In the Heart of the Hibernian Metropolis
BEFORE NELSON'S PILLAR TRAILS SLOWED, SHUNTED, CHANGED TROLLEY¹, started for Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Clonskea, Rathgar and Terenure, Palmerston park and upper Rathmines, Sandymount Green, Rathmines, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Harold's Cross. The hoarse³ Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled⁴ them off:
-- Rathgar and Terenure!

-- Come on, Sandymount Green!

Right and left parallel clanging ringing a doubledecker and a singledeck moved from their railheads, swerved⁵ to the down line, glided⁶ parallel.

-- Start, Palmerston park!

The Wearer of the Crown
Under the porch of the general post office shoeblacks called and polished. Parked in North Prince's street His Majesty's vermilion mailcars, bearing on their sides the royal initials, E. R., received loudly flung sacks of letters, postcards, lettercards, parcels, insured and paid, for local, provincial⁷, British and overseas delivery.
Gentlemen of the Press
Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery⁸ float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.
-- There it is Red Murray said. Alexander Keyes.

-- Just cut it out, will you? Mr Bloom said, and I'll take it round to the Telegraph office.

The-door of Ruttledge's office creaked again. Davy Stephens, minute in a large capecoat, a small felt hat crowning his ringlets, passed out with a roll of papers under his cape⁹, a king's courier.

Red Murray's long shears¹⁰ sliced out the advertisement from the newspaper in four clean strokes. Scissors and paste.

-- I'll go through the printing works, Mr Bloom said, taking the cut square.

-- Of course, if he wants a par², Red Murray said earnestly, a pen behind his ear, we can do him one.

-- Right, Mr Bloom said with a nod. I'll rub that in. We.

William Brayden, Esquire, of Oaklands, Sandymount
Red Murray touched Mr Bloom's arm with the shears and whispered:
-- Brayden.

Mr Bloom turned and saw the liveried porter raise his lettered cap as a stately figure entered between the newsboards of the Weekly Freeman and National Press and the Freeman's Journal and National Press. Dullthudding Guinness's barrels. It passed stately up the staircase steered¹² by an umbrella, a solemn beardframed face. The broadcloth back ascended¹³ each step: back. All his brains are in the nape of his neck, Simon Dedalus says. Welts of flesh behind on him. Fat folds of neck, fat, neck, fat, neck.

-- Don't you think his face is like Our Saviour¹⁴? Red Murray whispered.

The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: ee: cree. They always build one door opposite another for the wind to. Way in. Way out.

Our Saviour: beardframed oval face: talking in the dusk Mary, Martha. Steered by an umbrella sword to the footlights: Mario the tenor¹⁵.

-- Or like Mario, Mr Bloom said.

-- Yes, Red Murray agreed. But Mario was said to be the picture of Our Saviour.

Jesus Mario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. Hand on his heart. In Martha.

Co-ome thou lost one,
Co-ome thou dear one.
The Crozier and the Pen
-- His grace phoned down twice this morning, Red Murray said gravely.
They watched the knees, legs, boots vanish. Neck.

A telegram boy stepped in nimbly, threw an envelope on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a word.

-- Freeman!

Mr Bloom said slowly:

-- Well, he is one of our saviours¹⁶ also.

A meek¹⁷ smile accompanied him as he lifted the counterflap, as he passed in through the sidedoor and along the warm dark stairs and passage, along the now reverberating¹⁸ boards. But will he save the circulation? Thumping²⁰, thumping.

He pushed in the glass swingdoor and entered, stepping over strewn packing paper. Through a lane of clanking drums he made his way towards Nannetti's reading closet.

With Unfeigned Regret it is we announce the of a most respected Dublin Burgess
Hynes here too: account of the funeral probably. Thumping thump¹⁹. This morning the remains²¹ of the late Mr Patrick Dignam. Machines. Smash a man to atoms if they got him caught. Rule the world today. His machineries are pegging²² away too. Like these, got out of hand: fermenting²³. Working away, tearing away. And that old grey rat tearing to get in.
How a Great Daily Organ is turned out
Mr Bloom halted behind the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy²⁴ crown.
Strange he never saw his real country. Ireland my country. Member for College green. He boomed that workaday worker tack²⁵ for all it was worth. It's the ads ad side features sell a weekly not the stale news in the official gazette. Queen Anne is dead. Published by authority in the year one thousand and. Demesne²⁶ situate in the townland of Rosenallis, barony of Tinnachinch. To all whom it may concern schedule pursuant to statute²⁸ showing return of number of mules²⁹ and jennets exported from Ballina. Nature notes. Cartoons. Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story. Uncle' Toby's page for tiny tots. Country bumpkin's queries³⁰. Dear Mr Editor, what is a good cure for flatulence? I'd like that part. Learn a lot teaching others. The personal note M.A. P. Mainly all pictures. Shapely bathers on golden strand³¹. World's biggest balloon. Double marriage of sisters celebrated³². Two bridegrooms laughing heartily³³ at each other. Cuprani too, printer. More Irish than the Irish.

The machines clanked in threefour time. Thump, thump, thurap. Now if he got paralysed there and no one knew how to stop them they'd clank on and on the same, print it over and over and up and back. Monkeydoodle the whole thing. Want a cool head.

-- Well, get it into the evening edition, councillor, Hynes said.

Soon be calling him my lord mayor. Long John is backing him they say.

The foreman, without answering, scribbled³⁴ press on a corner of the sheet and made a sign to a typesetter. He handed the sheet silently over the dirty glass screen.

-- Right: thanks, Hynes said moving off.

Mr Bloom stood in his way.

-- If you want to draw the cashier is just going to lunch, he said, pointing backward with his thumb.

-- Did you? Hynes asked.

-- Mm, Mr Bloom said. Look sharp and you'll catch him.

-- Thanks, old man, Hynes said. I'll tap him too.

He hurried on eagerly towards the Freeman's Journal.

Three bob I lent him in Meagher's. Three weeks. Third hint.

We see the Canvasser³⁷ at work
Mr Bloom laid his cutting on Mr Nannetti's desk.
-- Excuse me, councillor, he said. This ad, you see. Keyes, you remember.

Mr Nannetti considered the cutting a while and nodded.

-- He wants it in for July, Mr Bloom said.

He doesn't hear it. Nannan. Iron nerves.

The foreman moved his pencil towards it.

-- But wait, Mr Bloom said. He wants it changed. Keyes, you see. He wants two keys at the top.

Hell of a racket they make. Maybe he understands what I.

The foreman turned round to hear patiently and, lifting an elbow, began to scratch slowly in the armpit of his alpaca jacket.

-- Like that, Mr Bloom said, crossing his forefingers³⁹ at the top.

Let him take that in first.

Mr Bloom, glancing sideways up from the cross he had made, saw the foreman's sallow face, think he has a touch of jaundice, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. Clank it. Clank it. Miles of it unreeled. What becomes of it after? O, wrap up meat, parcels: various uses, thousand and one things.

Slipping his words deftly⁴⁰ into the pauses of the clanking he drew swiftly on the scarred-woodwork.

House of Key(e)s
-- Like that, see. Two crossed keys here. A circle. Then here the name Alexander Keyes, tea, wine and spirit merchant. So on.
Better not teach him his own business.

-- You know yourself, councillor, just what he wants. Then round the top in leaded: the house of keys. You see? Do you think that's a good idea?

The foreman moved his scratching hand to his lower ribs⁴¹ and scratched there quietly.

-- The idea, Mr Bloom said, is the house of keys. You know, councillor, the Manx parliament. Innuendo⁴² of home rule. Tourists, you know, from the isle⁴³ of Man. Catches the eye, you see. Can you do that?

I could ask him perhaps about how to pronounce that voglio. But then if he didn't know only make it awkward for him. Better not.

-- We can do that, the foreman said. Have you the design?

-- I can get it, Mr Bloom said. It was in a Kilkenny paper. He has a house there too. I'll just run out and ask him. Well, you can do that and just a little par calling attention. You know the usual. High class licensed⁴⁴ premises⁴⁵. Longfelt want. So on.

The foreman thought for an instant.

-- We can do that, he said. Let him give us a three months' renewal⁴⁶.

A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage. He began to check it silently. Mr Bloom stood by, hearing the loud throbs⁴⁷ of cranks, watching the silent typesetters at their cases.

Orthographical
Want to be sure of his spelling. Proof fever. Martin Cunningham forgot to give us his spellingbee conundrum⁴⁸ this morning. It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it? double ess ment of a harassed⁴⁹ pedlar while gauging⁵⁰ au the symmetry of a peeled pear under a cemetery⁵¹ wall. Silly, isn't it? Cemetery put in of course on account of the symmetry.
I could have said when he clapped on his topper. Thank you. I ought to have said something about an old hat or something. No, I could have said. Looks as good as new now. See his phizthen.

Sllt. The nethermost⁵² deck of the first machine jogged forwards its flyboard with slit⁵³ the first batch⁵⁴ of quirefolded papers. Sllt. Almost human the way it sllt to call attention. Doing its level best to speak. That door too slit creaking, asking to be shut. Everything speaks in its own way. Sllt.

Noted⁵⁵ Churchman an Occasional Contributor
The foreman handed back the galleypage suddenly, saying:
-- Wait. Where's the archbishop's letter? It's to be repeated in the Telegraph. Where's what's his name?

He looked about him round his loud unanswering machines.

-- Monks⁵⁷, sir? a voice asked from the castingbox.

-- Ay. Where's Monks?

-- Monks!

Mr Bloom took up his cutting. Time to get out.

-- Then I'll get the design, Mr Nannetti, he said, and you'll give it a good place I know.

-- Monks!

-- Yes, sir.

Three months' renewal. Want to get some wind off my chest first. Try it anyhow. Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month. Ballsbridge. Tourists over for the show.

A Dayfather
He walked on through the caseroom, passing an old man, bowed, spectacled, aproned. Old Monks, the dayfather. Queer lot of stuff he must have put through his hands in his time: obituary⁵⁸ notices, pubs' ads, speeches, divorce suits, found drowned. Nearing the end of his tether now. Sober serious man with a bit in the savings-bank I'd say. Wife a good cook and washer. Daughter working the machine in the parlour. Plain Jane, no damn nonsense.
And it was the Feast of the Passover
He stayed in his walk to watch a typesetter neatly⁵⁹ distributing type. Reads it backwards⁶⁰ first. Quickly he does it. Must require some practice that. mangiD. kcirtaP. Poor papa with his hagadah book, reading backwards with his finger to me. Pessach. Next year in Jerusalem. Dear, O dear! All that long business about that brought us out of the land of Egypt and into the house of bondage⁶¹ alleluia. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu. No, that's the other. Then the twelve brothers, Jacob's sons. And then the lamb and the cat and the dog and the stick and the water and the butcher and then the angel of death kills the butcher and he kills the ox and the dog kills the cat. Sounds a bit silly till you come to look into it well. Justice it means but it's everybody eating everyone else. That's what life is after all. How quickly he does that job. Practice makes perfect. Seems to see with his fingers.
Mr Bloom passed on out of the clanking noises through the gallery on to the landing. Now am I going to tram it out all the way and then catch him out perhaps? Better phone him up first. Number? Same as Citron's house. Twentyeight. Twentyeight double four.

Only once more that soap
He went down the house staircase. Who the deuce scrawled⁶² all over these walls with matches? Looks as if they did it for a bet. Heavy greasy⁶³ smell there always is in those works. Lukewarm glue in Thom's next door when I was there.
He took out his handkerchief to dab⁶⁴ his nose. Citronlemon? Ah, the soap I put there. Lose it out of that pocket. Putting back his handkerchief he took out the soap and stowed it away, buttoned into the hip⁶⁶ pocket of his trousers.

What perfume does your wife use? I could go home still: tram: something I forgot. Just to see before dressing⁶⁷. No. Here. No.

A sudden screech⁶⁸ of laughter came from the Evening Telegraph office. Know who that is. What's up? Pop in a minute to phone. Ned Lambert it is.

He entered softly.

Erin, Green Gem⁶⁹ of the Silver Sea
-- The ghost walks, professor Macllugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the dusty windowpane.
Mr Dedalus, staring from the empty fireplace at Ned Lambert's quizzing face, asked of it sourly:

-- Agonising Christ, wouldn't it give you a heartburn on your arse?

Ned Lambert, seated on the table, read on:

-- Or again, note the meanderings of some purling rill as it babbles⁷¹ on its way, fanned by gentlest zephyrs⁷² tho' quarrelling with the stony⁷³ obstacles, to the tumbling waters of Neptune's blue domain⁷⁴, mid⁷⁵ mossy banks, played on by the glorious sunlight or 'neath the shadows cast o'er its pensive⁷⁶ bosom⁷⁷ by the overarching leafage of the giants of the forest. What about that, Simon? he asked over the fringe of his newspaper. How's that for high?

-- Changing his drink, Mr Dedalus said.

Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper on his knees, repeating:

-- The pensive bosom and the overarsing leafage. O boys! O boys!

-- And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Dedalus said, looking again on the fireplace and to the window, and Marathon looked on the sea.

-- That will do, professor MacHugh cried from the window. I don't want to hear any more of the stuff.

He ate off the crescent of water biscuit he had been nibbling⁷⁸ and, hungered, made ready to nibble⁷⁹ the biscuit in his other hand.

High falutin stuff. Bladderbags. Ned Lambert is taking a day off I see. Rather upsets a man's day a funeral does. He has influence they say. Old Chatterton, the vice-chancellor, is his granduncle or his greatgranduncle. Close on ninety they say. Subleader for his death written this long time perhaps. Living to spite them. Might go first himself. Johnny, make room for your uncle. The right honourable⁸⁰ Hedges Eyre Chatterton. Daresay he writes him an odd shaky cheque or two on gale⁸¹ days. Windfall when he kicks out. Alleluia.

-- Just another spasm⁸², Ned Lambert said.

-- What is it? Mr Bloom asked.

-- A recently discovered fragment of Cicero's, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone. Our lovely land.

Short but to the Point
-- Whose land? Mr Bloom said simply.
-- Most pertinent⁸³ question, the professor said between his chews. With an accent on the whose.

-- Dan Dawson's land, Mr Dedalus said.

-- Is it his speech last night? Mr Bloom asked.

Ned Lambert nodded.

-- But listen to this, he said.

The doorknob hit Mr Bloom in the small of the back as the door was pushed in.

-- Excuse me, J.J. O'Molloy said, entering.

Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside.

-- I beg yours, he said.

-- Good day, Jack³⁸.

-- Come in. Come in.

-- Good day.

-- How are you, Dedalus?

-- Well. And yourself?

J.J. O'Molloy shook his head.

Sad
Cleverest fellow at the junior bar he used to be. Decline poor chap. That hectic⁸⁴ flush spells finis for a man. Touch and go with him. What's in the wind, I wonder. Money worry.
-- Or again if we but climb the serried⁸⁵ mountain peaks.

-- You're looking extra.

-- Is the editor to be seen? J.J. O'Molloy asked, looking towards the inner door.

-- Very much so, professor MacHugh said. To be seen and heard. He's in his sanctum with Lenehan.

J.J. O'Molloy strolled Jo the sloping desk and began to turn back the pink pages of the file.

Practice dwindling⁸⁶. A mighthavebeen. Losing heart. Gambling⁸⁷. Debts of honour. Reaping the whirlwind. Used to get good retainers from D. and T. Fitzgerald. Their wigs⁸⁸ to show their grey matter. Brains on their sleeve like the statue in Glasnevin. Believe he does some literary work for the Express with Gabriel Conroy. Wellread fellow. Myles Crawford began on the Independent. Funny the way those newspaper men veer⁸⁹ about when they get wind of a new opening. Weathercocks. Hot and cold in the same breath. Wouldn't know which to believe. One story good till you hear the next. Go for one another baldheaded in the papers and then all blows over. Hailfellow well met the next moment.

