BRONZE BY GOLD HEARD THE HOOFIRONS, STEELYRINING IMPERthnthn thnthnthn.
Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips.
Horrid! And gold flushed more.
A husky fifenote blew.
Blew. Blue bloom is on the Gold pinnacled hair.
A jumping rose on satiny breasts of satin, rose of Castille.
Trilling, trilling: I dolores.
Peep! Who's in the... peepofgold?
Tink cried to bronze in pity.
And a call, pure, long and throbbing. Longindying call.
Decoy. Soft word. But look! The bright stars fade.
O rose! Notes chirruping answer. Castille. The morn is breaking.
Jingle jingle jaunted jingling.
Coin rang. Clock clacked.
Avowal. Sonnez. I could. Rebound of garter. Not leave thee. Smack. La cloche! Thigh smack. Avowal. Warm. Sweetheart, goodbye!
Jingle. Bloo.
Boomed crashing chords. When love absorbs. War! War! The tympanum.
A sail! A veil awave upon the waves.
Lost. Throstle fluted. All is lost now.
Horn. Hawhorn.
When first he saw. Alas!
Full tup. Full throb.
Warbling. Ah, lure! Alluring.
Martha! Come!
Clapclop. Clipclap. Clappyclap.
Goodgod henev erheard inall.
Deaf bald Pat brought pad knife took up.
A moonlight nightcall: far: far.
I feel so sad. P. S. So lonely blooming.
Listen!
The spiked and winding cold seahorn. Have you the? Each and for other plash and silent roar.
Pearls: when she. Liszt's rhapsodies. Hissss.
You don't?
Did not: no, no: believe: Lidlyd. With a cock with a carra.
Black.
Deepsounding. Do, Ben, do.
Wait while you wait. Hee hee. Wait while you hee.
But wait!
Low in dark middle earth. Embedded ore.
Naminedamine. All gone. All fallen.
Tiny, her tremulous fernfoils of maidenhair.
Amen! He gnashed in fury.
Fro. To, fro. A baton cool protruding.
Bronzelydia by Minagold.
By bronze, by gold, in oceangreen of shadow. Bloom. Old Bloom.
One rapped, one tapped with a carra, with a cock.
Pray for him! Pray, good people!
His gouty fingers nakkering.
Big Benaben. Big Benben.
Last rose Castille of summer left bloom I feel so sad alone.
Pwee! Little wind piped wee.
True men. Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. Ay, ay. Like you men. Will lift your tschink with tschunk.
Fff! Oo!
Where bronze from anear? Where gold from afar? Where hoofs?
Rrrpr. Kraa. Kraandl.
Then, not till then. My eppripfftaph. Be pfrwritt.
Done.
Begin!
Bronze by gold, Miss Douce's head by Miss Kennedy's head, over the crossblind of the Ormond bar heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringing steel.
-- Is that her? asked Miss Kennedy.
Miss Douce said yes, sitting with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil.
-- Exquisite contrast, Miss Kennedy said.
When all agog Miss Douce said eagerly:
-- Look at the fellow in the tall silk.
-- Who? Where? gold asked more eagerly.
-- In the second carriage, Miss Douce's wet lips said, laughing in the sun. He's looking. Mind till I see.
She darted, bronze, to the backmost corner, flattening her face against the pane in a halo of hurried breath.
Her wet lips tittered:
-- He's killed looking back.
She laughed:
-- O wept! Aren't men frightful idiots?
With sadness.
Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, twining a loose hair behind an ear. Sauntering sadly, gold no more, she twisted twined a hair. Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind a curving ear.
-- It's them has the fine times, sadly then she said.
A man.
Bloowho went by by Moulang's pipes, bearing in his breast the sweets of sin, by Wine's antiques in memory bearing sweet sinful words, by Carroll's dusky battered plate, for Raoul.
The boots to them, them in the bar, them barmaids came. For them unheeding him he banged on the counter his tray of chattering china. And
-- There's your teas, he said.
Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, low.
-- What is it? loud boots unmannerly asked.
-- Find out, Miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint.
-- Your beau, is it?
A haughty bronze replied:
-- I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I hear any more of your impertinent insolence.
-- I mperthnthn thnthnthn, bootsnout sniffed rudely, as he retreated as she threatened as he had come.
Bloom.
On her flower frowning Miss Douce said:
-- Most aggravating that young brat is. If he doesn't conduct himself I'll wring his ear for him a yard long.
Ladylike in exquisite contrast.
-- Take no notice, Miss Kennedy rejoined.
She poured in a teacup tea, then back in the teapot tea. They cowered under their reef of counter, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting for their teas to draw. They pawed their blouses, both of black satin, two and nine a yard, waiting for their teas to draw, and two and seven.
Yes, bronze from anear, by gold from afar, heard steel from anear, hoofs ring from afar, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel.
-- Am I awfully sunburnt?
Miss Bronze unbloused her neck.
-- No, said Miss Kennedy. It gets brown after. Did you try the borax with the cherry laurel water?
Miss Douce halfstood to see her skin askance in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in their midst a shell.
-- And leave it to my hands, she said.
-- Try it with the glycerine, Miss Kennedy advised.
Bidding her neck and hands adieu Miss Douce
-- Those things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated. I asked that old fogey in Boyd's for something for my skin.
Miss Kennedy, pouring now fulldrawn tea, grimaced and prayed:
-- O, don't remind me of him for mercy'sake!
-- But wait till I tell you, Miss Douce entreated.
Sweet tea Miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with little fingers.
-- No, don't, she cried.
-- I won't listen, she cried.
But Bloom?
Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone:
-- For your what? says he.
Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear, to speak: but said, but prayed again:
-- Don't let me think of him or I'll expire. The hideous old wretch! That night in the Antient Concert Rooms.
She sipped distastefully her brew, hot tea, a sip, sipped sweet tea.
-- Here he was, Miss Douce said, cocking her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. Hufa! Hufa!
Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from Miss Kennedy's throat. Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a shout in quest.
-- O! shrieking, Miss Kennedy cried. Will you ever forget bis goggle eye?
Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, shouting:
-- And your other eye!
Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner's name. Why do I always think Figather? Gathering figs I think. And Prosper Loré's huguenot name. By Bassi's blessed virgins Bloom's dark eyes went by. Bluerobed, white under, come to me. God they believe she is: or goddess. Those today. I could not see. That fellow spoke. A student. After with Dedalus' son. He might be Mulligan. All comely virgins. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her white.
By went his eyes. The sweets of sin. Sweet are the sweets.
Of sin.
In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye. They threw young heads back, bronze gigglegold, to let freefly their laughter, screaming, your other, signals to each Other, high piercing notes.
Ah, panting, sighing. Sighing, ah, fordone their mirth died down.
Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, raised, drank a sip and giggle-giggled. Miss Douce, bending again over the teatray, ruffled again her nose and rolled droll fattened eyes. Again Kennygiggles, stooping her fair pinnacles of hair, stooping, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of her mouth her tea, choking in tea and laughter, coughing with choking, crying:
-- O greasy eyes! Imagine being married to a man like that, she cried. With his bit of beard!
Douce gave full vent to a splendid yell, a full yell of full woman, delight, joy, indignation.
-- Married to the greasy nose! she yelled.
Shrill, with deep laughter, after bronze in gold, they urged each other to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold goldbronze, shrilldeep, to laughter after laughter: And then laughed more. Greasy I knows. Exhausted, breathless their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the counterledge. All flushed (O!), panting, sweating (O!), all breathless.
Married to Bloom, to greaseaseabloom.
-- O saints above! Miss Douce said, sighed above her jumping rose. I wished I hadn't laughed so much. I feel all wet.
-- O, Miss Douce! Miss Kennedy protested. You horrid thing!
And flushed yet more (you horrid!), more goldenly.
By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by Ceppi's virgins, bright of their oils. Nannetti's father hawked those things about, wheedling at doors as I. Religion pays. Must see him about Keyes's par. Eat first. I want. Not yet. At four, she said. Time ever passing. Clockhands turning. On. Where eat? The Clarence, Dolphin. On. For Raoul. Eat. If I net five guineas with those ads. The violet silk petticoats. Not yet. The sweets of sin.
Flushed less, still less, goldenly paled.
Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus. Chips, picking chips off one of his rocky thumbnails. Chips. He strolled.
-- O welcome back, Miss Douce.
He held her hand. Enjoyed her holidays?.
-- Tiptop.
He hoped she had nice weather in Rostrevor.
-- Gorgeous, she said. Look at the holy show I am. Lying out on the strand all day.
Bronze whiteness.
-- That was exceedingly naughty of you, Mr Dedalus told her and pressed her hand indulgently. Tempting poor simple males.
Miss Douce of satin douced her arm away.
-- O go away, she said. You're very simple, I don't think.
He was.
-- Well now, I am, he mused. I looked so simple in the cradle they christened me simple Simon.
-- You must have been a doaty, Miss Douce made answer. And what did the doctor order today?
-- Well now, he mused, whatever you say yourself. I think I'll trouble you for some fresh water and a half glass of whisky.
Jingle.
-- With the greatest alacrity, Miss Douce agreed.
With grace of alacrity towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself. With grace she tapped a measure of gold whisky from her crystal keg. Forth from the skirt of his coat Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe. Alacrity she served. He blew through the flue two husky fifenotes.
-- By Jove, he mused. I often wanted to see the Mourne mountains. Must be a great tonic in the air down there. But a long threatening comes at last, they say. Yes, yes.
Yes. He fingered shreds of hair, her maidenhair, her mermaid's, into the bowl. Chips. Shreds. Musing. Mute.
None not said nothing. Yes.
Gaily Miss Douce polished a tumbler, trilling:
-- O, Idolores, queen of the eastern seas!
-- Was Mr Lidwell in today?
In came Lenehan. Round him peered Lenehan. Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge. Yes, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. To Martha I must write. Buy paper. Daly's. Girl there civil. Bloom. Old Bloom. Blue Bloom is on the rye.
-- He was in at lunchtime, Miss Douce said.
Lenehan came forward.
-- Was Mr Boylan looking for me?
He asked. She answered:
-- Miss Kennedy, was Mr Boylan in while I was upstairs?
She asked. Miss voice of Kennedy answered, a second teacup poised, her gaze upon a page.
-- No. He was not.
Miss gaze of Kennedy, heard not seen, read on. Lenehan round the sandwichbell wound his round body round.
-- Peep! Who's in the corner?
No glance of Kennedy rewarding him he yet made overtures. To mind her stops. To read only the black ones: round o and crooked ess.
Jingle jaunty jingle.
Girlgold she read and did not glance. Take no notice. She took no notice while he read by rote a solfa fable for her, plappering flatly:
-- Ah fox met ah stork. Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone?
He droned in vain. Miss Douce turned to her tea aside.
He sighed, aside:
-- Ah me! O my!
He greeted Mr Dedalus and got a nod.
-- Greetings from the famous son of a famous father.
-- Who may he be? Mr Dedalus asked.
Lenehan opened most genial arms. Who?
-- Who may he be? he asked. Can you ask? Stephen, the youthful bard.
Dry.
Mr Dedalus, famous fighter, laid by his dry filled pipe.
-- I see, he said. I didn't recognize him for the moment. I hear he is keeping very select company. Have you seen him lately?
He had.
-- I quaffed the nectarbowl with him this very day, said Lenehan. In Mooney's en ville and in Mooney's sur mer. He had received the rhino for the labour of his muse.
He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at listening lips and eyes.
-- The élite of Erin hung upon his lips. The ponderous pundit, Hugh MacHugh, Dublin's most brilliant scribe and editor, and that minstrel boy of the wild wet west who is known by the euphonious appellation of the O'Madden Burke.
After an interval Mr Dedalus raised his grog and
-- That must have been highly diverting, said he. I see.
He see. He drank. With faraway mourning mountain eye. Set down his glass.
He looked towards the saloon door.
-- I see you have moved the piano.
-- The tuner was in today, Miss Douce replied, tuning it for the smoking concert and I never heard such an exquisite player.
-- Is that a fact?
-- Didn't he, Miss Kennedy? The real classical, you know. And blind too, poor fellow. Not twenty I'm sure he was.
-- Is that a fact? Mr Dedalus said.
He drank and strayed away.
-- So sad to look at his face, Miss Douce condoled.
God's curse on bitch's bastard.
Tink to her pity cried a diner's bell. To the door of the diningroom came bald Pat, came bothered Pat, came Pat, waiter of Ormond. Lager for diner. Lager without alacrity she served.
With patience Lenehan waited for Boylan with impatience, for jingle jaunty blazes boy.
Upholding the lid he (who?) gazed in the coffin (coffin?) at the oblique triple (piano!) wires. He pressed (the same who pressed indulgently her hand), soft pedalling a triple of keys to see the thicknesses of felt advancing, to hear the muffled hammerfall in action.
Two sheets cream vellum paper on reserve two envelopes when I was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Are you not happy in your home? Flower to console me and a pin cuts lo. Means something, language of flow. Was it a daisy? Innocence that is. Respectable girl meet after mass. Tanks awfully muchly. Wise Bloom eyed on the door a poster, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves. Smoke mermaids, coolest whiff of all. Hair streaming: lovelorn. For some man. For Raoul. He eyed and saw afar on Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a jauntingcar. It is. Third time. Coincidence.
Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the bridge to Ormond quay. Follow. Risk it. Go quick. At four. Near now. Out.
-- Two pence, sir, the shopgirl dared to say.
Aha... I was forgetting... Excuse...
And four.
At four she. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. Bloo smi qui go. Ternoon. Think you're the only pebble on the beach? Does that to all. For men.
In drowsy silence gold bent on her page.
From the saloon a call came, long in dying. That was a tuningfork the tuner had that he forgot that he now struck. Acall again. That he now poised that it now throbbed. You hear? It throbbed, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its buzzing prongs. Longer in dying call.
Pat paid for diner's popcorked bottle: and over tumbler tray and popcorked bottle ere he went he whispered, bald and bothered, with Miss Douce.
-- The bright stars fade...
A voiceless song sang from within, singing:
-- ... the morn is breaking.
A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. Brightly the keys, all twinkling, linked, all harpsichording, called to a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of youth, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn.
-- The dewdrops pearl...
Lenehan's lips over the counter lisped a low whistle of decoy.
-- But look this way, he said, rose of Castille.
Jingle jaunted by the curb and stopped.
She rose and closed her reading, rose of Castille. Fretted forlorn, dreamily rose.
-- Did she fall or was she pushed? he asked her.
She answered, slighting:
-- Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies.
Like lady, ladylike.
Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the barfloor where he strode. Yes, gold from anear by bronze from afar. Lenehan heard and knew and hailed him:
-- See the conquering hero comes.
Between the car and window, warily walking, went Bloom, unconquered hero. See me he might. The seat he sat on: warm. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft saluting.
-- And I from thee...
-- I heard you were round, said Blazes Boylan.
He touched to fair Miss Kennedy a rim of his slanted straw. She smiled on him. But sister bronze outsmiled her, preening for him her richer hair, a bosom and a rose.
Boylan bespoke potions.
-- What's your cry? Glass of bitter? Glass of bitter, please, and a sloegin for me. Wire in yet?
Not yet. At four he. All said four.
Cowley's red lugs and Adam's apple in the door of the sheriff's office. Avoid. Goulding a chance. What is he doing in the Ormond? Car waiting. Wait.
Hello. Where off to? Something to eat? I too was just. In here. What, Ormond? Best value in Dublin. Is that so? Diningroom. Sit tight there. See, not be seen. I think I'll join you. Come on. Richie led on. Bloom followed bag. Dinner fit for a prince.
Miss Douce reached high to take a flagon, stretching her satin arm, her bust, that all but burst, so high.
-- O! O! jerked Lenehan, gasping at each stretch. O!
But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph.
-- Why don't you grow? asked Blazes Boylan.
Shebronze, dealing from her jar thick syrupy liquor for his lips, looked as it flowed (flower in his coat: who gave him?), and syrupped with her voice:
-- Fine goods in small parcels.
That is to say she. Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe.
-- Here's fortune, Blazes said.
He pitched a broad coin down. Coin rang.
-- Hold on, said Lenehan, till I...
-- Fortune, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale.
-- Sceptre will win in a canter, he said.
-- I plunged a bit, said Boylan winking and drinking. Not on my own, you know. Fancy of a friend of mine.
Lenehan still drank and grinned at his tilted ale and at Miss Douce's lips that all but hummed, not shut, the oceansong her lips had trilled. Idolores. The eastern seas.
Clock whirred. Miss Kennedy passed their way (flower, wonder who gave), bearing away teatray. Clock clacked.
Miss Douce took Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. It clanged. Clock clacked. Fair one of Egypt teased and sorted in the till and hummed and handed coins in change. Look to the west. A clack. For me.
-- What time is that? asked Blazes Boylan. Four?
O'clock.
Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylan's elbowsleeve.
-- Let's hear the time, he said.
The bag of Goulding, Collis, Ward led Bloom by ryebloom flowered tables. Aimless he chose with agitated aim, bald Pat attending, a table near the door. Be near. At four. Has he forgotten? Perhaps a trick. Not come: whet appetite. I couldn't do. Wait, wait. Pat, waiter, waited.
Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes.
-- Go on, pressed Lenehan. There's no-one. He never heard.
-- ... to Flora's lips did hie.
High, a high note, pealed in the treble, clear.
Bronzedouce, communing with her rose that sank and rose, sought Blazes Boylan's flower and eyes.
-- Please, please.
He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal.
-- I could not leave thee...
-- Afterwits, Miss Douce promised coyly.
-- No, now, urged Lenehan. Sonnezlacloche! O do! There's no-one.
She looked. Quick. Miss Kenn out of earshot. Sudden bent. Two kindling faces watched her bend.
Quavering the chords strayed from the air, found it again, lost chord, and lost and found it faltering.
-- Go on! Do! Sonnez!
Bending, she nipped a peak of skirt above her knee. Delayed. Taunted them still, bending, suspending, with wilful eyes.
-- Sonnez!
Smack. She let free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable woman's warmhosed thigh.
-- La cloche! cried gleeful Lenehan. Trained by owner. No sawdust there.
She smilesmirked supercilious (wept! aren't men?), but, lightward gliding, mild she smiled on Boylan.
-- You're the essence of vulgarity, she in gliding said.
Boyland, eyed, eyed. Tossed to fat lips his chalice, drankoff his tiny chalice, sucking the last fat violet syrupy drops. He spellbound eyes went after her gliding head as it went down the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a spiky shell, where it concerted, mirrored, bronze with sunnier bronze.
Yes, bronze from anearby.
-- ... Sweetheart, goodbye!
-- I'm off, said Boylan with impatience.
He slid his chalice brisk away, grasped his change.
-- Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, drinking quickly. I wanted to tell you. Tom Rochford...
-- Come on to blazes, said Blazes Boylan, going.
Lenehan gulped to go.
-- Got the horn or what? he said. Wait. I'm coming.
He followed the hasty creaking shoes but stood by nimbly by the threshold, saluting forms, a bulky with a slender.
-- How do you do Mr Dollard?
-- Eh? How do? How do? Ben Dollard's vague bass answered, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe. He won't give you any trouble, Bob. All Bergan will speak to the long fellow. We'll put a barleystraw in that Judas Iscariot's ear this time.
Sighing, Mr Dedalus came through the saloon, a finger soothing an eyelid.
-- Hoho, we will, Ben Dollard yodled jollily. Come on, Simon, give us a ditty. We heard the piano.
Bald Pat, bothered waiter, waited for drink orders, Power for Richie. And Bloom? Let me see. Not make him walk twice. His corns. Four now. How warm this black is. Course nerves a bit. Refracts (is it?) heat. Let me see. Cider. Yes, bottle of cider.
-- What's that? Mr Dedalus said. I was only vamping, man.
-- Come on, come on, Ben Dollar called. Begone, dull care. Come, Bob.
He ambled Dollard, bulky slops, before them (hold that fellow with the: hold him now) into the saloon. He plumped him Dollard on the stool. His gouty paws plumped chords. Plumped stopped abrupt.
Bald Pat in the doorway met tealess gold returning. Bothered he wanted Power and cider. Bronze by the window watched, bronze from afar.
Jingle a tinkle jaunted.
Bloom heard a jing, a little sound. He's off. Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the silent bluehued flowers. Jingling. He's gone. Jingle. Hear.
-- Love and war, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. God be with old times.
Miss Douce's brave eyes, unregarded, turned from the crossblind, smitten by sunlight. Gone. Pensive (who knows?), smitten (the smiting light), she lowered the dropblind with a sliding cord. She drew down pensive (why did he go so quick when I?) about her bronze over the bar where bald stood by sister gold, inexquisite contrast, contrast inexquisite nonexquisite, slow cool dim seagreen sliding depth of shadow, eau de Nil.
-- Poor old Goodwin was the pianist that night, Father Cowley reminded them. There was a slight difference of opinion between himself and the Collard grand.
There was.
-- A symposium all his own, Mr Dedalus said. The devil wouldn't stop him. He was a crotchety old fellow in the primary stage of drink.
-- God, do you remember? Ben bulky Dollard said, turning from the punished keyboard. And by Japers I had no wedding garment.
They laughed all three. He had no wed. All trio laughed. No wedding garment.
-- Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night, Mr Dedalus said. Where's my pipe by the way?
He wandered back to the bar to the lost chord pipe. Bald Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie and Poldy. And Father Cowley laughed again.
-- I saved the situation, Ben, I think.
-- You did, averred Ben Dollard. I remember those tight trousers too. That was a brilliant idea, Bob.
Father Cowley blushed to his brilliant purply lobes. He saved the situa. Tight trou. Brilliant ide.
-- I knew he was on the rocks, he said. The wife was playing the piano in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a very trifling consideration and who was it gave me the wheeze she was doing the other business? Do you remember? We had to search all Holles street to find them till the chap in Keogh's gave us the number. Remember?
Ben remembered, his broad visage wondering.
-- By God she had some luxurious opera cloaks and things there.
Mr Dedalus wandered back, pipe in hand.
-- Merrion square style. Balldresses, by God, and court dresses. He wouldn't take any money either. What? Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose. What?
-- Ay, ay, Mr Dedalus nodded. Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all descriptions.
Jingle haunted down the quays. Blazes sprawled on bounding tyres.
Liver and bacon. Steak and kidney pie. Right, sir. Right, Pat.
Mrs Marion met him pike hoses. Smell of burn of Paul de Kock. Nice name he.
-- What's this her name was? A buxom lassy. Marion.
-- Tweedy.
-- Yes. Is she alive?
-- And kicking.
-- She was a daughter of...
-- Daughter of the regiment.
-- Yes, begad. I remember the old drummajor.
Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after.
-- Irish? I don't know, faith. Is she, Simon?
Puff after stiff, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling.
-- Buccinator muscle is... What?... Bit rusty... O, she is... My Irish Molly, O.
He puffed a pungent plumy blast.
-- From the rock of Gibraltar... all the way.
They pined in depth of ocean shadow, gold by the beerpull, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two, Mina Kennedy, 4 Lismore terrace, Drumcondra with Idolores, a queen, Dolores, silent.
Pat served uncovered dishes. Leopold cut liverslices. As said before he ate with relish the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods' roes while Richie Goulding, Collis, Ward ate steak and kidney, steak then kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate Bloom ate they ate.
Bloom with Goulding, married in silence, ate. Dinners fit for princes.
By Bachelor's walk jogjaunty jingled Blazes Boylan, bachelor, in sun, in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with flick of whip, on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated, Boylan impatience, ardentbold. Horn. Have you the? Horn. Have you the? Haw haw horn.
Over their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords:
-- When love absorbs my ardent soul...
Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the quivery loveshivery roof-panes.
-- War! War! cried Father Cowley. You're the warrior.
-- So I am, Ben Warrior laughed. I was thinking of your landlord. Love or money.
He stopped. He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge.
-- Sure, you'd burst the tympanum of her ear, man, Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with an organ like yours.
In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the keyboard. He would.
-- Not to mention another membrane, Father Cowley added. Half time, Ben. Amoroso ma non troppo. Let me there.
Miss Kennedy served two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout. She passed a remark. It was indeed, first gentleman said, beautiful weather. They drank cool stout. Did she know where the lord lieutenant was going? And heard steelhoofs ringhoof ring. No, she couldn't say. But it would be in the paper. O, she needn't trouble. No trouble. She waved about her outspread Independent, searching, the lord lieutenant, her pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. Too much trouble, first gentleman said. O, not in the least. Way he looked that. Lord lieutenant. Gold by bronze heard iron steel.
-- ... my ardent soul
I care not foror the morrow.
In liver gravy Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. Love and war someone is. Ben Dollard's famous. Night he ran round to us to borrow a dress suit for that concert. Trousers tight as a drum on him. Musical porkers. Molly did laugh when he went out. Threw herself back across the bed, screaming, kicking. With all his belongings on show. O, saints above, I'm drenched! O, the women in the front row! O, I never laughed so many! Well, of course, that's what gives him the base barreltone. For instance eunuchs. Wonder who's playing. Nice touch. Must be Cowley. Musical. Knows whatever note you play. Bad breath he has, poor chap. Stopped.
Miss Douce, engaging, Lydia Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, George Lidwell, gentleman, entering. Good afternoon. She gave her moist, a lady's, hand to his firm clasp. Afternoon. Yes, she was back. To the old dingdong again.
-- Your friends are inside, Mr Lidwell.
George Lidwell, suave, solicited, held a lydiahand.
Bloom ate liv as said before. Clean here at least. That chap in the Burton, gummy with gristle. No-one here: Goulding and I. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins. Pat to and fro, bald Pat. Nothing to do. Best value in Dub.
Piano again. Cowley it is. Way he sits in to it, like one together, mutual understanding. Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the bowend, sawing the 'cello, remind you of toothache. Her high long snore. Night we were in the box. Trombone under blowing like a grampus, between the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. Conductor's legs too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy. Do right to hide them.
