Chapter1 Telemachus

STATELY, PLUMP BUCK MULLIGAN CAME FROM THE STAIRHEAD, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressing gown, ungirdled, was sustained gently-behind him by the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

-- Introibo ad altare Dei.

Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called up coarsely:

-- Come up, Kinch. Come up, you fearful jesuit.

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.

-- Back to barracks, he said sternly.

He added in a preacher's tone:

-- For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.

He peered sideways up and gave a long low whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.

-- Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you?

He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.

-- The mockery of it, he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek.

He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily half way and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck.

Buck Mulligan's gay voice went on.

-- My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a Hellenic ring, hasn't it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?

He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:

-- Will he come? The jejune jesuit.

Ceasing, he began to shave with care.

-- Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.

-- Yes, my love?

-- How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?

Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.

-- God, isn't he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He thinks you're not a gentleman. God, these bloody English. Bursting with money and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus; you have the real Oxford manner. He can't make you out. O, my name for you is the best: Kinch, the knife-blade.

He shaved warily over his chin.

-- He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is his guncase?

-- A woful lunatic, Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?

-- I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the dark with a man I don't know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a black panther. You saved men from drowning. I'm not a hero, however. If he stays on here I am off.

Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.

-- Scutter, he cried thickly.

He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen's upper pocket, said:

-- Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.

Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly. Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:

-- The bard's noserag. A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen. You can almost taste it, can't you?

He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair oakpale hair stirring slightly.

-- God, he said quietly. Isn't the sea what Algy calls it: a grey sweet mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. Epi oinopa ponton. Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks. I must teach you. You must read them in the original. Thalatta! Thalatta! She is our great sweet mother. Come and look.

Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbour mouth of Kingstown.

-- Our mighty mother, Buck Mulligan said.

He turned abruptly his great searching eyes from the sea to Stephen's face.

-- The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That's why she won't let me have anything to do with you.

-- Someone killed her, Stephen said gloomily.

-- You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother asked you, Buck Mulligan said. I'm hyperborean as much as you. But to think of your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and pray for her. And you refused. There is something sinister in you.

He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. A tolerant smile curled his lips.

-- But a lovely mummer, he murmured to himself. Kinch, the loveliest mummer of them all.

He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously.

Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve. Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose brown grave-clothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a great sweet mother by the well-fed 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.

Buck Mulligan wiped again his razorblade.

-- Ah, poor dogsbody, he said in a kind voice. I must give you a shirt and few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks?

-- They fit well enough, Stephen answered.

Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his underlip.

-- The mockery of it, he said contentedly, secondleg they should be. God knows what poxy bowsy left them off. I have a lovely pair with a hair stripe, grey. You'll look spiffing in them. I'm not joking, Kinch. You look damn well when you're dressed.

-- Thanks, Stephen said. I can't wear them if they are grey.

-- He can't wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror. Etiquette is etiquette. He kills his mother but he can't wear grey trousers.

He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt the smooth skin.

Stephen turned his gaze from the sea and to the plump face with its smokeblue mobile eyes.

-- That fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said Buck Mulligan, says you have g.p.i. He's up in Dottyville with Conolly Norman. General paralysis of the insane.

He swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the sea. His curling shaven lips laughed and the edges of his white glittering teeth. Laughter seized all his strong wellknit trunk.

-- Look at yourself, he said, you dreadful bard.

Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft by a crooked crack, hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose this face for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too.

-- I pinched it out of the skivvy's room, Buck Mulligan said. It does her all right. The aunt always keeps plain-looking servants for Malachi. Lead him not into temptation. And her name is Ursula.

Laughing again, he brought the mirror away from Stephen's peering eyes.

-- 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 looking-glass of a servant.

Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen's and walked with him round the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where he had thrust them.

-- It's not fair to tease you like that, Kinch, is it? he said kindly. God knows you have more spirit than any of them.

Parried again. He fears the lancet of my art as I fear that of his. The cold steelpen.

-- Cracked lookingglass of a servant. Tell that to the oxy chap downstairs and touch him for a guinea. He's stinking with money and thinks you're not a gentleman. His old fellow made his tin by selling jalap to Zulus or some bloody swindle or other. God, Kinch, if you and I could only work together we might do something for the island. Hellenise it.

Cranly's arm. His arm.

-- And to think of your having to beg from these swine. I'm the only one that knows what you are. Why don't you trust me more? What have you up your nose against me? Is it Haines? If he makes any noise here I'll bring down Seymour and we'll give him a ragging worse than they gave Clive Kempthorpe.

Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. Palefaces: they hold their ribs with laughter, one clasping another, O, 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 shears. A scared calf's face gilded with marmalade. I don't want to be debagged! Don't you play the giddy ox with me!

Shouts from the open window startling evening in the quadrangle. A deaf gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, pushes his mower on the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms.

To ourselves... new paganism... omphalos.

-- Let him stay, Stephen said. There's nothing wrong with him except at night.

-- Then what is it? Buck Mulligan asked impatiently. Cough it up. I'm quite frank with you. What have you against me now?

They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the water like the snout of a sleeping whale. Stephen freed his arm quietly.

-- Do you wish me to tell you? he asked.

-- Yes, what is it? Buck Mulligan answered. I don't remember anything.

He looked in Stephen's face as he spoke. A light wind passed his brow, fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his eyes.

Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said:

-- Do you remember the first day I went to your house after my mother's death?

Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said:

-- What? Where? I can't remember anything. I remember only ideas and sensations. Why? What happened in the name of God?

-- You were making tea, Stephen said, and I went across the landing to get more hot water. Your mother and some visitor came out of the drawingroom. She asked you who was in your room.

-- Yes? Buck Mulligan said. What did I say? I forget.

-- You said, Stephen answered, O, it's only Dedalus whose mother is beastly dead.

A flush which made him seem younger and more engaging rose to Buck Mulligan's cheek.

-- Did I say that? he asked. Well? What harm is that?

He shook his constraint from him nervously.

-- And what is death, he asked, your mother's or yours or my own? You saw only your mother die. I see them pop off every day in the Mater and Richmond and cut up into tripes in the dissecting room. It's a beastly thing and nothing else. It simply doesn't matter. You wouldn't kneel down to pray for your mother on her deathbed when she asked you. Why? Because you have the cursed jesuit strain in you, only it's injected the wrong way. To me it's all a mockery and beastly. Her cerebral lobes are not functioning. She calls the doctor Sir Peter Teazle and picks buttercups off the quilt. Humour her till it's over. You crossed her last wish in death and yet you sulk with me because I don't whinge like some hired mute from Lalouette's. Absurd! I suppose I did say it. I didn't mean to offend the memory of your mother.

He had spoken himself into boldness. Stephen, shielding the gaping wounds which the words had left in his heart, said very coldly:

-- I am not thinking of the offence to my mother.

-- Of what, then? Buck Mulligan asked.

-- Of the offence to me, Stephen answered.

Buck Mulligan swung round on his heel.

-- O, an impossible person! he exclaimed.

He walked off quickly round the parapet. Stephen stood at his post, gazing over the calm sea towards the headland. Sea and headland now grew dim. Pulses were beating in his eyes, veiling their sight, and he felt the fever of his cheeks.

A voice within the tower called loudly:

-- Are you up there, Mulligan?

