UlyssesChapter16 Eumaeus

PREPARATORY TO ANYTHING ELSE MR BLOOM BRUSHED OFF THE GREATER bulk of the shavings and handed Stephen the hat and ashplant and bucked him up generally in orthodox Samaritan fashion, which he very badly needed. His (Stephen's) mind was not exactly what you would call wandering but a bit unsteady and on his expressed desire for some beverage to drink Mr Bloom, in view of the hour it was and there being no pumps of Vartry water available for their ablutions, let alone drinking purposes, hit upon an expedient by suggesting, off the reel, the propriety of the cabman's shelter, as it was called, hardly a stonesthrow away near Butt Bridge, where they might hit upon some drinkables in the shape of a milk and soda or a mineral. But how to get there was the rub. For the nonce he was rather nonplussed but inasmuch as the duty plainly devolved upon him to take some measures on the subject he pondered suitable ways and means during which Stephen repeatedly yawned. So far as he could see he was rather pale in the face so that it occurred to him as highly advisable to get a conveyance of some description which would answer in their then condition, both of them being e. d. ed, particularly Stephen, always assuming that there was such a thing to be found. Accordingly, after a few such preliminaries, as, in spite of his having forgotten to take up his rather soapsuddy handkerchief after it had done yeoman service in the shaving line, brushing, they both walked together along Beaver street, or, more properly, lane, as far as the farrier's and the distinctly fetid atmosphere of the livery stables at the corner of Montgomery street where they made tracks to the left from thence debouching into Amiens Street round by the corner of Dan Bergin's. But, as he confidently anticipated, there was not a sign of a Jehu plying for hire anywhere to be seen except a fourwheeler, probably engaged by some fellows inside on the spree, outside the North Star Hotel and there was no symptom of its budging a quarter of an inch when Mr Bloom, who was anything but a professional whistler, endeavoured to hail it by emitting a kind of a whistle, holding his arms arched over his head, twice.

This was a quandary but, bringing commonsense to bear on it, evidently there was nothing for it but put a good face on the matter and foot it which they accordingly did. So, bevelling around by Mullet's and the Signal House, which they shortly reached, they proceeded perforce in the direction of Amiens street railway terminus, Mr Bloom being handicapped by the circumstance that one of the back buttons of his trousers had, to vary the timehonoured adage, gone the way of all buttons, though, entering thoroughly into the spirit of the thing, he heroically made light of the mischance. So, as neither of them were particularly pressed for time, as it happened, and the temperature refreshing since it cleared up after the recent visitation of Jupiter Pluvius, they dandered along past by where the empty vehicle was waiting without a fare or a jarvey. As it so happened a Dublin United Tramways Company's sandstrewer happening to be returning the elder man recounted to his companion à propos of the incident his own truly miraculous escape of some little while back. They passed the main entrance of the Great Northern railway station, the starting point for Belfast, where of course all traffic was suspended at that late hour, and, passing the back door of the morgue (a not very enticing locality, not to say gruesome to a degree, more especially at night), ultimately gained the Dock Tavern and in due course turned into Store street, famous for its C division police station. Between this point and the high, at present unlit, warehouses of Beresford Place Stephen thought to think of Ibsen, associated with Baird's, the stonecutter's, in his mind somehow in Talbot Place, first turning on the right, while the other, who was acting as his fidus Achates, inhaled with internal satisfaction the smell of James Rourke's city bakery, situated quite close to where they were, the very palatable odour indeed of our daily bread, of all commodities of the public the primary and most indispensable. Bread, the staff of life, earn your bread, O tell me where is fancy bread? At Rourke's the baker's, it is said.

En route, to his taciturn, and, not to put too fine a point on it, not yet perfectly sober companion, Mr Bloom, who at all events, was in complete possession of his faculties, never more so, in fact disgustingly sober, spoke a word of caution re the dangers of nighttown, women of ill fame and swell mobsmen, which, barely permissible once in a while, though not as a habitual practice, was of the nature of a regular deathtrap for young fellows of his age particularly if they had acquired drinking habits under the influence of liquor unless you knew a little juijitsu for every contingency as even a fellow on the broad of his back could administer a nasty kick if you didn't look out. Highly providential was the appearance on the scene of Corny Kelleher when Stephen was blissfully unconscious that, but for that man in the gap turning up at the eleventh hour, the finis might have been that he might have been a candidate for the accident ward, or, failing that, the Bridewell and an appearance in the court next day before Mr Tobias, or, he being the solicitor, rather old Wall, he meant to say, or Malony which simply spelt ruin for a chap when it got bruited about. The reason he mentioned the fact was that a lot of those policemen, whom he cordially disliked, were admittedly unscrupulous in the service of the Crown and, as Mr Bloom put it, recalling a case or two in the A Division in Clanbrassil street, prepared to swear a hole through a ten gallon pot. Never on the spot when wanted but in quiet parts of the City, Pembroke Road, for example, the guardians of the law were well in evidence, the obvious reason being they were paid to protect the upper classes. Another thing he commented on was equipping soldiers with firearms or sidearms of any description, liable to go off at any time, which was tantamount to inciting them against civilians should by any chance they fall nut over anything. You frittered away your time, he very sensibly maintained, and health and also character besides which the squandermania of the thing, fast women of the demimonde ran away with a lot of #. s. d. into the bargain and the greatest danger of all was who you got drunk with though, touching the much vexed question of stimulants, he relished a glass of choice old wine in season as both nourishing and blood-making and possessing aperient virtues (notably a good burgundy which he was a staunch believer in) still never beyond a certain point where he invariably drew the line as it simply led to trouble all round to say nothing of your being at the tender mercy of others practically. Most of all he commented adversely on the desertion of Stephen by all his pubhunting confrères but one, a most glaring piece of ratting on the part of his brother medicos under all the circs.

-- And that one was Judas, said Stephen, who up to then had said nothing whatsoever of any kind.

Discussing these and kindred topics they made a beeline across the back of the Customhouse and passed under the Loop Line bridge when a brazier of coke burning in front of a sentrybox, or something like one, attracted their rather lagging footsteps. Stephen of his own accord stopped for no special reason to look at the heap of barren cobblestones and by the light emanating from the brazier he could just make out the darker figure of the corporation watchman inside the gloom of the sentrybox. He began to remember that this had happened, or had been mentioned as having happened, before but it cost him no small effort before he remembered that he recognised in the sentry a quondam friend of his father's Gumley. To avoid a meeting be drew nearer to the pillars of the railway bridge.

-- Someone saluted you, Mr Bloom said.

A figure of middle height on the prowl, evidently, under the arches saluted again, calling:

-- Night!

Stephen, of course, started rather dizzily and stopped to return the compliment. Mr Bloom, actuated by motives of inherent delicacy, inasmuch as he always believed in minding his own business, moved off but nevertheless remained on the qui vive with just a shade of anxiety though not funkyish in the least. Although unusual in the Dublin area, he knew that it was not by any means unknown for desperadoes who had next to nothing to live on to be about waylaying and generally terrorising peaceable pedestrians by placing a pistol at their head in some secluded spot outside the city proper, famished loiterers of the Thames embankment category they might be hanging about there or simply marauders ready to decamp with whatever boodle they could in one fell swoop at a moments notice, your money or your life, leaving you there to point a moral, gagged and garotted.

Stephen, that is when the accosting figure came to close quarters, though he was not in any over sober state himself, recognised Corley's breath redolent of rotten cornjuice. Lord John Corley, some called him, and his genealogy came about in this wise. He was the eldest son of Inspector Corley of the G Division, lately deceased, who had married a certain Katherine Brophy, the daughter of a Louth farmer. His grandfather, Patrick Michael Corley, of New Ross, had married the widow of a publican there whose maiden name had been Katherine (also) Talbot. Rumour had it, though not proved, that she descended from the house of the Lords Talbot de Malahide in whose mansion, really an unquestionably fine residence of its kind and well worth seeing, his mother or aunt or some relative had enjoyed the distinction of being in service in the washkitchen. This, therefore, was the reason why the still comparatively young though dissolute man who now addressed Stephen was spoken of by some with facetious proclivities as Lord John Corley.

Taking Stephen on one side he had the customary doleful ditty to tell. Not as much as a farthing to purchase a night's lodgings. His friends had all deserted him. Furthermore, he had a row with Lenehan and called him to Stephen a mean bloody swab with a sprinkling of other uncalled-for expressions. He was out of a job and implored of Stephen to tell him where on God's earth he could get something, anything at all to do. No, it was the daughter of the mother in the washkitchen that was fostersister to the heir of the house or else they were connected through the mother in some way, both occurrences happening at the same time if the whole thing wasn't a complete fabrication from start to finish. Anyhow, he was ill in.

-- I wouldn't ask you, only, pursued he, on my solemn oath and God knows I'm on the rocks.

-- There'll be a job tomorrow or the next day, Stephen told him, in a boys' school at Dalkey for a gentleman usher. Mr Garret Deasy. Try it. You may mention my name.

-- Ah, God, Corley replied, sure I couldn't teach in a school, man. I was never one of your bright ones, he added with a half laugh. Got stuck twice in the junior at the Christian Brothers.

-- I have no place to sleep myself, Stephen informed him.

Corley, at the first go-off, was inclined to suspect it was something to do with Stephen being fired out of his digs for bringing in a bloody tart off the street. There was a dosshouse in Marlborough street, Mrs Maloney's, but it was only a tanner touch and full of undesirables but M'Conachie told him you got a decent enough do in the Brazen Head over in Winetavern street (which was distantly suggestive to the person addressed of friar Bacon) for a bob. He was starving too though he hadn't said a word about it.

Though this sort of thing went on every other night or very near it still Stephen's feelings got the better of him in a sense though he knew that Corley's brandnew rigmarole, on a par with the others, was hardly deserving of much credence. However, haud ignarus malorum miseris succurrere disco, etcetera, as the Latin poet remarks, especially as luck would have it he got paid his screw after every middle of the month on the sixteenth which was the date of the month as a matter of fact though a good bit of the wherewithal was demolished. But the cream of the joke was nothing would get it Out of Corley's head that he was living in affluence and hadn't a thing to do but hand out the needful - whereas. He put his hand in a pocket anyhow, not with the idea of finding any food there, but thinking he might lend him anything up to a bob or so in lieu so that he might endeavour at all events and get sufficient to eat. But the result was in the negative for, to his chagrin, he found his cash missing. A few broken biscuits were all the result of his investigation. He tried his hardest to recollect for the moment whether he had lost, as well he might have, or left, because in that contingency it was not a pleasant lookout, very much the reverse, in fact. He was altogether too fagged out to institute a thorough search though he tried to recollect about biscuits he dimly remembered. Who now exactly gave them, or where was, or did he buy? However, in another pocket he came across what he surmised in the dark were pennies, erroneously, however, as it turned out.

-- Those are halfcrowns, man, Corley corrected him.

And so in point of fact they turned out to be. Stephen lent him one of them.

-- Thanks, Corley answered. You're a gentleman. I'll pay you back some time. Who's that with you? I saw him a few times in the Bleeding Horse in Camden street with Boylan the billsticker. You might put in a good word for us to get me taken on there. I'd carry a sandwichboard only the girl in the office told me they're full up for the next three weeks, man. God, you've to book ahead, man, you'd think it was for the Carl Rosa. I don't give a shite anyway so long as I get a job even as a crossing sweeper.

Subsequently, being not quite so down in the mouth after the two-and-six he got, he informed Stephen about a fellow by the name of Bags Comisky that he said Stephen knew well out of Fullam's, the shipchandler's bookkeeper there, that used to be often round in Nagle's back with O'Mara and a little chap with a stutter the name of Tighe. Anyhow, he was lagged the night before last and fined ten bob for a drunk and disorderly and refusing to go with the constable.

Mr Bloom in the meanwhile kept dodging about in the vicinity of the cobblestones near the brazier of coke in front of the corporation watchman's sentrybox, who, evidently a glutton for work, it struck him, was having a quiet forty winks for all intents and purposes on his own private account while Dublin slept. He threw an odd eye at the same time now and then at Stephen's anything but immaculately attired interlocutor as if he had seen that nobleman somewhere or other though where he was not in a position to truthfully state nor had he the remotest idea when. Being a levelheaded individual who could give points to not a few in point of shrewd observation, he also remarked on his very dilapidated hat and slouchy wearing apparel generally, testifying to a chronic impecuniosity. Probably he was one of his hangerson but for the matter of that it was merely a question of one preying on his next door neighbour all round, in every deep, so to put it, a deeper depth and for the matter of that if the man in the street chanced to be in the dock himself penal servitude, with or without the option of a fine, would be a very rara avis altogether. In any case he had a consummate amount of cool assurance intercepting people at that hour of the night or morning. Pretty thick that was certainly.

The pair parted company and Stephen rejoined Mr Bloom, who, with his practised eye, was not without perceiving that he had succumbed to the blandiloquence of the other parasite. Alluding to the encounter he said, laughingly, Stephen, that is:

-- He's down on his luck. He asked me to ask you to ask somebody named Boylan, a billsticker, to give him a job as a sandwichman.

At this intelligence, in which he seemingly evinced little interest, Mr Bloom gazed abstractedly for the space of a half a second or so in the direction of a bucket dredger, rejoicing in the farfamed name of Eblana, moored alongside Customhouse Quay and quite possibly Out of repair, whereupon he observed evasively:

-- Everybody gets their own ration of luck, they say. Now you mention it his face was familiar to me. But leaving that for the moment, how much did you part with, he queried, if I am not too inquisitive?

-- Half-a-crown, Stephen responded. I daresay he needs it to sleep somewhere.

-- Needs, Mr Bloom ejaculated, professing not the least surprise at the intelligence, I can quite credit the assertion and I guarantee he invariably does. Everyone according to his needs and everyone according to his deeds. But talking about things in general, where, added he with a smile, will you sleep yourself? Walking to Sandycove is Out of the question and, even supposing you did, you won't get in after what occurred at Westland Row station. Simply fag out there for nothing. I don't mean to presume to dictate to you in the slightest degree but why did you leave your father's house?

-- To seek misfortune, was Stephen's answer.

-- I met your respected father on a recent occasion, Mr Bloom diplomatically returned. Today, in fact, or, to be strictly accurate, on yesterday. Where does he live at present? I gathered in the course of conversation that he had moved.

-- I believe he is in Dublin somewhere, Stephen answered unconcernedly. Why?

-- A gifted man, Mr Bloom said of Mr Dedalus senior, in more respects than one and a born raconteur if ever there was one. He takes great pride, quite legitimately, Out of you. You could go back, perhaps, he hazarded, still thinking of the very unpleasant scene at Westland Row terminus when it was perfectly evident that the other two, Mulligan, that is, and that English tourist friend of his, who eventually euchred their third companion, were patently trying, as if the whole bally station belonged to them, to give Stephen the slip in the confusion.

There was no response forthcoming to the suggestion, however, such as it was, Stephen's mind's eye being too busily engaged in repicturing his family hearth the last time he saw it, with his sister, Dilly, sitting by the ingle, her hair hanging down, waiting for some weak Trinidad shell cocoa that was in the sootcoated kettle to be done so that she and he could drink it with the oatmeal water for milk after the Friday herrings they had eaten at two a penny, with an egg apiece for Maggy, Boody and Katey, the cat meanwhile under the mangle devouring a mess of eggshells and charred fish heads and bones on a square of brown paper in accordance with the third precept of the church to fast and abstain on the days commanded, it being quarter tense or, if not, ember days or something like that.

-- No, Mr Bloom repeated again, I wouldn't personally repose much trust in that boon companion of yours who contributes the humorous element, Dr Mulligan, as a guide, philosopher, and friend, if I were in your shoes. He knows which side his bread is buttered on though in all probability he never realised what it is to be without regular meals. Of course you didn't notice as much as I did but it wouldn't occasion me the least surprise to learn that a pinch of tobacco or some narcotic was put in your drink for some ulterior object.

He understood, however, from all he heard, that Dr Mulligan was a versatile allround man, by no means confined to medicine only, who was rapidly coming to the fore in his line and, if the report was verified, bade fair to enjoy a flourishing practice in the not too distant future as a tony medical practitioner drawing a handsome fee for his services in addition to which professional status his rescue of that man from certain drowning by artificial respiration and what they call first aid at Skerries, or Malahide was it? was, he was bound to admit, an exceedingly plucky deed which he could not too highly praise, so that frankly he was utterly at a loss to fathom what earthly reason could be at the back of it except he put it down to sheer cussedness or jealousy, pure and simple.

-- Except it simply amounts to one thing and he is what they call picking your brains, he ventured to throw out.

The guarded glance of half solicitude, half curiosity, augmented by friendliness, which he gave at Stephen's at present morose expression of features did not throw a flood of light, none at all in fact, on the problem as to whether he had let himself be badly bamboozled, to judge by two or three low spirited remarks he let drop, or, the other way about, saw through the affair, and, for some reason or other best known to himself, allowed matters to more or less... Grinding poverty did have that effect and he more than conjectured that, high educational abilities though he possessed, he experienced no little difficulty in making both ends meet.

Adjacent to the men's public urinal he perceived an icecream car round which a group of presumably Italians in heated altercation were getting rid of voluble expressions in their vivacious language in a particularly animated way, there being some little differences between the parties.

-- Putana madonna, che ci dia i quattrini! Ho ragione? Culo rotto!

-- Intendiamoci. Mezzo sovrano più

-- Dice lui, pero.

-- Farabutto! Mortacci sui!

Mr Bloom and Stephen entered the cabman's shelter, an unpretentious wooden structure, where, prior to then, he had rarely, if ever, been before; the former having previously whispered to the latter a few hints anent the keeper of it, said to be the once famous Skin-the-Goat, Fitzharris, the invincible, though he wouldn't vouch for the actual facts, which quite possibly there was not one vestige of truth in. A few moments later saw our two noctambules safely seated in a discreet corner, only to be greeted by stares from the decidedly miscellaneous collection of waifs and strays and other nondescript specimens of the genus homo, already there engaged in eating and drinking, diversified by conversation, for whom they seemingly formed an object of marked curiosity.

-- Now touching a cup of coffee, Mr Bloom ventured to plausibly suggest to break the ice, it occurs to me you ought to sample something in the shape of solid food, say a roll of some description.

Accordingly his first act was with characteristic sangfroid to order these commodities quietly. The hoi polloi of jarvies or stevedores, or whatever they were, after a cursory examination, turned their eyes, apparently dissatisfied, away, though one redbearded bibulous individual, a portion of whose hair was greyish, a sailor, probably, still stared for some appreciable time before transferring his rapt attention to the floor.

Mr Bloom, availing himself of the right of free speech, he having just a bowing acquaintance with the language in dispute though, to be sure, rather in a quandary over voglio, remarked to his protégé in an audible tone of voice, apropos of the battle royal in the street which was still raging fast and furious:

-- Beautiful language. I mean for singing purposes. Why do you not write your poetry in that language? Bella Poetria! it is so melodious and full. Belladonna voglio.