Jiggedy jingle jaunty jaunty.
Only the harp. Lovely gold glowering light. Girl touched it. Poop of a lovely. Gravy's rather good fit for a. Golden ship. Erin. The harp that once or twice. Cool hands. Ben Howth, the rhododendrons. We are their harps. I. He. Old. Young.
-- Ah, I couldn't, man, Mr Dedalus said, shy, listless.
Strongly.
-- Go on, blast you, Ben Dollard growled. Get it out in bits
-- M'appari, Simon, Father Cowley said.
Down stage he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his long arms outheld. Hoarsely the apple of his throat hoarsed softly. Softly he sang to a dusty seascape there: A Last Farewell. A headland, a ship, a sail upon the billows. Farewell. A lovely girl, her veil awave upon the wind upon the headland, wind around her.
Cowley sang:
-- M'appari tutt amor;
Il mio sguardo l'incontr...
She waved, unhearing Cowley, her veil to one departing, dear one, to wind, love, speeding sail, return.
-- Go on, Simon.
-- Ah, sure my dancing days are done, Ben... Well...
Mr Dedalus laid his pipe to rest beside the tuningfork and, sitting, touched the obedient keys.
-- No, Simon, Father Cowley turned. Play it in the original One flat.
The keys, obedient, rose higher, told, faltered, confessed, confused.
Up stage strode Father Cowley.
-- Here, Simon. I'll accompany you, he said. Get up.
By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, by Elvery's elephant jingle jogged. Steak, kidney, liver, mashed at meat fit for princes sat princes Bloom and Goulding. Princes at meat they raised and drank Power and cider.
Most beautiful tenor air ever written, Richie said: Sonnambula. He heard Joe Maas sing that one night. Ah, that M'Guckin! Yes. In his way. Choirboy style. Maas was the boy. Massboy. A lyrical tenor if you like. Never forget it. Never.
Tenderly Bloom over liverless bacon saw the tightened features strain. Backache he. Bright's bright eye. Next item on the programme. Paying the piper. Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box. Stave it off awhile. Sings too: Down among the dead men. Appropriate. Kidney pie. Sweets to the. Not-making much hand of it. Best value in. Characteristic of him. Power. Particular about his drink. Flaw in the glass, fresh Vartry water. Fecking matches from counters to save. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. And when he's wanted not a farthing. Screwed refusing to pay his fare. Curious types.
Never would Richie forget that night. As long as he lived, never. In the gods of the old Royal with little Peake. And when the first note.
Speech paused on Richie's lips.
Coming out with a whopper now. Rhapsodies about damn all. Believes his own lies. Does really. Wonderful liar. But want a good memory.
-- Which air is that? asked Leopold Bloom.
-- All is lost now...
Richie cocked his lips apout. A low incipient note sweet banshee murmured all. A thrush. A throstle. His breath, birdsweet, good teeth he's proud of, fluted with plaintive woe. Is lost. Rich sound. Two notes in one there. Blackbird I heard in the hawthorn valley. Taking my motives he twined and turned them. All most too new call is lost in all. Echo. How sweet the answer. How is that done? All lost now. Mournful he whistled. Fall, surrender, lost.
Bloom bent leopold ear, turning a fringe of doyley down under the vase. Order. Yes, I remember. Lovely air. In sleep she went to him. Innocence in the moon. Still hold her back. Brave, don't know their danger. Call name. Touch water. Jingle jaunty. Too late. She longed to go. That's why. Woman. As easy stop the sea. Yes: all is lost.
-- A beautiful air, said Bloom lost Leopold. I know it well.
Never in all his life had Richie Goulding.
He knows it well too. Or he feels. Still harping on his daughter. Wise child that knows her father, Dedalus said. Me?
Bloom askance over liverless saw. Face of the all is lost. Rollicking Richie once. Jokes old stale now. Wagging his ear. Napkinring in his eye. Now begging letters he sends his son with. Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir. Wouldn't trouble only I was expecting some money. Apologise.
Piano again. Sounds better than last time I heard. Tuned probably. Stopped again.
Dollard and Cowley still urged the lingering singer out with it.
-- With it, Simon.
-- It, Simon.
-- Ladies and gentlemen, I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations.
-- It, Simon.
-- I have no money but if you will lend me your attention I shall endeavour to sing to you of a heart bowed down.
By the sandwichbell in screening shadow, Lydia her bronze and rose, a lady's grace, gave and withheld: as in cool glaucous eau de Nil Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of gold.
The harping chords of prelude closed. A chord longdrawn, expectant drew a voice away.
-- When first I saw that form endearing.
Richie turned.
-- Si Dedalus' voice, he said.
Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine. Bloom signed to Pat, bald Pat is a waiter hard of hearing, to set ajar the door of the bar. The door of the bar. So. That will do. Pat, waiter, waited, waiting to hear, for he was hard of hear by the door.
-- Sorrow from me seemed to depart.
Through the hush of air a voice sang to them, low, not rain, not leaves in murmur, like no voice of strings of reeds or what doyoucallthem dulcimers, touching their still ears with words, still hearts of their each his remembered lives. Good, good to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to from both depart when first they heard. When first they saw, lost Richie, Poldy, mercy of beauty, heard from a person wouldn't expect it in the least, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word.
Love that is singing: love's old sweet song. Bloom unwound slowly the elastic band of his packet. Love's old sweet sonnez la gold. Bloom wound a skein round four forkfingers, stretched it, relaxed, and wound it round his troubled double, fourfold, in octave, gyved them fast.
-- Full of hope and all delighted...
Tenors get women by the score. Increase their flow. Throw flower at his feet when will we meet? My head it simply. Jingle all delighted. He can't sing for tall hats. Your head it simply swurls. Perfumed for him. What perfume does your wife? I want to know. Jing. Stop. Knock. Last look at mirror always before she answers the door. The hall. There? How do you? I do well. There? What? Or? Phila of cachous, kissing comfits, in her satchel. Yes? Hands felt for the opulent.
Alas! The voice rose, sighing, changed: loud, full, shining, proud.
-- But alas, 'twas idle dreaming...
Glorious tone he has still. Cork air softer also their brogue. Silly man! Could have made oceans of money. Singing wrong words. Wore out his wife: now sings. But hard to tell. Only the two themselves. If he doesn't break down. Keep a trot for the avenue. His hands and feet sing too. Drink. Nerves overstrung. Must be abstemious to sing. Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream. For creamy dreamy.
Tenderness it welled: slow, swelling. Full it throbbed. That's the chat. Ha, give! Take! Throb, a throb, a pulsing proud erect.
Words? Music? No: it's what's behind.
Bloom looped, unlooped, noded, disnoded.
Bloom. Flood of warm jimjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, in desire, dark to lick flow, invading. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her. Tup. Pores to dilate dilating. Tup. The joy the feel the warm the. Tup. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrop. Now! Language of love.
-- ... ray of hope...
Beaming. Lydia for Lidwell squeak scarcely hear so ladylike the muse unsqueaked a ray of hope.
Martha it is. Coincidence. Just going to write. Lionel's song. Lovely name you have. Can't write. Accept my little pres. Play on her heartstrings pursestrings too. She's a. I called you naughty boy. Still the name: Martha. How strange! Today.
The voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. It sang again to Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to Pat open mouth ear waiting, to wait. How first he saw that form endearing, how sorrow seemed to part, how look, form, word charmed him Gould Lidwell, won Pat Bloom's heart.
Wish I could see his face, though. Explain better. Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face when I spoke his face in the glass. Still hear it better here than in the bar though farther.
-- Each graceful look...
First night when first I saw her at Mat Dillon's in Terenure. Yellow, black lace she wore. Musical chairs. We two the last. Fate. After her. Fate. Round and round slow. Quick round. We two. All looked. Halt. Down she sat. All ousted looked. Lips laughing. Yellow knees.
-- Charmed my eye...
Singing. Waiting she sang. I turned her music. Full voice of perfume of what perfume does your lilactrees. Bosom I saw, both full, throat warbling. First I saw. She thanked me. Why did she me? Fate. Spanishy eyes. Under a peartree alone patio this hour in old Madrid one side in shadow Dolores shedolores. At me. Luring. Ah, alluring.
-- Martha! Ah, Martha!
Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in cry of passion dominant to love to return with deepening yet with rising chords of harmony. In cry of lionel loneliness that she should know, must Martha feel. For only her he waited. Where? Here there try there here all try where. Somewhere.
-- Co-me, thou lost one!
Co-me thou dear one!
Alone. One love. One hope. One comfort me. Martha, chest note, return.
-- Come!
It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come, don't spin it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of the ethereal bosom, high, of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, the endlessnessnessness...
-- To me!
Siopold!
Consumed.
Come. Well sung. All clapped. She ought to. Come. To me, to him, to her, you too, me, us.
-- Bravo! Clapclap. Goodman, Simon. Clappyclapclap. Encore! Clapclipclap. Sound as a bell. Bravo, Simon! Clapclopclap. Encore, enclap, said, cried, clapped all, Ben Dollard, Lydia Douce, George Lidwell, Pat, Mina, two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, first gent with tank and bronze Miss Douce and gold Miss Mina.
Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the barfloor, said before. Jingle by monuments of sir John Gray, Horatio onehandled Nelson, reverend father Theobald Matthew, jaunted as said before just now. Atrot, in heat, heatseated. Cloche. Sonnez la. Cloche. Sonnez la. Slower the mare went up the hill by the Rotunda, Rutland square. Too slow for Boylan, blazes Boylan, impatience Boylan, joggled the mare.
An afterclang of Cowley's chords closed, died on the air made richer.
And Richie Goulding drank his Power and Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said they would partake of two tankards if she did not mind. Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, at first, at second. She did not mind.
-- Seven days in jail, Ben Dollard said, on bread and water. Then you'd sing, Simon, like a garden thrush.
Lionel Simon, singer, laughed. Father Bob Cowley played. Mina Kennedy served. Second gentleman paid. Tom Kernan strutted in; Lydia, admired, admired. But Bloom sang dumb.
Admiring.
Richie, admiring, descanted on that man's glorious voice. He remembered one night long ago. Never forget that night. Si sang 'Twas rank and fame: in Ned Lambert's 'twas. Good God he never heard in all his life a note like that he never did then false one we had better part so clear so God he never heard since love lives not a clinking voice ask Lambert he can tell you too.
Goulding, a flush struggling in his pale, told Mr Bloom, face of the night, Si in Ned Lambert's, Dedalus' house, sang 'Twas rank and fame...
He, Mr Bloom, listened while he, Richie Goulding, told him, Mr Bloom of the night he, Richie, heard him, Si Dedalus, sing 'Twas rank and fame in his, Ned Lambert's house.
Brothers-in-law: relations. We never speak as we pass by. Rift in the lute I think. Treats him with scorn. See. He admires him all the more. The nights Si sang. The human voice, two tiny silky cords. Wonderful, more than all the others.
That voice was a lamentation. Calmer now. It's in the silence you feel you hear. Vibrations. Now silent air.
Bloom ungyved his crisscrossed hands and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. He drew and plucked. It buzzed, it twanged. While Goulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while Tom Kernan, harking back in a retrospective sort of arrangement, talked to listening Father Cowley who played a voluntary, who nodded as he played. While big Ben Dollard talked with Simon Dedalus lighting, who nodded as he smoked, who smoked.
Thou lost one. All songs on that theme. Yet more Bloom stretched his string. Cruel it seems. Let people get fond of each other: lure them on. Then tear asunder. Death. Explos. Knock on the head. Outtohelloutofthat. Human life. Dignam. Ugh, that rat's tail wriggling! Five bob I gave. Corpus paradisum. Corncrake croaker: belly like a poisoned pup. Gone. They sing. Forgotten. I too. And one day she with. Leave her: get tired. Suffer then. Snivel. Big Spanishy eyes goggling at nothing. Her wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevy hair un comb: 'd.
Yet too much happy bores. He stretched more, more. Are you not happy in your? Twang. It snapped.
Jingle into Dorset street.
Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, reproachful, pleased.
-- Don't make half so free, said she, till we are better acquainted.
George Lidwell told her really and truly: but she did not believe.
First gentleman told Mina that was so. She asked him was that so. And second tankard told her so. That that was so.
Miss Douce, Miss Lydia, did not believe: Miss Kennedy, Mina, did not believe: George Lidwell, no: Miss Dou did not: the first, the first: gent with the tank: believe, no, no: did not, Miss Kenn: Lidlydiawell: the tank.
Better write it here. Quills in the postoffice chewed and twisted.
Bald Pat at a sign drew nigh. A pen and ink. He went. A pad. He went. A pad to blot. He heard, deaf Pat.
-- Yes, Mr Bloom said, teasing the curling catgut fine. It certainly is. Few lines will do. My present. All that Italian florid music is. Who is this wrote? Know the name you know better. Take out sheet notepaper, envelope: unconcerned. It's so characteristic.
-- Grandest number in the whole opera, Goulding said.
-- It is, Bloom said.