-- I'm coming, Buck Mulligan answered.

He turned towards Stephen and said:

-- Look at the sea. What does it care about offences? Chuck Loyola, Kinch, and come on down. The Sassenach wants his morning rashers.

His head halted again for a moment at the top of the staircase, level with the roof.

-- Don't mope over it all day, he said. I'm inconsequent. Give up the moody brooding.

His head vanished but the drone of his descending voice boomed out of the stairhead:

Woodshadows floated silently by through the morning peace from the stairhead seaward where he gazed. Inshore and farther out the mirror of water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. White breast of the dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the harpstrings merging their twining chords. Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the dim tide.

A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, shadowing the bay in deeper green. It lay behind him, a bowl of bitter waters. Fergus' song: I sang it alone in the house, holding down the long dark chords. Her door was open: she wanted to hear my music. Silent with awe and pity I went to her bedside. She was crying in her wretched bed. For those words, Stephen: love's bitter mystery.

Where now?

Her secrets: old feather fans, tasselled dancecards, powdered with musk, a gaud of amber beads in her locked drawer. A birdcage hung in the sunny window of her house when she was a girl. She heard old Royce sing in the pantomime of Turko the terrible and laughed with others when he sang:

Phantasmal mirth, folded away: muskperfumed.

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.

In a dream, silently, she had come to him, her wasted body within its loose graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath bent over him with mute secret words, a faint odour of wetted ashes.

Her glazing eyes, staring out of death, to shake and bend my soul. On me alone. The ghostcandle to light her agony. Ghostly light on the tortured face. Her hoarse loud breath rattling in horror, while all prayed on their knees. Her eyes on me to strike me down. Liliata rutilantium te confessorum turma circumdet: iubilantium te virginum chorus excipiat.

Ghoul! Chewer of corpses!

No mother. Let me be and let me live.

-- Kinch ahoy!

Buck Mulligan's voice sang from within the tower. It came nearer up the staircase, calling again. Stephen, still trembling at his soul's cry, heard warm running sunlight and in the air behind him friendly words.

-- Dedalus, comedown, like a good mosey. Breakfast is ready. Haines is apologizing for waking us last night. It's all right.

-- I'm coming, Stephen said, turning.

-- Do, for Jesus' sake, Buck Mulligan said. For my sake and for all our sakes.

His head disappeared and reappeared.

-- I told him your symbol of Irish art. He says it's very clever. Touch him for a quid, will you? A guinea, I mean.

-- I get paid this morning, Stephen said.

-- The school kip? Buck Mulligan said. How much? Four quid? Lend us one.

-- If you want it, Stephen said.

-- Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan cried with delight. We'll have a glorious drunk to astonish the druidy druids. Four omnipotent sovereigns.

He flung up his hands and tramped down the stone stairs, singing out of tune with a Cockney accent:

Warm sunshine merrying over the sea. The nickel shaving-bowl shone, forgotten, on the parapet. Why should I bring it down? Or leave it there all day, forgotten friendship?

He went over to it, held it in his hands awhile, feeling its coolness, smelling the clammy slaver of the lather in which the brush was stuck. So I carried the boat of incense then at Clongowes. I am another now and yet the same. A servant too. A server of a servant.

In the gloomy domed livingroom of the tower Buck Mulligan's gowned form moved briskly about the hearth to and fro, hiding and revealing its yellow glow. Two shafts of soft daylight fell across the flagged floor from the high barbicans: and at the meeting of their rays a cloud of coalsmoke and fumes of fried grease floated, turning.

-- We'll be choked, Buck Mulligan said. Haines, open that door, will you?

Stephen laid the shavingbowl on the locker. A tall figure rose from the hammock where it had been sitting, went to the doorway and pulled open the inner doors.

-- Have you the key? a voice asked.

-- Dedalus has it, Buck Mulligan said. Janey Mack, I'm choked.

He howled without looking up from the fire:

-- Kinch!

-- It's in the lock, Stephen said, coming forward.

The key scraped round harshly twice and, when the heavy door had been set ajar, welcome light and bright air entered. Haines stood at the doorway, looking out. Stephen haled his upended valise to the table and sat down to wait. Buck Mulligan tossed the fry on to the dish beside him. Then he carried the dish and a large teapot over to the table, set them down heavily and sighed with relief.

-- I'm melting, he said, as the candle remarked when .

But hush. Not a word more on that subject. Kinch, wake up. Bread, butter, honey. Haines, come in. The grub is ready. Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts. Where's the sugar? O, jay, there's no milk.

Stephen fetched the loaf and the pot of honey and the buttercooler from the locker. Buck Mulligan sat down in a sudden pet.

-- What sort of a kip is this? he said. I told her to come after eight.

-- We can drink it black, Stephen said. There's a lemon in the locker.

-- O, damn you and your Paris fads, Buck Mulligan said. I want Sandycove milk.

Haines came in from the doorway and said quietly:

-- That woman is coming up with the milk.

-- The blessings of God on you, Buck Mulligan cried, jumping up from his chair. Sit down. Pour out the tea there. The sugar is in the bag. Here, I can't go fumbling at the damned eggs. He hacked through the fry on the dish and slapped it out on three plates, saying:

-- In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.

Haines sat down to pour out the tea.

-- I'm giving you two lumps each, he said. But, I say, Mulligan, you do make strong tea, don't you?

Buck Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the loaf, said in an old woman's wheedling voice:

-- When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said. And when I makes water I makes water.

-- By Jove, it is tea, Haines said.

Buck Mulligan went on hewing and wheedling:

-- So I do, Mrs Cahill, says she. Begob, ma'am, says Mrs Cahill, God send you don't make them in the one pot.

He lunged towards his messmates in turn a thick slice of bread, impaled on his knife.

-- That's folk, he said very earnestly, for your book, Haines. Five lines of text and ten pages of notes about the folk and the fishgods of Dundrum. Printed by the weird sisters in the year of the big wind.

He turned to Stephen and asked in a fine puzzled voice, lifting his brows:

-- Can you recall, brother, is mother Grogan's tea and water pot spoken of in the Mabinogion or is it in the Upanishads?

-- I doubt it, said Stephen gravely.

-- Do you now? Buck Mulligan said in the same tone. Your reasons, pray?

-- I fancy, Stephen said as he ate, it did not exist in or out of the Mabinogion. Mother Grogan was, one imagines, a kinswoman of Mary Ann.

Buck Mulligan's face smiled with delight.

-- Charming, he said in a finical sweet voice, showing his white teeth and blinking his eyes pleasantly. Do you think she was? Quite charming.

Then, suddenly overclouding all his features, he growled in a hoarsened rasping voice as he hewed again vigorously at the loaf:

He crammed his mouth with fry and munched and droned.

The doorway was darkened by an entering form.

-- The milk, sir.

-- Come in, ma'am, Mulligan said. Kinch, get the jug.

An old woman came forward and stood by Stephen's elbow.

-- That's a lovely morning, sir, she said. Glory be to God.

-- To whom? Mulligan said, glancing at her. Ah, to be sure. Stephen reached back and took the milkjug from the locker.

-- The islanders, Mulligan said to Haines casually, speak frequently of the collector of prepuces.

-- How much, sir? asked the old woman.

-- A quart, Stephen said.

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.

