Page 17See Ulysses Notes
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Author: James Joyce
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PREFACE Page 6
This purple highlight indicates the start of a section heading in the imported text, marking the beginning of the preface.
This is an image from page 17, likely part of the front matter of the Gabler edition.
This is another image from the front matter, page 18.
Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a great sweet mother by the wellfed voice beside him. The ring of bay and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting. Page 20
This passage connects the sea, seen by Stephen, to the image of his dying mother. The "wellfed voice beside him" belongs to Buck Mulligan, who hails the sea as a "great sweet mother". Stephen's immediate internal response is a grim memory of his own mother's deathbed suffering, juxtaposing the romanticized view of nature with the harsh reality of decay and death.
-The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a mirror, he said. If Wilde were only alive to see you! Drawing back and pointing, Stephen said with bitterness: -It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked lookingglass of a servant. Page 21
Buck Mulligan quotes Caliban from Shakespeare's The Tempest ("the rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a mirror"), mockingly directed at Stephen. He also invokes Oscar Wilde, who studied at Magdalen College, Oxford, where Stephen later recalls a memory. Stephen's famous retort, "It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked lookingglass of a servant," is a variation of Wilde's statement about the artist: "For he who would stand apart from the world, must lie to it; and he to whom the soul of life is a spectator, must make to it an image of itself, and bow down before it. For if he who would look at life through the artist's tempera, must allow it to be the mirror of the soul..." (from Wilde's preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray). Stephen's version implies Irish art is flawed or damaged, perhaps by colonialism or servitude.
Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. Palefaces: they hold their ribs with laughter, one clasping another. 0, I shall expire! Break the news to her gently, Aubrey! I shall die! With slit ribbons of his shirt whipping the air he hops and hobbles round the table, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the tailor's Page 21
This begins a memory of Stephen's time at university (likely Oxford, based on earlier allusions). It depicts a scene of rowdy, upper-class students ("moneyed voices", "Palefaces") engaged in horseplay ("hops and hobbles round the table, with trousers down at heels") involving someone named Aubrey and "Ades of Magdalen" (Magdalen College, Oxford). The phrase "I shall expire! Break the news to her gently, Aubrey! I shall die!" mimics a dramatic, affected speech common among the aesthetes of the time, potentially referencing Wilde or his circle.
shears. A scared calfs face gilded with marmalade. I don't want to be 110 debagged! Don't you play the giddy ox with me! Page 22
This continues the memory from the previous page. "Debagged" means having one's trousers pulled down, a common university prank. The mention of a "tailor's shears" adds a touch of menace or caricature. The dialogue "I don't want to be debagged! Don't you play the giddy ox with me!" captures the frantic tone of the victim and the mocking language of the tormentors. The memory highlights Stephen's feeling of alienation or discomfort among his wealthier, more boisterous peers.
White breast of the dim sea. Th~ twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the harpstrings, merging their twining chords. Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the dim tide. Page 23
This is a poetic, sensory description of the sea from Stephen's perspective. It uses evocative imagery ("White breast", "twining stresses", "Wavewhite wedded words") and sound ("harpstrings", "twining chords") to capture the visual and auditory experience of the waves. It reflects Stephen's artistic sensibility and his internal processing of his environment.
Folded away in the memory of nature with her toys. Memories beset his brooding brain. Her glass of water from the kitchen tap when she had approached the sacrament. A cored apple, filled with brown sugar, roasting for her at the hob on a dark autumn evening. Her shapely fingernails reddened by the blood of squashed lice from the children's shirts. Page 24
Stephen's stream of consciousness returns to memories of his mother, contrasting simple, poignant domestic details (a glass of water, a roasted apple) with a stark, visceral image of her physical reality ("fingernails reddened by the blood of squashed lice"). These fragmented memories reveal his complex, often guilt-ridden, feelings about his mother.
He watched her pour into the measure and thence into the jug rich white milk, not hers. Old shrunken paps. She poured again a measureful and a tilly. Old and secret she had entered from a morning world, maybe a messenger. She praised the goodness of the milk, pouring it out. Crouching by a patient cow at daybreak in the lush field, a witch on her toadstool, her wrinkled fingers quick at the squirting dugs. They lowed about her whom they knew, dewsilky cattle. Silk of the kine and poor old woman, names given her in old times. A wandering crone, lowly form of an immortal serving her conqueror and her gay betrayer, their common cuckquean, a messenger from the secret morning. To serve or to upbraid, whether he could not tell: but scorned to beg her favour. Page 27
Stephen observes an old milkwoman delivering milk to the tower. His thoughts about her transform her from a simple vendor into a figure of ancient Ireland, a "wandering crone" with a mystical connection to the land and cattle ("Silk of the kine"). He sees her as a "lowly form of an immortal," suggesting she represents a dying past or tradition serving the new order ("her conqueror and her gay betrayer"). His complex, symbolic interpretation elevates a mundane interaction into a meditation on history, identity, and betrayal. "tilly" is an extra measure given by the vendor, a custom in Ireland.
He walked on, waiting to be spoken to, trailing his ashplant by his side. Its ferrule followed lightly on the path, squealing at his heels. My familiar, after me, calling, Steeeeeeeeeeeephen! A wavering line along the path. They will walk on it tonight, coming here in the dark. He wants that 630 key. It is mine. I paid the rent. Now I eat his salt bread. Give him the key too. All. He will ask for it. That was in his eyes. Page 32
Stephen walks, accompanied by the sound of his ashplant (walking stick), which he personifies as his "familiar" calling his name. His thoughts shift to Buck Mulligan, who is staying in the tower and wants the key. Stephen reflects on the power dynamic – he paid the rent, but Mulligan is essentially the host now ("eat his salt bread," an idiom for dependency). The key becomes a symbol of ownership, independence, and the tension between them.
the slow growth and change of rite and dogma like his own rare thoughts, a chemistry of stars. Page 32
Stephen's thought connects the gradual, complex development of religious ritual and doctrine to the development of his own abstract thoughts. Comparing this process to a "chemistry of stars" adds a cosmic, scientific, or alchemical dimension, suggesting his thoughts are both profound and perhaps subject to universal, intricate laws.
Two men stood at the verge of the cliff, watching: businessman, boatman. -She's making for Bullock harbour. The boatman nodded towards the north of the bay with some disdain. -There's five fathoms out there, he said. It'll be swept up that way when the tide comes in about one. It's nine days today. The man that was drowned. A sail veering about the blank bay waiting for a swollen bundle to bob up, roll over to the sun a puffy face, saltwhite. Here I am. Page 33
The narrative briefly shifts away from Stephen's perspective to an external, objective scene. Two men discuss a body expected to be recovered from the sea, a drowned man. This introduces the theme of death by drowning, which will recur and resonate throughout the novel, particularly in Bloom's thoughts and memories. It also sets the time frame ("It's nine days today" since the drowning).
A young man clinging to a spur of rock near him, moved slowly frogwise his green legs in the deep jelly of the water. Page 33
This is a brief, vivid sensory image of a swimmer from Stephen's perspective. The description "frogwise his green legs" uses animal imagery and color to create a specific, slightly detached observation of physical form and movement in the water.
-Still there? I got a card from Bannon. Says he found a sweet young thing down there. Photo girl he calls her. -Snapshot, eh? Brief exposure. Page 33
This dialogue, likely between Haines and Mulligan or another character, introduces the name Bannon and refers to a young woman he met, calling her "Photo girl." The response "Snapshot, eh? Brief exposure" uses photographic terms ("snapshot," "exposure") to create a pun, implying a brief, potentially casual or sexual encounter. This snippet hints at the social activities and relationships of the characters.
This is an image of content from page 35, showing how the text appears in the edition.
-Kingstown pier, Stephen said. Yes, a disappointed bridge. The words troubled their gaze. -How, sir? Comyn asked. A bridge is across a river. For Haines's chapbook. No-one here to hear. Page 36
Stephen offers a poetic, slightly absurd description of Kingstown pier as a "disappointed bridge." A bridge connects two sides across a gap (like a river), whereas a pier extends out into the water, connecting the land to nothing specific in the middle of the sea. This reflects Stephen's tendency towards symbolic and unconventional interpretations of the world. The reaction ("How, sir?") and the thought "No-one here to hear" suggest his ideas are often misunderstood or unappreciated by those around him. "Haines's chapbook" refers to Haines's potential writing project.
Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death. They are not to be thought away. Time has branded them and fettered they are lodged in the room of the infinite so possibilities they have ousted. But can those have been possible seeing that they never were? Or was that only possible which came to pass? Weave, weaver of the wind. Page 36
Stephen muses on historical events (the deaths of Pyrrhus and Julius Caesar) and the philosophical question of possibility versus actuality. He ponders whether alternative outcomes were ever truly "possible" since they didn't happen. The phrase "Weave, weaver of the wind" is evocative, potentially an allusion to fate, the passage of time, or the artist's struggle to give form to the intangible.
It must be a movement then, an actuality of the possible as possible. Aristotle's phrase formed itself within the gabbled verses and floated out into the studious silence of the library of Saint Genevieve where he had read, sheltered from the sin of Paris, night by night. By his elbow a delicate Siamese conned a handbook of strategy. Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with faintly beating feelers: and in my mind's darkness a sloth of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. Thought is the thought of thought. Tranquil brightness. The soul is in a manner all that is: the soul is the form of forms. Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms. Page 36
Stephen explicitly references Aristotle, specifically concepts from his De Anima (On the Soul) and metaphysics: "actuality of the possible as possible," "Thought is the thought of thought" (nous noeseos), and "The soul is in a manner all that is: the soul is the form of forms." These philosophical concepts about potentiality, consciousness, and the nature of the soul appear in his mind as he recalls reading in a library in Paris. The passage contrasts the intellectual setting and ideas with sensory descriptions (a "delicate Siamese" fellow reader, his own internal mental state as a "sloth of the underworld") and reinforces his intellectual pursuits.
Riddle me, riddle me, randy ro. My father gave me seeds to sow. Page 37
Stephen recalls the Biblical phrase "To Caesar what is Caesar's, to God what is God's" (Matthew 22:21), spoken by Jesus. He interprets it as a "riddling sentence" relevant to religious doctrine. This is immediately followed by the start of a traditional riddle, hinting at themes of fatherhood, generation, and perhaps sowing seeds (ideas, life, writing).
Ugly and futile: lean neck and thick hair and a stain of ink, a snail's bed. Yet someone had loved him, borne him in her arms and in her heart. But for her the race of the world would have trampled him underfoot, a squashed boneless snail. She had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own. Was that then real? The only true thing in life? His mother's prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. She was no more: the trembling skeleton of a twig burnt in the fire, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. She had saved him from being trampled underfoot and had gone, scarcely having been. A poor soul gone to heaven: and on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of rapine in his fur, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the earth, listened, scraped up the earth, listened, scraped and scraped. Page 38
Stephen reflects on his perceived inadequacy ("Ugly and futile") and contrasts it with his mother's unconditional love, which he sees as having saved him from being destroyed by the world. He questions if this love was "the only true thing in life." He then evokes a disturbing image of his mother's body, associating it with the "fiery Columbanus" (an Irish saint known for his fervor and asceticism) and seeing her as reduced to ashes. The passage contrasts human sacrifice and love with the brutal indifference of nature, symbolized by the fox digging for prey, representing a harsh, predatory reality separate from human emotion.
Like him was I, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness. My childhood bends beside me. Too far for me to lay a hand there once or lightly. Mine is far and his secret as our eyes. Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants, willing to be dethroned. Page 39
Stephen identifies physical and perhaps character similarities with his father ("sloping shoulders, this gracelessness"). He feels a distance from his own past ("My childhood bends beside me. Too far for me to lay a hand there"). The core of the passage is the idea of shared, unspoken "secrets" between him and his father, which are presented as heavy, oppressive burdens ("tyrants") that both might wish to shed. This hints at the complex, strained relationship between Stephen and Simon Dedalus.
Stephen's hand, free again, went back to the hollow shells. Symbols too of beauty and of power. A lump in my pocket: symbols soiled by greed and misery. Page 40
Stephen's thought process connects the natural world (seashells, symbols of beauty and power) to the money in his pocket ("A lump in my pocket"). He sees money as a symbol, but one that is "soiled by greed and misery," reflecting a cynical or critical view of wealth and its acquisition.
Where Cranly led me to get rich quick, hunting his winners among the mudsplashed brakes, amid the bawls of bookies on their pitches and reek of the canteen, over the motley slush. Fair Rebel! Fair Rebel! Even money the favourite: ten to one the field. Dicers and thimbleriggers we hurried by after the hoofs, the vying caps and jackets and past the meatfaced woman, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange.
Shouts rang shrill from the boys' playfield and a whirring whistle.
Again: a goal. I am among them, among their battling bodies in a medley, the joust of life. You mean that knockkneed mother's darling who seems to be slightly crawsick? Jousts. Time shocked rebounds, shock by shock. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the frozen deathspew of the slain, a shout of spearspikes baited with men's bloodied guts. Page 42
Stephen recalls a chaotic, visceral memory of being at a racecourse with Cranly. The scene is filled with sensory details (mud, noise of bookies, smells, sounds of the race). The phrase "Fair Rebel!" is likely the name of a horse. The description shifts from the literal race to a metaphorical one, comparing it to a "joust of life" and ultimately to the brutal violence of battle ("uproar of battles, the frozen deathspew of the slain"). This reflects Stephen's tendency to universalize and find deeper, often grim, significance in everyday events.
The pluterperfect imperturbability of the department of agriculture. Pardoned a classical allusion. Cassandra. By a woman who was no better than she should be. To come to the point at issue. Page 42
Stephen uses the invented phrase "pluterperfect imperturbability" (playing on the grammatical term 'pluperfect') to describe the stagnant, unresponsive nature of an official body like the department of agriculture. He then alludes to Cassandra, the Trojan prophetess doomed to foretell the future but never be believed, associating unheeded warnings or frustrations with officialdom. The subsequent phrase "By a woman who was no better than she should be" is a common idiom for a woman of questionable morals, possibly a cynical or sarcastic comment on Cassandra's fate or the source of the allusion.
-History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake. Page 43
This is one of Stephen Dedalus's most famous lines in the novel, a direct statement of his feeling of being trapped and oppressed by the past – by Irish history, by colonial history, and by his personal history. It encapsulates his struggle for freedom and self-creation against the weight of tradition and consequence.
On his wise shoulders through the checkerwork of leaves the sun flung spangles, dancing coins. Page 45
A brief, poetic image describing sunlight dappling through leaves onto someone's shoulders (likely Stephen himself). The comparison to "dancing coins" gives a sense of fleeting brightness or perhaps a fleeting illusion of wealth or value in nature.