-- Ah, listen to this for God's sake, Ned Lambert pleaded. Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks...

-- Bombast⁹⁰! the professor broke in testily⁹¹. Enough of the inflated⁹² windbag⁹³!

-- Peaks, Ned Lambert went on, towering high on high, to bathe our souls, as it were...

-- Bathe his lips, Mr Dedalus said. Blessed and eternal God! Yes? Is he taking anything for it?

-- As 'twere, in the peerless panorama⁹⁴ of Ireland's portfolio⁹⁵, unmatched, despite their wellpraised prototypes in other vaunted prize regions, for very beauty, of bosky grove⁹⁶ and undulating plain and luscious⁹⁷ pastureland of vernal green, steeped in the transcendent translucent⁹⁸ glow of our mild mysterious Irish twilight⁹⁹...

His Native Doric
-- The moon, professor MacHugh said. He forgot Hamlet.
-- That mantles¹⁰⁰ the vista¹⁰¹ far and wide and wait till the glowing orb¹⁰² of the moon shines forth¹⁰³ to irradiate her silver effulgence¹⁰⁴.

-- O! Mr Dedalus cried, giving vent¹⁰⁵ to a hopeless groan¹⁰⁶, shite and onions! That'll do, Ned. Life is too short.

He took off his silk hat and, blowing out impatiently his bushy moustache, welshcombed his hair with raking fingers.

Ned Lambert tossed the newspaper aside, chuckling¹⁰⁷ with delight. An instant after a hoarse bark of laughter burst over professor MacHugh's unshaven black-spectacled face.

-- Doughy¹⁰⁹ Daw! he cried.

What Wetherup said
All very fine to jeer¹¹⁰ at it now in cold print but it goes down like hot cake that stuff. He was in the bakery line too wasn't he? Why they call him Doughy Daw. Feathered his nest well anyhow. Daughter engaged to that chap in the inland revenue office with the motor. Hooked that nicely. Entertainments open house. Big blow out. Wetherup always said that. Get a grip of them by the stomach.
The inner door was opened violently and a scarlet¹¹² beaked¹¹³ face, crested¹¹⁴ by a comb of feathery hair, thrust itself in. The bold blue eyes stared about them and the harsh voice asked:

-- What is it?

-- And here comes the sham¹¹⁵ squire¹¹ himself, professor MacHugh said grandly.

-- Getououthat, you bloody¹¹⁶ old pedagogue¹¹⁷! the editor said in recognition.

-- Come, Ned, Mr Dedalus said, putting on his hat. I must get a drink after that.

-- Drink! the editor cried. No drinks served before mass.

-- Quite right too, Mr Dedalus said, going out. Come on, Ned.

Ned Lambert sidled down from the table. The editor's blue eyes roved towards Mr Bloom's face, shadowed by a smile.

-- Will you join us, Myles? Ned Lambert asked.

Memorable¹¹⁸ Battles Recalled
-- North Cork¹¹⁹ militia¹²⁰! the editor cried, striding to the mantelpiece. We won every time! North Cork and Spanish officers!
-- Where was that, Myles? Ned Lambert asked with a reflective glance at his toecaps.

-- In Ohio! the editor shouted.

-- So it was, begad, Ned Lambert agreed.

Passing out, he whispered to J.J. O'Molloy:

-- Incipient¹²¹ jigs¹²². Sad case.

-- Ohio! the editor crowed in high treble from his uplifted scarlet face. My Ohio!

-- A Perfect cretic! the professor said. Long, short and long.

O, Harp³⁶ Eolian
He took a reel of dental floss from his waistcoat pocket and, breaking off a piece, twanged it smartly between two and two of his resonant¹²³ unwashed teeth.
-- Bingbang, bangbang.

Mr Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made for the inner door.

-- Just a moment, Mr Crawford, he said. I just want to phone about an ad.

He went in.

-- What about that leader this evening? professor MacHugh asked, coming to the editor and laying a firm hand on his shoulder.

-- That'll be all right, Myles Crawford said more calmly. Never you fret¹²⁴. Hello, Jack. That's all right.

-- Good day, Myles. J.J. O'Molloy said, letting the pages he held slip limply back on the file. Is that Canada swindle case on today?

The telephone whirred inside.

-- Twenty eight... No, twenty... Double four . Yes.

Spot the Winner
Lenehan came out of the inner office with Sports tissues.
-- Who wants a dead cert for the Gold cup? he asked. Sceptre with O. Madden up.

He tossed the tissues on to the table.

Screams of newsboys barefoot in the hall rushed near and the door was flung open.

-- Hush¹²⁵, Lenehan said. I hear feetstoops.

Professor MacHugh strode across the room and seized the cringing¹²⁶ urchin¹²⁷ by the collar as the others scampered¹²⁸ out of the hall and down the steps. The tissues rustled¹²⁹ up in the draught¹³⁰, floated softly in the air blue scrawls¹³¹ and under the table came to earth.

-- It wasn't me, sir. It was the big fellow shoved me, sir.

-- Throw him out and shut the door, the editor said. There's a hurricane blowing.

Lenehan began to paw the tissues up from the floor, grunting¹³² as he stooped twice.

-- Waiting for the racing¹³³ special, sir, the newsboy said. It was Pat Farrel shoved me, sir.

He pointed¹³⁴ to two faces peering in round the door-frame.

-- Him, sir.

-- Out of this with you, professor MacHugh said gruffly.

He hustled¹³⁵ the boy out and banged the door to.

J.J. O'Molloy turned the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking:

-- Continued on page six, column four.

-- Yes... Evening Telegraph here, Mr Bloom phoned from the inner office. Is the boss... ? Yes, Telegraph... To where?... Aha! Which auction¹³⁶ rooms?... Aha! I see... Right. I'll catch him.

A Collision ensues
The bell whirred again as he rang off. He came in quickly and bumped against Lenehan who was struggling up with the second tissue.
-- Pardon, monsieur, Lenehan said, clutching him for an instant and making a grimace¹³⁷.

-- My fault, Mr Bloom said, suffering his grip. Are you hurt? I'm in a hurry.

-- Knee, Lenehan said.

He made a comic face and whined¹³⁸, rubbing his knee.

-- The accumulation of the anno Domini.

-- Sorry, Mr Bloom said.

He went to the door and, holding it ajar, paused. J.J. O'Molloy slapped the heavy pages over. The noise of two shrill¹³⁹ voices, a mouthorgan, echoed in the bare hallway from the newsboys squatted¹⁴⁰ on the doorsteps:

We are the boys of Wexford
Who fought with heart and hand.
Exit Bloom
-- I'm just running round to Bachelor's walk, Mr Bloom said, about this ad of Keyes's. Want to fix it up. They tell me he's round there in Dillon's.
He looked indecisively for a moment at their faces. The editor who, leaning against the mantelshelf, had propped¹⁴¹ his head on his hand suddenly stretched forth an arm amply.

-- Begone! he said. The world is before you.

-- Back in no time, Mr Bloom said, hurrying out.

J.J. O'Molloy took the tissues from Lenehan's hand and read them, blowing them apart gently, without comment.

-- He'll get that advertisement, the professor said, staring through his blackrimmed spectacles over the crossblind. Look at the young scamps after him.

-- Show! Where? Lenehan cried, running to the window.

A Street Cortege
Both smiled over the crossblind at the file of capering¹⁴² newsboys in Mr Bloom's wake, the last zigzagging¹⁴³ white on the breeze a mocking kite, a tail of white bowknots.
-- Look at the young guttersnipe behind him hue¹⁴⁵ and cry, Lenehan said, and you'll kick. O, my rib³⁵ risible¹⁴⁶! Taking off his flat spaugs and the walk. Small nines. Steal upon larks¹⁴⁷.

He began to mazurka in swift caricature across the floor on sliding feet past the fireplace to J.J. O'Molloy who placed the tissues in his receiving hands.

-- What's that? Myles Crawford said with a start. Where are the other two gone?

-- Who? the professor said, turning. They're gone round to the Oval for a drink. Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Came over last night.

-- Come on then, Myles Crawford said. Where's my hat?

He walked jerkily into the office behind, parting the vent of his jacket, jingling¹⁴⁹ his keys in his back pocket. They jingled¹⁵⁰ then in the air and against the wood as he locked his desk drawer.

-- He's pretty well on, professor MacHugh said in a low voIce.

-- Seems to be, J.J. O'Molloy said, taking out a cigarette case in murmuring meditation¹⁵², but it is not always as it seems. Who has the most matches?

The Calumet of Peace
He offered a cigarette to the professor and took one himself. Lenehan promptly¹⁵³ struck a match for them and lit their cigarettes in turn. J.J. O'Molloy opened his case again and offered it.
-- Thanky vous, Lenehan said, helping¹⁵⁴ himself.

The editor came from the inner office, a straw hat awry¹⁵⁵ on his brow. He declaimed in song, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh:

'Twas rank and fame that tempted¹⁵⁷ thee,
'Twas empire charmed thy heart.
The professor grinned, locking his long lips.
-- Eh? You bloody old Roman empire? Myles Crawford said.

He took a cigarette from the open case. Lenehan, lighting¹⁵⁸ it for him with quick grace, said:

-- Silence for my brandnew riddle¹⁵⁹!

-- Imperium romanum, J.J. O'Molloy said gently. It sounds nobler than British or Brixton. The word reminds one somehow of fat in the fire.

Myles Crawford blew his first puff¹⁶⁰ violently towards the ceiling.

-- That's it, he said. We are the fat. You and I are the fat in the fire. We haven't got the chance of a snowball in hell.

The Grandeur¹⁶¹ that was Rome
-- Wait a moment, professor MacHugh said, raising two quiet claws. We mustn't be led away by words, by sounds of words. We think of Rome, imperial, imperious, imperative¹⁶².
He extended elocutionary arms from frayed¹⁶³ stained shirtcuffs, pausing:

-- What was their civilisation¹⁶⁴? Vast, I allow: but vile¹⁶⁵. Cloac&Aelig;: sewers¹⁶⁶. The Jews in the wilderness¹⁶⁷ and on the mountaintop said: It is meet to be here. Let us build an altar to Jehovah. The Roman, like the Englishman who follows in his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which he set his foot (on our shore he never set it) only his cloacal obsession¹⁶⁸. He gazed about him in his toga and he said: It is meet to be here. Let us construct a watercloset.

-- Which they accordingly did do, Lenehan said. Our old ancient ancestors, as we read in the first chapter of Guinness's, were partial to the running stream.

-- They were nature's gentlemen, J.J. O'Molloy murmured. But we have also Roman law.

-- And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh responded.

-- Do you know that story about chief Baron²⁷ Palles? J.J. O'Molloy asked. It was at the royal university dinner. Everything was going swimmingly.

-- First my riddle, Lenehan said. Are you ready?

Mr O'Madden Burke, tall in copious¹⁶⁹ grey of Donegal tweed, came in from the hallway. Stephen Dedalus, behind him, uncovered as he entered.

-- Entrez, mes enfants! Lenehan cried.

-- I escort a suppliant¹⁷¹, Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously¹⁷². Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety.

-- How do you do? the editor said, holding out a hand. Come in. Your governor is just gone.

? ? ?
Lenehan said to all:
-- Silence! What opera resembles a railway line? Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply.

Stephen handed over the typed sheets, pointing to the title and signature.

-- Who? the editor asked.

Bit torn off.

-- Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said:

-- That old pelters, the editor said. Who tore it? Was he short taken.

On swift sail flaming
From storm and south
He comes, pale vampire¹⁷³,
Mouth to my mouth.
-- Good day, Stephen, the professor said, coming to peer over their shoulders. Foot and mouth? Are you turned... ?
Bullockbefriending bard¹⁷⁴.

Shindy in wellknown Restaurant
-- Good day, sir, Stephen answered, blushing. The letter is not mine. Mr Garrett Deasy asked me to...
-- O, I know him, Myles Crawford said, and knew his wife too. The bloodiest¹⁷⁵ old tartar God ever made. By Jesus, she had the foot and mouth disease and no mistake! The night she threw the soup in the waiter's face in the Star and Garter. Oho!

A woman brought sin into the world. For Helen, the runaway¹⁷⁶ wife of Menelaus, ten years the Greeks. O'Rourke, prince of Breffni.

-- Is he a widower¹⁷⁷? Stephen asked.

-- Ay, a grass one, Myles Crawford said, his eye running down the typescript. Emperor's horses. Habsburg. An Irishman saved his life on the ramparts of Vienna. Don't you forget! Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnel in Ireland. Sent his heir over to make the king an Austrian fieldmarshal now. Going to be trouble there one day. Wild geese. O yes, every time. Don't you forget that!

-- The moot¹⁸⁰ point is did he forget it? J.J. O'Molloy said quietly, turning a horseshoe paperweight. Saving princes is a thank you job.

Professor MacHugh turned on him.

-- And if not? he said.

-- I'll tell you how it was, Myles Crawford began. Hungarian it was one day...

Lost Causes Noble Marquess mentioned
We were always loyal to lost causes, the professor said. Success for us is the death of the intellect and of the imagination. We were never loyal to the successful. We serve them. I teach the blatant¹⁸¹ Latin language. I speak the tongue of a race the acme¹⁸² of whose mentality¹⁸³ is the maxim¹⁷⁸: time is money. Material domination. Dominus! Lord! Where is the spirituality? Lord Jesus! Lord Salisbury. A sofa in a westend club. But the Greek!
Kyrie Eleison!
A smile of light brightened his darkrimmed eyes, lengthened¹⁸⁴ his long lips.
-- The Greek! he said again. Kyrios! Shining word! The vowels¹⁸⁶ the Semite and the Saxon know not. Kyrie! The radiance of the intellect. I ought to profess⁷⁰ Greek, the language of the mind. Kyrie eleison! The closetmaker and the cloacamaker will never be lords of our spirit. We are liege subjects of the catholic chivalry¹⁸⁷ of Europe that foundered¹⁸⁸ at Trafalgar and of the empire of the spirit, not an imperium, that went under with the Athenian fleets at &Aelig;gospotami. Yes, yes. They went under. Pyrrhus, misled by an oracle¹⁸⁹, made a last attempt to retrieve¹⁹⁰ the fortunes of Greece. Loyal to a lost cause.

He strode away from them towards the window.

-- They went forth to battle, Mr O'Madden Burke said greyly, but they always fell.

-- Boohoo! Lenehan wept with a little noise. Owing to a brick received in the latter half of the matinée. Poor, poor, poor Pyrrhus!

He whispered then near Stephen's ear:

Lenehan's Limerick
There's a ponderous¹⁹¹ pundit¹⁹² MacHugh
Who wears goggles¹⁹³ of ebony hue.
As he mostly sees double
To wear them why trouble?
I can't see the Joe Miller¹⁹⁴. Can you?
In mourning for Sallust, Mulligan says. Whose mother is beastly dead.
Myles Crawford crammed¹⁹⁵ the sheets into a sidepocket.

-- That'll be all right, he said. I'll read the rest after. That'll be all right.

Lenehan extended his hands in protest.

-- But my riddle! he said. What opera is like a railway line?

-- Opera? Mr O'Madden Burke's sphinx face reriddled.

Lenehan announced gladly:

-- The Rose of Castille. See the wheeze¹⁹⁶? Rows of cast steel. Gee¹⁷⁹!

He poked¹⁹⁷ Mr O'Madden Burke mildly in the spleen. Mr O'Madden Burke fell back with grace on his umbrella, feigning¹⁹⁸ a gasp¹⁹⁹.

-- Help! he sighed. I feel a strong weakness.

Lenehan, rising to tiptoe, fanned his face rapidly with the rustling²⁰⁰ tissues.

The professor, returning by way of the files, swept his hand across Stephen's and Mr O'Madden Burke's loose ties.

-- Paris, past and present, he said. You look like communards.