Stephen, who was trying his dead best to yawn, if he could, suffering from dead lassitude generally, replied:

-- To fill the ear of a cow elephant. They were haggling over money.

-- Is that so? Mr Bloom asked. Of course, he subjoined pensively, at the inward reflection of there being more languages to start with than were absolutely necessary, it may be only the southern glamour that surrounds it.

The keeper of the shelter in the middle of this tête-à-tête put a boiling swimming cup of a choice concoction labelled coffee on the table and a rather antediluvian specimen of a bun, or so it seemed, after which he beat a retreat to his counter. Mr Bloom determining to have a good square look at him later on so as not to appear to... for which reason he encouraged Stephen to proceed with his eyes while he did the honours by surreptitiously pushing the cup of what was temporarily supposed to be called coffee gradually nearer him.

-- Sounds are impostures, Stephen said after a pause of some little time. Like names, Cicero, Podmore, Napoleon, Mr Goodbody, Jesus, Mr Doyle. Shakespeares were as common as Murphies. What's in a name?

-- Yes, to be sure, Mr Bloom unaffectedly concurred. Of course. Our name was changed too, he added, pushing the socalled roll across.

The redbearded sailor, who had his weather eye on the newcomers, boarded Stephen, whom he had singled out for attention in particular, squarely by asking:

-- And what might your name be?

Just in the nick of time Mr Bloom touched his companion's boot but Stephen, apparently disregarding the warm pressure, from an unexpected quarter, answered:

-- Dedalus.

The sailor stared at him heavily from a pair of drowsy baggy eyes, rather bunged up from excessive use of boose, preferably good old Hollands and water.

-- You know Simon Dedalus? he asked at length.

-- I've heard of him, Stephen said.

Mr Bloom was all at sea for a moment, seeing the others evidently eavesdropping too.

-- He's Irish, the seaman bold affirmed, staring still in much the same way and nodding. All Irish.

-- All too Irish, Stephen rejoined.

As for Mr Bloom he could neither make head or tail of the whole business and he was just asking himself what possible connection when the sailor, of his own accord, turned to the other Occupants of the shelter with the remark:

-- I seen him shoot two eggs off two bottles at fifty yards over his shoulder. The left hand dead shot.

Though he was slightly hampered by an occasional stammer and his gestures being also clumsy as it was still he did his best to explain.

-- Bottle Out there, say. Fifty yards measured. Eggs on the bottles. Cocks his gun over his shoulder. Aims.

He turned his body half round, shut up his right eye completely, then he screwed his features up some way sideways and glared out into the night with an unprepossessing cast of countenance.

-- Pom, he then shouted once.

The entire audience waited, anticipating an additional detonation, there being still a further egg.

-- Pom, he shouted twice.

Egg two evidently demolished, he nodded and winked, adding bloodthirstily:

Buffalo Bill shoots to kill,

Never missed nor he never will.

A silence ensued till Mr Bloom for agreeableness' sake just felt like asking him whether it was for a marksmanship competition like the Bisley.

-- Beg pardon, the sailor said.

-- Long ago? Mr Bloom pursued without flinching a hairsbreadth.

-- Why, the sailor replied, relaxing to a certain extent under the magic influence of diamond cut diamond, it might be a matter of ten years. He toured the wide world with Hengler's Royal Circus. I seen him do that in Stockholm.

-- Curious coincidence, Mr Bloom confided to Stephen unobtrusively.

-- Murphy's my name, the sailor continued, W. B. Murphy, of Carrigaloe. Know where that is?

-- Queenstown Harbour, Stephen replied.

-- That's right, the sailor said. Fort Camden and Fort Carlisle. That's where I hails from. My little woman's down there. She's waiting for me, I know. For England, home and beauty. She's my own true wife I haven't seen for seven years now, sailing about.

Mr Bloom could easily picture his advent on this scene - the homecoming to the mariner's roadside shieling after having diddled Davy Jones - a rainy night with a blind moon. Across the world for a wife. Quite a number of stories there were on that particular Alice Ben Bolt topic, Enoch Arden and Rip van Winkle and does anybody hereabouts remember Caoc O'Leary, a favourite and most trying declamation piece, by the way, of poor John Casey and a bit of perfect poetry in its own small way? Never about the runaway wife coming back, however much devoted to the absentee. The face at the window! Judge of his astonishment when he finally did breast the tape and the awful truth dawned upon him anent his better half, wrecked in his affections. You little expected me but I've come to stay and make a fresh start. There she sits, a grass widow, at the selfsame fireside. Believes me dead. Rocked in the cradle of the deep. And there sits uncle Chubb or Tomkin, as the case might be, the publican of the Crown and Anchor, in shirtsleeves, eating rumpsteak and onions. No chair for father. Boo! The wind! Her brandnew arrival is on her knee, post mortem child. With a high ro! and a randy ro! and my galloping tearing tandy O! Bow to the inevitable. Grin and bear it. I remain with much love your brokenhearted husband, W. B. Murphy.

The sailor, who scarcely seemed to be a Dublin resident, turned to one of the jarvies with the request:

-- You don't happen to have such a thing as a spare chaw about you, do you?

The jarvey addressed, as it happened, had not but the keeper took a die of plug from his good jacket hanging on a nail and the desired object was passed from hand to hand.

-- Thank you, the sailor said.

He deposited the quid in his gob and, chewing, and with some slow stammers, proceeded:

-- We come up this morning eleven o'clock. The threemaster Rosevean from Bridgwater with bricks. I shipped to get over. Paid off this afternoon. There's my discharge. See? W. B. Murphy, A. B. S.

In confirmation of which statement he extricated from an inside pocket and handed to his neighbours a not very clean looking folded document.

-- You must have seen a fair share of the world, the keeper remarked, leaning on the counter.

-- Why, the sailor answered, upon reflection upon it, I've circumnavigated a bit since I first joined on. I was in the Red Sea. I was in China and North America and South America. I seen icebergs plenty, growlers. I was in Stockholm and the Black Sea, the Dardanelles, under Captain Dalton the best bloody man that ever scuttled a ship. I seen Russia. Gospodi pomilooy. That's how the Russians prays.

-- You seen queer sights, don't be talking, put in a jarvey.

-- Why, the sailor said, shifting his partially chewed plug, I seen queer things too, ups and downs. I seen a crocodile bite the fluke of an anchor same as I chew that quid.

He took out of his mouth the pulpy quid and, lodging it between his teeth, bit ferociously.

-- Khaan! Like that. And I seen maneaters in Peru that eats corpses and the livers of horses. Look here. Here they are. A friend of mine sent me.

He fumbled out a picture postcard from his inside pocket, which seemed to be in its way a species of repository, and pushed it along the table. The printed matter on it stated: Choza de Indios. Beni, Bolivia.

All focused their attention on the scene exhibited, at a group of savage women in striped loincloths, squatted, blinking, suckling, frowning, sleeping, amid a swarm of infants (there must have been quite a score of them) outside some primitive shanties of osier.

-- Chews coca all day long, the communicative tarpaulin added. Stomachs like breadgraters. Cuts off their diddies when they can't bear no more children. See them there stark ballocknaked eating a dead horse's liver raw.

His postcard proved a centre of attraction for Messrs the greenhorns for several minutes, if not more.

-- Know how to keep them off? he inquired genially.

Nobody volunteering a statement, he winked, saying:

-- Glass. That boggles 'em. Glass.

Mr Bloom, without evincing surprise, unostentatiously turned over the card to peruse the partially obliterated address and postmark. It ran as follows: Tarjeta Postal. Se?or A. Boudin, Galeria Becche, Santiago, Chile. There was no message evidently, as he took particular notice. Though not an implicit believer in the lurid story narrated (or the eggsniping transaction for that matter despite William Tell and the Lazarillo-Don Cesar de Bazan incident depicted in Maritana on which occasion the former's ball passed through the latter's hat), having detected a discrepancy between his name (assuming he was the person he represented himself to be and not sailing under false colours after having boxed the compass on the strict q.t. somewhere) and the fictitious addressee of the missive which made him nourish some suspicions of our friend's bona fides, nevertheless it reminded him in a way of a longcherished plan he meant to one day realise some Wednesday or Saturday of travelling to London via long sea not to say that he had ever travelled extensively to any great extent but he was at heart a born adventurer though by a trick of fate he had consistently remained a landlubber except you call going to Holyhead which was his longest. Martin Cunningham frequently said he would work a pass through Egan but some deuced hitch or other eternally cropped up with the net result that the scheme fell through. But even suppose it did come to planking down the needful and breaking Boyd's heart it was not so dear, purse permitting, a few guineas at the outside, considering the fare to Mullingar where he figured on going was five and six there and back. The trip would benefit health on account of the bracing ozone and be in every way thoroughly pleasurable, especially for a chap whose liver was out of order, seeing the different places along the route, Plymouth, Falmouth, Southampton and so on, culminating in an instructive tour of the sights of the great metropolis, the spectacle of our modern Babylon where doubtless he would see the greatest improvement tower, abbey, wealth of Park Lane to renew acquaintance with. Another thing just struck him as a by no means bad notion was he might have a gaze around on the spot to see about trying to make arrangements about a concert tour of summer music embracing the most prominent pleasure resorts, Margate with mixed bathing and firstrate hydros and spas, Eastbourne, Scarborough, Margate and so on, beautiful Bournemouth, the Channel islands and similar bijou spots, which might prove highly remunerative. Not, of course, with a hole and corner scratch company or local ladies on the job, witness Mrs C. P. M'Coy type - lend me your valise and I'll post you the ticket. No, something top notch, an all star Irish cast, the Tweedy-Flower grand opera company with its own legal consort as leading lady as a sort of counterblast to the Elster Grimes and Moody-Manners, perfectly simple matter and he was quite sanguine of success, providing puffs in the local papers could be managed by some fellow with a bit of bounce who could pull the indispensable wires and thus combine business with pleasure. But who? That was the rub.

Also, without being actually positive, it struck him a great field was to be opened up in the line of opening up new routes to keep pace with the times apropos of the Fishguard-Rosslare route which, it was mooted, was once more on the tapis in the Circumlocution departments with the usual quantity of red tape and dillydallying of effete fogeydom and dunderheads generally. A great opportunity there certainly was for push and enterprise to meet the travelling needs of the public at large, the average man, i.e. Brown, Robinson and Co.

It was a subject of regret and absurd as well on the face of it and no small blame to our vaunted society that the man in the street, when the system really needed toning up, for a matter of a couple of paltry pounds, was debarred from seeing more of the world they lived in instead of being always cooped up since my old stick-in-the-mud took me for a wife. After all, hang it, they had their eleven and more humdrum months of it and merited a radical change of venue after the grind of city life in the summertime, for choice, when Dame Nature is at her spectacular best, constituting nothing short of a new lease of life. There were equally excellent opportunities for vacationists in the home island, delightful sylvan spots for rejuvenation, offering a plethora of attractions as well as a bracing tonic for the system in and around Dublin and its picturesque environs, even, Poulaphouca, to which there was a steam tram, but also farther away from the madding crowd, in Wicklow, rightly termed the garden of Ireland, an ideal neighbourhood for elderly wheelmen, so long as it didn't come down, and in the wilds of Donegal, where if report spoke true, the coup d'il was exceedingly grand, though the lastnamed locality was not easily getatable so that the influx of visitors was not as yet all that it might be considering the signal benefits to be derived from it, while Howth with its historic associations and otherwise, Silken Thomas, Grace O'Malley, George IV, rhododendrons several hundred feet above sealevel was a favourite haunt with all sorts and conditions of men, especially in the spring when young men s fancy, though it had its own toll of deaths by falling off the cliffs by design or accidentally, usually, by the way, on their left leg, it being only about three quarters of an hour's run from the pillar. Because of course uptodate tourist travelling was as yet merely in its infancy, so to speak, and the accommodation left much to be desired. Interesting to fathom, it seemed to him, from a motive of curiosity pure and simple, was whether it was the traffic that created the route or vice-versa or the two sides in fact. He turned back the other side of the card picture and passed it along to Stephen.

-- I seen a Chinese one time, related the doughty narrator, that had little pills like putty and he put them in the water and they opened, and every pill was something different. One was a ship, another was a house, another was a flower. Cooks rats in your soup, he appetisingly added, the Chinese does.

Possibly perceiving an expression of dubiosity on their faces, the globetrotter went on adhering to his adventures.

-- And I seen a man killed in Trieste by an Italian chap. Knife in his back. Knife like that.

Whilst speaking he produced a dangerous looking clasp knife, quite in keeping with his character, and held it in the striking position.

-- In a knockingshop it was count of a tryon between two smugglers. Fellow hid behind a door, come up behind him. Like that. Prepare to meet your God, says he. Chuck! It went into his back up to the butt.

His heavy glance, drowsily roaming about, kind of defied their further questions even should they by any chance want to. That's a good bit of steel, repeated he, examining his formidable stiletto.

After which harrowing dénouement sufficient to appal the stoutest he snapped the blade to and stowed the weapon in question away as before in his chamber of horrors, otherwise pocket.

-- They're great for the cold steel, somebody who was evidently quite in the dark said for the benefit of them all. That was why they thought the park murders of the invincibles was done by foreigners on account of them using knives.

At this remark, passed obviously in the spirit of where ignorance is bliss, Mr Bloom and Stephen, each in his own particular way, both instinctively exchanged meaning glances, in a religious silence of the strictly entre nous variety however, towards where Skin-the-Goat, alias the keeper, was drawing spurts of liquid from his boiler affair. His inscrutable face, which was really a work of art, a perfect study in itself, beggaring description, conveyed the impression that he didn't understand one jot of what was going on. Funny very.

There ensued a somewhat lengthy pause. One man was reading by fits and starts a stained by coffee evening journal; another, the card with the natives choza de; another, the seaman's discharge. Mr Bloom, so far as he was personally concerned, was just pondering in pensive mood. He vividly recollected when the occurrence alluded to took place as well as yesterday, some score of years previously, in the days of the land troubles when it took the civilised world by storm, figuratively speaking, early in the eighties, eightyone to be correct, when he was just turned fifteen.

-- Ay, boss, the sailor broke in. Give us back them papers.

The request being complied with, he clawed them up with a scrape.

-- Have you seen the Rock of Gibraltar? Mr Bloom inquired.

The sailor grimaced, chewing, in a way that might be read as yes, ay, or no.

-- Ah, you've touched there too, Mr Bloom said, Europa point, thinking he had, in the hope that the rover might possibly by some reminiscences but he failed to do so, simply letting spurt a jet of spew into the sawdust, and shook his head with a sort of lazy scorn.

-- What year would that be about? Mr Bloom interpolated. Can you recall the boats?

Our soi-disant sailor munched heavily awhile, hungrily, before answering.

-- I'm tired of all them rocks in the sea, he said, and boats and ships. Salt junk all the time.

Tired, seemingly, he ceased. His questioner, perceiving that he was not likely to get a great deal of change out of such a wily old customer, fell to woolgathering on the enormous dimensions of the water about the globe. Suffice it to say that, as a casual glance at the map revealed, it covered fully three fourths of it and he fully realised accordingly what it meant, to rule the waves. On more than one occasion - a dozen at the lowest - near the North Bull at Dollymount he had remarked a superannuated old salt, evidently derelict, seated habitually near the not particularly redolent sea on the wall, staring quite obliviously at it and it at him, dreaming of fresh woods and pastures new as someone somewhere sings. And it left him wondering why. Possibly he had tried to find out the secret for himself, floundering up and down the antipodes and all that sort of thing and over and under - well, not exactly under, tempting the fates. And the odds were twenty to nil there was really no secret about it at all. Nevertheless, without going into the minutiae of the business, the eloquent fact remained that the sea was there in all its glory and in the natural course of things somebody or other had to sail on it and fly in the face of providence though it merely went to show how people usually contrived to load that sort of onus on to the other fellow like the hell idea and the lottery and insurance, which were run on identically the same lines so that for that very reason, if no other, lifeboat Sunday was a very laudable institution to which the public at large, no matter where living, inland or seaside,-is the case might be, having it brought home to them like that, should extend its gratitude also to the harbourmasters and coastguard service who had to man the rigging and push off and out amid the elements, whatever the season, when duty called Ireland expects that every man and so on, and sometimes had a terrible time of it in the wintertime not forgetting the Irish lights, Kish and others, liable to capsize at any moment rounding which he once with his daughter had experienced some remarkably choppy, not to say stormy, weather.

-- There was a fellow sailed with me in the Rover, the old seadog, himself a rover, proceeded. Went ashore and took up a soft job as gentleman's valet at six quid a month. Them are his trousers I've on me and he gave me an oilskin and that jackknife. I'm game for that job, shaving and brushup. I hate roaming about. There's my son now, Danny, run off to sea and his mother got him took in a draper's in Cork where he could be drawing easy money.

-- What age is he? queried one hearer who, by the way, seen from the side, bore a distant resemblance to Henry Campbell, the townclerk, away from the carking cares of office, unwashed, of course, and in a seedy getup and a strong suspicion of nosepaint about the nasal appendage.

-- Why, the sailor answered with a slow puzzled utterance. My son Danny? He'd be about eighteen now, way I figure it.

The Skibbereen father hereupon tore open his grey or unclean anyhow shirt with his two hands and scratched away at his chest on which was to be seen an image tattooed in blue Chinese ink, intended to represent an anchor.

-- There was lice in that bunk in Bridgwater, he remarked. Sure as nuts. I must get a wash tomorrow or next day. It's them black lads I objects to. I hate those buggers. Sucks your blood dry, they does.

Seeing they were all looking at his chest, he accommodatingly dragged his shirt more open so that, on top of the time honoured symbol of the mariner's hope and rest, they had a full view of the figure 16 and a young man's sideface looking frowningly rather.

-- Tattoo, the exhibitor explained. That was done when we were lying becalmed off Odessa in the Black Sea under Captain Dalton Fellow the name of Antonio done that. There he is himself, a Greek.

-- Did it hurt much doing it? one asked the sailor.

That worthy, however, was busily engaged in collecting round the someway in his. Squeezing or...

-- See here, he said, showing Antonio. There he is, cursing the mate. And there he is now, he added. The same fellow, pulling the skin with his fingers, some special knack evidently, and he laughing at a yarn.

And in point of fact the young man named Antonio's livid face did actually look like forced smiling and the curious effect excited the unreserved admiration of everybody, including Skin-the-Goat who this time stretched over.

-- Ay, ay, sighed the sailor, looking down on his manly chest. He's gone too. Ate by sharks after. Ay, ay.

He let go of the skin so that the profile resumed the normal expression of before.

-- Neat bit of work, longshoreman one said.

-- And what's the number for? loafer number two queried.

-- Eaten alive? a third asked the sailor.

-- Ay, ay, sighed again the latter personage, more cheerily this time, with some sort of a half smile, for a brief duration only, in the direction of the questioner about the number. A Greek he was.

And then he added, with rather gallowsbird humour, considering his alleged end:

-- As bad as old Antonio, For he left me on my ownio.