-- It is indeed, ma'am, Buck Mulligan said, pouring milk into their cups.

-- Taste it, sir, she said.

He drank at her bidding.

-- If we could only live on good food like that, he said to her somewhat loudly, we wouldn't have the country full of rotten teeth and rotten guts. Living in a bogswamp, eating cheap food and the streets paved with dust, horsedung and consumptives' spits.

-- Are you a medical student, sir? the old woman asked.

-- I am, ma'am, Buck Mulligan answered.

Stephen listened in scornful silence. She bows her old head to a voice that speaks to her loudly, her bonesetter, her medicineman; me she slights. To the voice that will shrive and oil for the grave all there is of her but her woman's unclean loins, of man's flesh made not in God's likeness, the serpent's prey. And to the loud voice that now bids her be silent with wondering unsteady eyes.

-- Do you understand what he says? Stephen asked her.

-- Is it French you are talking, sir? the old woman said to Haines.

Haines spoke to her again a longer speech, confidently.

-- Irish, Buck Mulligan said. Is there Gaelic on you?

-- I thought it was Irish, she said, by the sound of it. Are you from west, sir?

-- I am an Englishman, Haines answered.

-- He's English, Buck Mulligan said, and he thinks we ought to speak Irish in Ireland.

-- Sure we ought to, the old woman said, and I'm ashamed I don't speak the language myself. I'm told it's a grand language by them that knows.

-- Grand is no name for it, said Buck Mulligan. Wonderful entirely. Fill us out some more tea, Kinch. Would you like a cup, ma'am?

-- No, thank you, sir, the old woman said, slipping the ring of the milkcan on her forearm and about to go.

Haines said to her:

-- Have you your bill? We had better pay her, Mulligan, hadn't we?

Stephen filled the three cups.

-- Bill, sir? she said, halting. Well, it's seven mornings a pint at twopence is seven twos is a shilling and twopence over and these three mornings a quart at fourpence is three quarts is a shilling and one and two is two and two, sir.

Buck Mulligan sighed and having filled his mouth with a crust thickly buttered on both sides, stretched forth his legs and began to search his trouser pockets.

-- Pay up and look pleasant, Haines said to him smiling.

Stephen filled a third cup, a spoonful of tea colouring faintly the thick rich milk. Buck Mulligan brought up a florin, twisted it round in his fingers and cried:

-- A miracle!

He passed it along the table towards the old woman, saying:

-- Ask nothing more of me, sweet. All I can give you I give.

Stephen laid the coin in her uneager hand.

-- We'll owe twopence, he said.

-- Time enough, sir, she said, taking the coin. Time enough. Good morning, sir.

She curtseyed and went out, followed by Buck Mulligan's tender chant:

He turned to Stephen and said:

-- Seriously, Dedalus. I'm stony. Hurry out to your school kip and bring us back some money. Today the bards must drink and junket. Ireland expects that every man this day will do his duty.

-- That reminds me, Haines said, rising, that I have to visit your national library today.

-- Our swim first, Buck Mulligan said.

He turned to Stephen and asked blandly:

-- Is this the day for your monthly wash, Kinch?

Then he said to Haines:

-- The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month.

-- All Ireland is washed by the gulfstream, Stephen said as he let honey trickle over a slice of the loaf.

Haines from the corner where he was knotting easily a scarf about the loose collar of his tennis shirt spoke:

-- I intend to make a collection of your sayings if you will let me.

Speaking to me. They wash and tub and scrub. Agenbite of inwit. Conscience. Yet here's a spot.

-- That one about the cracked lookingglass of a servant being the symbol of Irish art is deuced good.

Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen's foot under the table and said with warmth of tone:

-- Wait till you hear him on Hamlet, Haines.

-- Well, I mean it, Haines said, still speaking to Stephen. I was just thinking of it when that poor old creature came in.

-- Would I make money by it? Stephen asked.

Haines laughed and, as he took his soft grey hat from the holdfast of the hammock, said:

-- I don't know, I'm sure.

He strolled out to the doorway. Buck Mulligan bent across to Stephen and said with coarse vigour:

-- You put your hoof in it now. What did you say that for?

-- Well? Stephen said. The problem is to get money. From whom? From the milkwoman or from him. It's a toss up, I think.

I blow him out about you, Buck Mulligan said, and then you come along with your lousy leer and your gloomy jesuit jibes.

-- I see little hope, Stephen said, from her or from him.

Buck Mulligan sighed tragically and laid his hand on Stephen's arm.

-- From me, Kinch, he said.

In a suddenly changed tone he added:

-- To tell you the God's truth I think you're right. Damn all else they are good for. Why don't you play them as I do? To hell with them all. Let us get out of the kip.

He stood up, gravely ungirdled and disrobed himself of his gown, saying resignedly:

-- Mulligan is stripped of his garments.

He emptied his pockets on to the table.

-- There's your snotrag, he said.

And putting on his stiff collar and rebellious tie, he spoke to them, chiding them, and to his dangling watchchain. His hands plunged and rummaged in his trunk while he called for - a clean handkerchief. Agenbite of inwit. God, we'll simply have to dress the character. I want puce gloves and green boots. Contradiction. Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. Mercurial Malachi. A limp black missile flew out of his talking hands.

-- And there's your Latin quarter hat, he said.

Stephen picked it up and put it on: Haines called to them from the doorway:

-- Are you coming, you fellows?

-- I'm ready, Buck Mulligan answered, going towards the door. Come out, Kinch. You have eaten all we left, I suppose. Resigned he passed out with grave words and gait, saying, wellnigh with sorrow:

-- And going forth he met Butterly.

Stephen, taking his ashplant from its leaningplace, followed them out and, as they went down the ladder, pulled to the slow iron door and locked it. He put the huge key in his inner pocket.

At the foot of the ladder Buck Mulligan asked:

-- Did you bring the key?

-- I have it, Stephen said, preceding them.

He walked on. Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan club with his heavy bathtowel the leader shoots of ferns or grasses.

-- Down, sir. How dare you, sir?

Haines asked:

-- Do you pay rent for this tower?

-- Twelve quid, Buck Mulligan said.

-- To the secretary of state for war, Stephen added over his shoulder.

They halted while Haines surveyed the tower and said at last:

-- Rather bleak in wintertime, I should say. Martello you call it?

-- Billy Pitt had them built, Buck Mulligan said, when the French were on the sea. But ours is the omphalos.

-- What is your idea of Hamlet? Haines asked Stephen.

-- No, no, Buck Mulligan shouted in pain. I'm not equal to Thomas Aquinas and the fiftyfive reasons he has made to prop it up. Wait till I have a few pints in me first.

He turned to Stephen, saying as he pulled down neatly the peaks of his primrose waistcoat:

-- You couldn't manage it under three pints, Kinch, could you?

-- It has waited so long, Stephen said listlessly, it can wait longer.

-- You pique my curiosity, Haines said amiably. Is it some paradox?

-- Pooh! Buck Mulligan said. We have grown out of Wilde and paradoxes. It's quite simple. He proves by algebra that Hamlet's grandson is Shakespeare's grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his own father.

-- What? Haines said, beginning to point at Stephen. He himself?

Buck Mulligan slung his towel stolewise round his neck and, bending in loose laughter, said to Stephen's ear:

-- O, shade of Kinch the elder! Japhet in search of a father!

