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Ulysses (1922)/Chapter 14

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       Deshil Holles Eamus. Deshil Holles Eamus. Deshil Holles Eamus.
       Send us, bright one, light one, Horhorn, quickening and wombfruit.
Send us, bright one, light one, Horhorn, quickening and wombfruit. Send us
bright one, light one, Horhorn, quickening and wombfruit.
       Hoopsa, boyaboy, hoopsa! Hoopsa, boyaboy, hoopsa! Hoopsa, boyaboy,
hoopsa.
       Universally that person’s acumen is esteemed very little perceptive
concerning whatsoever matters are being held as most profitable by mortals
with sapience endowed to be studied who is ignorant of that which the most
in doctrine erudite and certainly by reason of that in them high mind’s ornament
deserving of veneration constantly maintain when by general consent they
affirm that other circumstances being equal by no exterior splendour is the
prosperity of a nation more efficaciously asserted than by the measure of how
far forward may have progressed the tribute of its solicitude for that proliferent
continuance which of evils the original if it be absent when fortunately present
constitutes the certain sign of omnipollent nature’s incorrupted benefaction.
For who is there who anything of some significance has apprehended
but is conscious that that exterior splendour may be the surface of a
downwardtending lutulent reality or on the contrary anyone so is there
inilluminated as not to perceive that as no nature’s boon can contend against
the bounty of increase so it behoves every most just citizen to become the
exhortator and admonisher of his semblables and to tremble lest what had in
the past been by the nation excellently commenced might be in the future not
with similar excellence accomplished if an inverecund habit shall have gradually
traduced the honourable by ancestors transmitted customs to that thither of
profundity that that one was audacious excessively who would have the
hardihood to rise affirming that no more odious offence can for anyone be

than to oblivious neglect to consign that evangel simultaneously command and
promise which on all mortals with prophecy of abundance or with diminution’s
menace that exalted of reiteratedly procreating function ever irrevocably
enjoined?
       It is not why therefore we shall wonder if, as the best historians relate,
among the Celts, who nothing that was not in its nature admirable admired,
the art of medicine shall have been highly honoured. Not to speak of hostels,
leperyards, sweating chambers, plaguegraves, their greatest doctors, the O’Shiels,
the O’Hickeys, the O’Lees, have sedulously set down the divers methods by
which the sick and the relapsed found again health whether the malady had
been the trembling withering or loose boyconnell flux. Certainly in every
public work which in it anything of gravity contains preparation should be
with importance commensurate and therefore a plan was by them adopted
(whether by having preconsidered or as the maturation of experience it is
difficult in being said which the discrepant opinions of subsequent inquirers are
not up to the present congrued to render manifest) whereby maternity was so
far from all accident possibility removed that whatever care the patient in that
allhardest of woman hour chiefly required and not solely for the copiously
opulent but also for her who not being sufficiently moneyed scarcely and often
not even scarcely could subsist valiantly and for an inconsiderable emolument
was provided.
       To her nothing already then and thenceforward was anyway able to be
molestful for this chiefly felt all citizens except with proliferent mothers
prosperity at all not to can be and as they had received eternity gods mortals
generation to befit them her beholding, when the case was so having itself,
parturient in vehicle thereward carrying desire immense among all one another
was impelling on of her to be received into that domicile. O thing of prudent
nation not merely in being seen but also even in being related worthy of being
praised that they her by anticipation went seeing mother, that she by them
suddenly to be about to be cherished had been begun she felt!
       Before born babe bliss had. Within womb won he worship. Whatever
in that one case done commodiously done was. A couch by midwives attended
with wholesome food reposeful cleanest swaddles as though forthbringing were
now done and by wise foresight set : but to this no less of what drugs there
is need and surgical implements which are pertaining to her case not omitting
aspect of all very distracting spectacles in various latitudes by our terrestrial orb
offered together with images, divine and human, the cogitation of which by

sejunct females is to tumescence conducive or eases issue in the high sunbright
wellbuilt fair home of mothers when, ostensibly far gone and reproductitive,
it is come by her thereto to lie in, her term up.
       Some man that wayfaring was stood by housedoor at night’s oncoming.
Of Israel’s folk was that man that on earth wandering far had fared. Stark ruth
of man his errand that him lone led till that house.
       Of that house A. Horne is lord. Seventy beds keeps he there teeming
mothers are wont that they lie for to thole and bring forth bairns hale so
God’s angel to Mary quoth. Watchers twey there walk, white sisters in ward
sleepless. Smarts they still sickness soothing : in twelve moons thrice an
hundred. Truest bedthanes they twain are, for Horne holding wariest ward.
       In ward wary the watcher hearing come that man mildhearted eft rising
with swire ywimpled to him her gate wide undid. Lo, levin leaping lightens in
eyeblink Ireland’s westward welkin! Full she dread that God the Wreaker all
mankind would fordo with water for his evil sins. Christ’s rood made she on
breastbone and him drew that he would rathe infare under her thatch. That
man her will wotting worthful went in Horne’s house.
       Loth to irk in Horne’s hall hat holding the seeker stood. On her stow he
ere was living with dear wife and lovesome daughter that then over land and
seafloor nine year had long outwandered. Once her in townhithe meeting he
to her bow had not doffed. Her to forgive now he craved with good ground of
her allowed that that of him swiftseen face, hers, so young then had looked.
Light swift her eyes kindled, bloom of blushes his word winning.
       As her eyes then ongot his weeds swart therefor sorrow she feared. Glad
after she was that ere adread was. Her he asked if O’Hare Doctor tidings sent
from far coast and she with grameful sigh him answered that O’Hare Doctor
in heaven was. Sad was the man that word to hear that him so heavied in
bowels ruthful. All she there told him, ruing death for friend so young, algate
sore unwilling God’s rightwiseness to withsay. She said that he had a fair sweet
death through God His goodness with masspriest to be shriven, holy housel
and sick men’s oil to his limbs. The man then right earnest asked the nun of
which death the dead man was died and the nun answered him and said that
he was died in Mona island through bellycrab three year agone come Childermas
and she prayed to God the Allruthful to have his dear soul in his undeathliness.
He heard her sad words, in held hat sad staring. So stood they there both
awhile in wanhope, sorrowing one with other.
       Therefore, everyman, look to that last end that is thy death and the dust

that gripeth on every man that is born of woman for as he came naked forth
from his mother’s womb so naked shall he wend him at the last for to go as
he came.
       The man that was come into the house then spoke to the nursingwoman
and he asked her how it fared with the woman that lay there in childbed. The
nursingwoman answered him and said that that woman was in throes now full
three days and that it would be a hard birth unneth to bear but that now in a
little it would be. She said thereto that she had seen many births of women but
never was none so hard as was that woman’s birth. Then she set it forth all
to him that time was had lived nigh that house. The man hearkened to her
words for he felt with wonder women’s woe in the travail that they have of
motherhood and he wondered to look on her face that was a young face for any
man to see but yet was she left after long years a handmaid. Nine twelve
bloodflows chiding her childless.
       And whiles they spake the door of the castle was opened and there nighed
them a mickle noise as of many that sat there at meat. And there came against
the place as they stood a young learning knight yclept Dixon. And the traveller
Leopold was couth to him sithen it had happed that they had had ado each
with other in the house of misericord where this learning knight lay by cause
the traveller Leopold came there to be healed for he was sore wounded in his
breast by a spear wherewith a horrible and dreadful dragon was smitten him
for which he did do make a salve of volatile salt and chrism as much as he
might suffice. And he said now that he should go into that castle for to make
merry with them that were there. And the traveller Leopold said that he should
go otherwhither for he was a man of cautels and a subtle. Also the lady was of
his avis and reproved the learning knight though she trowed well that the
traveller had said thing that was false for his subtility. But the learning knight
would not hear say nay nor do her mandement ne have him in aught
contrarious to his list and he said how it was a marvellous castle. And the
traveller Leopold went into the castle for to rest him for a space being sore of
limb after many marches environing in divers lands and sometimes venery.
       And in the castle was set a board that was of the birchwood of Finlandy
and it was upheld by four dwarfmen of that country but they durst not move
more for enchantment. And on this board were frightful swords and knives
that are made in a great cavern by swinking demons out of white flames that
they fix in the horns of buffalos and stags that there abound marvellously. And
there were vessels that are wrought by magic of Mahound out of seasand and the

air by a warlock with his breath that he blares into them like to bubbles. And
full fair cheer and rich was on the board that no wight could devise a fuller ne
richer. And there was a vat of silver that was moved by craft to open in the
which lay strange fishes withouten heads though misbelieving men nie that this
be possible thing without they see it natheless they are so. And these fishes lie
in an oily water brought there from Portugal land because of the fatness that
therein is like to the juices of the olive press. And also it was marvel to see
in that castle how by magic they make a compost out of fecund wheat kidneys
out of Chaldee that by aid of certain angry spirits that they do into it swells
up wondrously like to a vast moutain. And they teach the serpents there to
entwine themselves up on long sticks out of the ground and of the scales of
these serpents they brew out a brewage like to mead.
       And the learning knight let pour for childe Leopold a draught and halp
thereto the while all they that were there drank every each. And childe Leopold
did up his beaver for to pleasure him and took apertly somewhat in amity for
he never drank no manner of mead which he then put by and anon full
privily he voided the more part in his neighbour glass and his neighbour nist
not of his wile. And he sat down in that castle with them for to rest him
there awhile. Thanked be Almighty God.
       This meanwhile this good sister stood by the door and begged them at
the reverence of Jesu our alther liege lord to leave their wassailing for there
was above one quick with child a gentle dame, whose time hied fast. Sir
Leopold heard on the upfloor cry on high and he wondered what cry that it
was whether of child or woman and I marvel, said he, that it be not come or
now. Meseems it dureth overlong. And he was ware and saw a franklin that
hight Lenehan on that side the table that was older than any of the tother and
for that they both were knights virtuous in the one emprise and eke by cause
that he was elder he spoke to him full gently. But, said he, or it be long too
she will bring forth by God His bounty and have joy of her childing for
she hath waited marvellous long. And the franklin that had drunken said,
Expecting each moment to be her next. Also he took the cup that stood
tofore him for him needed never none asking nor desiring of him to drink
and, Now drink, said he, fully delectably, and he quaffed as far as he might to
their both’s health for he was a passing good man of his lustiness. And sir
Leopold that was the goodliest guest that ever sat in scholars’ hall and that
was the meekest man and the kindest that ever laid husbandly hand under
hen and that was the very truest knight of the world one that ever did minion

service to lady gentle pledged him courtly in the cup. Woman’s woe with
wonder pondering.
       Now let us speak of that fellowship that was there to the intent to be
drunken an they might. There was a sort of scholars along either side the
board, that is to wit, Dixon yclept junior of saint Mary Merciable’s with other
his fellows Lynch and Madden, scholars of medicine, and the franklin that hight
Lenehan and one from Alba Longa, one Crotthers, and young Stephen that
had mien of a frere that was at head of the board and Costello that men clepen
Punch Costello all long of a mastery of him erewhile gested (and of all them,
reserved young Stephen, he was the most drunken that demanded still of more
mead) and beside the meek sir Leopold. But on young Malachi they waited for
that he promised to have come and such as intended to no goodness said how
he had broke his avow. And sir Leopold sat with them for he bore fast
friendship to sir Simon and to this his son young Stephen and for that his
langour becalmed him there after longest wanderings insomuch as they feasted
him for that time in the honourablest manner. Ruth red him, love led on with
will to wander, loth to leave.
       For they were right witty scholars. And he heard their aresouns each gen
other as touching birth and righteousness, young Madden maintaining that put
such case it were hard the wife to die (for so it had fallen out a matter of some
year agone with a woman of Eblana in Horne’s house that now was trespassed
out of this world and the self night next before her death all leeches and
pothecaries had taken counsel of her case). And they said farther she should
live because in the beginning they said the woman should bring forth in pain
and wherefore they that were of this imagination affirmed how young Madden
had said truth for he had conscience to let her die. And not few and of these
was young Lynch were in doubt that the world was now right evil governed as
it was never other howbeit the mean people believed it otherwise but the law
nor his judges did provide no remedy. A redress God grant. This was scant said
but all cried with one acclaim nay, by our Virgin Mother, the wife should live
and the babe to die. In colour whereof they waxed hot upon that head what with
argument and what for their drinking but the franklin Lenehan was prompt each
when to pour them ale so that at the least way mirth might not lack. Then
young Madden showed all the whole affair and when he said how that she was
dead and how for holy religion sake by rede of palmer and bedesman and for a
vow he had made to Saint Ultan of Arbraccan her goodman husband would not
let her death whereby they were all wondrous grieved. To whom young Stephen