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Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno. Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see. Page 46
Stephen's famous philosophical contemplation beginning "Ineluctable modality of the visible" (ineluctable meaning unavoidable). He is thinking about the nature of sight and perception – what is the essence of seeing? He feels he is meant to read the "Signatures of all things," like a mystic or scientist observing the world for meaning. He then engages with Aristotelian concepts related to perception and the "diaphane" (the transparent medium through which color is perceived). "Maestro di color che sanno" ("master of those who know") is Dante's phrase for Aristotle (Inferno, Canto IV), highlighting Aristotle's authority in Stephen's intellectual world. The passage mixes serious philosophical inquiry with playful or crude interruptions ("knocking his sconce against them," "Bald he was and a millionaire") and culminates in a paradox: "Shut your eyes and see."
One of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Creation from nothing. What has she in the bag? A misbirth with a trailing navelcord, hushed in ruddy wool. The cords of all link back, strandentwining cable of all flesh. That is why mystic monks. Will you be as gods? Gaze in your omphalos. Hello! Kinch here. Put me on to Edenville. Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one. Page 47
Stephen's thoughts on his own birth, referring to the midwife ("One of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life"). He connects individual birth to the concept of "Creation from nothing" and the shared origin of humanity ("The cords of all link back, strandentwining cable of all flesh"). He includes references to mysticism ("mystic monks"), the Biblical temptation "Will you be as gods?" (Genesis 3:5), and the "omphalos" (Greek for navel, often a symbol of origin or the center). The closing lines ("Hello! Kinch here...") are fragmented, playful, and symbolic, connecting his nickname (Kinch) to Eden ("Edenville"), and primal/beginning symbols (Aleph - first letter Hebrew; Alpha - first letter Greek) with binary/digital concepts (nought, nought, one).
Wombed in sin darkness I was too, made not begotten. By them, the man with my voice and my eyes and a ghostwoman with ashes on her breath. They clasped and sundered, did the coupler's will. From before the ages He willed me and now may not will me away or ever. A lex eterna stays about Him. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son so are consubstantial? Page 47
Stephen continues his meditation on origin and identity, focusing on the concept of paternity and his relationship with his parents, particularly his deceased mother ("a ghostwoman with ashes on her breath"). He applies theological concepts to his own existence, questioning the nature of creation ("made not begotten") and relating it to the Christian doctrine of the Holy Trinity, specifically the relationship between God the Father and God the Son being "consubstantial" (of the same substance). "Lex eterna" is Latin for "eternal law," referring to divine law. This reflects Stephen's struggle with religious dogma and his attempt to understand his own place in the world through theological frameworks.
Jesus wept: and no wonder, by Christ! Page 47
Stephen quotes the shortest verse in the King James Bible, "Jesus wept" (John 11:35), typically associated with Christ's sorrow at the death of Lazarus. He immediately adds an irreverent, colloquial, and slightly blasphemous interjection ("and no wonder, by Christ!"), expressing a sense of shared despair or perhaps mocking excessive religious sentiment.
Proudly walking. Whom were you trying to walk like? Forget: a dispossessed. With mother's money order, eight shillings, the banging door of the post office slammed in your face by the usher. Hunger toothache. Encore deux minutes. Look clock. Must get. Fermi. Hired dog! Shoot him to bloody bits with a bang shotgun, bits man spattered walls all brass buttons. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. Not hurt? 0, that's all right. Shake hands. See what I meant, see? 0, that's all right. Shake a 190 shake. 0, that's all only all right. Page 50
Stephen's fragmented memory reflects his past poverty and indignity. He recalls receiving money from his mother, a humiliating experience at the post office, physical discomfort ("Hunger toothache"), and scraps of overheard conversation or internal thoughts in French ("Encore deux minutes" - Two more minutes) and Italian ("Fermi" - Stop). The violent fantasy about the "Hired dog" being shot is abrupt and visceral, perhaps representing anger or frustration. The ending dialogue seems like a fragmented, nonsensical attempt at reconciliation or confirmation after some unclear event, emphasizing disorientation.
Take all, keep all. My soul walks with me, form of forms. Page 52
Stephen repeats the Aristotelian phrase "form of forms" (from De Anima), applying it to his own soul. This idea, that the soul is the capacity to understand all things by taking on their form without their matter, is linked to his perception and identity. He asserts that his soul, representing his essence or identity, accompanies him, despite external circumstances ("Take all, keep all").
These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here. And these, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a warren of weasel rats. Page 52
Stephen uses a metaphor to connect the physical landscape (sands, stones) to language and history. The sands are seen as language deposited by time ("tide and wind have silted here"), implying that the environment itself holds meaning or speaks of the past. The stone heaps are associated with "dead builders" and decay ("warren of weasel rats"), suggesting the remnants of past civilizations or efforts are now overrun and diminished.
A drowning man. His human eyes scream to me out of horror of his death. I ... With him together down .... I could not save 330 her. Waters: bitter death: lost. Page 53
Stephen's thoughts link the abstract idea of a drowning man (perhaps the one discussed earlier on the cliff) with the intense, personal grief and guilt he feels about his inability to save his mother from death ("I could not save her."). The association is made explicit, blending the image of the drowning man's horror with his own pain related to his mother's passing. Water becomes a symbol of both death and loss.
After he woke me last night same dream or was it? Wait. Open hallway. Street of harlots. Remember. Haroun al Raschid. I am almosting it. That man led me, spoke. I was not afraid. The melon he had he held against my face. Smiled: creamfruit smell. That was the rule, said. In. Come. Red carpet spread. You will see who. Page 54
Stephen recalls a fragmented dream featuring a "Street of harlots," a reference to a red-light district. The mention of "Haroun al Raschid" evokes the caliph from One Thousand and One Nights, known for his nocturnal wanderings in disguise through Baghdad, often associated with exotic, sometimes illicit, adventures. The dream involves being led by a mysterious man, sensory details ("creamfruit smell"), and a sense of initiation or unveiling ("Red carpet spread. You will see who."). The dream imagery is sensual and perhaps disturbing, representing aspects of temptation or hidden desires.
Language no whit worse than his. Monkwords, marybeads jabber on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their pockets. Page 54
Stephen contrasts different forms of language. "Monkwords, marybeads" refers to the language and sounds associated with religious practice (prayers, rosaries), seen as perhaps restrictive or repetitive ("jabber"). This is contrasted with "roguewords, tough nuggets," representing more earthy, colloquial, possibly vulgar but vibrant language. This reflects Stephen's interest in the diverse forms and vitality of language, finding value beyond formal or sacred uses.
A side eye at my Hamlet hat. If I were suddenly naked here as I sit? I am not. Across the sands of all the world, followed by the sun's flaming sword, to the west, trekking to evening lands. She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines her load. A tide westering, moondrawn, in her wake. Tides, myriadislanded, within her, blood not mine, oinopa ponton, a winedark sea. Behold the handmaid of the moon. In sleep the wet sign calls her hour, bids her rise. Bridebed, childbed, bed of death, ghostcandled. Omnis caro ad te veniet. He comes, pale vampire, through storm his eyes, his bat sails bloodying the sea, mouth to her mouth's kiss. Here. Put a pin in that chap, will you? My tablets. Mouth to her kiss. 400 No. Must be two of em. Glue em well. Mouth to her mouth's kiss. His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of air: mouth to her moomb. Oomb, allwombing tomb. His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. Paper. The banknotes, blast them. Old Deasy's letter. Here. Thanking you for the hospitality tear the blank end off. Turning his back to the sun he bent over far to a table of rock and scribbled words. That's twice I forgot to take slips from the library counter. Page 55
This extended passage captures Stephen's internal monologue as he walks the beach (the Proteus episode). It's rich with allusions and sensory details. "Hamlet hat" likely refers to a specific style or his association with the character. His thoughts drift to abstract concepts ("Across the sands of all the world"), the westward movement of the moon and tides, and the female principle ("She trudges...", "A tide westering, moondrawn"). "oinopa ponton" is Homeric Greek ("wine-dark sea"), an epithet from the Odyssey. "Behold the handmaid of the moon" echoes the Virgin Mary's response to the Annunciation (Luke 1:38), linking the moon/tides/female cycle to religious concepts. "Bridebed, childbed, bed of death" compresses the female life cycle. "Omnis caro ad te veniet" is Latin ("All flesh shall come to thee," Psalm 65:2), linking the sea to death. The vampire image ("pale vampire") likely relates to his mother's death or the draining of vitality. He then focuses on writing, recalling a phrase ("Mouth to her mouth's kiss") and experimenting with it. The section culminates with him tearing off part of Mr. Deasy's letter (from the previous episode) and writing on it, suggesting the transformation of external reality (a letter) into internal creation (his poem). The final lines are sound-based ("moomb. Oomb, allwombing tomb") and abstract ("roar of cataractic planets").
Who ever anywhere will read these written words? Signs on a white field. Page 55
Stephen reflects on the act of writing and its reception. He questions the future audience for his words written on the paper/sand ("Signs on a white field"). This is a meta-commentary on the solitary nature of artistic creation and the uncertainty of its impact or legacy.
Darkness is in our souls do you not think? Flutier. Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a woman to her lover clinging, the more the more. Page 55
Stephen's thought connects spiritual state ("Darkness is in our souls") and religious concepts (shame, sins) to intense physical/emotional clinging. He uses the metaphor of a woman clinging to her lover ("the more the more") to describe the way souls, wounded by sin, might cling more tightly to the self or existence. "Flutier" is likely an interjection from one of his companions, interrupting his thought.
In long lassoes from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, rising, flowing. My ashplant will float away. I shall wait. No, they will pass on, passing, chafing against the low rocks, swirling, passing. Better get this job over quick. Listen: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. Vehement breath of waters amid seasnakes, rearing horses, rocks. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. And, spent, its speech ceases. It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. Page 56
Stephen describes the incoming tide with vivid sensory language, personifying the water as speaking. He interprets the sounds of the waves as a "fourworded wavespeech," represented by the onomatopoeic sounds "seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos." This passage highlights his focus on sound and language, finding inherent meaning or expression in the natural world. He also observes the physical action of the water ("lassoes," "swirling," "slops: flop, slop, slap") and its appearance ("greengoldenly," "foampool, flower unfurling").
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-Mkgnao! Page 60
This is an onomatopoeic representation of a cat meowing. This sound marks the transition from Stephen's episode (Proteus) to Bloom's episode (Calypso), introducing Bloom's perspective through his interaction with a cat. It signals a shift in character focus and narrative style.
Boland's breadvan delivering with trays our daily but she prefers yesterday's loaves turnovers crisp crowns hot. Makes you feel young. Somewhere in the east: early morning: set off at dawn. Travel round in front of the sun, steal a day's march on him. Keep it up for ever never grow a day older technically. Walk along a strand, strange land, come to a city gate, sentry there, old ranker too, old Tweedy's big moustaches, leaning on a long kind of a spear. Wander through awned streets. Turbaned faces going by. Dark caves of carpet shops, big man, Turko the terrible, seated crosslegged, smoking a coiled pipe. Cries of sellers in the streets. Drink 90 water scented with fennel, sherbet. Dander along all day. Might meet a robber or two. Well, meet him. Getting on to sundown. The shadows of the mosques among the pillars: priest with a scroll rolled up. A shiver of the trees, signal, the evening wind. I pass on. Fading gold sky. A mother watches me from her doorway. She calls her children home in their dark language. High wall: beyond strings twanged. Night sky, moon, violet, colour of Molly's new garters. Strings. Listen. A girl playing one of those instruments what do you call them: dulcimers. I pass. Page 62
Bloom's stream of consciousness begins with mundane observations (a breadvan, preference for stale loaves) before drifting into an elaborate fantasy of traveling to the East. This fantasy is sensory-rich (smells, sights, sounds) and exotic (turbans, mosques, carpet shops, sherbet, dulcimers). It allows Bloom to escape the routine of his Dublin life and indulge in imaginative adventure and sensuality. The memory of Molly's "violet" garters links the exotic fantasy back to his present reality and his wife. "Steal a day's march on him" is an idiom meaning to get ahead of someone.
He approached Larry O'Rourke's. From the cellar grating floated up the flabby gush of porter. Through the open doorway the bar squirted out whiffs of ginger, teadust, biscuitmush. Page 62
Bloom's internal monologue focuses on the distinctive smells emanating from a pub. The descriptions "flabby gush of porter" and "squirted out whiffs of ginger, teadust, biscuitmush" are visceral and specific, capturing the complex, heavy odors of a public house. This highlights Bloom's acute sensory awareness, particularly of smell.
He passed Saint Joseph's National school. Brats' clamour. Windows open. Fresh air helps memory. Or a lilt. Ahbeesee defeegee kelomen opeecue rustyouvee doubleyou. Boys are they? Yes. Inishturk. Inishark. Inishboffin. At their joggerfry. Mine. Slieve Bloom. Page 63
Bloom passes a school and hears the sounds of children. His thoughts jump from the sounds of learning ("Ahbeesee defeegee...") to a geography lesson involving Irish islands (Inishturk, Inishark, Inishboffin) and then to his own name's connection to a geographical location ("Mine. Slieve Bloom" - a mountain range in Ireland). "Joggerfry" is likely Bloom's playful or misremembered pronunciation of "geography." This shows his associative mind, linking external stimuli to personal identity and knowledge.
Those mornings in the cattlemarket, the beasts lowing in their t 60 pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of dung, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the litter, slapping a palm on a ripemeated hindquarter, there's a prime one, unpeeled switches in their hands. Page 63
Bloom's memory shifts to the cattle market, a scene full of visceral sounds ("beasts lowing"), smells ("flop and fall of dung"), and sights (branded sheep, breeders). The description of breeders judging the animals ("slapping a palm on a ripemeated hindquarter") emphasizes the tactile and commercial aspects of the scene, highlighting the raw, physical world of the market.
Mr Bloom pointed quickly. To catch up and walk behind her if she went slowly, behind her moving hams. Pleasant to see first thing in the morning. Hurry up, damn it. Make hay while the sun shines. She stood outside the shop in sunlight and sauntered lazily to the right. He sighed down his nose: they never understand. Sodachapped hands. Crusted toenails too. Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways. The sting of disregard glowed to weak pleasure within his breast. For another: a constable off duty cuddling her in Eccles lane. They like them si2eable. Prime sausage. 0 please, Mr Policeman, I'm lost in the wood. Page 64
Bloom observes a woman walking ahead of him, and his thoughts become explicitly sexual ("behind her moving hams", "Prime sausage"). He uses idioms like "Make hay while the sun shines," reflecting his opportunistic mindset. He also notices less attractive physical details ("Sodachapped hands. Crusted toenails"). His thoughts about her "Brown scapulars" (religious garment) being "in tatters, defending her both ways" suggest a mix of religious observance and underlying sensuality or disarray. He fantasizes about her with a constable and uses a suggestive phrase "0 please, Mr Policeman, I'm lost in the wood," likely a reference to a song or common euphemism for sexual advances.