Numbers it is. All music when you come to think. Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Vibrations: chords those are. One plus two plus six is seven. Do anything you like with figures juggling. Always find out this equal to that, symmetry under a cemetery wall. He doesn't see my mourning. Callous: all for his own gut. Musemathematics. And you think you're listening to the ethereal. But suppose you said it like: Martha, seven times nine minus x is thirtyfive thousand. Fall quite flat. It's on account of the sounds it is.
Instance he's playing now. Improvising. Might be what you like till you hear the words. Want to listen sharp. Hard. Begin all right: then hear chords a bit off: feel lost a bit. In and out of sacks over barrels, through wirefences, obstacle race. Time makes the tune. Question of mood you're in. Still always nice to hear. Except scales up and down, girls learning. Two together nextdoor neighbours. Ought to invent dummy pianos for that. Blumenlied I bought for her. The name. Playing it slow, a girl, night I came home, the girl. Door of the stables near Cecilia street. Milly no taste. Queer because we both I mean.
Bald deaf Pat brought quite flat pad ink. Pat set with ink pen quite flat pad. Pat took plate dish knife fork. Pat went.
It was the only language Mr Dedalus said to Ben. He heard them as a boy in Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, singing their barcaroles. Queenstown harbour full of Italian ships. Walking, you know, Ben, in the moonlight with those earthquake hats. Blending their voices. God, such music, Ben. Heard as a boy. Cross Ringabella haven mooncarole.
Sour pipe removed he held a shield of hand beside his lips that cooed a moonlight nightcall, clear from anear, a call from afar, replying.
Down the edge of his Freeman baton ranged Bloom's your other eye, scanning for where did I see that. Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. Heigho! Heigho! Fawcett. Aha! Just I was looking...
Hope he's not looking, cute as a rat. He held unfurled his Freeman. Can't see now. Remember write Greek ees. Bloom dipped, Bloo mur: dear sir. Dear Henry wrote: dear Mady. Got your lett and flow. Hell did I put? Some pock or oth. It is utterl imposs. Underline imposs. To write today.
Bore this. Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad Pat brought.
On. Know what I mean. No, change that ee. Accept my poor little pres enclos. Ask her no answ. Hold on. Five Dig. Two about here. Penny the gulls. Elijah is com. Seven Davy Byrne's. Is eight about. Say half a crown. My poor little pres: p. o. two and six. Write me a long. Do you despise? Jingle, have you the? So excited. Why do you call me naught? You naughty too? O, Mairy lost the pin of her. Bye for today. Yes, yes, will tell you. Want to. To keep it up. Call me that other. Other world she wrote. My patience are exhaust. To keep it up. You must believe. Believe. The tank. It. Is. True.
Folly am I writing? Husbands don't. That's marriage does, their wives. Because I'm away from. Suppose. But how? She must. Keep young. If she found out. Card in my high grade ha. No, not tell all. Useless pain. If they don't see. Woman. Sauce for the gander.
A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on which sat a fare, a young gentleman, stylishly dressed in an indigoblue serge suit made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of number five Eden quay, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter. Eh? This is the jingle that joggled and jingled. By Dlugacz' porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted a gallantbuttocked mare.
-- Answering an ad? keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom.
-- Yes, Mr Bloom said. Town traveller. Nothing doing, I expect.
Bloom mur: best references. But Henry wrote: it will excite me. You know now. In haste. Henry. Greek ee. Better add postscript. What is he playing now? Improvising intermezzo. P. S. The rum tum tum. How will you pun? You punish me? Crooked skirt swinging, whack by. Tell me I want to. Know. O. Course if I didn't I wouldn't ask. La la la ree. Trails off there sad in minor. Why minor sad? Sign H. They like sad tail at end. P. P. S. La la la ree. I feel so sad today. La ree. So lonely. Dee.
He blotted quick on pad of Pat. Envel. Address. Just copy out of paper. Murmured: Messrs Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. Henry wrote:
Miss Martha Clifford c/o P. O. Dolphin's barn lane Dublin.
Blot over the other so he can't read. Right. Idea prize titbit. Something detective read off blottingpad. Payment at the rate of guinea per col. Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. Poor Mrs Purefoy. U. p.: up.
Too poetical that about the sad. Music did that. Music hath charms Shakespeare said. Quotations every day in the year. To be or not to be. Wisdom while you wait.
In Gerard's rosery of Fetter lane he walks, greyed-auburn. One life is all. One body. Do. But do.
Done anyhow. Postal order stamp. Postoffice lower down. Walk now. Enough. Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet them. Dislike that job. House of mourning. Walk. Pat! Doesn't hear. Deaf beetle he is.
Car near there now. Talk. Talk. Pat! Doesn't. Settling those napkins. Lot of ground he must cover in the day. Paint face behind on him then he'd be two. Wish they'd sing more. Keep my mind off.
Bald Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins. Pat is a waiter hard of his hearing. Pat is a waiter who waits while you wait. Hee hee hee hee. He waits while you wait. Hee hee. A waiter is he. Hee hee hee hee. He waits while you wait. While you wait if you wait he will wait while you wait. Hee hee hee hee. Hoh. Wait while you wait.
Douce now. Douce Lydia. Bronze and rose.
She had a gorgeous, simply gorgeous, time. And look at the lovely shell she brought.
To the end of the bar to him she bore lightly the spiked and winding seahorn that he, George Lidwell, solicitor, might hear.
-- Listen! she bade him.
Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Authentic fact. How Walter Bapty lost his voice. Well, sir, the husband took him by the throat. Scoundrel, said he. You'll sing no more lovesongs. He did, sir Tom. Bob Cowley wove. Tenors get wom. Cowley lay back.
Ah, now he heard, she holding it to his ear. Hear! He heard. Wonderful. She held it to her own and through the sifted light pale gold in contrast glided. To hear.
Tap.
Bloom through the bardoor saw a shell held at their ears. He heard more faintly that that they heard, each for herself alone, then each for other, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, a silent roar.
Bronze by a weary gold, anear, afar, they listened.
Her ear too is a shell, the peeping lobe there. Been to the seaside. Lovely seaside girls. Skin tanned raw. Should have put on coldcream first make it brown. Buttered toast. O and that lotion mustn't forget. Fever near her mouth. Your head it simply. Hair braided over: shell with seaweed. Why do they hide their ears with seaweed hair? And Turks their mouth, why? Her eyes over the sheet, a yashmak. Find the way in. A cave. No admittance except on business.
The sea they think they hear. Singing. A roar. The blood is it. Souse in the ear sometimes. Well, it's a sea. Corpuscle islands.
Wonderful really. So distinct. Again. George Lidwell held its murmur, hearing: then laid it by, gently.
-- What are the wild waves saying? he asked her, smiled.
Charming, seasmiling and unanswering Lydia on Lidwell smiled.
Tap.
By Larry O'Rourke's, by Larry, bold Larry O', Boylan swayed and Boylan turned.
From the forsaken shell Miss Mina glided to her tankard waiting. No, she was not so lonely archly Miss Douce's head let Mr Lidwell know. Walks in the moonlight by the sea. No, not alone. With whom? She nobly answered: with a gentleman friend.
Bob Cowley's twinkling fingers in the treble played again. The landlord has the prior. A little time. Long John. Big Ben Lightly he played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and for their gallants, gentlemen friends. One: one, one, one: two, one, three, four.
Sea, wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the cattle market, cocks, hens don't crow, snakes hissss. There's music everywhere. Ruttledge's door: ee creaking. No, that's noise. Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now. Court dresses of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. Misery. Peasants outside. Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Nice that is. Look: look, look, look, look, look: you look at us.
That's joyful I can feel. Never have written it. Why? My joy is other joy. But both are joys. Yes, joy it must be. Mere fact of music shows you are. Often thought she was in the dumps till she began to lilt. Then know.
M'Coy valise. My wife and your wife. Squealing eat. Like tearing silk. When she talks like the clapper of a bellows. They can't manage men's intervals. Gap in their voices too. Fill me. I'm warm, dark, open. Molly in qui est homo: Mercadante. My ear against the wall to hear. Want a woman who can deliver the goods.
Jog jig jogged stopped. Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boy Ian socks skyblue clocks came light to earth.
O, look we are so! Chamber music. Could make a kind of pun on that. It is a kind of music I often thought when she. Acoustics that is. Tinkling. Empty vessels make most noise. Because the acoustics, the resonance changes according as the weight of the water is equal to the law of falling water. Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Pearls. Drops. Rain. Diddle iddle addle addle oodle oodle. Hiss. Now. Maybe now. Before.
One rapped on a door, one tapped with a knock, did he knock Paul de Kock, with a loud proud knocker, with a cock carracarracarra cock. Cockcock.
Tap.
-- Qui sdegno, Ben, said Father Cowley.
-- No, Ben, Tom Kernan interfered, The Croppy Boy. Our native Doric.
-- Ay do, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. Good men and true.
-- Do, do, they begged in one.
I'll go. Here, Pat, return. Come. He came, he came, he did not stay. To me. How much?
-- What key? Six sharps?
-- F sharp major, Ben Dollard said.
Bob Cowley's outstretched talons gripped the black deep sounding chords.
Must go prince Bloom told Richie prince. No, Richie said. Yes, must. Got money somewhere. He's on for a razzle backache spree. Much? He seehears lipspeech. One and nine. Penny for yourself. Here. Give him twopence tip. Deaf, bothered. But perhaps he has wife and family waiting, waiting Patty come home. Hee hee hee hee. Deaf wait while they wait.
But wait. But hear. Chords dark. Lugugugubrious. Low. In a cave of the dark middle earth. Embedded ore. Lumpmusic.
The voice of dark age, of unlove, earth's fatigue made grave approach, and painful, come from afar, from hoary mountains, called on good men and true. The priest he sought, with him would he speak a word.
Tap.
Ben Dollard's voice barreltone. Doing his level best to say it. Croak of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh. Other comedown. Big ships' chandler's business he did once. Remember: rosiny ropes, ships' lanterns. Failed to the tune of ten thousand pounds. Now in the Iveagh home. Cubicle number so and so. Number one Bass did that for him.
The priest's at home. A false priest's servant bade him welcome. Step in. The holy father. Curlycues of chords.
Ruin them. Wreck their lives. Then build them cubicles to end their days in. Hushaby. Lullaby. Die, dog. Little dog, die.
The voice of warning, solemn warning, told them the youth had entered a lonely hall, told them how solemn fell his footstep there, told them the gloomy chamber, the vested priest sitting to shrive.
Decent soul. Bit addled now. Thinks he'll win in Answers poets' picture puzzle. We hand you crisp five pound note. Bird sitting hatching in a nest. Lay of the last minstrel he thought it was. See blank tee what domestic animal? Tee dash ar most courageous mariner. Good voice he has still. No eunuch yet with all his belongings.
Listen. Bloom listened. Richie Goulding listened. And by the door deaf Pat, bald Pat, tipped Pat, listened.
The chords harped slower.
The voice of penance and of grief came slow, embellished, tremulous. Ben's contrite beard confessed: in nomine Domini, in God's name. He knelt. He beat his hand upon his breast, confessing: mea culpa.
Latin again. That holds them like birdlime. Priest with the communion corpus for those women. Chap in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. Wonder where that rat is by now. Scrape.
Tap.
They listened: tankards and Miss Kennedy, George Lidwell eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin, Kernan, Si.
The sighing voice of sorrow sang. His sins. Since easter he had cursed three 'times. You bitch's bast. And once at masstime he had gone to play. Once by the churchyard he had passed and for his mother's rest he had not prayed. A boy. A croppy boy.
Bronze, listening by the beerpull, gazed far away. Soulfully. Doesn't half know I'm. Molly great dab at seeing anyone looking.
Bronze gazed far sideways. Mirror there. Is that best side of her face? They always know. Knock at the door. Last tip to titivate.
Cockcarracarra.
What do they think when they hear music? Way to catch rattlesnakes. Night Michael Gunn gave us the box. Tuning up. Shah of Persia liked that best. Remind him of home sweet home. Wiped his nose in curtain too. Custom his country perhaps. That's music too. Not as bad as it sounds. Tootling. Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Doublebasses, helpless, gashes in their sides. Woodwinds mooing cows. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. Woodwind like Goodwin's name.
She looked fine. Her crocus dress she wore, lowcut, belongings on show. Clove her breath was always in theatre when she bent to ask a question. Told her what Spinoza says in that book of poor papa's. Hypnotised, listening. Eyes like that. She bent. Chap in dresscircle, staring down into her with his operaglass for all he was worth. Beauty of music you must hear twice. Nature woman half a look. God made the country man the tune. Met him pike hoses. Philosophy. O rocks!
All gone. All fallen. At the siege of Ross his father, at Gorey all his brothers fell. To Wexford, we are the boys of Wexford, he would. Last of his name and race.
I too, last my race. Milly young student. Well, my fault perhaps. No son. Rudy. Too late now. Or if not? If not? If still?
He bore no hate.
Hate. Love. Those are names. Rudy. Soon I am old.
Big Ben his voice unfolded. Great voice, Richie Goulding said, a flush struggling in his pale, to Bloom, soon old but when was young.
Ireland comes now. My country above the King. She listens. Who fears to speak of nineteen four? Time to be shoving. Looked enough.