had these words following, Murmur, sirs, is eke oft among lay folk. Both babe
and parent now glorify their Maker, the one in limbo gloom, the other in purge
fire. But, gramercy, what of those Godpossibled souls that we nightly
impossibilise, which is the sin against the Holy Ghost, Very God, Lord and
Giver of Life? For, sirs, he said, our lust is brief. We are means to those small
creatures within us and nature has other ends than we. Then said Dixon
junior to Punch Costello wist he what ends. But he had overmuch drunken
and the best word he could have of him was that he would ever dishonest a
woman whoso she were or wife or maid or leman if it so fortuned him to be
delivered of his spleen of lustihead. Whereat Crotthers of Alba Longa sang
young Malachi’s praise of that beast the unicorn how once in the millennium
he cometh by his horn the other all this while pricked forward with their
jibes wherewith they did malice him, witnessing all and several by saint Foutinus
his engines that he was able to do any manner of thing that lay in man to do.
Thereat laughed they all right jocundly only young Stephen and sir Leopold
which never durst laugh too open by reason of a strange humour which he
would not bewray and also for that he rued for her that bare whoso she might
be or wheresoever. Then spoke young Stephen orgulous of mother Church that
would cast him out of her bosom, of law of canons, of Lilith, patron of
abortions, of bigness wrought by wind of seeds of brightness or by potency of
vampires mouth to mouth or, as Virgillius saith, by the influence of the occident
or by the reek of moonflower or an she lie with a woman which her man has but
lain with, effectu secuto, or peradventure in her bath according to the opinions of
Averroes and Moses Maimonides. He said also how at the end of the second
month a human soul was infused and how in all our holy mother foldeth ever
souls for God’s greater glory whereas that earthly mother which was but a dam
to bring forth beastly should die by canon for so saith he that holdeth the
fisherman’s seal, even that blessed Peter on which rock was holy church for all
ages founded. All they bachelors then asked of sir Leopold would he in like case
so jeopard her person as risk life to save life. A wariness of mind he would answer
as fitted all and, laying hand to jaw, he said dissembling, as his wont was, that as
it was informed him, who had ever loved the art of physic as might a layman,
and agreeing also with his experience of so seldom seen an accident it was
good for that Mother Church belike at one blow had birth and death pence
and in such sort deliverly he scaped their questions. That is truth, pardy, said
Dixon, and, or I err, a pregnant word. Which hearing young Stephen was a
marvellous glad man and he averred that he who stealeth from the poor lendeth

to the Lord for he was of a wild manner when he was drunken and that he
was now in that taking it appeared eftsoons.
       But sir Leopold was passing grave maugre his word by cause he still had
pity of the terrorcausing shrieking of shrill women in their labour and as he
was minded of his good lady Marion that had borne him an only manchild
which on his eleventh day on live had died and no man of art could save so
dark is destiny. And she was wondrous stricken of heart for that evil hap and
for his burial did him on a fair corselet of lamb’s wool, the flower of the flock,
lest he might perish utterly and lie akeled (for it was then about the midst of
the winter) and now sir Leopold that had of his body no manchild for an heir
looked upon him his friend’s son and was shut up in sorrow for his forepassed
happiness and as sad as he was that him failed a son of such gentle courage
(for all accounted him of real parts) so grieved he also in no less measure for
young Stephen for that he lived riotously with those wastrels and murdered his
goods with whores.
       About that present time young Stephen filled all cups that stood empty
so as there remained but little mo if the prudenter had not shadowed their
approach from him that still plied it very busily who, praying for the intentions
of the sovereign pontiff, he gave them for a pledge the vicar of Christ which
also as he said is vicar of Bray. Now drink we, quod he, of this mazer and
quaff ye this mead which is not indeed parcel of my body but my soul’s
bodiment. Leave ye fraction of bread to them that live by bread alone. Be not
afeard neither for any want for this will comfort more than the other will
dismay. See ye here. And he showed them glistering coins of the tribute and
goldsmiths’ notes the worth of two pound nineteen shilling that he had, he
said, for a song which he writ. They all admired to see the foresaid riches in
such dearth of money as was herebefore. His words were then these as followeth :
Know all men, he said, time’s ruins build eternity’s mansions. What means
this? Desire’s wind blasts the thorntree but after it becomes from a bramblebush
to be a rose upon the rood of time. Mark me now. In woman’s womb word is
made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all flesh that passes becomes the word
that shall not pass away. This is the postcreation. Omnis caro ad te veniet.
No question but her name is puissant who aventried the dear corse of our
Agenbuyer, Healer and Herd, our mighty mother and mother most venerable
and Bernardus saith aptly that she hath an omnipotentiam deiparae supplicem, that
is to wit, an almightiness of petition because she is the second Eve and she won
us, saith Augustine too, whereas that other, our grandam, which we are linked

up with by successive anastomosis of navelcords sold us all, seed, breed and
generation, for a penny pippin. But here is the matter now. Or she knew him,
that second I say, and was but creature of her creature, vergine madre figlia di tuo
figlio or she knew him not and then stands she in the one denial or ignorancy
with Peter Piscator who lives in the house that Jack built and with Joseph the
Joiner patron of the happy demise of all unhappy marriages parce que M. Leo
Taxil nous a dit que qui l’avait mise dans cette fichue position c’était le sacré pigeon,
ventre de Dieu! Entweder transsubstantiality oder consubstantiality but in no
case subsubstantiality. And all cried out upon It for a very scurvy word. A
pregnancy without joy, he said, a birth without pangs, a body without blemish,
a belly without bigness. Let the lewd with faith and fervour worship. With will
will we withstand, withsay.
       Hereupon Punch Costello dinged with his fist upon the board and would
sing a bawdy catch Staboo Stabella about a wench that was put in pod of a jolly
swashbuckler in Almany which he did now attack : The first three months she
was not well, Staboo, when here nurse Quigley from the door angerly bid them
hist ye should shame you nor was it not meet as she remembered them being
her mind was to have all orderly against lord Andrew came for because she was
jealous that not gasteful turmoil might shorten the honour of her guard. It was
an ancient and a sad matron of a sedate look and christian walking, in habit
dun beseeming her megrims and wrinkled visage, nor did her hortative want
of it effect for incontinently Punch Costello was of them all embraided and they
reclaimed the churl with civil rudeness some and with menace of blandishments
others whiles all chode with him, a murrain seize the dolt, what a devil he
would be at, thou chuff, thou puny, thou got in the peasestraw thou losel,
thou chitterling, thou spawn of a rebel, thou dykedropt, thou abortion thou,
to shut up his drunken drool out of that like a curse of God ape, the good sir
Leopold that had for his cognisance the flower of quiet, margerain gentle,
advising also the time’s occasion as most sacred and most worthy to be most
sacred. In Horne’s house rest should reign.
       To be short this passage was scarce by when Master Dixon of Mary in
Eccles, goodly grinning, asked young Stephen what was the reason why he had
not cided to take friar’s vows and he answered him obedience in the womb,
chastity in the tomb but involuntary poverty all his days. Master Lenehan at
this made return that he had heard of those nefarious deeds and how, as he
heard hereof counted, he had besmirched the lily virtue of a confiding female
which was corruption of minors and they all intershowed it too, waxing merry

and toasting to his fathership. But he said very entirely it was clean contrary to
their suppose for he was the eternal son and ever virgin. Thereat mirth grew
in them the more and they rehearsed to him his curious rite of wedlock for the
disrobing and deflowering of spouses, as the priests use in Madagascar island,
she to be in guise of white and saffron, her groom in white and grain, with
burning of nard and tapers, on a bridebed while clerks sung kyries and the
anthem Ut novetur sexus omnis corporis mysterium till she was there unmaided. He
gave them then a much admirable hymen minim by those delicate poets Master
John Fletcher and Master Francis Beaumont that is in their Maid’s Tragedy that
was writ for a like twining of lovers : To bed, to bed, was the burden of it to be
played with accompanable concent upon the virginals. An exquisite dulcet
epithalame of most mollificative suadency for juveniles amatory whom the
odoriferous flambeaus of the paranymphs have escorted to the quadrupedal
proscenium of connubial communion. Well met they were, said Master Dixon,
joyed, but, harkee, young sir, better were they named Beau Mount and Lecher
for, by my troth, of such a mingling much might come. Young Stephen said
indeed to his best remembrance they had but the one doxy between them and
she of the stews to make shift with in delights amorous for life ran very high in
those days and the custom of the country approved with it. Greater love than
this, he said, no man hath that a man lay down his wife for his friend. Go thou
and do likewise. Thus, or words to that effect, saith Zarathustra, sometime regius
professor of French letters to the university of Oxtail nor breathed there ever
that man to whom mankind was more beholden. Bring a stranger within thy
tower it will go hard but thou wilt have the secondbest bed. Orate, fratres, pro
memetipso. And all the people shall say, Amen. Remember, Erin, thy generations
and thy days of old, how thou settedst little by me and by my word and
broughtest in a stranger to my gates to commit fornication in my sight and to
wax fat and kick like Jeshurum. Therefore hast thou sinned against the light
and hast made me, thy lord to be the slave of servants. Return, return, Clan
Milly : forget me not, O Milesian. Why hast thou done this abomination
before me that thou didst spurn me for a merchant of jalaps and didst deny me
to the Roman and the Indian of dark speech with whom thy daughters did lie
luxuriously? Look forth now, my people, upon the land of behest, even from
Horeb and from Nebo and from Pisgah and from the Horns of Hatten unto a
land flowing with milk and money. But thou hast suckled me with a bitter
milk : my moon and my sun thou hast quenched for ever. And thou hast left
me alone for ever in the dark ways of my bitterness : and with a kiss of ashes

hast thou kissed my mouth. This tenebrosity of the interior, he proceeded to
say, hath not been illumined by the wit of the septuagint nor so much as
mentioned for the Orient from on high which brake hell’s gates visited a
darkness that was foraneous. Assuefaction minorates atrocities (as Tully saith
of his darling Stoics) and Hamlet his father showeth the prince no blister of
combustion. The adiaphane in the noon of life is an Egypt’s plague which in the
nights of prenativity and postmortemity is their most proper ubi and quomodo.
And as the ends and ultimates of all things accords in some mean and measure
with their inceptions and originals, that same multiplicit concordance which
leads forth growth from birth accomplishing by a retrogressive metamorphosis
that minishing and ablation towards the final which is agreeable unto nature so
is it with our subsolar being. The aged sisters draw us into life : we wail,
batten, sport, clip, clasp, sunder, dwindle, die : over us dead they bend. First
saved from water of old Nile, among bulrushes, a bed of fasciated wattles : at
last the cavity of a mountain, an occulted sepulchre amid the conclamation of
the hillcat and the ossifrage. And as no man knows the ubicity of his tumulus
nor to what processes we shall thereby be ushered nor whether to Tophet or to
Edenville in the like way is all hidden when we would backward see from what
region of remoteness the whatness of our whoness hath fetched his whenceness.
       Thereto Punch Costello roared out mainly Etienne chanson but he loudly
bid them lo, wisdom hath built herself a house, this vast majestic longstablished
vault, the crystal palace of the Creator all in applepie order, a penny for him
who finds the pea.

                          Behold the mansion reared by dedal Jack,
                          See the malt stored in many a refluent sack,
                          In the proud cirque of Jackjohn’s bivouac.