A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly. Grey. Far. No, not like that. A barren land, bare waste. Vulcanic lake, the dead 220 sea: no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the earth. No wind could lift those waves, grey metal, poisonous foggy waters. Brimstone they called it raining down: the cities of the plain: Sodom, Gomorrah, Edom. All dead names. A dead sea in a dead land, grey and old. Old now. It bore the oldest, the first race. A bent hag crossed from Cassidy's, clutching a naggin bottle by the neck. The oldest people. Wandered far away over all the earth, captivity to captivity, multiplying, dying, being born everywhere. It lay there now. Now it could bear no more. Dead: an old woman's: the grey sunken cunt of the world. Desolation. Page 65
A passing cloud prompts a dark meditation in Bloom's mind. He imagines a "barren land" like the Dead Sea, explicitly referencing the Biblical cities of the plain destroyed by brimstone (Sodom, Gomorrah, Edom). This symbolizes decay, sin, and infertility. The image of the Dead Sea is then shockingliy conflated with the crude, desolate image of an "old woman's: the grey sunken cunt of the world." The "bent hag" reinforces the theme of age, decay, and perhaps the perceived barrenness of the Jewish people ("The oldest people...wandered far away"). This passage is a powerful, albeit disturbing, expression of Bloom's feelings of desolation and loss of vitality.
Quietly he read, restraining himself, the first column and, yielding but resisting, began the second. Midway, his last resistance yielding, he allowed his bowels to ease. themselves quietly as he read, reading still patiently that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone. Hope it's not too big bring on 51 o piles again. No, just right. So. Ah! Costive. One tabloid of cascara sagrada. Life might be so. It did not move or touch him but it was something quick and neat. Print anything now. Silly season. He read on, seated calm above his own rising smell. Neat certainly. Matcham often thinks of the masterstroke by which he won the laughing witch who now. Begins and ends morally. Hand in hand. Smart. He glanced back through what he had read and, while feeling his water flow quietly, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had written it and received payment of three pounds, thirteen and six. Page 71
This passage depicts Bloom using the outhouse. It combines the mundane physical act with his reading (a story beginning "Matcham often thinks...") and internal thoughts about digestion ("constipation", "cascara sagrada"), bodily functions ("rising smell," "water flow quietly"), writing, and money (envying the author Mr. Beaufoy for being paid). The blending of the vulgar and the intellectual, the physical and the mental, is characteristic of Bloom's stream of consciousness and the novel's approach.
Evening hours, girls in grey gauze. Night hours then: black with daggers and eyemasks. Poetical idea: pink, then golden, then grey, then black. Still, true to life also. Day: then the night. Page 72
Bloom muses on the colors associated with different times of day or activities, connecting them to potentially romantic or dramatic imagery ("girls in grey gauze," "black with daggers and eyemasks"). He sees a poetic progression ("pink, then golden, then grey, then black") but also acknowledges that this can be "true to life," demonstrating his ability to find both aesthetic patterns and grounded reality in his observations.
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So warm. His right hand once more more slowly went over his brow and hair. Then he put on his hat again, relieved: and read again: choice blend, made of the finest Ceylon brands. The far east. Lovely spot it must 30 be: the garden of the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, cactuses, flowery meads, snaky lianas they call them. Wonder is it like that. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the sun in dolce far niente, not doing a hand's turn all day. Sleep six months out of twelve. Too hot to quarrel. Influence of the climate. Lethargy. Flowers of idleness. The air feeds most. Azotes. Hothouse in Botanic gardens. Sensitive plants. Waterlilies. Petals too tired Page 73
to. Sleeping sickness in the air. Walk on roseleaves. Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. Where was the chap I saw in that picture somewhere? Ah yes, in the dead sea floating on his back, reading a book with a parasol open. Couldn't sink if you tried: so thick with salt. Because the weight of the water, no, the weight of the body in the water is equal to the weight of 40 the what? Or is it the volume is equal to the weight? It's a law something like that. Vance in High school cracking his fingerjoints, teaching. The college curriculum. Cracking curriculum. What is weight really when you say the weight? Thirtytwo feet per second per second. Law of falling bodies: per second per second. They all fall to the ground. The earth. It's the force of gravity of the earth is the weight. Page 74
Bloom's thoughts drift from the warmth and aroma of his tea ("choice blend, made of the finest Ceylon brands") to a fantasy of the "far east," imagining an idyllic, lazy life of "dolce far niente" (sweet idleness). This romanticized view is contrasted with a fleeting, more cynical thought about "Sleeping sickness." His mind then shifts abruptly to a memory of seeing a picture of someone floating on the Dead Sea, which triggers a chain of thought about physics, specifically density, weight, and gravity. He recalls a high school lesson with his teacher Vance and scientific concepts ("Law of falling bodies"). This passage showcases the eclectic nature of Bloom's thoughts, moving fluidly between sensual fantasy, practical observation, scientific inquiry, and personal memory.
Watch! Watch! Silk flash rich stockings white. Watch! t 30 A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between. Lost it. Curse your noisy pugnose. Feels locked out of it. Paradise and the peri. Always happening like that. The very moment. Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it settling her garter. Her friend covering the display of. Esprit de corps. Well, what are you gaping at? -Yes, yes, Mr Bloom said after a dull sigh. Another gone. -One of the best, M'Coy said. Page 76
Bloom is observing a woman's stockings ("Silk flash rich stockings white") when a tram blocks his view, causing him to miss the sight. This triggers a feeling of frustration and being shut out ("Feels locked out of it"). He compares this missed moment of pleasure to being excluded from "Paradise and the peri" (referencing Thomas Moore's poem "Lalla Rookh," where a Peri, an angelic being, is excluded from Paradise). This reflects his frequent sense of being an outsider or missing out on life's pleasures. The memory of another woman adjusting her garter reinforces the theme of fleeting, blocked desire. He then exchanges brief, somewhat detached pleasantries with M'Coy about someone who has died.
Mrs Marion Bloom. Not up yet. Queen was in her bedroom eating bread and. No book. Blackened court cards laid along her thigh by sevens. Dark lady and fair man. Letter. Cat furry black ball. Torn strip of envelope. Love's. Old. Sweet. Song. Comes lo-ove's old ... Page 76
Bloom thinks about his wife, Molly. He imagines her still in bed, eating, associating her with royalty ("Queen was in her bedroom eating bread and" - a variation on nursery rhymes like "Sing a Song of Sixpence"). He sees her engaged in fortune-telling with cards ("Blackened court cards laid along her thigh by sevens"), thinking of traditional fortune-telling figures ("Dark lady and fair man"). The mention of a "Letter" and "Torn strip of envelope" hints at Bjoylan's letter, which will become significant. The passage ends with fragments of a song lyric, "Love's Old Sweet Song," underscoring the theme of their relationship and perhaps his current feelings about it.
A yellow flower with flattened petals. Page 78
A brief, simple sensory observation of a specific flower. This reflects Bloom's tendency to notice details in his environment, even seemingly insignificant ones, grounding his thoughts in the physical world.
An incoming train clanked heavily above his head, coach after coach. Barrels bumped in his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside. The bungholes sprang open and a huge dull flood leaked out, flowing together, winding through mudflats all over the level land, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its froth. Page 80
The sound of a train triggers a vivid, synaesthetic image in Bloom's mind. The "clanked heavily" train sound is associated with "Barrels bumped" and the physical sensation of "dull porter" (a type of beer) slopping inside his head. This internal feeling is then transformed into a large-scale image of a "huge dull flood" of liquor spreading out like a landscape. It connects the external sound, internal sensation, and a flowing, almost overwhelming, mental image.
They were about him here and there, with heads still bowed in their crimson halters, waiting for it to melt in their stomachs. Something like those mazzoth: it's that sort of bread: unleavened shewbread. Look at them. Now I bet it makes them feel happy. 360 Lollipop. It does. Yes, bread of angels it's called. There's a big idea behind it, kind of kingdom of God is within you feel. First communicants. Hokypoky penny a lump. Then feel all like one family party, same in the theatre, all in the same swim. They do. I'm sure of that. Not so lonely. In our confraternity. Then come out a bit spreeish. Let off steam. Thing is if you really believe in it. Lourdes cure, waters of oblivion, and the Knock apparition, statues bleeding. Old fellow asleep near that confessionbox. Hence those snores. Blind faith. Safe in the arms of kingdom come. Lulls all pain. Wake this time next year. Page 81
Bloom observes people taking communion in the church. He makes comparisons between the communion wafer and Jewish unleavened bread ("mazzoth," "shewbread"). He speculates on the feelings of the communicants ("feel happy," "bread of angels," "kingdom of God is within you feel," "one family party"). He mixes religious terms with mundane and even slightly cynical ones ("Lollipop," "Hokypoky penny a lump," "spreeish," "Let off steam"). He lists Catholic pilgrimage sites and miracles (Lourdes, Knock apparition, statues bleeding) alongside a sleeping man, linking faith to oblivion and escape from pain ("Blind faith. Safe in the arms of kingdom come. Lulls all pain."). This reflects his detached, observant, and somewhat critical perspective on religious practice.
Still, having eunuchs in their choir that was coming it a bit thick. What kind of voice is it? Must be curious to hear after their own strong basses. Connoisseurs. Suppose they wouldn't feel anything after. Kind of a placid. No worry. Fall 4 to into flesh, don't they? Gluttons, tall, long legs. Who knows? Eunuch. One way out of it. Page 82
Bloom's thoughts turn to the historical use of castrati (eunuchs) in church choirs. He speculates on their voices, physical characteristics ("Fall into flesh," "Gluttons, tall, long legs"), and lack of sexual drive ("wouldn't feel anything after. Kind of a placid. No worry."). He sees this as a drastic "way out" of the complications of sexuality, reflecting his own anxieties and experiences.
Confession. Everyone wants to. Then I will tell you all. Penance. Punish me, please. Great weapon in their hands. More than doctor or solicitor. Woman dying to. And I schschschschschsch. And did you chachachachacha? And why did you? Look down at her ring to find an excuse. Whispering gallery walls have ears. Husband learn to his 430 surprise. God's little joke. Then out she comes. Repentance skindeep. Lovely shame. Pray at an altar. Hail Mary and Holy Mary. Flowers, incense, candles melting. Hide her blushes. Salvation army blatant imitation. Reformed prostitute will address the meeting. How I found the Lord. Squareheaded chaps those must be in Rome: they work. the whole show. And don't they rake in the money too? Bequests also: to the P. P. for the time being in his absolute discretion. Masses for the repose of my soul to be said publicly with open doors. Monasteries and convents. The priest in that Fermanagh will case in the witnessbox. No browbeating him. He had his answer pat for everything. Liberty and exaltation of our holy mother the 440 church. The doctors of the church: they mapped out the whole theology of it. Page 83
Bloom's thoughts about confession are cynical and detailed. He sees it as a powerful tool for the clergy ("Great weapon in their hands"). He imagines the whispered secrets ("Woman dying to. And I schschschschschsch...") and the confessor's questions ("And did you chachachachacha?"). He thinks about the potential for secrets to be revealed ("Whispering gallery walls have ears. Husband learn to his surprise. God's little joke."). He sees repentance as superficial ("Repentance skindeep. Lovely shame."). He also contrasts Catholic practices (altar, flowers, incense) with those of the Salvation Army ("blatant imitation," "Reformed prostitute will address the meeting"). He views the Roman Catholic Church as a powerful, wealthy institution ("Squareheaded chaps those must be in Rome: they work the whole show," "rake in the money"). He mentions a legal case involving a priest and reflects on the Church's perceived authority and organized structure ("doctors of the church: they mapped out the whole theology of it").
He stood up. Hello. Were those two buttons of my waistcoat open all the time? Women enjoy it. Never tell you. But we. Excuse, miss, there's a (whh!) just a (whh!) fluff. Or their skirt behind, placket unhooked. Glimpses of the moon. Annoyed if you don't. Why didn't you tell me before. Still like you better untidy. Good job it wasn't farther south. Page 83
Bloom notices his waistcoat buttons are undone and reflects on how women might see this but wouldn't point it out, contrasting it with how men might mention a minor flaw like lint ("fluff") or an unhooked skirt. He uses the phrase "Glimpses of the moon," which can refer to fleeting views of something hidden, particularly undergarments (related to Hamlet's ghost appearing only during "the dead vast and middle of the night"). This thought reveals his self-consciousness about appearance, his observations of gendered social interactions, and a touch of sexual curiosity.
Bore this funeral affair. 0 well, poor fellow, it's not his fault. Page 83
A simple, straightforward thought expressing Bloom's feeling that the funeral is tedious ("Bore this funeral affair") while also showing a touch of sympathy for the deceased, Paddy Dignam ("0 well, poor fellow, it's not his fault").
The chemist turned back page after page. Sandy shrivelled smell he seems to have. Shrunken skull. And old. Quest for the philosopher's stone. The alchemists. Drugs age you after mental excitement. Lethargy then. Why? Reaction. A lifetime in a night. Gradually changes your character. Living all the day among herbs, ointments, disinfectants. All his alabaster lilypots. Mortar and pestle. Aq. Dist. Fol. Laur. Te Virid. Smell almost cure you like the dentist's doorbell. Doctor Whack. He ought to physic himself a bit. Electuary or emulsion. The first fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had a bit of pluck. Simples. Want to be careful. Enough stuff here to 480 chloroform you. Test: turns blue litmus paper red. Chloroform. Overdose of laudanum. Sleeping draughts. Lovephiltres. Paragoric poppysyrup bad for cough. Clogs the pores or the phlegm. Poisons the only cures. Remedy where you least expect it. Clever of nature. Page 84
Bloom observes a chemist (pharmacist) and his surroundings. He notes the chemist's appearance and smell ("Sandy shrivelled smell," "Shrunken skull," "old"). His thoughts associate the chemist with the historical practice of alchemy ("Quest for the philosopher's stone," "The alchemists"). He muses on the effects of drugs and the nature of remedies, listing various substances and medical terms ("herbs, ointments, disinfectants," "alabaster lilypots," "Mortar and pestle," Latin abbreviations for pharmaceutical ingredients, "Electuary or emulsion," "Simples," "chloroform," "laudanum," "Lovephiltres," "Paragoric poppysyrup"). He considers the bravery of early healers ("The first fellow that picked an herb...had a bit of pluck"). The cynical conclusion "Poisons the only cures. Remedy where you least expect it" reflects a view of medicine as paradoxical or even dangerous.
Brings out the darkness of her eyes. Looking at me, the sheet up to her eyes, Spanish, smelling herself, when I was fixing the links in my cuffs. Those homely recipes are often the best: strawberries for the teeth: nettles and rainwater: oatmeal they say steeped in buttermilk. Skinfood. One of the old queen's sons, duke of Albany was it? had only one skin. Leopold, yes. Three we have. Warts, bunions and pimples to make it worse. But you want a perfume too. What perfume does your? Peau d'Espagne. That soo orangeflower water is so fresh. Nice smell these soaps have. Pure curd soap. Time to get a bath round the corner. Hammam. Turkish. Massage. Dirt gets rolled up in your navel. Nicer if a nice girl did it. Also I think I. Yes I. Do it in the bath. Curious longing I. Water to water. Combine business with pleasure. Pity no time for massage. Feel fresh then all the day. Funeral be rather glum. Page 84
Bloom's thoughts on personal care and hygiene are triggered, possibly by the chemist's shop. He recalls a sensual memory of a Spanish-looking woman. He lists various home remedies for skin/beauty ("strawberries for the teeth," "nettles and rainwater," "oatmeal...in buttermilk"). He has a humorous, slightly confused thought about a royal figure having "only one skin." He thinks about perfumes ("Peau d'Espagne," "orangeflower water") and soaps. This leads to his anticipation of getting a bath ("Hammam. Turkish. Massage."), which becomes mixed with sexual fantasy ("Nicer if a nice girl did it.", "Do it in the bath."). The phrase "Water to water" has spiritual or symbolic connotations (connecting his bath to themes of rebirth or the sea). He contrasts the refreshing idea of the bath with the impending "glum" funeral.
