English! Bursting with money
[80]       and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus, you
[81]       have the real Oxford manner. He can't make you out. O, my name for you is
[82]       the best: Kinch, the knife-blade.
[84]       He shaved warily over his chin.
[86]       --He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is
[87]       his guncase?
[89]       --A woful lunatic! Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?
[91]       --I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the dark
[92]       with a man I don't know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a
[93]       black panther. You saved men from drowning. I'm not a hero, however. If
[94]       he stays on here I am off.
[96]       Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down
[97]       from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.
[99]       --Scutter! he cried thickly.
[101]      He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen's upper
[102]      pocket, said:
[104]      --Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.
[106]      Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a
[107]      dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly.
[108]      Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:
[110]      --The bard's noserag! A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen.
[111]      You can almost taste it, can't you?
[113]      He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair
[114]      oakpale hair stirring slightly.
[116]      --God! he said quietly. Isn't the sea what Algy calls it: a great sweet
[117]      mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. EPI OINOPA PONTON.
[118]      Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks! I must teach you. You must read them in the
[119]      original. THALATTA! THALATTA! She is our great sweet mother. Come and
[120]      look.
[122]      Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked
[123]      down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbourmouth of
[124]      Kingstown.
[126]      --Our mighty mother! Buck Mulligan said.
[128]      He turned abruptly his grey searching eyes from the sea to Stephen's
[129]      face.
[131]      --The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That's why she won't
[132]      let me have anything to do with you.
[134]      --Someone killed her, Stephen said gloomily.
[136]      --You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother asked
[137]      you, Buck Mulligan said. I'm hyperborean as much as you. But to think of
[138]      your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and pray for
[139]      her. And you refused. There is something sinister in you ...
[141]      He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. A tolerant
[142]      smile curled his lips.
[144]      --But a lovely mummer! he murmured to himself. Kinch, the loveliest
[145]      mummer of them all!
[147]      He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously.
[149]      Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against
[150]      his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve.
[151]      Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in
[152]      a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its
[153]      loose brown graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her
[154]      breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of
[155]      wetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a
[156]      great sweet mother by the wellfed voice beside him. The ring of bay and
[157]      skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had stood
[158]      beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up
[159]      from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.
[161]      Buck Mulligan wiped again his razorblade.
[163]      --Ah, poor dogsbody! he said in a kind voice. I must give you a shirt and
[164]      a few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks?
[166]      --They fit well enough, Stephen answered.
[168]      Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his underlip.
[170]      --The mockery of it, he said contentedly. Secondleg they should be. God
[171]      knows what poxy bowsy left them off. I have a lovely pair with a hair
[172]      stripe, grey. You'll look spiffing in them. I'm not joking, Kinch. You
[173]      look damn well when you're dressed.
[175]      --Thanks, Stephen said. I can't wear them if they are grey.
[177]      --He can't wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror.
[178]      Etiquette is etiquette. He kills his mother but he can't wear grey
[179]      trousers.
[181]      He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt the
[182]      smooth skin.
[184]      Stephen turned his gaze from the sea and to the plump face with its
[185]      smokeblue mobile eyes.
[187]      --That fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said Buck Mulligan, says
[188]      you have g.p.i. He's up in Dottyville with Connolly Norman. General
[189]      paralysis of the insane!
[191]      He swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the tidings abroad
[192]      in sunlight now radiant on the sea. His curling shaven lips laughed and
[193]      the edges of his white glittering teeth. Laughter seized all his strong
[194]      wellknit trunk.
[196]      --Look at yourself, he said, you dreadful bard!
[198]      Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft by a
[199]      crooked crack. Hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose this face
[200]      for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too.
[202]      --I pinched it out of the skivvy's room, Buck Mulligan said. It does her
[203]      all right. The aunt always keeps plainlooking servants for Malachi. Lead
[204]      him not into temptation. And her name is Ursula.
[206]      Laughing again, he brought the mirror away from Stephen's peering eyes.
[208]      --The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a mirror, he said. If
[209]      Wilde were only alive to see you!
[211]      Drawing back and pointing, Stephen said with bitterness:
[213]      --It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking-glass of a servant.
[215]      Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen's and walked with him
[216]      round the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where he had
[217]      thrust them.
[219]      --It's not fair to tease you like that, Kinch, is it? he said kindly. God
[220]      knows you have more spirit than any of them.
[222]      Parried again. He fears the lancet of my art as I fear that of his. The
[223]      cold steelpen.
[225]      --Cracked lookingglass of a servant! Tell that to the oxy chap downstairs
[226]      and touch him for a guinea. He's stinking with money and thinks you're
[227]      not a gentleman. His old fellow made his tin by selling jalap to Zulus or
[228]      some bloody swindle or other. God, Kinch, if you and I could only work
[229]      together we might do something for the island. Hellenise it.
[231]      Cranly's arm. His arm.