-- We're always tired in the morning, Stephen said to Haines. And it is rather long to tell.

Buck Mulligan, walking forward again, raised his hands.

-- The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue of Dedalus, he said.

-- I mean to say, Haines explained to Stephen as they followed, this tower and these cliffs here remind me somehow of Elsinore. That beetles o'er his base into the sea, isn't it?

Buck Mulligan turned suddenly for an instant towards Stephen but did not speak. In the bright silent instant Stephen saw his own image in cheap dusty mourning between their gay attires.

-- It's a wonderful tale, Haines said, bringing them to halt again.

Eyes, pale as the sea the wind had freshened, paler, firm and prudent. The seas' ruler, he gazed southward over the bay, empty save for the smokeplume of the mailboat, vague on the bright skyline, and a sail tacking by the Muglins.

-- I read a theological interpretation of it somewhere, he said bemused. The Father and the Son idea. The Son striving to be atoned with the Father.

Buck Mulligan at once put on a blithe broadly smiling face. He looked at them, his wellshaped mouth open happily, his eyes, from which he had suddenly withdrawn all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety. He moved a doll's head to and fro, the brims of his Panama hat quivering, and began to chant in a quiet happy foolish voice:

He held up a forefinger of warning.

He tugged swiftly at Stephen's ashplant in farewell and, running forward to a brow of the cliff, fluttered his hands at his sides like fins or wings of one about to rise in the air, and chanted:

He capered before them down towards the fortyfoot hole, fluttering his winglike hands, leaping nimbly, Mercury's hat quivering in the fresh wind that bore back to them his brief birdlike cries.

Haines, who had been laughing guardedly, walked on beside Stephen and said:

-- We oughtn't to laugh, I suppose. He's rather blasphemous. I'm not a believer myself, that is to say. Still his gaiety takes the harm out of it somehow, doesn't it? What did he call it? Joseph the Joiner?

-- The ballad of Joking Jesus, Stephen answered.

-- O, Haines said, you have heard it before?

-- Three times a day, after meals, Stephen said drily.

-- You're not a believer, are you? Haines asked. I mean, a believer in the narrow sense of the word. Creation from nothing and miracles and a personal God.

-- There's only one sense of the word, it seems to me, Stephen said.

Haines stopped to take out a smooth silver case in which twinkled a green stone. He sprang it open with his thumb and offered it.

-- Thank you, Stephen said, taking a cigarette.

Haines helped himself and snapped the case to. He put it back in his sidepocket and took from his waistcoatpocket a nickel tinderbox, sprang it open too, and, having lit his cigarette, held the flaming spunk towards Stephen in the shell of his hands.

-- Yes, of course, he said, as they went on again. Either you believe or you don't, isn't it? Personally I couldn't stomach that idea of a personal God. You don't stand for that, I suppose?

-- You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible example of free thought.

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 Steeeeeeeeeephen. A wavering line along the path. They will walk on it tonight, coming here in the dark. He wants that 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.

-- After all, Haines began...

Stephen turned and saw that the cold gaze which had measured him was not all unkind.

-- After all, I should think you are able to free yourself. You are your own master, it seems to me.

-- I am the servant of two masters, Stephen said, an English and an Italian.

-- Italian? Haines said.

A crazy queen, old and jealous. Kneel down before me.

-- And a third, Stephen said, there is who wants me for odd jobs.

-- Italian? Haines said again. What do you mean?

-- The imperial British state, Stephen answered, his colour rising, and the holy Roman catholic and apostolic church.

Haines detached from his underlip some fibres of tobacco before he spoke.

-- I can quite understand that, he said calmly. An Irishman must think like that, I daresay. We feel in England that we have treated you rather unfairly. It seems history is to blame.

The proud potent titles clanged over Stephen's memory the triumph of their brazen bells: et unam sanctam catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam: the slow growth and change of rite and dogma like his own rare thoughts, a chemistry of stars. Symbol of the apostles in the mass for pope Marcellus, the voices blended, singing alone loud in affirmation: and behind their chant the vigilant angel of the church militant disarmed and menaced her heresiarchs. A horde of heresies fleeing with mitres awry: Photius and the brood of mockers of whom Mulligan was one, and Arius, warring his life long upon the consubstantiality of the Son with the Father, and Valentine, spurning Christ's terrene body, and the subtle African heresiarch Sabellius who held that the Father was Himself His own Son. Words Mulligan had spoken a moment since in mockery to the stranger. Idle mockery. The void awaits surely all them that weave the wind: a menace, a disarming and a worsting from those embattled angels of the church, Michael's host, who defend her ever in the hour of conflict with their lances and their shields.

Hear, hear. Prolonged applause. Zut! Nom de Dieu!

-- Of course I'm a Britisher, Haines' voice said, and I feel as one. I don't want to see my country fall into the hands of German jews either. That's our national problem, I'm afraid, just now.

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, salt white. Here I am.

They followed the winding path down to the creek. Buck Mulligan stood on a stone, in shirtsleeves, his unclipped tie rippling over his shoulder. A young man clinging to a spur of rock near him moved slowly frogwise his green legs in the deep jelly of the water.

-- Is the brother with you, Malachi?

-- Down in Westmeath. With the Bannons.

-- 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.

Buck Mulligan sat down to unlace his boots. An elderly man shot up near the spur of rock a blowing red face. He scrambled up by the stones, water glistening on his pate and on its garland of grey hair, water rilling over his chest and paunch and spilling jets out of his black sagging loincloth.

Buck Mulligan made way for him to scramble past and, glancing at Haines and Stephen, crossed himself piously with his thumbnail at brow and lips and breastbone.

-- Seymour's back in town, the young man said, grasping again his spur of rock. Chucked medicine and going in for the army.

-- Ah, go to God, Buck Mulligan said.

-- Going over next week to stew. You know that red Carlisle girl, Lily?

-- Yes.

-- Spooning with him last night on the pier. The father is rotto with money.

-- Is she up the pole?

-- Better ask Seymour that.

-- Seymour a bleeding officer, Buck Mulligan said.

He nodded to himself as he drew off his trousers and stood up, saying tritely:

-- Redheaded women buck like goats.

He broke off in alarm, feeling his side under his flapping shirt.

-- My twelfth rib is gone, he cried. I'm the Uebermensch. Toothless Kinch and I, the supermen.

He struggled out of his shirt and flung it behind him to where his clothes lay.

-- Are you going in here, Malachi?

-- Yes. Make room in the bed.

The young man shoved himself backward through the water and reached the middle of the creek in two long clean strokes. Haines sat down on a stone, smoking.

-- Are you not coming in? Buck Mulligan asked.

-- Later on, Haines said. Not on my breakfast.

Stephen turned away.

-- I'm going, Mulligan, he said.

-- Give us that key, Kinch, Buck Mulligan said, to keep my chemise flat.

Stephen handed him the key. Buck Mulligan laid it across his heaped clothes.

-- And twopence, he said, for a pint. Throw it there.

Stephen threw two pennies on the soft heap. Dressing, undressing. Buck Mulligan erect, with joined hands before him, said solemnly:

-- He who stealeth from the poor lendeth to the Lord. Thus spake Zarathustra.

His plump body plunged.