       A black crack of noise in the street here, alack, bawled, back. Loud on left
Thor thundered : in anger awful the hammerhurler. Came now the storm
that hist his heart. And Master Lynch bade him have a care to flout and
witwanton as the god self was angered for his hellprate and paganry. And
he that had erst challenged to be so doughty waxed pale as they might all
mark and shrank together and his pitch that was before so haught uplift
was now of a sudden quite plucked down and his heart shook within the
cage of his breast as he tasted the rumour of that storm. Then did some mock
and some jeer and Punch Costello fell hard again to his yale which Master

Lenehan vowed he would do after and he was indeed but a word and a blow
on any the least colour. But the braggart boaster cried that an old Nobodaddy
was in his cups it was muchwhat indifferent and he would not lag behind his lead.
But this was only to dye his desperation as cowed he crouched in Horne’s hall.
He drank indeed at one draught to pluck up a heart of any grace for it
thundered long rumblingly over all the heavens so that Master Madden, being
godly certain whiles, knocked him on his ribs upon that crack of doom and
Master Bloom, at the braggart’s side spoke to him calming words to slumber his
great fear, advertising how it was no other thing but a hubbub noise that he
heard, the discharge of fluid from the thunderhead, look you, having taken
place, and all of the order of a natural phenomenon.
       But was young Boasthard’s fear vanquished by Calmer’s words? No, for
he had in his bosom a spike named Bitterness which could not by words be done
away. And was he then neither calm like the one nor godly like the other?
He was neither as much as he would have liked to be either. But could he not
have endeavoured to have found again as in his youth the bottle Holiness that
then he lived withal? Indeed not for Grace was not there to find that bottle.
Heard he then in that clap the voice of the god Bringforth or, what Calmer
said, a hubbub of Phenomenon? Heard? Why, he could not but hear unless
he had plugged up the tube Understanding (which he had not done). For
through that tube he saw that he was in the land of Phenomenon where he
must for a certain one day die as he was like the rest too a passing show. And
would he not accept to die like the rest and pass away? By no means would he
and make more shows according as men do with wives which Phenomenon has
commanded them to do by the book Law. Then wotted he nought of that
other land which is called Believe-on-Me, that is the land of promise which
behoves to the king Delightful and shall be for ever where there is no death
and no birth neither wiving nor mothering at which all shall come as many as
believe on it? Yes, Pious had told him of that land and Chaste had pointed him
to the way but the reason was that in the way he fell in with a certain whore
of an eyepleasing exterior whose name, she said, is Bird-in-the-Hand and she
beguiled him wrongways from the true path by her flatteries that she said to
him as, Ho, you pretty man, turn aside hither and I will show you a brave
place, and she lay at him so flatteringly that she had him in her grot which is
named Two-in-the-Bush or, by some learned, Carnal Concupiscence.
       This was it what all that company that sat there at commons in Manse of
Mothers the most lusted after and if they met with this whore Bird-in-the-Hand

(which was within all foul plagues, monsters and a wicked devil) they would
strain the last but they would make at her and know her. For regarding Believe-
on-Me they said it was nought else but notion and they could conceive no
thought of it for, first, Two-in-the-Bush whither she ticed them was the very
goodliest grot and in it were four pillows on which were four tickets with
these words printed on them, Pickaback and Topsyturvy and Shameface and
Cheek by Jowl and, second, for that foul plague Allpox and the monsters they
cared not for them for Preservative had given them a stout shield of oxengut
and, third, that they might take no hurt neither from Offspring that was that
wicked devil by virtue of this same shield which was named Killchild. So
were they all in their blind fancy, Mr Cavil and Mr Sometimes Godly, Mr Ape
Swillale, Mr False Franklin, Mr Dainty Dixon, Young Boasthard and Mr
Cautious Calmer. Wherein, O wretched company, were ye all deceived for
that was the voice of the god that was in a very grievous rage that he would
presently lift his arm and spill their souls for their abuses and their spillings
done by them contrariwise to his word which forth to bring brenningly biddeth.
       So Thursday sixteenth June Patk. Dignam laid in clay of an apoplexy and
after hard drought, please God, rained, a bargeman coming in by water a fifty
mile or thereabout with turf saying the seed won’t sprout, fields athirst, very
sadcoloured and stunk mightily, the quags and tofts too. Hard to breathe and
all the young quicks clean consumed without sprinkle this long while back as
no man remembered to be without. The rosy buds all gone brown and spread
out blobs and on the hills nought but dry flags and faggots that would catch at
first fire. All the world saying, for aught they knew, the big wind of last February
a year that did havoc the land so pitifully a small thing beside this barrenness.
But by and by, as said, this evening after sundown, the wind sitting in the
west, biggish swollen clouds to be seen as the night increased and the
weatherwise poring up at them and some sheet lightnings at first and after,
past ten of the clock, one great stroke with a long thunder and in a brace of
shakes all scamper pellmell within door for the smoking shower, the men making
shelter for their straws with a clout or kerchief, womenfolk skipping off with
kirtles catched up soon as the pour came. In Ely place, Baggot street, Duke’s
lawn, thence through Merrion green up to Holles street a swash of water
running that was before bonedry and not one chair or coach or fiacre seen
about but no more crack after that first. Over against the Rt. Hon. Mr Justice
Fitzgibbon’s door (that is to sit with Mr Healy the lawyer upon the college
lands) Mal. Mulligan a gentleman’s gentleman that had but come from

Mr Moore’s the writer’s (that was a papish but is now, folk say, a good
Williamite) chanced against Alec. Bannon in a cut bob (which are now in
with dance cloaks of Kendal green) that was new got to town from Mullingar
with the stage where his coz and Mal M’s brother will stay a month yet till
Saint Swithin and asks what in the earth he does there, he bound home and
he to Andrew Horne’s being stayed for to crush a cup of wine, so he said,
but would tell him of a skittish heifer, big of her age and beef to the heel
and all this while poured with rain and so both together on to Horne’s.
There Leop. Bloom of Crawford’s journal sitting snug with a covey of wags,
likely brangling fellows, Dixon jun., scholar of my lady of Mercy, Vin.
Lynch, a Scots fellow, Will. Madden, T. Lenehan, very sad for a racinghorse
he fancied and Stephen D. Leop. Bloom there for a langour he had but was
now better, he having dreamed tonight a strange fancy of his dame Mrs Moll
with red slippers on in pair of Turkey trunks which is thought by those in
ken to be for a change and Mistress Purefoy there, that got in through
pleading her belly, and now on the stools, poor body, two days past her term,
the midwives sore put to it and can’t deliver, she queasy for a bowl of riceslop
that is a shrewd drier up of the insides and her breath very heavy more than
good and should be a bullyboy from the knocks they say, but God give her
soon issue. ’Tis her ninth chick to live, I hear, and Lady day bit off her last
chick’s nails that was then a twelvemonth and with other three all breastfed
that died written out in a fair hand in the king’s bible. Her hub fifty odd and a
methodist but takes the Sacrament and is to be seen any fair sabbath with a
pair of his boys off Bullock harbour dapping on the sound with a heavybraked
reel or in a punt he has trailing for flounder and pollock and catches a fine
bag, I hear. In sum an infinite great fall of rain and all refreshed and will much
increase the harvest yet those in ken say after wind and water fire shall come
for a prognostication of Malachi’s almanac (and I hear that Mr Russell has done
a prophetical charm of the same gist out of the Hindustanish for his farmer’s
gazette) to have three things in all but this a mere fetch without bottom of
reason for old crones and bairns yet sometimes they are found in the right
guess with their queerities no telling how.
       With this came up Lenehan to the feet of the table to say how the letter
was in that night’s gazette and he made a show to find it about him (for he
swore with an oath that he had been at pains about it) but on Stephen’s
persuasion he gave over to search and was bidden to sit near by which he did
mighty brisk. He was a kind of sport gentleman that went for a merryandrew

or honest pickle and what belonged of woman, horseflesh, or hot scandal he had
it pat. To tell the truth he was mean in fortunes and for the most part hankered
about the coffeehouses and low taverns with crimps, ostlers, bookies, Paul’s men,
runners, flatcaps, waistcoateers, ladies of the bagnio and other rogues of the game
or with a chanceable catchpole or a tipstaff often at nights till broad day of whom
he picked up between his sackpossets much loose gossip. He took his ordinary at a
boilingcook’s and if he had but gotten into him a mess of broken victuals or a
platter of tripes with a bare tester in his purse he could always bring himself off
with his tongue, some randy quip he had from a punk or whatnot that every
mother’s son of them would burst their sides. The other, Costello, that is, hearing
this talk asked was it poetry or a tale. Faith, no, he says, Frank (that was his
name), ’tis all about Kerry cows that are to be butchered along of the plague.
But they can go hang, says he with a wink, for me with their bully beef, a pox
on it. There’s as good fish in this tin as ever came out of it and very friendly
he offered to take of some salty sprats that stood by which he had eyed wishly
in the meantime and found the place which was indeed the chief design of his
embassy as he was sharpset. Mort aux vaches, says Frank then in the French
language that had been indentured to a brandy shipper that has a winelodge in
Bordeaux and he spoke French like a gentleman too. From a child this
Frank had been a donought that his father, a headborough, who could ill keep
him to school to learn his letters and the use of the globes, matriculated at the
university to study the mechanics but he took the bit between his teeth like a
raw colt and was more familiar with the justiciary and the parish beadle than
with his volumes. One time he would be a playactor, then a sutler or a
welsher, then nought would keep him from the bearpit and the cocking main,
then he was for the ocean sea or to foot it on the roads with the Romany folk,
kidnapping a squire’s heir by favour of moonlight or fecking maid’s linen or
choking chickens behind a hedge. He had been off as many times as a cat has
lives and back again with naked pockets as many more to his father the
headborough who shed a pint of tears as often as he saw him. What, says
Mr Leopold with his hands across, that was earnest to know the drift of it, will
they slaughter all? I protest I saw them but this day morning going to the
Liverpool boats, says he. I can scarce believe ’tis so bad, says he. And he had
experience of the like brood beasts and of springers, greasy hoggets and wether
wools having been some years before actuary for Mr Joseph Cuffe, a worthy
salesmaster that drove his trade for live stock and meadow auctions hard by
Mr Gavin Low’s yard in Prussia street. I question with you there, says he. More

like ’tis the hoose or the timber tongue. Mr Stephen, a little moved but very
handsomely, told him no such matter and that he had dispatches from the
emperor’s chief tailtickler thanking him for the hospitality, that was sending over
Doctor Rinderpest, the bestquoted cowcatcher in all Muscovy, with a bolus or two
of physic to take the bull by the horns. Come, come, says Mr Vincent, plain
dealing. He’ll find himself on the horns of a dilemma if he meddles with a bull
that’s Irish, says he. Irish by name and irish by nature, says Mr Stephen, and he
sent the ale purling about. An Irish bull in an English chinashop. I conceive you,
says Mr Dixon. It is that same bull that was sent to our island by farmer Nicholas,
the bravest cattle breeder of them all, with an emerald ring in his nose. True for
you, says Mr Vincent cross the table, and a bullseye into the bargain, says he,
and a plumper and a portlier bull, says he, never shit on shamrock. He had
horns galore, a coat of gold and a sweet smoky breath coming out of his nostrils
so that the women of our island, leaving doughballs and rollingpins, followed
after him hanging his bulliness in daisychains. What for that, says Mr Dixon,
but before he came over farmer Nicholas that was a eunuch had him properly
gelded by a college of doctors who were no better off than himself. So be off
now, says he, and do all my cousin german the Lord Harry tells you and take
a farmer’s blessing, and with that he slapped his posteriors very soundly. But
the slap and the blessing stood him friend, says Mr Vincent, for to make up he
taught him a trick worth two of the other so that maid, wife, abbess and widow
to this day affirm that they would rather any time of the month whisper in his
ear in the dark of a cowhouse or get a lick on the nape from his long holy
tongue than lie with the finest strapping young ravisher in the four fields of all
Ireland. Another then put in his word : And they dressed him, says he, in a
point shift and petticoat with a tippet and girdle and ruffles on his wrists and
clipped his forelock and rubbed him all over with spermacetic oil and built
stables for him at every turn of the road with a gold manger in each full of the
best hay in the market so that he could doss and dung to his heart’s content.
By this time the father of the faithful (for so they called him) was grown so
heavy that he could scarce walk to pasture. To remedy which our cozening
dames and damsels brought him his fodder in their apronlaps and as soon as
his belly was full he would rear up on his hind quarters to show their ladyships
a mystery and roar and bellow out of him in bulls’ language and they all after
him. Ay, says another, and so pampered was he that he would suffer nought
to grow in all the land but green grass for himself (for that was the only colour
to his mind) and there was a board put up on a hillock in the middle of the