[233]      --And to think of your having to beg from these swine. I'm the only one
[234]      that knows what you are. Why don't you trust me more? What have you up
[235]      your nose against me? Is it Haines? If he makes any noise here I'll bring
[236]      down Seymour and we'll give him a ragging worse than they gave Clive
[237]      Kempthorpe.
[239]      Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. Palefaces:
[240]      they hold their ribs with laughter, one clasping another. O, I shall
[241]      expire! Break the news to her gently, Aubrey! I shall die! With slit
[242]      ribbons of his shirt whipping the air he hops and hobbles round the
[243]      table, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the
[244]      tailor's shears. A scared calf's face gilded with marmalade. I don't want
[245]      to be debagged! Don't you play the giddy ox with me!
[247]      Shouts from the open window startling evening in the quadrangle. A deaf
[248]      gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, pushes his mower on
[249]      the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms.
[251]      To ourselves ... new paganism ... omphalos.
[253]      --Let him stay, Stephen said. There's nothing wrong with him except at
[254]      night.
[256]      --Then what is it? Buck Mulligan asked impatiently. Cough it up. I'm
[257]      quite frank with you. What have you against me now?
[259]      They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the
[260]      water like the snout of a sleeping whale. Stephen freed his arm quietly.
[262]      --Do you wish me to tell you? he asked.
[264]      --Yes, what is it? Buck Mulligan answered. I don't remember anything.
[266]      He looked in Stephen's face as he spoke. A light wind passed his brow,
[267]      fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of
[268]      anxiety in his eyes.
[270]      Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said:
[272]      --Do you remember the first day I went to your house after my mother's
[273]      death?
[275]      Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said:
[277]      --What? Where? I can't remember anything. I remember only ideas and
[278]      sensations. Why? What happened in the name of God?
[280]      --You were making tea, Stephen said, and went across the landing to get
[281]      more hot water. Your mother and some visitor came out of the drawingroom.
[282]      She asked you who was in your room.
[284]      --Yes? Buck Mulligan said. What did I say? I forget.
[286]      --You said, Stephen answered, O, IT'S ONLY DEDALUS WHOSE MOTHER IS
[287]      BEASTLY DEAD.
[289]      A flush which made him seem younger and more engaging rose to Buck
[290]      Mulligan's cheek.
[292]      --Did I say that? he asked. Well? What harm is that?
[294]      He shook his constraint from him nervously.
[296]      --And what is death, he asked, your mother's or yours or my own? You saw
[297]      only your mother die. I see them pop off every day in the Mater and
[298]      Richmond and cut up into tripes in the dissectingroom. It's a beastly
[299]      thing and nothing else. It simply doesn't matter. You wouldn't kneel down
[300]      to pray for your mother on her deathbed when she asked you. Why? Because
[301]      you have the cursed jesuit strain in you, only it's injected the wrong
[302]      way. To me it's all a mockery and beastly. Her cerebral lobes are not
[303]      functioning. She calls the doctor sir Peter Teazle and picks buttercups
[304]      off the quilt. Humour her till it's over. You crossed her last wish in
[305]      death and yet you sulk with me because I don't whinge like some hired
[306]      mute from Lalouette's. Absurd! I suppose I did say it. I didn't mean to
[307]      offend the memory of your mother.
[309]      He had spoken himself into boldness. Stephen, shielding the gaping wounds
[310]      which the words had left in his heart, said very coldly:
[312]      --I am not thinking of the offence to my mother.
[314]      --Of what then? Buck Mulligan asked.
[316]      --Of the offence to me, Stephen answered.
[318]      Buck Mulligan swung round on his heel.
[320]      --O, an impossible person! he exclaimed.
[322]      He walked off quickly round the parapet. Stephen stood at his post,
[323]      gazing over the calm sea towards the headland. Sea and headland now grew
[324]      dim. Pulses were beating in his eyes, veiling their sight, and he felt
[325]      the fever of his cheeks.
[327]      A voice within the tower called loudly:
[329]      --Are you up there, Mulligan?
[331]      --I'm coming, Buck Mulligan answered.
[333]      He turned towards Stephen and said:
[335]      --Look at the sea. What does it care about offences? Chuck Loyola, Kinch,
[336]      and come on down. The Sassenach wants his morning rashers.
[338]      His head halted again for a moment at the top of the staircase, level
[339]      with the roof:
[341]      --Don't mope over it all day, he said. I'm inconsequent. Give up the
[342]      moody brooding.
[344]      His head vanished but the drone of his descending voice boomed out of the
[345]      stairhead:
[353]      Woodshadows floated silently by through the morning peace from the
[354]      stairhead seaward where he gazed. Inshore and farther out the mirror of
[355]      water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. White breast of the
[356]      dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the
[357]      harpstrings, merging their twining chords. Wavewhite wedded words
[358]      shimmering on the dim tide.
