INELUCTABLE MODALITY OF THE VISIBLE: AT LEAST THAT IF NO MORE, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno. Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it, it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see.
Stephen closed his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. You are walking through it howsomever. I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short times of space. Five, six: the nacheinander. Exactly: and that is the ineluctable modality of the audible. Open your eyes. No. Jesus! If I fell over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the nebeneinander ineluctably. I am getting on nicely in the dark. My ash sword hangs at my side. Tap with it: they do. My two feet in his boots are at the end of his legs, nebeneinander. Sounds solid: made by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? Crush, crack, crick, crick. Wild sea money. Dominie Deasy kens them a'.
Won't you come to Sandymount,
Madeline the mare?
Rhythm begins, you see. I hear. A catalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. No, agallop: deline the mare.
Open your eyes now. I will. One moment. Has all vanished since? If I open and am for ever in the black adiaphane. Basta! I will see if I can see.
See now. There all the time without you: and ever shall be, world without end.
They came down the steps from Leahy's terrace prudently, Frauenzimmer: and down the shelving shore flabbily their splayed feet sinking in the silted sand. Like me, like Algy, coming down to our mighty mother. Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the other's gamp poked in the beach. From the liberties, out for the day. Mrs Florence MacCabe, relict of the late Patk MacCabe, deeply lamented, of Bride Street. One of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Creation from nothing. What has she in the bag? A misbirth with a trailing navelcord, hushed in ruddy wool. The cords of all link back, strandentwining cable of all flesh. That is why mystic monks. Will you be as gods? Gaze in your omphalos. Hello. Kinch here. Put me on to Edenville. Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one.
Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve. She had no navel. Gaze. Belly without blemish, bulging big, a buckler of taut vellum, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting. Womb of sin.
Wombed in sin darkness I was too, made not begotten. By them, the man with my voice and my eyes and a ghostwoman with ashes on her breath. They clasped and sundered, did the coupler's will. From before the ages He willed me and now may not will me away or ever A lex eterna stays about him. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial? Where is poor dear Arius to try conclusions? Warring his life long on the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality. Illstarred heresiarch. In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. With beaded mitre and with crozier, stalled upon his throne, widower of a widowed see, with upstiffed omophorion, with clotted hinderparts.
Airs romped around him, nipping and eager airs. They are coming, waves. The whitemaned seahorses, champing, brightwindbridled, the steeds of Mananaan.
I mustn't forget his letter for the press. And after? The Ship, half twelve. By the way go easy with that money like a good young imbecile. Yes, I must.
His pace slackened. Here. Am I going to Aunt Sara's or not? My consubstantial father's voice. Did you see anything of your artist brother Stephen lately? No? Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace with his aunt Sally? Couldn't he fly a bit higher than that, eh? And and and and tell us Stephen, how is uncle Si? O weeping God, the things I married into. De boys up in de hayloft. The drunken little costdrawer and his brother, the cornet player. Highly respectable gondoliers. And skeweyed Walter sirring his father, no less. Sir. Yes, sir. No, sir. Jesus wept: and no wonder, by Christ.
I pull the wheezy bell of their shuttered cottage: and wait. They take me for a dun, peer out from a coign of vantage.
-- It's Stephen, sir.
-- Let him in. Let Stephen in.
A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me.
-- We thought you were someone else.
In his broad bed nuncle Richie, pillowed and blanketed, extends over the hillock of his knees a sturdy forearm. Cleanchested. He has washed the upper moiety.
-- Morrow, nephew.
He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the eyes of Master Goff and Master Shapland Tandy, filing consents and common searches and a writ of Duces Tecum. A bogoak frame over his bald head: Wilde's Requiescat. The drone of his misleading whistle brings Walter back.
-- Yes, sir?
-- Malt for Richie and Stephen, tell mother. Where is she?
-- Bathing Crissie, sir.
Papa's little bedpal. Lump of love.
-- No, uncle Richie...
-- Call me Richie. Damn your lithia water. It lowers. Whusky!
-- Uncle Richie, really...
-- Sit down or by the law Harry I'll knock you down.
Walter squints vainly for a chair.
-- He has nothing to sit down on, sir.
-- He has nowhere to put it, you mug. Bring in our Chippendale chair. Would you like a bite of something? None of your damned lawdeedaw air here; the rich of a rasher fried with a herring? Sure? So much the better. We have nothing in the house but backache pills.
All'erta!
He drones bars of Ferrando's aria de sortita. The grandest number, Stephen, in the whole opera. Listen.
His tuneful whistle sounds again, finely shaded, with rushes of the air, his fists bigdrumming on his padded knees.
This wind is sweeter.
Houses of decay, mine, his and all. You told the Clongowes gentry you had an uncle a judge and an uncle a general in the army. Come out of them, Stephen. Beauty is not there. Nor in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. For whom? The hundredheaded rabble of the cathedral close. A hater of his kind ran from them to the wood of madness, his mane foaming in the moon, his eyeballs stars. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. The oval equine faces. Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell. Lantern jaws. Abbas father, furious dean, what offence laid fire to their brains? Paff! Descende, calve, ut ne nimium decalveris. A garland of grey hair on his comminated head see him me clambering down to the footpace (descende), clutching a monstrance, basiliskeyed. Get down, bald poll! A choir gives back menace and echo, assisting about the altar's horns, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the fat of kidneys of wheat.
And at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. Dringdring! And two streets off another locking it into a pyx. Dringadring! And in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his own cheek. Dringdringl Down, up, forward, back. Dan Occam thought of that, invincible doctor. A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain. Bringing his host down and kneeling he heard twine with his second bell the first bell in the transept (he is lifting his) and, rising, heard (now I am lifting) their two bells (he is kneeling) twang in diphthong.
Cousin Stephen, you will never be a saint. Isle of saints. You were awfully holy, weren't you? You prayed to the Blessed Virgin that you might not have a red nose. You prayed to the devil in Serpentine avenue that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the wet street. O si, certo! Sell your soul for that, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. More tell me, more still! On the top of the Howth tram alone crying to the rain: naked women! What about that, eh?
What about what? What else were they invented for?
Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh? I was young. You bowed to yourself in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Hurray for the Goddamned idiot! Hray! No-one saw: tell no-one. Books you were going to write with letters for titles. Have you read his F? O yes, but I prefer Q. Yes, but W is wonderful. O yes, W. Remember your epiphanies on green oval leaves, deeply deep, copies to be sent if you died to all the great libraries of the world, including Alexandria? Someone was to read them there after a few thousand year, a mahamanvantara. Pico della Mirandola like. Ay, very like a whale. When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is at one with one who once...
The grainy sand had gone from under his feet. His boots trod again a damp crackling mast, razorshells, squeaking pebbles, that on the unnumbered pebbles beats, wood sieved by the shipworm, lost Armada. Unwholesome sandflats waited to suck his treading soles, breathing upward sewage breath. He coasted them, walking warily. A porter-bottle stood up, stogged to its waist, in the cakey sand dough. A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. Broken hoops on the shore; at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away chalkscrawled backdoors and on the higher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts. Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master mariners. Human shells.
He halted. I have passed the way to aunt Sara's. Am I not going there? Seems not. No-one about. He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the Pigeonhouse.
-- Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position?
-- C'est le pigeon, Joseph.