-- We'll see you again, Haines said, turning as Stephen walked up the path and smiling at wild Irish.

Horn of a bull, hoof of a horse, smile of a Saxon.

-- The Ship, Buck Mulligan cried. Half twelve.

-- Good, Stephen said.

He walked along the upwardcurving path.

The priest's grey nimbus in a niche where he dressed discreetly. I will not sleep here tonight. Home also I cannot go.

A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from the sea. Turning the curve he waved his hand. It called again. A sleek brown head, a seal's, far out on the water, round.

Usurper.

-------------------------------------------

[1]据理查德·艾尔曼的《詹姆斯，乔伊斯》(牛津大学出版社1983年版，第117页)，穆利根的原型系爱尔兰作家、爱尔兰文艺复兴运动的参加者奥利弗·圣约翰·戈加蒂(1878一1957)。

[2]这里，穆利根在模仿天主教神父举行弥撤时的动作。他手里托着的那钵肥皂沫，就权当圣餐杯。镜子和剃胡刀交叉放着，呈十字架形。淡黄色浴衣令人联想到神父做弥撒时罩在外面的金色祭披。下文中的“我要……台“，原文是拉丁文。

[3]金赤是穆利根给斯蒂芬·迪达勒斯起的外号。他把斯蒂芬比作利刃，用金赤来模仿其切割声。

[4]耶酥会是天主教修会之一，一五三四年由西班牙贵族依纳爵·罗耀拉(1491-1556)所创。会规严格，要求会士必须绝对服从会长。

[5]指坐落在都柏林郊外的港口区沙湾(音译为桑迪科沃)的圆形炮塔。这是一八0三至一八0六年间为了防备拿破仑率领的法军入侵，而在爱尔兰沿岸修筑的碉堡的一座。其造型仿效法属科西嘉岛的马铁洛岬角上的海防炮塔，故名马铁洛塔。

[6]某些修会的天主教神父将头顶剃光，周围只留一圈头发。参看本章注[125]。穆利根只是装出一副神父的样子，故未剃发。

[7]这里原应作“圣餐”(Eucharist)，作者却写成了女子名克里斯廷(Christine)。二词中均含有基督(Christ)一名。其用意是便它同第十五章末尾玛拉基·奥弗林神父在卧于圣女芭巴拉的祭台上的那个女人身上做黑弥撒的场面相呼应。参看该章注[956]及有关正文。耶酥和门徒(据《新约·马太福音》第l0章第l节，耶酥收了彼得、约翰等十二个门徒)吃筵席时，曾把饼和酒祝福后递给他们，说那是自己的身体和血(见《新约·路加福音》第22章第19-20节)。后世举行弥撒时，神父饮的葡萄酒即代表耶酥的血，教徒领的圣体(面饼)则代表耶酥的躯体。“血和伤痕”是中世纪的一句诅咒“天主的血和伤痕”的简称。

[8]克里索斯托[约347一407)，古代基督教希腊教父，名叫约翰。三九八年任君士坦丁堡大主教后，锐意进行改革。但操之过急，开罪于豪富权门，曾被禁闭。死后得以昭雪，被封为圣约翰。他善于传教讲经，长于词令，因而通称“金口约翰”。

[9]据《新约·使徒行传》第6、7章，最早的殉教者斯蒂芬(？一约35)是个受过希腊文教育的犹太人。迪达勒斯(Dedalus)一姓来自神话传说中的希腊建筑师和雕刻家Daedalus。有史时期的希腊人把无法溯源的建筑和雕像都算作是出自迪达勒斯之手。

[10]指他的教名Buck，意译为公鹿。勃克·玛拉基·穆利根是全名。勃克是教名(即洗礼名或第一个名字)。玛拉基是纪念其父亲或家属中其他人的名字。穆利根是姓。通常只称作勃克·穆利根，中间的名字就省略了。

[11]原文作bad，原意吟游诗人。因含有挖苦口吻，故译为大诗人，并加上引号，以示区别。下同。

[12]阿尔杰是阿尔杰农的爱称。这里指英国诗人、文学批评家查理·阿尔杰农·斯温伯恩(1837-1909)。“伟大可爱的母亲”一语出自他的长诗《时间的胜利》1866)。“伟大”是根据海德版翻译的，诸本均作“灰色”。

[13]原文为希腊文。荷马的《奥德修纪》(杨宪益译，上海译文出版社1979年饭苇23页)有“强劲的西风歌啸着，吹过葡萄素的大海”一语。

[14]原文为希腊文。语出自希腊历史学家色诺芬(公元前431一前35O以前)的《远征记》。写作者跟随与胞兄波斯王争夺王位的小居鲁士远征。失败后，他率领万名希腊雇佣军且战且退，公元前四00年回到黑海之滨的希腊城市特拉佩祖斯。这是他们见到海时发出的吹呼。

[15]国王镇(丹莱里的旧称)是都柏林的一个海港区。有东西两个大码头伸入海中，构成一道人造港湾。

[16]语出自拉塞尔(参看第三章注[109]的《宗教与爱情》)。他在这篇散文中阐明“强有力的母亲”指的是“大自然的精神面貌”。穆利根紧接着所说的“姑妈……你手里”一语，当天上午在海边(见第三章注[943]以及当夜(见第十五章注[688])重新浮现在斯蒂芬的脑际。

[17]原文作“dog'sbody"。在凯尔特族(参看第二章注[48])的神话中，狗含有“严加保密”意，所以穆利根用此词来称呼性格内向的斯蒂芬。

[18]“船记”是斯蒂芬等人经常去的酒馆的店名。

[19]康内利·诺曼(1858-1908)，爱尔兰精神病学家。痴呆镇指里奇蒙精神病院，自一八八六年起诺曼在那里任院长。

[20]此处套用《天主经》中“不叫我们受到诱惑”一语，但将“我们”改成了“他”。见《路加福音》第11章第4节。

[21]女仆与四世纪的圣女乌尔苏拉同名。据传匈奴人入侵东南欧洲时，科隆(今穗国境内)有一万一千名童贞女殉教。乌水苏拉是她们的领袖。

[22]凯列班是莎士比亚的戏剧《暴风雨》(1611)中一个丑陋而野性的奴隶。语出自爱尔兰诗人、小说家奥斯卡·王水德(1854一1900)的长篇小说《道林·格雷的肖像》(1891)的序言。在该文中，王尔德表达了自己为艺术而艺术的美学观点。原话是：“十九世纪人们对现实主义的厌恶，是凯列班在镜中照得见自己的脸时所感到的愤怒。十九世纪人们对浪漫主义的厌恶，是凯列班在镜中照不见自己的脸时所感到的愤怒。”这里，穆利根把斯蒂芬比作凯列班。

[23]语出自王尔德的论文集《意图》中的《谎言的衰退》(1889)。全句是：“我完全明白你反对把艺术当作一面镜子。你认为，这样一来就把天才降低到有裂纹的镜子的境地了。然而，你无意说，人生是艺术的模仿。人生其实就是一面镜子，艺术才是真实的，对吧？”