He walked cheerfully towards the mosque of the baths. Remind you 550 of a mosque, redbaked bricks, the minarets. College sports today I see. He eyed the horseshoe poster over the gate of college park: cyclist doubled up like a cod in a pot. Damn bad ad. Now if they had made it round like a wheel. Then the spokes: sports, sports, sports: and the hub big: college. Something to catch the eye. Page 85
Bloom compares the Turkish baths building to a mosque, linking his everyday activities to his Eastern fantasies. He then shifts to observing an advertisement for college sports, offering a detailed critique ("Damn bad ad") and suggesting improvements based on principles of visual appeal and symbolism (a wheel with spokes). This highlights his profession and ongoing interest in advertising and marketing.
Enjoy a bath now: clean trough of water, cool enamel, the gentle tepid stream. This is my body. He foresaw his pale body reclined in it at full, naked, in a womb of warmth, oiled by scented melting soap, softly laved. He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, s10 floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower. Page 86
Bloom anticipates his bath with sensual detail, describing the physical sensation and appearance of the water and his body. The phrase "This is my body" is a direct allusion to the words of Christ during the Last Supper, applied here in a mundane and slightly ironic context, connecting the cleansing bath to a form of personal ritual or transubstantiation. He imagines his body in the bath using imagery of rebirth ("womb of warmth") and sensuality ("lemonyellow," "navel, bud of flesh," "limp father of thousands," "languid floating flower"), blending the physical act with personal meaning and fantasy.
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That afternoon of the inquest. The redlabelled bottle on the table. The 360 room in the hotel with hunting pictures. Stuffy it was. Sunlight through the slats of the Venetian blind. The coroner's sunlit ears, big and hairy. Boots giving evidence. Thought he was asleep first. Then saw like yellow streaks on his face. Had slipped down to the foot of the bed. Verdict: overdose. Death by misadventure. The letter. For my son Leopold. No more pain. Wake no more. Nobody owns. Page 95
Bloom's thoughts turn to the memory of his father's death and the subsequent inquest. He recalls specific sensory details of the scene (the hotel room, the bottle, the light, the coroner) and the official verdict ("overdose," "Death by misadventure"). The mention of the letter addressed "For my son Leopold" highlights the personal impact of his father's suicide. The final fragmented thoughts ("No more pain. Wake no more. Nobody owns.") express a sense of peace or release associated with death, contrasting with the pain of life.
Born! Upset. A coffin bumped out on to the road. Burst open. Paddy Dignam shot out and rolling over stiff in the dust in a brown habit too large for him. Red face: grey now. Mouth fallen open. Asking what's up now. Quite right to close it. Looks horrid open. Then the insides decompose quickly. Much better to close up all the orifices. Yes, also. With wax. The sphincter loose. Seal up all. Page 96
This is a disturbing, almost cartoonish, morbid fantasy about Paddy Dignam's coffin opening and the body falling out. Bloom's thoughts are graphic and practical, dwelling on the physical changes in the corpse ("Red face: grey now," "insides decompose quickly") and the methods used to prepare a body for burial ("close up all the orifices," "With wax"). This passage reveals a dark, unsentimental side of Bloom's contemplation of death and decay, contrasting the solemnity of the funeral with grotesque internal imagery.
They looked. Murderer's ground. It passed darkly. Shuttered, tenantless, unweeded garden. Whole place gone to hell. Wrongfully condemned. Murder. The murderer's image in the eye of the murdered. Page 97
Bloom and others pass a location associated with a murder case ("Murderer's ground"). The description evokes a sense of neglect and decay ("Shuttered, tenantless, unweeded garden," "Whole place gone to hell"). Bloom's thought "Wrongfully condemned" suggests this place or person was perhaps unfairly judged. The phrase "The murderer's image in the eye of the murdered" is a gruesome, almost mystical idea about perception, guilt, and the final image seen by the victim.
They love reading about it. Man's head found in a garden. Her clothing consisted of. How she met her death. Recent outrage. The weapon used. 480 Murderer is still at large. Clues. A shoelace. The body to be exhumed. Murder will out. Page 98
Bloom reflects on the public's morbid fascination with sensational murder cases, listing the typical details reported in newspapers ("Man's head found in a garden," "Her clothing consisted of," "The weapon used," "Clues. A shoelace."). The phrase "Murder will out" is a proverb (used by Shakespeare in Hamlet), implying that truth or guilt will eventually be revealed. This passage highlights Bloom's observation of human nature and the media's role in feeding public appetite for the macabre.
Mourners came out through the gates: woman and a girl. Leanjawed harpy, hard woman at a bargain, her bonnet awry. Girl's face stained with dirt and tears, holding the woman's arm, looking up at her for a sign to cry. Fish's face, bloodless and livid. Page 98
Bloom observes mourners leaving the cemetery. His description is unsympathetic and critical, using harsh language ("Leanjawed harpy" - referencing a mythological monster, a bird-woman representing punishment) and noting unflattering details ("hard woman at a bargain," "bonnet awry"). He sees the girl's grief as potentially performative ("looking up at her for a sign to cry") and describes her face with cold, clinical terms ("Fish's face, bloodless and livid"). This reflects a moment of detachment or cynicism in his observation of human behavior, even in mourning.
He looked down at the boots he had blacked and polished. She had outlived him. Lost her husband. More dead for her than for me. One must outlive the other. Wise men say. There are more women than men in the world. Condole with her. Your terrible loss. I hope you'll soon follow him. For Hindu widows only. She would marry another. Him? No. Yet who knows after. Widowhood not the thing since the old queen died. Drawn on 550 a guncarriage. Victoria and Albert. Frogmore memorial mourning. But in the end she put a few violets in her bonnet. Vain in her heart of hearts. All for a shadow. Consort not even a king. Her son was the substance. Something new to hope for not like the past she wanted back, waiting. It never comes. One must go first: alone, under the ground: and lie no more in her warm bed. Page 99
Bloom's thoughts turn to the nature of widowhood and remarriage. He observes that one spouse must always outlive the other. He cynically considers conventional condolences ("Your terrible loss. I hope you'll soon follow him. For Hindu widows only" - referencing Sati, the illegal practice of widow burning in India, suggesting a dark humor about remarriage). He reflects on the changing social status of widows, referencing Queen Victoria's elaborate and long-lasting mourning for Prince Albert ("Victoria and Albert. Frogmore memorial mourning"), contrasting it with her eventual, subtle return to color ("a few violets in her bonnet"). He sees a certain vanity even in mourning. The passage ends with a poignant contrast between the cold isolation of death and the warmth of the marital bed.
Makes them feel more important to be prayed over in Latin. Requiem mass. Crape weepers. Blackedged notepaper. Your name on the altarlist. Chilly place this. Want to feed well, sitting in there all the morning in the gloom kicking his heels waiting for the next please. Eyes of a toad too. What swells him up that way? Molly gets swelled after cabbage. Air of the place maybe. Looks full up of bad gas. Must be an infernal lot of bad gas round the place. Butchers, for instance: they get like raw beefsteaks. Who was telling me? Mervyn Browne. Down in the vaults of saint Werburgh's lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have to bore a hole in the coffins Page 100
sometimes to let out the bad gas and burn it. Out it rushes: blue. One whiff of that and you're a cloner. My kneecap is hurting me. Ow. That's better. The priest took a stick with a knob at the end of it out of the boy's bucket and shook it over the coffin. Then he walked to the other end and shook it again. Then he came back and put it back in the bucket. As you were before you rested. It's all written down: he has to do it. -Et ne nos inducas in tentationem. The server piped the answers in the treble. I often thought it would be 620 better to have boy servants. Up to fifteen or so. After that, of course ... Holy water that was, I expect. Shaking sleep out of it. He must be fed up with that job, shaking that thing over all the corpses they trot up. What harm if he could see what he was shaking it over. Every mortal day a fresh batch: middleaged men, old women, children, women dead in childbirth, men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls with little sparrows' breasts. All the year round he prayed the same thing over them all and shook water on top of them: sleep. On Dignam now. -In paradisum. Said he was going to paradise or is in paradise. Says that over 630 everybody. Tiresome kind of a job. But he has to say something. Page 101
Bloom observes the funeral mass and the priest's actions with cynicism and dark humor. He sees the Latin prayers as adding a sense of importance for the mourners. He has gross physical thoughts about the priest ("Eyes of a toad too," "swells him up," "Looks full up of bad gas") and a morbid memory about releasing gas from coffins ("bore a hole...to let out the bad gas and burn it. Out it rushes: blue. One whiff...and you're a cloner," possibly a variation of 'goner'). He detaches the ritual from genuine belief, seeing the priest's actions as rote performance ("It's all written down: he has to do it."). He notes the Latin prayers ("Et ne nos inducas in tentationem" - "And lead us not into temptation"; "In paradisum" - "Into paradise") and the server's response, followed by a somewhat prurient thought about boy servants. He reflects on the priest's repetitive task and the variety of corpses he blesses, seeing the ritual as simply putting them to "sleep." His final thought on the priest's job is dismissive: "Tiresome kind of a job. But he has to say something."
Mr Kernan said with solemnity: - / am the resurrection and the life. That touches a man's inmost heart. 670 -It does, Mr Bloom said. Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the six feet by two with his toes to the daisies? No touching that. Seat of the affections. Broken heart. A pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood every day. One fine day it gets bunged up: and there you are. Lots of them lying around here: lungs, hearts, livers. Old rusty pumps: damn the thing else. The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you are dead. That last day idea. Knocking them all up out of their graves. Come forth, Lazarus! And he came fifth and lost the job. Get up! Last day! Then every fellow mousing around for his liver and his lights and the rest of his traps. Find 6so damn all of himself that morning. Pennyweight of powder in a skull. Twelve grammes one pennyweight. Troy measure. Page 102
Mr. Kernan quotes the Biblical phrase "I am the resurrection and the life" (John 11:25), finding it emotionally moving. Bloom agrees verbally ("It does") but his internal thoughts are cynical and materialist. He reduces the "heart," the traditional "seat of the affections," to a mere "pump" that fails ("gets bunged up"). He dismisses the idea of physical resurrection after death, using morbid and darkly humorous imagery of scattered body parts ("mousing around for his liver and his lights") and decay ("Pennyweight of powder in a skull"). The pun "And he came fifth and lost the job" mocks the story of Lazarus. He contrasts the spiritual concept of resurrection with the physical reality of decomposition, concluding, "Once you are dead you are dead." He also briefly touches on units of measurement ("Troy measure").
You might pick up a young widow here. Men like that. Love among the tombstones. Romeo. Spice of pleasure. In the midst of death we are in life. Both ends meet. Tantalising for the poor dead. Smell of grilled beefsteaks to 760 the starving. Gnawing their vitals. Desire to grig people. Page 104
Bloom has a cynical, slightly prurient thought about the cemetery as a place to meet women, specifically young widows. He links this idea to romanticized notions ("Love among the tombstones. Romeo") but sees it as a "Spice of pleasure" derived from being "In the midst of death." He uses the proverb "In the midst of death we are in life" (adapted from the Book of Common Prayer) to express this juxtaposition. He imagines the dead being tormented by the sights and smells of the living ("Smell of grilled beefsteaks to the starving"), suggesting a cruel or perverse pleasure ("Desire to grig people," meaning to annoy or provoke).
I daresay the soil would be quite fat with corpsemanure, bones, fiesh, nails. Charnelhouses. Dreadful. Turning green and pink decomposing. Rot quick in damp earth. The lean old ones tougher. Then a kind of a tallowy kind of a cheesy. Then begin to get black, black treacle oozing out of them. Then dried up. Deathmoths. Of course the cells or whatever they are go on 780 living. Changing about. Live for ever practically. Nothing to feed on feed on themselves. Page 104
Bloom continues his morbid contemplation of physical decay in the cemetery. He graphically describes the process of decomposition in the soil ("corpsemanure," "green and pink," "tallowy," "cheesy," "black treacle oozing"). He then shifts to a pseudo-scientific thought about the biological persistence of cells after death ("the cells or whatever they are go on living. Changing about. Live for ever practically"), finding a kind of morbid immortality in cellular decay.
Now who is that lankylooking galoot over there in the macintosh? Now who is he I'd like to know? Now I'd give a trifle to know who he is. Always someone turns up you never dreamt of. A fellow could live on his lonesome all his life. Yes, he could. Still he'd have to get someone to sod him after he died though he could dig his own grave. We all do. Only man 8to buries. No, ants too. First thing strikes anybody. Bury the dead. Say Robinson Crusoe was true to life. Well then Friday buried him. Every Friday buries a Thursday if you come to look at it. 0, poor Robinson CrusoeI How couldyou possib/y do so? Page 105
Bloom notices a mysterious stranger, the "man in the macintosh," whose identity intrigues him. This figure will reappear throughout the novel. His thoughts then drift to the solitary life and death, considering the necessity of burial ("get someone to sod him," meaning to bury him). He reflects on the act of burial as uniquely human (or shared with ants). He makes an allusion to Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe, humorously speculating on Friday burying Crusoe and creating a wordplay based on the days of the week ("Every Friday buries a Thursday"). He concludes with fragmented lines from a song about Robinson Crusoe.
Wellcut frockcoat. Weighing them up perhaps to see which will go next. Well, it is a long rest. Feel no more. It's the moment you feel. Must be damned unpleasant. Can't believe it at first. Mistake must be: someone else. Try the house opposite. Wait, I wanted to. I haven't yet. Then darkened deathchamber. Light they want. Whispering around you. Would you. like to see a priest? Then rambling and wandering. Delirium all you hid all your life. The death struggle. His sleep is not natural. Press his lower eyelid. Watching is his nose pointed is his jaw sinking are the soles of his feet yellow. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the floor since he's 850 doomed. Devil in that picture of sinner's death showing him a woman. Dying to embrace her in his shirt. Last act of Lucia. Shall I nevermore behold thee? Barn! He expires. Gone at last. People talk about you a bit: forget you. Don't forget to pray for him. Remember him in your prayers. Even Parnell. Ivy day dying out. Then they follow: dropping into a hole, one after the other. We are praying now for the repose of his soul. Hoping you're well and not in hell. Nice change of air. Out of the fryingpan of life into the fire of purgatory. Does he ever think of the hole waiting for himself? They say you do 860 when you shiver in the sun. Someone walking over it. Callboy's warning. Near you. Mine over there towards Finglas, the plot I bought. Mamma, poor mamma, and little Rudy. Page 106
Bloom continues his thoughts on death, imagining the experience of dying ("the moment you feel," "damned unpleasant," "delirium"). He lists physical signs of approaching death and includes a dark, shocking thought about hastening someone's death ("Pull the pillow away and finish it off"). He references religious imagery ("Devil in that picture of sinner's death") and opera ("Last act of Lucia" - referencing the final, death scene in Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor). He reflects on how the dead are quickly forgotten ("People talk about you a bit: forget you"). He mentions the declining commemoration of Charles Parnell ("Even Parnell. Ivy day dying out"), a political figure whose legacy was complicated by scandal, linking personal oblivion to historical forgetting. He considers the religious concept of purgatory ("Out of the fryingpan of life into the fire of purgatory," a twist on the idiom). He ends with a personal, poignant thought about his own burial plot and the memory of his mother and deceased infant son, Rudy.