The face of a streetwalker, glazed and haggard under a black straw hat, peered askew round the door of the shelter, palpably reconnoitring on her own with the object of bringing more grist to her mill. Mr Bloom, scarcely knowing which way to look, turned away on the moment, flusterfied but outwardly calm, and picking up from the table the pink sheet of the Abbey street organ which the jarvey, if such he was, had laid aside, he picked it up and looked at the pink of the paper though why pink? His reason for so doing was he recognised on the moment round the door the same face he had caught a fleeting glimpse of that afternoon on Ormond Quay, the partially idiotic female, namely, of the lane, who knew the lady in the brown costume does be with you (Mrs B.), and begged the chance of his washing. Also why washing, which seemed rather vague than not?

Your washing. Still, candour compelled him to admit that he had washed his wife's undergarments when soiled in Holles Street and women would and did too a man's similar garments initialled with Bewley and Draper's marking ink (hers were, that is) if they really loved him, that is to say. Love me, love my dirty shirt. Still, just then, being on tenterhooks, he desired the female's room more than her company so it came as a genuine relief when the keeper made her a rude sign to take herself off. Round the side of the Evening Telegraph he just caught a fleeting glimpse of her face round the side of the door with a kind of demented glassy grin showing that she was not exactly all there, viewing with evident amusement the group of gazers round Skipper Murphy's nautical chest and then there was no more of her.

-- The gunboat, the keeper said.

-- It beats me, Mr Bloom confided to Stephen, medically I am speaking, how a wretched creature like that from the Lock Hospital, reeking with disease, can be barefaced enough to solicit or how any man in his sober senses, if he values his health in the least. Unfortunate creature! Of course, I suppose some man is ultimately responsible for her condition. Still no matter what the cause is from...

Stephen had not noticed her and shrugged his shoulders, merely remarking:

-- In this country people sell much more than she ever had and do a roaring trade. Fear not them that sell the body but have not power to buy the soul. She is a bad merchant. She buys dear and sells cheap.

The elder man, though not by any manner of means an old maid or a prude, said that it was nothing short of a crying scandal that ought to be put a stop to instanter to say that women of that stamp (quite apart from any oldmaidish squeamishness on the subject), a necessary evil, were not licensed and medically inspected by the proper authorities, a thing he could truthfully state he, as a paterfamilias, was a stalwart advocate of from the very first start. Whoever embarked on a policy of that sort, he said, and ventilated the matter thoroughly would confer a lasting boon on everybody concerned.

-- You, as a good catholic, he observed, talking of body and soul, believe in the soul. Or do you mean the intelligence, the brainpower as such, as distinct from any outside object, the table, let us say, that cup? I believe in that myself because it has been explained by competent men as the convolutions of the grey matter. Otherwise we would never have such inventions as X rays, for instance. Do you?

Thus cornered, Stephen had to make a superhuman effort of memory to try and concentrate and remember before he could say:

-- They tell me on the best authority it is a simple substance and therefore incorruptible. It would be immortal, I understand, but for the possibility of its annihilation by its First Cause, Who, from all I can hear, is quite capable of adding that to the number of His other practical jokes, corruptio per se and corruptio per accidens both being excluded by court etiquette.

Mr Bloom thoroughly acquiesced in the general gist of this though the mystical finesse involved was a bit out of his sublunary depth still he felt bound to enter a demurrer on the head of simple, promptly rejoining:

-- Simple? I shouldn't think that is the proper word. Of course, I grant you, to concede a point, you do knock across a simple soul once in a blue moon. But what I am anxious to arrive at is it is one thing for instance to invent those rays R?ntgen did, Or the telescope like Edison, though I believe it was before his time, Galileo was the man I mean. The same applies to the laws, for example, of a farreaching natural phenomenon such as electricity but it's a horse of quite another colour to say you believe in the existence of a supernatural God.

-- O, that, Stephen expostulated, has been proved conclusively by several of the best known passages in Holy Writ, apart from circumstantial evidence.

On this knotty point, however, the views of the pair, poles apart as they were, both in schooling and everything else, with the marked difference in their respective ages, clashed.

-- Has been? the more experienced of the two objected, sticking to his original point. I'm not so sure about that. That's a matter of every man's opinion and, without dragging in the sectarian side of the business, I beg to differ with you in toto there. My belief is, to tell you the candid truth, that those bits were genuine forgeries all of them put in by monks most probably or it's the big question of our national poet over again, who precisely wrote them, like Hamlet and Bacon, as you who know your Shakespeare infinitely better than I, of course I needn't tell you. Can't you drink that coffee, by the way? Let me stir it and take a piece of that bun. It's like one of our skipper's bricks disguised. Still, no one can give what he hasn't got. Try a bit.

-- Couldn't, Stephen contrived to get out, his mental organs for the moment refusing to dictate further.

Faultfinding being a proverbially bad hat, Mr Bloom thought well to stir, or try to, the clotted sugar from the bottom and reflected with something approaching acrimony on the Coffee Palace and its temperance (and lucrative) work. To be sure it was a legitimate object and beyond yea or nay did a world of good. Shelters such as the present one they were in run on teetotal lines for vagrants at night, concerts, dramatic evenings, and useful lectures (admittance free) by qualified men for the lower orders. On the other hand, he had a distinct and painful recollection they paid his wife, Madam Marion Tweedy who had been prominently associated with it at one time, a very modest remuneration indeed for her pianoplaying. The idea, he was strongly inclined to believe, was to do good and net a profit, there being no competition to speak of. Sulphate of copper poison, SO4 or something in some dried peas he remembered reading of in a cheap eatinghouse somewhere but he couldn't remember when it was or where. Anyhow, inspection, medical inspection, of all eatables, seemed to him more than ever necessary which possibly accounted for the vogue of Dr Tibble's Vi-Cocoa on account of the medical analysis involved.

-- Have a shot at it now, he ventured to say of the coffee after being stirred.

Thus prevailed on to at any rate taste it, Stephen lifted the heavy mug from the brown puddle - it clopped out of it when taken up - by the handle and took a sip of the offending beverage.

-- Still, it's solid food, his good genius urged, I'm a stickler for solid food, his one and only reason being not gormandising in the least but regular meals as the sine qua non for any kind of proper work, mental or manual. You ought to eat more solid food. You would feel a different man.

-- Liquids I can eat, Stephen said. But oblige me by taking away that knife. I can't look at the point of it. It reminds me of Roman history.

Mr Bloom promptly did as suggested and removed the incriminated article, a blunt hornhandled ordinary knife with nothing particularly Roman or antique about it to the lay eye, observing that the point was the least conspicuous point about it.

-- Our mutual friend's stories are like himself, Mr Bloom, apropos of knives, remarked to his confidente sotto voce. Do you think they are genuine? He could spin those yarns for hours on end all night long and lie like old boots. Look at him.

Yet still, though his eyes were thick with sleep and sea air, life was full of a host of things and coincidences of a terrible nature and it was quite within the bounds of possibility that it was not an entire fabrication though at first blush there was not much inherent probability in all the spoof he got off his chest being strictly accurate gospel.

He had been meantime taking stock of the individual in front of him and Sherlockholmesing him up, ever since he clapped eyes on him. Though a wellpreserved man of no little stamina, if a trifle prone to baldness, there was something spurious in the cut of his jib that suggested a jail delivery and it required no violent stretch of imagination to associate such a weirdlooking specimen with the oakum and treadmill fraternity. He might even have done for his man, supposing it was his own case he told, as people often did about others, namely, that he killed him himself and had served his four or five goodlooking years in durance vile to say nothing of the Antonio personage (no relation to the dramatic personage of identical name who sprang from the pen Of our national poet) who expiated his crimes in the melodramatic manner above described. On the other hand he might be only bluffing, a pardonable weakness, because meeting unmistakable mugs, Dublin residents, like those jarvies waiting news from abroad, would tempt any ancient mariner who sailed the ocean seas to draw the long bow about the schooner Hesperus and etcetera. And when all was said and done, the lies a fellow told about himself couldn't probably hold a proverbial candle to the wholesale whoppers other fellows coined about him.

Mind you, I'm not saying that it's all a pure invention, he resumed. Analogous scenes are occasionally, if not often, met with. Giants, though, that is rather a far cry you see once in a way. Marcella, the midget queen. In those waxworks in Henry street I myself saw some Aztecs, as they are called, sitting bowlegged. They couldn't straighten their legs if you paid them because the muscles here, you see, he proceeded, indicating on his companion the brief outline, the sinews, or whatever you like to call them, behind the right knee, were utterly powerless from sitting that way so long cramped up, being adored as gods. There's an example again of simple souls.

However, reverting to friend Sinbad and his horrifying adventures (who reminded him a bit of Ludwig, alias Ledwidge, when he occupied the boards of the Gaiety when Michael Gunn was identified with the management in the Flying Dutchman, a stupendous success, and his host of admirers came in large numbers, everyone simply flocking to hear him though ships of any sort, phantom or the reverse, on the stage usually fell a bit flat as also did trains), there was nothing intrinsically incompatible about it, he conceded. On the contrary, that stab in the back touch was quite in keeping with those Italianos, though candidly he was none the less free to admit those ice creamers and friers in the fish way, not to mention the chip potato variety and so forth, over in little Italy there, near the Coombe, were sober thrifty hardworking fellows except perhaps a bit too given to pothunting the harmless necessary animal of the feline persuasion of others at night so as to have a good old succulent tuck in with garlic de rigueur off him or her next day on the quiet and, he added, on the cheap.

-- Spaniards, for instance, he continued, passionate temperaments like that, impetuous as Old Nick, are given to taking the law into their own hands and give you your quietus double quick with those poignards they carry in the abdomen. It comes from the great heat, climate generally. My wife is, so to speak, Spanish, half, that is. Point of fact she could actually claim Spanish nationality if she wanted, having been born in (technically) Spain, i.e. Gibraltar. She has the Spanish type. Quite dark, regular brunette, black. I, for one, certainly believe climate accounts for character. That's why I asked you if you wrote your poetry in Italian.

-- The temperaments at the door, Stephen interposed with, were very passionate about ten shillings. Roberto ruba roba sua.

-- Quite so, Mr Bloom dittoed.

-- Then, Stephen said, staring and rambling on to himself or some unknown listener somewhere, we have the impetuosity of Dante and the isosceles triangle, Miss Portinari, he fell in love with and Leonardo and san Tommaso Mastino.

-- It's in the blood, Mr Bloom acceded at once. All are washed in the blood of the sun. Coincidence, I just happened to be in the Kildare street Museum today, shortly prior to our meeting, if I can so call it, and I was just looking at those antique statues there. The splendid proportions of hips, bosom. You simply don't knock against those kind of women here. An exception here and there. Handsome, yes, pretty in a way you find, but what I'm talking about is the female form. Besides, they have so little taste in dress, most of them, which greatly enhances a woman's natural beauty, no matter what you say. Rumpled stockings - it may be, possibly is, a foible of mine, but still it's a thing I simply hate to see.

Interest, however, was starting to flag somewhat all round and the others got on to talking about accidents at sea, ships lost in a fog, collisions with icebergs, all that sort of thing. Shipahoy, of course, had his own say to say. He had doubled the Cape a few odd times and weathered a monsoon, a kind of wind, in the China seas and through all those perils of the deep there was one thing, he declared, stood to him, or words to that effect, a pious medal he had that saved him.

So then after that they drifted on to the wreck of Daunt's rock, wreck of that illfated Norwegian barque - nobody could think of her name for the moment till the jarvey who had really quite a look of Henry Campbell remembered it, Palme, on Booterstown Strand, that was the talk of the town that year (Albert William Quill wrote a fine piece of original verse of distinctive merit on the topic for the Irish Times) breakers running over her and crowds and crowds on the shore in commotion petrified with horror. Then someone said something about the case of the s. s. Lady Cairns of Swansea, run into by the Mona, which was on an Opposite tack, in rather muggyish weather and lost with all hands on deck. No aid was given. Her master, the Mona's, said he was afraid his collision bulkhead would give way. She had no water, it appears, in her hold.

At this stage an incident happened. It having become necessary for him to unfurl a reef, the sailor vacated his seat.

-- Let me cross your bows, mate, he said to his neighbour, who was just gently dropping off into a peaceful dose.

He made tracks heavily, slowly, with a dumpy sort of a gait to the door, stepped heavily down the one step there was out of the shelter and bore due left. While he was in the act of getting his bearings, Mr Bloom, who noticed when he stood up that he had two flasks of presumably ship's rum sticking one out of each pocket for the private consumption of his burning interior, saw him produce a bottle and uncork it, or unscrew, and, applying its nozzle to his lips, take a good old delectable swig out of it with a gurgling noise. The irrepressible Bloom, who also had a shrewd suspicion that the old stager went out on a manoeuvre after the counterattraction in the shape of a female, who, however, had disappeared to all intents and purposes, could, by straining, just perceive him, when duly refreshed by his rum puncheon exploit, gazing up at the piers and girders of the Loop Line, rather out of his depth, as of course it was all radically altered since his last visit and greatly improved. Some person or persons invisible directed him to the male urinal erected by the cleansing committee all over the place for the purpose but, after a brief space of time during which silence reigned supreme, the sailor, evidently giving it a wide berth, eased himself close at hand, the noise of his bilge-water some little time subsequently splashing on the ground where it apparently woke a horse of the cabrank.

A hoof scooped anyway for new foothold after sleep and harness jingled. Slightly disturbed in his sentrybox by the brasier of live coke, the watcher of the corporation, who, though now broken down and fast breaking up, was none other in stern reality than the Gumley aforesaid, now practically on the parish rates, given the temporary job by Pat Tobin in all human probability, from dictates of humanity, knowing him before - shifted about and shuffled in his box before composing his limbs again in the arms of Morpheus. A truly amazing piece of hard times in its most virulent form on a fellow most respectably connected and familiarised with decent home comforts all his life who came in for a cool #100 a year at one time which of course the double-barrelled ass proceeded to make general ducks and drakes of. And there he was at the end of his tether after having often painted the town tolerably pink, without a beggarly stiver. He drank, needless to be told, and it pointed only once more a moral when he might quite easily be in a large way of business if - a big if, however - he had contrived to cure himself of his particular partiality.

All, meantime, were loudly lamenting the falling off in Irish shipping, coastwise and foreign as well, which was all part and parcel of the same thing. A Palgrave Murphy boat was put off the ways at Alexandra Basin, the only launch that year. Right enough the harbours were there only no ships ever called.

There were wrecks and wrecks, the keeper said, who was evidently au fait.

What he wanted to ascertain was why that ship ran bang against the only rock in Galway Bay when the Galway Harbour scheme was mooted by a Mr Worthington or some name like that, eh? Ask her captain, he advised them, how much palmoil the British Government gave him for that day's work. Captain John Lever of the Lever line.

-- Am I right, skipper? he queried of the sailor now returning after his private potation and the rest of his exertions.

That worthy, picking up the scent of the fagend of the song or words, growled in wouldbe music, but with great vim, some Kind of chanty or other in seconds or thirds. Mr Bloom's sharp ears heard him then expectorate the plug probably (which it was), so that he must have lodged it for the time being in his fist while he did the drinking and making water jobs and found it a bit sour after the liquid fire in question. Anyhow in he rolled after his successful libation-cum-potation, introducing an atmosphere of drink into the soirée, boisterously trolling, like a veritable son of a seacook:

After which effusion the redoubtable specimen duly arrived on the scene and, regaining his seat, he sank rather than sat heavily on the form provided.

Skin-the-Goat, assuming he was he, evidently with an axe to grind, was airing his grievances in a forcible-feeble philippic anent the natural resources of Ireland, or something of that sort, which he described in his lengthy dissertation as the richest country bar none on the face of God's earth, far and away superior to England, with coal in large quantities, six million pounds' worth of pork exported every year, ten millions between butter and eggs, and all the riches drained out of it by England levying taxes on the poor people that paid through the nose always, and gobbling up the best meat in the market, and a lot more surplus steam in the same vein. Their conversation accordingly became general and all agreed that that was a fact. You could grow any mortal thing in Irish soil, he stated, and there was Colonel Everard down there in Cavan growing tobacco. Where would you find anywhere the like of Irish bacon? But a day of reckoning, he stated crescendo with no uncertain voice - thoroughly monopolising all the conversation - was in store for mighty England, despite her power of pelf on account of her crimes. There would be a fall and the greatest fall in history. The Germans and the Japs were going to have their little lookin, he affirmed. The Boers were the beginning of the end. Brummagem England was toppling already and her downfall would be Ireland, her Achilles heel, which he explained to them about the vulnerable point of Achilles, the Greek hero - a point his auditors at once seized as he completely gripped their attention by showing the tendon referred to on his boot. His advice to every Irishman was: stay in the land of your birth and work for Ireland and live for Ireland. Ireland, Parnell said, could not spare a single one of her sons.

Silence all round marked the termination of his finale. The impervious navigator heard these lurid tidings undismayed.

-- Take a bit of doing, boss, retaliated that rough diamond palpably a bit peeved in response to the foregoing truism.

To which cold douche, referring to downfall and so on, the keeper concurred but nevertheless held to his main view.

-- Who's the best troops in the army? the grizzled old veteran irately interrogated. And the best jumpers and racers? And the best admirals and generals we've got? Tell me that.

-- The Irish for choice, retorted the cabby like Campbell, facial blemishes apart.

-- That's right, the old tarpaulin corroborated. The Irish catholic peasant. He's the backbone of our empire. You know Jem Mullins?

While allowing him his individual opinions, as every man, the keeper added he cared nothing for any empire, ours or his, and considered no Irishman worthy of his salt that served it. Then they began to have a few irascible words, when it waxed hotter, both, needless to say, appealing to the listeners who followed the passage of arms with interest so long as they didn't indulge in recriminations and come to blows.