Patrice, home on furlough, lapped warm milk with me in the bar MacMahon. Son of the wild goose, Kevin Egan of Paris. My father's a bird, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. Lap, lapin. He hopes to win in the gros lots. About the nature of women he read in Michelet. But he must send me La Vie de Jésus by M. Leo Taxil. Lent it to his friend.
-- C'est tordant, vows savez. Moi je suis socialiste. Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. Faut pas le dire à mon père.
-- Il croit?
-- Mon père, oui.
Schluss. He laps.
My Latin quarter hat. God, we simply must dress the character. I want puce gloves. You were a student, weren't you? Of what in the other devil's name? Paysayenn. P. C. N., you know: physiques, chimiques et naturelles. Aha. Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. Just say in the most natural tone: when I was in Paris, boul' Mich', I used to. Yes, used to carry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they arrested you for murder somewhere. Justice. On the night of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. Other fellow did it: other me. Hat, tie, overcoat, nose. Lui, c'est moi. You seem to have enjoyed yourself.
Proudly walking. Whom were you trying to walk like? Forget: a dispossessed. With mother's money order, eight shillings, the banging door of the post office slammed in your face by the usher. Hunger toothache. Encore deux minutes. Look clock. Must get. Fermé. Hired dog! Shoot him to bloody bits with a bang shotgun, bits man spattered walls all brass buttons. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. Not hurt? O, that's all right. Shake hands. See what I meant, see? O, that's all right. Shake a shake. O, that's all only all right.
You were going to do wonders, what? Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus. Fiacre and Scotus on their creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots, loudlatinlaughing: Euge! Euge! Pretending to speak broken English as you dragged your valise, porter threepence, across the slimy pier at Newhaven. Comment? Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge, a blue French telegram, curiosity to show:
-- Mother dying come home father.
The aunt thinks you killed your mother. That's why she won't.
Then here's a health to Mulligan's aunt
And I'll tell you the reason why.
She always kept things decent in
The Hannigan famileye.
His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the sand furrows, along by the boulders of the south wall. He stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Gold light on sea, on sand, on boulders. The sun is there, the slender trees, the lemon houses.
Paris rawly waking, crude sunlight on her lemon streets. Moist pith of farls of bread, the froggreen wormwood, her matin incense, court the air. Belluomo rises from the bed of his wife's lover's wife, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a saucer of acetic acid in her hands. In Rodot's Yvonne and Madeleine newmake their tumbled beauties, shattering with gold teeth chaussons of pastry, their mouths yellowed with the pus of flan breton. Faces of Paris men go by, their wellpleased pleasers, curled conquistadores.
Noon slumbers. Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes through fingers smeared with printer's ink, sipping his green fairy as Patrice his white. About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets. Un demi setier! A jet of coffee steam from the burnished caldron. She serves me at his beck. Il est irlandais. Hollandais? Non fromage. Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez? Ah oui! She thought you wanted a cheese hollandais. Your postprandial, do you know that word? Postprandial. There was a fellow I knew once in Barcelona, queer fellow, used to call it his postprandial. Well: slainte! Around the slabbed tables the tangle of wined breaths and grumbling gorges. His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. Of Ireland, the Dalcassians, of hopes, conspiracies, of Arthur Griffith now. To yoke me as his yokefellow, our crimes our common cause. You're your father's son. I know the voice. His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its Spanish tassels at his secrets. M. Drumont, famous journalist, Drumont, know what he called queen Victoria? Old hag with the yellow teeth. Vieille ogresse with the dents jaunes. Maud Gonne, beautiful woman, La Patrie, M. Millevoye, Félix Faure, know how he died? Licentious men. The froeken, bonne à tout faire, who rubs male nakedness in the bath at Upsala. Moi faire, she said. Tous les messieurs. Not this Monsieur, I said. Most licentious custom. Bath a most private thing. I wouldn't let my brother, not even my own brother, most lascivious thing. Green eyes, I see you. Fang, I feel. Lascivious people.
The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear. Loose tobacco shreds catch fire: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. Raw facebones under his peep of day boy's hat. How the head centre got away, authentic version. Got up as a young bride, man, veil orangeblossoms, drove out the road to Malahide. Did, faith. Of lost leaders, the betrayed, wild escapes. Disguises, clutched at, gone, not here.
Spurned lover. I was a strapping young gossoon at that time, I tell you, I'll show you my likeness one day. I was, faith. Lover, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his sept, under the walls of Clerkenwell and, crouching, saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the fog. Shattered glass and toppling masonry. In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris, unsought by any save by me. Making his day's stations, the dingy printingcase, his three taverns, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the gone. Loveless, landless, wifeless. She is quite nicey comfy without her outcastman, madame, in rue G?t-le-Coeur, canary and two buck lodgers. Peachy cheeks, a zebra skirt, frisky as a young thing's. Spurned and undespairing. Tell Pat you saw me, won't you? I wanted to get poor Pat a job one time. Mon fils, soldier of France. I taught him to sing. The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Know that old lay? I taught Patrice that. Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the Nore. Goes like this. O, O. He takes me, Napper Tandy, by the hand.
O, O the boys of
Kilkenny...
Weak wasting hand on mine. They have forgotten Kevin Egan, not he them. Remembering thee, O Sion.
He had come nearer the edge of the sea and wet sand slapped his boots. The new air greeted him, harping in wild nerves, wind of wild air of seeds of brightness. Here, I am not walking out to the Kish lightship, am I? He stood suddenly, his feet beginning to sink slowly in the quaking soil. Turn back.
Turning, he scanned the shore south, his feet sinking again slowly in new sockets. The cold domed room of the tower waits. Through the barbicans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the dial floor. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. In the darkness of the dome they wait, their pushedback chairs, my obelisk valise, around a board of abandoned platters. Who to clear it? He has the key. I will not sleep there when this night comes. A shut door of a silent tower entombing their blind bodies, the panthersahib and his pointer. Call: no answer. He lifted his feet up from the suck and turned back by the mole of boulders. Take all, keep all. My soul walks with me, form of forms. So in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks, in sable silvered, hearing Elsinore's tempting flood.
The flood is following me. I can watch it flow past from here. Get back then by the Poolbeg road to the strand there. He climbed over the sedge and eely oarweeds and sat on a stool of rock, resting his ashplant in a grike.
A bloated carcass of a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. Before him the gunwale of a boat, sunk in sand. Un coche ensablé, Louis Veuillot called Gautier's prose. These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here. And there, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a warren of weasel rats. Hide gold there. Try it. You have some. Sands and stones. Heavy of the past. Sir Lout's toys. Mind you don't get one bang on the ear. I'm the bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well boulders, bones for my steppingstones. Feefawfum. I zmellz de bloods odz an Iridzman.
A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the sweep of sand. Lord, is he going to attack me? Respect his liberty. You will not be master of others or their slave. I have my stick. Sit tight. From farther away, walking shoreward across from the crested tide, figures, two. The two maries. They have tucked it safe among the bulrushes. Peekaboo. I see you. No, the dog. He is running back to them. Who?
Galleys of the Lochlanns ran here to beach, in quest of prey, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a molten pewter sun. Danevikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold. A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the shallows. Then from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my people, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. Famine, plague and slaughters. Their blood is in me, their lusts my waves. I moved among them on the frozen Liffey, that I, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. I spoke to no-one: none to me.