And if he was alive all the time? Whew! By jingo, that would be awful! No, no: he is dead, of course. Of course he is dead. Monday he died. They ought to have some law to pierce the heart and make sure or an electric clock or a telephone in the coffin and some kind of a canvas airhole. Flag of distress. Three days. Rather long to keep them in summer. Just as well to get shut of them as 870 soon as you are sure there's no. Page 106
Bloom entertains a morbid, slightly fantastical thought about someone being mistakenly buried alive ("And if he was alive all the time?"). This leads him to consider methods for ensuring death, ranging from the traditional ("pierce the heart") to the absurdly modern ("electric clock or a telephone in the coffin"). He thinks about the practicalities of burial ("Three days. Rather long to keep them in summer") and concludes with a pragmatic, if gruesome, desire to be certain before burial.
its blade blueglancing. Page 107
A brief, sharp sensory detail describing the visual appearance of a spade blade. The invented word "blueglancing" captures the specific way light reflects off the metal surface. This kind of precise observation is characteristic of Bloom.
Besides how could you remember everybody? Eyes, walk, voice. Well, the voice, yes: gramophone. Have a gramophone in every grave or keep it in the house. After dinner on a Sunday. Put on poor old greatgrandfather. Kraahraark! Hellohellohello amawfullyglad kraark awfullygladaseeagain hellohello amawf krpthsth. Remind you of the voice like the photograph reminds you of the face. Otherwise you couldn't remember the face after Page 108
fifteen years, say. For instance who? For instance some fellow that died when I was in Wisdom Hely's. Page 109
Bloom reflects on the difficulty of remembering the dead over time. He considers different aspects that trigger memory (eyes, walk, voice) and fixes on voice as particularly evocative. He fantasizes about using a gramophone to preserve the voices of the deceased, imagining the distorted sound ("Kraahraark!"). He compares this to how photographs preserve faces. This passage shows his imaginative approach to death and memory, finding practical (if impractical) technological solutions for emotional needs. He brings the thought back to a specific, less significant memory ("some fellow that died when I was in Wisdom Hely's"), demonstrating the mundane nature of memory.
One of those chaps would make short work of a fellow. Pick the bones clean no matter who it was. Ordinary meat for them. A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk. I read in that V(D'ages in China that the Chinese say a white man smells like a corpse. Cremation better. Priests dead against it. Devilling for the other firm. Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers. Time of the plague. Quicklime feverpits to eat them. Lethal chamber. Ashes to ashes. Or bury at sea. Where is that Parsee tower of silence? Eaten by birds. Earth, fire, water. Drowning they say is the pleasantest. See your whole life in a flash. But being brought back to life no. Can't bury in the air however. Out of a flying 990 machine. Wonder does the news go about whenever a fresh one is let down. Underground communication. We learned that from them. Wouldn't be surprised. Regular square feed for them. Flies come before he's well dead. Got wind of Dignam. They wouldn't care about the smell of it. Saltwhite crumbling mush of corpse: smell, taste like raw white turnips. Page 109
Bloom continues his morbid thoughts on dealing with dead bodies. He compares corpses to "meat gone bad" and cheese to "Corpse of milk," using stark, reductive metaphors. He recalls a detail from a book about Chinese perceptions of the smell of white people's corpses. He considers different disposal methods: cremation (noting priests' opposition, mockingly calling them "Devilling for the other firm"), plague pits, lethal chambers, burial at sea, and the Parsee practice of leaving bodies for birds ("tower of silence"). He lists elements associated with disposal (Earth, fire, water). He touches on the drowning experience ("See your whole life in a flash"). His thoughts wander to fantastical notions like burying bodies from a flying machine or underground communication among the dead. He observes the practical reality of flies appearing quickly on corpses and ends with a graphic, sensory description of a decaying body.
I will appear to you after death. You will see my ghost after death. My ghost will haunt you after death. There is another world after death named hell. I do not like that other world she wrote. No more do I. Plenty to see and hear and feel yet. Feel live warm beings near you. Let them sleep in their maggoty beds. They are not going to get me this innings. Warm beds: warm fullblooded life. Page 109
Bloom dismisses common ideas about the afterlife, ghosts, and hell. He quotes a line about a dislike for the afterlife, potentially from a letter or something he read ("I do not like that other world she wrote"). He firmly rejects the idea of death and focuses on the present life ("Plenty to see and hear and feel yet. Feel live warm beings near you"). He prefers the physical reality of life and warmth ("Warm beds: warm fullblooded life") to the cold, decaying state of death ("maggoty beds"). This is a strong assertion of his embrace of physical existence over abstract or religious notions of what comes after.
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Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores. Page 111
This sentence describes the action of draymen moving barrels from a store to a brewery float. It is notable for its use of chiasmus (a rhetorical device where phrases are repeated in reverse order) and repetition ("Grossbooted draymen," "rolled barrels," "dullthudding," "Prince's stores," "brewery float"). This stylistic choice mimics the repetitive, mechanical nature of the labor being described and draws attention to the language itself.
This morning the remains of the late Mr Patrick Dignam. Machines. Smash a man to atoms if they got him caught. Rule the world today. His machineries are pegging away too. Like these, got out of hand: fermenting. Working away, tearing away. And that old grey rat tearing to get in. Page 113
Bloom connects the recently deceased Dignam to the idea of "Machines" ruling the world, reflecting on the power and potential destructiveness of machinery. He then applies this concept to the human body ("His machineries are pegging away too"), seeing internal biological processes ("fermenting," "Working away, tearing away") as a kind of uncontrolled mechanism. The image of the "old grey rat tearing to get in" is ambiguous but suggests decay, hunger, or some destructive force associated with the body.
It's the ads and side features sell a weekly, not the stale news in the 90 official gazette. Queen Anne is dead. Published by authority in the year one thousand and. Demesne situate in the townland of Rosenallis, barony of Tinnahinch. To all whom it may concern schedule pursuant to statute showing return of number of mules and jennets exported from Ballina. Nature notes. Cartoons. Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story. Uncle Toby's page for tiny tots. Country bumpkin's queries. Dear Mr Editor, what is a good cure for flatulence? I'd like that part. Learn a lot teaching others. The personal note. M. A. P. Mainly all pictures. Shapely bathers on golden strand. World's biggest balloon. Double marriage of sisters celebrated. Two bridegrooms laughing heartily at each other. Cuprani too, oo printer. More Irish than the Irish. Page 113
Bloom's thoughts catalog the various types of content found in a newspaper, focusing on what he believes actually sells copies: "ads and side features," not dry official news ("stale news in the official gazette," exemplified by the idiom "Queen Anne is dead," meaning old news). He lists official notices, recreational features (nature notes, cartoons, specific comic strips like "Pat and Bull story"), children's content, advice columns ("good cure for flatulence?"), and visual items ("Mainly all pictures," "Shapely bathers"). He expresses interest in the advice column ("I'd like that part. Learn a lot teaching others. The personal note."), suggesting his desire to connect and share knowledge. He mentions the printer Cuprani and notes the commercial success of visually-driven content.
Silt. The nethermost deck of the first machine jogged forward its fiyboard with slit the first batch of quirefolded papers. Slit. Almost human the way it silt to call attention. Doing its level best to speak. That door too slit creaking, asking to be shut. Everything speaks in its own way. Slit. Page 115
Bloom observes the sounds and actions of the printing press. He focuses on the specific sound "Slit," which he repeats. He personifies the machine and a door, seeing them as "Almost human" and "Doing its level best to speak," suggesting that even inanimate objects have a form of communication or presence ("Everything speaks in its own way."). The repetition of "Slit" emphasizes the distinct sound of the machine cutting the paper.
On swift sail flaming From storm and south He comes, pale vampire, Mouth to my mouth. Page 124
This is the short poem Stephen wrote on the torn corner of Mr. Deasy's letter (recalled from page 55). It uses vivid, slightly unsettling imagery ("swift sail flaming," "pale vampire") and focuses on a physical, intense encounter ("Mouth to my mouth"). The "pale vampire" image is open to interpretation, possibly representing death, a draining relationship, or a darker aspect of desire.
-We were always loyal to lost causes, the professor said. Success for us is the death of the intellect and of the imagination. We were never loyal to the successful. We serve them. I teach the blatant Latin language. I speak the tongue of a race the acme of whose mentality is the maxim: time is money. Material domination. Domine! Lord! Where is the spirituality? Lord Jesus? Lord Salisbury? A sofa in a westend club. But the Greek! Page 125
Professor MacHugh, in the library, speaks about Irish national character, suggesting a historical inclination towards supporting "lost causes." He contrasts Irish intellect and imagination with English pragmatism and materialism ("time is money," "Material domination"). He expresses frustration with teaching Latin, which he sees as the language of the dominant, materialistic English ("a race the acme of whose mentality is the maxim: time is money"). He contrasts this with Greek, which he implies represents spirituality or higher thought. The sequence "Domine! Lord! Lord Jesus? Lord Salisbury?" plays on the religious invocation of "Lord" versus the political figure Lord Salisbury, highlighting the perceived gap between spiritual and secular power.
And in the porches of mine ear did pour. Page 129
This is a direct quote from Shakespeare's Hamlet (Act 1, Scene 5). It is spoken by the Ghost of Hamlet's father, describing how he was murdered by Claudius pouring poison into his ear while he slept. This line is significant to Stephen's Shakespeare theory about paternity and betrayal. Its appearance here, possibly recalled by Stephen or MacHugh, reinforces its importance in the literary discussion.
He raised his head firmly. His eyes bethought themselves once .more. Witless shellfish swam in the gross lenses to and fro, seeking outlet. He began: -Mr chairman, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my admiration in listening to the remark.I addressed to the youth of Ireland a moment since by my 830 learned friend. It seemed to me that I had been transported into a country far Page 131
This is the beginning of Stephen's extended speech in the library (the Scylla and Charybdis episode). He adopts a formal, oratorical style, addressing an imagined audience ("Mr chairman, ladies and gentlemen"). The preceding internal thought about his eyes and "Witless shellfish" suggests a moment of intense focus or perhaps a slight detachment before he begins speaking. He frames his speech as a response to a remark by "my learned friend" (likely MacHugh or another person present).
away from this country, into an age remote from this age, that I stood in ancient Egypt and that I was listening to the speech of some highpriest of that land addressed to the youthful Moses. His listeners held their cigarettes poised to hear, their smokes ascending in frail stalks that flowered with his speech. And let our crooked smokes. Noble words coming. Look out. Could you try your hand at it yourself? -And it seemed to me that I heard the voice of that Egyptian highpriest raised in a tone of like haughtiness and like pride. I heard his words and their meaning was revealed to me Page 132
Stephen continues his parable, setting it in "ancient Egypt." He imagines an Egyptian highpriest speaking to the youthful Moses, contrasting the power and pride of Egypt with the humble state of the Israelites. The description of the listeners' cigarette smoke "ascending in frail stalks that flowered with his speech" is a brief, poetic image within the narrative of the speech itself, linking the mundane present activity to the elevated historical narrative.
FROM THE FATHERS Page 132
This brief line appears within Stephen's speech, possibly indicating a source or section heading he is referencing, likely from theological or philosophical texts ("The Fathers" often refers to early Christian theologians).
It was revealed to me that those things are good which yet are corrupted which neither if they were supremely good nor unless they were good could be corrupted. Ah, curse you! That's saint Augustine. -W~ will you Jews not accept our culture, our religion and our language? You are a tribe of nomad herdsmen: we are a mighty people. You have no cities nor no wealth: our cities are hives of humanity and our galleys, trireme and quadrireme, laden with all manner merchandise furrow the waters of the known globe. You have but emerged from primitive conditions: we have a literature, a priesthood, an agelong history and a polity. 850 Nile. Child, man, effigy. By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man supple in combat: stonehorned, stonebearded, heart of stone. -You pray to a local and obscure idol: our temples, majestic and mysterious, are the abodes of Isis and Osiris, of Horus and Ammon Ra. Yours serfdom, awe and humbleness: ours thunder and the seas Israel is weak and few are her children: Egypt is an host and terrible are her arms Vagrants and daylabourers are you called: the world trembles at our name A dumb belch of hunger cleft his speech. He lifted his voice above it 860 boldly: -But, ladies and gentlemen, had the youthful Moses listened to and accepted that view of life, had he bowed his head and bowed his will and bowed his spirit before that arrogant admonition he would never have brought the chosen people out of their house of bondage, nor followed the pillar of the cloud by day. He would never have spoken with the Eternal amid lightnings on Sinai's mountaintop nor ever have come down with the light of inspiration shining in his countenance and bearing in his arms the tables of the law, graven in the language of the outlaw. He ceased and looked at them, enjoying a silence. Page 132
Stephen delivers the core of the highpriest's speech, which contrasts the material wealth, power, and ancient culture of Egypt with the perceived poverty, lack of history, and "obscure" religion of the Jewish people. He quotes Saint Augustine ("those things are good which yet are corrupted..."), connecting the ancient conflict to philosophical ideas about good and evil. The speech is a thinly veiled allegory for Ireland's relationship with England and the struggle against cultural and political dominance. Stephen then gives Moses' response, emphasizing his rejection of this arrogant worldview as the act that allowed him to lead his people to freedom and receive the Law, highlighting the power of spiritual resistance over material subservience. The phrase "language of the outlaw" refers to Hebrew, suggesting it was marginalized by the dominant Egyptian culture.
K. M. R. I. A. -He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford cried loudly over his shoulder. Any time he likes, tell him. While Mr Bloom stood weighing the point and about to smile he strode on jerkily. Page 136
Myles Crawford, the newspaper editor, reacts crudely and loudly to Stephen's high-minded speech. His vulgar phrase "He can kiss my royal Irish arse" provides a stark contrast to Stephen's intellectual discourse, representing a more earthy, anti-intellectual Irish sensibility. The abbreviation "K. M. R. I. A." stands for the phrase. Bloom observes this interaction, suggesting his presence and perspective in this scene.
At various points along the eight lines tramcars with motionless trolleys stood in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, Rathfarnham, Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Sandymount Green, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Donnybrook, Palmerston Park and Upper Rathmines, all still, becalmed in short circuit. Hackney cars, cabs, delivery waggons, mailvans, private broughams, aerated mineral water floats with rattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled, horsedra wn, rapidly. Page 137
This passage provides a detailed, almost catalog-like description of Dublin street traffic. It highlights the paralysis caused by stalled tramcars ("becalmed in short circuit") and contrasts it with the rapid movement of other horse-drawn vehicles. The listing of specific Dublin place names and vehicle types creates a strong sense of realism and place, immersing the reader in the city's environment on June 16, 1904.