-- Like fellows who had blown up the bastille, J.J. O'Molloy said in quiet mockery. Or was it you shot the lord lieutenant²⁰¹ of Finland between you? You look as though you had done the deed. General Bobrikoff.

Omnium Gatherum
-- We were only thinking about it, Stephen said.
-- All the talents, Myles Crawford said. Law, the classics.

-- The turf, Lenehan put in.

-- Literature, the press.

-- If Bloom were here, the professor said. The gentle art of advertisement.

-- And Madam Bloom, Mr O'Madden Burke added. The vocal²⁰² muse²⁰³. Dublin's prime favourite.

Lenehan gave a loud cough.

-- Ahem! he said very softly. O, for a fresh of breath air! I caught a cold in the park. The gate was open.

You can do it!
The editor laid a nervous hand on Stephen's shoulder.
-- I want you to write something for me, he said. Something with a bite in it. You can do it. I see it in your face. In the lexicon²⁰⁴ of youth...

See it in your face. See it in your eye. Lazy idle little schemer.

-- Foot and mouth disease! the editor cried in scornful invective²⁰⁵. Great nationalist meeting in Borris-in-Ossory. All balls! Bulldosing the public! Give them something with a bite in it. Put us all into it, damn its soul. Father Son and Holy Ghost and fakes M'Carthy.

-- We can all supply mental pabulum, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

Stephen raised his eyes to the bold unheeding stare.

-- He wants you for the pressgang, J.J. O'Molloy said.

The Great Gallaher
-- You can do it, Myles Crawford repeated, clenching²⁰⁶ his hand in emphasis. Wait a minute. We'll paralyse Europe as Ignatius Gallaher used to say when he was on the shaughraun, doing billiardmarking in the Clarence. Gallaher, that was a pressman for you. That was a pen. You know how he made his mark? I'll tell you. That was the smartest piece of journalism²⁰⁷ ever known. That was in eightyone, sixth of May, time of the invincibles, murder in the Phoenix²⁰⁸ park, before you were born, I suppose. I'll show you.
He pushed past them to the files.

-- Look at here, he said, turning. The New York World cabled for a special. Remember that time?

Professor MacHugh nodded.

-- New York World, the editor said, excitedly pushing back his straw hat. Where it took place. Tim Kelly, or Kavanagh I mean, Joe Brady and the rest of them. Where Skin-the-goat drove the car. Whole route, see?

-- Skin-the-goat, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Fitzharris. He has that cabman's shelter, they say, down there at Butt⁶⁵ bridge. Holohan told me. You know Holohan?

-- Hop⁵⁶ and carry one, is it? Myles Crawford said.

-- And poor Gumley is down there too, so he told me, minding stones for the corporation. A night watchman.

Stephen turned in surprise.

-- Gumley? he said. You don't say so? A friend of my father's, is he?

-- Never mind Gumley, Myles Crawford cried angrily. Let Gumley mind the stones, see they don't run away. Look at here. What did Ignatius Gallaher do? I'll tell you. Inspiration of genius. Cabled right away. Have you Weekly Freeman of 17 March? Right. Have you got that?

He flung back pages of the files and stuck his finger on a point.

-- Take page four, advertisement for Bransome's coffee let us say. Have you got that? Right.

The telephone whirred.

A distant voice
-- I'll answer it, the professor said going.
-- B is parkgate. Good.

His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating.

-- T is viceregal lodge²⁰⁹. C is where murder took place. K is Knockmaroon gate.

The loose flesh of his neck shook like a cock's wattles. An illstarched dicky jutted²¹⁰ up and with a rude gesture he thrust it back into his waistcoat.

-- Hello? Evening Telegraph here... Hello?... Who's there?... Yes... Yes...

-- F to P is the route Skin-the-goat drove the car for an alibi²¹¹. Inchicore, Roundtown, Windy Arbour, Palmerston Park, Ranelagh. F. A. B. P. Got that? X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street.

The professor came to the inner door.

-- Bloom is at the telephone, he said.

-- Tell him go to hell, the editor said promptly. X is Burke's publichouse, see?

Clever, Very
Clever, Lenehan said. Very.
-- Gave it to them on a hot plate, Myles Crawford said, the whole bloody history.

Nightmare from which you will never awake.

-- I saw it, the editor said proudly. I was present, Dick Adams, the besthearted bloody Corkman the Lord ever put the breath of life in, and myself.

Lenehan bowed to a shape of air, announcing:

-- Madam, I'm Adam. And Able was I ere I saw Elba.

-- History! Myles Crawford cried. The Old Woman of Prince's street was there first. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth over that. Out of an advertisement. Gregor Grey made the design for it. That gave him the leg up. Then Paddy Hooper worked Tay Pay who took him on to the Star. Now he's got in with Blumenfeld. That's press. That's talent. Pyatt! He was all their daddies.

-- The father of scare journalism, Lenehan confirmed, and the brother-in-law of Chris Callinan.

-- Hello?... Are you there?... Yes, he's here still. Come across yourself.

-- Where do you find a pressman like that now, eh? the editor cried. He flung the pages down.

-- Clamn dever, Lenehan said to Mr O'Madden Burke.

-- Very smart, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

Professor MacHugh came from the inner office.

-- Talking about the invincibles, he said, did you see that some hawkers were up before the recorder...

-- O yes, J.J. O'Molloy said eagerly. Lady Dudley was walking home through the park to see all the trees that were blown down by that cyclone²¹² last year and thought she'd buy a view of Dublin. And it turned out to be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady or Number One or Skin-the-goat. Right outside the viceregal lodge, imagine!

-- They're only in the hook and eye department, Myles Crawford said. Psha! Press and the bar! Where have you a man now at the bar like those fellows, like Whiteside, like Isaac Butt, like silvertongued O'Hagan? Eh? Ah, bloody nonsense! Only in the halfpenny place!

His mouth continued to twitch²¹³ unspeaking in nervous curls of disdain²¹⁴.

Would anyone wish that mouth for her kiss? How do you know? Why did you write it then?

Rhymes and Reasons
Mouth, south. Is the mouth south someway? Or the south a mouth? Must be some. South, pout²¹⁵, out, shout, drouth. Rhymes: two men dressed the same, looking the same, two by two.
... la tua pace
... che parlar ti piace
... mentrechè il vento, come fa, si tace.
He saw them three by three, approaching girls, in green, in rose, in russet, entwining, per l'aer perso in mauve, in purple, quella pacifica oriafiamma, in gold of oriflamme, di rimirar fe piu ardenti. But I old men, penitent²¹⁶, leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night: mouth south: tomb womb.
-- Speak up for yourself, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

Sufficient for the Day...
J.J. O'Molloy, smiling palely, took up the gage¹¹¹.
-- My dear Myles, he said, flinging his cigarette aside, you put a false construction on my words. I hold no brief, as at present advised, for the third profession qua profession but your Cork legs are running away with you. Why not bring in Henry Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes and Edmund Burke? Ignatius Gallaher we all know and his Chapelizod boss, Harmsworth of the farthing press, and his American cousin of the Bowery gutter¹⁴⁴ sheet not to mention Paddy Kelly's Budget, Pue's Occurrences and our watchful²¹⁷ friend The Skibereen Eagle. Why bring in a master of forensic²¹⁸ eloquence²¹⁹ like Whiteside? Sufficient for the day is the newspaper thereof.

Links with Bygone Days of Yore
Grattan and Flood wrote for this very paper, the editor cried in his face. Irish volunteers. Where are you now? Established 1763. Dr Lucas. Who have you now like John Philpot Curran? Psha!
-- Well, J.J. O'Molloy said, Bushe K. C., for example.

-- Bushe? the editor said. Well, yes. Bushe, yes. He has a strain of it in his blood. Kendal Bushe or I mean Seymour Bushe.

-- He would have been on the bench long ago, the professor said, only for... But no matter.

J.J. O'Molloy turned to Stephen and said quietly and slowly:

-- One of the most polished periods I think I ever listened to in my life fell from the lips of Seymour Bushe. It was in that case of fratricide, the Childs murder case. Bushe defended him.

And in the porches of mine ear did pour.
By the way how did he find that out? He died in his sleep. Or the other story, beast with two backs?
-- What was that? the professor asked.

Italia, Magistra Artium
-- He spoke²²⁰ on the law of evidence, J.J. O'Molloy said, of Roman justice as contrasted with the earlier Mosaic²²¹ code, the lex talionis. And he cited the Moses of Michelangelo in the Vatican.
-- Ha.

-- A few wellchosen words, Lenehan prefaced. Silence!

Pause. J.J. O'Molloy took out his cigarette case. False lull²²². Something quite ordinary.

Messenger took out his matchbox thoughtfully and lit his cigar.

I have often thought since on looking back over that strange time that it was that small act, trivial in itself, that striking of that match, that determined²²³ the whole aftercourse of both our lives.

A Polished Period
J.J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words:
-- He said of it: that stony effigy²²⁴ in frozen music, horned and terrible, of the human form divine, that eternal symbol of wisdom and prophecy which if aught that the imagination or the hand of sculptor²²⁵ has wrought²²⁶ in marble of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live, deserves to live.

His slim hand with a wave graced echo and fall.

-- Fine! Myles Crawford said at once.

-- The divine afflatus²²⁷, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

-- You like it? J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen.

Stephen, his blood wooed by grace of language and gesture, blushed. He took a cigarette from the case. J.J. O'Molloy offered his case to Myles Crawford. Lenehan lit their cigarettes as before and took his trophy²²⁸, saying:

-- Muchibus thankibus.

A Man of High Morale²²⁹
-- Professor Magennis was speaking to me about you, J.J. O'Molloy said to Stephen. What do you think really of that hermetic crowd, the opal hush poets: A. E. the master mystic? That Blavatsky woman started it. She was a nice old bag of tricks. A. E. has been telling some yankee interviewer that you came to him in the small hours of the morning to ask him about planes of consciousness. Magennis thinks you must have been pulling A. E.'s leg. He is a man of the very highest morale, Magennis.
Speaking about me. What did he say? What did he say? What did he say about me? Don't ask.

-- No, thanks, professor MacHugh said, waving the cigarette case aside. Wait a moment. Let me say one thing. The finest display of oratory²³¹ I ever heard was a speech made by John F. Taylor at the college historical society. Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, the present lord justice of appeal, had spoken and the paper under debate was an essay (new for those days), advocating the revival²³² of the Irish tongue.

He turned towards Myles Crawford and said:

-- You know Gerald Fitzgibbon. Then you can imagine the style of his discourse²³³.

-- He is sitting with Tim Healy, J.J. O'Molloy said, rumour²³⁴ has it, on the Trinity college estates commission.

-- He is sitting with a sweet thing in a child's frock, Myles Crawford said. Go on. Well?

-- It was the speech, mark you, the professor said, of a finished orator²³⁰, full of courteous²³⁵ haughtiness²³⁶ and pouring in chastened diction, I will not say the vials of his wrath²³⁷ but pouring the proud man's contumely upon the new movement. It was then a new movement. We were weak, therefore worthless.

He closed his long thin lips an instant but, eager to be on, raised an outspanned hand to his spectacles and, with trembling thumb and ringfinger touching²³⁸ lightly the black rims²³⁹, steadied them to a new focus.

Impromptu
In ferial tone he addressed J.J. O'Molloy:
-- Taylor had come there, you must know, from a sick bed. That he had prepared his speech I do not believe for there was not even one shorthandwriter in the hall. His dark lean face had a growth of shaggy beard round it. He wore a loose neckcloth and altogether he looked (though he was not) a dying man.

His gaze turned at once but slowly from J.J. O'Molloy's towards Stephen's face and then bent²⁴⁰ at once to the ground, seeking. His unglazed linen²⁴¹ collar appeared behind his bent head, soiled by his withering²⁴² hair. Still seeking, he said:

-- When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F. Taylor rose to reply. Briefly²⁴³, as well as I can bring them to mind, his words were these.

He raised his head firmly. His eyes bethought themselves once more. Witless shellfish swam in the gross lenses to and fro, seeking outlet²⁴⁴.

He began:

-- Mr Chairman, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my admiration²⁴⁵ in listening to the remarks addressed to the youth of Ireland a moment since by my learned friend. It seemed to me that I had been transported into a country far away from this country, into an age remote from this age, that I stood in ancient Egypt and that I was listening to the speech of some highpriest of that land addressed to the youthful Moses.

His listeners held their cigarettes poised²⁴⁶ to hear, their smoke ascending²⁴⁷ in frail²⁴⁸ stalks that flowered with his speech. And let our crooked²⁴⁹ smokes. Noble words coming. Look out. Could you try your hand at it yourself?

-- And it seemed to me that I heard the voice of that Egyptian highpriest raised in a tone of like haughtiness and like pride. I heard his words and their meaning was revealed to me.

From the Fathers
It was revealed to me that those things are good which yet are corrupted²⁵⁰ which neither if they were supremely²⁵¹ good nor unless they were good could be corrupted. Ah, curse you! That's saint Augustine.
-- Why will you jews not accept our culture, our religion and our language? You are a tribe of nomad²⁵² herdsmen; we are a mighty²⁵³ people. You have no cities nor no wealth: our cities are hives of humanity and our galleys²⁵⁴, trireme and quadrireme, laden²⁵⁵ with all manner merchandise furrow²⁵⁶ the waters of the known globe. You have but emerged from primitive²⁵⁷ conditions: we have a literature, a priesthood, an agelong history and a polity.

Nile.

Child, man, effigy.

By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man supple²⁵⁸ in combat: stonehorned, stonebearded, heart of stone.

-- You pray to a local and obscure idol²⁵⁹: our temples, majestic²⁶⁰ and mysterious, are the abodes²⁶¹ of Isis and Osiris, of Horus and Ammon Ra. Yours serfdom, awe¹⁵¹ and humbleness²⁶²: ours thunder and the seas. Israel is weak and few are her children: Egypt is an host and terrible are her arms. Vagrants²⁶³ and daylabourers are you called: the world trembles at our name.

A dumb belch²⁶⁴ of hunger cleft²⁶⁵ his speech. He lifted his voice above it boldly:

-- But, ladies and gentlemen, had the youthful Moses listened to and accepted that view of life, had he bowed his head and bowed his will and bowed his spirit before that arrogant²⁶⁶ admonition he would never have brought the chosen people out of their house of bondage nor followed the pillar of the cloud by day. He would never have spoken with the Eternal amid lightnings on Sinai's mountaintop nor ever have come down with the light of inspiration shining in his countenance²⁶⁷ and bearing in his arms the tables of the law, graven in the language of the outlaw²⁶⁸.

He ceased and looked at them, enjoying silence.

Ominous²⁶⁹ - for Him!
J.J. O'Molloy said not without regret:
-- And yet he died without having entered the land of promise.

-- A sudden - at - the - moment - though - from - lingering - illness - often - previously²⁷⁰ - expectorated - demise²⁷¹, Lenehan said. And with a great future behind him.

The troop of bare feet was heard rushing along the hallway and pattering up the staircase.

-- That is oratory, the professor said, uncontradicted.

Gone with the wind. Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the kings. Miles of ears of porches. The tribune's words howled and scattered²⁷² to the four winds. A people sheltered within his voice. Dead noise. Akasic records of all that ever anywhere wherever was. Love and laud²⁷³ him: me no more

I have money.

-- Gentlemen, Stephen said. As the next motion on the agenda paper may I suggest that the house do now adjourn²⁷⁴?

-- You take my breath away. It is not perchance a French compliment? Mr O'Madden Burke asked. 'Tis the hour, methinks, when the winejug, metaphorically²⁷⁵ speaking, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry.

-- That it be and hereby is resolutely²⁷⁶ resolved. All who are in favour say ay, Lenehan announced. The contrary no. I declare it carried. To which particular boosing shed?... My casting vote is: Mooney's!

He led the way, admonishing²⁷⁷:

-- We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will we not? Yes, we will not. By no manner of means.