The dog's bark ran towards him, stopped, ran back. Dog of my enemy. I just simply stood pale, silent, bayed about. Terribilia meditans. A primrose doublet, fortune's knave, smiled on my fear. For that are you pining, the bark of their applause? Pretenders: live their lives. The Bruce's brother, Thomas Fitzgerald, silken knight, Perkin Warbeck, York's false scion, in breeches of silk of whiterose ivory, wonder of a day, and Lambert Simnel, with a tail of nans and sutlers, a scullion crowned. All kings' sons. Paradise of pretenders then and now. He saved men from drowning and you shake at a cur's yelping. But the courtiers who mocked Guido in Or san Michele were in their own house. House of... We don't want any of your medieval abstrusiosities. Would you do what he did? A boat would be near, a lifebuoy. Natürlich, put there for you. Would you or would you not? The man that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. They are waiting for him now. The truth, spit it out. I would want to. I would try. I am not a strong swimmer. Water cold soft. When I put my face into it in the basin at Clongowes. Can't see! Who's behind me? Out quickly, quickly! Do you see the tide flowing quickly in on all sides, sheeting the lows of sands quickly, shell cocoacoloured? If I had land under my feet I want his life still to be his, mine to be mine. A drowning man. His human eyes scream to me out of horror of his death. I... With him together down... I could not save her. Waters: bitter death: lost.
A woman and a man. I see her skirties. Pinned up, I bet.
Their dog ambled about a bank of dwindling sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Looking for something lost in a past life. Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, chasing the shadow of a lowskimming gull. The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. He turned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. At the lacefringe of the tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. His snout lifted barked at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. They serpented towards his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from far, from farther out, waves and waves.
Cocklepickers. They waded a little way in the water and, stooping, soused their bags, and, lifting them again, waded out. The dog yelped running to them, reared up and pawed them, dropping on all fours, again reared up at them with mute bearish fawning. Unheeded he kept by them as they came towards the drier sand, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his jaws. His speckled body ambled ahead of them and then loped off at a calf's gallop. The carcass lay on his path. He stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, brother, nosing closer, went round it, sniffing rapidly like a dog all over the dead dog's bedraggled fell. Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on the ground, moves to one great goal. Ah, poor dogsbody. Here lies poor dogsbody's body.
-- Tatters! Out of that, you mongrel.
The cry brought him skulking back to his master and a blunt bootless kick sent him unscathed across a spit of sand, crouched in flight. He slunk back in a curve. Doesn't see me. Along by the edge of the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under a cocked hindleg pissed against it. He trotted forward and, lifting his hindleg, pissed quick short at an unsmelt rock. The simple pleasures of the poor. His hindpaws then scattered sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. Something he buried there, his grandmother. He rooted in the sand, dabbling delving and stopped to listen to the air, scraped up the sand again with a fury of his claws, soon ceasing, a pard, a panther, got in spouse-breach, vulturing the dead.
After he woke me up last night same dream or was it? Wait. Open hallway. Street of harlots. Remember. Haroun al Raschid. I am almosting it. That man led me, spoke. I was not afraid. The melon he had he held against my face. Smiled: creamfruit smell. That was the rule, said. In. Come. Red carpet spread. You will see who.
Shouldering their bags they trudged, the red Egyptians. His blued feet out of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. With woman steps she followed: the ruffian and his strolling mort. Spoils slung at her back. Loose sand and shellgrit crusted her bare feet. About her windraw face her hair trailed. Behind her lord his helpmate, bing awast, to Romeville. When night hides her body's flaws calling under her brown shawl from an archway where dogs have mired. Her fancyman is treating two Royal Dublins in O'Loughlin's of Blackpitts. Buss her, wap in rogue's rum lingo, for, O, my dimber wapping dell. A shefiend's whiteness under her rancid rags. Fumbally's lane that night: the tanyard smells.
White thy fambles, red thy gan
And thy quarrons dainty is.
Couch a hogshead with me then.
In the darkmans clip and kiss.
Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, frate porcospino. Unfallen Adam rode and not rutted. Call away let him: thy quarrons dainty is. Language no whit worse than his. Monkwords, marybeads jabber on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their pockets.
Passing now.
A side-eye at my Hamlet hat. If I were suddenly naked here as I sit I am not. Across the sands of all the world, followed by the sun's flaming sword, to the west, trekking to evening lands. She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines her load. A tide westering, moondrawn, in her wake. Tides, myriadislanded, within her, blood not mine, oinopa ponton, a winedark sea. Behold the handmaid of the moon. In sleep the wet sign calls her hour, bids her rise. Bridebed, childbed, bed of death, ghostcandled. Omnis caro ad te veniet. He comes, pale vampire, through storm his eyes, his bat sails bloodying the sea, mouth to her mouth's kiss.
Here. Put a pin in that chap, will you? My tablets. Mouth to her kiss. No. Must be two of em. Glue 'em well. Mouth to her mouth's kiss.
His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of air: mouth to her womb. Oomb, allwombing tomb. His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayawayaway. Paper. The banknotes, blast them. Old Deasy's letter. Here. Thanking you for hospitality tear the blank end off. Turning his back to the sun he bent over far to a table of rock and scribbled words. That's twice I forgot to take slips from the library counter.
His shadow lay over the rocks as he bent, ending. Why not endless till the farthest star? Darkly they are there behind this light, darkness shining in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. Me sits there with his augur's rod of ash, in borrowed sandals, by day beside a livid sea, unbeheld, in violet night walking beneath a reign of uncouth stars. I throw this ended shadow from me, manshape ineluctable, call it back. Endless, would it be mine, form of my form? Who watches me here? Who ever anywhere will read these written words? Signs on a white field. Somewhere to someone in your flutiest voice. The good bishop of Cloyne took the veil of the temple out of his shovel hat: veil of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. Hold hard. Coloured on a flat: yes, that's right. Flat I see, then think distance, near, far, flat I see, east, back. Ah, see now. Falls back suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. Click does the trick. You find my words dark. Darkness is in our souls, do you not think? Flutier. Our souls, shame-wounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a woman to her lover clinging, the more the more.
She trusts me, her hand gentle, the longlashed eyes. Now where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the veil? Into the ineluctable modality of the ineluctable visuality. She, she, she. What she? The virgin at Hodges Figgis' window on Monday looking in for one of the alphabet books you were going to write. Keen glance you gave her. Wrist through the braided jess of her sunshade. She lives in Leeson park, with a grief and kickshaws, a lady of letters. Talk that to someone else, Stevie: a pickmeup. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Talk about apple dumplings, piuttosto. Where are your wits?
Touch me. Soft eyes. Soft soft soft hand. I am lonely here. O, touch me soon, now. What is that word known to all men? I am quiet here alone. Sad too. Touch, touch me.
He lay back at full stretch over the sharp rocks, cramming the scribbled note and pencil into a pocket, his hat tilted down on his eyes. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. Et vidit Deus. Et erant valde bona. Alo! Bonjour, welcome as the flowers in May. Under its leaf he watched through peacocktwittering lashes the southing sun. I am caught in this burning scene. Pan's hour, the faunal noon. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where on the tawny waters leaves lie wide. Pain is far.
And no more turn aside and brood.
His gaze brooded on his broadtoed boots, a buck's castoffs nebeneinander: He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. The foot that beat the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. But you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: girl I knew in Paris. Tiens, quel petit pied! Staunch friend, a brother soul: Wilde's love that dare not speak its name. He now will leave me. And the blame? As I am. As I am. All or not at all.
In long lassoes from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, rising, flowing. My ashplant will float away. I shall wait. No, they will pass on, passing chafing against the low rocks, swirling, passing. Better get this job over quick. Listen: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. Vehement breath of waters amid seasnakes, rearing horses, rocks. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. And, spent, its speech ceases. It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling.