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Good idea that. Wonder if he pays rent to the corporation. How can you own water really? It's always flowing in a stream, never the same, which in the stream of life we trace. Because life is a stream. All kinds of places are good for ads. Page 141
Bloom observes something related to advertising and water, leading him to question the abstract concept of owning a natural resource like flowing water ("How can you own water really?"). He links the ever-changing nature of a stream to the philosophical idea that "life is a stream" (alluding to Heraclitus's philosophy). He then brings the thought back to his profession, noting that diverse locations are suitable for advertising.
Only big words for ordinary things on account of the sound. Page 141
Bloom's brief, critical observation on the use of complex language ("big words") to describe simple things. He suggests this is done purely for effect ("on account of the sound"), perhaps reflecting on jargon, pretentious language, or even the stylistic excesses he encounters in writing.
I suggested to him about a transparent showcart with two smart girls sitting inside writing letters, copybooks, envelopes, blottingpaper. I bet that would have caught on. Smart girls writing something catch the eye at once. Everyone dying to know what she's writing. Get twenty of them round you if you stare at nothing. Have a finger in the pie. Women too. Curiosity. Pillar of salt. Wouldn't have it of course because he didn't think of it himself first. Or the inkbottle I suggested with a false stain of black celluloid. His ideas for ads like Plumtree's potted under the obituaries, cold meat department. You can't lick 'em. What? Our envelopes. Hello, Jones, where are you going? Can't 140 stop, Robinson, I am hastening to purchase the only reliable inkeraser Kanse/1, sold by Hely's Ltd, 8 5 Dame street. Page 142
Bloom recounts some of his innovative, visually-driven advertising ideas ("transparent showcart with two smart girls writing letters") that were rejected, believing they would have been successful due to appealing to curiosity. He contrasts his ideas with what he sees as poor advertising placements ("Plumtree's potted under the obituaries," "cold meat department") and bad slogans ("You can't lick 'em. What? Our envelopes." - a confusing double meaning). He includes a short, fictional dialogue advertising an eraser ("Kanse/1, sold by Hely's Ltd"), mimicking the style of advertising jingles or sketches. His frustration stems from his ideas not being adopted and others' lack of creativity, often attributed to petty reasons like not thinking of it first.
Happy. Happier then. Snug little room that was with the red wallpaper. Dockrell's, one and ninepence a dozen. Milly's tubbing night. American soap I bought: elderflower. Cosy smell of her bathwater. Funny she looked soaped all over. Shapely too. Now photography. Poor papa's daguerreotype atelier he told me of. Hereditary taste. Page 143
Bloom drifts into a nostalgic memory of a happier time, focusing on domestic details: a "snug little room" with red wallpaper, the cost of the wallpaper, and the weekly routine of his daughter Milly's bath night. He recalls sensory details like the smell of her bathwater and notes her appearance ("Funny she looked soaped all over. Shapely too."). The thought shifts to photography and his father's profession as a daguerreotypist, suggesting that his own visual interests (like advertising) might be an "Hereditary taste."
Hot mockturtle vapour and steam of newbaked jampuffs rolypoly poured out from Harrison's. The heavy noonreek tickled the top of Mr Bloom's gullet. Want to make good pastry, butter, best flour, Demerara sugar, or they'd taste it with the hot tea. Or is it from her? A barefoot arab stood over the grating, breathing in the fumes. Deaden the gnaw of hunger that way. Pleasure or pain is it? Penny dinner. Knife and fork chained to the table. Page 144
Bloom is assaulted by the strong smells coming from Harrison's restaurant ("Hot mockturtle vapour," "steam of newbaked jampuffs rolypoly," "heavy noonreek"). These smells trigger thoughts about the ingredients needed for good baking. He observes a "barefoot arab" (likely an impoverished person) inhaling the fumes, speculating that they might be trying to alleviate hunger ("Deaden the gnaw of hunger"). He questions whether this experience is "Pleasure or pain." The detail about chained cutlery ("Knife and fork chained to the table") highlights the cheap, basic nature of the "Penny dinner" offered there.
-Woke me up in the night, she said. Dream he had, a nightmare. Indiges. -Said the ace of spades was walking up the stairs. -The ace of spades! Mr Bloom said. She took a folded postcard from her handbag. -Read that, she said. He got it this morning. Page 144
-What is it? Mr Bloom asked, taking the card. U. P.? -U. p: up, she said. Someone taking a rise out of him. It's a great shame for them whoever he is. 260 -Indeed it is, Mr Bloom said. Page 145
Bloom encounters Mrs. Purefoy (or someone reporting on her husband), who describes her husband's nightmare about "the ace of spades was walking up the stairs." The ace of spades is traditionally associated with death or bad luck. She then shows Bloom a postcard simply marked "U. P." She interprets it as someone making fun of or provoking her husband ("Someone taking a rise out of him"). While seemingly a minor detail, "U.P." is open to interpretation and may relate to the planned meeting between Boylan and Molly ("Up" as in the game is up, or possibly referencing 'Up Parnell'). Bloom's reaction is sympathetic.
Sss. Dth, dth, dth! Three days imagine groaning on a bed with a vinegared handkerchief round her forehead, her belly swollen out. Phew! Dreadful simply! Child's head too big: forceps. Doubled up inside her trying to butt its way out blindly, groping for the way out. Kill me that would. Lucky Molly got over hers lightly. They ought to invent something to stop that. Life with hard labour. Twilight sleep idea: queen Victoria was given that. Nine she had. A good layer. Old woman that lived in a shoe she 380 had so many children. Suppose he was consumptive. Time someone thought about it instead of gassing about the what was it the pensive bosom of the silver effulgence. Flapdoodle to feed fools on. They could easily have big establishments whole thing quite painless out of all the taxes give every child born five quid at compound interest up to twentyone five per cent is a hundred shillings and five tiresome pounds multiply by twenty decimal system encourage people to put by money save hundred and ten and a bit twentyone years want to work it out on paper come to a tidy sum more than you think. Page 147
Bloom's thoughts focus on the pain and difficulty of childbirth, likely triggered by hearing about Mrs. Purefoy's prolonged labor. His description is visceral and empathetic ("groaning," "belly swollen out," "Child's head too big," "trying to butt its way out"). He expresses relief that Molly had an easier experience and wishes for an invention to alleviate childbirth pain. He mentions "Twilight sleep" (a form of anaesthesia) used by Queen Victoria. He contrasts these practical concerns with what he sees as meaningless poetic language ("the pensive bosom of the silver effulgence. Flapdoodle to feed fools on."). His mind then shifts to a complex, detailed financial scheme for providing a sum of money to every child born, demonstrating his interest in social welfare and practical calculations, contrasting starkly with the abstract poetic phrase he dismissed.
A squad of constables debouched from College street, marching in Indian file. Goosestep. Foodheated faces, sweating helmets, patting their truncheons. After their feed with a good load of fat soup under their belts. Policeman's lot is oft a happy one. They split up in groups and scattered, saluting, towards their beats. Let out to graze. Best moment to attack one in 4 to pudding time. A punch in his dinner. A squad of others, marching irregularly, rounded Trinity railings making for the station. Bound for their troughs. Prepare to receive cavalry. Prepare to receive soup. Page 148
Bloom observes a group of police officers marching. His description is critical and somewhat mocking, focusing on their physicality ("Foodheated faces, sweating helmets," "fat soup under their belts") and comparing their movements to animals or military maneuvers ("Indian file. Goosestep," "Let out to graze," "Prepare to receive cavalry."). He parodies a line from a song ("Policeman's lot is oft a happy one," from Gilbert and Sullivan's The Pirates of Penzance), adding an ironic twist. The repeated military-style phrases related to food ("Prepare to receive soup," "Bound for their troughs") reduce the officers to simple, base needs, reflecting a dismissive view of authority.
Silly billies: mob of young cubs yelling their guts out. Vinegar hill. The Butter exchange band. Few years' time half of them magistrates and civil servants. War comes on: into the army helterskelter: same fellows used 440 to. Whether on the scaffold high. You must have a certain fascination: Parnell. Arthur Griffith is a squareheaded fellow but he has no go in him for the mob. Or gas about our lovely land. Gammon and spinach. Dublin Bakery Company's tearoom. Debating societies. That republicanism is the best form of government. That the language question should take precedence of the economic question. Have your daughters inveigling them to your house. Stuff them up with meat and drink. Michaelmas goose. Here's a good lump of thyme seasoning under the apron for you. Have another quart of goosegrease 410 before it gets too cold. Halffed enthusiasts. Penny roll and a walk with the band. No grace for the carver. The thought that the other chap pays best sauce in the world. Make themselves thoroughly at home. Show us over those apricots, meaning peaches. The not far distant day. Homerule sun rising up in the northwest. Page 149
His smile faded as he walked, a heavy cloud hiding the sun slowly, shadowing Trinity's surly front. Trams passed one another, ingoing, outgoing, clanging. Useless words. Things go on same, day after day: squads of police marching out, back: trams in, out. Those two loonies mooching about. Dignam carted off. Mina Purefoy swollen belly on a bed 480 groaning to have a child tugged out of her. One born every second somewhere. Other dying every second. Since I fed the birds five minutes. Page 149
Bloom's thoughts combine observations of young people ("Silly billies: mob of young cubs yelling") potentially involved in politics or demonstrations (allusions to Vinegar Hill, a historical battle site associated with rebellion; the Butter Exchange band). He cynically predicts their future conformity ("magistrates and civil servants," joining the army). He mentions the patriotic song "Whether on the scaffold high," associated with Irish martyrs. He then reflects on political figures, contrasting Parnell's "fascination" with Arthur Griffith's perceived lack of charisma ("no go in him for the mob"). He dismisses political rhetoric as "gas about our lovely land. Gammon and spinach" (an idiom for nonsense). He pictures political discussions happening in tearooms and debating societies, focusing on typical Irish political debates (republicanism, language vs. economic questions). His thoughts turn to the social aspect, imagining people (like parents) using hospitality ("Stuff them up with meat and drink") to influence young enthusiasts. He caricatures their behavior and uses food imagery ("Michaelmas goose," "goosegrease"). He mockingly thinks about their entitled attitude ("The thought that the other chap pays best sauce in the world"). The phrase "Homerule sun rising up in the northwest" is geographically incorrect for a sunrise and possibly symbolic of the flawed or unrealistic nature of the Irish Home Rule movement. The second part of the highlight shifts his mood and focus, as a cloud covers the sun, leading him to reflect on the unchanging, repetitive nature of life despite all the activity and talk ("Useless words. Things go on same, day after day"). He lists the cyclical events of the city (police, trams) and the personal cycles of life and death (Dignam's funeral, Mrs. Purefoy's labor, births and deaths happening constantly).
Three hundred kicked the bucket. Other three hundred born, washing the blood off, all are washed in the blood of the lamb, bawling maaaaaa. Page 150
Bloom continues his reflection on the constant cycle of birth and death. He uses a colloquialism for dying ("kicked the bucket"). He juxtaposes the numbers of people dying and being born. The phrase "washed in the blood of the lamb" is a religious allusion (Revelation 7:14, referring to salvation through Christ), applied ironically to the physical cleansing of newborns. The onomatopoeia "bawling maaaaaa" combines the sound of a crying baby with the bleating of a lamb, linking birth to both innocence and sacrifice in a darkly humorous way.
Cityful passing away, other cityful coming, passing away too: other coming on, passing on. Houses, lines of houses, streets, miles of pavements, piledup bricks, stones. Changing hands. This owner, that. Landlord never dies they say. Other steps into his shoes when he gets his notice to quit. They buy the place up with gold and still they have all the gold. Swindle in it somewhere. Piled up in cities, worn away age after age. Pyramids in sand. Built on bread and onions. Slaves Chinese wall. Babylon. Big stones left. 490 Round towers. Rest rubble, sprawling suburbs, jerrybuilt. Kerwan's mushroom houses built of breeze. Shelter, for the night. No-one is anything. Page 150
Bloom contemplates the city as a constantly changing entity, with generations of people ("Cityful passing away, other cityful coming"). He thinks about property and ownership, noting that buildings change hands but the concept of the "landlord" persists. He suspects a "Swindle in it somewhere" related to wealth accumulation. He compares the city's structures, built up and then decaying, to ancient civilizations and their monumental remnants (Pyramids, Chinese Wall, Babylon, Round towers). He contrasts the permanence of ancient stones with the ephemeral nature of modern, poorly constructed buildings ("jerrybuilt. Kerwan's mushroom houses"). The reflection culminates in a sense of transience and meaninglessness regarding individual identity ("No-one is anything.").
-Of the twoheaded octopus, one of whose heads is the head upon which 520 the ends of the world have forgotten to come while the other speaks with a Scotch accent. The tentacles .... Page 150
This is a metaphorical description, likely spoken by Stephen Dedalus or another character in the library scene, possibly referring to a complex person (perhaps Buck Mulligan or Haines) or entity. The image of a "twoheaded octopus" suggests something multifaceted or contradictory. One head is associated with stagnation or waiting for apocalyptic events ("ends of the world have forgotten to come"), while the other has a specific, identifiable characteristic ("speaks with a Scotch accent," likely referring to Haines). The thought trails off, leaving the nature of the "tentacles" ambiguous.
Her stockings are loose over her ankles. I detest that: so tasteless. Those literary etherial people they are all. Dreamy, cloudy, symbolistic. Esthetes they are. I wouldn't be surprised if it was that kind of food you see produces the like waves of the brain the poetical. For example one of those policemen sweating Irish stew into their shirts you couldn't squeeze a line of poetry out of him. Don't know what poetry is even. Must be in a certain mood. The dreamy cloudy gull 550 Waves o'er the water.r dull. Page 151
Bloom notices a woman's appearance (loose stockings), which he finds unappealing. This triggers a train of thought about "literary etherial people," whom he characterizes negatively ("Dreamy, cloudy, symbolistic. Esthetes"). He speculates humorously that their diet might influence their poetic output, contrasting them with a policeman who eats "Irish stew," implying such a person is incapable of poetry. He seems to mock the idea that poetry requires a specific, perhaps effete, disposition. He ends by quoting or parodying a bad, clichéd line of poetry ("The dreamy cloudy gull Waves o'er the water.r dull"), reinforcing his critical view of a certain type of aestheticism.