-- Bless me, father, Dollard the croppy cried. Bless me and let me go.
Tap.
Bloom looked, unblessed to go. Got up to kill: on eighteen bob a week. Fellows shell out the dibs. Want to keep your weathereye open. Those girls, those lovely. By the sad sea waves. Chorusgirl's romance. Letters read out for breach of promise. From Chickabiddy's own Mumpsypum. Laughter in court. Henry. I never signed it. The lovely name you.
Low sank the music, air and words. Then hastened. The false priest rustling soldier from his cassock. A yeoman captain. They know it all by heart. The thrill they itch for. Yeoman cap.
Tap. Tap.
Thrilled, she listened, bending in sympathy to hear.
Blank face. Virgin should say: or fingered only. Write something on it: page. If not what becomes of them? Decline, despair. Keeps them young. Even admire themselves. See. Play on her. Lip blow. Body of white woman, a flute alive. Blow gentle. Loud. Three holes all women. Goddess I didn't see. They want it: not too much polite. That's why he gets them. Gold in your pocket, brass in your face. With look to look: songs without words. Molly that hurdygurdy boy. She knew he meant the monkey was sick. Or because so like the Spanish. Understand animals too that way. Solomon did. Gift of nature.
Ventriloquise. My lips closed. Think in my stom. What?
Will? You? I. Want. You. To.
With hoarse rude fury the yeoman cursed. Swelling in apoplectic bitch's bastard. A good thought, boy, to come. One hour's your time to live, your last.
Tap. Tap.
Thrill now. Pity they feel. To wipe away a tear for martyrs. For all things dying, want to, dying to, die. For that all things born. Poor Mrs Purefoy. Hope she's over. Because their wombs.
A liquid of womb of woman eyeball gazed under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing. See real beauty of the eye when she not speaks. On yonder river. At each slow satiny heaving bosom's wave (her heaving embon) red rose rose slowly, sank red rose. Heartbeats her breath: breath that is life. And all the tiny tiny fernfoils trembled of maidenhair.
But look. The bright stars fade. O rose! Castille. The morn. Ha. Lidwell. For him then not for. Infatuated. I like that? See her from here though. Popped corks, splashes of beerfroth, stacks of empties.
On the smooth jutting beerpull laid Lydia hand lightly, plumply, leave it to my hands. All lost in pity for croppy. Fro, to: to, fro: over the polished knob (she knows his eyes, my eyes, her eyes) her thumb and finger passed in pity: passed, repassed and, gently touching, then slid so smoothly, slowly down, a cool firm white enamel baton protruding through their sliding ring.
With a cock with a carra.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I hold this house. Amen. He gnashed in fury. Traitors swing.
The chords consented. Very sad thing. But had to be.
Get out before the end. Thanks, that was heavenly. Where's my hat. Pass by her. Can leave that Freeman. Letter I have. Suppose she were the? No. Walk, walk, walk. Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell, Waaaaaaalk.
Well, I must be. Are you off? Yrfmstbyes. Blmstup. O'er ryehigh blue. Bloom stood up. Ow. Soap feeling rather sticky behind. Must have sweated: music. That lotion, remember. Well, so long. High grade. Card inside, yes.
By deaf Pat in the doorway, straining ear, Bloom passed.
At Geneva barrack that young man died. At Passage was his body laid. Dolor! O, he dolores! The voice of the mournful chanter called to dolorous prayer.
By rose, by satiny bosom, by the fondling hand, by slops, by empties, by popped corks, greeting in going, past eyes and maidenhair, bronze and faint gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, soft Bloom, I feel so lonely Bloom.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Pray for him, prayed the bass of Dollard. You who hear in peace. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear, good men, good people. He was the croppy boy.
Scaring eavesdropping boots croppy bootsboy Bloom in the Ormond hallway heard growls and roars of bravo, fat back-slapping, their boots all treading, boots not the boots the boy. General chorus off for a swill to wash it down. Glad I avoided.
-- Come on, Ben, Simon Dedalus said. By God, you're as good as ever you were.
-- Better, said Tomgin Kernan. Most trenchant rendition of that ballad, upon my soul and honour it is.
-- Lablache, said Father Cowley.
Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the bar, mightily praisefed and all big roseate, on heavyfooted feet, his gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the air.
Big Benaden Dollard. Big Benben. Big Benben.
Rrr.
And deepmoved all, Simon trumping compassion from foghorn nose, all laughing, they brought him forth, Ben Dollard, in right good cheer.
-- You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell said.
Miss Douce composed her rose to wait.
-- Ben machree, said Mr Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade. Fit as a fiddle, only he has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his person.
Rrrrrrsss.
-- Fat of death, Simon, Ben Dollard growled.
Richie rift in the lute alone sat: Goulding, Collis, Ward. Uncertainly he waited. Unpaid Pat too.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Miss Mina Kennedy brought near her lips to ear of tankardone.
-- Mr Dollard, they murmured low.
-- Dollard, murmured tankard.
Tank one believed: Miss Kenn when she: that doll he was: she doll: the tank.
He murmured that he knew the name. The name was familiar to him, that is to say. That was to say he had heard the name of Dollard, was it? Dollard, yes.
Yes, her lips said more loudly, Mr Dollard. He sang that song lovely, murmured Mina. And The last rose of summer was a lovely song. Mina loved that song. Tankard loved the song that Mina.
'Tis the last rose of summer Dollard left Bloom felt wind wound round inside.
Gassy thing that cider: binding too. Wait. Postoffice near Reuben J's one and eightpence too. Get shut of it. Dodge round by Greek street. Wish I hadn't promised to meet. Freer in air. Music. Gets on your nerves. Beerpull. Her hand that rocks the cradle rules the. Ben Howth. That rules the world.
Far. Far. Far. Far.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Up the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul with met him pike hoses went Poldy on.
Tap blind walked tapping by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap.
Cowley, he stunts himself with it; kind of drunkenness. Better give way only half way the way of a man with a maid. Instance enthusiasts. All ears. Not lose a demisemiquaver. Eyes shut. Head nodding in time. Dotty. You daren't budge. Thinking strictly prohibited. Always talking shop. Fiddlefaddle about notes.
All a kind of attempt to talk. Unpleasant when it stops because you never know exac. Organ in Gardiner street. Old Glynn fifty quid a year. Queer up there in the cockloft alone with stops and locks and keys. Seated all day at the organ. Maunder on for hours, talking to himself or the other fellow blowing the bellows. Growl angry, then shriek cursing (want to have wadding or something in his no don't she cried), then all of a soft sudden wee little wee little pippy wind.
Pwee! A wee little wind piped eeee. In Bloom's little wee.
Was he? Mr Dedalus said, returning, with fetched pipe. I was with him this morning at poor little Paddy Dignam's...
-- Ay, the Lord have mercy on him.
-- By the by there's a tuningfork in there on the...
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
-- The wife has a fine voice. Or had. What? Lidwell asked.
-- O, that must be the tuner, Lydia said to Simonlionel first I saw, forgot it when he was here.
Blind he was she told George Lidwell second I saw. And played so exquisitely, treat to hear. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid minagold.
-- Shout! Ben Dollard shouted, pouring. Sing out!
-- 'lldo! cried Father Cowley.
Rrrrrr.
I feel I want...
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
-- Very, Mr Dedalus said, staring hard at a headless sardine.
Under the sandwichbell lay on a bier of bread one last, one lonely, last sardine of summer. Bloom alone.
-- Very, he stared. The lower register, for choice.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Bloom went by Barry's. Wish I could. Wait. That wonderworker if I had. Twentyfour solicitors in that one house. Litigation. Love one another. Piles of parchment. Messrs Pick and Pocket have power of attorney. Goulding, Collis, Ward.
But for example the chap that wallops the big drum. His vocation: Micky Rooney's band. Wonder how it first struck him. Sitting at home after pig's cheek and cabbage nursing it in the armchair. Rehearsing his band part. Pom. Pompedy. Jolly for the wife. Asses' skins. Welt them through life, then wallop after death. Pom. Wallop. Seems to be what you call yashmak or I mean kismet. Fate.
Tap. Tap. A stripling, blind, with a tapping cane, came taptaptapping by Daly's window where a mermaid, hair all streaming (but he couldn't see), blew whiffs of a mermaid (blind couldn't), mermaid coolest whiff of all.
Instruments. A blade of grass, shell of her hands, then blow. Even comb and tissuepaper you can knock a tune out of. Molly in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. I suppose each kind of trade made its own, don't you see? Hunter with a horn. Haw. Have you the? Cloche. Sonnez la! Shepherd his pipe. Policeman a whistle. Locks and keys! Sweep! Four o'clock's all's well! Sleep! All is lost now. Drum? Pompedy. Wait, I know. Towncrier, bumbailiff. Long John. Waken the dead. Pom. Dignam. Poor little nominedomine. Pom. It is music, I mean of course it's all pom pom pom very much what they call da capo. Still you can hear. As we march we march along, march along. Pom.
I must really. Fff. Now if I did that at a banquet. Just a question of custom shah of Persia. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear. All the same he must have been a bit of a natural not to see it was a yeoman cap. Muffled up. Wonder who was that chap at the grave in the brown mackin. O, the whore of the lane!
A frowsy whore with black straw sailor hat askew came glazily in the day along the quay towards Mr Bloom. When first he saw that form endearing. Yes, it is. I feel so lonely. Wet night in the lane. Horn. Who had the? Heehaw. Shesaw. Off her beat here. What is she? Hope she. Psst! Any chance of your wash. Knew Molly. Had me decked. Stout lady does be with you in the brown costume. Put you off your stroke. That appointment we made. Knowing we'd never, well hardly ever. Too dear too near to home sweet home. Sees me, does she? Looks a fright in the day. Face like dip. Damn her! O, well, she has to live like the rest. Look in here.
In Lionel Marks's antique saleshop window haughty Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged candlestick melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Bargain: six bob. Might learn to play. Cheap. Let her pass. Course everything is dear if you don't want it. That's what good salesman is. Make you buy what he wants to sell. Chap sold me the Swedish razor he shaved me with. Wanted to charge me for the edge he gave it. She's passing now. Six bob.
Must be the cider or perhaps the burgund.
Near bronze from anear near gold from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, brighteyed and gallant, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of summer, rose of Castille. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a fifth: Lidwell, Si Dedalus, Bob Cowley, Kernan and Big Ben Dollard.
Tap. A youth entered a lonely Ormond hall.
Bloom viewed a gallant pictured hero in Lionel Marks's window. Robert Emmet's last words. Seven last words. Of Meyerbeer that is.
-- True men like you men.
-- Ay, ay, Ben.
-- Will lift your glass with us.
They lifted.
Tschink. Tschunk.
Tip. An unseeing stripling stood in the door. He saw not bronze. He saw not gold. Nor Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Hee hee hee hee. He did not see.
Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. Softly. When my country takes her place among.
Prrprr.
Must be the bur.
Fff. Oo. Rrpr.
Nations of the earth. No-one behind. She's passed. Then and not till then. Tram. Kran, kran, kran. Good oppor. Coming. Krandlkrankran. I'm sure it's the burgund. Yes. One, two. Let my epitaph be. Karaaaaaaa. Written. I have.
Pprrpffrrppfff.
Done.