Mr O'Madden Burke, following close, said with an ally's lunge of his umbrella:

-- Lay on, Macduff!

-- Chip of the old block! the editor cried, slapping Stephen on the shoulder. Let us go. Where are those blasted keys?

He fumbled²⁷⁸ in his pocket, pulling out the crushed typesheets.

-- Foot and mouth. I know. That'll be all right. That'll go

in. Where are they? That's all right.

He thrust the sheets back and went into the inner office.

Let Us Hope
J.J. O'Molloy, about to follow him in, said quietly to Stephen:
-- I hope you will live to see it published. Myles, one moment.

He went into the inner office, closing the door behind him.

-- Come along, Stephen, the professor said. That is fine, isn't it? It has the prophetic vision. Fuit Ilium! The sack of windy Troy. Kingdoms of this world. The masters of the Mediterranean²⁷⁹ are fellaheen today.

The first newsboy came pattering down the stairs at their heels and rushed out into the street, yelling:

-- Racing special!

Dublin. I have much, much to learn.

They turned to the left along Abbey street.

-- I have a vision too, Stephen said.

-- Yes, the professor said, skipping to get into step. Crawford will follow.

Another newsboy shot past them, yelling as he ran:

-- Racing special!

Dear Dirty Dublin
Dubliners.
-- Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said, elderly and pious¹⁷⁰, have lived fifty and fiftythree years in Fumbally's lane.

-- Where is that? the professor asked.

-- Off Blackpitts.

Damp night reeking²⁸⁰ of hungry dough¹⁰⁸. Against the wall. Face glistening²⁸¹ tallow under her fustian²⁸² shawl. Frantic²⁸³ hearts. Akasic records. Quicker, darlint!

On now. Dare it. Let there be life.

-- They want to see the views of Dublin from the top of Nelson's pillar. They save up three and tenpence in a red tin letterbox moneybox. They shake out the threepenny bits and a sixpence and coax²⁸⁴ out the pennies with the blade of a knife. Two and three in silver and one and seven in coppers²⁸⁵. They put on their bonnets²⁸⁶ and best clothes and take their umbrellas for fear it may come on to rain.

-- Wise virgins²⁸⁸, professor MacHugh said.

Life on the Raw
-- They buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn²⁸⁹ and four slices of panloaf at the north city dining rooms in Marlborough street from Miss Kate Collins, proprietress... They purchase-our and twenty ripe plums from a girl at the foot of Nelson's pillar to take off the thirst of the brawn. They give two threepenny bits to the gentleman at the turnstile and begin to waddle²⁹⁰ slowly up the winding²⁹¹ staircase, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid of the dark, panting, one asking the other have you the brawn, praising God and the Blessed Virgin²⁸⁷, threatening to come down, peeping at the airslits. Glory be to God. They had no idea it was that high.
Their names are Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe. Anne Kearns has the lumbago for which she rubs on Lourdes water given her by a lady who got a bottleful from a passionist father. Florence MacCabe takes a crubeen and a bottle of double X for supper every Saturday.

-- Antithesis²⁹², the professor said, nodding twice. Vestal virgins. I can see them. What's keeping our friend?

He turned.

A bevy²⁹³ of scampering²⁹⁴ newsboys rushed down the steps, scampering in all directions, yelling, their white papers fluttering. Hard after them Myles Crawford appeared on the steps, his hat aureoling his scarlet face, talking with J.J. O'Molloy.

-- Come along, the professor cried, waving his arm.

He set off again to walk by Stephen's side.

Return of Bloom
-- Yes, he said. I see them.
-- Mr Bloom, breathless, caught in a whirl of wild newsboys near the offices of the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called:

-- Mr Crawford! A moment!

-- Telegraph! Racing special!

-- What is it? Myles Crawford said, falling back a pace. A newsboy cried in Mr Bloom's face:

-- Terrible tragedy in Rathmines! A child bit by a bellows²⁹⁵!

Interview with the Editor
Just this ad, Mr Bloom said, pushing through towards the steps, puffing²⁹⁶, and taking the cutting from his pocket. I spoke with Mr Keyes just now. He'll give a renewal for two months, he says. After he'll see. But he wants a par to call attention in the Telegraph too, the Saturday pink. And he wants it if it's not too late I told councillor Nannetti from the Kilkenny People. I can have access to it in the national library. House of keys, don't you see? His name is Keyes. It's a play on the name. But he practically promised he'd give the renewal. But he wants just a little puff. What will I tell him, Mr Crawford?
K. M. A.
Will you tell him he can kiss my arse? Myles Crawford said, throwing out his arm for emphasis. Tell him that straight from the stable.
A bit nervy. Look out for squalls. All off for a drink. Arm in arm. Lenehan's yachting cap on the cadge²⁹⁷ beyond. Usual blarney. Wonder is that young Dedalus the moving spirit. Has a good pair of boots on him today. Last time I saw him he had his heels on view. Been walking in muck somewhere. Careless chap. What was he doing in Irishtown?

-- Well, Mr Bloom said, his eyes returning, if I can get the design I suppose it's worth a short par. He'd give the ad I think. I'll tell him...

-- He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford cried loudly over his shoulder. Any time he likes, tell him.

While Mr Bloom stood weighing the point and about to smile he strode on jerkily.

Raising the Wind
-- Nulla bona, Jack, he said, raising his hand to his chin. I'm up to here. I've been through the hoop¹⁴⁸ myself. I was looking for a fellow to back a bill for me no later than last week. You must take the will for the deed. Sorry, Jack. With a heart and a half if I could raise the wind anyhow.
J. J. O'Molloy pulled a long face and walked on silently. They caught up on the others and walked abreast²⁹⁸.

-- When they have eaten the brawn and the bread and wiped their twenty fingers in the paper the beard was wrapped in, they go nearer to the railings.

-- Something for you, the professor explained to Myles Crawford. Two old Dublin women on the top of Nelson's pillar.

Some Column! - That's What Waddler²⁹⁹ One Said
-- That's new, Myles Crawford said. That's copy. Out for the waxies' Dargle. Two old trickies, what?
-- But they are afraid the pillar will fall, Stephen went on. They see the roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue dome³⁰⁰, Adam and Eve's, saint Laurence O'Toole's. But it makes them giddy to look so they pull up their skirts...

Those Slightly Rambunctious³⁰¹ Females
-- Easy all, Myles Crawford said, no poetic³⁰² licence. We're in the archdiocese here.
-- And settle down on their striped petticoats, peering up at the statue of the onehandled adulterer.

-- Onehandled adulterer! the professor cried. I like that. I see the idea. I see what you mean.

Dames³⁰³ Donate Dublin's Cits Speedpills Velocitous Aeroliths, Belief
-- It gives them a crick in their necks, Stephen said, and they are too tired to look up or down or to speak. They put the bag of plums between them and eat the plums out of it one after another, wiping off with their handkerchiefs the plumjuice that dribbles³⁰⁴ out of their mouths and spitting the plumstones slowly out between the railings.
He gave a sudden loud young laugh as a close. Lenehan and Mr O'Madden Burke, hearing, turned, beckoned³⁰⁵ and led on across towards Mooney's.

-- Finished? Myles Crawford said. So long as they do no worse.

Sophist Wallops Haughty³⁰⁶ Helen Square on Proboscis³⁰⁷. Spartans³⁰⁸ Gnash Molars. Ithacans Vow¹⁸⁵ Pen is Champ
-- You remind me of Antisthenes, the professor said, a disciple³⁰⁹ of Gorgias, the sophist. It is said of him that none could tell if he were bitterer against others or against himself. He was the son of a noble and a bondwoman. And he wrote a book in which he took away the palm of beauty from Argive Helen and handed it to poor Penelope.
Poor Penelope. Penelope Rich.

They made ready to cross O'Connell street.

Hello There, Central!
At various points along the eight lines tramcars with motionless trolleys³¹⁰ stood in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, Rathfarnham, Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Sandymount Green, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Donnybrook, Palmerston Park and Upper Rathmines, all still, becalmed in short circuit. Hackney cars, cabs, delivery waggons³¹¹, mail-vans, private broughams, aerated³¹² mineral water floats with rattling³¹³ crates³¹⁴ of bottles, rattled³¹⁵, lolled, horsedrawn, rapidly.
What? - and Likewise - Where?
-- But what do you call it? Myles Crawford asked. Where did they get the plums?
Virgilian, Says Pedagogue. Sophomore³¹⁶ Plumps for Old Man Moses
-- Call it, wait, the professor said, opening his long lips wide to reflect. Call it, let me see. Call it: deus nobis hc otia fecit.
-- No, Stephen said, I call it A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or the Parable³¹⁷ of the Plums.

-- I see, the professor said.

He laughed richly.

-- I see, he said again with new pleasure. Moses and the promised land. We gave him that idea, he added to J. J. O'Molloy.

Horatio is Cynosure³¹⁸ this Fair June Day
J. J. O'Molloy sent a weary sidelong glance cowards the statue and held his peace.
-- I see, the professor said.

He halted on sir John Gray's pavement island and peered aloft at Nelson through the meshes³¹⁹ of his wry¹⁵⁶ smile.

Diminished Digits³²⁰ Prove Too Titillating³²¹ for Frisky³²² Frumps. Anne Wimbles, Flo Wangles - Yet Can You Blame Them?
-- Onehandled adulterer, he said grimly. That tickles³²³ me I must say. -- Tickled³²⁴ the old ones too, Myles Crawford said, if the God Almighty's truth was known.

在希勃尼亚[1]首都中心一辆辆电车在纳尔逊纪念柱前减慢了速度，转入岔轨，调换触轮， 重新发车，驶往黑岩、国王镇和多基、克朗斯基亚、拉思加尔和特勒努尔、帕默斯顿公园、上拉思曼斯、沙丘草地、拉思曼斯、林森德和沙丘塔以及哈罗德十字路口。都柏林市联合电车公司那个嗓音嘶哑的调度员咆哮着把电车撵走：

“开到拉思加尔和特勒努尔去!”

“下一辆开往沙丘草地!”

右边是双层电车，左边是辆单层电车。车身咣咣地晃悠着，铃铛丁零零地响着，一辆辆地分别从轨道终点发车，各自拐进下行线，并排驶去。

“开往帕默斯顿公园的，发车!

王冠佩带者

中央邮局的门廊下，擦皮鞋的边吆喝着边擦。亲王北街上是一溜儿朱红色王室邮车，车帮上标着今上御称的首字E·R·[2]。成袋成袋的挂号以及贴了邮票的函件、明信片、邮筒和邮包，都乒啷乓啷地被扔上了车，不是寄往本市或外埠，就是寄往英国本土或外国的。

新闻界人士

穿粗笨靴子的马车夫从亲王货栈[3]里推出酒桶，滚在地上发出钝重的响声，又哐噹哐噹码在啤酒厂的平台货车上。由穿粗笨靴子的马车夫从亲王货栈里推滚出来的酒桶，在啤酒厂的货车上发出一片钝重的咕咚咕咚声。

“在这儿哪，”红穆雷[4]说，“亚历山大·凯斯。”

“请你给剪下来，好吗?”布卢姆先生说，“我把它送到电讯报报馆去。”

拉特利奇的办公室的门嘎地又响了一声。小个子戴维·斯蒂芬斯[5]严严实实地披着一件大斗篷，鬈发上是一顶小毡帽，斗篷下抱着一卷报纸，摆出一副国王信使的架势踱了出去。

红穆雷利利索索地用长剪刀将广告从报纸上铰了下来。剪刀和浆糊。

“我到印刷车间去一趟，”布卢姆先生拿着铰下来的广告说。

“好哇，要是他需要一块补白的话，”红穆雷将钢笔往耳朵上一夹，热切地说，“我们想法安排一下吧。”

“好的，”布卢姆先生点点头说，“我去说说看。”

我们。

沙丘奥克兰兹的

威廉·布雷登[6]阁下

红穆雷用那把大剪刀碰了碰布卢姆先生的胳膊，悄悄地说：

“布雷登。”

布卢姆先生回过头去，看见穿着制服的司阍摘了摘他那顶印有字母的帽子。这当儿，一个仪表堂堂的人[7]从《自由人周刊·国民新闻》和《自由人报·国民新闻》的两排阅报栏之间走过来。发出钝重响声的吉尼斯啤酒[8]桶。他用雨伞开路，庄重地踏上楼梯，长满络腮胡子的脸上是一派严肃神色。他那穿着高级绒面呢上衣的脊背，一步步地往上升。脊背。西蒙·迪达勒斯说，他的脑子全都长在后颈里头了。他背后隆起一棱棱的肉。脖颈上，脂肪起着褶皱。脂肪，脖子，脂肪，脖子。

“你不觉得他长得像咱们的救世主吗?”红穆雷悄悄地说。

拉特利奇那间办公室的门吱吜吜地低声响着。为了通风起见，他们总是把两扇门安得对开着。一进一出。

咱们的救世主。周围镶着络腮胡子的鸭蛋脸，在暮色苍茫中说着话儿。玛丽和玛尔塔。男高音歌手马里奥[9]用剑一般的雨伞探路，来到脚光跟前。

“要么就像马里奥，”布卢姆先生说。

“对，”红穆雷表示同意，“然而人家说，马里奥活脱儿就像咱们的救世主哩。”

红脸蛋的耶稣·马里奥穿着紧身上衣，两条腿又细又长。他把一只手按在胸前，在歌剧《玛尔塔》[10]中演唱着：

回来吧，迷失的你，

回来吧，亲爱的你![11]

牧杖与钢笔

“主教大人今儿早晨来过两次电话，”[12]红穆雪板着面孔说。 他们望着那膝盖、小腿、靴子依次消失。脖子。

一个送电报的少年脚步轻盈地踅进来，往柜台上扔下一封电报，只打了声招呼就匆匆地走了，

“《自由人报》!”

布卢姆先生慢条斯理地说：

“喏，他也是咱们的救世主之一。”

他掀起柜台的活板，穿过一扇侧门，并沿着暖和而昏暗的楼梯和过道走去，还经过如今正回荡着噪音的一个个车间，一路脸上泛着柔和的微笑。然而，难道他挽救得了发行额下跌的局面吗?咣噹噹。咣噹噹。

他推开玻璃旋转门，走了进去，迈过散布在地上的包装纸，穿过一道轮转机铿锵作响的甬路，走向南尼蒂[13]的校对室。

海因斯也在这里，也许是来结讣告的账吧。咣噹噹。咣噹。

讣告

一位至为可敬的都柏林市民仙逝

谨由衷地表示哀悼

今天早晨，已故帕特里克·迪格纳穆先生的遗体。机器。倘若被卷了进去，就会碾成齑粉。如今支配着整个世界。他[14]这部机器也起劲地开动着。就像这些机器一样，控制不住了，一片混乱。一个劲儿地干着，沸腾着。又像那只拼命要钻进去的灰色老鼠。

一份伟大的日报是怎样编印出来的

布卢姆先生在工长瘦削的身子后面停下脚步来，欣赏着他那贼亮的秃脑瓢儿。

奇怪的是他从未见过真正的祖国。爱尔兰啊，我的祖国。学院草地的议员。他竭力以普通一工人的身份，使报纸兴旺起来。[15]周刊全靠广告和各种专栏来增加销数，并非靠官方公报[16]发布的那些陈旧新闻。诸如一千XX年政府发行的官报。安妮女王驾崩[17]等等。罗森纳利斯镇区的地产，廷纳欣奇男爵领地[18]。有关人士注意:根据官方统计从巴利纳出口的骡子与母驴的数目一览表[19]。园艺琐记[20]。漫画[21]。菲尔·布莱克在周刊上连载的《帕特和布尔》的故事。托比大叔为小娃娃开辟的专页。乡下佬问讯栏。亲爱的编辑先生，有没有治肚胀的灵丹妙剂?编这一栏倒不赖，一边教人，一边也学到很多东西。人间花絮。《人物》[22]。大多是照片[23]。黄金海岸上，丽人们穿着泳装婷婷玉立。世界上最大的氢气球。一对姐妹同时举行婚礼，双喜临门。两位新郎脸对着脸，开怀大笑。其中一个就是排字工人卡普拉尼[24]，比爱尔兰人还更富于爱尔兰气质。

机器以四分之三拍开动着。咣噹，咣噹，咣噹。倘若他在那儿突然中了风，谁都不晓得该怎样关机器，那它就会照样开动下去，一遍遍地反反复复印刷，整个儿弄得一塌糊涂。可真得要一副冷静的头脑。

“喏，请把这排在晚报的版面上，参议员先生，”海因斯说。

过不久就会称他作市长大人[25]啦。据说，高个儿约翰[26]是他的后台。

工长没有答话。他只在纸角上潦潦草草地写上“付排”二字，并对排字工人打了个手势。他一声不响地从肮脏的玻璃隔板上面把稿纸递过去。

“好，谢谢啦，”海因斯边说边走开。

布卢姆先生挡住了他的去路。

“假若你想领钱，出纳员可正要去吃午饭哪，”他说着，翘起大拇指朝后指了指。

“你领了吗?”海因斯问。

“唔，”布卢姆先生说，“赶快去，还来得及。”

“谢谢，老伙计，”海因斯说，“我也去领。”

他急切地朝《自由人报》编辑部奔去。

我曾在弥尔酒店里借给他三先令。已经过了三个星期。这是第三回提醒他了。

我们看见广告兜揽员在工作

布卢姆先生将剪报放在南尼蒂先生的写字台上。

“打扰您一下，参议员，”他说，“这条广告是凯斯的，您还记得吗?”