[24]牛津家伙指正在搜集爱尔兰格言的海恩斯。

[25]基尼是旧时英国金币，一基尼合二十一先令。

[26]药喇叭，又名球根牵牛；根部可以用来制做泻药。

[27]祖鲁人是非洲东南部班图族的一支土著。

[28]这里的希腊化指的是使爱尔兰开化。都柏林市不同于近代化的大都会，有着当年希腊城邦的性质。正如奥德修由于离乡多年，初回伊大嘉时未认出那是什么地方一样，斯蒂芬回到故里后也觉得格格不入。因此他听了穆利根所说的使爱尔兰“希腊化”的话，并不曾引起共鸣。

[29]在乔伊斯的另一部长篇小说《艺术家年轻时的写照》第5章里，克兰利(参看第九章注[13])曾和斯蒂芬挽臂而行。克兰利参加了爱尔兰独立运动。斯蒂芬则说：“我不愿意去为我已经不再相信的东西卖力，不管它把自己叫作我的家、我的祖国或我的教堂都一样，我将试图在……某种艺术形式中……表现我自己，并仅只使用我能容许自己使用的那些武器来保卫自己――那就是沉默、流亡和机智。”(见黄雨石译本第297页，外国文学出版社1988年版。)

[30]西摩是英国牛津大学麦达伦学院的学生。

[31]“要委婉……息”出自美国人查理·哈里斯所作通俗歌曲《向母亲透露这消息》(1897)。写一个战士临终前嘱咐道，向母亲透露自己阵亡的消息时，要说得委婉一些。奥布里是斯蒂芬迁居到都柏林之前，住在布莱克罗克镇时的一个游伴，见《艺术家年轻时的写照》第2章。

[32]剑桥、牛津等大学的学生们当中时兴的一种捉弄同学的办法：把对方的裤子剥下来，用剪子将衬衫铰成一条条的。

[33]马修·阿诺德(1822-1888)，英国诗人、评论家。

[34]“我们自己”是十九世纪九十年代开展的复兴爱尔兰语言文化的运动所提出的口号。意思是：“爱尔兰人的爱尔兰。”“中心”，原文为希腊文。马修·阿诺德提出的文化理想是建立在个人主义之上的古稀腊人文主义与建立在社会伦理上的希伯来主义的统一。斯蒂芬从阿诺德的这一理想联想到要求爱尔兰民族独立的自救口号。他又进一步想到把异教与基督教相调和而成的新异教教义。最后才联想到omphalos一词。此词的意思是中心，指位于雅典西北一百英里处的帕耳那索斯山麓峡谷里的一块圣石，转义为人体的中心部位：肚脐。这里隐啥斯蒂芬等人所住的这座圆塔，乃是爱尔兰艺术的发祥地。

[35]布莱岬角位于沙湾以南七英里处。

[36]这里，穆利根借用了英国哲学家戴维·哈特利(1705一1757)的观点。哈特利的主要著作有《对人及其结构、职责和期望的观察》(两卷本，1749)等。他认为，真正存在于记忆中的只有观念和感觉。

[37]圣母是仁慈圣母玛利亚医院的简称。这是由天主教仁慈会修女所开办的都柏林市最大的一家医院。里奇蒙是里奇蒙精神病院的简称。

[38]彼得·蒂亚泽爵士是生于爱尔兰的英国戏剧家理查德·布林斯利·谢里丹(1751-1816)所作喜剧《造谣学校》(1777)中的一个人物。这位爵士晚年与一个年轻活泼的农村姑娘结了婚。

[39]指耶酥会的创始人，依纳爵·罗耀拉。

[40]撒克逊征服者，原文为爱尔兰语。

[41]这是爱尔兰诗人威廉·巴特勒·叶芝(1865一1939)所作《谁与弗格斯同去》一诗的第7至9行。弗格斯是据传于五世纪从爱尔兰移去的第一位苏格兰国王。下文中的“树林的阴影”和“朦胧的海洋那雪白的胸脯”，出自该诗的第10、l1行。

[42]老罗伊斯指英国喜剧演员爱德华·威廉·罗伊斯(1841一？)。《可怕的土耳克》(1873)是爱尔兰作家埃德温·汉密尔顿(1849一1919)根据英国童话剧《神奇的玫瑰》(1868)改编的。土耳克王由老罗伊斯扮演。当他发现神奇的玫瑰能教会他隐身术时，便高兴地唱起下面这首歌。

[43]英国通神论者艾尔弗雷德·珀西·辛尼特(1840-1921)在《灵魂的成长》(1896)一书中提出，一切事件和思根都贮存在宇宙的记忆中。参看第七章注[224]。

[44]天主教徒领圣体前，自午夜起禁止饮食。

[45]原文为拉丁文。这是信徒弥留之际助善终者在一旁为他(她)念的临终祷文中的两句。斯蒂芬的母亲是一位虔诚的信徒。她死前，斯蒂芬却不曾满足她的愿望，拒绝为她祷告。

[46]这是斯蒂芬责备自己的话。他意识到在母亲生前，他对罗马天主教会的怀疑和不满曾使母亲深深苦恼，故以东方神话中的食尸鬼自喻。

[47]这是英国旧时的一种金币，每枚值一英镑。因上面镌有国王(或女王)像，所以俗称“君主”。

[48]德鲁伊特是古代凯尔特人中有学识者，通常担任祭司、教师和法官。德鲁伊特的家庭里，竟连圣诞节的蛋糕都禁止吃。

[49]出自庆祝爱德华七世加冕(1901年1月22日)的歌曲《加冕日》。“加冕日”又指发薪日，因为工资可折合成克朗。Crown(意即王冠)是旧时的一种镌有王冠图案的硬币，每枚值五先令。

[50]即克朗戈伍斯森林公学。在《艺术家年轻时的写照》一书中，斯蒂芬曾就读于这家小学。下文中的“提过香炉”指神父做弥撒时，斯蒂芬曾担任助祭。

[51]据《旧约·创世记》第7至9章，挪亚一家人乘方舟逃避水灾后，一天挪亚喝醉了酒睡在帐棚里。二儿子含看见父亲赤身露体，便出去告诉了哥哥闪和弟弟雅弗。闪和雅弗替父亲盖上长袍。挪亚洒醒后说：“迦南[含的儿子]当受咒诅，必给他弟兄作奴仆的奴仆。”

[52]这是《饭前祝文》，引自《圣教日课》。

[53]原文为拉丁文。这是《圣号经》的下半段，引自《圣教日课》。

[54]葛罗甘老婆婆是爱尔兰歌曲《内德·葛罗甘》中的人物。

[55]登德鲁姆有两个。(一)位于都柏林市以北六十五英里的港口。(二)都柏林近郊的村。

[56]人鱼神是古代腓力斯人和腓尼基人所信奉的半人半鱼的神。

[57]命运女神姐妹原指《麦克白》中的三女巫，这里则影射爱尔兰诗人叶芝的姐妹伊丽莎白和莉莉。一九0三年，伊丽莎白在登德鲁姆村创立了邓恩·埃默出版社，并为叶芝出版《在七座树林中》一书。该书的版权页上写着，完成于“大风年七月十六日，一九0 三”。按一八三九年爱尔兰曾遭受一场空前的大风灾。从此，“大风年”一词便流行开来。