[360]      A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly, shadowing the bay in
[361]      deeper green. It lay beneath him, a bowl of bitter waters. Fergus' song:
[362]      I sang it alone in the house, holding down the long dark chords. Her door
[363]      was open: she wanted to hear my music. Silent with awe and pity I went to
[364]      her bedside. She was crying in her wretched bed. For those words,
[365]      Stephen: love's bitter mystery.
[367]      Where now?
[369]      Her secrets: old featherfans, tasselled dancecards, powdered with musk, a
[370]      gaud of amber beads in her locked drawer. A birdcage hung in the sunny
[371]      window of her house when she was a girl. She heard old Royce sing in the
[372]      pantomime of TURKO THE TERRIBLE and laughed with others when he sang:
[375]          I AM THE BOY
[376]          THAT CAN ENJOY
[377]          INVISIBILITY.
[380]      Phantasmal mirth, folded away: muskperfumed.
[386]      Folded away in the memory of nature with her toys. Memories beset his
[387]      brooding brain. Her glass of water from the kitchen tap when she had
[388]      approached the sacrament. A cored apple, filled with brown sugar,
[389]      roasting for her at the hob on a dark autumn evening. Her shapely
[390]      fingernails reddened by the blood of squashed lice from the children's
[391]      shirts.
[393]      In a dream, silently, she had come to him, her wasted body within its
[394]      loose graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath,
[395]      bent over him with mute secret words, a faint odour of wetted ashes.
[397]      Her glazing eyes, staring out of death, to shake and bend my soul. On me
[398]      alone. The ghostcandle to light her agony. Ghostly light on the tortured
[399]      face. Her hoarse loud breath rattling in horror, while all prayed on
[400]      their knees. Her eyes on me to strike me down. LILIATA RUTILANTIUM TE
[403]      Ghoul! Chewer of corpses!
[405]      No, mother! Let me be and let me live.
[407]      --Kinch ahoy!
[409]      Buck Mulligan's voice sang from within the tower. It came nearer up the
[410]      staircase, calling again. Stephen, still trembling at his soul's cry,
[411]      heard warm running sunlight and in the air behind him friendly words.
[413]      --Dedalus, come down, like a good mosey. Breakfast is ready. Haines is
[414]      apologising for waking us last night. It's all right.
[416]      --I'm coming, Stephen said, turning.
[418]      --Do, for Jesus' sake, Buck Mulligan said. For my sake and for all our
[419]      sakes.
[421]      His head disappeared and reappeared.
[423]      --I told him your symbol of Irish art. He says it's very clever. Touch
[424]      him for a quid, will you? A guinea, I mean.
[426]      --I get paid this morning, Stephen said.
[428]      --The school kip? Buck Mulligan said. How much? Four quid? Lend us one.
[430]      --If you want it, Stephen said.
[432]      --Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan cried with delight. We'll have a
[433]      glorious drunk to astonish the druidy druids. Four omnipotent sovereigns.
[435]      He flung up his hands and tramped down the stone stairs, singing out of
[436]      tune with a Cockney accent:
[439]          O, WON'T WE HAVE A MERRY TIME,
[441]          ON CORONATION,
[442]          CORONATION DAY!
[443]          O, WON'T WE HAVE A MERRY TIME
[444]          ON CORONATION DAY!
[447]      Warm sunshine merrying over the sea. The nickel shavingbowl shone,
[448]      forgotten, on the parapet. Why should I bring it down? Or leave it there
[449]      all day, forgotten friendship?
[451]      He went over to it, held it in his hands awhile, feeling its coolness,
[452]      smelling the clammy slaver of the lather in which the brush was stuck. So
[453]      I carried the boat of incense then at Clongowes. I am another now and yet
[454]      the same. A servant too. A server of a servant.
[456]      In the gloomy domed livingroom of the tower Buck Mulligan's gowned form
[457]      moved briskly to and fro about the hearth, hiding and revealing its
[458]      yellow glow. Two shafts of soft daylight fell across the flagged floor
[459]      from the high barbacans: and at the meeting of their rays a cloud of
[460]      coalsmoke and fumes of fried grease floated, turning.
[462]      --We'll be choked, Buck Mulligan said. Haines, open that door, will you?
[464]      Stephen laid the shavingbowl on the locker. A tall figure rose from the
[465]      hammock where it had been sitting, went to the doorway and pulled open
[466]      the inner doors.
[468]      --Have you the key? a voice asked.
[470]      --Dedalus has it, Buck Mulligan said. Janey Mack, I'm choked!
[472]      He howled, without looking up from the fire:
[474]      --Kinch!
[476]      --It's in the lock, Stephen said, coming forward.