Never know anything about it. Waste of time. Gasballs spinning about, crossing each other, passing. Same old dingdong always. Gas: then solid: then world: then cold: then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock, like that pineapple rock. The moon. Must be a new moon out, she said. I believe there is. Page 152
Wait. The full moon was the night we were Sunday fortnight exactly there is a new moon. Walking down by the Tolka. Not bad for a Fairview moon. She was humming. The young May moon she's beaming, love. He other side of her. Elbow, arm. He. Glowworm's la-amp is gleaming, love. 590 Touch. Fingers. Asking. Answer. Yes. Stop. Stop. If it was it was. Must. Page 152
I was happier then. Or was that I? Or am I now I? Twentyeight I was. She twentythree. When we left Lombard street west something changed. Could never like it again after Rudy. Can't bring back time. Like holding 610 water in your hand. Would you go back to then? Just beginning then. Would you? Are you not happy in your home you poor little naughty boy? Wants to sew on buttons for me. I must answer. Write it in the library. Page 152
Bloom's thoughts on astronomy ("Gasballs spinning about") lead him to dismiss the vastness of space as ultimately meaningless repetition ("Same old dingdong always"). He follows a speculative cosmic cycle ("Gas: then solid: then world: then cold: then dead shell drifting around"). The thought of the moon triggers a memory of Molly ("she said") and the moon's phase. This leads to a more detailed, bittersweet memory of a past evening walk with Molly ("Walking down by the Tolka," "The young May moon she's beaming, love" - quoting a song by Thomas Moore). The memory is sensual and physical ("Touch. Fingers. Asking. Answer. Yes.") but ends abruptly, perhaps because it's painful or reminds him of loss. He then reflects explicitly on the past and present self ("I was happier then. Or was that I? Or am I now I?"), pinpointing the change in their relationship to moving house ("When we left Lombard street west something changed") and especially the death of their infant son, Rudy ("Could never like it again after Rudy"). He muses on the irreversibility of time ("Can't bring back time. Like holding water in your hand."). A sudden domestic thought interrupts ("Wants to sew on buttons for me"), bringing him back to the present and his need to respond to a request from Molly.
Useless to go back. Had to be. Tell me all. High voices. Sunwarm silk. Jingling harnesses. All for a woman, home and houses, silkwebs, silver, rich fruits spicy from Jaffa. Agendath Netaim. Wealth of the world. A warm human plumpness settled down on his brain. His brain yielded. Perfume of embraces all him assailed. With hungered flesh obscurely, he mutely craved to adore. 640 Duke street. Here we are. Must eat. The Burton. Feel better then. He turned Combridge's corner, still pursued. Jingling, hoofthuds. Perfumed bodies, warm, full. All kissed, yielded: in deep summer fields, tangled pressed grass, in trickling hallways of tenements, along sofas, creaking beds. -Jack, love! -Darling! -Kiss me, Reggy! -My boy! -Love! Page 153
Following his reflection on the past, Bloom acknowledges the futility of dwelling there ("Useless to go back"). His thoughts then shift to a desire for escape and sensual indulgence, triggered by sounds and images ("High voices. Sunwarm silk. Jingling harnesses"). He fantasizes about acquiring wealth and luxury ("All for a woman, home and houses, silkwebs, silver, rich fruits spicy from Jaffa," "Wealth of the world"). "Agendath Netaim" (Plantation Society) was a Zionist group buying land in Palestine, linking this fantasy to his Jewish identity and a longing for a homeland or prosperity, possibly for Molly. This leads to explicit sensual and erotic thoughts ("warm human plumpness," "Perfume of embraces," "hungered flesh," "Kissed, yielded...along sofas, creaking beds") and imagined romantic dialogue ("-Jack, love!"). These fantasies occur as he walks towards the Burton restaurant, driven by hunger, blending his need for physical sustenance with deeper longings. The sounds of horses and harness bells ("Jingling, hoofthuds") seem to pursue or accompany these thoughts.
His heart astir he pushed in the door of the Burton restaurant. Stink gripped his trembling breath: pungent meatjuice, slush of greens. See the animals feed. Men, men, men. Perched on high stools by the bar, hats shoved back, at the tables calling for more bread no charge, swilling, wolfing gobfuls of sloppy food, their eyes bulging, wiping wetted moustaches. A pallid suetfaced young man polished his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his napkin. New set of microbes. A man with an infant's saucestained napkin tucked round him shovelled gurgling soup down his gullet. A man spitting back on his plate: 660 halfmasticated gristle: gums: no teeth to chewchewchew it. Chump chop Page 153
Bloom enters the Burton restaurant and is immediately overwhelmed by the smells ("Stink," "pungent meatjuice"). His observation of the diners is critical and dehumanizing; he sees them as animals feeding ("See the animals feed. Men, men, men."). He describes their eating habits with disgust, focusing on messy, gluttonous behavior ("swilling, wolfing gobfuls," "eyes bulging," "shovelled gurgling soup," "spitting back on his plate," "halfmasticated gristle"). His thought about "New set of microbes" reflects his concern for hygiene. This passage vividly portrays Bloom's alienation from the scene and his fastidious nature.
from the grill. Bolting to get it over. Sad booser's eyes. Bitten off more than he can chew. Am I like that? See ourselves as others see us. Hungry man is an angry man. Working tooth and jaw. Don't! O! A bone! That last pagan king of Ireland Cormac in the schoolpoem choked himself at Sletty southward of the Boyne. Wonder what he was eating. Something galoptious. Saint Patrick converted him to Christianity. Couldn't swallow it all however. Page 154
Bloom continues observing the diners, noting their hurried eating ("Bolting to get it over"). He briefly reflects on himself ("Am I like that? See ourselves as others see us.") and uses common idioms ("Hungry man is an angry man," "Bitten off more than he can chew"). His thought about a discarded bone leads to an allusion to Cormac Mac Airt, a legendary Irish king. The anecdote, likely from a school text ("schoolpoem"), describes Cormac choking to death. Bloom's retelling humorously connects the physical act of choking on food with the historical/religious narrative of Saint Patrick attempting to convert him ("Couldn't swallow it all however" is a pun, linking swallowing food to accepting Christianity).
Smells of men. Spaton sawdust, sweetish warmish cigarettesmoke, 670 reek of plug, spilt beer, men's beery piss, the stale of ferment. His gorge rose. Couldn't eat a morsel here. Fellow sharpening knife and fork to eat all before him, old chap picking his tootles. Slight spasm, full, chewing the cud. Before and after. Grace after meals. Look on this picture then on that. Scoffing up stewgra vy with sopping sippets of bread. Lick it off the plate, man! Get out of this. Page 154
Bloom is overwhelmed by the unpleasant combination of smells in the restaurant, focusing on bodily odors and stale substances ("Smells of men," "Spaton sawdust," "reek of plug," "spilt beer," "men's beery piss," "stale of ferment"). This visceral reaction causes him physical nausea ("His gorge rose"). He continues to observe the diners with disgust, caricaturing their actions ("sharpening knife and fork," "picking his tootles," "Scoffing up stewgra vy with sopping sippets of bread. Lick it off the plate, man!"). He uses idioms ("chewing the cud," "Look on this picture then on that" - referencing Hamlet's ghost comparing Claudius to King Hamlet). His intense revulsion leads him to decide to leave ("Get out of this.").
Other chap telling him something with his mouth full. Sympathetic listener. Table talk. I munched hum un thu Unchster Bunk un Munchday. Ha? Did you, faith? Page 154
Bloom observes a conversation between two diners, focusing on the physical act of speaking while eating ("telling him something with his mouth full"). He parodies the muffled, indistinct sound of speech in this state ("I munched hum un thu Unchster Bunk un Munchday," meaning something like "I munched him on the Ulster Bank on Monday"). This provides a moment of comic realism and highlights the less refined aspects of social interaction.
After all there's a lot in that vegetarian fine flavour of things from the earth garlic of course it stinks after Italian organgrinders crisp of onions mushrooms truffles. Pain to the animal too. Pluck and draw fowl. Wretched brutes there at the cattlemarket waiting for the poleaxe to split their skulls open. Moo. Poor trembling calves. Meh. Staggering bob. Bubble and squeak. Butchers' buckets wobbly lights. Give us that brisket off the hook. Plup. Rawhead and bloody bones. Flayed glasseyed sheep hung from their haunches, sheepsnouts bloodypapered snivelling nosejam on sawdust. Top and lashers going out. Don't maul them pieces, young one. Hot fresh blood they prescribe for decline. Blood always needed. 730 Insidious. Lick it up smokinghot, thick sugary. Famished ghosts. Page 155
Bloom continues his broad contemplation of food, beginning with a consideration of vegetarianism and the flavors of vegetables. He then shifts to the production of meat, with visceral and somewhat disturbing descriptions of animal slaughter ("Pain to the animal too," "poleaxe to split their skulls open," "Flayed glasseyed sheep"). He lists various meat dishes or cuts ("Staggering bob," "Bubble and squeak," "brisket," "Rawhead and bloody bones") and notes the sight of carcasses ("Butchers' buckets wobbly lights," "sheepsnouts bloodypapered snivelling nosejam on sawdust"). He touches on the idea of blood as a tonic ("Hot fresh blood they prescribe for decline") and ends with the chilling image of "Famished ghosts" perhaps craving this life-giving substance. This passage is a dense collection of sensory details, empathy for animals, and thoughts on the raw reality of meat consumption.
Mild fire of wine kindled his veins. I wanted that badly. Felt so off colour. His eyes unhungrily saw shelves of tins: sardines, gaudy lobsters' claws. All the odd things people pick up for food. Out of shells, periwinkles with a pin, off trees, snails out of the ground the French eat, out of the sea with bait on a hook. Silly fish learn nothing in a thousand years. If you didn't know risky putting anything into your mouth. Poisonous berries. Johnny Magories. Roundness you think good. Gaudy colour warns you 860 off. One fellow told another and so on. Try it on the dog first. Led on by the smell or the look. Tempting fruit. Ice cones. Cream. Instinct. Orangegroves for instance. Need artificial irrigation. Bleibtreustrasse. Yes but what about oysters. Unsightly like a clot of phlegm. Filthy shells. Devil to open them too. Who found them out? Garbage, sewage they feed on. Fizz and Red bank oysters. Effect on the sexual. Aphrodis. He was in the Red Bank this morning. Was he oysters old fish at table perhaps he young flesh in bed no June has no ar no oysters. But there are people like things high. Tainted game. Jugged hare. First catch your hare. Chinese eating eggs fifty years old, blue and green again. Dinner of thirty courses. Each dish harmless 870 might mix inside. Idea for a poison mystery. That archduke Leopold was it no yes or was it Otto one of those Habsburgs? Or who was it used to eat the scruff off his own head? Cheapest lunch in town. Of course aristocrats, then the others copy to be in the fashion. Milly too rock oil and flour. Raw pastry I like myself. Half the catch of oysters they throw back in the sea to keep up the price. Cheap no-one would buy. Caviare. Do the grand. Hock in green glasses. Swell blowout. Lady this. Powdered bosom pearls. The elite. Creme de la creme. They want special dishes to pretend they're. Hermit with a platter of pulse keep down the stings of the flesh. Know me come eat with me. Royal sturgeon high sheriff, Coffey, the butcher, right to 880 venisons of the forest from his ex. Send him back the half of a cow. Spread I saw down in the Master of the Rolls' kitchen area. Whitehatted chef like a rabbi. Combustible duck. Curly cabbage a la dllchesse de Parme. Just as well to write it on the bill of fare so you can know what you've eaten. Too Page 158
many drugs spoil the broth. I know it myself. Dosing it with Edwards' desiccated soup. Geese stuffed silly for them. Lobsters boiled alive. Do ptake some ptarmigan. Wouldn't mind being a waiter in a swell hotel. Tips, evening dress, halfnaked ladies. May I tempt you to a little more filleted lemon sole, miss Dubedat? Yes, do bedad. And she did bedad. Huguenot 890 name I expect that. A miss Dubedat lived in Killiney, I remember. Du de la French. Still it's the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon of Moore street ripped the guts out of making money hand over fist finger in fishes' gills can't write his name on a cheque think he was painting the landscape with his mouth twisted. Moooikill A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a kish of brogues, worth fifty thousand pounds. Page 159
After drinking wine, Bloom's thoughts on food become more expansive and associative. He surveys the variety of foods people eat and ponders their origins and how they were discovered (from shells, trees, the ground, the sea). He humorously questions who first decided to eat things like oysters ("Unsightly like a clot of phlegm," "Garbage, sewage they feed on") and notes their reputed aphrodisiac effect ("Aphrodis"). He connects oysters to a place he visited ("Red Bank this morning") and a common saying about the season ("June has no ar no oysters"). He thinks about preferences for "high" or tainted game ("Tainted game. Jugged hare"). He considers exotic foods (Chinese aged eggs) and elaborate meals ("Dinner of thirty courses"), linking them to wealth and aristocratic habits ("The elite. Creme de la creme. They want special dishes to pretend they're."). He contrasts this with ascetic diets ("Hermit with a platter of pulse") and the practical reality of obtaining food (venison rights, the butcher). He describes kitchen scenes and fancy menu items ("Curly cabbage a la dllchesse de Parme"). He considers the effects of too many different foods or ingredients ("Too many drugs spoil the broth"). He momentarily imagines being a waiter in a fancy hotel, interacting with wealthy patrons ("halfnaked ladies"), and uses a playful dialogue involving a potential pun on a French-sounding name ("miss Dubedat," "Yes, do bedad"). He ends by thinking about the fish trade and the wealth accumulated by seemingly uneducated people ("old Micky Hanlon of Moore street...can't write his name on a cheque...worth fifty thousand pounds"), contrasting status and wealth with origin and manners. This long internal monologue covers a vast range of topics related to food, culture, class, and human appetites.
Touched his sense moistened remembered. Hidden 900 under wild ferns on Howth below us bay sleeping: sky. No sound. The sky. The bay purple by the Lion's head. Green by Drumleck. Yellowgreen towards Sutton. Fields of undersea, the lines faint brown in grass, buried cities. Pillowed on my coat she had her hair, earwigs in the heather scrub my hand under her nape, you'll toss me all. 0 wonder! Coolsoft with ointments her hand touched me, caressed: her eyes upon me did not turn away. Ravished over her I lay, full lips full open, kissed her mouth. Yum. Softly she gave me in my mouth the seedcake warm and chewed. Mawkish pulp her mouth had mumbled sweetsour of her spittle. Joy: I ate it: joy. Young life, her lips that gave me pouting. Soft warm sticky gumjelly lips. 9 to Flowers her eyes were, take me, willing eyes. Pebbles fell. She lay still. A goat. No-one. High on Ben Howth rhododendrons a nannygoat walking surefooted, dropping currants. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded. Wildly I lay on her, kissed her: eyes, her lips, her stretched neck beating, woman's breasts full in her blouse of nun's veiling, fat nipples upright. Hot I tongued her. She kissed me. I was kissed. All yielding she tossed my hair. Kissed, she kissed me. Me. And me now. Stuck, the flies buzzed. Page 159
This is Bloom's most famous and sensual memory, recalling an intimate encounter with Molly on Howth hill. The description is highly sensory, detailing the sights (colors of the bay, sky), sounds (silence), and touch ("Coolsoft with ointments," "hand touched me, caressed," "Pillowed on my coat"). A central, slightly unusual detail is Molly giving him a piece of chewed seedcake ("seedcake warm and chewed. Mawkish pulp her mouth had mumbled sweetsour of her spittle"), which he ate, experiencing "Joy." This act is both tender and slightly off-putting, blending intimacy with bodily fluids. The memory moves into more explicit details of their physical encounter ("Ravished over her I lay," "kissed her mouth," "woman's breasts full...fat nipples upright," "Hot I tongued her"). The presence of a goat is a momentary, slightly surreal interjection, common in Joyce's style. The memory is intense and clearly significant to Bloom, representing a peak moment of connection and sensuality with Molly. It ends abruptly, pulled back to the less pleasant reality of the present ("Stuck, the flies buzzed.").