island with a printed notice, saying : By the lord Harry green is the grass that
grows on the ground. And, says Mr Dixon, if ever he got scent of a cattleraider
in Roscommon or the wilds of Connemara or a husbandman in Sligo that was
sowing as much as a handful of mustard or a bag of rapeseed out he run amok
over half the countryside rooting up with his horns whatever was planted and
all by lord Harry’s orders. There was bad blood between them at first, says
Mr Vincent, and the lord Harry called farmer Nicholas all the old Nicks in the
world and an old whoremaster that kept seven trulls in his house and I’ll meddle
in his matters, says he. I’ll make that animal smell hell, says he, with the help
of that good pizzle my father left me. But one evening, says Mr Dixon, when
the lord Harry was cleaning his royal pelt to go to dinner after winning a
boatrace (he had spade oars for himself but the first rule of the course was that
the others were to row with pitchforks) he discovered in himself a wonderful
likeness to a bull and on picking up a blackthumbed chapbook that he kept in
the pantry he found sure enough that he was a lefthanded descendant of the
famous champion bull of the Romans, Bos Bovum, which is good bog Latin for
boss of the show. After that, says Mr Vincent, the lord Harry put his head
into a cow’s drinkingtrough in the presence of all his courtiers and pulling it
out again told them all his new name. Then, with the water running off him,
he got into an old smock and skirt that had belonged to his grandmother and
bought a grammar of the bulls’ language to study but he could never learn a
word of it except the first personal pronoun which he copied out big and got
off by heart and if ever he went out for a walk he filled his pockets with chalk
to write it up on what took his fancy, the side of a rock or a teahouse table or a
bale of cotton or a corkfloat. In short he and the bull of Ireland were soon as
fast friends as an arse and a shirt. They were, says Mr Stephen, and the end was
that the men of the island, seeing no help was toward as the ungrate women
were all of one mind, made a wherry raft, loaded themselves and their bundles
of chattels on shipboard, set all masts erect, manned the yards, sprang their
luff, heaved to, spread three sheets in the wind, put her head between wind and
water, weighed anchor, ported her helm, ran up the jolly Roger, gave three
times three, let the bullgine run, pushed off in their bumboat and put to sea
to recover the main of America. Which was the occasion, says Mr Vincent, of
the composing by a boatswain of that rollicking chanty :
        Pope Peter’s but a pissabed.
       A man’s a man for a’ that.
       Our worthy acquaintance, Mr Malachi Mulligan, now appeared in the

doorway as the students were finishing their apologue accompanied with a
friend whom he had just rencountered, a young gentleman, his name Alec
Bannon, who had late come to town, it being his intention to buy a colour or
a cornetcy in the fencibles and list for the wars. Mr Mulligan was civil enough
to express some relish of it all the more as it jumped with a project of his own
for the cure of the very evil that had been touched on. Whereat he handed
round to the company a set of pasteboard cards which he had had printed that
day at Mr Quinnell’s bearing a legend printed in fair italics : Mr Malachi
Mulligan, Fertiliser and Incubator, Lambay Island. His project, as he went on to
expound, was to withdraw from the round of idle pleasures such as form the
chief business of sir Fopling Popinjay and sir Milksop Quidnunc in town and
to devote himself to the noblest task for which our bodily organism has been
framed. Well, let us hear of it, good my friend, said Mr Dixon. I make no doubt
it smacks of wenching. Come, be seated, both. ’Tis as cheap sitting as standing.
Mr Mulligan accepted of the invitation and, expatiating on his design, told his
hearers that he had been led into this thought by a consideration of the causes of
sterility, both the inhibitory and the prohibitory, whether the inhibition in its
turn were due to conjugal vexations or to a parsimony of the balance as well as
whether the prohibition proceeded from defects congenital or from proclivites
acquired. It grieved him plaguily, he said, to see the nuptial couch defrauded of
its dearest pledges : and to reflect upon so many agreeable females with rich
jointures, a prey for the vilest bonzes, who hide their flambeau under a bushel
in an uncongenial cloister or lose their womanly bloom in the embraces of some
unaccountable muskin when they might multiply the inlets of happiness,
sacrificing the inestimable jewel of their sex when a hundred pretty fellows were
at hand to caress, this, he assured them, made his heart weep. To curb this
inconvenience (which he concluded due to a suppression of latent heat), having
advised with certain counsellors of worth and inspected into this matter, he had
resolved to purchase in fee simple for ever the freehold of Lambay island from its
holder, lord Talbot de Malahide, a Tory gentleman of not much in favour with
our ascendancy party. He proposed to set up there a national fertilising farm
to be named Omphalos with an obelisk hewn and erected after the fashion
of Egypt and to offer his dutiful yeoman services for the fecundation of any
female of what grade of life soever who should there direct to him with the
desire of fulfilling the functions of her natural. Money was no object, he said,
nor would he take a penny for his pains. The poorest kitchenwench no less
than the opulent lady of fashion, if so be their constructions and their tempers

were warm persuaders for their petitions, would find in him their man. For his
nutriment he shewed how he would feed himself exclusively upon a diet of
savoury tubercles and fish and coneys there, the flesh of these latter prolific
rodents being highly recommended for his purpose, both broiled and stewed
with a blade of mace and a pod or two of capsicum chillies. After this homily
which he delivered with much warmth of asseveration Mr Mulligan in a trice
put off from his hat a kerchief with which he had shielded it. The both, it
seems, had been overtaken by the rain and for all their mending their pace had
taken water, as might be observed by Mr Mulligan’s smallclothes of a hodden
grey which was now somewhat piebald. His project meanwhile was very
favourably entertained by his auditors and won hearty eulogies from all though
Mr Dixon of Mary’s excepted to it, asking with a finicking air did he purpose
also to carry coals to Newcastle. Mr Mulligan however made court to the
scholarly by an apt quotation from the classics which, as it dwelt upon his
memory seemed to him a sound and tasteful support of his contention : Talis ac
tanta depravatio hujus seculi, O quirites, ut matres familiarum nostrae lascivas
cujuslibet semiviri libici titillationes testibus ponderosis atque excelsis erectionibus
centurionum Romanorum magnopere anteponunt while for those of ruder wit he
drove home his point by analogies of the animal kingdom more suitable to their
stomach, the buck and doe of the forest glade, the farmyard drake and duck.
       Valuing himself not a little upon his elegance, being indeed a proper man
of his person, this talkative now applied himself to his dress with animadversions
of some heat upon the sudden whimsy of the atmospherics while the company
lavished their encomiums upon the project he had advanced. The young
gentleman, his friend, overjoyed as he was at a passage that had befallen him,
could not forbear to tell it his nearest neighbour. Mr Mulligan, now perceiving
the table, asked for whom were those loaves and fishes and, seeing the stranger,
he made him a civil bow and said, Pray, sir, was you in need of any
professional assistance we could give? Who, upon his offer, thanked him very
heartily, though preserving his proper distance, and replied that he was come
there about a lady, now an inmate of Horne’s house, that was in an interesting
condition, poor lady, from woman’s woe (and here he fetched a deep sigh) to
know if her happiness had yet taken place. Mr Dixon, to turn the table, took
on to ask of Mr Mulligan himself whether his incipient ventripotence, upon
which he rallied him, betokened an ovoblastic gestation in the prostatic utricle
or male womb or was due as with the noted physician, Mr Austin Meldon, to a
wolf in the stomach. For answer Mr Mulligan, in a gale of laughter at his

smalls, smote himself bravely below the diaphragm, exclaiming with an
admirable droll mimic of Mother Grogan (the most excellent creature of her
sex though ’tis pity she’s a trollop) : There’s a belly that never bore a bastard.
This was so happy a conceit that it renewed the storms of mirth and threw the
whole room into the most violent agitations of delight. The spry rattle had run
on in the same vein of mimicry but for some larum in the antechamber.
       Here the listener, who was none other than the Scotch student, a little fume
of a fellow, blond as tow, congratulated in the liveliest fashion with the young
gentleman and, interrupting the narrative at a salient point, having desired his
visavis with a polite beck to have the obligingness to pass him a flagon of
cordial waters at the same time by a questioning poise of the head (a whole
century of polite breeding had not achieved so nice a gesture) to which was
united an equivalent but contrary balance of the head asked the narrator as
plainly as was ever done in words if he might treat him with a cup of it. Mais
bien sûr, noble stranger, said he cheerily, et mille compliments. That you may
and very opportunely. There wanted nothing but this cup to crown my felicity.
But, gracious heaven, was I left with but a crust in my wallet and a cupful of
water from the well, my God, I would accept of them and find it in my heart
to kneel down upon the ground and give thanks to the powers above for the
happiness vouchsafed me by the Giver of good things. With these words he
approached the goblet to his lips, took a complacent draught of the cordial,
slicked his hair and, opening his bosom, out popped a locket that hung from a
silk riband that very picture which he had cherished ever since her hand had
wrote therein. Gazing upon those features with a world of tenderness, Ah,
Monsieur, he said, had you but beheld her as I did with these eyes at that
affecting instant with her dainty tucker and her new coquette cap (a gift for
her feast day as she told me) in such an artless disorder, of so melting a
tenderness, ’pon my conscience, even you, Monsieur, had been impelled by
generous nature to deliver yourself wholly into the hands of such an enemy or
to quit the field for ever. I declare, I was never so touched in all my life. God
I thank thee as the Author of my days! Thrice happy will he be whom so
amiable a creature will bless with her favours. A sigh of affection gave eloquence
to these words and, having replaced the locket in his bosom, he wiped his eye
and sighed again. Beneficent Disseminator of blessing to all Thy creatures, how
greatand universal must be that sweetest of Thy tyrannies which can hold in
thrall the free and the bond, the simple swain and the polished coxcomb, the
lover in the heyday of reckless passion and the husband of maturer years. But

indeed, sir, I wander from the point. How mingled and imperfect are all our
sublunary joys! Maledicity! Would to God that foresight had remembered me
to take my cloak along! I could weep to think of it. Then, though it had poured
seven showers we were neither of us a penny the worse. But beshrew me, he
cried, clapping hand to his forehead, tomorrow will be a new day and, thousand
thunders, I know of a marchand de capotes, Monsieur Poyntz, from whom I can
have for a livre as snug a cloak of the French fashion as ever kept a lady from
wetting. Tut, Tut! cries Le Fécondateur, tripping in, my friend Monsieur Moore,
that most accomplished traveller (I have just cracked a half bottle avec lui in
a circle of the best wits of the town), is my authority that in Cape Horn,
ventre biche, they have a rain that will wet through any, even the stoutest cloak.
A drenching of that violence, he tells me, sans blague, has sent more than one
luckless fellow in good earnest posthaste to another world. Pooh! A livre!
cries Monsieur Lynch. The clumsy things are dear at a sou. One umbrella,
were it no bigger than a fairy mushroom, is worth ten such stopgaps. No
woman of any wit would wear one. My dear Kitty told me today that she
would dance in a deluge before ever she would starve in such an ark of
salvation for, as she reminded me (blushing piquantly and whispering in my
ear though there was none to snap her words but giddy butterflies) dame
Nature, by the divine blessing, has implanted it in our heart and it has become
a household word that il y a deux choses for which the innocence of our original
garb, in other circumstances a breach of the proprieties, is the fittest, nay the
only garment. The first, said she (and here my pretty philosopher, as I handed
her to her tilbury, to fix my attention, gently tipped with her tongue the outer
chamber of my ear), the first is a bath... but at this point a bell tinkling in the
hall cut short a discourse which promised so bravely for the enrichment of our
store of knowledge.
       Amid the general vacant hilarity of the assembly a bell rang and while all
were conjecturing what might be the cause Miss Callan entered and, having
spoken a few words in a low tone to young Mr Dixon, retired with a profound
bow to the company. The presence even for a moment among a party of
debauchees of a woman endued with every quality of modesty and not less
severe than beautiful refrained the humorous sallies even of the most licentious
but her departure was the signal for an outbreak of ribaldry. Strike me silly,
said Costello, a low fellow who was fuddled. A monstrous fine bit of cowflesh!
I’ll be sworn she has rendezvoused you. What, you dog? Have you a way
with them? Gad’s bud. Immensely so, said Mr Lynch. The bedside manner it