[478]      The key scraped round harshly twice and, when the heavy door had been set
[479]      ajar, welcome light and bright air entered. Haines stood at the doorway,
[480]      looking out. Stephen haled his upended valise to the table and sat down
[481]      to wait. Buck Mulligan tossed the fry on to the dish beside him. Then he
[482]      carried the dish and a large teapot over to the table, set them down
[483]      heavily and sighed with relief.
[485]      --I'm melting, he said, as the candle remarked when ... But, hush! Not a
[486]      word more on that subject! Kinch, wake up! Bread, butter, honey. Haines,
[487]      come in. The grub is ready. Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts.
[488]      Where's the sugar? O, jay, there's no milk.
[490]      Stephen fetched the loaf and the pot of honey and the buttercooler from
[491]      the locker. Buck Mulligan sat down in a sudden pet.
[493]      --What sort of a kip is this? he said. I told her to come after eight.
[495]      --We can drink it black, Stephen said thirstily. There's a lemon in the
[496]      locker.
[498]      --O, damn you and your Paris fads! Buck Mulligan said. I want Sandycove
[499]      milk.
[501]      Haines came in from the doorway and said quietly:
[503]      --That woman is coming up with the milk.
[505]      --The blessings of God on you! Buck Mulligan cried, jumping up from his
[506]      chair. Sit down. Pour out the tea there. The sugar is in the bag. Here, I
[507]      can't go fumbling at the damned eggs.
[509]      He hacked through the fry on the dish and slapped it out on three plates,
[510]      saying:
[514]      Haines sat down to pour out the tea.
[516]      --I'm giving you two lumps each, he said. But, I say, Mulligan, you do
[517]      make strong tea, don't you?
[519]      Buck Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the loaf, said in an old woman's
[520]      wheedling voice:
[522]      --When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said. And when I
[523]      makes water I makes water.
[525]      --By Jove, it is tea, Haines said.
[527]      Buck Mulligan went on hewing and wheedling:
[529]      --SO I DO, MRS CAHILL, says she. BEGOB, MA'AM, says Mrs Cahill, GOD SEND
[532]      He lunged towards his messmates in turn a thick slice of bread, impaled
[533]      on his knife.
[535]      --That's folk, he said very earnestly, for your book, Haines. Five lines
[536]      of text and ten pages of notes about the folk and the fishgods of
[537]      Dundrum. Printed by the weird sisters in the year of the big wind.
[539]      He turned to Stephen and asked in a fine puzzled voice, lifting his
[540]      brows:
[542]      --Can you recall, brother, is mother Grogan's tea and water pot spoken of
[543]      in the Mabinogion or is it in the Upanishads?
[545]      --I doubt it, said Stephen gravely.
[547]      --Do you now? Buck Mulligan said in the same tone. Your reasons, pray?
[549]      --I fancy, Stephen said as he ate, it did not exist in or out of the
[550]      Mabinogion. Mother Grogan was, one imagines, a kinswoman of Mary Ann.
[552]      Buck Mulligan's face smiled with delight.
[554]      --Charming! he said in a finical sweet voice, showing his white teeth and
[555]      blinking his eyes pleasantly. Do you think she was? Quite charming!
[557]      Then, suddenly overclouding all his features, he growled in a hoarsened
[558]      rasping voice as he hewed again vigorously at the loaf:
[561]        --FOR OLD MARY ANN
[562]          SHE DOESN'T CARE A DAMN.
[563]          BUT, HISING UP HER PETTICOATS ...
[566]      He crammed his mouth with fry and munched and droned.
[568]      The doorway was darkened by an entering form.
[570]      --The milk, sir!
[572]      --Come in, ma'am, Mulligan said. Kinch, get the jug.
[574]      An old woman came forward and stood by Stephen's elbow.
[576]      --That's a lovely morning, sir, she said. Glory be to God.
[578]      --To whom? Mulligan said, glancing at her. Ah, to be sure!
[580]      Stephen reached back and took the milkjug from the locker.
[582]      --The islanders, Mulligan said to Haines casually, speak frequently of
[583]      the collector of prepuces.
[585]      --How much, sir? asked the old woman.
[587]      --A quart, Stephen said.
[589]      He watched her pour into the measure and thence into the jug rich white
[590]      milk, not hers. Old shrunken paps. She poured again a measureful and a
[591]      tilly. Old and secret she had entered from a morning world, maybe a
[592]      messenger. She praised the goodness of the milk, pouring it out.
[593]      Crouching by a patient cow at daybreak in the lush field, a witch on her
[594]      toadstool, her wrinkled fingers quick at the squirting dugs. They lowed
[595]      about her whom they knew, dewsilky cattle. Silk of the kine and poor old
[596]      woman, names given her in old times. A wandering crone, lowly form of an
[597]      immortal serving her conqueror and her gay betrayer, their common
[598]      cuckquean, a messenger from the secret morning. To serve or to upbraid,
[599]      whether he could not tell: but scorned to beg her favour.
[601]      --It is indeed, ma'am, Buck Mulligan said, pouring milk into their cups.