南尼蒂对着那则广告沉吟片刻，点了点头。

“他希望七月里登出来，”布卢姆先生说。

工长把铅笔朝剪报移动。

“等一等，”布卢姆先生说，“他想改动一下。您知道，凯斯，他想在上端再添两把钥匙。”

这噪音真讨厌。他听不见啊，南南。得有钢铁般的神经才行。兴许他能理解我的意思。

工长掉过身来，好耐着性子去倾听。他举起一只胳膊肘，开始慢慢地挠他身上那件羊驼呢夹克的腋窝底下。

“就像这个样子，”布卢姆先生在剪报上端交叉起两个食指比划着。

让他首先领会这一点。布卢姆先生从他用指头交叉成的十字上斜望过去，只见工长脸色灰黄，暗自思量他大概有点儿病。那边，恭顺的大卷筒在往轮转机里输送大卷大卷的印刷用纸。铿锵锵、铿锵锵地闹腾吧。那纸要是打开来，总得有好几英里长。印完之后呢?哦，包肉啦，打包裹啦，足能派上一千零一种用场。

每逢噪音间歇的当儿，他就乖巧地插上一言半语，并在遍体斑痕的木桌上，麻利地面起图样。

钥匙议院[27]

“您瞧，是这样的，这儿有两把十字交叉的钥匙[28]。再加上个圈儿，字号写在这儿：亚历山大·凯斯，茶叶、葡萄酒及烈酒商什么的。”

对他的业务，最好不要去多嘴多舌。

“参议员，您自己晓得他的要求。然后在上端，把钥匙议院这几个铅字排成个圆圈。您明白吧?您不觉得这是个好主意吗?”

工长把挠个不停的手移到下肋部，又悄悄地挠着那儿。

“这个主意，”布卢姆先生说，“是从钥匙议院得来的。您晓得，参议员，是曼克斯议会。这暗示着自治。从曼岛会引来游客的，您瞧，会引人注目的。您能办得到吗?”

也许我可以问问他“voglio”[29]这个字该怎样发音。可要是他不晓得，那只不过是把他弄得很尴尬而已。还是不要问为好。

“我们能办到，”工长说，“你有图案吗?”

“我可以弄来，”布卢姆先生说，“基尔肯尼的一家报纸上登过。他在那儿也开了一家店。我跑一趟去问问他就是了。喏，您可以那么办，再附上一小段，引起注意就成了。您知道通常的写法是：‘店内经特许供应高级酒类，以满足顾客多时的愿望’什么的。”

工长沉吟了片刻。

“我们能办到，”他说，“每隔三个月让他跟我们续订一次合同吧。”

这时，一个排字工人给他送来一份软塌塌的毛样。他一声不响地开始校对。布卢姆先生站在他身边，听着机器发出的震响，望着那些在活字分格盘旁一声不响地操作着的排字工人。

缀字校正

他自己非拼写得准确无讹不可。校对热。今天早晨马丁·坎宁翰忘记给我们出他那个拼写比赛的难题了。“看一个焦虑不安的行商在墓地的墙下，测量一只削了皮的梨有多么匀称所感到的无比困惑，是饶有趣味的。”[30]有些莫名其妙，对不?把“墓地”一词加进去，当然是为了“匀称”。[31]

当他戴上那顶大礼帽时，我本该说声谢谢。我应该扯一扯旧帽子什么的。可不，我本来可以这么说：“看上去还跟新的一样哩。”倒想看看他脸上会有什么反应。

吱。第一部印刷机那最下面的平台把拨纸器吱的一声推了出来，上面托着第一撂对折的报纸。它就这样吱的一声来引起注意，差不多像个活人了。它竭尽全力来说着话。连那扇门也吱吱响着，在招呼人把它关上。每样东西都用各自的方式说话。吱。

著名的神职人员

不定期的撰稿者

工长突如其来地把毛样递过来说：

“等一下。大主教的信在哪儿呢?还得在{电讯报}上重登一遍。那个叫什么名字来着的人在哪儿?”

他朝周围那一部部只顾轰鸣却毫无反响的机器望了望。

“先生，是蒙克斯吗?”铸宇间一个声音问道。

“嗯。蒙克斯在哪儿?”

“蒙克斯！”

布卢姆先生拿起他那份剪报。该走了。

“那么，我把图案弄来，南尼蒂先生，”他说，“我知道你准会给它安排个好位置。”

“蒙克斯！”[33]

“哦，先生。”

每隔三个月，续订一次合同。我先得去吸口新鲜空气。好歹试试看吧。八月见报吧。是个好主意：在巴尔斯布里奇举办马匹 展示会[32]的月份。旅游者会前来参加展示会的。

排字房的老领班

穿过排字房时，他从一个戴眼镜、系了围裙的驼背老人身边走过。那就是排字房的老领班蒙克斯。他这辈子想必亲手排了许多五花八门的消息：讣告、酒店广告、讲演、离婚诉讼、打捞到溺死者。如今，快要走到生命尽头了。我敢说，这是个处世稳重、一丝不苟的人，银行里多少总有些积蓄。老婆做得一手好菜，衣服洗得干净。闺女在客厅里踩着缝纫机。相貌平庸的简，从不惹是生非。

逾越节[34]到了

他停下脚步，望着一个排字工人利利索索地分字模。先得倒过来读。他读起来快得很。这功夫是练出来的。穆纳格迪·克里特怕。可怜的爸爸曾经拿着{哈加达}书[35]，用手指倒指着念给我听。逾越节[36]。明年在耶路撒冷。 唷，哎呀!经过漫长的岁月，吃尽了苦头。我们终于被领出埃及的士地，进入了为奴之家[37]。哈利路亚[38]。以色列人哪，你们要留心听!上主是我们的上帝。[39]不，那是另一档子事。还有那十二个弟兄，雅各的儿子们[40]再就是羔羊[41]、猫、狗、杖[42]、水[43]和屠夫。然后，死亡的天使杀了屠夫，屠夫杀了公牛，狗杀了猫[44]。乍一听好像有点儿莫名其妙，其实再探究一下就会明白，这意味着正义：大家都在相互你吃我，我吃你。这毕竟就是人生。这活儿他干得多快啊。熟能生巧。他像在用指头读着原稿似的。

布卢姆先生从那咣噹咣噹的噪音中踱出，穿过走廊，来到楼梯平台。现在我打算一路搭电车前往。也许能找到他吧。不如先给他挂个电话。号码呢?跟西特伦家的门牌号码一样：二八。二八四四。

只再挪一次，那块肥皂

他走下露天的楼梯。是哪个讨厌鬼用火柴在墙上乱涂一气?看上去仿佛是为了打赌而干的。这些厂房里总是弥漫着浓烈的油脂气味。当我呆在汤姆[45]隔壁的时候，就老是闻到这种温吞吞的鳔胶气味。

他掏出手绢来搌了搌鼻孔。香橼柠檬?啊，我还在那儿放了块肥皂呢。在那个兜儿里会弄丢的。他放回手绢时取出肥皂，然后把它塞进裤后兜，扣上钮扣。

你太太使用哪一种香水?我还来得及乘电车回家一趟。借口说忘了点儿东西。在她换衣服之前，瞧上一眼。不。这儿。不。

抽冷子从《电讯晚报》的编辑部里传出一阵刺耳的尖笑声。我知道那是谁。怎么啦?溜进去一会儿，打个电话吧。那是内德·兰伯特。

他踅了进去。

爱琳[46]，银海上的绿宝石

“幽灵走来了，”[47]麦克休教授嘴里塞满饼干，朝那积着尘埃的窗玻璃低声咕依。

迪达勒斯先生从空洞洞的壁炉旁朝内德·兰伯特那张泛着冷笑的脸望去，尖酸地问：

“真够呛，这会不会使你的屁股感到烟薰火燎呢?”

内德·兰伯特坐在桌子上，继续读下去：

“再则，请注意那打着漩涡蜿蜒曲折地哗哗淌去的泪泪溪流与拦住去路的岩石搏斗，在习习西风轻拂下，冲向海神所支配的波涛汹涌的蔚蓝领国;沿途，水面上荡漾着灿烂的阳光，两边的堤岸爬满青苔，森林中的巨树那架成拱形的繁叶[48]，将荫影投射于溪流那忧郁多思的胸脯上。怎么样，西蒙?”他从报纸的上端望着问，“挺出色吧?”

“他调着样儿喝酒，”迪达勒斯先生说。

内德·兰伯特边笑边用报纸拍着自己的膝盖，重复着：

“忧郁多思的胸脯和蒙在屁股上的繁叶。真够绝的了!”

“色诺芬[49]俯瞰马拉松[50]，”迪达勒斯先生说，他又瞧了瞧壁炉和窗户，“马拉松濒临大海。[51]”

“行啦，”麦克休教授从窗旁人声说，“我再也不想听那套啦。”

他把啃成月牙形的薄脆饼干吃掉，还觉得饿，正准备再去啃拿在另一只手里的饼干。

咬文嚼字的玩艺儿。吹牛皮，空空洞洞。依我看，内德·兰伯特准备请一天假。每逢举行葬礼，这一天就整个儿被打乱了。人家说，他有势力。大学副校长——老查特顿[52]是他的伯祖父或曾伯祖父。据说眼看就九旬了。也许报馆为这位副校长的噩耗所写的短评老早就准备好了。他简直就是为了刁难他们才活得这么长。说不定他自己倒会先死哩。约翰尼，替你伯父让路吧[53]。赫奇斯·艾尔·查特顿阁下。每逢该交租金的日子，老人就用他那颤巍巍的手给他签上一两张字迹古怪的支票。老人一旦踹了腿，他就可以发一笔横财。哈利路亚。

“又一阵发作吧，”内德·兰伯特说。

“什么呀?”布卢姆先生说。

“新近发现的西塞罗[54]断简残篇，”麦克休教授煞有介事地回答说，“《我们美丽的国土》。”

简单然而扼要

“谁的国土?”布卢姆先生简捷地问。

“问得再中肯不过了，”教授边咀嚼着边说，“并且在‘谁的’上加重了语气。”

“丹·道森[55]的国土，”迪达勒斯先生说。

“指的是他昨天晚上的演说吗?”布卢姆先生问。

内德·兰伯特点了点头。

“且听听这个，”他说。

这当儿，门被推开了，球形的门把手碰着了布卢姆先生的腰部。

“对不起，”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊边走进来边说。

布卢姆先生敏捷地往旁边一闪。

“不客气，”他说。

“你好，杰克。”

“请进，请进。”

“你好。”

“你好吗，迪达勒斯?”

“蛮好。你呢?”

杰·杰·奥莫洛伊摇了摇头。

伤 心

在年轻一辈的律师中间他曾经是最精明强干的一位。如今患了肺病，可怜的伙计。从他脸上那病态的潮红看，这个人已经病入膏肓，随时都可能一命呜呼。究竟是怎么回事？为金钱发愁吧。

“或者，倘若我们攀登重岩叠嶂的峰巅。”

“你的气色异常地好。”

“能见见主编吗?”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊边往里屋瞅边问。

“当然可以，”麦克休教授说，“可以见他并且谈谈。他正在自己屋里跟利内翰[56]在一起。”

杰·杰·奥莫洛伊踱到办公室里那张斜面写字台前，从后往前翻看着用浅粉色纸印刷的报纸合订本。

本来或许可以有所成就的，可是业务荒疏了，灰心丧气，贪起赌来。弄得债台高筑。播下风，收割的是暴风。[57]过去，狄·与托·菲茨杰拉德[58]事务所常常付给他优厚的预约辩护费。他们是为了显示智力而戴假发的。就像是坐落于葛拉斯涅文的竖像似的，炫耀着自己的头脑。他想必是跟加布里埃尔·康罗伊一道为《快报》[59]撰写一些文章。此人博学。迈尔斯·克劳福德是以在《独立报》[60]上写文章起家的。那些报人只要一听说哪儿有空子可钻，马上就见风使舵，煞是可笑。风信鸡。嘴里一会儿吹热气，一会儿又吹冷风![61]不知道该相信哪个好了。听到第二个故事之前，觉得头一个也蛮好。在报上彼此猛烈地开笔仗，然后一切都被淡忘。一转眼就又握手言欢。

“喂，请你们务必听听吧，”内德·兰伯特央求说。“或者，倘若我们攀登重岩叠嶂的峰巅……”

“言过其实!”教授暴躁地插嘴说，“这种夸夸其谈的空话己经听够啦!”

内德·兰伯特继续读下去：

“峰巅，巍然耸立。我们的灵魂恍若沫浴于……”

“还不如沫浴一下他的嘴巴呢，”迪达勒斯先生说，“永恒的上帝，难道他还能从中得到些报酬吗?”

“沫浴于爱尔兰全景那无与伦比的风光中。论美，尽管在其他以秀丽见称的宝地也能找到被人广为称颂的典型，然而我们温柔、神秘的爱尔兰在黄昏中那无可比拟的半透明光辉，照耀着郁郁葱葱的森林，绵延起伏的田野，和煦芬芳的绿色牧场。所有这些，真是举世无双的……”

“月亮，”麦克休教授说，“他忘记了《哈姆莱特》[62]。”

他家乡的土话

黄昏辽远而广阔地笼罩着这片景色，直到月亮那皎洁的球体喷薄欲出，闪烁出它那银色的光辉……

“哦!”迪达勒斯先生绝望地呻吟着，大声说，“狗屁不值!足够啦，内德，人一生时光有限啊!”

他摘下大礼帽，不耐烦地吹着他那浓密的口髭，把手指扎煞开来，活像一把威尔士梳子[63]梳理着头发。

内德·兰伯特把报纸甩到一旁，高兴地暗自笑着。过了一会儿，麦克休教授那架着黑框眼镜、胡子拉碴的脸上，也漾起刺耳的哄笑。

“夹生面包·大傻瓜[64]!”他大声说。

韦瑟厄普[65]如是说

此文如今白纸黑字己经印了出来，自然尽可以挖苦它一通，可是这类货色就像刚出锅的热饼一样脍炙人口哩。他干过面包糕点这一行，对吧?所以大家才管他叫作“夹生面包·大傻瓜”。反正他也己经赚足了。闺女跟内地税务署的那个拥有小轿车的家伙订了婚。乖巧地让他上了钩，还大张宴席，应酬款待。韦瑟厄普一向说：用酒肉把他们置于掌心。

里屋的门猛地开了，一张有着鹰钩鼻子的红脸膛伸了进来，头上是一撮羽毛似的头发，活像个鸡冠。一双蓝色、盛气凌人的眼睛环视着他们，并且粗声粗气地问：

“什么事?”