is that they use in the Mater hospice. Demme, does not Doctor O’Gargle chuck
the nuns there under the chin? As I look to be saved I had it from my Kitty
who has been wardmaid there any time these seven months. Lawksamercy,
doctor, cried the young blood in the primrose vest, feigning a womanish simper
and immodest squirmings of his body, how you do tease a body! Drat the man!
Bless me, I’m all of a wibblywobbly. Why, you’re as bad as dear little Father
Cantekissem that you are! May this pot of four half choke me, cried Costello,
if she ain’t in the family way. I knows a lady what’s got a white swelling quick
as I claps eyes on her. The young surgeon, however, rose and begged the
company to excuse his retreat as the nurse had just then informed him that he
was needed in the ward. Merciful providence had been pleased to put a period
to the sufferings of the lady who was enceinte which she had borne with a
laudable fortitude and she had given birth to a bouncing boy. I want patience,
said he, with those who without wit to enliven or learning to instruct, revile
an ennobling profession which, saving the reverence due to the Deity, is the
greatest power for happiness upon the earth. I am positive when I say that if
need were I could produce a cloud of witnesses to the excellence of her noble
exercitations which, so far from being a byword, should be a glorious incentive
in the human breast. I cannot away with them. What? Malign such an one,
the amiable Miss Callan, who is the lustre of her own sex and the astonishment
of ours and at an instant the most momentous that can befall a puny child of
clay? Perish the thought! I shudder to think of the future of a race where
the seeds of such malice have been sown and where no right reverence is
rendered to mother and maid in house of Horne. Having delivered himself of
this rebuke he saluted those present on the by and repaired to the door. A
murmur of approval arose from all and some were for ejecting the low soaker
without more ado, a design which would have been effected nor would he have
received more than his bare deserts had he not abridged his transgression by
affirming with a horrid imprecation (for he swore a round hand) that he was
as good a son of the true fold as ever drew breath. Stap my vitals, said he,
them was always the sentiments of honest Frank Costello which I was bred up
most particular to honour thy father and thy mother that had the best hand
to a rolypoly or a hasty pudding as you ever see what I always looks back on
with a loving heart.
       To revert to Mr Bloom who, after his first entry had been conscious of
some impudent mocks which he, however, had born with being the fruits of
that age upon which it is commonly charged that it knows not pity. The young

sparks, it is true, were as full of extravagancies as overgrown children : the
words of their tumultuary discussions were difficultly understood and not often
nice : their testiness and outrageous mots were such that his intellects resiled
from : nor were they scrupuluosly sensible of the proprieties though their fund
of strong animal spirits spoke in their behalf. But the word of Mr Costello was
an unwelcome language for him for he nauseated the wretch that seemed to
him a cropeared creature of a misshapen gibbosity born out of wedlock and
thrust like a crookback teethed and feet first into the world, which the dint of
the surgeon’s pliers in his skill lent indeed a colour to, so as it put him in
thought of that missing link of creation’s chain desiderated by the late ingenious
Mr Darwin. It was now for more than the middle span of our allotted years
that he had passed through the thousand vicissitudes of existence and, being of
a wary ascendancy and self a man of a rare forecast, he had enjoined his heart
to repress all motions of a rising choler and, by intercepting them with the
readiest precaution, foster within his breast that plenitude of sufferance which
base minds jeer at, rash judgers scorn and all find tolerable and but tolerable.
To those who create themselves wits at the cost of feminine delicacy (a habit of
mind which he never did hold with) to them he would concede neither to bear
the name nor to herit the tradition of a proper breeding : while for such that,
having lost all forbearance can lose no more, there remained the sharp antidote
of experience to cause their insolency to beat a precipitate and inglorious
retreat. Not but what he could feel with mettlesome youth which, caring
nought for the mows of dotards or the gruntlings of the severe, is ever (as the
chaste fancy of the Holy Writer expresses it) for eating of the tree forbid it yet
not so far forth as to pretermit humanity upon any condition soever towards a
gentlewoman when she was about her lawful occasions. To conclude, while
from the sister’s words he had reckoned upon a speedy delivery he was,
however, it must be owned, not a little alleviated by the intelligence that the
issue so ausspicated after an ordeal of such duress now testified once more to
the mercy as well as to the bounty of the Supreme Being.
       Accordingly he broke his mind to his neighbour, saying that, to express
his notion of the thing, his opinion (who ought not perchance to express one)
was that one must have a cold constitution and a frigid genius not to be rejoiced
by this freshest news of the fruition of her confinement since she had been in
such pain through no fault of hers. The dressy young blade said it was her
husband’s that put her in that expectation or at least it ought to be unless
she were another Ephesian matron. I must acquaint you, said Mr Crotthers,

clapping on the table so as to evoke a resonant comment of emphasis, old Glory
Allelujerum was round again today, an elderly man with dundrearies, preferring
through his nose a request to have word of Wilhelmina, my life, as he calls
her. I bade him hold himself in readiness for that the event would burst anon.
’Slife, I’ll be round with you. I cannot but extol the virile potency of the old
bucko that could still knock another child out of her. All fell to praising of it,
each after his own fashion, though the same young blade held with his former
view that another than her conjugial had been the man in the gap, a clerk in
orders, a linkboy (virtuous) or an itinerant vendor of articles needed in every
household. Singular, communed the guest with himself, the wonderfully
unequal faculty of metempsychosis possessed by them, that the puerperal
dormitory and the dissecting theatre should be the seminaries of such frivolity,
that the mere acquisition of academic titles should suffice to transform in a
pinch of time these votaries of levity into exemplary practitioners of an art
which most men anywise eminent have esteemed the noblest. But, he further
added, it is mayhap to relieve the pentup feelings that in common oppress them
for I have more than once observed that birds of a feather laugh together.
       But with what fitness, let it be asked, of the noble lord, his patron,
has this alien, whom the concession of a gracious prince has admitted to civil
rights, constituted himself the lord paramount of our internal polity? Where
is now that gratitude which loyalty should have counselled? During the
recent war whenever the enemy had a temporary advantage with his granados
did this traitor to his kind not seize that moment to discharge his piece
against the empire of which he is a tenant at will while he trembled for the
security of his four per cents? Has he forgotten this as he forgets all benefits
received? Or is it that from being a deluder of others he has become at
last his own dupe as he is, if report belie him not, his own and his only
enjoyer? Far be it from candour to violate the bedchamber of a respectable
lady, the daughter of a gallant major, or to cast the most distant reflections
upon her virtue but if he challenges attention there (as it was indeed highly his
interest not to have done) then be it so. Unhappy woman she has been too
long and too persistently denied her legitimate prerogative to listen to his
objurgations with any other feeling than the derision of the desperate. He says
this, a censor of morals, a very pelican in his piety, who did not scruple,
oblivious of the ties of nature, to attempt illicit intercourse with a female
domestic drawn from the lowest strata of society. Nay, had the hussy’s
scouringbrush not been her tutelary angel it had gone with her as hard as with

Hagar, the Egyptian! In the question of the grazing lands his peevish asperity
is notorious and in Mr Cuffe’s hearing brought upon him from an indignant
rancher a scathing retort couched in terms as straightforward as they were
bucolic. It ill becomes him to preach that gospel. Has he not nearer home a
seedfield that lies fallow for the want of a ploughshare? A habit reprehensible
at puberty is second nature and an opprobium in middle life. If he must
dispense his balm of Gilead in nostrums and apothegms of dubious taste to
restore to health a generation of unfledged profligates let his practice consist better
with the doctrines that now engross him. His marital breast is the repository
of secrets which decorum is reluctant to adduce. The lewd suggestions of some
faded beauty may console him for a consort neglected and debauched but this
new exponent of morals and healer of ills is at his best an exotic tree which,
when rooted in its native orient, throve and flourished and was abundant in balm
but, transplanted to a clime more temperate, its roots have lost their quondam
vigour while the stuff that comes away from it is stagnant, acid and inoperative.
       The news was imparted with a circumspection recalling the ceremonial
usages of the Sublime Porte by the second female infirmarian to the junior
medical officer in residence, who in his turn announced to the delegation that
an heir had been born. When he had betaken himself to the women’s apartment
to assist at the prescribed ceremony of the afterbirth in the presence of the
secretary of state for domestic affairs and the members of the privy council,
silent in unanimous exhaustion and approbation the delegates, chafing
under the length and solemnity of their vigil and hoping that the joyful
occurrence would palliate a licence which the simultaneous absence of abigail
and officer rendered the easier broke out at once into a strife of tongues. In
vain the voice of Mr Canvasser Bloom was heard endeavouring to urge, to
mollify, to restrain. The moment was too propitious for the display of that
discursiveness which seemed the only bond of union among tempers so
divergent. Every phase of the situation was successively eviscerated : the
prenatal repugnance of uterine brothers, the Caesarean section, posthumity
with respect to the father and, that rarer form, with respect to the mother, the
fratricidal case known as the Childs murder and rendered memorable by the
impassioned plea of Mr Advocate Bushe which secured the acquittal of the
wrongfully accused, the rights of primogeniture and king’s bounty touching
twins and triplets, miscarriages and infanticides, simulated and dissimulated,
acardiac foetus in foetu, aprosopia due to a congestion, the agnatia of certain
chinless Chinamen (cited by Mr Candidate Mulligan) in consequence of

defective reunion of the maxillary knobs along the medial line so that (as he
said) one ear could hear what the other spoke, the benefits of anesthesia or
twilight sleep, the prolungation of labour pains in advanced gravidancy by
reason of pressure on the vein, the premature relentment of the amniotic fluid
(as exemplified in the actual case) with consequent peril of sepsis to the matrix,
artificial insemination by means of syringes, involution of the womb consequent
upon the menopause, the problem of the perpetration of the species in the case
of females impregnated by delinquent rape, that distressing manner of
delivery called by the Brandenburghers Sturzgeburt, the recorded instances of
multigeminal, twikindled and monstruous births conceived during the
catamenic period or of consanguineous parents in a word all the cases of
human nativity which Aristotle has classified in his masterpiece with
chromolithographic illustrations. The gravest problems of obstetrics and
forensic medicine were examined with as much animation as the most popular
beliefs on the state of pregnancy such as the forbidding to a gravid woman to
step over a country stile lest, by her movement, the navelcord should strangle
her creature and the injunction upon her in the event of a yearning, ardently
and ineffectually entertained, to place her hand against that part of her person
which long usage has consecrated as the seat of castigation. The abnormalities
of harelip, breastmole, supernumerary digits, negro’s inkle, strawberry mark
and portwine stain were alleged by one as a primafacie and natural hypothetical
explanation of swineheaded (the case of Madame Grissel Steevens was not
forgotten) or doghaired infants occasionally born. The hypothesis of a plasmic
memory, advanced by the Caledonian envoy and worthy of the metaphysical
traditions of the land he stood for, envisaged in such cases an arrest of embryonic
development at some stage antecedent to the human. An outlandish delegate
sustained against both these views with such heat as almost carried conviction
the theory of copulation between women and the males of brutes, his authority
being his own avouchment in support of fables such as that of the Minotaur
which the genius of the elegant Latin poet has handed down to us in the pages
of his Metamorphoses. The impression made by his words was immediate but
shortlived. It was effaced as easily as it had been evoked by an allocution from
Mr Candidate Mulligan in that vein of pleasantry which none better than he
knew how to affect, postulating as the supremest object of desire a nice clean
old man. Contemporaneously, a heated argument having arisen between
Mr Delegate Madden and Mr Candidate Lynch regarding the juridical and
theological dilemma in the even of one Siamese twin predeceasing the other,

the difficulty by mutual consent was referred to Mr Canvasser Bloom for
instant submittal to Mr Coadjutor Deacon Dedalus. Hitherto silent, whether
the better to show by preternatural gravity that curious dignity of the garb
with which he was invested or in obedience to an inward voice, he delivered
briefly, and as some thought perfunctorily, the ecclesiastical ordinance
forbidding man to put asunder what God has joined.
       But Malachias’ tale began to freeze them with horror. He conjured up the
scene before them. The secret panel beside the chimney slid back and in the
recess appeared... Haines! Which of us did not feel his flesh creep? He had a
portfolio full of Celtic literature in one hand, in the other a phial marked
Poison. Surprise, horror, loathing were depicted on all faces while he eyed them
with a ghastly grin. I anticipated some such reception, he began with an eldritch
laugh, for which, it seems, history is to blame. Yes, it is true. I am the murderer
of Samuel Childs. And how I am punished! The inferno has no terrors for me.
This is the appearance is on me. Tare and ages, what way would I be resting
at all, he muttered thickly, and I tramping Dublin this while back with my
share of songs and himself after me the like of a soulth or a bullawurrus? My
hell, and Ireland’s, is in this life. It is what I tried to obliterate my crime.
Distractions, rookshooting, the Erse language (he recited some), laudanum
(he raised the phial to his lips), camping out. In vain! His spectre stalks me.
Dope is my only hope... Ah! Destruction! The black panther! With a cry he
suddenly vanished and the panel slid back. An instant later his head appeared
in the door opposite and said : Meet me at Westland row station at ten past
eleven. He was gone! Tears gushed from the eyes of the dissipated host. The
seer raised his hand to heaven, murmuring : The vendetta of Mannanaun!
The sage repeated Lex talionis. The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy
without incurring the immense debtorship for a thing done. Malachias,
overcome by emotion, ceased. The mystery was unveiled. Haines was the
third brother. His real name was Childs. The black panther was himself the
ghost of his own father. He drank drugs to obliterate. For this relief much
thanks. The lonely house by the graveyard is uninhabited. No soul will live
there. The spider pitches her web in the solitude. The nocturnal rat peers
from his hole. A curse is on it. It is haunted. Murderer’s ground.
       What is the age of the soul of man? As she hath the virtue of the
chameleon to change her hue at every new approach, to be gay with the merry
and mournful with the downcast, so too is her age changeable as her mood.
No longer is Leopold, as he sits there, ruminating, chewing the cud of