[603]      --Taste it, sir, she said.
[605]      He drank at her bidding.
[607]      --If we could live on good food like that, he said to her somewhat
[608]      loudly, we wouldn't have the country full of rotten teeth and rotten
[609]      guts. Living in a bogswamp, eating cheap food and the streets paved with
[610]      dust, horsedung and consumptives' spits.
[612]      --Are you a medical student, sir? the old woman asked.
[614]      --I am, ma'am, Buck Mulligan answered.
[616]      --Look at that now, she said.
[618]      Stephen listened in scornful silence. She bows her old head to a voice
[619]      that speaks to her loudly, her bonesetter, her medicineman: me she
[620]      slights. To the voice that will shrive and oil for the grave all there is
[621]      of her but her woman's unclean loins, of man's flesh made not in God's
[622]      likeness, the serpent's prey. And to the loud voice that now bids her be
[623]      silent with wondering unsteady eyes.
[625]      --Do you understand what he says? Stephen asked her.
[627]      --Is it French you are talking, sir? the old woman said to Haines.
[629]      Haines spoke to her again a longer speech, confidently.
[631]      --Irish, Buck Mulligan said. Is there Gaelic on you?
[633]      --I thought it was Irish, she said, by the sound of it. Are you from the
[634]      west, sir?
[636]      --I am an Englishman, Haines answered.
[638]      --He's English, Buck Mulligan said, and he thinks we ought to speak Irish
[639]      in Ireland.
[641]      --Sure we ought to, the old woman said, and I'm ashamed I don't speak the
[642]      language myself. I'm told it's a grand language by them that knows.
[644]      --Grand is no name for it, said Buck Mulligan. Wonderful entirely. Fill
[645]      us out some more tea, Kinch. Would you like a cup, ma'am?
[647]      --No, thank you, sir, the old woman said, slipping the ring of the
[648]      milkcan on her forearm and about to go.
[650]      Haines said to her:
[652]      --Have you your bill? We had better pay her, Mulligan, hadn't we?
[654]      Stephen filled again the three cups.
[656]      --Bill, sir? she said, halting. Well, it's seven mornings a pint at
[657]      twopence is seven twos is a shilling and twopence over and these three
[658]      mornings a quart at fourpence is three quarts is a shilling. That's a
[659]      shilling and one and two is two and two, sir.
[661]      Buck Mulligan sighed and, having filled his mouth with a crust thickly
[662]      buttered on both sides, stretched forth his legs and began to search his
[663]      trouser pockets.
[665]      --Pay up and look pleasant, Haines said to him, smiling.
[667]      Stephen filled a third cup, a spoonful of tea colouring faintly the thick
[668]      rich milk. Buck Mulligan brought up a florin, twisted it round in his
[669]      fingers and cried:
[671]      --A miracle!
[673]      He passed it along the table towards the old woman, saying:
[675]      --Ask nothing more of me, sweet. All I can give you I give.
[677]      Stephen laid the coin in her uneager hand.
[679]      --We'll owe twopence, he said.
[681]      --Time enough, sir, she said, taking the coin. Time enough. Good morning,
[682]      sir.
[684]      She curtseyed and went out, followed by Buck Mulligan's tender chant:
[691]      He turned to Stephen and said:
[693]      --Seriously, Dedalus. I'm stony. Hurry out to your school kip and bring
[694]      us back some money. Today the bards must drink and junket. Ireland
[695]      expects that every man this day will do his duty.
[697]      --That reminds me, Haines said, rising, that I have to visit your
[698]      national library today.
[700]      --Our swim first, Buck Mulligan said.
[702]      He turned to Stephen and asked blandly:
[704]      --Is this the day for your monthly wash, Kinch?
[706]      Then he said to Haines:
[708]      --The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month.
[710]      --All Ireland is washed by the gulfstream, Stephen said as he let honey
[711]      trickle over a slice of the loaf.
[713]      Haines from the corner where he was knotting easily a scarf about the
[714]      loose collar of his tennis shirt spoke:
[716]      --I intend to make a collection of your sayings if you will let me.
[718]      Speaking to me. They wash and tub and scrub. Agenbite of inwit.
[719]      Conscience. Yet here's a spot.
[721]      --That one about the cracked lookingglass of a servant being the symbol
[722]      of Irish art is deuced good.
[724]      Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen's foot under the table and said with warmth
[725]      of tone:
[727]      --Wait till you hear him on Hamlet, Haines.
[729]      --Well, I mean it, Haines said, still speaking to Stephen. I was just
[730]      thinking of it when that poor old creature came in.
[732]      --Would I make any money by it? Stephen asked.
[734]      Haines laughed and, as he took his soft grey hat from the holdfast of the
[735]      hammock, said:
[737]      --I don't know, I'm sure.