[58]《马比诺吉昂》是中世纪十一则威尔士故事的总称，以神话、民间故事和英雄传说为基础，记载十二世纪下半叶至十三世纪末的口传故事。

[59]《奥义书》是印度教古代吠陀教义的思辨作品，用散文或韵文写成。自公元前六百年起次第成书，为后世各派印度哲学所依据。

[60]玛丽·安是一八四三年左右为了吓唬苛吏而在爱尔兰民间组织起来的秘密团体。成员以妇女为主，也有乔装成妇女的男子。因此，后来又用此词来影射同性恋者。关于玛丽·安，流传着一些歌曲，而梅布尔·沃辛顿找到的那个版本的末句是：“像男人那样撒尿。”与下文中穆利根所唱的三句歌词刚好凑成一段。

[61]包皮的搜集者，指耶和华。犹太教徒有行割礼(割除阴茎包皮)的传统。参看《创世记》第17章第10至14节。

[62]夸脱是液量单位，一夸脱为一·一四升。

[63]毛皮像绢丝般的牛、最漂亮的牛和贫穷的老妪均为爱尔兰古称。

[64]征服者指英国人，这里，以海恩斯为代表。快乐的叛徒指满足于现状的爱尔兰人，这里，以勃克·穆利根为代表。

[65]母王八，原文为cuckquean，指其丈夫姘上了其他女人。

[66]在《奥德修纪》卷一中，女神雅典娜替奥德修说情，于是，主神宙斯表示同意让奥德修回国。女神便扮成外乡人的模样，到伊大嘉岛来鼓励奥德修的儿子帖雷马科。这里斯蒂芬把送牛奶的老妪比作雅典娜女神，他怀疑她是为了谴责自己不曾满足母亲最后的愿望而来的。

[67]下文中，海德版多一行，[“瞧，真是的，”她说。]其他诸本部没有。

[68]那个嗓门指神父。天主教徒临终前，神父在他(她)身上涂清香油，以便减轻肉体上的痛苦，并给心灵以慰藉。这叫作终傅礼。但据《旧约·利未记》第12章，天主曾通过摩西说，妇女分娩后以及月经期间不洁，因此不在阴部周围涂油。

[69]见《创世记》第2章第22至23节:“耶和华神就用从那人身上所取的肋骨，造成一个女人……那人说：‘她是从男人的身上取出来的。’”

[70]同上，第1章第27节有“神就照着自己的形象造人……造男造女”一语。

[71]同上，第3章：夏娃在蛇的引诱下偷吃禁果，并给她丈夫亚当吃。作为惩罚，耶和华将二人逐出伊甸园。

[72]盖尔语是苏格兰高地人和古代爱尔兰盖尔族的语言。“你有盖尔族的气质吗？”是爱尔兰西部农民的口头用语，意思是：“你会讲爱尔兰话吗？”十九世纪初叶，爱尔兰民族主义的发展使人们重新对爱尔兰的语言、文学、历史和民间传说发生兴趣。当时，除了在偏僻的农付，盖尔语作为一种口语已经衰亡，英语成为爱尔兰的官方和民间通用语言。后来语言学家找到了翻译古代盖尔语手稿的方法，人们这才得以阅读爱尔兰的古籍。

[73]西边儿指爱尔兰西部的偏僻农村。那里的人们依然说爱尔兰语。

[74]品脱是液量名，一品脱合0·五七升弱。

[75]先令是英国当时通用的货币单位。二十先令为一英镑，一先令为十二便士。英币改为十进制后，合十便士。

[76]佛罗林是十三世纪时意大利开始铸造的一种银币。一八四九年以来在英国通用，一佛罗林合两先令。

[77]这是斯温伯恩的长诗《日出前的歌》(1871)“贡献”一节中的第1、2行。下文中的“心肝儿……你的脚前”见同一节的第3、4行。

[78]这里套用一八0五年英国海军统帅纳尔逊(1758一1805)在特拉法尔加角与法、西军舰进行殊死战时对英国海军的训话。 只是把原话“英国期待每人今天各尽自己的职责”中的“英国”改成了“爱尔兰”。

[79]即墨西哥清流。它流向东北，在加拿大纽芬兰岸外与北大西洋漂流汇合，继续朝东北流向不列颠群岛以及北海和挪威海。

[80]语出自莎士比亚的悲剧《麦克白》第5章第1场。麦克白夫人怂恿丈夫把苏格兰国王邓肯杀死后，在梦游中不断地擦手，并且说：“可是这儿还有一点污迹。”

[81]天主教为了纪念耶酥受难，在教堂里设十四座十字架，教徒沿着一座座十字架，边念经边朝拜。“被恶人强剥下衣服”是在第十座十字架前念的经文中的一句。这里，不信教的穆利根戏谑地以耶稣自况。

[82]“我自……矛盾”是美国诗人沃尔特·惠特曼(1819-1892)的长诗《自己之歌》(1855)第51首第6、7行诗句。

[83]“能言善辩的”，也可以译为“墨丘利般的”，参看本章注[101]。

[84]拉丁区是巴黎塞纳河南岸的地区。有不少大学及文化设施，历来是学生和艺术家麇集之地。

[85]按当时都柏林郊区有两个叫作莫里斯·巴特里的农民。《路加福音》第22章第26节作：“于是彼得出去痛哭。”这是文字游戏，“metButterly”(遇见了巴特里)与“weptbitterly”(痛哭)谐音。

[86]比利是威廉的昵称。威廉·皮特(1759一1806)，英国首相。

[87]“法国人在海上”一语出自《贫穷的老妪》。这首十八世纪末叶的爱尔兰歌谣表达了“贫穷的老妪”(爱尔兰古称)对越海而来的法国支援者的期待心情。一七九六至一七九七年间，法国人曾两次派出远征军支援爱尔兰革命，均未能到达。一七九八年法国人虽登了陆，却被迫投降。下文中的“中心”，原文为希腊文。

[88]托马斯·阿奎那(1225一1274)，意大利神学家、诗人。他区分了自然领域与超自然领域之后，将希腊哲学家亚里士多德和柏拉图的思想，以及奥古斯丁和其他早期教父的思想加以综合，发展成为一套复杂而富有特色的思想体系。

[89]祭带是神父做弥撒时所挂的细长带子，从脖颈垂到胸前。

[90]老金赤指斯蒂芬的父亲。

[91]指英国海军军官弗雷德里克·马里亚特(1792一1848)所写的一部以寻父为主题的小说(1836)。弃儿雅弗千方百计找到的生父，却原来是东印度群岛上的一名脾气暴躁的军官。据《创世记》，挪亚喝醉后，他的儿子闪和雅弗曾去找他，见本章注[51]。斯蒂芬的父亲也是个酒鬼。这里，穆利根把斯蒂芬比作雅弗。

[92]艾尔西诺是丹麦的谢兰岛上一军港。莎士比亚的悲剧《哈姆莱特》即以此港为背景。“濒临……之颠”一语引自《哈姆莱特》第1幕第4场中霍拉旭对哈姆莱特所说的话。

[93]“大海的统治者”指一九一四年以前英国海军和商船在海上称霸。

[94]据(路加福音)第1章，犹太童贞女玛利亚已许配给木匠约瑟，但未成婚前，因圣灵降临到她身上而怀孕，遂生下耶稣。圣灵通常以鸽子的形象出现，故有“鸟儿”一说。《马可福音》第1章第l0节有云：“圣灵仿佛鸽子，降在她身上。”