Under the upswelling tide he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their petticoats, in whispering water swaying and upturning coy silver fronds. Day by day: night by night: lifted, flooded and let fall. Lord, they are weary: and, whispered to, they sigh. Saint Ambrose heard it, sigh of leaves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. To no end gathered: vainly then released, forth flowing, wending back: loom of the moon. Weary too in sight of lovers, lascivious men, a naked woman shining in her courts, she draws a toil of waters.
Five fathoms out there. Full fathom five thy father lies. At one he said. Found drowned. High water at Dublin bar. Driving before it a loose drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. A corpse rising saltwhite from the undertow, bobbing landward, a pace a pace a porpoise. There he is. Hook it quick. Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. We have him. Easy now.
Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine. A quiver of minnows, fat of a spongy titbit, flash through the slits of his buttoned trouserfly. God becomes man becomes fish becomes barnacle goose becomes featherbed mountain. Dead breaths I living breathe, tread dead dust, devour a urinous offal from all dead. Hauled stark over the gunwale he breathes upward the stench of his green grave, his leprous nosehole snoring to the sun.
A seachange this, brown eyes saltblue. Seadeath, mildest of all deaths known to man. Old Father Ocean. Prix de Paris: beware of imitations. Just you give it a fair trial. We enjoyed ourselves immensely.
Come. I thirst. Clouding over. No black clouds anywhere, are there? Thunderstorm. Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. No. My cockle hat and staff and his my sandal shoon. Where? To evening lands. Evening will find itself.
He took the hilt of his ashplant, lunging with it softly, dallying still. Yes, evening will find itself in me, without me. All days make their end. By the way next when is it? Tuesday will be the longest day. Of all the glad new year, mother, the rum tum tiddledy tum. Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet. Già. For the old hag with the yellow teeth. And Monsieur Drumont, gentleman journalist. Già. My teeth are very bad. Why, I wonder? Feel. That one is going too. Shells. Ought I go to a dentist, I wonder, with that money? That one. Toothless Kinch, the superman. Why is that, I wonder, or does it mean something perhaps?
My handkerchief. He threw it. I remember. Did I not take it up?
His hand groped vainly in his pockets. No, I didn't. Better buy one.
He laid the dry snot picked from his nostril on a ledge of rock, carefully. For the rest let look who will.
Behind. Perhaps there is someone.
He turned his face over a shoulder, rere regardant. Moving through the air high spars of a threemaster, her sails brailed up on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a silent ship.
-------------------------------------------
[1]亚理斯多德认为，每一物体，每一个单一的实物，都是两种本原(物质和形态)所构成，例如铜像是由赋有一定形态的铜做成的。
[2]“各种事物的标记”是德国神秘主义者雅各布・伯梅(1575一1624)的话。
[3]爱尔兰哲学家、物理学家和主教乔治・伯克利(1685一1753)在《视觉新论》(1709)中提出，我们看到的不过是“带色的记号”，却把它们当成了物体本身。
[4]“有学识者的导师”原文为意大利语，指亚理斯多德，见但丁《神曲・地狱》第4篇。
[5]、[7]、[8]原文为德语，均套用德国戏剧家、评论家戈特尔德・埃弗赖姆・莱辛(1725一1871)的话。他认为画所处理的是物体(在空间中的)并列(静态)，而动作(即在时间中持续的事物)是诗所特有的题材。见《拉奥孔》第15、16章，朱光潜译，人民文学出版社一九七九年版。
[6]“濒临……巅”一语，引自《哈姆莱特》第1幕第4场。
[5]、[7]、[8]原文为德语，均套用德国戏剧家、评论家戈特尔德・埃弗赖姆・莱辛(1725一1871)的话。他认为画所处理的是物体(在空间中的)并列(静态)，而动作(即在时间中持续的事物)是诗所特有的题材。见《拉奥孔》第15、16章，朱光潜译，人民文学出版社一九七九年版。
[5]、[7]、[8]原文为德语，均套用德国戏剧家、评论家戈特尔德・埃弗赖姆・莱辛(1725一1871)的话。他认为画所处理的是物体(在空间中的)并列(静态)，而动作(即在时间中持续的事物)是诗所特有的题材。见《拉奥孔》第15、16章，朱光潜译，人民文学出版社一九七九年版。
[9]巨匠(Los)是布莱克所著《巨匠之书》(1795)中的天神。
[l0]原文为希腊文，是柏拉图《蒂迈欧》篇中所载的世界创造者。
[11]沙丘是都柏林市东南的海滨。
[12]原文作Madelinethemare，与当时还健在的法国水彩画家MadeleineLemaire(1845一1928)的姓名发音相近。只是把原名中的Le改成了the。下面引用时又抽掉了Ma二字，译出来就是“达琳”。
[13]原文为意大利语。
[14]“以迨永远，及世之世”"是《圣三光荣颂》的最后两句。
[15]原文为德语。
[16]自由区原指封建时代教会领地附近的地区，不属于总督管辖，故名。后来范围逐渐缩小，及至一九0 四年只剩下位于利菲河南岸都柏林中心的圣帕特里克大教堂周围的贫民窟。
[17]原文为希腊文。参看第一章注[84]。
[18]伊甸城是斯蒂芬给伊甸园取的名字。阿列夫和阿尔法分别为希伯来文和希腊文字母表首字音的音译，相当于英文的a。
[19]原文作Heva，希伯来文，意思是生命，系夏娃最早的称法。
[20]《旧约全书・雅歌》第7章第2节:“你的腰如一堆麦子，周围有百合花。”
[21]“从亘古到永远”一语，见《诗篇》卷4第90篇第2节。
[22]这里把《尼西亚信经》中的话颠倒，原话指耶稣：“是受生的，不是被造的。”
[23]原文为拉丁文，出自托马斯・阿奎那的《神学大全》(作于1265－1273)。
[24]“试图一显身手”，出自哈姆莱特王子在母后的寝宫里对她说的话。原指寓言中的猴子试图一显身手，到屋顶上去开了笼门。见《哈姆莱特》第3幕第4场。
[25]这是作者自造的复合词，由三十六个字母组成。将主张三位一体的“圣体共在论”一词中的“圣体”二字抽掉，又在“共在”和“论”之间插入“变体”“赞美”(指圣母赞美歌)“攻击”“犹太”等词。旨在暗示早期基督教对教义的不同解释引起的种种混乱。
[26]原文是拉丁文。阿里乌在就和解问题与教会商谈期间，猝死于君士坦丁堡街头厕所里。
[27]牧杖是主教职称。阿里乌是基督教司铎，曾任亚历山大里亚教会长老。他非但未能升为主教，还被宣布为异端分子，于三二一年被撤职。
[28]这里把阿里乌比作丈夫，把主教的职位比作妻子。
[29]原文为拉丁文。这是主教佩带的白绸绣花饰带，从脖间搭到左肩上，下端垂及膝盖。
[30]“砭人肌肤的凛冽的风”出自霍拉旭在露台上对哈姆莱特说的话。参看《哈姆莱特》第1幕第4场。
[31]即爱尔兰神话中能够任意改变形状的海神马南南・麦克李尔。据说马恩岛(又译为曼岛，见第六章注[50])即得名于此神。马南南管理岛上乐园，庇佑海员，保障丰收。
[32]萨莉是萨拉的爱称。据艾尔曼的《詹姆斯・乔伊斯》( 第19页 )，萨利及其丈夫里奇・古尔丁，是以乔伊斯的大舅妈约瑟芬・吉尔特拉普・穆雷及其丈夫威廉・穆雷为原型而塑造的人物。威廉在科利斯－沃德律师事务所当会计师。他和内兄西蒙已绝交。他的弟弟是吹短号的，名叫约翰。见第十章注[124]。
[33]西是西蒙的爱称。这是里奇家的人所作的寒喧，而“我都跟些什么人结上了亲家呀!……”则是西蒙在背后议论里奇一家人的话。
[34]“可敬……船夫”一语出自英国喜剧作家威廉・施文克・吉尔伯特(1836－1911)与作曲家阿瑟・沙利文(1842－1900)合编的轻歌剧《平底船船夫》(1889)。西蒙把这用作对两位内弟的贬语。
[35]见《约翰福音》第l1章第35节。
[36]“安全的地方”出自班柯对苏格兰国王邓肯说的话。见《麦克白》第1幕第6场。
[37]在本书海德出版社一九八九年版(第32页倒l行)中，“早晨好” 下面还有“坐下来散散步”(爱尔兰习惯用语，指散散心)之句。但巴黎莎士比亚书屋一九二二年版，奥德赛出版社一九三五年版，海德出版社一九七六年饭，纽约加兰出版社《企鹅丛书》一九八四年饭和英国《企鹅二十世纪名著丛书》一九九二年版，均无此句。
[38]《安魂曲》和前文中的“携带物证出庭的传票”，原文均为拉丁文。《安魂曲》系王尔德于一八八一年为了悼念亡姊而写的诗。
[39]奇彭代尔是十八世纪英国家具大师，他的名字已成为英国洛可可式家具的同义语。最有名的奇彭代尔式样是宽座彩带式靠背椅。这里，里奇显然是在吹牛。
[40]原文为意大利语，这里指意大利歌剧作曲家吉乌塞佩・威尔第(1813-1901)之名作《游吟诗人》(1853)的男主人公费朗多出场后演唱的第一首咏叹调《离别歌》。首句为：“当心哪!”