[739]      He strolled out to the doorway. Buck Mulligan bent across to Stephen and
[740]      said with coarse vigour:
[742]      --You put your hoof in it now. What did you say that for?
[744]      --Well? Stephen said. The problem is to get money. From whom? From the
[745]      milkwoman or from him. It's a toss up, I think.
[747]      --I blow him out about you, Buck Mulligan said, and then you come along
[748]      with your lousy leer and your gloomy jesuit jibes.
[750]      --I see little hope, Stephen said, from her or from him.
[752]      Buck Mulligan sighed tragically and laid his hand on Stephen's arm.
[754]      --From me, Kinch, he said.
[756]      In a suddenly changed tone he added:
[758]      --To tell you the God's truth I think you're right. Damn all else they
[759]      are good for. Why don't you play them as I do? To hell with them all. Let
[760]      us get out of the kip.
[762]      He stood up, gravely ungirdled and disrobed himself of his gown, saying
[763]      resignedly:
[765]      --Mulligan is stripped of his garments.
[767]      He emptied his pockets on to the table.
[769]      --There's your snotrag, he said.
[771]      And putting on his stiff collar and rebellious tie he spoke to them,
[772]      chiding them, and to his dangling watchchain. His hands plunged and
[773]      rummaged in his trunk while he called for a clean handkerchief. God,
[774]      we'll simply have to dress the character. I want puce gloves and green
[775]      boots. Contradiction. Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I
[776]      contradict myself. Mercurial Malachi. A limp black missile flew out of
[777]      his talking hands.
[779]      --And there's your Latin quarter hat, he said.
[781]      Stephen picked it up and put it on. Haines called to them from the
[782]      doorway:
[784]      --Are you coming, you fellows?
[786]      --I'm ready, Buck Mulligan answered, going towards the door. Come out,
[787]      Kinch. You have eaten all we left, I suppose. Resigned he passed out with
[788]      grave words and gait, saying, wellnigh with sorrow:
[790]      --And going forth he met Butterly.
[792]      Stephen, taking his ashplant from its leaningplace, followed them out
[793]      and, as they went down the ladder, pulled to the slow iron door and
[794]      locked it. He put the huge key in his inner pocket.
[796]      At the foot of the ladder Buck Mulligan asked:
[798]      --Did you bring the key?
[800]      --I have it, Stephen said, preceding them.
[802]      He walked on. Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan club with his heavy
[803]      bathtowel the leader shoots of ferns or grasses.
[805]      --Down, sir! How dare you, sir!
[807]      Haines asked:
[809]      --Do you pay rent for this tower?
[811]      --Twelve quid, Buck Mulligan said.
[813]      --To the secretary of state for war, Stephen added over his shoulder.
[815]      They halted while Haines surveyed the tower and said at last:
[817]      --Rather bleak in wintertime, I should say. Martello you call it?
[819]      --Billy Pitt had them built, Buck Mulligan said, when the French were on
[820]      the sea. But ours is the OMPHALOS.
[822]      --What is your idea of Hamlet? Haines asked Stephen.
[824]      --No, no, Buck Mulligan shouted in pain. I'm not equal to Thomas Aquinas
[825]      and the fifty-five reasons he has made out to prop it up. Wait till I have
[826]      a few pints in me first.
[828]      He turned to Stephen, saying, as he pulled down neatly the peaks of his
[829]      primrose waistcoat:
[831]      --You couldn't manage it under three pints, Kinch, could you?
[833]      --It has waited so long, Stephen said listlessly, it can wait longer.
[835]      --You pique my curiosity, Haines said amiably. Is it some paradox?
[837]      --Pooh! Buck Mulligan said. We have grown out of Wilde and paradoxes.
[838]      It's quite simple. He proves by algebra that Hamlet's grandson is
[839]      Shakespeare's grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his own
[840]      father.
[842]      --What? Haines said, beginning to point at Stephen. He himself?
[844]      Buck Mulligan slung his towel stolewise round his neck and, bending in
[845]      loose laughter, said to Stephen's ear:
[847]      --O, shade of Kinch the elder! Japhet in search of a father!
[849]      --We're always tired in the morning, Stephen said to Haines. And it is
[850]      rather long to tell.
[852]      Buck Mulligan, walking forward again, raised his hands.
[854]      --The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue of Dedalus, he said.
[856]      --I mean to say, Haines explained to Stephen as they followed, this tower
[857]      and these cliffs here remind me somehow of Elsinore. THAT BEETLES O'ER
[860]      Buck Mulligan turned suddenly. for an instant towards Stephen but did not
[861]      speak. In the bright silent instant Stephen saw his own image in cheap
[862]      dusty mourning between their gay attires.
[864]      --It's a wonderful tale, Haines said, bringing them to halt again.
[866]      Eyes, pale as the sea the wind had freshened, paler, firm and prudent.