-------------------------------------------
[1]指肯尼迪小姐和杜丝小姐的头，见第十章注[174]。在原文中，本章开头的六十行用节奏感很强的词句概括了高潮部分的主题。
[2]原指《卡斯蒂利亚的玫瑰》的女主人公艾尔微拉。 这里指酒吧女侍莉迪亚。见第七章注[82]。
[3]艾多洛勒斯是莱斯利・斯图尔斯所作轻歌剧《弗洛勒多拉》（1899）中的漂亮轻浮的女主角。弗洛勒多拉是南海一岛，以所产香料驰名于世。
[4]“闷儿……角落”，参看本章注[43]．“与褐发……了”，指褐发的杜丝小姐对双目失明的调音师表示的同情。与此同时，顾客摇铃呼唤女侍。 参看本章注[51]。
[5]“灿烂……色”和下面的“即将破晓”是简・威廉斯（1806一1885）作词、约翰・L・哈顿（1809一1886）作曲的《再见，宝贝儿，再见》一歌的文1、2句。
[6]“敲响”和“那口钟”，原文为法语。参看本章注[76]。
[7]“现……啦”一语出自《梦游女》（1831）。这是意大利作曲家温琴佐・贝利尼（1801一1835）作曲、费利采・罗马尼编剧的二幕歌剧。剧中描写一个磨坊女在梦游中误入伯爵卧室，她的未婚夫以为她失了身，便唱道：“现在一切都失去啦，”以表达自己的绝望心情。下文中的号角，原文作horn。既作犄角解，又作号角解。参看本章注[87]及有关正文。
[8]语出自歌剧《玛尔塔》的插曲《爱情如今》，参看第七章注[10]。
[9]弗朗兹・李斯特（1811一1886），匈牙利作曲家、钢琴家，曾创作匈牙利狂想曲二十首（1851-1886）。
[10]莉迪利德是把莉迪亚和利德维尔二名拼凑而成，参看本章注[183]及有关正文。
[11]“喀……啦”，参看本章注[236]及有关正文。
[12]原文（Naminedamine）为拉丁文祷词，有讹，参看第六章注[112]。“因主之名”后面，海德一九八九年版（第211页第8行）有“他是一位传教士”之句。
[13]“全部……啦”是《推平头的小伙子》（见第六章注[19]中的歌词。
[14]原文作maidenhair，是一种植物，学名叫掌叶铁线蕨。这里是意译。
[15]参看本章注[295]。
[16]参看本章注[296]。
[17]这里把托马斯・穆尔所作歌曲《夏日最后的玫瑰》的首句（夏日最后的玫瑰，被撇下独自开放）加以改动。Bloom是双关语，既作“开花”解， 又指布卢姆。
[18]“地道的男子汉”和“咱们一道举杯”，参看本章注[331]。“利德・克・考・迪以及多拉”分别为利德维尔、克南、考利、迪达勒斯以及多拉德的简称。哧吣喀、哧冲喀是演唱蒂莫西・丹尼尔・沙利文（1827一1914）所作饮酒歌《三十二个郡》时，用来表达碰杯声的。
[19]一八0三年起义失败后，埃米特在判他死刑的法庭上最后宣称：“任何人也不要为我写墓志铭……等我的祖国在世界各国之间占有了一席之地， 直到那时，只有到了那时，方为我写下墓志铭。我的话完了。”“直到那时”至“完了”，摘自他的最后几句话。
[20]“开始！”意指下面开始转入正文。
[21]原文为法语，意思是“尼罗河水”，指淡绿蓝色。
[22]指总督的侍从副官杰拉尔德・沃德，见第十章注[207]及有关正文。
[23]这是双关语，既指布卢姆怀里揣着方才为妻子买的那本《偷情的快乐》，又指布卢姆背着老婆与玛莎交换情书。下面的牟兰是一家宝石店，兼售进口烟斗。
[24]原文作boots（靴子），系指饭店里为旅客擦鞋并干些搬运行李等杂活的伙计。
[25]原文（Bloom）是双关语，参看本章注[17]。
[26]“还有……睛”出自十九世纪末叶都柏林杂耍剧场里常唱的一首歌《当你眨巴另一只眼睛》中的一句。
[27]艾伦・菲加泽尔是个宝石商。他的姓菲加泽尔（Figather）读音近似“采集无花果”（figgather）。
[28]普罗斯珀・洛尔是个帽子批发商。
[29]奥利利厄・巴希是个雕塑与镜框制造者。
[30]这是圣母玛利亚的传统服装。
[31]指制造雕像、镜框、镜子的彼得・塞皮父子公司。
[32]布卢姆想起早晨妻子曾告诉他，当天下午博伊兰要把节目单给她送到家里来的事。参看第四章注[49]及有关正文。
[33]指克拉伦斯商业饭店。
[34]指海豚饭店（设有餐馆与酒吧间）。
[35]罗斯特雷沃是爱尔兰东北岸的海滨浴场。
[36]在第十五章中，布卢姆也对女侍说了这句话（见该章注[244]）。
[37]傻西蒙出自一首摇篮曲：“傻西蒙遇见了一个卖饼的，卖饼的正要去赶集……”
[38]莫恩山在北爱尔兰当郡，绵延于纽卡斯尔和罗斯蒂弗之间，长十四公里半。
[39]处女发，参看本章注[14]。人鱼发是当时人们喜用的一种细丝烟叶。
[40]“噢……女王”出自《弗洛勒多拉》（参看本章注[3]）。在第1幕中，艾多洛勒斯与弗兰克谈情说爱，弗兰克对她唱起《棕机榈荫》。这是其中的一句。
[41]这是文字游戏。埃塞克斯（Essex）、是啊（yes）、那塞克斯（yessex），分别夹有Yes或sex（性）。
[42]这也是文字游戏。原文中，OldB1oom（老布卢姆）与Bluebloom（花儿蓝）发音相近。稞麦开蓝花又使入联想到比舍普作词的一首歌名《稞麦花儿开》，见第十章注[110]及有关正文。
[43]“闷儿！谁……哪？”是捉迷藏时的提问。这里借以表达利内翰想勾引肯尼迪小姐的用意。
[44]“圆圆的0”指句点。“弯曲的S指问号。
[45]原文作SOlfafab1e。SOlfa指首调唱名法，比固定调唱名法要浅显。Fable是寓言之意。SOlfafab1e即含意浅显的寓言。这里指下文中的《伊索寓言》。
[46]这里，利内翰把《狼和鹭鸶》故事中的角色变成了“狐狸和鹳”。原来的情节是：鹭鸶把头伸进狼的喉咙，替它取出了骨头。狼不但不给讲定的报酬，还说：“你能从狼嘴里平安无事地把头缩回去，还不满意，竟要索取报酬吗？”
[47]“城里的”和“海滨上的”，原文为法语。城里的穆尼酒馆，参看第七章注[227]。海滨上的穆尼酒馆在利菲河北码头。
[48]爱琳，参看第七章注[46]。下文中的麦克休，见第七章注[47]及有关正文。据艾尔曼：《詹姆斯・乔伊斯》（第289页），这是以《电讯晚报》的编辑休・麦克涅尔为原型而塑造的人物。
[49]托马斯・穆尔的《爱尔兰歌曲集》中有一首题名为《少年吟游诗人》。
[50]这是文字游戏。前文中提到迪达勒斯想看看莫恩山（参看本章注[38]）。原文中，莫恩（Mourne）与哀伤（mourning）发音相近。
[51]这是双目失明的年轻调音师被法雷尔撞着后，对他发出的咒语。参看第十章注[203]。
[52]指杜丝小姐对盲调音师的同情。参看本章注[4]。
[53]原文作lagger。一种淡啤酒，酿成后贮藏数月，澄清后饮用。又作1aggerbeer。
[54]原文blazesboy有双关含义。博伊兰的教名为B1aze， 而OldB1azes又有恶魔意。本书第四章米莉致布卢姆的信中，有“我差点儿写成布莱泽斯・博伊兰了”之句，说明在“布菜译”之名后加上“斯”，实际上是外号。小写的b1azes则作“地狱”解。参看第十五章注[708]。
[55]他指西蒙・迪达勒斯。
[56]亨利・弗罗尔，参看第四章注［3］。
[57]这是玛莎来信中的话，参看第五章注[36]及有关正文。
[58]参看第八章注[191]。
[59]参看第五章注[37]。
[60]这是布卢姆看了玛莎来信后转的念头，参看第五章有关正文。
[61]布卢姆看见的那个戴着花哨帽子乘马车的人是博伊兰。
[62]原文作Bloo smi qui go。这是用文字来形容人物动作的节奏。 原应作B1oom smiling quickly goes。作者略去每个词的下半截，以形容布卢姆匆促的动作。
[63]他指西蒙・迪达勒斯。
[64]参看本章注[5]。
[65]原文作“A voiceless song”（无声歌曲），系将德国作曲家费利克斯・门德尔松（1809一1847）所做钢琴曲集《无词歌》（Song Without Words）的题目略作变动。
[66]羽管键琴是一种卧式竖琴形或梯形键盘乐器，用羽管或皮制簧片拨弦发声。
[67]参看第七章注[82]。
[68]“她”指小说里的女主人公。下文中的“别问……啦。”一语出自奥利弗・哥尔德斯密斯的喜剧《委曲求全》（1773）。这是当汤姆・伦普金被问怎样把他母亲的宝石弄到手时所作的回答，见第3场。
[69]“瞧……驾到”原是托马斯・莫雷尔（1703一1784）一首诗的首句。韩德尔将它谱入其清唱剧《犹大・马卡巴厄斯》（1747）和《约书亚》（1748）中。
[70]方括弧内的“潇洒的”一词系根据海德一九八九年版（文218页第4行）补译。
[71]前文中的“你”，指利内翰。这里指当天举行的阿斯科特赛马会的结果。参看第五章注[95]。下文中的“都说是四点钟”，海德版（第218页第7行）作：“四点钟，是谁说的来着？”
[72]在第十五章中，古尔丁重述了“在都……的”和“足……王爷”二语，见该章注[566]及有关正文。
[73]“权杖”，参看第十章注[108]。
[74]因杜丝小姐方才唱的歌里有“东海的女王”（参看本章注[40]）一词，这里把她比作埃及美女。
[75]按爱尔兰在埃及的西边。
[76]这是酒吧女侍向顾客献殷勤的一种办法。把袜带拉长后一撒手，弹回来碰在腿上发出啪的一声，叫作：“敲响那口钟！”
[78]、[79]“紧步……唇”和“我……卿”出自《再见，宝贝儿，再见》（见本章注[5]）。弗萝拉亦含有花和春的女神意。
[78]、[79]“紧步……唇”和“我……卿”出自《再见，宝贝儿，再见》（见本章注[5]）。弗萝拉亦含有花和春的女神意。
[80]原文为法语。
[81]即肯尼迪小姐。
[82]语出自阿德莱德・普罗克特（1825一1864）作词、阿瑟・沙利文配曲的钢琴伴奏独唱曲《失去的和弦》。
[83]-[85]原文为法语。
[83]-[85]原文为法语。
[83]-[85]原文为法语。
[86]“情……吧！”出自《再见，宝贝儿，再见》。
[87]西方谓老婆与人通奸，丈夫头上就长犄角；这里则指“阴茎勃起”。
[88]指高个子约翰。
[89]出生于加略的犹大（？一约30）是耶稣的十二门徒之一，他以三十块银子的价钱出卖了耶稣。这里指放高利贷给考利神父的吕便・杰。
[90]约德尔是用高音假声、低音胸声作快速交替的一种唱法，风行于瑞士阿尔卑斯山民之间。
[91]指约翰・鲍尔父子公司所酿造的爱尔兰威士忌。
[92]“把忧愁赶走！”是一首饮酒歌的首句，作者不详，收在普莱福德所编《音乐伴侣》（1687）中。后面的三句是：“务请离开我！把忧愁赶走！咱俩死对头。”
[93]《恋爱与战争》是托马斯・库克所作的二重唱曲。
[94]原文为法语。参看本章注[21]。
[95]这是一种中档英国制三角钢琴，在一九0四年，每架约值一百一十英镑。
[96]原文作1ost chord pipe。这是文字游戏，把1ost pipe（丢失了的烟斗）和本章注[82]中提到的曲名《The Lost Chord》《失去的和弦》）套用在一起。
[97]咖啡宫是都柏林戒酒协会所经营的一座餐馆，在都柏林东部。
[98]布卢姆夫妇住在霍利斯街（居民多属于中下阶层）时，穷困潦倒，以致靠收买旧衣和戏装为生。
[99]梅里昂方场是个高级住宅区。
[100]博莱罗，又译波莱罗。四分之三拍的西班牙舞。这里指舞衣。
[101]原文作“Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all descriptions”。据说本世纪初都柏林的电车里曾贴过一个售旧衣的广告： “怀特小姐有各式各样不再穿的衣服”，left一Off，也可译为“弃置不用的衣服”。 这里套用时，把left一Off改成left off，就成了双关语，也可以理解为：“……脱下了各式各样的衣服”。
[102]参看第四章注[53]和第八章注[37]，这里同时又暗喻玛莉恩与博伊兰幽会事。
[103]保罗・德・科克，参看第四章注[58]及有关正文。
[104]“我的……噢”是爱尔兰歌谣《爱尔兰妞儿摩莉，噢》中的叠句。歌中摩莉之父不许她与外族人通婚，致使“我”（一个苏格兰小伙子）为之心碎。
[105]这里把两位女侍比作希腊神话中的人面鸟身的赛仑。她们因未能把奥德修吸引到岛上而焦虑。
[106]德拉姆康德拉是都柏林郊外的地名。
[107]“艾……斯”，语出自《棕榈树荫》，参看本章注[40]。
[108]指第四章开头部分。
[109]、[110]英文中，单身汉（bachelor）和巴切勒（Bachelor）拼音相同。