[41]指费朗多所出身的家庭。他是这个“没落之家”的忠实维护者。
[42]马什图书馆在都柏林市圣帕特里克大教堂的院内。
[43]约阿基姆・阿巴斯(约1130一约1202)，即菲奥雷的约阿基姆，意大利神秘主义者、神学家。曾任科拉卓隐修院院长。十三世纪中期方济各会属灵派以及十六世纪以前的许多修会都承认他所作的关于十三世纪的预言。
[44]指英国小说家乔纳森・斯威夫特(1667－1745)。十九世纪末至二十世纪初叶，西方文学评论界曾普遍认为斯威夫特憎恨人类，最后导致神经失常。其实他真正恨的是上层社会的腐败和罪恶。他早年就患有梅尼埃尔氏病，再加上晚年耳聋，一七四二年大病后又瘫痪了。
[45]胡乙姆是斯威夫特的寓言小说《格利佛游记》(1726)中的智马。具有高度理性的智马们生活在宗法式的公社中，一切社员享有平等的权利。
[46]狐狸坎贝尔和长下巴颏儿是孩子们为一个耶稣会神父起的两个绰号。见《艺术家年轻时的写照》第4章。
[47]暴跳如雷的副主教指斯威夫特。一七一三年安妮女王任命他为圣帕特里克大教堂副主教。他死后葬于该教堂墓地。
[48]这是约阿基姆预言中的话，原文为拉丁文。《旧约・列王纪下》第2章第23节有年轻人讥笑先知以利沙为秃子的描述。
[49]原文为拉丁文。
[50]圣体发光是供教徒瞻仰祝圣过的圣体用的金色容器，将圣体镶嵌在中央，作阳光四射状。
[51]蛇怪是希惜神话中出没于非洲沙漠的动物，其目光或呼气均足以使人丧命。
[52]见《旧约・申命记》第32章第14节：“也吃牛的奶油，羊的奶……与上好的麦子，也喝葡萄汁酿的酒。”
[53]司铎举扬圣体时，助祭摇铃。
[54]丹・奥卡姆，丹(dan)是先生的古称，指威廉・奥卡姆(约1285－1349)，英国经院派神学家。他是唯名论最著名的代表，主张神的存在和其他宗教信条不能靠理性来证明，它们纯粹是以信仰为基础的；并认为圣体之所以代表耶稣的躯体是凭着信仰，而不是靠理性。(参看第一章注[7] )本段中，斯蒂芬想到奥卡姆的这一论点，基督的躯体毕竟只有一个，怎么可能代表各个教堂内同时举扬的圣体。
[55]圣者的岛屿是中世纪时对爱尔兰的称呼。
[56]蛇根木林荫路在沙丘，位于都柏林东南郊。
[57]原文为意大利语。
[58]霍斯是爱尔兰都柏林郡内的一个半岛，海峡由古老的石英岩和页岩构成，与陆地之间有一条隆起的海滩连接。那里既是渔港，又是避暑胜地。下文中的“顶层座位”指双层公共车辆的上层座位。
[59]乔伊斯在他的早期作品《斯蒂芬英雄》(作者死后于1944年出版)中写道：显形系指潜在的灵感突然以具体形象显现出来。
[60]皮克・德拉・米兰多拉(1463一1494)，意大利学者，柏拉图主义哲学家。他以神秘哲学的理论维护基督教神学，曾从希腊、希伯来、阿拉伯和拉丁等文字的著作中搜集九百篇论文，其中十三篇被罗马教廷斥为异端。他的一篇讨论占星术的缺点的论文影响了十七世纪的科学家开普勒。
[61]这是《哈姆莱特》第3幕第2场中御前大臣波洛涅斯回答哈姆莱特王子的话。王子说云彩像鲸，大臣也跟着说像。此语在这里的意思是：“唉，可不是嘛。”
[62]“冲撞着无数的石子”，套用爱德伽站在悬崖上所说的话，见《李尔王》第4幕第6场。
[63]指英国海军史上一大战绩。一五八八年，西班牙派遣由一百三十艘战船组成的无敌舰队驶到多佛海峡，准备入侵英国。然而在英国人的抗击下遭到重创，向北绕道苏格兰，逃经受尔兰，最后只有七十六艘船返回西班牙。这里，斯蒂芬从脚下的烂木料联想到当年毁在爱尔兰沿岸的那些船的残骸。
[64]海火指含磷的鬼火。[]内的句子系根据本书海德一九八九年版(第34页第27页至28行)补译的。
[65]林森德是都柏林市东岸的小渔村，位于注入都柏林湾的利菲河口。
[66]鸽房原是一座六角形要塞，后改为都柏林水电站。
[67]这两句对话，原文为法语。发问的是约瑟，回答的是他的未婚妻玛利亚。据《路加福音》第1章，玛利亚婚前，因天主圣灵降临到她身上而怀孕。鸽子是天主圣灵的象征。
[68]一六八九牛二月，英国议会宣布国王詹姆斯二世退位。二月，詹姆斯到达爱尔兰，在都柏林召开的议会承认他为国王。然而后来他被击败，保王派遂逃往欧洲大陆。他们被叫作“野鹅”。以后此词成了流落到欧洲大陆的爱尔兰亡命者的泛称。
[69]据理查德・艾尔曼的《詹姆斯・乔伊斯》第24页，凯文・伊根的原型是约翰・凯利。他曾以约翰・凯西一名，出现在《艺术家年轻时的写照》一书中。按凯西曾参加芬尼社(参看第二章注[54])，后流亡到巴黎。一九0 三年乔伊斯在巴黎经常与他见面。凯西之子帕特里斯正在法国军队中服役，有时参加乔伊斯与凯西的晤谈。
[70]当天早晨，勃克・穆利根唱的歌里有“爹是只鸟儿”之句。鸟儿指天主圣灵的象征――鸽子。
[71]、[72]、[73]原文为法语。
[71]、[72]、[73]原文为法语。
[71]、[72]、[73]原文为法语。
[74]朱尔斯・米什莱(1798－1874)，法国民族主义和浪漫主义历史学家。他的《爱情》(1858)和《妇女》(1860)二书是色情和说教的大杂烩。他还在作品中描述过参加法国革命运动的女斗士。
[75]《耶稣传》(1884)的作者是出生在法国的耶稣会士加布里埃尔・乔甘德－佩奇(1854一1907)，他化名为利奥・塔克西尔，写过抨击教会的小册子。
[76]以上三句对话的原文均为法语。
[77]原文为德语。
[78]P・C・N・分别为法语中物理、化学和生物的首字。
[79]、[80]原文为法语。
[79]、[80]原文为法语。
[81]“埃及肉锅”代表美味的食品，《旧约・出埃及记》第16章第3节有“在埃及，我们至少可以围着肉锅吃肉”一语。
[82]原文为法语。
[83]原文为法语，系模仿法国国王路易十四世的“朕即国家”语气，含有嘲讽意。
[84]、[85]原文为法语。
[84]、[85]原文为法语。
[86]高隆班，见第二章注[31]。
[87]圣菲亚克是守护园艺的圣徒，生于爱尔兰，六七0年左右死于法国。
[88]约翰・邓思・斯科特斯(约1266－1308)，生于苏格兰的经院派神学家，是丹奥卡姆(见本章注[54])之师，主张尽可能把信仰和理性结合起来。
[89]“针毯般的三脚凳”，原文作creepystools，苏格兰教会里信徒忏悔时坐的三脚凳。