“冒牌乡绅[66]亲自光临!”麦克休教授堂哉皇哉地说。

“去你的吧，你这该死的老教书匠!”主编说，算是跟他打了招呼。

“来，内德，”迪达勒浙先生边戴帽子边说，“这事完了之后[67]，我非得去喝上一盅不可啦。”

“喝酒!”主编大声说，“望完弥撒之前，什么也别想喝。”

“说得蛮对，”迪达勒斯先生说着就往外走，“来呀，内德。”

内德·兰伯特贴着桌边哧溜了下来。主编的一双蓝眼睛朝着布卢姆先生那张隐隐含着一丝笑意的脸上瞟去。

“你也跟我们一道来吗，迈尔斯?”内德·兰伯特问。

回顾难忘的战役

“北科克义勇军！”主编跨着大步走到壁炉台跟前，大声嚷着，“咱们连战连胜!北科克和西班牙军官们!”

“是在哪儿呀，迈尔斯?”内德·兰伯特若有所思地望着自己的鞋尖问。

“在俄亥俄!”主编吼道。

“可不是嘛，没错儿，”内德·兰伯特表示同意。 ·

他一面往外走，一面跟杰·杰·奥莫洛伊打耳喳说：

“酒精中毒，真可悲。”

“俄亥俄!”主编仰起红脸膛儿，用尖锐的最高音嚷道，“我的俄亥俄[68]!”

“地地道道的扬抑扬音步!”教授说，“长，短，长。”

哦，风鸣琴[69]!

他从背心兜里掏出一卷清除牙缝的拉线[70]，扯下一截，灵巧地用它在那未刷过的两对牙齿之间奏出声来：

“乒乓，乒乓。"”

布卢姆先生看见时机正好，就走向里屋。

“借光，克劳福德先生，”他说，“为了一件广告的事，我想打个电话。”

他走了进去。

“今天晚上那篇社论怎么样?”麦克休教授问。他走到主编前，一只手牢牢地按在他的肩头。

“那样就行啦。”迈尔斯·克劳福德较为平静地说，“喂，杰克，不用着急。那样就可以啦。”

“你好，迈尔斯，”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊说，他手一松，合订本的几页报纸就又软塌塌地滑回去了， “加拿大诈骗案[71]今出登来了吗?”

里屋电话铃在丁零零响着。

“二八……不，二0……四四……对。”

看准赢家

利内翰拿着《体育》[72]的毛样从里面的办公室走了出来。

“谁想知道哪匹马准能得金杯奖?”他问，“就是奥马登所骑的那匹“权杖”。”

他把毛样朝桌上一掼。

打赤脚沿着过道跑来的报童的尖叫声忽然挨近了，门猛地被推开。

“安静点儿，”利内翰说，“我听到脚步声啦。”

麦克休教授跨大步走过去，一把拽住那个战战兢兢的少年的脖领，旁的孩子们赶紧沿着过道往外逃，冲下楼梯。那些毛样被穿堂风刮得沙沙响，蓝色的潦草字迹在空中飘荡，然后落到桌子底下。

“不是我，先生。是我背后那个大个子猛推了我一下，先生。”

“把他赶出去，关上门，”主编说， “正在刮台风哪。”

利内翰开始从地板上抓起毛样，两次蹲下去时全嘟嘟嚷嚷的。

“我们在等赛马特辑哪，先生，”报童说，“帕特·法雷尔猛推了我一把，先生。”

他指了指从门框后面窥伺着的两张脸。

“就是他，先生。”

“快给我滚，”麦克休教授粗暴地说。

他把少年胡乱搡出去，砰的一声关上了门。

杰·杰·奥莫洛伊沙沙地翻着那合订本，边咕哝边查找：

“下接第六页第四栏。”

“对，这里是《电讯晚报》，”布卢姆先生在里间办公室里打着电话，“老板呢?……是的，《电讯》 ……到哪儿去啦?澳!哪家拍卖行?……啊!我明白啦。好的，我一定能找到他。”

接着是一次相撞

他刚挂上电话，那铃又丁零一声响了。他赶忙走进外屋，恰好跟又一次捡起毛样正在直起腰来的利内翰撞了个满怀。

“对不起，先生[73]，”利内翰说，他紧紧抓了布卢姆先生一把，做了个鬼脸。

“都怪我，”布卢姆先生说，他听任对方抓住自己。“没伤着你吗?都怪我太急啦。”

“我的膝盖，”利内翰说。

他做出一副滑稽相，边揉着膝盖边哼哼卿卿地说：

“年岁[74]不饶人啊。”

“对不起，”布卢姆先生说。

他走到门边，把门推开一半，又停下来了。杰·杰·奥莫洛伊还在翻看着那沉甸甸的纸页。两个蹲在大门外台阶上的报童发出的尖声喊叫和一只口琴吹奏出的音响，在空洞洞的过道里回荡着：

我们是韦克斯福德的男子汉，

凭着胆量和双臂酣战。[75]

布卢姆退场

“我要跑一趟巴切勒步道，”布卢姆先生说，“张罗一下凯斯这则广告。想把它定下来。听说他正在狄龙拍卖行那儿哪。”

他望着他们的脸，迟疑了片刻。主编一手支着头，倚着壁炉架，突然将一只臂往前一伸。

“走吧!”他说，“世界在你前面呢。”[76]

“一会儿就回来，”布卢姆边说边匆匆往外走。

杰·杰·奥莫洛伊从利内翰手里接过毛样来读。他轻轻地把它们一页页地吹开，不加评论。

“他准能拉到那宗广告，”他透过黑框眼镜，从半截儿窗帘上端眺望着说，“瞧，那帮小无赖跟在他后面呢。”

“在哪儿?让我瞧瞧。”利内翰边说，边朝窗口跑去。

街头行列

他们两个人面泛微笑，从半截儿窗帘上端眺望那些跳跳蹦蹦地尾随着布卢姆先生的报童们。最后一个少年在和风中放着一只尾巴由一串白色蝴蝶结组成的风筝，像是嘲弄一般在东倒西歪地摆来摆去。

“瞧，那群流浪儿跟在他后面大喊大叫，”利内翰说，“真逗!快把人笑死了。喔，肋骨都笑拧了!学他那扁平足的走法。耍着各种小把戏，乖巧得连云雀都逮得着。”

他以矫捷而滑稽的玛祖卡舞步从壁炉前滑过，来到杰·杰·奥莫洛伊跟前。奥莫洛伊把毛样递到他那摊开来的手里。

“怎么啦?”迈尔斯·克劳福德吃惊地说，“另外两位哪儿去啦?”

“谁?”教授转过身来说，“他们到椭圆酒家[77]喝点儿什么去了。帕迪·胡珀[78]和杰克·霍尔[79]也在那儿。是昨天晚上来的。”

“那就走吧，”迈尔斯·克劳福德说，“我的帽子呢?”

他趔趔趄趄地走进后面的办公室，撩起背心后面的衩口，玎玲噹啷地从后兜里掏出钥匙。钥匙又在半空中响了一下，当他锁书桌抽屉时，它们碰在木桌上又响了。

“他的病情不轻哪，”麦克休教授低声说。

“看来是这样，”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊说。他掏出个香烟盒，若有所思地念叨着，“然而也未必如此。谁的火柴最多?”

和平的旱烟袋[80]

他敬一支烟给教授，自己也拿了一支。利内翰赶紧划了根火柴，依次为他们点燃了香烟。杰·杰·奥莫洛伊又打开烟盒来让。

“谢谢你[81]”利内翰说着，拿了一支。

主编从里面的办公室走了出来，草帽歪戴在额头上。他凛然地指着麦克休教授，背诵了两句歌词：

地位名声将你蛊惑，

使你醉心的是帝国[82]。

教授那长嘴唇抿得紧紧的，嘻笑着。

“呃?你这暴戾的老罗马帝国?”迈尔斯·克劳福德说。

他从开着盖儿的烟盒里取了一支香烟。利内翰立刻殷勤地为他点上，并且说：

“静一静，听听我这崭新的谜语!”

“罗马帝国[83]呗。”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊安详地说，“听上去要比不列颠的或布里克斯顿[84]文雅一些。这个词儿不知怎地使人想到火里的脂肪。”

迈尔斯·克劳福德噗的一声猛地朝天花板喷出第一口烟。

“对呀，”他说，“咱们是脂肪。你和我就是火星的脂肪。咱们的处境甚至还不如地狱里的雪球呢。”

罗马往昔的辉煌[85]

“且慢，”麦克休教授从从容容地举起瘦削得像爪子一样的两只手说，“咱们可不能被词藻，被词藻的音调牵着鼻子走。咱们心目中的罗马是帝国的，专制的，专横的[86]。”

稍顿了顿，他又以雄辩家的派头，摊开那双从又脏又破的衬衫袖口里伸出的胳膊：

“他们的文明是什么?我承认它是庞大的，然而是粗鄙的。厕所[87]。下水道。犹太人在荒野里以及山顶上说，‘这是个适当的地 方，我们为耶和华筑一座圣坛吧。’罗马人，正如跟他亦步亦趋的英格兰人一样，每当踏上新岸(他从未踏上过我们的岸边)，就一味地执着于修厕所。身穿宽大长袍的他，四下里打量了一下，然后说，‘这是个适当的地方，我们装个抽水马桶吧。’”

“他们这么说，也就这么做了，”利内翰说，“据《吉尼斯》第一章[88]咱们古老的祖先对流水曾有过偏爱。”

“他们生来就是绅士，”杰·杰、奥莫洛伊咕依道，然而，咱们也有·《罗马法》[89]。”

“而庞修斯·彼拉多[90]那部法典的先知，”麦克休教授回答说。

“你晓得税务法庭庭长帕利斯[91]那档子事吗?”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊问；“ “那是在王家大学[92]的宴会上。一切都进行得顺顺当当

“先听我的谜语吧，”利内翰说， “你们准备好了吗?”

身着宽松的多尼格尔[93]灰色花呢衣服、个子高高的奥马登·伯克[94]先生从过道里走了进来。斯蒂芬·迪达勒斯跟在他后面，边进屋边摘下帽子。

“请进，小伙子们!”[95]利内翰大声说。

“我是前来护送一个求情者的，”奥马登·伯克先生悦耳的声调说，“这位青年在饱有经验者的引导下，来拜访一名声名狼藉者了。”

“你好吗?”主编说着，伸出一只手来， “请进。你家老爷子刚走。”

? ? ?

利内翰对大家说：

“静一静!哪一出歌剧跟铁路线相似?考虑，沉思，默想，解决了再回答我。”

斯蒂芬一面把打字信稿递过去，一面指着标题和署名。

“谁?”主编问。

撕掉了一个角儿。

“加勒特·迪希先生，”斯蒂芬说。

“又是那个矫情鬼，”主编说，“这是谁撕的?他忽然想解手了吗?”

扬起火焰般的帆，

从南方的风暴中乘快船，

他来了，苍白的吸血鬼，

跟我嘴对嘴地亲吻。[96]

“你好，斯蒂芬，”教授说，他凑过来，隔着他们的肩膀望去，“口蹄疫?你改行了吗?……”

阉牛之友派“大诗人”[97]呐。

在一家著名餐馆里闹起的纠纷

“您好，先生，”斯蒂芬涨红了脸回答说，“这封信不是我写的。加勒特·迪希先生托我……”

“哦，我认识他，”迈尔斯·克劳福德说，“我也认识他老婆。 是个举世无双的凶悍老泼妇。天哪，她淮是害上了口蹄疫!那天晚上，她在‘金星嘉德’饭店里，把一盆汤全泼到侍者脸上啦。哎呀!”

一个女人把罪恶带到人世间。为了墨涅拉俄斯那个跟人私奔了的妻子海伦，希腊人竟足足打了十年仗。布雷夫尼大公奥鲁尔克。[98]

“他是个鳏夫吗?”斯蒂芬问。

“啊，跟老婆分居着哪，”迈尔斯·克劳福德边浏览着打字信稿边说。“御用马群。哈布斯堡[99]。一个爱尔兰人在维也纳的城堡跟前救了皇帝一命。可不要忘记!爱尔兰的封蒂尔柯涅尔伯爵马克西米连·卡尔·奥唐奈。[100]为了封国王作奥地利陆军元帅，而今把他的嗣子派了来。[101]那儿迟早总有一天会出事。‘野鹅’[102]。啊，是的，每一次都是这样。可不要忘记这一点!”

“关键在于他忘没忘记，”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊把马蹄形的镇纸翻了个过儿，安详地说，“拯救了王侯，也不过赢得一声道谢而已。”

麦克休教授朝他转过身来。

“不然的话呢?”他说。

“我把事情的来龙去脉说一说吧，”迈尔斯·克劳福德开口说，“有一天，一个匈牙利人[103]……”

失 败 者

被提名的高贵的侯爵

“我们一向忠于失败者[104]，”教授说，“对我们来说，成功乃是智慧与想象力的灭亡。我们从来不曾效忠于成功者。只不过侍奉他们就是了。我教的是刺耳的拉丁文。我讲的是这样一个民族的语言，他们的智力的顶点乃是‘一寸光阴一寸金’这么一条格言。物质占支配地位。主啊![105]主啊!这句话的灵性何在?主耶稣还是索尔兹伯里勋爵[106]？伦敦西区一家俱乐部里的沙发[107]。然而希腊文却不同!”

主啊，怜悯我们吧![108]

开朗的微笑使他那戴着黑框眼镜的两眼炯炯有神，长嘴唇咧得更长了。

“希腊文!”他又说，“主![109]辉煌的字眼!闪米特族和撒克逊族都不晓得的母音[110]。主啊[111]!智慧的光辉。我应该教希腊文——教这心灵的语言。主啊，怜悯我们吧![112]修厕所的和挖下水道的[113]永远不能成为我们精神上的主宰。我们是溃败于特拉法尔加[114]的欧洲天主教骑士精神的忠实仆从，又是在伊哥斯波塔米随着雅典舰队一道沉没了的精神帝国[115]——而不是统治权[116]——的忠实仆从。对，对，他们沉没了。皮勒斯被神谕所哄骗[117]，孤注一掷，试图挽回希腊的命运。这是对于失败者的效忠啊。”

他离开了他们，跨着大步走向窗口。

“他们开赴战场，”奥马登·伯克先生用阴郁的口吻说，“然而总吃败仗。”[118]

“呜呜!”利内翰低声哭泣着，“演出[119]快要结束的时候，竟被一片瓦击中。[120]可怜的、可怜的、可怜的皮勒斯!”

然后，他跟斯蒂芬打起耳喳来。

利内翰的五行打油诗

学究麦克休好气派，

黑框眼镜成天戴，

醉得瞧啥皆双影，

何必费事把它戴?

我看不出这有啥可笑[121]，你呢?

穆利根说，这是为了悼念萨卢斯特[122]。他母亲死得像头牲口[123]。

迈尔斯·克劳福德把那几张信稿塞进侧兜里。

“这样就可以啦，”他说，“回头我再读其余的部分。这样就可以啦。”

利内翰摊开双手表示抗议。

“还有我的谜语呢!”他说，“哪一出歌剧跟铁路线相似?”