reminiscence, that staid agent of publicity and holder of a modest substance in
the funds. He is young Leopold, as in a retrospective arrangement, a mirror
within a mirror (hey, presto!), he beholdeth himself. That young figure of
then is seen, precociously manly, walking on a nipping morning from the old
house in Clambrassil street to the high school, his booksatchel on him
bandolierwise, and in it a goodly hunk of wheaten loaf, a mother’s thought. Or
it is the same figure, a year or so gone over, in his first hard hat (ah, that was
a day!), already on the road, a fullfledged traveller for the family firm,
equipped with an orderbook, a scented handkerchief (not for show only), his
case of bright trinketware (alas, a thing now of the past!), and a quiverful of
compliant smiles for this or that halfwon housewife reckoning it out upon her
fingertips or for a budding virgin shyly acknowledging (but the heart? tell me!)
his studied baisemoins. The scent, the smile but more than these, the dark eyes
and oleaginous address brought home at duskfall many a commission to the
head of the firm seated with Jacob’s pipe after like labours in the paternal ingle
(a meal of noodles, you may be sure, is aheating), reading through round horned
spectacles some paper from the Europe of a month before. But hey, presto,
the mirror is breathed on and the young knighterrant recedes, shrivels,
to a tiny speck within the mist. Now he is himself paternal and these about him
might be his sons. Who can say? The wise father knows his own child. He
thinks of a drizzling night in Hatch street, hard by the bonded stores there, the
first. Together (she is a poor waif, a child of shame, yours and mine and of all
for a bare shilling and her luckpenny), together they hear the heavy tread of
the watch as two raincaped shadows pass the new royal university. Bridie!
Bridie Kelly! He will never forget the name, ever remember the night, first
night, the bridenight. They are entwined in nethermost darkness, the willer
with the willed, and in an instant (fiat!) light shall flood the world. Did
heart leap to heart? Nay, fair reader. In a breath ’twas done but hold!
Back! It must not be! In terror the poor girl flees away through the murk. She
is the bride of darkness, a daughter of night. She dare not bear the sunnygolden
babe of day. No, Leopold! Name and memory solace thee not. That youthful
illusion of thy strength was taken from thee and in vain. No son of thy loins is
by thee. There is none now to be for Leopold, what Leopold was for Rudolph.
       The voices blend and fuse in clouded silence : silence that is the infinite
of space : and swiftly, silently the soul is wafted over regions of cycles of
generations that have lived. A region where grey twilight ever descends, never
falls on wide sagegreen pasturefields, shedding her dusk, scattering a perennial

dew of stars. She follows her mother with ungainly steps, a mare leading her
fillyfoal. Twilight phantoms are they yet moulded in prophetic grace of
structure, slim shapely haunches, a supple tendonous neck, the meek
apprehensive skull. They fade, sad phantoms : all is gone. Agendath is a waste
land, a home of screechowls and the sandblind upupa. Netaim, the golden, is
no more. And on the highway of the clouds they come, muttering thunder of
rebellion, the ghosts of beasts. Huuh! Hark! Huuh! Parallax stalks behind and
goads them, the lancinating lightnings of whose brow are scorpions. Elk and
yak, the bulls of Bashan and of Babylon, mammoth and mastodon, they come
trooping to the sunken sea, Lacus Mortis. Ominous, revengeful zodiacal host!
They moan, passing upon the clouds, horned and capricorned, the trumpeted
with the tusked, the lionmaned the giantantlered, snouter and crawler,
rodent, ruminant and pachyderm, all their moving moaning multitude,
murderers of the sun.
       Onward to the dead sea they tramp to drink, unslaked and with horrible
gulpings, the salt somnolent inexhaustible flood. And the equine portent grows
again, magnified in the deserted heavens, nay to heaven’s own magnitude till
it looms, vast, over the house of Virgo. And, lo, wonder of metempsychosis, it
is she, the everlasting bride, harbinger of the daystar, the bride, ever virgin. It
is she, Martha, thou lost one, Millicent, the young, the dear, the radiant. How
serene does she now arise, a queen among the Pleiades, in the penultimate
antelucan hour, shod in sandals of bright gold, coifed with a veil of what do
you call it gossamer! It floats, it flows about her starborn flesh and loose it
streams emerald, sapphire, mauve and heliotrope, sustained on currents of cold
interstellar wind, winding, coiling, simply swirling, writhing in the skies a
mysterious writing till after a myriad metamorphoses of symbol, it blazes,
Alpha, a ruby and triangled sign upon the forehead of Taurus.
       Francis was reminding Stephen of years before when they had been at
school together in Conmee’s time. He asked about Glaucon, Alcibiades,
Pisistratus. Where were they now? Neither knew. You have spoken of the
past and its phantoms, Stephen said. Why think of them? If I call them into
life across the waters of Lethe will not the poor ghosts troop to my call? Who
supposes it? I, Bous Stephanoumenos, bullockbefriending bard, am lord and
giver of their life. He encircled his gadding hair with a coronal of vineleaves,
smiling at Vincent. That answer and those leaves, Vincent said to him, will
adorn you more fitly when something more, and greatly more, than a capful
of light odes can call your genius father. All who wish you well hope this for

you. All desire to see you bring forth the work you meditate. I heartily wish
you may not fail them. O no, Vincent, Lenehan said, laying a hand on the
shoulder near him, have no fear. He could not leave his mother an orphan.
The young mans face grew dark. All could see how hard it was for him to
be reminded of his promise and of his recent loss. He would have withdrawn
from the feast had not the noise of voices allayed the smart. Madden had lost
five drachmas on Sceptre for a whim of the rider’s name : Lenehan as much more.
He told them of the race. The flag fell and, huuh, off, scamper, the mare ran out
freshly with O. Madden up. She was leading the field : all hearts were beating.
Even Phyllis could not contain herself. She waved her scarf and cried : Huzzah!
Sceptre wins! But in the straight on the run home when all were in close
order the dark horse Throwaway drew level, reached, outstripped her. All
was lost now. Phyllis was silent : her eyes were sad anemones. Juno, she
cried, I am undone. But her lover consoled her and brought her a bright
casket of gold in which lay some oval sugarplums which she partook. A tear
fell : one only. A whacking fine whip, said Lenehan, is W. Lane. Four
winners yesterday and three today. What rider is like him? Mount him on
the camel or the boisterous buffalo the victory in a hack canter is still his. But
let us bear it as was the ancient wont. Mercy on the luckless! Poor Sceptre!
he said with a light sigh. She is not the filly that she was. Never, by this
hand, shall we behold such another. By gad, sir, a queen of them. Do you
remember her, Vincent? I wish you could have seen my queen today, Vincent
said, how young she was and radiant (Lalage were scarce fair beside her) in
her yellow shoes and frock of muslin, I do not know the right name of it.
The chestnuts that shaded us were in bloom : the air drooped with their
persuasive odour and with pollen floating by us. In the sunny patches one
might easily have cooked on a stone a batch of those buns with Corinth fruit
in them that Periplepomenos sells in his booth near the bridge. But she had
nought for her teeth but the arm with which I held her and in that she
nibbled mischievously when I pressed too close. A week ago she lay ill, four
days on the couch, but today she was free, blithe, mocked at peril. She is
more taking then. Her posies too! Mad romp that it is, she had pulled her
fill as we reclined together. And in your ear, my friend, you will not think
who met us as we left the field. Conmee himself! He was walking by the
hedge, reading, I think a brevier book with, I doubt not, a witty letter in it
from Glycera or Chloe to keep the page. The sweet creature turned all colours
in her confusion, feigning to reprove a slight disorder in her dress : a slip of

underwood clung there for the very trees adore her. When conmee had passed
she glanced at her lovely echo in the little mirror she carries. But he had been
kind. In going by he had blessed us. The gods too are ever kind, Lenehan
said. If I had poor luck with Bass’s mare perhaps this draught of his may serve
me more propensely. He was laying his hand upon a winejar : Malachi saw it
and withheld his act, pointing to the stranger and to the scarlet label. Warily,
Malachi whispered, preserve a druid silence. His soul is far away. It is as painful
perhaps to be awakened from a vision as to be born. Any object, intensely
regarded, may be a gate of access to the incorruptible eon of the gods. Do you
not think it, Stephen? Theosophos told me so, Stephen answered, whom in a
previous existence Egyptian priests initiated into the mysteries of karmic law.
The lords of the moon, Theosophos told me, an orangefiery shipload from
planet Alpha of the lunar chain, would not assume the etheric doubles and these
were therefore incarnated by the rubycoloured egos from the second constellation.
       However, as a matter of fact though, the preposterous surmise about him
being in some description of a doldrums or other or mesmerised which was
entirely due to a misconception of the shallowest character, was not the case at
all. The individual whose visual organs while the above was going on, were
at this juncture commencing to exhibit symptoms of animation, was as astute if
not astuter than any man living and anybody that conjectured the contrary
would have found themselves pretty speedily in the wrong shop. During the
past four minutes or thereabouts he had been staring hard at a certain amount
of number one Bass bottled by Messrs Bass and Co at Burton-on-Trent which
happened to be situated amongst a lot of others right opposite to where he
was and which was certainly calculated to attract anyone’s remark on account
of its scarlet appearance. He was simply and solely, as it subsequently transpired
for reasons best known to himself which put quite an altogether different
complexion on the proceedings, after the moment before’s observations about
boyhood days and the turf, recollecting two or three private transactions of his
own which the other two were as mutually innocent of as the babe unborn.
Eventually, however, both their eyes met and, as soon as it began to dawn on
him that the other was endeavouring to help himself to the thing, he
involontarily determined to help him himself and so he accordingly took hold
of the mediumsized glass recipient which contained the fluid sought after and
made a capacious hole in it by pouring a lot of it out with, also at the same
time however, however, a considerable degree of attentiveness in order not to
upset any of the beer that was in it about the place.