From inside information extending over a series of years Mr Bloom was rather inclined to poohpooh the suggestion as egregious balderdash for, pending that consummation devoutly to be or not to be wished for, he was fully cognisant of the fact that their neighbours across the channel, unless they were much bigger fools than he took them for, rather concealed their strength than the opposite. It was quite on a par with the quixotic idea in certain quarters that in a hundred million years the coal seam of the sister island would be played out and if, as time went On, that turned Out to be how the cat jumped all he could personally say on the matter was that as a host of contingencies, equally relevant to the issue, might occur ere then it was highly advisable in the interim to try to make the most of both countries, even though poles apart. Another little interesting point, the amours of whores and chummies, to put it in common parlance, reminded him Irish soldiers had as often fought for England as against her, more so, in fact. And now, why? So the scene between the pair of them, the licensee of the place, rumoured to be or have been Fitzharris, the famous invincible, and the other, obviously bogus, reminded him forcibly as being on all fours with the confidence trick, supposing, that is, it was prearranged, as the lookeron, a student of the human soul, if anything, the others seeing least of the game. And as for the lessee or keeper, who probably wasn't the other person at all, he (Bloom) couldn't help feeling, and most properly, it was better to give people like that the goby unless you were a blithering idiot altogether and refuse to have anything to do with them as a golden rule in private life and their felonsetting, there always being the offchance of a Dannyman coming forward and turning queen's evidence - or king's now - like Denis or Peter Carey, an idea he utterly repudiated. Quite apart from that, he disliked those careers of wrongdoing and crime on principle. Yet, though such criminal propensities had never been an inmate of his bosom in any shape or form, he certainly did feel, and no denying it (while inwardly remaining what he was), a certain kind of admiration for a man who had actually brandished a knife, cold steel, with the courage of his political convictions though, personally, he would never be a party to any such thing, off the same bat as those love vendettas of the south - have her or swing for her - when the husband frequently, after some words passed between the two concerning her relations with the other lucky mortal (the man having had the pair watched), inflicted fatal injuries on his adored one as a result of an alternative postnuptial liaison by plunging his knife into her until it just struck him that Fitz, nicknamed Skin-the-Goat, merely drove the car for the actual perpetrators of the outrage and so was not, if he was reliably informed, actually party to the ambush which, in point of fact, was the plea some legal luminary saved his skin on. In any case that was very ancient history by now and as for our friend, the pseudo Skin-the-etcetera, he had transparently outlived his welcome. He ought to have either died naturally or on the scaffold high. Like actresses, always farewell - positively last performance then come up smiling again. Generous to a fault, of course, temperamental, no economising or any idea of the sort, always snapping at the bone for the shadow. So similarly he had a very shrewd suspicion that Mr Johnny Lever got rid of some #. s. d. in the course of his perambulations round the docks in the congenial atmosphere of the Old Ireland tavern, come back to Erin and so on. Then as for the others, he had heard not so long before the same identical lingo, as he told Stephen how he simply but effectually silenced the offender.

He took umbrage at something or other, that much injured but on the whole eventempered person declared, I let slip. He called me a jew, and in a heated fashion, offensively. So I, without deviating from plain facts in the least, told him his God, I mean Christ, was a jew too, and all his family, like me, though in reality I'm not. That was one for him. A soft answer turns away wrath. He hadn't a word to say for himself as everyone saw. Am I not right?

He turned a long you are wrong gaze on Stephen of timorous dark pride at the soft impeachment, with a glance also of entreaty for he seemed to glean in a kind of a way that it wasn't all exactly .

-- Ex quibus, Stephen mumbled in a noncommittal accent, their two or four eyes conversing, Christus or Bloom his name is, or, after all, any other, secundum carnem.

-- Of course, Mr Bloom proceeded to stipulate, you must look at both sides of the question. It is hard to lay down any hard and fast rules as to right and wrong but room for improvement all round there certainly is though every country, they say, our own distressful included, has the government it deserves. But with a little goodwill all round. It's all very fine to boast of mutual superiority but what about mutual equality? I resent violence or intolerance in any shape or form. It never reaches anything or stops anything. A revolution must come on the due instalments plan. It's a patent absurdity on the face of it to hate people because they live round the corner and speak another vernacular, so to speak.

-- Memorable bloody bridge battle and seven minutes' war, Stephen assented, between Skinner's alley and Ormond market.

-- Yes, Mr Bloom thoroughly agreed, entirely endorsing the remark, that was overwhelmingly right and the whole world was overwhelmingly full of that sort of thing.

-- You just took the words out of my mouth, he said. A hocuspocus of conflicting evidence that candidly you couldn't remotely.

All those wretched quarrels, in his humble opinion, stirring up bad blood - bump of combativeness or gland of some kind, erroneously supposed to be about a punctilio of honour and a flag - were very largely a question of the money question which was at the back of everything, greed and jealousy, people never knowing when to stop.

-- They accuse - remarked he audibly.

He turned away from the others, who probably... and spoke nearer to, so as the others... in case they...

-- Jews, he softly imparted in an aside in Stephen's ear, are accused of ruining. Not a vestige of truth in it, I can safely say. History - would you be surprised to learn? - proves up to' the hilt Spain decayed when the Inquisition hounded the jews out and England prospered when Cromwell, an uncommonly able ruffian, who, in other respects, has much to answer for, imported them. Why? Because they are practical and are proved to be so. I don't want to indulge in any... because you know the standard works on the subject, and then, orthodox as you are... But in the economic, not touching religion, domain, the priest spells poverty. Spain again, you saw in the war, compared with goahead America. Turks, it's in the dogma. Because if they didn't believe they'd go straight to heaven when they die they'd try to live better - at least, so I think. That's the juggle on which the p.p.'s raise the wind on false pretences. I'm, he resumed, with dramatic force, as good an Irishman as that rude person I told you about at the outset and I want to see everyone, concluded he, all creeds and classes pro rata having a comfortable tidysized income, in no niggard fashion either, something in the neighbourhood of #300 per annum That's the vital issue at stake and it's feasible and would be provocative of friendlier intercourse between man and man. At least that's my idea for what it's worth. I call that patriotism. Ubi patria, as we learned a small smattering of in our classical day in Alma Mater, vita bene. Where you can live well, the sense is, if you work.

Over his untasteable apology for a cup of coffee, listening to this synopsis of things in general, Stephen stared at nothing in particular. He could hear, of course, all kinds of words changing colour like those crabs about Ringsend in the morning, burrowing quickly into all colours of different sorts of the same sand where they had a home somewhere beneath or seemed to. Then he looked up and saw the eyes that said or didn't say the words the voice he heard said - if you work.

-- Count me out, he managed to remark, meaning to work.

The eyes were surprised at this observation, because as he, the person who owned them pro. tem. observed, or rather, his voice speaking did: All must work, have to, together.

-- I mean, of course, the other hastened to affirm, work in the widest possible sense. Also literary labour, not merely for the kudos of the thing. Writing for the newspapers which is the readiest channel nowadays. That's work too. Important work. After all, from the little I know of you, after all the money expended on your education, you are entitled to recoup yourself and command your price. You have every bit as much right to live by your pen in pursuit of your philosophy as the peasant has. What? You both belong to Ireland, the brain and the brawn. Each is equally important.

-- You suspect, Stephen retorted with a sort of a half laugh, that I may be important because I belong to the faubourg Saint Patrice called Ireland for short.

-- I would go a step farther, Mr Bloom insinuated.

-- But I suspect, Stephen interrupted, that Ireland must be important because it belongs to me.

-- What belongs? queried Mr Bloom, bending, fancying he was perhaps under some misapprehension. Excuse me. Unfortunately I didn't catch the latter portion. What was it you?...

Stephen, patently crosstempered, repeated and shoved aside his mug of coffee, Or whatever you like to call it, none too politely, adding:

-- We can't change the country. Let us change the subject.

At this pertinent suggestion, Mr Bloom, to change the subject, looked down, but in a quandary, as he couldn't tell exactly what construction to put on belongs to which sounded rather a far cry. The rebuke of some kind was clearer than the other part. Needless to say, the fumes of his recent orgy spoke then with some asperity in a curious bitter way, foreign to his sober state. Probably the home life, to which Mr Bloom attached the utmost importance, had not been all that was needful or he hadn't been familiarised with the right sort of people. With a touch of fear for the young man beside him, whom he furtively scrutinised with an air of some consternation remembering he had just come back from Paris, the eyes more especially reminding him forcibly of father and sister, failing to throw much light on the subject, however, he brought to mind instances of cultured fellows that promised so brilliantly, nipped in the bud of premature decay, and nobody to blame but themselves. For instance, there was the case of O'Callaghan, for one, the half crazy faddist, respectably connected, though of inadequate means, with his mad vagaries, among whose other gay doings when rotto and making himself a nuisance to everybody all round he was in the habit of ostentatiously sporting in public a suit of brown paper (a fact). And then the usual dénouement after the fun had gone on fast and furious he got landed into hot water and had to be spirited away by a few friends, after a strong hint to a blind horse from John Mallon of Lower Castle Yard, so as not to be made amenable under section two of the Criminal Law Amendment Act, certain names of those subpoenaed being handed in but not divulged, for reasons which will occur to anyone with a pick of brains. Briefly, putting two and two together, six sixteen, which he pointedly turned a deaf ear to, Antonio and so forth, jockeys and esthetes and the tattoo which was all the go in the seventies or thereabouts, even In the House of Lords, because early in life the occupant of the throne, then heir apparent, the other members of the upper ten and other high personages simply following in the footsteps of the head of the state, he reflected about the errors of notorieties and crowned heads running counter to morality such as the Cornwall case a number of years before under their veneer in a way scarcely intended by nature, a thing good Mrs Grundy as the law stands was terribly down on, though not for the reason they thought they were probably, whatever it was, except women chiefly, who were always fiddling more or less at one another, it being largely a matter of dress and all the rest of it. Ladies who like distinctive underclothing should, and every well tailored man must, trying to make the gap wider between them by innuendo and give more of a genuine fillip to acts of impropriety between the two, she unbuttoned his and then he untied her, mind the pin, whereas savages in the cannibal islands, say, at ninety degrees in the shade not caring a continental. However, reverting to the original, there were on the other hand others who had forced their way to the top from the lowest rung by the aid of their bootstraps. Sheer force of natural genius, that. With brains, sir.

For which and further reasons he felt it was interest and duty even to wait on and profit by the unlooked for occasion, though why, he could not exactly tell, being, as it was, already several shillings to the bad, having, in fact, let himself in for it. Still, to cultivate the acquaintance of someone of no uncommon calibre who could provide food for reflection would amply repay any small... Intellectual stimulation as such was, he felt, from time to time a firstrate tonic for the mind. Added to which was the coincidence of meeting, discussion, dance, row, old salt, of the here today and gone tomorrow type, night loafers, the whole galaxy of events, all went to make up a miniature cameo of the world we live in, especially as the lives of the submerged tenth, viz., coalminers, divers, scavengers, etc., were very much under the microscope lately. To improve the shining hour he wondered whether he might meet with anything approaching the same luck as Mr Philip Beaufoy if taken down in writing. Suppose he were to pen something out of the common groove (as he fully intended doing) at the rate of one guinea per column, My Experiences, let us say, in a Cabman's Shelter.

The pink edition, extra sporting, of the Telegraph, tell a graphic lie, lay, as luck would have it, beside his elbow and as he was just puzzling again, far from satisfied, over a country belonging to him and the preceding rebus the vessel came from Bridgwater and the postcard was addressed to A. Boudin, find the captain's age, his eyes went aimlessly over the respective captions which came under his special province, the allembracing give us this day our daily press. First he got a bit of a start but it turned out to be only something about somebody named H. du Boyes, agent for typewriters or something like that. Great battle Tokio. Lovemaking in Irish #200 damages. Gordon Bennett. Emigration swindle. Letter from His Grace William. Ascot Throwaway recalls Derby of '92 when Captain Marshall's dark horse, Sir Hugo , captured the blue riband at long odds. New York disaster, thousand lives lost. Foot and Mouth. Funeral of the late Mr Patrick Dignam.

So to change the subject he read about Dignam, R.I.P., which, he reflected, was anything but a gay sendoff.

-- This morning (Hynes put it in, of course), the remains of the late Mr Patrick Dignam were removed from his residence, no 9 Newbridge Avenue, Sandymount, for internment in Clasnevin. The deceased gentleman was a most popular and genial personality in city life and his demise, after a brief illness, came as great shock to citizens of all classes by whom he is deeply regretted. The obsequies, at which many friends of the deceased were present, were carried out (certainly Hynes wrote it with a nudge from Corny) by Messrs. H. J. O'Neill & Son, 164 North Strand road. The mourners included: Patk. Dignam (son), Bernard Corrigan (motherinlaw), John Henry Menton, solr., Martin Cunningham, John Power eatondph 1/8 ador dorador douradora (must be where he called Monks the dayfather about Keyes's ad), Thomas Kernan, Simon Dedalus, Stephen Dedalus, B. A., Edward J. Lambert, Cornelius Kelleher, Joseph M'C. Hynes, L. Boom, C. P. M'Coy, - M'Intosh, and several others.

Nettled not a little by L. Boom (as it incorrectly stated) and the line of bitched type, but tickled to death simultaneously by C. P. M'Coy and Stephen Dedalus, B. A., who were conspicuous, needless to say, by their total absence (to say nothing of M'Intosh), L. Boom pointed it out to his companion B. A., engaged in stifling another yawn, half nervousness, not forgetting the usual crop of nonsensical howlers of misprints.

-- Is that first epistle to the Hebrews, he asked, as soon as his bottom jaw would let him, in? Text: open thy mouth and put thy foot in it.

-- It is, really, Mr Bloom said (though first he fancied he alluded to the archbishop till he added about foot and mouth with which there could be no possible connection) overjoyed to set his mind at rest and a bit flabbergasted at Myles Crawford's after all managing the thing, there.

While the other was reading it on page two Boom (to give him for the nonce his new misnomer) whiled away a few odd leisure moments in fits and starts with the account of the third event at Ascot on page three, his sidevalue 1,000 sovs., with 3,000 sovs. In specie added for entire colts and fillies, Mr F. Alexander's Throwaway, b.h. by Rightaway, 5 yrs, 9 st 4 lbs, Thrale (W. Lane) 1. Lord Howard de Walden's Zinfandel (M. Cannon) 2. Mr W. Bass's Sceptre, 3. Betting 5 to 4 on Zinfandel, 20 to 1 Throwaway (off). Throwaway and Zinfandel stood close order. It was anybody's race then the rank outsider drew to the fore got long lead, beating lord Howard de Walden's chestnut colt and Mr W. Bass's bay filly Sceptre on a 2 1/2 mile course. Winner trained by Braine so that Lenehan's version of the business was all pure buncombe. Secured the verdict cleverly by a length. 1,000 sovs., with 3,000 in specie. Also ran J. de Bremond's (French horse Bantam Lyons was anxiously inquiring after not in yet but expected any minute) Maximum II. Different ways of bringing off a coup. Lovemaking damages. Though that halfbaked Lyons ran off at a tangent in his impetuosity to get left. Of course, gambling eminently lent itself to that sort of thing though, as the event turned out, the poor fool hadn't much reason to congratulate himself on his pick, the forlorn hope. Guesswork it reduced itself to eventually.

-- There was every indication they would arrive at that, Mr Bloom said.

-- Who? the other, whose hand by the way was hurt, said.

One morning you would open the paper, the cabman affirmed, and read, Return of Parnell. He bet them what they liked. A Dublin fusilier was in that shelter one night and said he saw him in South Africa. Pride it was killed him. He ought to have done away with himself or lain low for a time after Committee Room No. 15 until he was his old self again with no-one to point a finger at him. Then they would all to a man have gone down on their marrowbones to him to come back when he had recovered his senses. Dead he wasn't. Simply absconded somewhere. The coffin they brought over was full of stones. He changed his name to De Wet, the Boer general. He made a mistake to fight the priests. And so forth and so on.

All the same Bloom (properly so dubbed) was rather surprised at their memories for in nine cases out of ten it was a case of tarbarrels, and not singly but in their thousands, and then complete oblivion because it was twenty odd years. Highly unlikely, of course, there was even a shadow of truth in the stories and, even supposing, he thought a return highly inadvisable, all things considered. Something evidently riled them in his death. Either he petered out too tamely of acute pneumonia just when his various different political arrangements were nearing completion or whether it transpired he owed his death to his having neglected to change his boots and clothes after a wetting when a cold resulted and failing to consult a specialist he being confined to his room till he eventually died of it amid widespread regret before a fortnight was at an end or quite possibly they were distressed to find the job was taken out of their hands. Of course nobody being acquainted with his movements even before, there was absolutely no clue as to his whereabouts which were decidedly of the Alice, where art thou order even prior to his starting to go under several aliases such as Fox and Stewart, so the remark which emanated from friend cabby might be within the bounds of possibility. Naturally then, it would prey on his mind as a born leader of men, which undoubtedly he was, and a commanding figure, a sixfooter or at any rate five feet ten or eleven in his stockinged feet, whereas Messrs So-and-So who, though they weren't even a patch on the former man, ruled the roost after their redeeming features were very few and far between. It certainly pointed a moral, the idol with feet of clay. And then seventytwo of his trusty henchmen rounding on him with mutual mudslinging. And the identical same with murderers. You had to come back - that haunting sense kind of drew you - to show the understudy in the title r?le how to. He saw him once on the auspicious occasion when they broke up the type in the Insuppressible or was it United Ireland, a privilege he keenly appreciated, and, in point of fact, handed him his silk hat when it was knocked off and he said Thank you, excited as he undoubtedly was under his frigid expression notwithstanding the little misadventure mentioned between the cup and the lip - what's bred in the bone. Still, as regards return, you were a lucky dog if they didn't set the terrier at you directly you got back. Then a lot of shillyshally usually followed. Tom for and Dick and Harry against. And then, number one, you came up against the man in possession and had to produce your credentials, like the claimant in the Tichborne case, Roger Charles Tichborne. Bella was the boat's name to the best of his recollection he, the heir, went down in, as the evidence went to show, and there was a tattoo mark too in Indian ink, Lord Bellew, was it? As he might very easily have picked up the details from some pal on board ship and then, when got up to tally with the description given, introduce himself with, Excuse me, my name is So-and-So or some such commonplace remark. A more prudent course, Mr Bloom said to the not over effusive, in fact like the distinguished personage under discussion beside him, would have been to sound the lie of the land first.

-- That bitch, that English whore, did for him, the shebeen proprietor commented. She put the first nail in his coffin.

-- Fine lump of a woman, all the same, the soi-disant town-clerk, Henry Campbell remarked, and plenty of her. I seen her picture in a barber's. Her husband was a captain or an officer.

-- Ay, Skin-the-Goat amusingly added. He was, and a cottonball one.

This gratuitous contribution of a humorous character occasioned a fair amount of laughter among his entourage. As regards Bloom, he, without the faintest suspicion of a smile, merely gazed in the direction of the door and reflected upon the historic story which had aroused extraordinary interest at the time when the facts, to make matters worse, were made public with the usual affectionate letters that passed between them, full of sweet nothings. First, it was strictly platonic till nature intervened and an attachment sprang up between them, till bit by bit matters came to a climax and the matter became the talk of the town till the staggering blow came as a welcome intelligence to not a few evildisposed however, who were resolved upon encouraging his downfall though the thing was public property all along though not to anything like the sensational extent that it subsequently blossomed into. Sino their names were coupled, though, since he was her declared favourite, where was the particular necessity to proclaim it to the rank and file from the housetops, the fact namely, that he had shared her bedroom, which came out in the witnessbox on oath when a thrill went through the packed court literally electrifying everybody in the shape of witnesses swearing to having witnessed him on such and such a particular date in the act of scrambling out of an upstairs apartment with the assistance of a ladder in night apparel, having gained admittance in the same fashion, a fact that the weeklies, addicted to the lubric a little, simply coined shoals of money out of. Whereas the simple fact of the case was it was simply a case of the husband not being up to the scratch with nothing in common between them beyond the name and then a real man arriving on the scene, strong to the verge of weakness, falling a victim to her siren charms and forgetting home ties. The usual sequel, to bask in the loved one's smiles. The eternal question of the life connubial, needless to say, cropped up. Can real love, supposing there happens to be another chap in the case, exist between married folk? Though it was no concern of theirs absolutely if he regarded her with affection carried away by a wave of folly. A magnificent specimen of manhood he was truly, augmented obviously by gifts of a high order as compared with the other military supernumerary, that is (who was just the usual everyday farewell, my gallant captain kind of an individual in the light dragoons, the 18th hussars to be accurate), and inflammable doubtless (the fallen leader, that is, not the other) in his own peculiar way which she of course, woman, quickly perceived as highly likely to carve his way to fame, which he almost bid fair to do till the priests and ministers of the gospel as a whole, his erstwhile staunch adherents and his beloved evicted tenants for whom he had done yeoman service in the rural parts of the country by taking up the cudgels on their behalf in a way that exceeded their most sanguine expectations, very effectually cooked his matrimonial goose, thereby heaping coals of fire on his head, much in the same way as the fabled ass's kick. Looking back now in a retrospective kind of arrangement, all seemed a kind of dream. And the coming back was the worst thing you ever did because it went without saying you would feel out of place as things always moved with the times. Why, as he reflected, Irishtown Strand, a locality he had not been in for quite a number of years, looked different somehow since, as it happened, he went to reside on the north side. North or south however, it was just the wellknown case of hot passion, pure and simple, upsetting the applecart with a vengeance and just bore out the very thing he was saying, as she also was Spanish or half so, types that wouldn't do things by halves, passionate abandon of the south, casting every shred of decency to the winds.