“歌剧?”奥马登·伯克先生那张斯芬克斯般的脸把谜语重复了一遍。

利内翰欢欢喜喜地宣布说”

“《卡斯蒂利亚的玫瑰》。你懂得它俏皮在什么地方吗?谜底是，并排的铸铁。嘻嘻嘻。”[124]

他轻轻戳了一下奥马登·伯克先生的侧腹。奥马登·伯克先生假装连气儿都透不过来了，手拄阳伞，风度优雅地朝后一仰。

“帮我一把!”他叹了口气，“我虚弱得很。”

利内翰踮起脚尖，赶紧用毛样沙沙沙地扇了搧他的脸。

教授沿着合订本的架子往回走的时候，用手掠了一下斯蒂芬和奥莫洛伊先生那系得稀松的领带。

“过去和现在的巴黎，”他说，“你们活像是巴黎公社社员。”

“像是炸掉巴士底狱的家伙[125]，”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊用安详的口吻挖苦说，“要不然，芬兰总督就是你们暗杀的吧?看上去你们仿佛干了这档子事——干掉了博布里科夫将军。[126]”

“我们仅仅有过这样的念头罢了，”斯蒂芬说。

万紫千红[127]

“这里人材济济，”迈尔斯·克劳福德先生说，“法律方面啦，古典方面啦……”

“赛马啦，”利内翰插嘴道。

“文学，新闻界。”

“要是布卢姆在场的话，”教授说，“还有广告这高雅的一行哩。”

“还有布卢姆夫人，”奥马登·伯克先生加上一句，“声乐女神。都柏林的首席歌星。”

利内翰大咳一声。

“啊嗨!”他用极其细柔的嗓音说，“哎，缺口新鲜空气!我在公园里感冒了，大门是敞着的。”

“你能胜任!”

主编将一只手神经质地搭在斯蒂芬的肩上。

“我想请你写点东西，”他说，“带点刺儿的。你准能胜任!一看你的脸就知道。青春的词汇里[128]……”

从你的脸上就看得出来。从你的眼神里也看得出来。你是个懒散、吊儿郎当的小调皮鬼。[129]

“口蹄疫!”主编用轻蔑口吻谩骂道，“民族主义党在勃里斯－因－奥索里召开大会[130]。真荒唐!威胁民众!得刺他们两下!把我们统统写进去，让灵魂见鬼去吧。圣父圣子和圣灵，还有茅坑杰克·麦卡锡[131]。”

“咱们都能提供精神食粮，”奥马登·伯克先生说。

斯蒂芬抬起两眼，目光与那大胆而鲁莽的视线相遇。

“他[132]要把你拉进记者帮呢!”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊说。

了不起的加拉赫[133]

“你能胜任，”迈尔斯·克劳福德为了加强语气，还擦起拳头，又说了一遍，“等着瞧吧，咱们会使欧洲大吃一惊。还是依格内修斯·加拉赫丢了差事之后，在克拉伦斯[134]当台球记分员时经常说的。加拉赫才算得上是个新闻记者呢。 那才叫作笔杆子。你晓得他是怎样一举成名的吗?我告诉你吧。 那可是报界有史以来最精采的一篇特讯哩。八一年[135]五月六日，‘常胜军’时期， 凤凰公园发生了暗杀事件[136]。你那时大概还没有出生[137]呢。我找给你看看。”

他推开人们，踱向报纸合订本。

“喂，瞧瞧，”他回过头来说，“《纽约世界报》[138]拍了封海底电报来约一篇特稿。你还记得当时的事吗?”

麦克休教授点了点头。

“《纽约世界报》哩，”主编兴奋地把草帽往后推了推说，“案件发生的地点。蒂姆·凯里，我的意思是说，还有卡瓦纳、乔·布雷迪[139]和其他那些人。‘剥山羊皮’[140]赶马车经过的路程。写明整个路程，明白吧?”

“‘剥山羊皮’，”奥马登·伯克先生说，“就是菲茨哈里斯。听说他在巴特桥那儿经营着一座马车夫棚[141]。是霍罗翰告诉我的。你认识霍罗翰吗?”

“那个一瘸一拐的吧?”迈尔斯·克劳福德说。

“他告诉我说，可怜的冈穆利也在那儿，替市政府照看石料，守夜的。”

斯蒂芬惊愕地回过头来。

“冈穆利?”他说。“真的吗?那不是家父的一个朋友吗?”

“不必管什么冈穆利了!”迈尔斯·克劳福德气愤地大声说，“就让冈穆利去守着他那石头吧，免得它们跑掉。瞧这个。依纳爵·加拉赫做了什么? 我告诉你。凭着天才和灵感，他马上就拍了海底电报。你有二月十七号的《自由人周刊》吗? 对，翻到了吗?”

他把合订本胡乱往回翻着，将手指戳在一个地方。

“掀到第四版，请看布朗梦想[142]的广告。找到了吗？对。”

电话铃响了。

远方的声音

“我去接，”教授边走向里屋，边说。

“B代表公园大门[143]。对。”

他的手指颤悠悠地跳跃着，从一个点戳到另一个点上。

“T代表总督府。 C是行凶地点。 K是诺克马龙大门[144l。”

他颈部那松弛的筋肉像公鸡的垂肉般颤悠着。没有浆好的衬衫假前脑一下子翘了起来，他猛地将它掖回背心里面。

“喂?是《电讯晚报》。喂?……哪一位?……是的……是的……是的。”

“F至P是‘剥山羊皮’为了证明他们当时不在犯罪现场而赶车走边的路线。英奇科尔、圆镇、风亭、帕默斯顿公园、拉尼拉。符号是F·A·B·P·。懂了吧?X是上利森街的戴维酒吧[145]。”

教授出现在里屋门口。

“是布卢姆打来的，”他说。

“叫他下地狱去吧，”主编立刻说，“X戴维酒吧，晓得了吧?”

伶俐极了

“伶俐……”利内翰说，“极了。”

“趁热给他们端上来，”迈尔斯·克劳福德说，“血淋淋地和盘托出。”

你永远不会从这场恶梦中苏醒过来。[146]

“我瞧见了，”主编自豪地说，“我刚好在场。迪克·亚当斯[147]是天主把生命的气吹进去[148]的科克人当中心地最他妈善良的一位。他和我本人都在场。”

利内翰朝空中的身影鞠了一躬，宣布说：

“太太，我是亚当。在见到夏娃之前曾经是亚伯。”[149]

“历史!”迈尔斯·克劳福德大声说，“亲王街的老太婆[150]打头阵。读了这篇特稿，哀哭并咬牙切齿。[151]特稿是插在广告里的。格雷戈尔·格雷[152]设计的图案。他从此就扶摇直上。后来帕迪·胡珀在托·鲍面前替他说项，托·鲍就把他拉进了《星报》[153]。如今他和布卢门菲尔德[154]打得火热。这才叫报业呢!这才叫天才呢!派亚特[155]!他简直就是大家的老爹!”

“黄色报纸的老爹，”利内翰加以证实说，“又是克里斯·卡利南[156]的姻亲。”

“喂?听得见吗?嗯，他还在这儿哪。你自已过来吧。”

“如今晚儿，你可到哪儿去找这样的新闻记者呀，呃?”主编大声说。

他呼啦一下把合订本合上了。

“很得鬼，”[157]利内翰对奥马登·伯克先生说。

“非常精明，”奥马登·伯克先生说。

麦克休教授从里面的办公室走了出来。

“说起‘常胜军’，”他说，“你们晓得吗，一些小贩被市记录法官[158]传了去……”

“可不是嘛，”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊热切地说，“达德利夫人[159]为了瞧瞧被去年那场旋风[160]刮倒了的树，穿过公园走回家去。她打算买一张都柏林市一览图。原来那竟是纪念乔·布雷迪或是‘老大哥’[161]或是‘剥山羊皮’的明信片。而且就在总督府大门外出售

着哩，想想看!”

“如今晚儿这帮家伙净抓些鸡毛蒜皮，”迈尔斯·克劳福德说，“呸!报业和律师业都是这样!现在吃律师这碗饭的，哪里还有像怀持赛德[162]、 像伊萨克·巴特[163]、像口才流利的奥黑根[164那样的人呢?呃?哎，真是荒唐透顶!呸!只不过是撮堆儿真的货色!”

他没再说下去。嘴唇却一个劲儿地抽搐着，显示出神经质的嘲讽。

难道会有人愿意跟那么个嘴唇接吻吗?你怎么知道呢?那么你为什么又把这写下来呢?

韵律与理性

冒斯，扫斯。冒斯和扫斯之间多少有些关联吧?要么，难道扫斯就是一种冒斯吗?准是有点儿什么。扫斯，泡特，奥特，少特，芝欧斯。[165]押：两个人身穿一样的衣服，长得一模一样，并立着。[166]

……给你太平日子，

……听你喜悦的话语，

趁现在风平浪静的一刻。[167]

但丁瞥见少女们三个三个地走了过来。着绿色、玫瑰色、枯叶色的衣服，相互搂着;穿过了这样幽暗的地方[168]，身着紫红色、紫色的衣服，打着那和平的金光旗[169]，使人更加恳切地注视[170]的金光灿烂的军旗，走了过来。可我瞧见的却是一些年迈的男人，在黯夜中，忏悔着自己的罪行，抱着铅一般沉重的脚步：冒斯、扫斯；拖姆、卧姆。[171]

“说说你的高见吧，”奥马登·伯克先生说。

一天应付一天的就够了……

杰·杰·奥莫洛伊那苍白的脸上泛着微笑，应战了。

“亲爱的迈尔斯，”他说，一边丢掉纸烟，“你曲解了我的话。就我目前掌握的情况而言，我并不认为第三种职业[172]这整个行当都是值得辩护的。 然而你的科克腿[173]被感情驱使着哪。为什么不把亨利·格拉顿[174]弗勒德[175]， 以及狄靡西尼[176]和埃德蒙·伯克[177]也抬出来呢?我们全都晓得伊格内修斯· 加拉赫，还有他那个老板，在查佩利佐德出版小报的哈姆斯沃思[178]； 再有就是他那个出版鲍厄里通俗报纸的美国堂弟[179]。《珀迪·凯利要闻汇编》、《皮尤纪事》以及我们那反映敏捷的朋友《斯基勃林之鹰》[180]，就更不用说了。 何必扯到怀特赛德这么个法庭辩论场上的雄辩家呢?编报纸，一天应付一天的就够了[181]。”

同往昔岁月的联系

“格拉顿和弗勒德都为这家报纸撰过稿，”主编朝着他嚷道，“爱尔兰义勇军[182]。你们如今都哪儿去啦?一七六三年创刊的。卢卡斯大夫。像约翰·菲尔波特·柯伦[183]这样的人，如今上哪儿去找呀?呸!”

“喏，”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊说，“比方说，英国皇家法律顾问布什[184]。”

“布什?”主编说，“啊，对。布什，对。他有这方面的气质。肯德尔·布什[185]我指的是西摩·布什。”

“他老早就该升任法官了，”教授说，“要不是……唉，算啦。”

杰·杰·奥莫洛伊转向斯蒂芬，安详而慢腾腾地说：

“在我听到过的申辩演说中，最精采的正是出自西摩·布什之口。那是在审理杀兄事件一一蔡尔兹凶杀案。布什替他辩护来着。”

注入我的耳腔之内。[186]

顺便问一下，是怎样发觉的呢?他是正在睡着的时候死的呀。还有另外那个双背禽兽[187]的故事呢?

“演说的内容是什么?”教授问。

意大利，艺术的女王[188]

“他谈的是《罗马法》的证据法，”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊说， “把它拿来跟古老的《摩西法典》一一也就是说，跟《同态复仇法》[189]一一相对照。于是，他就举出安置于罗马教廷的米开朗琪罗的雕塑《摩西》作例证。”

“嗬。”

“讲几句恰当的话，”利内翰作了开场白，“请肃静!”

静场，杰·杰·奥莫洛伊掏出他的香烟盒。

虚妄的肃静。其实不过是些老生常谈。

那位致开场白的取出他的火柴盒，若有所思地点上一支香烟。

从此，我[190]经常回顾那奇怪的辰光，并发现，划火柴本身固然是很小的一个动作，它却决定了我们两个人那以后的生涯。

干锤百炼的掉尾句

杰·杰·奥莫洛伊字斟句酌地说下去：

“他是这么说的：那座堪称为冻结的音乐[191]的石像， 那个长了犄角的可怕的半神半人的形象[192]，那智慧与预言的永恒象征。 倘若雕刻家凭着想象力和技艺，用大理石雕成的那些净化了的灵魂和正在净化着的灵魂的化身，作为艺术品有永垂不朽的价值的话，它是当之无愧的。”

他挥了挥细长的手，给词句的韵律和抑扬平添了一番优雅。

“很好!”迈尔斯·克劳福德立刻说。

“非凡的灵感，”奥马登·伯克说。

“你喜欢吗?”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊问斯蒂芬。

那些词藻和手势的优美使得斯蒂芬从血液里受到感染。他涨红了脸，从烟盒里取出一支香烟。杰·杰·奥莫洛伊把那烟盒伸向迈尔斯·克劳福德。利内翰像刚才那样为大家点燃香烟，自己也当作战利品似地拿了一支，并且说：

“多多谢谢嘞。”

高风亮节之士

“马吉尼斯教授[193]跟我谈到过你，”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊对斯蒂芬说，“对于那些神秘主义者[194]，乳白色的、沉寂的[195]诗人们以及神秘主义大师A· E·[196]，你真正的看法是怎样的?这是那个姓勃拉瓦茨基[197]的女人搞起来的。她是个惯于耍花招的老婆子。A·E·曾跟前来采访的美国记者[198]说，你曾在凌晨去看他，向他打听过心理意识的层次。马吉尼斯认为你是在嘲弄A· E·。马吉尼斯可是一位高风亮节之士哩。”

谈到了我。他说了些什么?他说了些什么?他是怎样谈论我的?不要去问。

“不抽，谢谢，”麦克休教授边推开香烟盒边说，“且慢，我只说说一件事。我平生听到的最精采的一次演说，是约翰·弗·泰勤[199]学院的史学会上发表的[200]法官菲茨吉本[201]先生一一现任上诉法庭庭长一一刚刚讲完。所要讨论的论文(当时还是蛮新鲜的)是提倡复兴爱尔兰语[202]。”

他转过身来对迈尔斯·克劳福德说：

“你认识杰拉尔德·菲茨吉本。那么你就不难想象出他演说的格调了。”

“听说眼下他正跟蒂姆·希利[203]一道，”杰·杰·奥莫洛伊说，“在三一学院担任财产管理委员会委员哪。”

“他正跟一个穿长罩衫的乖娃儿[204]在一起哪。”迈尔斯·克劳福德说，“讲下去吧，呃？”

“那篇讲演嘛，你们注意听着，”教授说，“是雄辩家完美的演说词。既彬彬有礼，又奔放豪迈，用语洗练而流畅。对于新兴的运动虽然还说不上是把惩戒的愤怒倾泄出来，[205]但总归是倾注了高傲者的侮辱。 当时那还是个崭新的运动呢。咱们是软弱的，因而是微不足道的。”

他那长长的薄嘴唇闭了一下。但他急于说下去，就将一只扎煞开来的手举到眼镜那儿，用颤巍巍的拇指和无名指轻轻扶了一下黑色镜框，使眼镜对准新的焦点。

即席演说

他恢复了平素的口吻，对杰·杰、奥莫洛伊说：

“你应该知道，泰勒是带病前往的。我不相信他预先准备过演说词，因为会场上连一个速记员都没有。他那黝黑瘦削的脸上，胡子拉碴，肮里肮脏的。松松地系着一条白绸领巾，整个来说，看上去像个行将就木之人(尽管并不是这样)。

此刻他的视线徐徐地从杰·杰·奥莫洛伊的脸上转向斯蒂芬，然后垂向地面，仿佛若有所寻。他那没有浆洗过的亚麻布领子从弯下去的脖颈后面露了出来，领子已被枯草般的头发蹭脏了。他继续搜寻着，并且说：

“菲茨吉本的演说结束后，约翰·弗·泰勒站起来反驳他。据我的回忆，大致是这么说的。”

他坚毅地抬起头。眼睛里又露出沉思的神色。迟钝的贝壳在厚实的镜片中游来游去，在寻找着出口。

他说：

“主席先生，诸位女士们，先生们：刚才听到我那位学识渊博的朋友对爱尔兰青年所发表的演说，佩服之至。我仿佛被送到离这个国家很远的一个国家，来到离本时代很远的一个时代;我仿佛站在古代埃及的大地上， 聆听着那里的某位祭司长对年轻的摩西训话。”

听众指间一动也不动地夹着香烟，聆听着。细微的轻烟徐徐上升，和演说一道绽开了花。让香烟袅袅上升[206]。这就要说出崇高的言词来了。 请注意。你自己想不想尝试一下呢?