[109]、[110]英文中，单身汉（bachelor）和巴切勒（Bachelor）拼音相同。
[111]犄角，参看本章注[7]、注[87]及有关正文。原文为horn，也作号角解。
[112]又名巴松管。十六世纪发明的一种管弦乐队中的主要次中音和低音木管乐器，向后弯成对折。
[113]“当……际”，出自《棕榈树荫》，参看本章注[40]。 下面的本灵魂本杰明：从本・多拉德的本，联想到通过实验证明雷即电、并发明了避雷针的美国人本杰明・富兰克林（1706一1790）。灵魂（sou1）与扫罗（Saul）谐音，见《使徒行传》文9章第3、4节：“忽然有一道光从天上下来，四面照射着他。……有声音对他说：‘扫罗……’”
[114]考利神父的房东名叫休・洛夫（Love）。英语中，此字的主要词义为爱情。而此二重唱的爱情部分由高音歌手演唱。
[l15]前文中的声量，原文为organ，也作“器官”解。中世纪西方传说童贞玛利亚是通过耳膜而怀上耶稣的。膜（drum）是双关语，既指鼓膜，又作耳膜解。所以下文中考利神父有“且别提另一个膜（指耳膜）了”之语。
[116]原文为意大利文。借“但勿过甚”这个音乐用语来提醒对方贪色也要适可而止。
[117]“我……虑”，语出自《棕榈树荫》，参看本章注[40）。
[118]原文作base barreltone，与bass一baritone（男低中音，有时指对于较高的音区能控制自如的男低音）发音相近。古时base与bass（低音）相通。此字另外也含有“下流”之意。
[119]下面，海德版一九八九年版（见第222页倒1行）多了一行“辚辚”。
[120]吉格舞是一种轻松快速的三拍子舞。
[121]“可爱……手”，这一段令人联想起《安东尼与克莉奥佩特拉》第2幕文2场中爱诺巴勃斯对克莉奥佩特拉所作的描述：“犹如在水上燃烧的灿烂的宝座；船尾是用黄金打成的。……鲛人装束的女郎……她那如花的纤手……”臀部，原文作poop，是双关语，主要词义为“船尾”，在俚语中亦指臀部。文中提及少女和肉汁，可联系到我国的“秀色可餐”一同。爱琳，参看第七章注[46]。它指竖琴。爱尔兰有一种古市，反面镌刻着少女奏竖琴的图案。
[122]原文为意大利文。这是歌剧《玛尔塔》（参看第七章注[10]）文3幕的插曲。
[123]这幅海景画是为约翰・威利斯的《最后的诀别》一歌所作的插图。
[124]“我……了”，套用《约翰尼，我几乎认不出你来了》（参看第五章注[100]）一歌的第3段中的话。原词是：“你的全盛时期确实已经过去了！”
[125]一个降号的调即指F大调。
[126]参看本章注[7]。
[127]约瑟夫・马斯（1847一1886），著名英国男高音歌手。他是从教堂唱诗班走上歌坛的。
[128]巴顿・麦古金（1852一1913），爱尔兰男高音歌手，原先也曾参加唱诗班。
[129]这是文字游戏。弥撒（Mass）与马斯（Mass）谐音，唱诗班多在举行弥撒时演唱。
[130]布赖特氏病亦称肾小球肾炎、肾炎。由于英国医师理查・布赖特（1789一1858）首次描述了这种疾病的临床表现（如脊背疼、眼睛发亮，大都是酗酒所致）而得名。这里，布赖特（Bright）与“明亮’（bright）拼法及发音相同，又是一文字游戏。
[131]这是英国流行的一种说法：“你要是在其伴奏下跳舞，就得付钱给吹笛手。”含有“自作自受”意。此处指酗酒必然落到的下场。
[132]《倒在死者当中》是根据英国诗人约翰・戴尔（1700一1758）的诗所谱的歌。大意是说，不喝酒的人还不如倒在死者当中。
[133]原文作Sweets to the。在 《哈姆莱斯》文5幕第1场中，王后边往奥菲利娅的棺村上撒花，边说：“好花儿给美人儿。”这里引用时，省略了后面的sweet。意思是：给患肾炎者吃腰子，正如好花儿给美人儿。当时人们相信，丸药对疾病无济于事，不如食补。
[134]瓦尔特里是都柏林以西十八英里处的一座巨大水库，把瓦尔特里河的水引进来作都柏林市的公共水源。
[135]一八八0年，古老的皇家剧场焚毁于水灾，一八八四年重建。小皮克，参看第六章注[21]。
[136]按古罗马修辞学家与教师昆体良（又译昆提利安，约35一96）有云：“撒谎者必须有好记性。”
[137]参看本章注[7]。
[138]狺女是苏格兰传说中的女妖。据说若夜间听见其哀号恸哭，家里必将死人。
[139]又名荆豆谷或弗里谷，位于凤凰公园西南的一道峡谷，两边长满了荆豆丛和山植树丛。
[140]这里套用收在托马斯・穆尔所编《爱尔兰歌曲集》中的《回音》：“回音的反响多么婉转悠扬。”
[141]参看本章注[7]。
[142]这是文字游戏。布卢姆的教名利奥波德（Leopold）与豹子（1eopard）发音近似。
[143]西方迷信：若轻轻呼唤梦游者名字，或让他（她）摸摸水，就能使其清醒。
[144]“轻快双轮马车辚辚”一词在本章中出现多次，反映布卢姆明明知道博伊兰正乘此车到他家里去，与他的妻子幽会而又无可奈何的心境。由于一直想着玛莉恩和博伊兰的事，布卢姆甚至认为梦游女其实是巴望着去和伯爵幽会，他从而对该女的未婚夫产生共鸣。
[145]这里把《哈姆莱斯》第2幕第2场波洛涅斯台词中的“我”改为“他”。原话是：“依然念念不忘地提我的女儿。”
[146]在《威尼斯商人》第2幕第2场中，夏洛克的仆人朗斯洛特曾说：“只有聪明的父亲才会知道自己的儿子。”这里是反过来说的。
[147]餐巾不用时，叠起来插在银制或骨制套环里。
[148]沃尔斯是里奇・古尔丁之子，参看第三章注[32]。
[149]《沉痛的心灵》是威廉・巴尔夫（见第七章注[82]）的歌剧《波希米亚姑娘》（1843）第2幕中的一支插曲。
[150]原文为法语。参看本章注[21]。
[151]从“当我初……时”到本章注[171]的“回到我这里”，文中共插进了十二句歌词，均出自《玛尔塔》中莱昂内尔演唱的插曲《爱情如今》。
[152]杜西玛琴是源自东方的古代击弦乐器，形似拨弦扬琴，系钢琴的原型。目前仍流行于匈牙利，叫作匈牙利大扬琴。
[153]参看第四章注[50]。
[154]“敲响”，原文为法语。这句话是将金发女侍弹袜带以娱顾客（参看本章注[76]）一举与正唱着的歌词拼凑而成。
[155]“咱们……呢？”和后文中的“你太太……知道”均为玛莎来信中的辞句，见第五章注[36]及有关正文。
[156]、[157]“简……头”，下面省略了“转向”；“我”，原作“你”。下文中（“简……转向”），博伊兰把“晕”唱成“运”。均参看第四章注[65]及有关正文。
[156]、[157]“简……头”，下面省略了“转向”；“我”，原作“你”。下文中（“简……转向”），博伊兰把“晕”唱成“运”。均参看第四章注[65]及有关正文。
[158]这里，布卢姆想象着博伊兰乘马车去他家与他的妻子摩莉幽会的情景。
[159]这是布卢姆为摩莉选购的《偷情的快乐》一书中的词句。参看第十章注[122]及有关正文。
[160]这时布卢姆又在设想他妻子独自在家中接待博伊兰的事。
[161]詹妮・林德（1820一1887），瑞典歌剧及清唱剧女高音歌唱家。 一八四七年在伦敦演唱迈耶贝尔的《西里西亚野战营》中专为她写的女高音部分，轰动一时。
[162]“玛尔塔”在英文中为“玛莎”。布卢姆正要给玛莎・克利弗德写信时，忽然传来歌剧《玛尔塔》的插曲，所以说是巧合。
[163]这是玛莎来信中的词句。参看第五章注[36]及有关正文。
[164]古尔德指里奇・古尔丁。
[165]他指西蒙・迪达勒斯。
[166]音乐椅是在音乐伴奏下围着椅子转的一种游戏。音乐一停，就各自抢座位，每次必淘汰一人，并抽掉一把椅子。马特・狄龙，参看第六章注[134]。
[167]《等候》（1867）是艾伦・弗拉格作词、H。米勒德配乐的歌曲。
[168]《在古老的马德里》是G。克利夫顿・宾厄姆作词、亨利・特罗特配乐的一首歌曲。
[169]多洛勒斯即艾多洛勒斯。参看本章注[40]。
[170]原文为chestnote，音乐术语。胸腔共鸣是嗓音的较低声区，以区别于较高声区，即“头腔共鸣”。
[171]这是《爱情如今》的最后一句。参看本章注[151]。下一行的西奥波德，原文作Siopold，系将唱者Simon（西蒙）与听者利奥波德（Leopold） 的名字合并而成，以表示二人感情上的共鸣。同时也暗喻斯蒂芬的生身之父西蒙与精神之父利奥波德融为一体。
[172]海德一九八九年版（第227页第12行）作：米娜・肯尼迪。
[173]原文为法语，参看本章注[76]
[174]《地位名声》是《卡斯蒂利亚的玫瑰》中的咏叹调，见第七章注[82]。前文中的西，见第三章注[33]。
[175]《我们擦身而过，彼此从不过话》（1882） 是美国弗兰克・埃杰顿所作的歌曲名。
[176]“他们之间有着不和的前兆”，语出自丁尼生的《默林与维维恩》（1859）一诗。
[177]肠线指松紧带。
[178]阿瑟・巴勒克拉夫是当时都柏林的一个声乐教师。
[179]“回顾性的编排”，参看第六章注[20]。
[180]“失去了的你”一语出自《爱情如今》，见本章注[122]。
[181]原文为拉丁文，是用布卢姆当天在教堂里听到的两个词拼凑而成。参看第五章注[56]、第六章注[121]。
[182]这里，布卢姆想象着自己的妻子将来被情人博伊兰遗弃的情景。最后一句中把wavy（波浪状）和heavy（沉甸甸）交织在一起以表达唱歌时的颤音。
[183]这一段描绘酒吧女侍和两位绅士打交道的情景断断续续地传到布卢姆耳际。
[184]原文作pad，与帕斯（Pat）发音相近。指供一张张扯下来用的便条本子，如吸墨纸本等。
[185]、[186]原文均作number，系双关语。
[185]、[186]原文均作number，系双关语。
[187]指第八度音是下一音阶的第一度音，所以说是“两个一”。第八度音（即第二个“哆”，简谱上写作“1”）与第一个“哆”构成一个八度。
[188]指音阶：“1”是“哆”，“2”是“来”数起，第6个音阶是“西”。“哆”至“西”形成七度。
[189]这是个谜。参看第七章注[30]、[31]。
[190]原文gut，是双关语，也指提琴的肠线。
[191]原文作musemathematics。Muse是双关语，也指司文艺、音乐的女神。
[192]原文作sharp，是双关语，也作“升号”、“升半音”解。
[193]原文mood，是双关语，也作“调式”解。
[194]《花赞》是德国作曲家古斯塔夫・兰格（1830一1889）所作的钢琴小曲。
[195]意思是，由于喜欢这个琴谱的名称而买。
[196]原文作flat，也作“降半音”解。
[197]原文作Ringabella，Crosshaven，Ringabella。从字面上看，仅仅是把两个地名排列起来而已。拆开来读就成为：Ringabell,acrosshaven，ringabell……（敲响钟啊，响彻港口，敲响钟啊……）
[198]王后镇，现名科夫，爱尔兰科克郡的海港。
[199]意大利水手上岸时戴的一种圆锥形帽子，是用爱尔兰人俗称“地震草”编的。
[200]原文作cross Ringabella haven mooncarole。这里，把Crosshaven这个地名拆开来，用以描述船夫的歌声穿越港口，像钟声一样响彻。也可以理解为：林加贝拉和克罗斯黑文的月夜之歌。
[201]参看本章注[26]。
[202]他指里奇・古尔丁。
[203]手写的希腊字母E，公认为表示一种艺术气质。
[204]这里，布卢姆为了让里奇以为他写的是与业务有关的信，故意这么嘟嚷。其实，化名亨利的他所写的却是给玛迪（即玛莎）的情书。
[205]“请……信”，玛莎来信中语，参看第五章注[36]及有关词句。下文中的“那个”指“角”。参看本章注[87]。
[206]“哦，玛丽亚丢了带子”和下文中的“才能不让它脱落” 均出自一首俚曲，参看第五章注[39]、[40]及有关正文。“带子”，原作“衬裤的饰针”。
[207]“请……个”和下文中的“那另……耗尽”，均为玛莎来信中的词句。见第五章注[36]及有关正文。
[208]英国成语：“适用于母鹅的佐料也适用于公鹅”，意译为“母鹅和公鹅是半斤八两”。这里只用了后半句。
[209]乔治・罗伯斯・梅西雅斯，参看第六章注[159]。乘马车的情节，重新出现于第十五章（见该章注[706]）。
[210]指推销员提出曾经与他打过交道的人或单位，供布卢姆去调查。
[211]这是玛莎来信中“不然的话我可要惩罚你啦”一语所引起的联想。参看第五章。
[212]指邻家女仆，见第四章注[18]及有关正文。
[213]见玛莎来信的附言。
[214]下面省略了“爱的”二字。