-- Just bears out what I was saying, he with glowing bosom said to Stephen. And, if I don't greatly mistake, she was Spanish too.

-- The king of Spain's daughter, Stephen answered, adding something or other rather muddled about farewell and adieu to you Spanish onions and the first land called the Deadman and from Ramhead to Scilly was so and so many.

-- Was she? Bloom ejaculated surprised, though not astonished by any means. I never heard that rumour before. Possible, especially there it was, as she lived there. So, Spain.

Carefully avoiding a book in his pocket Sweets of, which reminded him by the by of that Capel street library book out of date, he took out his pocketbook and, turning over the various contents rapidly, finally he.

-- Do you consider, by the by, he said, thoughtfully selecting a fades photo which he laid on the table, that a Spanish type?

Stephen, obviously addressed, looked down on the photo showing a large sized lady, with her fleshy charms on evidence in an open fashion, as she was in the full bloom of womanhood, In evening dress cut ostentatiously low for the occasion to give a liberal display of bosom, with more than vision of breasts, her full lips parted, and some perfect teeth, standing near, ostensibly with gravity, a piano, on the rest of which was In old Madrid, a ballad, pretty in its way, which was then all the vogue. Her (the lady's) eyes, dark, large, looked at Stephen, about to smile about something to be admired, Lafayette of Westmoreland street, Dublin's premier photographic artist, being responsible for the esthetic execution.

Mrs Bloom, my wife the prima donna, Madam Marion Tweedy, Bloom indicated. Taken a few years since. In or about '96. Very like her then.

Beside the young man he looked also at the photo of the lady now his legal wife who, he intimated, was the accomplished daughter of Major Brian Tweedy and displayed at an early age remarkable proficiency as a singer having even made her bow to the public when her years numbered barely sweet sixteen. As for the face, it was a speaking likeness in expression but it did not do justice to her figure, which came in for a lot of notice usually and which did not come out to the best advantage in that getup She could without difficulty, he said, have posed for the ensemble, not to dwell on certain opulent curves of the... He dwelt, being a bit of an artist in his spare time, on the female form in general developmentally because, as it so happened, no later than that afternoon, he had seen those Grecian statues, perfectly developed as works of art, in the National Museum. Marble could give the original, shoulders, back, all the symmetry. All the rest, yes, Puritanism. It does though, St Joseph's sovereign... whereas no photo could, because it simply wasn't art, in a word.

The spirit moving him, he would much have liked to follow Jack Tar's good example and leave the likeness there for a very few minutes to speak for itself on the plea he... so that the other could drink in the beauty for himself, her stage presence being, frankly, a treat in itself which the camera could not at all do justice to. But it was scarcely professional etiquette so, though it was a warm pleasant sort of a night now yet wonderfully cool for the season considering, for sunshine after storm... And he did feel a kind of need there and then to follow suit like a kind of inward voice and satisfy a possible need by moving a motion. Nevertheless, he sat tight, just viewing the slightly soiled photo creased by opulent curves, none the worse for wear, however, and looked away thoughtfully with the intention of not further increasing the other's possible embarrassment while gauging her symmetry of heaving embonpoint. In fact, the slight soiling was only an added charm, like the case of linen slightly soiled, good as new, much better, in fact, with the starch out. Suppose she was gone when he?... I looked for the lamp which she told me came into his mind but merely as a passing fancy of his because he then recollected the morning littered bed etcetera and the book about Ruby with met him pike hoses (sic) in it which must have fell down sufficiently appropriately beside the domestic chamberpot with apologies to Lindley Murray.

The vicinity of the young man he certainly relished, educated, distingué, and impulsive into the bargain, far and away the pick of the bunch, though you wouldn't think he had it in him... yet you would. Besides he said the picture was handsome which, say what you like, it was, though at the moment she was distinctly stouter. And why not? An awful lot of make-believe went on about that sort of thing involving a lifelong slur with the usual splash page of letterpress about the same old matrimonial tangle alleging misconduct with professional golfer or the newest stage favourite instead of being honest and aboveboard about the whole business. How they were fated to meet and an attachment sprang up between the two so that their names were coupled in the public eye was told in court with letters containing the habitual mushy and compromising expressions, leaving no loophole, to show that they openly cohabited two or three times a week at some wellknown seaside hotel and relations, when the thing ran its normal course, became in due course intimate. Then the decree nisi and the King's Proctor to show cause why and, he failing to quash it, nisi was made absolute. But as for that, the two misdemeanants, wrapped up as they largely were in one another, could safely afford to ignore it as they very largely did till the matter was put in the hands of a solicitor, who filed a petition for the party wronged in due course. He, Bloom, enjoyed the distinction of being close to Erin's uncrowned king in the flesh when the thing occurred in the historic fracas when the fallen leader's - who notoriously stuck to his guns to the last drop even when clothed in the mantle of adultery - (leader's) trusty henchmen to the number of ten or a dozen or possibly even more than that penetrated into the printing works of the Insuppressible or no it was United Ireland (a by no means, by the by, appropriate appellative) and broke up the typecases with hammers or something like that all on account of some scurrilous effusions from the facile pens of the O'Brienite scribes at the usual mudslinging occupation, reflecting on the erstwhile tribune's private morals. Though palpably a radically altered man, he was still a commanding figure, though carelessly garbed as usual, with that look of settled purpose which went a long way with the shillyshallyers till they discovered to their vast discomfiture that their idol had feet of clay, after placing him upon a pedestal, which she, however, was the first to perceive. As those were particularly hot times in the general hullaballoo Bloom sustained a minor injury from a nasty prod of some chap's elbow in the crowd that of course congregated lodging some place about the pit of the stomach, fortunately not of a grave character. His hat (Parnell's) was inadvertently knocked off and, as a matter of strict history, Bloom was the man who picked it up in the crush after witnessing the occurrence meaning to return it to him (and return it to him he did with the utmost celerity) who, panting and hatless and whose thoughts were miles away from his hat at the time, being a gentleman born with a stake in the country, he, as a matter of fact, having gone into it more for the kudos of the thing than anything else, what's bred in the bone, instilled into him in infancy at his mother's knee in the shape of knowing what good form was came out at once because he turned round to the donor and thanked him with perfect aplomb, saying: Thank you, sir though in a very different tone of voice from the ornament of the legal profession whose headgear Bloom also set to rights earlier in the course of the day, history repeating itself with a difference; after the burial of a mutual friend when they had left him alone in his glory after the grim task of having committed his remains to the grave.

On the other hand what incensed him more inwardly was the blatant jokes of the cabmen and so on, who passed it all off as a jest, laughing immoderately, pretending to understand everything, the why and the wherefore, and in reality not knowing their own minds, it being a case for the two parties themselves unless it ensued that the legitimate husband happened to be a party to it owing to some anonymous letter from the usual boy Jones, who happened to come across them at the crucial moment in a loving position locked in one another's arms drawing attention to their illicit proceedings and leading up to a domestic rumpus and the erring fair one begging forgiveness of her lord and master upon her knees and promising to sever the connection and not receive his visits any more if only the aggrieved husband would overlook the matter and let bygones be bygones, with tears in her eyes, though possibly with her tongue in her fair cheek at the same time, as quite possibly there were several others. He personally, being of a sceptical bias, believed, and didn't make the smallest bones about saying so either, that man, or men in the plural, were always hanging around on the waiting list about a lady, even supposing she was the best wife in the world and they got on fairly well together for the sake of argument, when, neglecting her duties, she chose to be tired of wedded life, and was on for a little flutter in polite debauchery to press their attentions on her with improper intent, the upshot being that her affections centred on another, the cause of many liaisons between still attractive married women getting on for fair and forty and younger men, no doubt as several famous cases of feminine infatuation proved up to the hilt.

It was a thousand pities a young fellow blessed with an allowance of brains, as his neighbour obviously was, should waste his valuable time with profligate women, who might present him with a nice dose to last him his lifetime. In the nature of single blessedness he would one day take unto himself a wife when Miss Right came on the scene but in the interim ladies' society was a conditio sine qua non though he had the gravest possible doubts, not that he wanted in the smallest to pump Stephen about Miss Ferguson (who was very possibly the particular lodestar who brought him down to Irishtown so early in the morning), as to whether he would find much satisfaction basking in the boy and girl courtship idea and the company of smirking misses without a penny to their names bi- or tri-weekly with the orthodox preliminary canter of complimentpaying and walking out leading up to fond lovers' ways and flowers and chocs. To think of him house and homeless, rooked by some landlady worse than any stepmother, was really too bad at his age. The queer suddenly things he popped out with attracted the elder man who was several years the other's senior or like his father. But something substantial he certainly ought to eat, were it only an eggflip made on unadulterated maternal nutriment or, failing that, the homely Humpty Dumpty boiled.

-- At what o'clock did you dine? he questioned of the slim form and tired though unwrinkled face.

-- Some time yesterday, Stephen said.

-- Yesterday, exclaimed Bloom till he remembered it was already tomorrow, Friday. Ah, you mean it's after twelve!

-- The day before yesterday, Stephen said, improving on himself.

Literally astounded at this piece of intelligence, Bloom reflected. Though they didn't see eye to eye in everything, a certain analogy there somehow was, as if both their minds were travelling, so to speak, in the one train of thought. At his age when dabbling in politics roughly some score of years previously when he had been a quasi aspirant to parliamentary honours in the Buckshot Foster days he too recollected in retrospect (which was a source of keen satisfaction in itself) he had a sneaking regard for those same ultra ideas. For instance, when the evicted tenants' question, then at its first inception, bulked largely in people's minds though, it goes without saying, not contributing a copper or pinning his faith absolutely to its dictums, some of which wouldn't exactly hold water, he at the outset in principle, at all events, was in thorough sympathy with peasant possession, as voicing the trend of modern Opinion, a partiality, however, which, realising his mistake, he was subsequently partially cured of, and even was twitted with going a step further than Michael Davitt in the striking views he at one time inculcated as a backtothelander, which was one reason he strongly resented the innuendo put upon him in so barefaced a fashion at the gathering of the clans in Barney Kiernan's so that he, though often considerably misunderstood and the least pugnacious of mortals, be it repeated, departed from his customary habit to give him (metaphorically) one in the gizzard though so far as politics themselves were concerned, he was only too conscious of the casualties invariably resulting from propaganda and displays of mutual animosity and the misery and suffering it entailed as a foregone conclusion on fine young fellows, chiefly, destruction of the fittest, in a word.

Anyhow, upon weighing the pros and cons, getting on for one as it was, it was high time to be retiring for the night. The crux was it was a bit risky to bring him home as eventualities might possibly ensue (somebody having a temper of her own sometimes) and spoil the hash altogether as on the night he misguidedly brought home a dog (breed unknown) with a lame paw, not that the cases were either identical or the reverse, though he had hurt his hand too, to Ontario Terrace, as he very distinctly remembered, having been there, so to speak. On the other hand it was altogether far and away too late for the Sandymount or Sandycove suggestion so that he was in some perplexity as to which of the two alternatives... Everything pointed to the fact that it behoved him to avail himself to the full of the opportunity, all things considered. His initial impression was that he was a bit standoffish or not over effusive but it grew on him someway. For one thing he mightn't what you call jump at the idea, if approached, and what mostly worried him was he didn't know how to lead up to it or word it exactly, supposing he did entertain the proposal, as it would afford him very great personal pleasure if he would allow him to help to put coin in his way or some wardrobe, if found suitable. At all events he wound up by concluding, eschewing for the nonce hidebound precedent, a cup of Epps's cocoa and a shakedown for the night plus the use of a rug or two and overcoat doubled into a pillow. At least he would be in safe hands and as warm as a toast on a trivet. He failed to perceive any very vast amount of harm in that always with the proviso no rumpus of any sort was kicked up. A move had to be made because that merry old soul, the grasswidower in question, who appeared to be glued to the spot, didn't appear in any particular hurry to wend his way home to his dearly beloved Queenstown and it was highly likely some sponger's bawdyhouse of retired beauties off Sheriff street lower would be the best clue to that equivocal character's whereabouts for a few days to come, alternately racking their feelings (the mermaids') with sixchamber revolver anecdotes verging on the tropical calculated to freeze the marrow of anybody's bones and mauling their largesized charms betweenwhiles with rough and tumble gusto to the accompaniment of large potations of potheen and the usual blarney about himself for as to who he in reality was let XX equal my right name and address, as Mr Algebra remarks passim. At the same time he inwardly chuckled over his repartee to the blood and ouns champion about his God being a jew. People could put up with being bitten by a wolf but what properly riled them was a bite from a sheep. The most vulnerable point too of tender Achilles, your God was a jew, because mostly they appeared to imagine he came from Carrick-on-Shannon or somewhere about in the county Sligo.

-- I propose, our hero eventually suggested, after mature reflection while prudently pocketing her photo, as it's rather stuffy here, you just come with me and talk things over. My diggings are quite close in the vicinity. You can't drink that stuff. Wait, I'll just pay this lot.

The best plan clearly being to clear out, the remainder being plain sailing, he beckoned, while prudently pocketing the photo, to the keeper of the shanty, who didn't seem to...

-- Yes, that's the best, he assured Stephen, to whom for the matter of that Brazen Head or him or anywhere else was all more or less.

All kinds of Utopian plans were flashing through his (Bloom's) busy brain. Education (the genuine article), literature, journalism, prize titbits, up to date billing, hydros and concert tours in English watering resorts packed with theatres, turning money away, duets in Italian with the accent perfectly true to nature and a quantity of other things, no necessity of course to tell the world and his wife from the housetops about it and a slice of luck. An opening was all was wanted. Because he more than suspected he had his father's voice to bank his hopes on which it was quite on the cards he had so it would be just as well, by the way no harm, to trail the conversation in the direction of that particular red herring just to.

The cabby read out of the paper he had got hold of that the former viceroy, earl Cadogan, had presided at the cabdrivers' association dinner in London somewhere. Silence with a yawn or two accompanied this thrilling announcement. Then the old specimen in the corner who appeared to have some spark of vitality left read out that Sir Anthony MacDonnell had left Euston for the chief secretary's lodge or words to that effect. To which absorbing piece of intelligence echo answered why.

-- Give us a squint at that literature, grandfather, the ancient mariner put in, manifesting some natural impatience.

-- And welcome, answered the elderly party thus addressed.

The sailor lugged out from a case he had a pair of greenish goggles which he very slowly hooked over his nose and both ears.

-- Are you bad in the eyes? the sympathetic personage like the town clerk queried.

-- Why, answered the seafarer with the tartan beard, who seemingly was a bit of a literary cove in his own small way, staring out of sea-green portholes as you might well describe them as, I uses goggles reading. Sand in the Red Sea done that. One time I could read a book in the dark, manner of speaking. The Arabian Nights' Entertainment was my favourite and Red as a Rose is She.

Thereupon he pawed the journal open and pored upon Lord only knows what, found drowned or the exploits of King Willow, Iremonger having made a hundred and something second wicket not out for Notts, during which time (completely regardless of Ire) the keeper was intensely occupied loosening an apparently new or secondhand boot which manifestly pinched him, as he muttered against whoever it was sold it, all of them who were sufficiently awake enough to be picked out by their facial expressions, that is to say, either simply looking on glumly or passing a trivial remark.

To cut a long story short Bloom, grasping the situation, was the first to rise to his feet so as not to outstay their welcome having first and foremost, being as good as his word that he would foot the bill for the occasion, taken the wise precaution to unobtrusively motion to mine host as a parting shot a scarcely perceptible sign when the others were not looking to the effect that the amount due was forthcoming, making a grand total of fourpence (the amount he deposited unobtrusively in four coppers, literally the last of the Mohicans) he having previously spotted on the printed pricelist for all who ran to read opposite to him in unmistakable figures, coffee 2d., confectionery do., and honestly well worth twice the money once in a way, as Wetherup used to remark.

-- Come, he counselled, to close the séance.

Seeing that the ruse worked and the coast was clear, they left the shelter or shanty together and the élite society of oil skin and company whom nothing short Of an earthquake would move out of their dolce far niente. Stephen, who confessed to still feeling poorly and fagged out, paused at the, for a moment... the door to...

-- One thing I never understood, he said, to be original on the spur of the moment, why they put tables upside down at night, I mean chairs upside down on the tables In cafes.

To which impromptu the never failing Bloom replied without a moment's hesitation, saying straight off:

-- To sweep the floor in the morning.

So saying he skipped around nimbly, considering frankly, at the same time apologetic, to get on his companion's right, a habit of his, by the by, the right side being, in classical idiom, his tender Achilles. The night air was certainly now a treat to breathe though Stephen was a bit weak on his pins.

-- It will (the air) do you good, Bloom said, meaning also the walk, in a moment. The only thing is to walk then you'll feel a different man. It's not far. Lean on me.

Accordingly he passed his left arm in Stephen's right and led him on accordingly.

-- Yes, Stephen said uncertainly, because he thought he felt a strange kind of flesh of a different man approach him, sinewless and wobbly and all that.

Anyhow, they passed the sentrybox with stones, brazier, etc. where the municipal supernumerary, ex-Gumley, was still to all intents and purposes wrapped in the arms of Murphy, as the adage has it, dreaming of fresh fields and pastures new. And apropos of coffin of stones, the analogy was not at all bad, as it was in fact a stoning to death on the part of seventytwo out of eighty odd constituencies that ratted at the time of the split and chiefly the belauded peasant class, probably the selfsame evicted tenants he had put in their holdings.