       The debate which ensued was in its scope and progress an epitome of the
course of life. Neither place nor council was lacking in dignity. The debaters
were the keenest in the land, the theme they were engaged on the loftiest and
most vital. The high hall of Horne’s house had never beheld an assembly so
representative and so varied nor had the old rafters of that establishment ever
listened to a language so encyclopaedic. A gallant scene in truth it made.
Crotthers was there at the foot of the table in his striking Highland garb, his
face glowing from the briny airs of the Mull of Galloway. There too, opposite
to him was Lynch whose countenance bore already the stigmata of early
depravity and premature wisdom. Next the Scotchman was the place assigned
to Costello, the eccentric, while at his side was seated in stolid repose the squat
form of Madden. The chair of the resident indeed stood vacant before the hearth
but on either flank of it the figure of Bannon in explorer’s kit of tweed shorts
and salted cowhide brogues contrasted sharply with the primrose elegance and
and townbred manners of Malachi Roland St John Mulligan. Lastly at the head
of the board was the young poet who found a refuge from his labours of
pedagogy and metaphysical inquisition in the convivial atmosphere of Socratic
discussion, while to right and left of him were accommodated the flippant
prognosticator, fresh from the hippodrome, and that vigilant wanderer, soiled
by the dust of travel and combat and stained by the mire of an indelible
dishonour, but from whose steadfast and constant heart no lure or peril or threat
or degradation could ever efface the image of that voluptuous loveliness which
the inspired pencil of Lafayette has limned for ages yet to come.
       It had better be stated here and now at the outset that the perverted
transcendentalism to which Mr S. Dedalus’ (Div. Scep.) contentions would
appear to prove him pretty badly addicted runs directly counter to accepted
scientific methods. Science, it cannot be too often repeated, deals with tangible
phenomena. The man of science like the man in the street has to face hardheaded
facts that cannot be blinked and explain them as best he can. There may
be, it is true, some questions which science cannot answer at present —
such as the first problem submitted by Mr L. Bloom (Pubb. Canv.) regarding
the future determination of sex. Must we accept the view of Empedocles of
Trinacria that the right ovary (the postmenstrual period, assert others) is
responsible for the birth of males or are the too long neglected spermatozoa
or nemasperms the differentiating factors or is it, as most embryologists incline
to opine, such as Culpepper, Spallanzani, Blumenbach, Lusk, Hertwig, Leopold
and Valenti, a mixture of both. This would be tantamount to a cooperation

(one of nature’s favourite devices) between the nisus formativus of the nemasperm
on the one hand and on the other a happily chosen position, succubitus felix,
of the passive element. The other problem raised by the same inquirer is
scarcely less vital : infant mortality. It is interesting because, as he pertinently
remarks, we are all born in the same way but we all die in different ways.
Mr M. Mulligan (Hyg. et Eug. Doc.) blames the sanitary conditions in which
our greylunged citizens contract adenoids, pulmonary complaints etc. by inhaling
the bacteria which lurk in dust. These factors, he alleges, and the revolting
spectacles offered by our streets, hideous publicity posters, religious ministers of
all denominations, mutilated soldiers and sailors, exposed scorbutic cardrivers,
the suspened carcases of dead animals, paranoic bachelors and unfructified
duennas these, he said, were accountable for any and every fallingoff in the
calibre of the race. Kalipedia, he prophesied, would soon be generally adopted
and all the graces of life, genuinely good music, agreeable literature, light
philosophy, instructive pictures, plastercast reproductions of the classical statues
such as Venus and Apollo, artistic coloured photographs of prize babies, all
these little attentions would enable ladies who were in a particular condition
to pass the intervening months in a most enjoyable manner. Mr J. Crotthers
(Disc. Bacc.) attributes some of these demises to abdominal trauma in the case
of women workers subjected to heavy labours in the workshop and to marital
discipline in the home but by far the vast majority to neglect, private or
official, culminating in the exposure of newborn infants, the practice of
criminal abortion or in the atrocious crime of infanticide. Although the
former (we are thinking of neglect) is undoubtedly only too true the case
he cites of nurses forgetting to count the sponges in the peritoneal cavity is
too rare to be normative. In fact when one comes to look into it the wonder
is that so many pregnancies and deliveries go off so well as they do, all
things considered and in spite of our human shortcomings which often
balk nature in her intentions. An ingenious suggestion is that thrown out
by Mr V. Lynch (Bacc. Arith.) that both natality and mortality, as well
as all other phenomena of evolution, tidal movements, lunar phases, blood
temperatures, diseases in general, everything, in fine, in nature’s vast workshop
from the extinction of some remote sun to the blossoming of one of the countless
flowers which beautify our public parks is subject to a law of numeration as
yet unascertained. Still the plain straightforward question why a child of
normally healthy parents and seemingly a healthy child and properly looked
after succumbs unaccountably in early childhood (though other children of the

same marriage do not) must certainly in the poet’s words, give us pause.
Nature, we may rest assured, has her own good and cogent reasons for whatever
she does and in all probability such deaths are due to some law of anticipation
by which organisms in which morbous germs have taken up their residence
(modern science has conclusively shown that only the plasmic substance can
be said to be immortal) tend to disappear at an increasingly earlier stage of
development, an arrangement, which, though productive of pain to some of
our feelings (notably the maternal) is nevertheless, some of us think, in the long
run beneficial to the race in general in securing thereby the survival of the fittest.
Mr S. Dedalus’ (Div. Scep.) remark (or should it be called an interruption?) that
an omnivorous being which can masticate, deglute, digest and apparently pass
through the ordinary channel with pluterperfect imperturbability such
multifarious aliments as cancrenous femoules emaciated by parturition, corpulent
professional gentlemen, not to speak of jaundiced politicians and chlorotic nuns
might possibly find gastric relief in an innocent collation of staggering bob, reveals
as nought else could and in a very unsavoury light the tendency above alluded to.
For the enlightenment of those who are not so intimately acquainted with the
minutiae of the municipal abattoir as this morbidminded esthete and embryo
philosopher who for all his overweening bumptiousness in things scientific
can scarcely distinguish an acid from an alkali prides himself on being, it should
perhaps be stated that staggering bob in the vile parlance of our lower class
licensed victuallers signifies the cookable and eatable flesh of a calf newly
dropped from its mother. In a recent public controversy with Mr L. Bloom
(Pubb. Canv.) which took place in the commons’ hall of the National Maternity
Hospital, 29, 30 and 31 Holles street, of which, as is well known, Dr A. Horne
(Lic. in Mdw., F. K. Q. C. P. I.) is the able and popular master, he is reported
by eyewitnesses as having stated that once a woman has let the cat into the
bag (an esthetic allusion, presumably, to one of the most complicated and
marvellous of all nature’s processes, the act of sexual congress) she must let it
out again or give it life, as he phrased it, to save her own. At the risk of her
own was the telling rejoinder of his interlocutor none the less effective for the
moderate and measured tone in which it was delivered.
       Meanwhile the skill and patience of the physician had brought about a
happy accouchement. It had been a weary weary while both for patient and
doctor. All that surgical skill could do was done and the brave woman had
manfully helped. She had. She had fought the good fight and now she was
very very happy. Those who have passed on, who have gone before, are happy

too as they gaze down and smile upon the touching scene. Reverently look at
her as she reclines there with the motherlight in her eyes, that longing hunger
for baby fingers (a pretty sight it is to see), in the first bloom of her new
motherhood, breathing a silent prayer of thanksgiving to One above, the
Universal Husband. And as her loving eyes behold her babe she wishes only
one blessing more, to have her dear Doady there with her to share her joy, to
lay in his arms that mite of God’s clay, the fruit of their lawful embraces. He is
older now (you and I may whisper it) and a trifle stooped in the shoulders yet
in the whirligig of years a grave dignity has come to the conscientious second
accountant of the Ulster bank, College Green branch. O Doady, loved one of
old, faithful lifemate now, it may never be again, that faroff time of the roses!
With the old shake of her pretty head she recalls those days. God, how
beautiful now across the mist of years! But their children are grouped in her
imagination about the bedside, hers and his, Charley, Mary Alice, Frederick
Albert (if he had lived), Mamy, Budgy (Victoria Frances), Tom, Violet
Constance Louisa, darling little Bobsy (called after our famous hero of the
South African war, lord Bobs of Waterford and Candahar) and now this last
pledge of their union, a Purefoy if ever there was one, with the true Purefoy
nose. Young hopeful will be christened Mortimer Edward after the influential
third cousin of Mr Purefoy in the Treasury Remembrancer’s office, Dublin
Castle. And so time wags on : but father Cronion has dealt lightly here. No,
let no sigh break from that bosom, dear gentle Mina. And Doady, knock the
ashes from your pipe, the seasoned briar you still fancy when the curfew rings
for you (may it be the distant day!) and dout the light whereby you read in the
Sacred Book for the oil too has run low and so with a tranquil heart to bed, to
rest. He knows and will call in His own good time. You too have fought the
good fight and played loyally your man’s part. Sir, to you my hand. Well
done, thou good and faithful servant!
       There are sins or (let us call them as the world calls them) evil memories
which are hidden away by man in the darkest places of the heart but they abide
there and wait. He may suffer their memory to grow dim, let them be as
though they had not been and all but persuade himself that they were not or at
least were otherwise. Yet a chance word will call them forth suddenly and they
will rise up to confront him in the most various circumstances, a vision or a
dream, or while timbrel and harp soothe his senses or amid the cool silver
tranquillity of the evening or at the feast at midnight when he is now filled
with wine. Not to insult over him will the vision come as over one that lies

under her wrath, not for vengeance to cut him off from the living but
shrouded in the piteous vesture of the past, silent, remote, reproachful.
       The stranger still regarded on the face before him a slow recession of that
false calm there, imposed, as it seemed, by habit or some studied trick, upon
words so embittered as to accuse in their speaker an unhealthiness, a flair, for
the cruder things of life. A scene disengages itself in the observer’s memory,
evoked, it would seem, by a word of so natural a homeliness as if those days
were really present there (as some thought) with their immediate pleasures.
A shaven space of lawn one soft May evening, the wellremembered grove of
lilacs at Roundtown, purple and white, fragrant slender spectators of the game
but with much real interest in the pellets as they run slowly forward over the
sward or collide and stop, one by its fellow, with a brief alert shock. And
yonder about that grey urn where the water moves at times in thoughtful
irrigation you saw another as fragrant sisterhood, Floey, Atty, Tiny and their
darker friend with I know not what of arresting in her pose then, Our Lady of
the Cherries, a comely brace of them pendent from an ear, bringing out the
foreign warmth of the skin so daintily against the cool ardent fruit. A lad of
four or five in linseywoolsey (blossomtime but there will be cheer in the
kindly hearth when ere long the bowls are gathered and hutched) is standing
on the urn secured by that circle of girlish fond hands. He frowns a little just
as this young man does now with a perhaps too conscious enjoyment of danger
but must needs glance at whiles towards where his mother watches from the
piazzetta giving upon the flowerclose with a faint shadow of remoteness or of
reproach (alles vergängliche) in her glad look.
       Mark this farther and remember. The end comes suddenly. Enter that
antechamber of birth where the studious are assembled and note their faces.
Nothing, as it seems, there of rash or violent. Quietude of custody rather,
befitting their station in that house, the vigilant watch of shepherds and of
angels about a crib in Bethlehem of Juda long ago. But as before the lightning
the serried stormclouds, heavy with preponderant excess of moisture, in
swollen masses turgidly distended, compass earth and sky in one vast slumber,
impending above parched field and drowsy oxen and blighted growth of
shrub and verdure till in an instant a flash rives their centres and with the
reverberation of the thunder the cloudburst pours its torrent, so and not
otherwise was the transformation, violent and instantaneous, upon the
utterance of the Word.
       Burke’s! Outflings my lord Stephen, giving the cry, and a tag and bobtail

of all them after, cockerel, jackanapes, welsher, pilldoctor, punctual Bloom at
heels with a universal grabbing at headgear, ashplants, bilbos, Panama hats and
scabbards, Zermatt alpenstocks and what not. A dedale of lusty youth, noble
every student there. Nurse Callan taken aback in the hallway cannot stay them
nor smiling surgeon coming downstairs with news of placentation ended, a full
pound if a milligramme. They hark him on. The door! It is open? Ha? They
are out tumultuously, off for a minute’s race, all bravely legging it, Burke’s of
Denzille and Holles their ulterior goal. Dixon follows, giving them sharp
language but raps out an oath, he too, and on. Bloom stays with nurse a
thought to send a kind word to happy mother and nurseling up there.
Doctor Diet and Doctor Quiet. Looks she too not other now? Ward of
watching in Horne’s house has told its tale in that washedout pallor. Them all
being gone, a glance of motherwit helping, he whispers close in going :
Madam, when comes the storkbird for thee?
       The air without is impregnated with raindew moisture, life essence
celestial, glistering on Dublin stone there under starshiny coelum. God’s air,
the Allfather’s air, scintillant circumambient cessile air. Breathe it deep into thee.
By heaven, Theodore Purefoy, thou hast done a doughty deed and no botch!
Thou art, I vow, the remarkablest progenitor barring none in this chaffering
allincluding most farraginous chronicle. Astounding! In her lay a Godframed
Godgiven preformed possibility which thou hast fructified with thy modicum of
man’s work. Cleave to her! Serve! Toil on, labour like a very bandog and let
scholarment and all Malthusiasts go hang. Thou art all their daddies, Theodore.
Art drooping under thy load, bemoiled with butcher’s bills at home and ingots
(not thine!) in the countinghouse? Head up! For every newbegotten thou
shalt gather thy homer of ripe wheat. See, thy fleece is drenched. Dost envy
Darby Dullman there with his Joan? A canting jay and a rheumeyed curdog
is all their progeny. Pshaw, I tell thee! He is a mule, a dead gasteropod,
without vim or stamina, not worth a cracked kreutzer. Copulation without
population! No, say I! Herod’s slaughter of the innocents were the truer name.
Vegetables, forsooth, and sterile cohabitation! Give her beefsteaks, red, raw,
bleeding! She is a hoary pandemonium of ills, enlarged glands, mumps,
quinsy, bunions, hayfever, bedsores, ringworm, floating kidney, Derbyshire
neck, warts, bilious attacks, gallstones, cold feet, varicose veins. A truce to
threnes and trentals and jeremies and all such congenital defunctive music.
Twenty years of it, regret them not. With thee it was not as with many that
will and would and wait and never do. Thou sawest thy America, thy lifetask,