[215]他指里奇。
[216]“马查姆……魔女”，语出自布卢姆早晨在家里所读的《珍闻》。参看第四章注[81]及有关正文。
[217]参看第八章注[71]。
[218]“音……魔力”，出自文森修公爵对玛利安娜所说的话，见《一报还一报》第4幕第1场。
[219]“生……问题”，出自哈姆莱特的独白，见《哈姆莱斯》文3幕第1场。
[220]参看第九章注[327]及有关正文。
[221]办……家”，语出自《旧约・传道书》第7章第2节。这里指迪格纳穆的遗族。
[222]在此段中，作者利用waiter（茶房、侍者）及wait（侍候， 也作等待解）这两个派生英文字，一方面产生音乐效果，同时表达布卢姆竭力排遣心头的烦闷，不去想自己的妻子即将在家里与博伊兰幽会一事。
[223]沃尔斯・巴普蒂（1850一1915），都柏林的音乐教师，一年一度的音乐节及歌唱比赛的组织者之一。
[224]、[225]“海……娘”和“简……向”，均出自博伊兰所唱的歌，见第四章注[65]及有关正文。
[224]、[225]“海……娘”和“简……向”，均出自博伊兰所唱的歌，见第四章注[65]及有关正文。
[226]《惊涛骇浪在说着什么？》是约瑟夫・爱德华・卡彭斯作词、斯蒂芬。格洛弗（1813-1870）配乐的一首二重唱曲。
[227]“房东有优先权”是本・多拉德说的，“只消宽限只天”是考利神父说的，见第十章注[172]、[173]及有关正文。
[228]“大本钟”是本・多拉德的外号，参看文八章注[39]。
[229]她指布卢姆的妻子玛莉恩。
[230]“我太太和你太太”一语出自美国民歌《灰鹅》而当天早晨布卢姆和麦科伊在街头相遇时，也曾谈论彼此的妻子参加演出事。
[231]原文为interval，也作间歇解。
[232]原文为拉丁文。参看文五章注[74]。
[233]参看文五章注[75]。
[234]这里，布卢姆在揣测博伊兰这会子该到他家了。
[235]布卢姆把博伊兰比作保罗・德・科克（参看第四章注[58]）的言情小说的主人公。
[236]这是文字游戏。原文作cock carracarracarra cock．cockcock．cock可作公鸡解，而在隐语中，又含有阴茎意。南美等地产一种长脚鹰，俗称咔啦咔啦（caracara)， 其羽毛是天蓝色的，有光泽，而博伊兰穿的衣服和短袜也是天蓝色的。故这里特地用喀呵（cock）和咔啦（carra）来表达博伊兰的敲门声。
[237]原文为意大利语。这是莫扎特的歌剧《魔笛》（1791）第2幕第3场中的咏叹调《在这些圣堂里》的首句。
[238]“地道的好男儿”是《推平头的小伙子》（见第六章注[19]）的首句。
[239]这里套用了摩莉唱过的歌曲名。参看本章注[167]。
[240]在《推平头的小伙子》中，小伙子来向乔装的神父忏悔。这里把原词中的“我”，改成了“他”。
[241]参看本章注[118]。
[242]艾弗伯爵（参看第五章注[44]）所创设的救济院。
[243]“神父……一躬”，这一段写的是《推平头的小伙子》中的情节。
[244]“警告……神父”，同注[243]。
[245]正派人指本・多拉德。
[246]《答案》是艾尔弗雷德・哈姆斯沃思（参看第七章注[178]）于一八八八年创办的一种每册一便士的周刊。凡是猜中它所举办的画谜（谜底为一首名诗的题目）者，可获五英镑奖金。
[247]《最末一个吟游诗人之歌》是英国小说家、诗人沃尔斯・司各特（1771-1832）的长篇叙事诗。其中“歌”一词，原文作“lay”，既作“民歌”、“民谣”、“歌曲”解，又有“产卵”、“生蛋”的意思。
[248]按空白应填A字。英语中CAT是猫。
[249]按波折号应填A字。英语中TAR原指柏油，亦含有“水手”意。
[250]自“因天主之名”至“我的罪过”[原文均为拉丁文]，见《推平头的小伙子》。
[251]参看文六章注[111]。
[252]这里，布卢姆把他听到的两个拉丁词拼凑在一起。尸体（corpus）见第五章注
[253]指身穿缎子衣服的杜丝小姐。
[254]西指西蒙・迪达勒斯。
[255]“复活……三次”，语出自《推平头的小伙子》。
[256]“你这……杂种！”参看本章注[51]。
[257]迈克尔・冈恩（死于1901），自一八七一年起，担任都柏林欢乐剧场的经营管理工作达三十年之久。
[258]指波斯王纳绥尔-艾尔・丁（死于1896），他曾于一八七三年和一八八九年两度对英作国事访问。
[259]《家，可爱的家，是美国戏剧家约翰・霍华德・佩恩（1791-1852）的《米兰姑娘克拉丽》（伦敦，1823）中的插曲，由英国作曲家亨利・罗利・毕晓普（1786-1855）配乐。
[260]低音提琴是音域最低的大型弓弦乐器，其特征是斜肩，所以这么说。
[261]木管乐器指笛类和簧管类（即单簧管、双簧管、大管、萨克管）管乐器。
[262]木管乐器在英文中是woodwind（乌德温），与Goodwin（古德温）发音相近。
[263]巴鲁克。斯宾诺莎（1632-1677），出生于荷兰的一个犹太人家庭的唯理性主义者和无神论者。
[264]英国诗人威廉・柯珀（1731-1800）的长诗《任务》中有“天主创造了田园，人类创造了市镇”之句，这里把“市镇”（town）改为发音相近的“音调”（tune)。
[265]“遇见……管”，参看第八章注[37]及有关正文。
[266]“哦，别转文啦！”参看文四章注[53]及有关正文。
[267]“全……啦”，参看本章注[13]。罗斯包围战，参看文十章注[146]。
[268]“他没有怨恨”，这里把《推平头的小伙子》中的“我没有怀恨”作了改动。
[269]“我……上”，语出自《推平头的小伙子》。
[270]本书所描述的是一九0四年六月十六日发生的事。这里把《悼死者》（参看第十章注[145]一诗首句中的“谁害怕谈到一七九八年？”改为“一九0四年”。
[271]“祝福……去吧”，语出自《推平头的小伙子》。
[272]参看第四章注[65]及有关正文。
[273]“挨着个人伤感的海浪”一语出自朱利叶斯・本尼迪克斯（1804-1885）所作歌剧《威尼斯的新娘》（1843）中的一首诗。
[274]“你……可爱”是玛莎来信中的话，参看第五章。
[275]他指博伊兰。
[276]原文作brassinyourface，直译是“脸上呈黄铜色”。但brass又可作“厚脸皮”解。
[277]按德国作曲家费利克斯・门德尔松（1809-1847）作有钢琴曲集《无词歌》第一集（1834-1845）。
[278]轮擦提琴是一种宽矮的梨形弦乐器，不用弓拉弦，而由琴端的柄来转动涂有松香的木轮边，磨擦发音。直到二十世纪初西方还有民间艺人和街头乐师使用此琴，后为手摇风琴所取代。
[279]据民间故事，所罗门王能凭着一只魔戒指通晓动物的语言。
[280]“队长……咒骂着”和“小伙子……后的”，出自《推平头的小伙子》。“婊子养的杂种”则是盲调音师发出的诅咒（见第十章注[203]及有关正文）。
[281]“在那边的河上”，出自《推平头的小伙子》。
[282]“她那……魅力”，出自《偷情的快乐》，参看第十章注[122]和有关正文。
[283]“处女发”，参看本章注[14]。
[284]“灿烂……色”和“破晓”，见本章注[5]。
[285]意思是：原来莉迪亚小姐为的是利德维尔，而不是为布卢姆自己。
[286]这一段与《推平头的小伙子》的歌词略有出入。原词是：“我们为天主和国王保有这座房子。我说：啊们！让叛徒们统统被绞死！”‘他气得咬牙切齿”，“他、指队长。
[287]布卢姆巴不得莉迪亚对他有意，故在离开之前有点留恋不舍。
[288]法雷尔的全名叫卡什尔・博伊尔・奥康内尔・菲茨莫里斯・蒂斯代尔。这里，布卢姆把心里想的姓名和本・多拉德唱着的歌词相混了。
[289]参看本章注[42]。
[290]“小伙子……命”和“他……塞吉”是《推平头的小伙子》一歌倒数第四句和第三句。帕塞古是爱尔兰科克郡的地名。
[291]”悲伤！……伤！”语出自《棕榈树荫》，参看本章注[40]。
[292]“为他……小伙子”，这一段把《推平头的小伙子》后两句略作了改动。原词是：“生活在平安与欢乐中的善人们，为推平头的小伙子喃喃祷告， 抹一掬泪吧。”
[293]路易吉・拉布拉凯（1794-1858），生在爱尔兰（法国父亲，爱尔兰母亲）的意大利歌剧男低音歌唱家，曾在伦敦演唱。舒伯特专为他谱写过歌曲。
[294]卡丘查舞是一种西班牙独舞，节奏略似波莱罗舞曲。
[295]响板是流行于西班牙和南意大利等地的民间打击乐器。由两块贝壳形硬木组成，其间用带子连接，带子绕在拇指上，其他手指使木块拍击作响。
[296]这里用本本以代鼓掌声。
[297]从这里到本章结束为止，作者用长短不一的“噜”音来表示布卢姆因肠胃里憋着气而发出的噜噜声。
[298]原文为爱尔兰语。
[299]“很结实”，直译是：“像提琴一样合适。”
[300]“不和的前兆”，直译是：“笛子上的裂痕。”均为与音乐有关的成语。
[301]威廉・罗斯・华莱士（1819-1881）的诗《什么支配着世界?》中引用了英国谚语：“推摇篮的手就是支配着世界的手。”
[302]利奥波德・布卢姆以歌剧《玛尔塔》的男主角莱昂内尔自居。
[303]“镶……裙子”，参看第十章注[122]及有关的正文。
[304]“遇见……管”，参看第八章注（37）。
[305]《男人摆弄姑娘》是十九世纪末叶出版的一本作者不详的色情作品，写女主角艾丽斯在男主角杰克的引诱下堕落的过程。
[306]“老……进项”，参看第五章注[71]及有关正文。
[307]“成天……前，是《失去的和弦》（见本章注[82]）的首句。这里把原句中的“有一天”，改为“成天”。
[308]当时有个专作富于感伤气息的教会音乐的作曲家，名叫约翰・亨利・蒙德（Mauder)，与“唠叨”（maunder)，拼法相同。所以这里是语意双关。
[309]近代的管风琴常有两排以上的键盘和各自的风箱、音栓（控制音管的“开关”），琴师可变换音栓，或换用键盘以获得所需要的各种音响。
[310]在《男人摆弄姑娘》（见本章注[305]）中，艾丽斯再三大声嚷着“不行”一语，以反映女主人公在逐渐堕落下去的过程中的矛盾心情。
[311]“我头一个看到”与莱昂纳尔所唱的《爱情如今》的首句“我初见”，原文均为“firstlsaw”。
[312]这里把玫瑰改成了沙丁鱼。布卢姆（Bloom）是双关语。参看本章注[17]。
[313]见《约翰福音》第15章第12节。
[314]原文作“pickandPocket”。按pickpocket作“扒手”解。
[315]驴皮被认为最适宜做鼓面。
[316]那希麦克是土耳其语yashmak（面纱）的音译。
[317]基斯麦斯是土耳其语kismet（命运）的音译。533
[318]原文作shift。作为音乐术语，指“换把”，即演奏弦乐器时，左手把位的变换。
[319]原文为法语。见本章注[76]。
[320]“现在……啦”，见本章注[7]。
[321]指市镇上负责口头宣讲新颁法规的公务员。
[322]原文（nominedomine）为拉丁文祷词，有讹，参看第六章注[112]。
[323]“从头”原文为意大利文，系音乐术语，意思是回到乐曲的开头。“行进”（march），作为音乐术语，指进行曲。
[324]参看本章注[258]。
[325]这是本・多拉德所唱歌词的未句，参看本章注[292]。
[326]原文作natural，既作“天生的白痴”解，又是音乐术语，指风琴等的白键、本位音，即不升半音，又下降半音的音。
[327]这里把西蒙・迪达勒斯唱的《爱情如今》（参看本章注[151]）首句中的“我”，改成了“他”。
[328]“永远……的”是威廉・吉尔伯特作词、沙利文配的喜歌剧《爱上了水手的姑娘》（1878）中的叠句。午夜，布鲁姆又遇见了这个妓女， 参看第十六章注[109]及有关正文。
[329]《推平头的小伙子》中有“一个青年走进了阒无一人的门厅”之句，这里加上了“奥蒙德的”一词，这样，青年便指盲调音师了。
[330]这里，布卢姆把迈那贝尔的作品，最后的七句话》（参看第五章注[75]），同埃米特（参看第六章注[186]）在判他死刑的法庭上所作发言中最后一段的七句话（其中涉及他的墓志铭）相提并论。
[331]“诸位地道的男子汉”和“咱们一道举杯吧”引自《纪念死者》 （参看第十章注[145]）第1段，只是把原词中的“满上”，改为“举杯”。哧吣喀、哧冲喀，参看本章注[18]。
[332]布卢姆一边读着英雄埃米特留下的最后几句话（参看本章注[19]），一边趁着电车驶来时的噪音，把憋了好久的屁放出来。