So they passed on to chatting about music, a form of art for which Bloom, as a pure amateur, possessed the greatest love, as they made tracks arm-in-arm across Beresford place. Wagnerian music, though confessedly grand in its way, was a bit too heavy for Bloom and hard to follow at the first go-off but the music of Mercadante's Huguenots, Meyerbeer's Seven Last Words on the Cross, and Mozart's Twelfth Mass, he simply revelled in, the Gloria in that being to his mind the acme of first class music as such, literally knocking everything else into a cocked hat. He infinitely preferred the sacred music of the catholic church to anything the opposite shop could offer in that line such as those Moody and Sankey hymns or Bid me to live and I will live thy protestant to be. He also yielded to none in his admiration of Rossini's Stabat Mater, a work simply abounding in immortal numbers, in which his wife, Madam Marion Tweedy, made a hit, a veritable sensation, he might safely say greatly adding to her other laurels and putting the others totally in the shade in the jesuit fathers' church in Upper Gardiner street, the sacred edifice being thronged to the doors to hear her with virtuosos, or virtuosi rather. There was the unanimous opinion that there was none to come up to her and, suffice it to say in a place of worship for music of a sacred character, there was a generally voiced desire for an encore. On the whole, though favouring preferably light opera of the Don Giovanni description, and Martha, a gem in its line, he had a penchant, though with only a surface knowledge, for the severe classical school such as Mendelssohn. And talking of that, taking it for granted he knew all about the old favourites, he mentioned par excellence Lionel's air in Martha, M'appari, which, curiously enough, he heard, or overheard, to be more accurate, on yesterday, a privilege he keenly appreciated, from the lips of Stephen's respected father, sung to perfection, a study of the number, in fact, which made all the others take a back seat. Stephen, in reply to a politely put query, said he didn't but launched out into praises of Shakespeare's songs, at least of in or about that period, the lutenist Dowland who lived in Fetter Lane near Gerard the herbalist, who anno ludendo hausi, Doulandus, an instrument he was contemplating purchasing from Mr Arnold Dolmetsch, whom Bloom did not quite recall, though the name certainly sounded familiar, for sixtyfive guineas and Farnaby and son with their dux and comes conceits and Byrd (William), who played the virginals, he said, in the Queen's Chapel or anywhere else he found them and one Tomkins who made toys or airs and John Bull.

On the roadway which they were approaching whilst still speaking beyond the swing chain, a horse, dragging a sweeper, paced on the paven ground, brushing a long swathe of mire up so that with the noise Bloom was not perfectly certain whether he had caught a right the allusion to sixtyfive guineas and John Bull. He inquired if it was John Bull the political celebrity of that ilk, as it struck him, the two identical names, as a striking coincidence.

By the chains, the horse slowly swerved to turn, which perceiving Bloom, who was keeping a sharp lookout as usual plucked the other's sleeve gently, jocosely remarking:

-- Our lives are in peril tonight. Beware of the steamroller.

They thereupon stopped. Bloom looked at the head of a horse not worth anything like sixtyfive guineas, suddenly in evidence in the dark quite near, so that it seemed new, a different grouping of bones and even flesh, because palpably it was a fourwalker, a hipshaker, a blackbuttocker, a taildangler, a headhanger, putting his hind foot foremost the while the lord of his creation sat on the perch, busy with his thoughts. But such a good poor brute, he was sorry he hadn't a lump of sugar but, as he wisely reflected, you could scarcely be prepared for every emergency that might crop up. He was just a big foolish nervous noodly kind of a horse, without a second care in the world. But even a dog, he reflected, take that mongrel in Barney Kiernan's, of the same size, would be a holy horror to face. But it was no animal's fault in particular if he was built that way like the camel, ship of the desert, distilling grapes into potheen in his hump. Nine tenths of them all could be caged or trained, nothing beyond the art of man barring the bees; whale with a harpoon hairpin, alligator, tickle the small of his back and he sees the joke; chalk a circle for a rooster; tiger, my eagle eye. These timely reflections anent the brutes of the field occupied his mind, somewhat distracted from Stephen's words, while the ship of the street was manoeuvring and Stephen went on about the highly interesting old...

-- What's this I was saying? Ah, yes! My wife, he intimated, plunging in medias res, would have the greatest of pleasure in making your acquaintance as she is passionately attached to music of any kind.

He looked sideways in a friendly fashion at the sideface of Stephen, image of his mother, which was not quite the same as the usual blackguard type they unquestionably had an indubitable hankering after as he was perhaps not that way built.

Still, supposing he had his father's gift, as he more than suspected, it opened up new vistas in his mind, such as Lady Fingall's Irish industries concert on the preceding Monday, and aristocracy in general.

Exquisite variations he was now describing on an air Youth here has End by Jans Pieter Sweelinck, a Dutchman of Amsterdam where the frows come from. Even more he liked an old German song of Johannes Jeep about the clear sea and the voices of sirens, sweet murderers of men, which boggled Bloom a bit:

These opening bars he sang and translated extempore. Bloom, nodding, said he perfectly understood and begged him to go on by all means, which he did.

A phenomenally beautiful tenor voice like that, the rarest of boons, which Bloom appreciated at the very first note he got out, could easily, if properly handled by some recognised authority on voice production such as Barraclough and being able to read music into the bargain, command its own price where baritones were ten a penny and procure for its fortunate possessor in the near future an entrée into fashionable houses in the best residential quarters, of financial magnates in a large way of business and titled people where, with his university degree of B. A. (a huge ad in its way) and gentlemanly bearing to all the more influence the good impression he would infallibly score a distinct success, being blessed with brains which also could be utilised for the purpose and other requisites, if his clothes were properly attended to, so as to the better worm his way into their good graces as he, a youthful tyro in society's sartorial niceties, hardly understood how a little thing like that could militate against you. It was in fact only a matter of months and he could easily foresee him participating in their musical and artistic conversaziones during the festivities of the Christmas season, for choice, causing a slight flutter in the dovecotes of the fair sex and being made a lot of by ladies out for sensation, cases of which, as he happened to know, were on record, in fact, without giving the show away, he himself once upon a time, if he cared to, could easily have... Added to which of course, would be the pecuniary emolument by no means to be sneezed at, going hand in hand with his tuition fees. Not, he parenthesised, that for the sake of filthy lucre he need necessarily embrace the lyric platform as a walk in life for any lengthy space of time but a step in the required direction it was, beyond yea or nay, and both monetarily and mentally it contained no reflection on his dignity in the smallest and it often turned in uncommonly handy to be handed a cheque at a muchneeded moment when every little helped. Besides, though taste latterly had deteriorated to a degree, original music like that, different from the conventional rut, would rapidly have a great vogue, as it would be a decided novelty for Dublin's musical world after the usual hackneyed run of catchy tenor solos foisted on a confiding public by Ivan St Austell and Hilton St Just and their genus omne. Yes, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he could, with all the cards in his hand and he had a capital opening to make a name for himself and win a high place in the city's esteem where he could command a stiff figure and, booking ahead, give a grand concert for the patrons of the King street house, given a backerup, if one were forthcoming to kick him upstairs, so to speak - a big if, however - with some impetus of the goahead sort to obviate the inevitable procrastination which often tripped up a too much feted prince of good fellows and it need not detract from the other by one iota as, being his own master, he would have heaps of time to practise literature in his spare moments when desirous of so doing without its clashing with his vocal career or containing anything derogatory whatsoever as it was a matter for himself alone. In fact, he had the ball at his feet and that was the very reason why the other, possessed of a remarkably sharp nose for smelling a rat of any sort, hung on to him at all.

The horse was just then... and later on, at a propitious opportunity he purposed (Bloom did), without anyway prying Into his private affairs on the fools step in where angels principle advising him to sever his connection with a certain budding practitioner, who, he noticed, was prone to disparage, and even, to a slight extent, with some hilarious pretext, when not present, deprecate him, or whatever you like to call it, which, in Bloom's humble opinion, threw a nasty sidelight on that side of a person's character - no pun intended.

The horse, having reached the end of his tether, so to speak, halted, and, rearing high a proud feathering tail, added his quota by letting fall on the floor, which the brush would soon brush up and polish, three smoking globes of turds. Slowly, three times, one after another, from a full crupper, he mired. And humanely his driver waited till he (or she) had ended, patient in his scythed car.

Side by side Bloom, profiting by the contretemps, with Stephen passed through the gap of the chains, divided by the upright, and, stepping over a strand of mire, went across towards Gardiner street lower, Stephen singing more boldly, but not loudly, the end of the ballad:

Und alle Schiffe brücken

The driver never said a word, good, bad or indifferent. He merely watched the two figures, as he sat on his lowbacked car, both black - one full, one lean - walk towards the railway bridge, to be married by Father Maher. As they walked, they at times stopped and walked again, continuing their tête-à-tête (which of course he was utterly out of), about sirens, enemies of man's reason, mingled with a number of other topics of the same category, usurpers, historical cases of the kind while the man in the sweeper car or you might as well call it in the sleeper car who in any case couldn't possibly hear because they were too far simply sat in his seat near the end of lower Gardiner street and looked after their lowbacked car.

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[1]好撒马利亚人慈悲为怀，曾周济遇到不幸的人，见耶稣所讲的比喻，《路加福音》第10章第30至37节。

[2]瓦尔特里，参看第十一章注[134]。

[3]年长者，指布卢姆。他几乎被撒沙车撞着的情节，参看第十五章注[21]。下文中的“有关”，原文为拉丁文。

[4]《艺术家年轻时的写照》第5章开头有“当他[斯蒂芬]在塔博特街的拐角处走过石匠贝尔德的作坊的时候，易卜生精神……在他的心上吹过”之句。

[5]原文为拉丁文，典参阅第六章注[6]。这里，作者把布卢姆比作阿卡帖斯，把斯蒂芬比作埃涅阿斯。

[6]詹姆斯・鲁尔克都市面包房兼营面粉业，位于马博特街拐角处。

[7]日用粮，见《天主经》祷文：“我等望你，今日与我，我日用粮。”

[8]“面包……包”一语，出自斯威夫特（见第三章注[44]）的讽刺文章《一只澡盆的故事》（1704）序言。

[9]这里，把鲍西娅在《威尼斯商人》第3幕第1场中所唱的歌词首句“O tell me where is fancy bred”（哦，告诉我爱情生长在何方？”）中的“bred”（生长）改成了谐音的词“bread”（面包）。

[10]“路上”，原文为法语。

[11]“就”，原文为拉丁文。

[12]“到头来”，原文为拉丁文。

[13]马修・托拜厄斯是当时首都警察署的公诉律师。

[14]指托马斯・沃尔，当时他是都柏林市警察管区的违警罪法庭法官。第八章中谈到的老汤姆・沃尔（见该章注[108]及有关正文）即此人。 产婆桑顿曾为其妻子接生。

[15]指丹尼尔・马奥尼，当时为律师兼中央首都警察法庭的法官。

[16]“花柳界”，原文为法语。

[17]“友”，原文为法语。

[18]犹大指林奇，参看第十五章注[971]。

[19]在第七章“了不起的加拉赫”一节中，曾写到斯蒂芬听奥马登・巴克说起冈穆利替市政府当守夜人的事。

[20]“晚安！”及下一段均按海德一九八九年版另起段（第503页倒10行、倒9行）。莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版（第572页第6行）及奥德赛一九三三年版（第608页第22行），这两处均接排。

[21]即约翰・科利，出现在《都柏林人・两个浪子》中的浪子之一。

[22]新罗斯是爱尔兰东南韦克斯福德一镇。

[23]塔尔怕特・德・马拉海德，参看第十章注[35]、[36]。

[24]斯蒂芬正打算辞去教职（迪希校长也认为他干不长），所以推荐科利去见校长（参看第二章注[82]及有关正文）。

[25]指基督教兄弟会所创设的贫民学校，参看第八章注[1]。

[26]指都柏林最古老的黄铜头饭店（建立于1688年左右）。听者指斯蒂芬，这家饭店使他联想到格林（见第九章注[70]）的喜剧《修士培根与修士邦格》（1594）中的人物培根，他花七年时间用黄铜铸造了一颗头。

[27]这里，把维吉尔的史诗《埃涅阿斯纪》中女王狄多的话做了改动。原话是：“我并非未遭到过不幸，故……”

[28]指在身上挂起广告牌走街串巷者，参看第八章注[41]及有关正文。

[29]“办公室里的那个女孩子”，指博伊兰的秘书邓恩小姐，见第十章注[81]及有关正文。

[30]指德国提琴手和乐队指挥卡尔・罗莎（1842一1889）于一八七三年所创立的卡尔・罗莎歌剧团。该团曾多次在都柏林公演。

[31]“更深的深处”（a deeper depth）系把弥尔顿的《失乐园》（卷4第71节）中的“in the lowest deep a lower deep”之句做了改动。

[32]“很难得的”，原文为法语。

[33]艾布拉那是都柏林古称，参看第十四章注[25]。

[34]在本书第一章末尾，和斯蒂芬同住在圆形炮塔里的穆利根从他手中把大门钥匙讨了去。布卢姆在第十五章中又回顾说，斯蒂芬等人酒后在韦斯特兰横街车站吵了一通（参看该章注[74]及有关正文），所以这里说他进不了炮塔啦。

[35]“讲故事”，原文为法语。

[36]南美的特立尼达和多巴哥共和国所产可可豆，质量较次。

[37]为了纪念耶稣在星期五被钉在十字架上而死，天主教会规定星期五不许吃肉。这条戒律已于一九六七年废止。

[38]穆利根的原型戈加蒂（见第一章注[1]）曾于一九0一年六月二十三日从利菲河（而不是滨海的斯凯利或马拉海德）里救起一个叫作马克思・哈利斯的人。前文中也曾提及穆利根救人事，见第三章注[154]及有关正文。

[39]以上四句对话的原文均为意大利语。

[40]“剥山羊皮”和“马车夫棚”，参看第七章注[141]。

[41]“人”，原文为拉丁文。

[42]“冷静”，原文为法语。

[43]“我要”，原文为意大利语，参看第四章注[51]。下文中的“针对”和“被保护者”，原文为法语。

[44]布卢姆讲的是蹩脚的意大利语，他把Bella Poesia（美丽的诗）误说成Bella Poetria。意大利语中无Poetria一词，这里姑且译为“希”。下文中，他原来要说的是“美丽的女人”（Bella donna），因未把二词断开，听上去就变成“颠茄”（Bella donna）的意思了。这里姑且译为“女忍”。

[45]“促膝谈心”，原文为法语。

[46]这是文字游戏。Ciceroo这一拉丁名字源于cicera（鹰嘴豆），而英文中，pod的意思是“英”，more意指“更多的”。拿破仑的姓Bonaparte，与法语“好角色”（Bonnepart）谐音，这里改成英文词Goodbody（“好身体”，读作“古德巴迪”）。耶稣基督又名the Anointed（涂了油的），Anointed与oiled同义，oiled又与Deyle（多伊尔）发音相近。

[47]“姓名有什么意义？”一语，出自《罗密欧与朱丽叶》第2幕第2场中朱丽叶的独白。

[48]布卢姆家原姓维拉格，父亲迁移到爱尔兰后才改姓。参看第十五章注[93]及有关正文。

[49]据莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版（第579页倒15行），“第二个鸡蛋显然也被击破了”是水手所说的话，应加引号。现根据奥德赛一九三三年版（第617页第5行）和海德一九八九年版（第510页第10行）译出。

[50]比斯利是伦敦西南郊一村庄。这里有一座射击场，除了国际射击比赛，每年七月还举行一次全国射击比赛。

[51]亨格勒皇家马戏团，见第四章注[57]。

[52]指王后镇港附近的大岛的卡利加勒停泊处。

[53]卡姆登和卡莱尔是保卫王后镇港口的两个要塞，位于卡利加勒以南约五英里处。

[54]“为了……人”，见第十章注[57]。

[55]直译为“戴维・琼斯”，见第十二章注[162]。

[56]此句与《奥德修纪》卷14末尾奥德赛关于黑夜的描述相呼应：“上空布满乌云，下面海水变得昏暗。”

[57]《艾丽斯・卡・博尔特》是托马斯・邓恩・英格利希和纳尔逊・克尼斯合编的一首英国通俗歌曲。水手卡・博尔特漂泊了二十年，返回家乡后发现他的意中人艾丽斯早已死去。

[58]伊诺克・阿登是丁尼生的一首同名叙事诗（1864）中的主人公。他是个水手，漂泊在外多年后回乡，发现妻子安妮・李早已改嫁，遂心碎而死。

[59]盲人奥利里是约翰・基根（1809一1849）所作同名歌谣中的一个风笛手。他曾在夜间去看望一个少年，即歌中的“我”，二十年后，在辞世的头天夜里，他去跟已成年的“我”告别，井哀痛欲绝地问了这句话。

[60]这里，布卢姆把《盲人奥利里》的作者误记为爱尔兰爱国主义诗人约翰・基根・凯西（1846一1870）了。他因参加芬尼社，于一八六七年一度被捕入狱，受尽摧残，出狱后不久就去世。

[61]这是美国教育家艾玛・维拉德（1787一1870）所作同名歌曲（1832）中的一个叠句。配乐者为约瑟・菲利普・奈特。

[62]原文为拉丁文。这里指丈夫走后，留在家中的妻子以为他死了而同别人所生的婴儿。

[63]“高啊高……哦！”是一首题名《奔驰的兰迪・丹迪，哦！》的航海歌中的叠句。

[64]前文中曾两次提及此船。参看第三章末尾及第十章注[199]及有关正文。

[65]达达尼尔海峡是土耳其西北部沟通爱琴海和马尔马拉海的狭长海峡。后文中的 “葛斯波第・波米露依”是俄语祷文“天主矜怜我等”的音译。

[66]“玻……棚”，原文为西班牙语，贝尼是玻利维亚东北部省份。

[67]“向大家”（general1y）是根据海德一九八九年版（第512页第3行）译的。莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版（第581页倒9行）和奥德赛一九三三年版（第619页第23行）均作“和和气气地”（genial1y）。

[68]原文为西班牙语，其中boudin（布丁）一词是法语，意思是“香肠”，becche（贝赤）是意大利语，意思是“鸟啄”。

[69]下文“尽管他……”是根据海德一九八九年版分段的，莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版和奥德赛一九三三年版均未另起段。

[70]在《玛丽塔娜》（见第五章注[104]）第2幕中，少年拉扎利洛预先把枪手的子弹拿掉，因而救了主人公堂塞萨尔一命。第3幕中， 拉扎利洛被迫向堂塞萨尔开枪，子弹却又奇迹般地停留在塞萨尔的帽子里，没有炸开。