Nectar imagine it drinking electricity: gods' food. Lovely forms of women sculped Junonian. Immortal lovely. And we stuffing food in one hole and out behind: food, chyle, blood, dung, Page 159
Bloom contrasts idealized, divine concepts of sustenance and beauty ("Nectar," "gods' food," "Lovely forms of women sculped Junonian" - referencing Juno, Roman goddess of marriage and childbirth, known for beauty) with the crude reality of human digestion and excretion ("stuffing food in one hole and out behind: food, chyle, blood, dung"). This reflects a tension in his mind between elevated, aesthetic ideals and the undeniable, often unlovely, functions of the physical body.
earth, food: have to feed it like stoking an engine. They have no. Never 930 looked. I'll look today. Keeper won't see. Bend down let something drop. See if she. Page 160
Following the thought on digestion, Bloom continues the comparison of the body to an engine that needs fuel. His internal monologue shifts to a voyeuristic desire to observe female anatomy, seemingly resolving to attempt this ("I'll look today. Keeper won't see. Bend down let something drop. See if she."). This reveals his persistent sexual curiosity and willingness to act on it when he thinks he can get away with it.
They could: and watch it all the way down, swallow a pin sometimes come out of the ribs years after, tour round the body changing biliary duct spleen squirting liver gastric juice coils of intestines like pipes. But the poor buffer would have to stand all the time with his insides entrails on show. Science. Page 162
Bloom's morbid and scientific curiosity leads him to fantasize about being able to literally see inside the human body, watching food travel through the digestive system. He combines anatomical terms ("biliary duct spleen squirting liver gastric juice coils of intestines") with grotesque imagery ("swallow a pin sometimes come out of the ribs years after") and acknowledges the impracticality and horror of the idea ("poor buffer would have to stand all the time with his insides entrails on show"). His final thought "Science" dryly labels this macabre contemplation as a form of inquiry.
Stains on his coat. Slobbers his food, I suppose. Tastes all different for him. Have to be spoonfed first. Like a child's hand, his hand. Like Milly's was. Sensitive. Sizing me up I daresay from my hand. Wonder if he has a name. Van. Keep his cane clear of the horse's legs: tired drudge get his 11 oo doze. That's right. Clear. Behind a bull: in front of a horse. -Thanks, sir. Knows I'm a man. Voice. -Right now? First turn to the left. The blind stripling tapped the curbstone and went on his way, drawing his cane back, feeling again. Mr Bloom walked behind the eyeless feet, a flatcut suit of herringbone tweed. Poor young fellow! How on earth did he know that van was there? Must have felt it. See things in their forehead perhaps: kind of sense of Page 163
volume. Weight or size of it, something blacker than the dark. Wonder would he feel it if something was removed. Feel a gap. Queer idea of Dublin t t to he must have, tapping his way round by the stones. Could he walk in a beeline if he hadn't that cane? Bloodless pious face like a fellow going in to be a priest. Penrose! That was that chap's name. Look at all the things they can learn to do. Read with their fingers. Tune pianos. Or we are surprised they have any brains. Why we think a deformed person or a hunchback clever if he says something we might say. Of course the other senses are more. Embroider. Plait baskets. People ought to help. Workbasket I could buy for Molly's birthday. Hates sewing. Might take an objection. Dark men they call them. t t 20 Sense of smell must be stronger too. Smells on all sides, bunched together. Each street different smell. Each person too. Then the spring, the summer: smells. Tastes? They say you can't taste wines with your eyes shut or a cold in the head. Also smoke in the dark they say get no pleasure. And with a woman, for instance. More shameless not seeing. That girl passing the Stewart institution, head in the air. Look at me. I have them all on. Must be strange not to see her. Kind of a form in his mind's eye. The voice, temperatures: when he touches her with his fingers must almost see the lines, the curves. His hands on her hair, for instance. Say it was black, for instance. Good. We call it black. Then passing over her white skin. t t 30 Different feel perhaps. Feeling of white. Page 164
Poor fellow! Quite a boy. Terrible. Really terrible. What dreams would he have, not seeing? Life a dream for him. Where is the justice being born that way? All those women and children excursion beanfeast burned and drowned in New York. Holocaust. Karma they call that transmigration for sins you did in a past life the reincarnation met him pike hoses. Dear, dear, dear. Pity, of course: but somehow you can't cotton on to them someway. Page 164
Bloom encounters a blind man and helps him cross the street. His thoughts become an extended, empathetic, and curious meditation on the experience of being blind. He observes the man closely, noting his appearance and behavior ("Stains on his coat," "Slobbers his food," "Like a child's hand"). He speculates on how the blind perceive the world, considering heightened senses (touch, smell, hearing) and other forms of perception ("sense of volume," "something blacker than the dark"). He wonders about their mental maps of the city ("Queer idea of Dublin"). He thinks about the skills blind people develop ("Read with their fingers. Tune pianos. Embroider. Plait baskets.") and reflects on societal prejudice. His thoughts become sensual again as he imagines how a blind person would perceive a woman through touch ("Kind of a form in his mind's eye. The voice, temperatures...when he touches her with his fingers must almost see the lines, the curves."). He feels pity for the man ("Poor young fellow!"), questions the justice of such suffering ("Where is the justice being born that way?"), and links it to other tragedies, like the General Slocum steamboat disaster ("Holocaust"). He touches on philosophical/religious concepts like Karma and reincarnation ("metempsychosis," distorted to "met him pike hoses") but ultimately expresses a feeling of detachment or inability to fully comprehend their experience.
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Unsheathe your dagger definitions. Horseness is the whatness of allhorse. 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. Page 168
This passage contains Stephen's fragmented, poetic, and philosophical pronouncements in the library. He calls for clear definitions ("Unsheathe your dagger definitions"). He parodies scholastic philosophy with "Horseness is the whatness of allhorse" (referencing the philosophical problem of universals). He offers unconventional, sensory-based definitions: "God: noise in the street: very peripatetic" (linking God to the sounds of life and Aristotle's followers, who lectured while walking); "Space: what you damn well have to see." He includes a difficult allusion to William Blake ("Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity") which relates to perception, the infinite, and the physical body. He concludes with a key statement about time and existence: "Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past."
-What is ghost? Stephen said with tingling energy. One who has faded into impalpability through death, through absence, through change of manners. Page 169
Stephen offers a definition of a ghost that goes beyond simple physical death. He includes "absence" and "change of manners" as ways in which someone (or something) can fade into impalpability, suggesting that ghosts can be figures from the past who are no longer present in the current social or cultural landscape. This definition is relevant to his Shakespeare theory about the ghost of Hamlet's father and also to the idea of historical figures and traditions fading away.
I paid my way. I paid my way. Steady on. He's from beyant Boyne water. The northeast corner. You owe it. Wait. Five months. Molecules all change. I am other I now. Other I got pound. Buzz. Buzz. But I, entelechy, form of forms, am I by memory because under everchanging forms. 21 o I that sinned and prayed and fasted. A child Conmee saved from pandies. I, I and I. I. A. E.1. 0. U. Page 171
This is a fragmented internal monologue from Stephen. He asserts his independence ("I paid my way"). His thoughts jump to someone from the northeast ("He's from beyant Boyne water"), perhaps Haines. He thinks about debt ("You owe it. Wait. Five months."). He then returns to philosophical ideas about identity and change: though his physical body changes constantly ("Molecules all change. I am other I now"), his essential self persists through memory ("But I, entelechy, form of forms, am I by memory because under everchanging forms"), referencing Aristotle again ("entelechy, form of forms"). He lists religious actions ("sinned and prayed and fasted") and recalls a memory involving Father Conmee. The concluding "I, I and I. I. A. E.1. 0. U." emphasizes the self and uses the vowels, possibly symbolizing creation or Stephen's artistic identity (as seen in his earlier work, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man).
Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers. Isis Unveiled. Their Pali book we tried to pawn. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones an 2so Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their oversoul, mahamahatma. The faithful hermetists await the light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him. Louis H. Victory. T. Caulfield Irwin. Lotus ladies tend them i'the eyes, their pineal glands aglow. Filled with his god, he thrones, Buddh under plantain. Gulfer of souls, engulfer. Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls. Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they bewail. Page 172
Bloom observes a meeting of Theosophists ("Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers"), a spiritual movement drawing from various Eastern and Western traditions. His description is a blend of factual details (location, "Isis Unveiled" - a book by Helena Blavatsky) and cynical or humorous interpretations of Theosophical terms ("Pali book," "Aztec logos," "astral levels," "oversoul, mahamahatma," "chelaship," "pineal glands aglow," "Buddh under plantain"). He sees the leader as a "Gulfer of souls, engulfer" and describes the followers ("Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls") being absorbed into the movement with dramatic, sound-based language ("wailing creecries"). This passage mocks the jargon and perceived affectations of the group.
Coffined thoughts around me, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words. Thoth, god of libraries, a birdgod, moonycrowned. And I heard the voice of that Egyptian highpriest. In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks. Page 174
Stephen reflects on the books in the library, seeing them metaphorically as "Coffined thoughts," "mummycases," or "embalmed in spice of words," suggesting that recorded knowledge is preserved but perhaps also dead or static. He thinks of Thoth, the Egyptian god of writing, knowledge, and libraries ("birdgod," often depicted with an ibis head, "moonycrowned" due to his association with the moon god Khonsu), linking the library's function to ancient beliefs about knowledge. He recalls a line from his earlier Egyptian parable ("And I heard the voice of that Egyptian highpriest"), placing his own intellectual pursuits within this historical and mythological context. He describes the library setting ("In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks"), perhaps referencing tiled walls or the binding of books.
-As we, or mother 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 breast is where Page 174
it was when I was born, though all my body has been woven of new stuff 380 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, when the mind, Shelley says, is a fading coal, that which I was is that which I am and that which in possibility I may come to be. So in the future, the sister of the past, I may see myself as I sit here now but by reflection from that which then I shall be. Page 175
Stephen elaborates on his theory of the artist. He uses the metaphor of weaving ("weave and unweave our bodies") to describe both physical change (the constant renewal of cells, likened to "mother Dana," a Celtic goddess associated with the land and origin) and the artistic process ("so does the artist weave and unweave his image"). He uses his own body, specifically a mole, as an example of something that remains constant despite physical change, suggesting an enduring essence. This leads to his core idea about artistic paternity and identity: the artist (father) is revealed through their creation (the "image of the unliving son"). He incorporates an allusion to Percy Bysshe Shelley ("when the mind, Shelley says, is a fading coal" - from A Defence of Poetry), linking intense creative moments to a fleeting, dying state. He reflects on the nature of identity across time, seeing past, present, and future selves as connected ("that which I was is that which I am and that which in possibility I may come to be").
-There can be no reconciliation, Stephen said, if there has not been a sundering. Said that. 400 -If you want to know what are the events which cast their shadow over the hell of time 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 storms dire, Tried, like another Ulysses, Pericles, prince of Tyre? Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded. -A child, a girl, placed in his arms, Marina. Page 175
Stephen discusses themes of separation and reconciliation, particularly in Shakespeare's plays. He suggests that true reconciliation can only follow a separation or "sundering." He links the dark themes of Shakespeare's great tragedies (King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida) to underlying personal events in the author's life. He then contrasts these with the more optimistic later plays, using Pericles, Prince of Tyre as an example. He alludes to both Ulysses and Pericles as figures who suffer "shipwrecked in storms dire." The "redconecapped" description of Pericles refers to a specific visual detail from the play's opening. The resolution for Pericles comes with the rediscovery of his lost daughter, Marina, symbolizing reunion and healing ("A child, a girl, placed in his arms, Marina."). This supports Stephen's broader theory that Shakespeare's life is reflected in his works.
--That may be too, Stephen said. There's a saying of Goethe's which Mr 450 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 buonaroba, a bay where all men ride, a maid of honour with a scandalous girlhood, a lordling to woo for him? He was himself a lord of language and had made himself a coistrel gentleman and he had written Romeo and Juliet. Why? Belief in himself has been untimely killed. He was overborne in a cornfield first (a ryefield, I should say) and he will never be a victor in his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of laugh and lie down. Assumed dongiovannisrn will not save him. No later undoing will undo the first undoing. The tusk of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. If the shrew is 460 worsted yet 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 even his own understanding of himself. A like fate awaits him and the two rages commingle in a whirlpool. They list. And in the porches of their ears I pour. -The soul has been before stricken mortally, a poison poured in the porch of a sleeping ear. But those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the Page 176
manner of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that knowledge in the life to come. The poisoning and the beast with two backs 470 that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not know of were he not endowed with knowledge by his creator. That is why the speech (his lean unlovely English) is always turned elsewhere, backward. Ravisher and ravished, what he would but would not, go with him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, with its mole cinquespotted. He goes back, weary of the creation he has piled up to hide him from himself, an old dog licking an old sore. But, because loss is his gain, he passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the wisdom he has written or by the laws he has revealed. His beaver is up. He is a ghost, a shadow now, the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you will, the sea's voice, 480 a voice heard only in the heart of him who is the substance of his shadow, the son consubstantial with the father. Page 177
This is the climax of Stephen's elaborate Shakespeare theory, focusing on Shakespeare's life and the theme of paternity as reflected in Hamlet. He references Goethe's saying ("Beware of what you wish for in youth..."). He speculates on Shakespeare's personal experiences of betrayal or disappointment influencing his plays, particularly linking the poison in the ear motif in Hamlet to something that "wounded him there where love lies ableeding." He suggests Shakespeare retreated into his art ("weary of the creation he has piled up to hide him from himself"). He defines Shakespeare at this point as a "ghost, a shadow," who is revealed only through his creation, Hamlet, which is his "unliving son." The theory culminates in the theological concept of "consubstantial," arguing that the son (Hamlet, and by extension Hamnet, Shakespeare's deceased son) is of the same substance as the father (Shakespeare). Stephen sees this as the "mystery of paternity" reflected in artistic creation. He references specific details from Shakespeare's poems and plays related to bodies and moles (Lucrece, Imogen). The line "And in the porches of their ears I pour" echoes the Ghost's line from Hamlet, placing Stephen in the position of imparting knowledge, perhaps even poison, to his listeners.
Amen! was responded from the doo Page 177
This line signals the end of Stephen's lengthy and intense theoretical performance. The response "Amen!" is a religious affirmation, used here ironically to punctuate Stephen's quasi-theological argument. It is spoken by Buck Mulligan, who appears at the door, breaking the intellectual tension of the library scene with his characteristic dramatic flair and interruption.