[90]纽黑文是英格兰东部位于乌斯河口一城镇，面临英吉利海峡，是斯蒂芬往返法国时必经的口岸。
[91]原文为法语。
[92]这是当时流行于巴黎的一种内容轻松的周刊。
[93]当时巴黎流行一种内容轻松的杂志《红短裤的生活》。法语“红短裤”(Culotte Rouge)又为“营妓”的俗称。
[94]这里，斯蒂芬回忆起当天早晨勃克・穆利根对他说的话。下半句是“我跟你有任何往来”，见第一章注[16]及有关正文。
[95]摘自爱尔兰流行歌曲作家珀西・弗伦奇(1854一1920)所作的《马修・汉尼根的姑妈》一歌。原歌中“穆利根”作“汉尼根”。
[96]原文为意大利语。
[97]－[100]原文为法语。布列塔尼是法国西北部同名半岛上的规划区。
[97]－[100]原文为法语。布列塔尼是法国西北部同名半岛上的规划区。
[97]－[100]原文为法语。布列塔尼是法国西北部同名半岛上的规划区。
[97]－[100]原文为法语。布列塔尼是法国西北部同名半岛上的规划区。
[101]绿妖精是苦艾酒的俗称，白色的指牛奶。
[102]原文为巴黎俚语。照字面上翻译则是“来半赛蒂耶”。赛蒂耶是古代法升。一赛蒂耶约合两加仑。
[103]、[104]原文为法语。
[103]、[104]原文为法语。
[105]原文为拉丁文，指饭后的甜食。
[106]原文为爱尔兰语。
[107]达尔卡相斯一家是中世纪爱尔兰芒斯特的王族。
[108]阿瑟・格里菲思(1872一1922)，爱尔兰政治家，爱尔兰自由邦第一任总统(1922)。原在都柏林当排字工人。一八九九年创办以争取爱尔兰民族独立为主旨的周刊《爱尔兰人联合报》。一九0五年他组织爱尔兰民族主义政党新芬党，次年将报纸也易名《新芬》;新芬是爱尔兰语SinnFein的音译，意即“我们自己”，也就是要建立“爱尔兰人的爱尔兰”。见第一章注[34]。
[109][]内的句子系根据本书海德一九八九年版(第36页第15至16行)补译。A・E・即爱尔兰诗人、评论家、画家乔治・威廉・拉塞尔(1867－1935)，他是当时健在的爱尔兰文艺复兴运动的指导者之一。曾与叶芝、约翰・埃格林顿等人一道出版《爱尔兰通神论者》杂志，使用AEON(伊涌，参看第九章注[49])这一笔名。有一次，被误排为A・E・，他将错就错，就把它作为自己的另一笔名。派曼德尔是传授秘义的神，见第十五章注[458]。
[110]好牧人原是耶稣自况(见《约翰福音》第10章第l1节：“我是好牧人”)，这里则是对格里菲思和拉塞尔等人的称赞，有“好带头人”的意思。拉塞尔也是爱尔兰的志士，组织过爱尔兰农业合作运动，积极参加独立运动。
[111]爱德华・阿道夫・德鲁蒙(1844－1917)，法国新闻记者，他所编的《言论自由》报主张排斥犹太人。
[112]、[113]原文为法语。
[112]、[113]原文为法语。
[114]莫德・冈内(1865－1953)，爱尔兰爱国志士，女演员，新芬党创始人之一。
[115]原文为法语，是一八四一年创刊的一份政治杂志。
[116]卢西恩・米利沃伊(1850－1918)，法国政治家，一八九四年起任《祖国》杂志主编。
[117]费利克斯・福尔(1841－1899)，法兰西第三共和国第六任总统。一八九九年二月十六日淬死于情妇的床上。
[118]乌普萨拉是瑞典中东部的乌普萨拉省省会，位于斯德哥尔摩北面。
[119]原文为瑞典语。
[120]－[122]原文为法语。
[120]－[122]原文为法语。
[120]－[122]原文为法语。
[123]绿眼睛妖魔之略，指嫉妒，出自伊阿古对奥瑟罗说的话，见《奥瑟罗》第3幕第3场。
[124]尖牙是绿妖精尖牙之略，该酒因性烈遂有此称，一九一五年起在巴黎禁售。参看本章注[101]。
[125]晓党是十八世纪末爱尔兰阿尔斯特省的新教徒所组织的党派。 他们企图把信天主教的农民赶出阿尔斯特，时常在拂晓时分袭击其农舍，因而得名。橙带党(见第二章注[53])继承了他们的衣钵。
[126]核心领导指詹姆斯・斯蒂芬斯，参看第二章注[54]。
[127]乌拉海德是位于都柏林市以北九英里的村镇。
[128]这里套用罗伯特・布朗宁(1812－1889)的《败退了的首领》(1845)，只是把原诗中的单数改成了复数。
[129]凯尔特族的族长生前由年长或最有能力的人中选出后继者。
[130]克拉肯韦尔是英国人伦敦伊斯林顿自治市的毗邻地区。一八六七年三月五、六日，芬尼社成员举行起义。因缺乏武器，组织也不严密而失败。当年九月，理查德・奥沙利文・伯克上校因受芬尼社之托购买武器而被捕入狱。公审前，芬尼社的成员为了使他和关在同一座牢中的伊根(参看本章注[69])能够越狱，炸了监狱(事先曾关照他们躲在墙角，以免被炸伤)。那一次死伤多人，但监狱当局接到密告，临时改变了放风时间，越狱计划遂告失败。
[131]、[132]、[134]原文为法语。
[131]、[132]、[134]原文为法语。
[133]帕特是柏特里斯的昵称。
[131]、[132]、[134]原文为法语。
[135]基尔肯尼是爱尔兰基尔肯尼郡的首府。在都柏林以南六十三英里处， 有十二世纪建造的圣卡尼克大教堂。圣卡尼克(又名圣肯尼，约卒于599) 曾在爱尔兰和苏格兰传教。基尔肯尼一名得自纪念他的教堂。在爱尔兰语中，基尔是教堂。强弓是第二代彭布罗克伯爵理查・德克莱尔(约1130－1176)的绰号。他原是南威尔士贵族，经英王亨利二世批准，占领了整个爱尔兰。
[136]纳珀・坦迪(1740－1803)，爱尔兰政治家、革命者、爱国志士。 一七九一年在都柏林参加创立爱尔兰人联合会支部。后流亡法国。一七九八年，法国政府派他回爱尔兰招募一支反抗英国人的军队。登陆后又折回，途径汉堡时被捕，并引渡给英国。在拿破仑的要求下获释。“噢、噢。纳珀・坦迪握住了我的手”是一七九0年开始流行的爱尔兰歌谣《穿绿衣》中的一句。原作者不详， 后经爱尔兰裔美国作曲家、剧作家戴恩・布奇考尔特(1822－1890)整理而成。
[137]锡安是耶路撒冷城内两山中的东边那座。《圣经》中多以锡安代表耶路撒冷城，后用以指犹太人的故土。这里，用锡安影射被占领的爱尔兰。《诗篇》第137篇第1节有云：“我们坐在巴比伦河畔，一想起锡安就禁不住哭了!”