[71]“诚实”，原文为拉丁文。

[72]霍利黑德距都柏林有七十英里，参看第十三章注[181]。下文中的伊根指当时英国-爱尔兰班轮公司都柏林办事处的秘书艾尔弗雷德・w・伊根。

[73]沃尔恃・J．博伊德（生于1833）曾于一八八五至一八九七年间任都柏林破产法庭的法官，“让博伊德伤伤心”遂指“在财务上冒险”。

[74]普利茅斯、法尔茅斯和南安普敦是由都柏林驶往伦敦的邮轮所停靠的三个港埠。

[75]为了迎接爱德华七世（1901年）的即位，伦敦塔和威斯敏斯特教堂曾被整修一新。这两座建筑和坐落在贵族住宅区的公园街均对游客颇有吸引力。

[76]“马盖特”，见第八章注[267]。

[77]伊斯特本是濒临英吉利海峡的一座城镇，为高级游览地。斯卡伯勒是英国东北部主要海滨游览城镇，有矿泉浴场。

[78]伯恩茅斯是英国多塞特郡一自治市，有大片海滩。海峡群岛位于英吉利海峡内，为避暑胜地。

[79]前文中提到，六月十六日晚上，埃尔斯特・格莱姆斯歌剧团正在都柏林公演《基拉尼的百合》，见第六章注[24]及有关正文。

[80]穆迪-曼纳斯歌剧团是爱尔兰男低音歌手查尔斯・曼纳斯（1857一1935）及其妻子英国女高音歌手范妮・穆迪夫人于一八九七年所组织的，在一九0四年成为英国首屈一指的大歌剧团。

[81]“嗯，……儿”一语出自哈姆莱特王子著名的独白，见《哈姆莱特》第3幕第1场。

[82]菲什加德和罗斯莱尔分别位于爱尔兰东南端和威尔士西南部。自一九0五年起，两港之间开始有班轮往返。

[83]“反复审议中”，原文为法语。

[84]“远离尘嚣”一语原出自托马斯・格雷的长诗《墓园挽歌》（1751）。后来托马斯・哈代借用作他的同名长篇小说（1874）的书名。下文中的“爱尔兰花园”指位于威克洛与布雷之间、被称作“威克洛庭园”的风景区，在都柏林以南二十五英里处。

[85]“景色”，原文为法语。前文中的多尼戈尔是爱尔兰最北部一郡，有冰川遗迹。

[86]“纳尔逊纪念柱”，参看第六章注[52]。

[87]绢骑士托马斯占领霍斯山，参看第三章注[151]。格蕾斯・奥马利是爱尔兰女酋长葛拉纽爱尔的英文名字，见第十章注[458]。她路经霍斯时，曾绑架领主的儿子。英王乔治四世（1762一1830）于一八二一年八月踏访爱尔兰时，是在霍斯登陆的。

[88]“准……吧！”一语出自《旧约・阿摩司书》第4章第12节。

[89]“短刀”，原文为意大利语。

[90]“结尾”，原文为法语。

[91]指伦敦图索夫人（1761一1850）蜡像馆的一间恐怖室，那里陈列着不少古今杀人凶手的蜡像。

[92]此人显然不知道关于店老板“剥山羊皮”曾参加过“常胜军”的内情，所以当着他的面谈及此事。

[93]“无知乃至福”出自托马斯・格雷的颂诗《伊顿公学远眺》（1742），下半句是“机智乃愚蠢”。

[94]“讳莫如深”，原文为法语。

[95]“窝棚”，原文为西班牙语。

[96]“自封的”，原文为法语。

[97]“岩石”（Rock），直布罗陀的别称，rock一词又指暗礁。水手把布卢姆刚才所说的直布罗陀“岩石”理解为“暗礁”，说明他所夸耀的见识未必可靠。

[98]“生气……牧场”一语出自弥尔顿的《利西达斯》，见第二章注[19]。

[99]美国诗人朗费罗的《海洋的奥秘》（1841）一诗中，有这样的三句：“你想探索海洋的奥秘吗？／只有敢于向其风险挑战者，／才能理解其奥秘！”

[100]“细微地”，原文为法语。

[101]“救生艇星期日”是皇家全国救生艇协会爱尔兰分会的都柏林支部，靠私人捐款来从事救生活动。

[102]这里把纳尔逊训话中的英国改成爱尔兰，参看第一章注[78]。

[103]“基什”，参看第三章注[138]。下文中的“它”，指基什的灯船。

[104]在一九0四年，亨利・坎贝尔确实在市公所担任着秘书长职务，他的办公室就设在都柏林市政厅里。

[105]爱尔兰有一首以一八四八年的大饥馑为背景的歌谣，题名《老斯基贝林》。老父亲告诉他的儿子，他是怎样因受英国人的迫害而背井离乡的。

[106]在欧洲俚语中，16这个数字意味着同性恋。下文中提到的安东尼奥即这个水手的同性恋对象。

[107]“他……仃”，这两句歌词见第六章注[66]。

[108]指《电讯晚报》的最后一版，是用粉色纸在中阿贝街八十三街的报社印的。

[109]布太太是布林太太的简称。布卢姆遇见妓女的情节见第十一章注[328]及有关正文。自下一句（“你那些要洗的衣服”）起，莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版（第587页倒7行）和奥德赛一九三三年版（第626页倒10行）均另起一段，海德一九八九年版（第517页第12行）则并为一段。

[110]比尤利与德雷珀共同创办的这家厂子还生产酒和矿泉水等，厂址在都柏林玛丽街。

[111]“不用……人们”一语系套用耶稣的话：“不用怕那些杀肉体却不能杀灵魂的人们。”见《马太福音》第10章第28节。

[112]“即刻”，原文为拉丁文。

[113]“一家之父”，原文为拉丁文。

[114]脑灰质沟回（俗称大脑皮层）是人类高级神经活动的中枢。

[115]斯蒂芬所说的“最高的权威”指托马斯・阿奎那。这位神学家曾在《神学大全》中指出，事物的堕落不是自发的就是偶发的，而惟有对立面才谈得上堕落。灵魂是“单一的”，无对立面可言，因而是不可能堕落的。原文中，“自发的堕落”和“偶发的堕落”均为拉丁文。

[116]“单一”的原文为slmp1e，也作“单纯”或“愚蠢”解。

[117]“截然相反”，原丈为法语。

[118]“咖啡宫”，参看第十一章注[97]。

[119]这里，布卢姆的记忆有误。硫酸铜的化学分子式为CuSO4。脱水时变白色，吸水后呈蓝色，有毒。

[120]“不可……件”，原文为拉丁文。

[121]指罗马史上恺撒被刺死事，见第二章注[16]及有关正文。

[122]“我们共同的朋友”系套用狄更斯最后一部小说（1865）的书名。下文中的“低声……朋友”，原文为意大利语。

[123]拆麻絮和踏车是当时犯人在狱中从事的苦役。

[124]国民诗人指莎士比亚。莎士比亚《威尼斯商人》、《第十二夜》、《暴风雨》等剧中均有名叫安东尼奥的人物。

[125]美国诗人朗费罗根据一八三九年十二月的一次沉船事故所写长诗《“赫斯佩勒斯”号沉船记》（1840）中的一首歌谣。

[126]辛伯达是《一千零一夜》中的人物。这个水手叙述了自己七次远航中的历险见闻。十九世纪八十年代，哑剧《水手辛伯达》曾在都柏林上演，颇为叫座。

[127]威廉・莱德维希（1847一1923）是个都柏林男中音歌手，艺名路德维奇。一八七七年他在欢乐剧场所上演的瓦格纳的歌剧《漂泊的荷兰人》（1843）中扮演主角范德狄肯，参看第十五章注[200]，迈克尔・冈恩，见第十一章注[257]。

[128]都柏林的库姆街以南有个意大利移民聚居区，通称“小意大利”。

[129]“有益无害的猫”一语出自《威尼斯商人》第4幕第1场中夏洛克的台词。

[130]“不……的”，原文为法语。

[131]“尖刀……一生”一语，套用《哈姆菜特》第3幕第1场中王子的独白。原话是：“只要用一柄小小的刀子，就可以清算他自己的一生。”

[132]“罗伯……西”，原文为意大利语。

[133]波蒂纳利是但丁所爱的女子贝亚德（1266一1290）娘家的姓。她是佛罗伦萨人，嫁给了银行家西蒙尼・德・巴第。

[134]指伦纳德・达・芬奇，他也是佛罗伦萨人。后世认为他的名画《蒙娜・丽莎》（约1503）曾受到但丁在《宴会》中关于眼睛和微笑之描述的启发。该诗文记述了少年时代的爱情。

[135]“托马索・马斯蒂诺”是把“托马斯・马斯蒂夫”意大利化了。马斯蒂夫为mastiff（一种滑皮短腰大看家狗）的译音。这是对托马斯・阿奎那的戏称，源于其绰号斗犬阿奎那，参看第九章注[424]。但丁的《神曲》，在神学和哲学两方面均深受阿奎那的影响。

[136]原文作岬角（cape），通常指非洲的好望角，也可指智利南部合恩岛上的陡峭岬角。它位于南美洲最南端，比好望角还险峻。

[137]当特暗礁位于都柏林湾以南的科克港口附近。“帆尔默”号（一艘芬兰船，而不是挪威船）是一八九五年十二月二十四日失事的。艾伯特・威廉・奎尔的悼诗《一八九五年圣诞节前夜之风暴》刊载于次年一月十六日的《爱尔兰时报》上。

[138]“凯恩斯夫人”号是一艘英国三桅帆船，“莫纳”号则是德国三桅帆船，并不是轮船。这一沉船事故发生于浓雾弥漫的一九0四年三月二十日。事后查明，根据航路的规定，应让路的是那艘英国船，所以“莫纳”号船长不负事故责任，但他应负道义上的责任，因为他不曾出动所有的救生艇去营救落水船员。

[139]自下一句（“醒过来后”）起，莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版（第593页倒7行）和奥德赛一九三三年版（第633页倒5行）均另起一段，海德一九八九年版（第522页第14行）则并为一段。

[140]帕待利克・托宾实有其人，曾于一九0四年任都柏林市政府铺路委员会秘书。

[141]这是为都柏林船主帕尔格雷夫与墨菲合办的公司所建造的一艘轮船。

[142]“知情人”，原文为法语。

[143]罗伯特・沃辛顿是都柏林铁道一承包人。为了促进铁道运输，包括他在内的几个人曾于一九一二年力图实现一度夭折了的戈尔韦港扩建计划。参看第二章注[67]。这里，把日期提前了八年。

[144]约翰・奥莱尔・利弗是英国曼彻斯特的一个制造商和企业家。人们正拟定戈尔韦港扩建计划时，利弗所拥有的一艘轮船于一八五八年撞在港内唯一的岩礁上。这里责怪利弗是故意指使那艘船失事以破坏这一扩建计划的。

[145]“兼”，原文为意大利语。下文中的“夜会”，原文为法语。

[146]“船上厨师”是对新水手的蔑称。下文中的罗得之妻变成盐柱的故事，见第四章注[36]。

[147]据《〈尤利西斯〉注释》（第548页），当时爱尔兰的煤炭产量并不高。每年平均出口的猪肉价值为171．8万英镑（1898一1902年间），出口黄油和鸡蛋的价值为250万英镑（1896一1902年间）。所以这里说是“夸张的话”。

[148]莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版（第595页第13行）和奥德赛一九三三年版（第523页倒20行）均作Cavan（卡文）。现根据海德一九八九年版译出。纳文（Navan）为米思郡一小集镇，位于都柏林西北二十八英里处。一九0四年，埃弗拉德上校在这里种了二十英亩的烟草试验田。

[149]“渐强音”，原文为意大利语。

[150]一九0四年六月，日俄战争已打了四个月，日本海军显示出威力。德国的海军实力则开始对英国的海上霸权构成威胁。

[151]“结局变成开端”，系把《仲夏夜之梦》第5幕第1场中昆斯念的开场诗第4行做了改动。意指尽管南非战争以布尔人于一九0二年被迫放弃独立而告终，但在战争过程中布尔一方曾给予英军重创，开始动摇大英帝国的统治。

[152]古希腊英雄阿戏留除了右脚踵外，周身刀枪不入，“阿戏留的脚踵”即“致命的弱点”的代用语。萧伯纳是第一个把爱尔兰比作英国的“阿戏留的脚踵”的，见他为剧本《英国佬的另一个岛》（1906）所写的序言。

[153]杰姆斯（吉姆）・马林斯（1846一1920），爱尔兰爱国志士，自学成才，于一八八一年当上医学博士，受到巴涅尔的推崇。

[154]这里把哈姆莱特王子著名的独白中“那正是我们求之不得的结局”一语作了改动，见《哈姆莱特》第3幕第1场。

[155]“另外那个人”，指“常胜军”菲茨哈里斯。

[156]达尼曼是爱尔兰俚语，指告密者，典出自杰拉德・格里芬（1803一1840）的通俗小说《同犯》（1829）中的仆役达尼・曼。他在男主人的默许下谋杀了女主人。

[157]丹尼斯和彼得・凯里是亲兄弟，见第五章注[69]。

[158]“私通”，原文为法语。

[159]“上高高的绞刑架”，参看第八章注[127]。

[160]指《伊索寓言》中《狗和影子》的故事。一只叼着肉骨的狗看见映在水面上的自己的影子，便扑过去咬，结果反而把叼的肉骨掉到水里。

[161]“温和的回答平息怒气”一语出自《旧约・箴言》第15章第1节，下半句是：“粗暴的言语激起愤怒。”

[162]斯蒂芬这段话中排成五仿的部分，原文为拉丁文，系引自《新约・罗马书》第9章第5节，并稍作删节。全句是：“他们是族长们的子孙，按照身世说，基督跟他们是同一族的。”

[163]“每一……政府”一语出自法国哲学家、外交官约瑟・德・迈斯特尔（1753一1821）的《政治组织和人类其他制度的基本原则论》（1814）。

[164]“饱经忧患的国家”一语出自《穿绿衣》，见第三章注[136]。

[165]“血泊桥”，见第十章注[209]。

[166]“七分钟战役”是源于“七年战争”（即1756一1763的普法战争）、“七周战争”（1866，普鲁士对抗奥地利、巴伐利亚等）、“七天战役”（美国南北战争中的连续几次战斗）的说法，表示仗打得短暂。

[167]斯金纳巷子和奥蒙德市场位于都柏林里奇蒙桥的两端，整个十八世纪，那曾是工匠和学徒之间械斗频仍的所在。

[168]乳突是人体颅骨侧面和外耳后面的乳头状骨突。德国颅相学的创始人弗朗兹・约瑟大・加尔（1758一1828）认为：根据头脑的形状可以推断出人的智能和性格。他的追随者进一步提出，乳突越发达，斗志越旺盛。

[169]宗教法庭又译作异端裁判所，是天主教教廷排除异教的机构，已于一九0八年废除。西班牙的犹太人是由阿拉贡国王斐迪南二世（1452一1516）于一四九二年下令驱逐出境的。

[170]克伦威尔“有许多过失”，指屠杀爱尔兰妇孺等暴行，见第十二章注[513]。但是在克伦威尔的鼓励下，一六五六年有几家犹太金融巨头到伦敦和牛津来定居，他们给被内战破坏了的英国经济带来了勃勃生机。

[171]指一八九八年的美西战争。西班牙军队装备很差，士气不振，因而惨败。

[172]“相应地”，原文为拉丁文。

[173]“母校”，原文为拉丁文。

[174]“祖国所在地，日子过得好”，原文为拉丁文。这里，布卢姆把谚语“哪里过得好，哪里就是祖国”作了改动。

[175]本书第三章中曾写到斯蒂芬在沙丘海滩徜徉。从那里再往北走，林森德的沙滩上就有半透明的螃蟹。它们移动时，好像不断改变着色调。

[176]“郊区”，原文为法语，圣帕特里克是爱尔兰的主保圣人，所以这么说。

[177]“奥卡拉汉”，参看第六章注[40]。

[178]“收场”，原文为法语。

[179]刑法改正条例第二条禁止教唆或拉拢妇女与人勾搭成奸。

[180]刺青在十九世纪的欧洲贵族社会很是时髦，下文中的“当今在位的皇上”指英国国王爱德华七世。除了他而外，俄国和西班牙的王室也有文身的。

[181]“十分之一的上层阶级”是套用“十分之一的底层阶级”的说法。见本章注[184]

[182]十九世纪有过两起康沃尔事件。（1）康沃尔公爵（即当时尚未登基的威尔士亲王，后来的爱德华七世）的两个朋友与一八七0年的一桩离婚案有牵连，公爵因而被要求出庭作证。（2）一八八三年，都柏林堡的两个官员康沃尔和弗伦奇被牵连到人数众多的同性恋案件中去。

[183]格伦迪太太是托马斯・莫克斯顿（约1764一1838）所著喜剧《加速耕耘》（1798）中的一个未出场的人物。她的邻居成天生怕她指责自己的一举一动。所以“格伦迪太太”就成为人们日常谈话中衡量自己举止的僵硬尺度。

[184]英国基督教救世军的创始人威廉・布思（1829一1912）在其著作《最黑暗的英国及其出路）（1890）中认为英国从口口的十分之一处于赤贫状态，并创造了“十分之一的底层阶级”一语以图唤起公众对这一问题的重视。

[185]“利用……时光”一语套用英国牧师艾萨克・瓦茨（1674一1748）的赞美诗《力戒懒惰》。原词为：“利用每一刻大好时光。”

[186]这条广告套用了《天主经》的词句。原词是：“在天我等父者……我等望尔，今日与我，我日用粮。”

[187]“激战，东京”，指发自东京的有关日俄战争的电讯。

[188]一九0四年六月十六日的《电讯晚报》上刊载了有关一个名叫玛吉・德莱尼的女子在控告税务官弗兰克・P・伯克对她调情的一场官司中胜诉并获赔偿金二百英镑的消息。

[189]这是有关六月十六日将举行戈登・贝纳特国际汽车赛的消息。参看第六章注[63]及有关正文。

[190]指加拿大诈骗案，参看第七章注[71]。这个案件于六月十六日发回到下级法院，被告于次月十一日被判徒刑。

[191]指都柏林大主教威廉・J・沃尔什，参看第七章注[12]。按六月十六日的《电讯晚报》并未刊登他的来函。十是教皇、大主教和主教附在本人签名后的符号，代表十字架。

[192]德比马赛是英国传统马赛之一，每年六月间在萨里郡举行。罗伯特・亚当斯在《外表与象征》（纽约，1962年，第165页）一书中指出，“雨果爵士”的主人为布雷德福勋爵，而不是马歇尔上尉。

[193]“纽约……命”，参看第八章注[274]。

[194]这行外文是蒙克斯被南尼蒂叫去时（见第七章注[33]及有关正文）排错了的活字。

[195]莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版（第602页第13行）缺“斯蒂芬・迪达勒斯”一名；下文中的“布姆”，莎士比亚书屋版作“布卢姆”，这两处均系根据奥德赛一九三三年版（第643页倒6行、倒5行）和海德一九八九年版（第529页第18行至19行）翻译。

[196]这里，斯蒂芬把迪希校长托他转给报纸的信（见第二章末尾）比作保罗的《希伯来书》，并模仿其文件。口蹄疫在英文中为footandmouthdisease，斯蒂芬引用这句话时，把“脚”和“口”都套进去了。

[197]“斯通”，见第十二章注[6]

[198]莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版（第603页第2行）作“三百英镑”。现根据奥德赛一九三三年版（第644页倒12行）和海德一九八九年版（第530页第1行）译作“三千英镑”。下文中，布卢姆忽然联想到了在报上看到的另外一条消息（“调情的赔偿金”，参看本章注[188]及有关正文）。