[867]      The seas' ruler, he gazed southward over the bay, empty save for the
[868]      smokeplume of the mailboat vague on the bright skyline and a sail tacking
[869]      by the Muglins.
[871]      --I read a theological interpretation of it somewhere, he said bemused.
[872]      The Father and the Son idea. The Son striving to be atoned with the
[873]      Father.
[875]      Buck Mulligan at once put on a blithe broadly smiling face. He looked at
[876]      them, his wellshaped mouth open happily, his eyes, from which he had
[877]      suddenly withdrawn all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety. He moved a
[878]      doll's head to and fro, the brims of his Panama hat quivering, and began
[879]      to chant in a quiet happy foolish voice:
[888]      He held up a forefinger of warning.
[897]      He tugged swiftly at Stephen's ashplant in farewell and, running forward
[898]      to a brow of the cliff, fluttered his hands at his sides like fins or
[899]      wings of one about to rise in the air, and chanted:
[908]      He capered before them down towards the forty-foot hole, fluttering his
[909]      winglike hands, leaping nimbly, Mercury's hat quivering in the fresh wind
[910]      that bore back to them his brief birdsweet cries.
[912]      Haines, who had been laughing guardedly, walked on beside Stephen and
[913]      said:
[915]      --We oughtn't to laugh, I suppose. He's rather blasphemous. I'm not a
[916]      believer myself, that is to say. Still his gaiety takes the harm out of
[917]      it somehow, doesn't it? What did he call it? Joseph the Joiner?
[919]      --The ballad of joking Jesus, Stephen answered.
[921]      --O, Haines said, you have heard it before?
[923]      --Three times a day, after meals, Stephen said drily.
[925]      --You're not a believer, are you? Haines asked. I mean, a believer in the
[926]      narrow sense of the word. Creation from nothing and miracles and a
[927]      personal God.
[929]      --There's only one sense of the word, it seems to me, Stephen said.
[931]      Haines stopped to take out a smooth silver case in which twinkled a green
[932]      stone. He sprang it open with his thumb and offered it.
[934]      --Thank you, Stephen said, taking a cigarette.
[936]      Haines helped himself and snapped the case to. He put it back in his
[937]      sidepocket and took from his waistcoatpocket a nickel tinderbox, sprang
[938]      it open too, and, having lit his cigarette, held the flaming spunk
[939]      towards Stephen in the shell of his hands.
[941]      --Yes, of course, he said, as they went on again. Either you believe or
[942]      you don't, isn't it? Personally I couldn't stomach that idea of a
[943]      personal God. You don't stand for that, I suppose?
[945]      --You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible
[946]      example of free thought.
[948]      He walked on, waiting to be spoken to, trailing his ashplant by his side.
[949]      Its ferrule followed lightly on the path, squealing at his heels. My
[950]      familiar, after me, calling, Steeeeeeeeeeeephen! A wavering line along
[951]      the path. They will walk on it tonight, coming here in the dark. He wants
[952]      that key. It is mine. I paid the rent. Now I eat his salt bread. Give him
[953]      the key too. All. He will ask for it. That was in his eyes.
[955]      --After all, Haines began ...
[957]      Stephen turned and saw that the cold gaze which had measured him was not
[958]      all unkind.
[960]      --After all, I should think you are able to free yourself. You are your
[961]      own master, it seems to me.
[963]      --I am a servant of two masters, Stephen said, an English and an Italian.
[965]      --Italian? Haines said.
[967]      A crazy queen, old and jealous. Kneel down before me.
[969]      --And a third, Stephen said, there is who wants me for odd jobs.
[971]      --Italian? Haines said again. What do you mean?
[973]      --The imperial British state, Stephen answered, his colour rising, and
[974]      the holy Roman catholic and apostolic church.
[976]      Haines detached from his underlip some fibres of tobacco before he spoke.
[978]      --I can quite understand that, he said calmly. An Irishman must think
[979]      like that, I daresay. We feel in England that we have treated you rather
[980]      unfairly. It seems history is to blame.
[982]      The proud potent titles clanged over Stephen's memory the triumph of
[984]      the slow growth and change of rite and dogma like his own rare thoughts,
[985]      a chemistry of stars. Symbol of the apostles in the mass for pope
[986]      Marcellus, the voices blended, singing alone loud in affirmation: and
[987]      behind their chant the vigilant angel of the church militant disarmed and
[988]      menaced her heresiarchs. A horde of heresies fleeing with mitres awry:
[989]      Photius and the brood of mockers of whom Mulligan was one, and Arius,
[990]      warring his life long upon the consubstantiality of the Son with the
[991]      Father, and Valentine, spurning Christ's terrene body, and the subtle
[992]      African heresiarch Sabellius who held that the Father was Himself His own
[993]      Son. Words Mulligan had spoken a moment since in mockery to the stranger.