[138]基什是位于都柏林湾南口的一道沙洲。
[139]黑豹老爷指海恩斯。由于勃克・穆利根成天跟在海恩斯后面，这里把他比作猎犬。参看第一章开头部分。
[140]这道防波堤的尽头筑有一座称作普尔贝格的灯塔。
[141]这里，斯蒂芬以哈姆莱特自况。在《哈姆莱特》第1幕第4场，霍拉旭曾劝哈姆莱特不要跟着鬼魂走，以免被诱到潮水里去。
[142]路易・维伊奥(1813一1883)，法国作家，教皇至上主义者的领袖。西奥菲尔・戈蒂埃(1811－1872)，法国诗人、小说家、评论家、新闻记者。“埋……车”，原文为法语。维伊奥在《真正的巴黎诗人》一文中说，戈蒂埃“文字拙劣……所有那些夸张的表现使他的句子看上去像是埋在沙子里的公共马车”。
[143]弗兰克・布捷恩在《詹姆斯・乔伊斯与〈尤利西斯〉的写作》(牛津大学出版社1989年饭)一书中指出，巨人劳特爵士是乔伊斯自已编造的传说。他还告诉布捷恩：“我的巨人劳特爵士长着满嘴石头，以代替牙齿，所以口齿不清。”(见该书第52－53页)
[144]原文作“thetwomaries”。在澳洲，mary作女士解。如果首字是大写，即为玛丽。“藏在香蒲从中”，暗指她们所藏的是孩子，《出埃及记》第2章第3节:“她……把孩子放在篮子里面，然后把篮子藏在河边芦苇丛里。”(参看第七章注[211])
[145]湖上人是爱尔兰人对自公元七八七年起入侵爱尔兰的挪威人的称呼。
[146]“玛拉基系着金脖套的年月里”，出自爱尔兰诗人托马斯・穆尔(1779－1852)的《让爱琳记住古老的岁月》一诗。玛拉基(948－1022)是个爱尔兰王，曾奋力抗击来自斯堪的纳维亚的入侵者，并从他所打败的一个丹麦酋长的脖子上夺下作盔甲用的“托马尔脖套”。爱琳是爱尔兰古称，参看第七章注[46]。
[147]一三三一年，都柏林正闹着大饥荒的时候， 大批鲸被冲上离利菲河口不远的多得尔的岸上。人们宰食了约摸二百条。一三三八年，利菲河上结了极厚的冰，可以在上面踢足球，燃篝火。一七三九年也结过厚到足供人们在上面玩耍的冰层。
[148]原文为拉丁文。见《诗篇》第66篇第3节。
[l49]命运的奴仆指身穿黄色背心的勃克・穆利根;这里套用克莉奥佩特拉关于安东尼的评语：“他既然不是命运，他就不过是命运的奴仆……”见《安东尼与克莉奥佩特拉》第5幕第2场。
[l50]布鲁斯是苏格兰的古老家族。布鲁斯的弟弟指一三0六年成为苏格兰国王的罗伯特・德・布鲁斯(1274－1329)的胞弟爱德华。他代替乃兄攻入爱尔兰，一二一五年自封为爱尔兰王，一三一八年被英王爱德华二世击败战死。
[151]托马斯・菲茨杰拉德(1513－1537 )，爱尔兰第十代基尔代尔伯爵，因命侍从一律在帽子上加绢饰，故名。一五三四年他起兵反对亨利八世，占领了都柏林。抗英战争失败后，被处绞刑。
[152]珀金・沃贝克(约1474－1499)，政治骗子，生于佛兰德。一四九一年去爱尔兰，诡称是约克公爵理查德，觊觎英格兰都铎王朝亨利七世的王位。后被俘，处绞刑。
[153]兰伯特・西姆内尔(1475?－1535？)，英格兰王位觊觎者。原为牛津一个细木工之子，后在都柏林冒充王子登上王位，自称爱德华六世。被俘后，亨利七世认为他只不过是骗子而已，就让他在御厨房里打下手。
[154]他指穆利根。
[155]据卜伽丘的《十日谈》第六天故事第九，意大利诗人圭多・卡瓦尔坎蒂(约1255－1300)曾从佛罗伦萨的圣迈克尔大教堂前往圣约翰礼拜堂， 在坟地的云斑石柱间徘徊。一批绅士跑来嘲笑他。他对他们说:“你们是在自己的老家里，爱怎么说我就怎么说吧。”旨在挖苦他们不学无术，比死人还不如。“……的老家”， 应作“死亡的老家”。这里套用时，把嘲笑者的身份改为朝臣。
[156]原文为德语。
[157]她指斯蒂芬的母亲。
[158]据理查德・艾尔曼所著《詹姆斯・乔伊斯》(第49页)，乔伊斯十四岁时曾初次嫖妓。
[159]哈伦・拉希德(763－809)，伊斯兰国家阿拔斯王朝的哈里发(政教首脑)。他喜在首都巴格达微服出访，体察民情。《一千零一夜》中有不少关于他和他的儿子麦蒙当政时的故事。麦蒙统治时期(813－833)堪称阿拉伯文明的黄金时代。
[160]这里，埃及人指吉卜赛人。
[161]罗马维尔指伦敦，是十七世纪的隐语，原文作Romeville。罗马(rome，或rum)的意思是最好的;维尔(ville)是法语“城市”的音译。
[162]这是十七世纪的英国诗人理查德・黑德的《恶棍喜赞共闯江湖的姘头》(1673)一诗的第二段。前文中“恶棍和共闯江湖的姘头”、“跟随老公当配偶，朝着罗马维尔走”、“吻她并讲江湖话，把她搂抱在怀里。哦，我多情的俏姐儿!”等句，也均出自该诗。
[163]阴沉的乐趣是阿奎那在《神学大全》中用过的词，指动邪念之罪。
[164]原文为意大利语。箭猪也叫豪猪，因阿奎那立论尖刻，不易被驳倒而得名。
[165]剑，指亚当和夏娃因偷吃禁果被赶出伊甸园后， 天主为了防止人们靠近那棵生命树而安置在伊甸园东边的“发出火焰、四面转动的剑”。见《创世记》第3章第24节。黄昏的士地，见英国诗人珀西・比希・雪莱(1792－1822)的抒情诗剧(希腊)(1821、1822)。
[166]这四个字分别为德、法、英、意语，意思均为“拖着”，语尾变化则是按照英文写法。这里暗喻夏娃因先吃禁果而受的惩罚：“我要大大增加你怀孕的痛苦，生产的阵痛。”见《创世记》第3章第16节。
[167]原文为希腊文。
[168]原文为拉下文。见《诗篇》第65篇第2节。