and didst charge to cover like the transpontine bison. How saith Zarathusthra?
Deine Kuh Truebsal melkest Du. Nun trinkst Du die suesse Milch des Euters. See!
It displodes for thee in abundance. Drink, man, an udderful! Mother’s milk,
Purefoy, the milk of human kin, milk too of those burgeoning stars overhead,
rutilant in thin rainvapour, punch milk, such as those rioters will quaff in
their guzzlingden, milk of madness, the honeymilk of Canaan’s land. Thy
cow’s dug was tough, what? Ay, but her milk is hot and sweet and fattening.
No dollop this but thick rich bonnyclaber. To her, old patriarch! Pap! Per deam
Partulam et Pertundam nunc est bibendum!
       All off for a buster, armstrong, hollering down the street. Bonafides.
Where you slep las nigh? Timothy of the battered naggin. Like ole Billyo.
Any brollies or gumboots in the fambly? Where the Henry Nevil’s sawbones
and ole clo? Sorra one o me knows. Hurrah there, Dix! Forward the ribbon
counter. Where’s Punch? All serene. Jay, look at the drunken minister coming
out of the maternity hospal? Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater et Filius.
A make, mister. The Denzille lane boys. Hell, blast ye! Scoot. Righto,
Isaacs, shove em out of the bleeding limelight. Yous join uz, dear sir? No
hentrusion in life. Lou heap good man. Allee samee this bunch. En avant, mes
enfants! Fire away number one on the gun. Burke’s! Thence they advanced
five parasangs. Slattery’s mounted foot where’s that bleeding awfur? Parson
Steve, apostates’ creed! No, no. Mulligan! Abaft there! Shove ahead. Keep a
watch on the clock. Chuckingout time. Mullee! What’s on you? Ma mère m’a
mariée. British Beatitudes! Retamplan Digidi Boum Boum. Ayes have it. To be
printed and bound at the Druiddrum press by two designing females. Calf
covers of pissedon green. Last word in art shades. Most beautiful book come
out of Ireland my time. Silentium! Get a spurt on. Tention. Proceed to nearest
canteen and there annex liquor stores. March! Tramp, tramp the boys
are (atitudes!) parching. Beer, beef, business, bibles, bulldogs, battleships,
buggery and bishops. Whether on the scaffold high. Beerbeef trample the
bibles. When for Irelandear. Trample the trampellers. Thunderation! Keep
the durned millingtary step. We fall. Bishops boosebox. Halt! Heave to. Rugger.
Scrum in. No touch kicking. Wow, my tootsies! You hurt? Most amazingly
sorry!
       Query. Who’s astanding this here do? Proud possessor of damnall.
Declare misery. Bet to the ropes. Me nantee saltee. Not a red at me this week
gone. Yours? Mead of our fathers for the Uebermensch. Dittoh. Five number
ones. You, sir? Ginger cordial. Chase me, the cabby’s candle. Stimulate the

caloric. Winding of his ticker. Stopped short never to go again when the old.
Absinthe for me, savvy? Caramba! Have an eggnog or a prairie oyster. Enemy?
Avuncular’s got my timepiece. Ten to. Obligated awful. Don’t mention it.
Got a pectoral trauma, eh, Dix? Pos fact. Got bet be a boomblebee whenever
he wus settin sleepin in hes bit garten. Digs up near the Mater. Buckled he is.
Know his dona? Yup, sartin, I do. Full of a dure. See her in her dishybilly.
Peels off a credit. Lovey lovekin. None of your lean kine, not much. Pull down
the blind, love. Two Ardilauns. Same here. Look slippery. If you fall don’t wait
to get up. Five, seven, nine. Fine! Got a prime pair of mincepies, no kid. And
her take me to rests and her anker of rum. Must be seen to be believed. Your
starving eyes and allbeplastered neck you stole my heart, O gluepot. Sir? Spud
again the rheumatiz? All poppycock, you’ll scuse me saying. For the hoi
polloi. I vear thee best a gert wool. Well, doc? Back fro Lapland? Your
corporosity sagaciating O K? How’s the squaws and papooses? Womanbody
after going on the straw? Stand and deliver. Password. There’s hair. Ours
the white death and the ruddy birth. Hi! Spit in your own eye, boss.
Mummer’s wire. Cribbed out of Meredith. Jesified orchidised polycimical jesuit!
Aunty mine’s writing Pa Kinch. Baddybad Stephen lead astray goodygood
Malachi.
       Hurroo! Collar the leather, youngun. Roun wi the nappy. Here, Jock
braw Hielentman’s your barleybree. Lang may your lum reek and your kailpot
boil! My tipple. Merci. Here’s to us. How’s that? Leg before wicket. Don’t
stain my brandnew sitinems. Give’s a shake of pepper, you there. Catch
aholt. Caraway seed to carry away. Twig? Shrieks of silence. Every cove to
his gentry mort. Venus Pandemos. Les petites femmes. Bold bad girl from the
town of Mullingar. Tell her I was axing at her. Hauding Sara by the wame.
On the road to Malahide. Me? If she who seduced me had left but the name.
What do you want for ninepence. Machree, Macruiskeen. Smutty Moll for a
mattress jig. And a pull altogether. Ex!
       Waiting, guvnor? Most deciduously. Bet your boots on. Stunned like
seeing as how no shiners is acoming, Underconstumble? He’ve got the chink
ad lib. Seed near free poun on un a spell ago a said war hisn. Us come
right in on your invite, see? Up to you, matey. Out with the oof. Two bar
and a wing. You larn that go off of they there Frenchy bilks? Won’t wash
here for nuts nohow. Lil chile velly solly. Ise de cutest colour coon down our
side. Gawds teruth, Chawley. We are nae fou. We’re nae the fou. Au reservoir,
Mossoo. Tanks you.

       ’Tis, sure. What say? In the speakeasy. Tight. I shee you, shir. Bantam,
two days teetee. Bowsing nowt but claretwine. Garn! Have a glint, do. Gum,
I’m jiggered. And been to barber he have. Too full for words. With a railway
bloke. How come you so? Opera he’d like? Rose of Castile. Rows of cast.
Police! Some H2O for a gent fainted. Look at Bantam’s flowers. Gemini, he’s
going to holler. The colleen bawn, my colleen bawn. O, cheese it! Shut his
blurry Dutch oven with a firm hand. Had the winner today till I tipped him a
dead cert. The ruffin cly the nab of Stephen Hand as give me the jady coppaleen.
He strike a telegramboy paddock wire big bug Bass to the depot. Shove him a
joey and grahamise. Mare on form hot order. Guinea to a goosegog. Tell a
cram, that. Gospeltrue. Criminal diversion? I think that yes. Sure thing. Land
him in chokeechokee if the harman beck copped the game. Madden back
Madden’s a maddening back. O, lust, our refuge and our strength. Decamping.
Must you go? Off to mammy. Stand by. Hide my blushes someone. All in if
he spots me. Comeahome, our Bantam. Horryvar, mong vioo. Dinna forget
the cowslips for hersel. Cornfide. Wha gev ye thon colt? Pal to pal. Jannock.
Of John Thomas, her spouse. No fake, old man Leo. S’elp me, honest injun.
Shiver my timbers if I had. There’s a great big holy friar. Vyfor you no me
tell? Vel, I ses, if that aint a sheeny nachez, vel, I vil get misha mishinnah.
Through yerd our lord, Amen.
       You move a motion? Steve boy, you’re going it some. More bluggy
drunkables? Will immensely splendiferous stander permit one stooder of most
extreme poverty and one largesize grandacious thirst to terminate one expensive
inaugurated libation? Give’s a breather. Landlord, landlord, have you good wine,
staboo? Hoots, mon, wee drap to pree. Cut and some again. Right Boniface!
Absinthe the lot. Nos omnes biberimus viridum toxicum diabolus capiat posterioria
nostria Closingtime, gents. Eh? Rome boose for the Bloom toff. I hear you say
onions? Bloo? Cadges ads? Photo’s papli, by all that’s gorgeous! Play low,
pardner. Slide. Bonsoir la compagnie. And snares of the poxfiend. Where’s the
buck and Namby Amby? Skunked? Leg bail. Aweel, ye maun e’en gang yer
gates. Checkmate. King to tower. Kind Kristyann will yu help, yung man
hoose frend tuk bungalo kee to find plais whear to lay crown off his hed 2 night.
Crickey, I’m about sprung. Tarnally dog gone my shins if this beent the bestest
putties longbreak yet. Item, curate, couple of cookies for this child. Cot’s
plood and prandypalls, none! Not a pite of sheeses? Thrust syphilis down to
hell and with him those other licensed spirits. Time. Who wander through the
world. Health all. A la vôtre!

       Golly, whatten tunket’s you guy in the mackintosh? Dusty Rhodes. Peep
at his wearables. By mighty! What’s he got? Jubilee mutton. Bovril, by James.
Wants it real bad. D’ye ken bare socks? Seedy cuss in the Richmond?
Rawthere! Thought he had a deposit of lead in his penis. Trumpery insanity.
Bartle the Bread we calls him. That, sir, was once a prosperous cit. Man all
tattered and torn that married a maiden all forlorn. Slung her hook, she did.
Here see lost love. Walking Mackintosh of lonely canyon. Tuck and turn in.
Schedule time. Nix for the hornies. Pardon? See him today at a runefal?
Chum o yourn passed in his checks? Ludamassy! Pore piccanninies! Thou’ll
no be telling me thot, Pold veg! Did ums blubble bigsplash crytears cos frien
Padney was took off in black bag? Of all de darkies Massa Pat was verra best.
I never see the like since I was born. Tiens, tiens, but it is well sad, that, my
faith, yes. O get, rev on a gradient one in nine. Live axle drives are souped.
Lay you two to one Jenatzy licks him ruddy well hollow. Jappies? High angle
fire, inyah! Sunk by war specials. Be worse for him, says he, nor any
Rooshian. Time all. There’s eleven of them. Get ye gone. Forward, woozy
wobblers! Night. Night. May Allah, the Excellent One, your soul this night
ever tremendously conserve.
       Your attention! We’re nae the fou. The Leith police dismisseth us. The
least tholice. Ware hawks for the chap puking. Unwell in his abominable
regions. Yooka. Night. Mona, my thrue love. Yook. Mona, my own love.
Ook.
       Hark! Shut your obstropolos. Pflaap! Pflaap! Blase on. There she goes.
Brigade! Bout ship. Mount street way. Cut up. Pflaap! Tally ho. You not
come? Run, skelter, race. Pflaaaap!
       Lynch! Hey? Sign on long o me. Denzille lane this way. Change here for
Bawdyhouse. We two, she said, will seek the kips there shady Mary is. Righto,
any old time. Laetabuntur in cubilibus suis. You coming long? Whisper, who
the sooty hell’s the johnny in the black duds? Hush! Sinned against the light
and even now that day is at hand when he shall come to judge the world by
fire. Pflaap! Ut implerentur scripturae. Strike up a ballad. Then outspake
medical Dick to his comrade medical Davy. Christicle, who’s this excrement
yellow gospeller on the Merrion hall? Elijah is coming. Washed in the Blood
of the Lamb. Come on, you winefizzling ginsizzling booseguzzling existences!
Come on, you dog-gone, bullnecked, beetlebrowed, hogjowled, peanutbrained,
weaseleyed fourflushers, false alarms and excess baggage! Come on, you triple
extract of infamy! Alexander J. Christ Dowie, that’s yanked to glory most

half this planet from ’Frisco Beach to Vladivostok. The Deity aint no nickel
dime bumshow. I put it to you that he’s on the square and a corking fine
business proposition. He’s the grandest thing yet and don’t you forget it. Shout
salvation in King Jesus. You’ll need to rise precious early, you sinner there,
if you want to diddle the Almighty God. Pflaaaap! Not half. He’s got a
coughmixture with a punch in it for you, my friend, in his backpocket. Just
you try it on.