[95]指耶酥的十二门徒。

[96]各各他是耶稣被钉十字架的地方。

[97]据《约翰福音》第2 章，耶稣和他的门徒在加利利的迦拿应邀赴婚筵时，酒用尽了。那儿摆着六口缸。耶稣对佣人说：“把缸倒满了水。”他们就倒满了，漫到缸口。舀出来一尝，水已变成了酒。这是耶稣所行的头一件神迹。这首打油诗的最后一句指喝下去的酒变成了尿。

[98]语出《路加福音》第24章第46节：“第三日从死里复活。”

[99]橄榄山在耶路撒冷以东，耶稣经常偕同门徒到此。

[100]四十步潭是沙湾的一座专供男子洗澡的天然浴场。

[101]墨丘利是罗马神话中众神的信使，相当于希腊神话中的赫耳墨斯。穆利根与《旧约全书》末卷《玛拉基书》里的先知玛拉基(活动时期公元前约460)同名。该名是希伯来语“我的使者”的音译，所以这里把他与墨丘利相比。

[102]勃克·穆利根所唱的《滑稽的耶稣》是根据奥利弗·圣约翰·戈加蒂所作的讽刺诗《快活的耶稣之歌》改编的。

[103]人格神是指神也具有人格，而神子耶稣基督乃是人格的楷模。

[104]典出自《神曲·天堂》第17篇。但丁的高祖卡却基达对他说:“你将懂得别人家的面包是多么苦涩，别人家的楼梯是多么难以攀上攀下。”

[105]指维多利亚女王(1819一1901)，她统治英国达六十四年之久(1837一1901)。

[106]第三个，指穆利根。

[107]指罗马天主教会。

[108]后文中，斯蒂芬借用了海恩斯这句话(见第十五章注[860]及有关正文)。下段中的“独一至圣使徒公教会”，原文为拉丁文。

[109]即马尔塞鲁斯二世(1501一1555)，意大利籍教皇，原名塞维尼。即位后仅二十二天即逝世。

[110]《马尔塞鲁斯教皇弥撒曲》系意大利作曲家乔瓦尼·皮耶路易吉·帕莱斯特里纳(1525一1594)所作。这支弥撒曲曾于一八九八年在都柏林的圣女德肋撒教堂被人重新演奏。

[111]指《使徒信经》。传统上，《信经》中的十二个信条分别由十二名使徒来象征，故名。如“我信全能者，天主父，化成天地。”(彼得) “我信其唯一子，耶稣基利斯督我等主。”(约翰)

[112]“教会的使者。指天使长米迦勒。

[113]佛提乌(816一891)，原系在俗学者，由拜占廷皇帝米恰尔三世任命为拜占廷教会君士坦丁堡牧首，受到罗马教皇尼古拉一世的反对。在君士坦丁堡会议(867年)上，佛提乌谴责尼古拉，从而形成对立，史称佛提乌分裂局面。

[114]阿里乌(约250-336)，利比亚人，埃及亚历山大里亚基督教司铎。尼西亚公会议(325年)公布《尼西亚信经》，指明基督(圣子)与天主(圣父)同样具有神性。阿里乌拒绝签名。他倡导阿里乌主义，认为基督是被造的(made， 指系天主所造，因而不具有完全的神性)，而不是受生的(begotten，指由天主所生，因而具有完全的神性)。这种理论被早期教会宣布为异端。

[115]瓦伦廷是公元二世纪的宗教哲学家，出生于埃及， 为诺斯替教罗马派和广大利派的创始人。公元一四0年前后曾谋求罗马主教之职位而失败， 遂脱离基督教。瓦伦廷的早期理论与保罗的神秘神学相似，强调基督死后复活，信徒因而得救。

[116]撒伯里乌(？—— 270)，可能曾任罗马教会长老。他反对天主教会关于三位一体(谓天主本体为一，但又是圣父、圣子耶稣基督和圣灵三位)的教义，而主张天主是单一的，而有三种功能，圣父创造天地，圣子救赎罪人，圣灵使人成圣。因此，被斥为异端邪说。

[117]陌生人是爱尔兰人对英国人(侵略者与霸主)的称呼。

[118]这里套用英国诗人约翰·韦伯斯特(约1580——约1625)的《魔鬼的诉讼》(1623)的词句：“国王野心一场空……织网只为了捕风。”

[119]原文为法语。这是斯蒂芬从冥想中醒过来后暗自说的话。

[120]指德裔犹太富豪罗斯蔡尔德家族。当时他们控制着英国经济。

[121]她指船。阉牛港位于都柏林湾东南方的岬角。下文中的噚是测量水深用的长度单位，一噚合一·八九八米。

[122]它指溺尸。民间迷信:失去踪影的沉尸会在第九天浮上来。

[123]韦斯特米思位于都柏林市以西四十英里处，是爱尔兰伦斯特省一郡。亚历克·班农是个学生，参看第四章中米莉来信和第十四章注[146]及有关正文。

[124]指本书另一主人公利奥波德·布卢姆的女儿米莉。她在韦斯特米思郡穆林加尔市的照相馆工作。该市距都柏林五十英里。

[125]这个泅水者的头顶剃光了，只留下一圏灰发，说明他是个天主教神父。直到一九七二年，这一习俗才由教皇保罗六世下令废除。

[126]这是基督教会自古流行的一种对天主三位一体(圣父=额头，圣子=嘴唇，圣神=胸部)表示尊崇的手势。天主教神父举行弥撒时，在诵读经文前以及仪式结束后，照例要划十字。

[127]原文为德语。《创世记》第2章第21节有天主抽掉亚当一根肋骨的记载。这里，穆利根以亚当自况，说他的“第十二根肋骨没有了”，这样，他就成了“超人”。

[128]琐罗亚斯德(约公元前628一约前551)，穆斯林先知、琐罗亚斯德教创始人。古波斯语作查拉图斯特拉。《琐罗亚斯德如是说》(1883－1885)是德国哲学家尼采(1844一1900)的一部谶语式的格言著作。他在其中借琐罗亚斯德来鼓吹自己的“超人”哲学(即认为“超人”是历史的创造者，有权奴役群众，而普通人只是“超人”实现自己权力意志的工具)。

[129]这里，勃克·穆利根故意篡改了《箴言》第19章第17节“怜悯贫穷的，就是借给耶和华……”一语，借以挖苦说，尼采是个极端的利己主义者，以别人为踏脚石来达到自己的目的，在本世纪初，西欧曾流行过这种论点。

[130]意思是说，这三者都是危险的，不能掉以轻心。

[131]原文是拉丁文。

[132]本章以勃克·穆利根假装举行弥撒为开端[见本章注[2]]，结尾处又把一位真正的神父出浴后在湾汊的岩洞中穿衣服比作弥撒结束后神父在更衣，并将神父那圈灰发描述成圣徒头后的光晕。壁龛指岩洞。

[133]篡夺者指从斯蒂芬手里讨走钥匙的勃克·穆利根。在《奥德修纪》卷1、2中，帕雷马科也曾指责那些求婚子弟们掠夺他的家财;哈姆莱特王子则对霍拉旭说，叔叔克劳狄斯“篡夺了我嗣位的权利”，参看《哈姆莱特》第5幕第2场。