[169]“他来了……亲吻”，这四句系将爱尔兰作家、学者、第一任总统道格拉斯・海德(1860－1949)根据爱尔兰文译成英文的《我的忧愁在海上》(收入1895年出版的学术著作《康诺特的情歌》里)一诗的末段润色加工而成。
[170]这两句话与《哈姆莱特》第1幕第5场“我的记事簿呢?我必须把它记下来”一语相呼应。
[171]这句话与《罗密欧与朱丽叶》第2幕第2场“大地是生化万类的慈母，她又是掩藏群生的坟墓”一语相呼应。
[172]黑暗在光中照耀，参看第二章注[37]。
[173]仙后座是拱极星座之一，和大熊座遥遥相对。座内五颗亮星，加以线联接，形似拉丁字母W。
[174]乔治・伯克利(参看本章注[3])是克洛因(科克郡的一个小镇)的主教。他在《视觉新论》中提出，距离不是“看到”的，而是“设想出来”的。斯蒂芬在后文中说出了他此刻转的一些念头(见第十五章注[691]及有关正文)。
[175]在《艺术家年轻时的写照》一书第5章开头部分， 斯蒂芬的朋友达文句他述说路遇“野鸡”的经历。除了家人， 达文是唯一对斯蒂芬使用斯蒂维这个昵称的。
[176]原文为意大利语。
[177]当天中午在图书馆，斯蒂芬做了这样的解释：“爱――是的。大家都晓得的字眼。”见第九章注[231]及有关正文。
[178]原文为拉下文，见《创世记》第1章第31节。
[179]原文为法语。
[180]《欢迎你如五月花》是丹・J・沙利文作词并配曲的一首歌。歌中两次重复这个句子。
[181]潘是希腊神话中外形有点像野兽的丰产神，常到山上放牧，并擅长吹奏排萧。
[182]《牧神的午后》(1876－1877)是法国象征派诗人斯蒂芬・马拉美(1842－1898)的诗剧。法国作曲家克劳德・艾基利・德彪西(1862－1918)在其影响下，作了同名的管弦乐(1894)。
[183]指勃克・穆利根。Buck(勃克)的字义之一是花花公子。
[184]原文为德语。
[185]庄严的祭神舞，原文为拉丁文。
[186]原文为法语。
[187]王尔德因被控与青年艾尔弗雷德・道格拉斯搞同性恋而被判入狱两年。“不敢讲明的爱”，指同性恋，出自道格拉斯写的《两档子爱》一诗。
[188]这里套用亨利克・易卜生(1828－1906)的诗剧《布兰德》(1866)第2幕第2场中布兰德的话：“我的要求是：‘要么一无所有，要么得到一切。’”
[189]科克湖位于都柏林港南边。
[190]这里套用关于玛丽・安的歌曲第3句，参看第一章注[60]及有关正文。
[191]圣安布罗斯(约339－397)，古代基督教拉丁教父。他擅长通过音乐抒发信仰，并厉行禁欲，谴责社会弊端，经常为被判罪的人请求宽赦。
[192]原文为拉丁文。出自圣安市罗斯的《罗马书评注》。这是对保罗《罗马书》第8章第22节(“直到现在，一切被造的都在痛苦呻吟，好像经历生产的阵痛”)所作的说明。“它”，指被造的。
[193]“你的……深处。”引自精灵爱丽儿所唱的歌，见《暴风雨》第1幕第2场。“他说是一点钟”，参看第一章注[122]及有关正文。
[194]天主变成人(参看《约翰福音》第20章第21节:“耶酥是基督，是天主的儿子。”)，人变成鱼(早期基督教会把鱼看作基督的象征)，鱼变成黑雁( 中世纪的人们迷信黑雁是水生物变的)，黑雁又变成堆积如山的羽绒褥垫( 雁羽可用来制作羽绒褥垫，而都柏林以南的都柏林群上中又有一座羽毛山)。
[195]精灵爱丽儿所唱的歌里有“海水神奇的变幻”之语，见《暴风雨》第1幕第2场。
[196]原文为法语。这是双关语。巴黎奖原指巴黎赛马会上的大奖。Paris(巴黎)与特洛伊王子帕利斯的名字拼法相同，故PrixdeParis又可解释为“帕利斯之奖”――即帕利斯由于将金苹果给了女神阿芙洛狄蒂，作为奖赏获得了美女海伦。此事最终导致奥德修(即尤利西斯)在回国途中多次几乎溺死在大海中。
[197]“我口渴”是耶稣被钉在十字架上后，即将咽气时所说的话。见《约翰福音》第19章第28节。
[198]据《马太福音》第27章，耶稣弥留之际黑暗曾笼罩大地。
[199]原文为拉丁文。晓星是耶稣自况。参看《启示录》第22章第16节：“我(耶稣)就是明亮的晓星。”
[200]指撒但。参看《路加福音》第10章第18节:“耶稣对他们说：‘我曾看见撒但从天上坠落，像闪电一样。’”
[201]此句模仿奥菲利娅所唱的歌：“毡帽在头杖在手，草鞋穿一双。”见《哈姆莱特》第4幕第5场。
[202]本书所写的故事发生于六月十六日(星期四)，所以下星期二指二十一日(夏至)，是北半球白昼最长的一天。
[203]这是英国诗人丁尼生(1809－1892)所作《五月女王》(1833) 一诗中的半句。全句是：“在快活的新年中，妈妈，这是最狂热欢乐的一天。”五月女王指在五朔节狂欢中扮演女王的姑娘。
[204]丁尼生由于写了组诗《悼念》(1850)，受到维多利亚女王的青睐，封他为桂冠诗人。一八八四年他还接受了男爵封号。凡受勋者，均在姓前冠以Lord(勋爵)这一尊称。这里，作者把Lord改为发音近似的Lawn(草地)，此系草地网球之略语，暗喻诗人柔弱的性格。
[205]丑婆子，指维多利亚女王。
[206]、[208]原文为意大利语。
[207]德鲁蒙，见本章注[111]。
[206]、[208]原文为意大利语。
[209]这里，斯蒂芬在回忆当天早晨勃克・穆利根在海滨说的话。参看第一章注
[210]这是学变戏法的口吻。
[211]第十章中重新提到这艘帆船，参看该章注[199]及有关正文。