[199]在第五章中，莱昂斯误以为布卢姆建议他把赌注下在参赛马“丢掉”身上（参看该章注[96]及有关正文），但后来被利内翰劝阻了（参看第十二章注[525]及有关正文）。

[200]一八九0年十二月六日，蒂摩西・迈克尔・希利在英国下院议事厅的第十五号委员室试图把巴涅尔赶下台。他操纵多数（45人），造成联盟的分裂局面。巴涅尔手下只剩下二十六人，实际上已失掉自治联盟主席职。希利，见第六章注[203]。

[201]巴涅尔死在英国。灵枢被运回都柏林后，先在市政厅里停放了数小时，然后送到葛拉斯涅文公墓去埋葬。下文中的德威特，见第八章注[122]。

[202]希利使联盟分裂之前，早在十一月间天主教主教们就抓住巴涅尔私生活中的丑闻，公开逼他辞去联盟的领导职务。参看第二章注[81]。巴涅尔则坚持政教应分开，予以驳斥。

[203]“成桶的焦油”是比喻性说法，指当初很多人对巴涅尔恨之入骨，即使不能点燃焦油烧死他本人（像中世纪对待异教徒那样），至少也巴不得焚烧他的模拟像以泄愤。

[204]凤凰公园暗杀案发生于一八八二年，即一九0四年的二十二年前。参看第二章注[81]。

[205]福克斯和斯图尔特都是巴涅尔在写给后来成为其妻子的凯瑟琳・奥谢（当时为奥谢上尉太太）的私信中所用过的化名。参看第十五章注[294]。

[206]“艾……里？”一语出自韦灵顿・格恩西和约瑟夫・阿谢尔所作的通俗歌曲。艾丽斯是男主人公的情人，最后两句是：“哦！你在星光里，／艾丽斯，我知道你在那里。”

[207]凯瑟琳・奥谢・巴涅尔在她所著的《查理・斯图尔特・巴涅尔：他的情史与政治生涯》（伦敦，1914）第1卷中描述他“身材高大瘦削，脸色非常苍白”。

[208]指巴涅尔失势后担任领导的蒂摩西・迈克尔・希利、约翰・雷德蒙和贾斯廷・麦卡锡。雷德蒙和麦卡锡，分别见第十五章注[952]和[951]。

[209]“脚是泥上做的”《旧约・但以理书》第2章第33节作“腿是铁做的，脚是铁和泥土混合做的”。第41节又有“泥铁混合的脚和脚趾是指将有一个分裂的帝国出现”之句。意思是说，巴涅尔虽然曾被当作偶像膜拜过，却也有凡人的弱点，这里还暗喻他所领导的联盟之分裂。下文中的“七十二名支持者”，包括他本人。其分裂情况，参看本章注[200]。

[210]巴涅尔失势后，《爱尔兰联合报》的执行主编马修・博德金于一八九0年十二月改变了该报的方针，由支持巴涅尔改持反巴涅尔的立场。十日，巴涅尔撤了博德金的职。然而当天晚上乘巴涅尔前往参加群众集会的机会，反巴涅尔派又卷土重来。次日，巴涅尔率领支持者把那些人轰走，重新占领报馆。反对派因而又办起《不可压制报》（1890年12月一1891年1月），作为他们的喉舌。

[211]“小小……一篑”，指巴涅尔私生活中的丑闻导致他断送了政治生涯。

[212]这一著名案件中的原告是一名姓欧顿的澳大利亚人。一八五四年，杰姆斯・弗朗西斯・蒂声伯恩爵士的嗣子罗杰・查尔斯因所乘的船“贝拉”号失事而下落不明。爵士于一八六二年去世，由次子继承男爵领地。一八七一年，欧顿上诉，说自己就是罗杰・查尔斯，并要求恢复其法定继承人地位。后经查尔斯的同窗贝柳勋爵出庭作证说，查尔斯身上有黥墨，其中姓名的三个首字还是他替查尔斯刺的，而欧顿身上却没有。欧顿败诉，并以犯伪证罪被判徒刑。

[213]婊子指凯瑟琳・奥谢（1845一1921），这个英国女人和巴涅尔结婚（1890）前，曾在其丈夫威廉・亨利・奥谢上尉（1840一1905）的默认下与巴涅尔姘居达十年之久（参看本章注[205]）。

[214]“自封的”，原文为法语。前文中，只说“这个人长得有点儿像市公所秘书长亨利・坎贝尔”（见本章注[114]及有关正文）。下文中的“而且丰满得很”后面，海德一九八九年版（第531页第24行）有“她曾教许多男人的大腿都酥过”之句，莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版和奥德赛一九三三年版均无此句。

[215]“四下里”，原文为法语。

[216]在一八九0年十一月的离婚诉讼中，巴涅尔和奥谢夫人的几封情书曾被送到法庭上去充当证据。

[217]“家庭的羁绊”，原文作hometies,为复数。home的主要字义为家，也作故乡、本国解。奥谢夫人固然是一位有夫之妇，巴涅尔却是个单身汉，所以这里同时也指他所从事的爱尔兰政治事业。

[218][难题]一词系根据海德一九八九年版（第532页第10行）补译。莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版（第605页倒13行）和奥德赛一九三三年版（第647页倒7行）均无此词。

[219]“再……上尉”，指奥谢上尉。此语出自《玛丽塔娜》第1幕末尾的歌词，见第五章注[104]，引用时把原词中的“勇敢的”改成了“豪侠的”。

[220]巴涅尔“丑闻”不仅激怒了天主教的神职人员，连英国牧师也要求对他进行制裁。

[221]“把炭火堆在他的头上”一语出自《罗马书》第12章第20节， 是比喻性的说法，意即“使他痛苦难当”。下文中的“踢上一脚的驴”一典出自《伊索寓言・驴和狼》。狼试图用牙把驴蹄里的刺叼出来，反而被忘恩负义的驴踢了一脚。

[222]“西……女儿”，出自一首儿歌。在本书第十五章中，缺牙老奶奶也曾引用过此句。见该章注[915]。

[223]这里，斯蒂芬从一首佚名歌谣《西班利小姐们》中引用了几句，并做了改动。第1句原为“快乐的西班牙小姐们，你们好，再见”。 第2句原为“我们靠岸的第一片国土叫作‘空酒瓶’”。“空酒瓶”是直布罗陀的绰号，取其形状像酒瓶，故名。原文作Deadman，意即死人。这里取spirit的双关含义（既指“气”，又指“酒剂”）死人没“气”，而空酒瓶里面没有“酒”。拉姆岬角和锡利均为爱尔兰南岸地名，二者相距三十五海里。

[224]后来改嫁给巴涅尔的凯瑟琳并不是西班牙人，但她和前夫奥谢上尉曾在西班牙一道住过一个时期。

[225]指布卢姆为妻子所买的《偷情的快乐》一书，参看第十章注[122]。

[226]《在古老的马德里》，见第十一章注[168]。

[227]即詹姆斯・拉斐特，见第十四章注[270]。

[228]“首席女歌手”，原文为意大利语。

[229]“芳龄二八”一语出自杰姆斯・桑顿所作通俗歌曲《当你芳龄二八时》（1898）。

[230]“丰满的曲线”一语出自《偷情的快乐》，参看第十章注[122]。

[231]“隆起的丰腴胸脯”一语出自《偷情的快乐》。“丰腴”，原文为法语。

[232]“我……我说”一语出自托马斯・穆尔的《爱尔兰歌曲集・布雷夫尼大公奥鲁尔克之歌》。参看第二章注[80]。

[233]“遇……管”，见第八章注[37]。下文中的“原话”，原文为拉丁文。

[234]指《马戏团的红演员鲁碧》，见第四章注[55]。

[235]林德利・穆雷（1745-1826），英国文法家，著有《英语文法》（1795）等书，但《马戏团的红演员鲁碧》并非他所作。所以文中的“不恭之至”，语意双关：一是把学术著作的作者误说成是通俗小说作者了。二是又把那书掉在尿盆旁了。

[236]“风度高雅”，原文为法语。

[237]“非绝对的”，原文为拉丁文。意思是说，在指定日期前如无人提出反对理由，判决即行生效。在这里，奥谢上尉（见第二章注[81]）控告其妻与巴涅尔通奸，要求离婚，井胜诉。

[238]“布”，指布卢姆。下文中的“爱琳的无冕之王”是巴涅尔的绰号。

[239]意思是说，实际上巴涅尔所领导的联盟已经形成分裂局面，所以“联合”一名并不恰切。

[240]威廉・奥布赖恩（1852-1928），爱尔兰新闻记者、政界人物，《爱尔兰联合报》主编，当该报执行主编马修・博德金在国内改持反巴涅尔的立场时，奥布赖恩正在美国为爱尔兰佃户募捐。他是纠集人们反对巴涅尔的带头人之一。

[241]“镇定”，原文为法语。

[242]“律……名流”，指约翰・亨利・门顿，参看第六章末尾。

[243]“孤……中”一语出自英国诗人和牧师查理・沃尔夫[1791-1823]的《约翰・穆尔爵士在科鲁尼亚的葬礼》（1817）一诗。

[244]“艳闻”，原文为法语。

[245]“不……件”，原文为拉丁文。

[246]在第十五章末尾，斯蒂芬在半昏迷状态中曾背诵叶芝诗句的片断，布卢姆却把其中的“弗格斯”一名听成是弗格森，误以为是个女孩子的名字。

[247]英国政客威廉・爱德华・福斯特（1818-1886） 在担任爱尔兰事务首席大臣期间（1880-1882），要求议会采取强制手段（包括向农民发射鹿弹）镇压爱尔兰的农业革命。自一八七一年起，终身任下议院议员。

[248]迈克尔・达维特，见第十五章注[950]。

[249]“适者灭亡”是把英国早期进化论者赫伯特・斯宾塞（1820-1903）所著《生物学原理》（1864）中的“适者生存”反过来说的。他根据达尔文的“自然选择学说”最早提出了这一论点。

[250]“某人”，这里指布卢姆的妻子摩莉。

[251]一九0四年六月十八日的《自由人周刊》上登载了关于埃普可可的一则广告。

[252]装在炉前或炉上用来放置器皿使其保温的台座或支架，最常见的是熟铁制成的三脚台架。

[253]“快活的人儿”（见第八章注[108]）和下文中的“形迹可疑的家伙”，均指水手。

[254]“到处”，原文为拉丁文。

[255]“天主的血和伤痕”，参看第一章注[7]。“那个……家伙”指“市民”，参看第十二章注[618]及有关正文。

[256]香农河畔卡利克是利特里姆郡一小镇，斯莱戈郡位于爱尔兰西岸，在都柏林人心目中，都属偏远地区。

[257][你喜欢喝可可吗？]系根据海德一九八九年版（第537页倒1行）所补译。莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版（第612页第12行）和奥德赛一九三三年版（第655页倒6行）均无此句。

[258]黄铜头饭店，参看本章注[26]。下文中的“布卢姆的”是根据莎士比亚书屋版和奥德赛版翻译的，海德版作“布的”。

[259]《珍闻》的悬赏小说，参看第四章注[79]及有关正文。

[260]这次的晚餐会实际上是六月二十六日举行的，这里作者故意把日期提前了，前任总督（1895-1902在任）指第五代卡多根伯爵乔治・亨利・卡多根（1840一1915）。

[261]“怪老头”，指马车夫棚老板。下文中的安东尼・麦克唐奈爵士（生于1844）是爱尔兰事务首席大臣次官。一九0四年六月十六日的《伦敦泰晤士报》曾刊登他于六月十六日在伦敦尤斯顿车站上车，十七日抵达都柏林风凰公园官邸的消息。都柏林的《电讯晚报》只在十六日登载了南尼蒂在议会上就爱尔兰体育运动问题向安东尼爵士提出质讯一事，参看第十二章注[260]。

[262]《一千零一夜》英译本以出自英国探险家理查，伯顿爵士（1821-1890）之手的十六卷本（1885-1888年翻译出版）最为出色。

[263]《她红得像玫瑰）（1870）是英国作家罗达・布劳顿（1840-1920）所著通俗小说。

[264]板球板是用柳木制成的，所以给击球冠军艾尔芒格起了“柳木王”这一雅号。一九0四年六月十六日的《电讯晚报》上报道了在诺丁汉郡与肯特郡的板球对抗赛中，诺丁（诺丁汉队的简称）的击球员艾尔芒格怎样独占鳌头。

[265]《最后的莫希干人》（1826）是美国小说家杰姆斯・费尼莫尔・库珀（1789-1851）所写的一部以印第安人部族的灭绝为题材的小说。这里是利用“最后的”一语来表示已囊空如洗。

[266]“让人……来”一语出自《旧约・哈巴谷书》第2章第2节。

[267]“韦瑟厄普”，参看第六章注[153]。

[268]“集会”，原文为法语。

[269]“名流”，原文为法语。

[270]“什么……美妙的”，原文为意大利语。参看第五章注[5]。

[271]“绿色田野与新牧场”一语出自《利西达斯》（参看第二章注[19]），这里只是把原诗中的“森林”，改成为“田野”。

[272]在一八九0年，爱尔兰下议院的一0三个议席中，支持巴涅尔者高达八十六名。闹分裂时（参看本章注[200]），其中七十二名议员参加表决，只有二十六个依然支持巴涅尔。次年又有数名动摇或变节。所以布卢姆这个估计虽有所夸大，然而巴涅尔当时确实像是《圣经》中多次描述的遭众人用石头击打的无辜

[273]《胡格诺派教徒》是梅耶贝尔所写（见第八章注[190]），而《最后的七句话》系梅尔卡丹特所写（见第五章注[75]）。这里，布卢姆把二者张冠李戴了。

[274]《荣耀颂》，原文为拉丁文。

[275]“竞争对手”，指新教。美国布道师德怀特・莱曼・穆迪（1837-1899）和赞美诗作家艾拉・桑基（1840-1908）曾于十九世纪六、八十年代在美国巡回布道。这期间桑基所收集出版的两部赞美诗集被称作“穆迪与桑基圣诗”，其实桑基只作了其中几首，而穆迪一首也没作。

[276]“嘱……徒”一语出自英国牧师、诗人罗伯特・赫里克（1591-1674）的《献给安霞，悉听吩咐》。这其实是一首抒情诗，而不是赞美诗，后面还有“嘱我去恋慕，我就献给你爱心”之句。

[277]《站立的圣母》，原文为拉丁文，参看第五章注[73]。

[280]“名手”，原文为意大利语。

[281]《唐乔万尼》，见第四章注[49]。

[282]《玛尔塔》，见第七章注[10]。

[283]“强烈的爱好”，原文为法语。

[284]《爱情如今》，参看第十一章注[151]。

[285]海德一丸八九年版（第540页倒20行）作“他并没有唱”，莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版（第615页第14行）和奥德赛一九三三年版（第659页第15行）均作“他并没有”。

[286]约翰・道兰德（1563-1626）是英国作曲家、古琵琶演奏家。他的朋友、英国文物鉴赏家亨利・皮查姆（约1576-1644）送给他一块纹章，上面用拉丁文镌刻着“约翰・道兰德，我成年弹奏”字样。前文中的杰勒德，见第九章注[328]。

[287]阿诺德・多尔梅什（1858-1940），法国音乐家，毕生从事古代音乐的演奏和配器的考证工作。中年定居伦敦。据艾尔曼的《詹姆斯・乔伊斯》（第155页），乔伊斯曾于一九0四年六月十六日向伦敦音乐学院打听多尔梅什的地址，并向他定购一把古琵琶，却未能如愿。

[288]法纳比父子指英国古钢琴及牧歌作曲家贾尔斯・法纳比（1560-1640）和他的儿子理查（生于1590）。“先导”与“应答”原文为意大利语。

[289]威廉・伯德（1543-1623），莎士比亚时代英国最杰出的作曲家。维金纳琴是一种最古老的拨弦乐器。

[290]托马斯・汤姆金斯（1572-1656），英国作曲家、管风琴家。

[291]约翰・布尔（约1562-1628），英国作曲家、键盘乐演奏家。他曾在等音转换、转调及不对称节奏音型的试验中作出过贡献。

[292]约翰・布尔与约翰牛，原文中均作“JohnBull”。约翰牛原是约翰・阿巴思诺特（1667-1735）的寓言《约翰牛的历史》（1712）中的主人公，后来成了英国或英国人的绰号。

[293]“臀部是黑的”，指在竞争中落在后面，没有获胜希望。

[294]十儿世纪末叶，西欧人士认为蜜蜂的群居组织的严密程度超过了人类，

[295]人们相信挠鳄鱼腰部以及在雄鸡周围用粉笔画个圈儿，均可以起到催眠作用。

[296]意思是说，凭着炯炯目光能起催眠作用，从而制伏老虎。

[297]“野地走兽”（这里指马）一语出自《创世记》第2章第20节。

[298]“直截了当地”，原文为拉丁文。

[299]芬格尔夫人所主办的这次音乐会，实际上是在一九0四年五月十四日举行的，乔伊斯也参加了。这里，作者把日期移后了。“本周的星期一”为六月十三日。

[300]简・皮特尔宗・斯韦林克（1562-1621），荷兰管风琴家、作曲家。他的世俗变奏曲是用欧洲几个国家的流行曲调改编而成，如《我年轻的生命已到尽头》（斯蒂芬讲解时省略了“我”字）。

[301]约翰内斯・吉普（约1582-1650），德国作曲家及乐队指挥，编过一本赞美诗集以及几部通俗歌曲，风行于十六世纪。

[302]“赛……诵”，原文为德语，出自吉普的《她们的话语含有狡黠的魔力》一诗，收于《掌叶铁线蕨花圃》第2卷（1614）。

[303]“当场”，原文为拉丁文。

[304]巴勒克拉夫，见第十一章注[178]。

[305]“出入于”，原文为法语。

[306]“恳谈会”，原文为意大利语。

[307]“在鸽棚里掀起……波澜”一语套用科利奥兰纳斯即将被杀死前所说的话，见莎士比亚的戏剧《科利奥兰纳斯》第5幕第5场。

[308]十九世纪九十年代，阿瑟・劳斯利歌剧团曾在都柏林公演数次，由伊凡・圣奥斯特尔和希尔顿・圣贾斯特主演。“所有这号人”，原文为拉丁文。

[309]国王街剧场，指欢乐剧场。

[310]“另外那个……家伙”，和下文中的“即将开业的医生”，均指穆利根。

[311]这里套用亚历山大・蒲柏的《批评论》（1711）第625行的“傻子闯进夭使怕踏访之处”之句井做了改动。

[312]这里把扫街车清扫器上的刷子比作古代装在战车车轴上的长柄大镰刀。

[313]“事故”，原文为法语。

[314]“所……桥”，原文为德语。

[315]“低……车”一语，出自同名的诗，参看第十二章注[234]。

[316]“由……婚”，见《低靠背的车》第4节。这里用此诗句来形容布卢姆和斯蒂芬的亲密状。

[317]英语中，sweepercar（清扫车）与sleepercar（卧车）发音相近。

[318]“目……车”是《低靠背的车》第1节末行。