[994]      Idle mockery. The void awaits surely all them that weave the wind: a
[995]      menace, a disarming and a worsting from those embattled angels of the
[996]      church, Michael's host, who defend her ever in the hour of conflict with
[997]      their lances and their shields.
[999]      Hear, hear! Prolonged applause. ZUT! NOM DE DIEU!
[1001]     --Of course I'm a Britisher, Haines's voice said, and I feel as one. I
[1002]     don't want to see my country fall into the hands of German jews either.
[1003]     That's our national problem, I'm afraid, just now.
[1005]     Two men stood at the verge of the cliff, watching: businessman, boatman.
[1007]     --She's making for Bullock harbour.
[1009]     The boatman nodded towards the north of the bay with some disdain.
[1011]     --There's five fathoms out there, he said. It'll be swept up that way
[1012]     when the tide comes in about one. It's nine days today.
[1014]     The man that was drowned. A sail veering about the blank bay waiting for
[1015]     a swollen bundle to bob up, roll over to the sun a puffy face, saltwhite.
[1016]     Here I am.
[1018]     They followed the winding path down to the creek. Buck Mulligan stood on
[1019]     a stone, in shirtsleeves, his unclipped tie rippling over his shoulder. A
[1020]     young man clinging to a spur of rock near him, moved slowly frogwise his
[1021]     green legs in the deep jelly of the water.
[1023]     --Is the brother with you, Malachi?
[1025]     --Down in Westmeath. With the Bannons.
[1027]     --Still there? I got a card from Bannon. Says he found a sweet young
[1028]     thing down there. Photo girl he calls her.
[1030]     --Snapshot, eh? Brief exposure.
[1032]     Buck Mulligan sat down to unlace his boots. An elderly man shot up near
[1033]     the spur of rock a blowing red face. He scrambled up by the stones, water
[1034]     glistening on his pate and on its garland of grey hair, water rilling
[1035]     over his chest and paunch and spilling jets out of his black sagging
[1036]     loincloth.
[1038]     Buck Mulligan made way for him to scramble past and, glancing at Haines
[1039]     and Stephen, crossed himself piously with his thumbnail at brow and lips
[1040]     and breastbone.
[1042]     --Seymour's back in town, the young man said, grasping again his spur of
[1043]     rock. Chucked medicine and going in for the army.
[1045]     --Ah, go to God! Buck Mulligan said.
[1047]     --Going over next week to stew. You know that red Carlisle girl, Lily?
[1049]     --Yes.
[1051]     --Spooning with him last night on the pier. The father is rotto with
[1052]     money.
[1054]     --Is she up the pole?
[1056]     --Better ask Seymour that.
[1058]     --Seymour a bleeding officer! Buck Mulligan said.
[1060]     He nodded to himself as he drew off his trousers and stood up, saying
[1061]     tritely:
[1063]     --Redheaded women buck like goats.
[1065]     He broke off in alarm, feeling his side under his flapping shirt.
[1067]     --My twelfth rib is gone, he cried. I'm the UBERMENSCH. Toothless Kinch
[1068]     and I, the supermen.
[1070]     He struggled out of his shirt and flung it behind him to where his
[1071]     clothes lay.
[1073]     --Are you going in here, Malachi?
[1075]     --Yes. Make room in the bed.
[1077]     The young man shoved himself backward through the water and reached the
[1078]     middle of the creek in two long clean strokes. Haines sat down on a
[1079]     stone, smoking.
[1081]     --Are you not coming in? Buck Mulligan asked.
[1083]     --Later on, Haines said. Not on my breakfast.
[1085]     Stephen turned away.
[1087]     --I'm going, Mulligan, he said.
[1089]     --Give us that key, Kinch, Buck Mulligan said, to keep my chemise flat.
[1091]     Stephen handed him the key. Buck Mulligan laid it across his heaped
[1092]     clothes.
[1094]     --And twopence, he said, for a pint. Throw it there.
[1096]     Stephen threw two pennies on the soft heap. Dressing, undressing. Buck
[1097]     Mulligan erect, with joined hands before him, said solemnly:
[1099]     --He who stealeth from the poor lendeth to the Lord. Thus spake
[1100]     Zarathustra.
[1102]     His plump body plunged.
[1104]     --We'll see you again, Haines said, turning as Stephen walked up the path
[1105]     and smiling at wild Irish.
[1107]     Horn of a bull, hoof of a horse, smile of a Saxon.
[1109]     --The Ship, Buck Mulligan cried. Half twelve.
[1111]     --Good, Stephen said.
[1113]     He walked along the upwardcurving path.
[1117]         TURMA CIRCUMDET.
[1121]     The priest's grey nimbus in a niche where he dressed discreetly. I will
[1122]     not sleep here tonight. Home also I cannot go.
[1124]     A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from the sea. Turning
[1125]     the curve he waved his hand. It called again. A sleek brown head, a
[1126]     seal's, far out on the water, round.
[1128]     Usurper.