“我好像听见那位埃及祭司长把声音提高了，带有自豪而傲慢的腔调。我听见了他的话语，并且领悟了他所启迪的含义。”

教父[207]们所示

我受到的启迪是：这些事物固然美好，却难免受到腐蚀；只有无比美好的事物，抑或并不美好的事物，才不可能被腐蚀。[208]啊，笨蛋!这是圣奥古期丁的话哩。

“你们这些犹太人为什么不接受我们的文化、我们的宗教和我们的语言?你们不过是一介牧民，我们却是强大的民族。你们没有城市，更没有财富。我们的都市里，人群熙攘;有着三至四层桨的大帆船[209]，满载着各式各样的商品，驶入全世界各个已知的海洋。你们刚刚脱离原始状态，而我们却拥有文学、僧侣、悠久的历史和政治组织[210]。”

尼罗河。

娃娃，大人，偶像。[211]

婴儿的奶妈们跪在尼罗河畔。[212]用宽叶香蒲编的摇篮。格斗起来矫健敏捷[213]的男子。长着一对石角[214]，一副石须，一颗石心。

“你们向本地那无名的偶像[215]祷告。我们的寺院却宏伟而神秘， 居住着伊希斯和俄赛里斯，何露斯和阿蒙一端。[216]你们信仰奴役、畏惧与谦卑;我们信仰雷和海洋。以色列人是孱弱的，子孙很少;埃及人口众多，武力令人生畏。 你们被称作流浪者和打零工的;世界听到我们的名字就吓得发抖。”

演说到此顿了一下，他悄悄地打了个饿嗝，接着又气势澎湃地扬起了嗓门：

“可是，各位女士，各位先生，倘若年轻的摩西聆听并接受这样的人生观；倘若他在如此妄自尊大的训诫面前俯首屈从，精神萎顿，那么他就永远也不会领着选民离开他们被奴役的地方了[217]，更不会白天跟着云柱走。[218]他决不会在雷电交加中在西奈山顶与永生的天主交谈。[219] 更永远不会脸上焕发着灵感之光走下山来，双手捧着十诫的法版，而那是用亡命徒的语言镌刻的。”

他住了口，望着他们，欣赏着这片寂静。

不祥之兆——对他而言!

杰·杰·奥莫洛伊不无遗憾地说：

“然而，他还没进入应许给他们的土地就去世啦。”[220]

“当时一来得一突然一不过一这病一拖延一已久一早就一频频一预期到会因吐血症一致死的，”[221]利内翰说，“他本来是会有锦绣前程的。”

传来了一群赤足者奔过走廊，并吧哒吧哒地上楼梯的声音。

“那才是雄辩之才呢，”教授说，“没有一个人反驳得了。”

随风飘去[222]。位于马勒麻斯特和塔拉那诸王的军队。连绵数英里的柱廊，侧耳聆听。保民官怒吼着，他的话语随风向四方飘去。 人们隐蔽在他的嗓音里。[223]业已消逝了的音波。阿卡沙秘录[224]——它记载着古往今来在任何地方发生过的一切。爱戴并称赞他。不要再提我。

我有钱。[225]

“先生们，”斯蒂芬说，“作为下一项议程，我可不可以提议议会立即休会?”

“你叫我吃了一惊。这该不会是法国式的恭维[226]吧？” 奥马登·伯克先生问道，“打个比喻吧，我认为现在正是古老客栈里的那只酒甕使人觉得无比枢意的时刻哩。”

“那么，就明确地加以表决。凡是同意的，请说‘是’，”利内翰宣布说，“不同意的，就说‘不’。一致通过。到哪家酒馆去呢?……我投穆尼[227]一票!”

他领头走着，并告诫说：

“咱们是不是要断然拒绝喝烈性酒呢?对，咱们不喝。无论如何也不。”

奥马登·伯克先生紧跟在他后面，用雨伞戳了他一下，以表示是同伙，并且说：

“来，麦克德夫!”[228]

“跟你老子长得一模一样!”主编入声说着，拍了拍斯蒂芬的肩膀。“咱们走吧。那串讨厌的钥匙哪儿去啦?”

他在兜里摸索着，拽出那儿页揉皱了的打字信稿。

“口蹄疫。我晓得。那能行吧。登得上的。钥匙哪儿去了呢?有啦。”

他把信稿塞回兜里，走进了里间办公室。

寄予希望

杰·杰·奥莫洛伊正要跟他往里走，却先悄悄地对斯蒂芬说：

“我希望你能活到它刊登出来的那一天。迈尔斯，等一下。”

他走进里间办公室，随手带上了门。

“来吧，斯蒂芬，”教授说，“挺好的，对吧?颇有预言家的远见。特洛伊不复存![229]对多风的特洛伊[230]大举掠夺。世上的万国。 地中海的主人们而今已沦落为农奴[231]。”

走在顶前面的那个报童紧跟在他们后面。吧哒吧哒地冲下楼梯，奔上街头，吆喝着：

“赛马号外!”

都柏林。我还有许许多多要学的。

他们沿着阿贝街向左拐去。

“我也有我的远见，”斯蒂芬说。

“呃?”教授说，为了赶上斯蒂芬的步伐，他双脚跳动着，“克劳福德会跟上来的。”

另一个报童一个箭步从他们身旁蹿了过去，边跑边吆喝着：

“赛马号外!”

亲爱而肮脏的都柏林[232]

都柏林人。

“两位都柏林的维斯太[233]，”斯蒂芬说，“曾经住在凡巴利小巷[234]里。一个是五十岁，另一个五十三。”

“在什么地方?”教授问。

“在黑坑[235]口外，”斯蒂芬说。

湿漉漉的夜晚，飘来生面团气味，引人发馋。倚着墙壁。她那粗斜纹布围巾下面，闪烁着一张苍白的脸。狂乱的心。阿卡沙秘录。快点儿呀，乖乖![236]

讲出来吧，果敢地。要有生命。[237]

“她们想从纳尔逊纪念柱顶上眺望都柏林的景色。她们在红锡做的信箱型攒钱罐里存起了三先令十便士。从罐里摇出几枚三便士和一枚六便士的小银币，又用刀刃拨出些铜币。两先令三便士是银币，一先令七便士是铜币。然后戴上软帽，穿上最好的衣服，还拿了雨伞，防备下雨。”

“聪明的处女们[238]，”麦克休教授说。

粗鄙的生活

“她们在马尔巴勒的北城食堂，从老板娘凯持·科林新手里头了一先令四便士的腌野猪肉和四片面包。在纳尔逊纪念柱脚下，又从一个姑娘手里头了二十四个熟李子，为了吃完咸肉好解渴。她们付给把守旋转栅门的人两枚三便士银币，然后打着趔趄，慢慢腾腾地沿着那螺旋梯攀登，一路咕依着，气喘吁吁，都害怕黑暗，相互鼓着劲儿。这个问那个带没带上咸肉，并赞颂着天主和童贞圣母玛利亚。忽而说什么干脆下去算了，忽而又隔着通气口往外瞧。荣耀归于天主。她们再也没想到纪念柱会有这么高。

“有一个叫安妮·基恩斯，另一个叫弗萝伦斯·麦凯布[239]。安妮·基恩斯患腰肌病，擦着一位太太分给她的路德圣水——一位受难会[240]神父送给那位太太一整瓶。弗萝伦斯·麦凯布每逢星期六晚饭时吃一只猪蹄子，干一瓶双X牌啤酒[241]。”

“正好相反，”教授点了两下头说，“维斯太贞女们。我仿佛能够看见她们。咱们的朋友在磨蹭什么哪?”

他回过头去。

一群报童连蹦带跳地冲下台阶，吆喝着朝四面八方散去，呼扇呼扇地挥着白色报纸。紧接着，迈尔斯·克劳福德出现在台阶上，帽子像一道光环，镶着他那张红脸。他正在跟杰、杰·奥莫洛伊谈着话。

“来吧，”教授挥臂大声嚷道。

他又和斯蒂芬并肩而行。

“是啊，”他说，“我仿佛看得见她们。”

布卢姆归来

在《爱尔兰天主教报》和《都柏林小报》[242]的公事房附近，布卢姆先生被卷进粗野的报童们的旋涡里，气儿都透不过来了。他招呼道：

“克劳福德先生!等一等!”

“《电讯报)》！赛马号外!”

“什么呀?”迈尔斯·克劳福德退后一步说。

一个报童冲着布卢姆的脸嚷道：

“鲁思迈因斯的大惨剧!风箱叼住了娃娃!”

会见主编

“就是这份广告的事儿，”布卢姆先生推开报童们，呼哧呼哧地挤向台阶，并从兜里掏出剪报说，“我刚刚跟凯斯先生谈过。他说，他要继续刊登两个月广告，以后再说。然而他还想在星期六的《电讯报》上登一则花边广告，好引人注目。要是来得及的话，他想把《基尔肯尼民众报》[243]的图案描摹下来。这，我己经告诉南尼蒂参议员了。我可以从国立图书馆弄到这图案。‘钥匙议院’，你明白吧。他姓凯斯。刚好谐音[244]。然而他实际上己经答应续登了。不过，他要求给弄得花哨一点。你有什么话要我捎给他吗，克劳福德先生?”

吻我的屁股[245]

“请你告诉他‘吻我的屁股’好吗?”迈尔斯·克劳福德边说边摊开胳膊，加强了语气，“马上去告诉他这是条直接来自马房的消息。”

怪心烦的。留神着点狂风。相互挽着胳膊，大家一道出去喝酒。头戴水手帽的利内翰也跟在后面，想捞上一盅。他像往常一样拍马屁。令人纳闷的是，竟然由小迪达勒斯带头。今天他穿了双好靴子。上次我见到他的时候，连脚后跟都露出来了。也不知道在什么地方膛过烂泥。这小子就是这么大大咧咧。他在爱尔兰区干什么来着?

“喏，”布卢姆先生把视线移回来说，“要是我能够把图案弄到手，我认为是值得为它写上一段的。他想必会刊登广告。我要对他说……”

吻我高贵的爱尔兰屁股[z46]

“他可以吻我高贵的爱尔兰屁股，”迈尔斯·克劳福德回过头来大声嚷道，“告诉他吧，随便什么时候来都行。”

正当布卢姆先生站在那儿琢磨着该怎样回答才好并正要泛出笑容的当儿，对方已跨着大步一颠一颠地走掉了。

筹 款

“囊空如洗，[247]杰克，”他把手举到下巴颏那儿说，“水已经淹到我这儿啦。我自己也是穷得一筹莫展。上礼拜找还在找个人出面在我的借据上签字担保呢! 对不起，杰克。我是心有余而力不足啊。请你务必体谅我这苦衷。要是好歹能够筹到钱，我一定乐意帮你忙。”

杰·杰·奥莫洛伊把脸一耷拉，默默地继续踱着步。他们追上前面的人，和他们并肩而行。

“当她们吃完腌肉和面包，用包面包的纸把二十个指头擦干净之后，就靠近了栅栏。”

“你听了会开心的，”教授向迈尔斯·克劳福德解释道，“两个都柏林老枢爬到纳尔逊纪念柱顶上去啦。”

了不起的圆柱!——一瞒珊走路者如是说

“这可是挺新鲜，”迈尔斯·克劳福德说，“够得上是条新闻素材。简直就像是到达格尔[248]去参加皮匠的野餐会。两个刁婆子，后来呢?”

“可是她们都害怕柱子会倒下来，”斯蒂芬接下去说，“她们眺望着那些屋顶，议论着哪座教堂在哪儿，拉思曼斯的蓝色拱顶[249]，亚当与夏娃教堂[250]，圣劳伦斯·奥图尔教堂[251]瞧着瞧着，她们发晕了。于是，撩起了裙子……”

有点无法无天的妇女

“大家安静下来!”迈尔斯·克劳福德说，“谁作诗也不许破格。如今咱们是在大主教的辖区里哪。”

“她们垫着条纹衬裙坐了下去，仰望着独臂奸夫[252]的那座铜像。”

“独臂奸夫!”教授大声说， “我喜欢这种说法。我明白你的意思。我明白你指的是什么。”

据信，三位女士赠予都柏林市民

高速陨石及催长粒肥

“后来她们的脖子引起了痉挛，”斯蒂芬说，“累得既不能抬头，也不能低头或说话。她们把那袋李子放在中间，一枚接一枚地掏出来吃。用手绢擦掉从嘴里淌下的汁子，慢悠悠地将核儿吐到栅栏之间。”[253]

他猛地发出青春的朗笑声，把故事结束了。利内翰和奥马登·伯克先生闻声回过头来，招招手，带头向穆尼酒馆走去。

“完了吗?”迈尔斯·克劳福德说，“只要她们没干出更越轨的事就好。”

智者派[254]使傲慢的海伦丢丑

斯巴达人咬牙切齿

伊大嘉人断言潘奈洛佩[255]乃天下第一美人

“你使我联想到安提西尼[256]，”教授说，“智者派高尔吉亚[257]的门徒。据说，谁也弄不清他究竟是对旁人还是对自己更加怨恨。他是一位贵族同一个女奴所生之子。他写过一本书，其中从阿凯人[258]海伦那儿夺走了美的棕榈枝，将它交给了可怜的潘奈洛佩。”

贫穷的潘奈洛佩。潘奈洛佩·里奇。[259]

他们准备横穿过奥康内尔街。

喂，喂，总站!

八条轨道上，这儿那儿停着多辆电车，触轮一动也不动。有往外开的，也有开回来的。拉思曼斯、拉思法纳姆[260]、黑岩国王镇，以及多基、沙丘草地、林森德;还有沙丘塔、唐尼布鲁克[261]、帕默斯顿公园，以及上拉思曼斯，全都纹丝不动。由于电流短路的缘故，开不出去了。出租马车、街头揽座儿的马车、送货马车、邮件马车、私人的四轮轿式马车，以及一瓶瓶的矿泉汽水在板条箱里恍当恍当响的平台货车，全都由蹄子碍碍响的马儿拉着，咯哒咯哒地疾驰而去。

叫什么?——一还有——一在哪儿?

“然而，你管它叫什么?”迈尔斯·克劳福德问道，“她们是在哪儿买到李子的?”

老师说要维吉尔风格的，

大学生[262]为摩西老人投一票

“管它叫作一一且慢，”教授张大了他那长长的嘴唇，左思右想，。管它叫作一一让我想想。管它叫作：《神赐与我们安宁》[263]怎么样?”

“不，”斯蒂芬说，“我要管它叫《登比斯迦眺望巴勒斯坦[264]，要么就叫它《李子寓言[265]》。”

“我明白了，”教授说。

他朗声笑了。

“我明白啦，”他带着新的喜悦重复了一遍，“摩西和神许诺给他们的土地。”他对杰·杰·奥莫洛伊又补了一句:“这还是咱们启发他的呢。”

在这个明媚的六月日子里，

霍雷肖[266]在众目睽睽之下

杰·杰·奥莫洛伊疲惫地斜睨了铜像一眼，默不作声。

“我明白啦，”教授说。

他在竖有约翰·格雷爵士[267]的街心岛上停下脚步，布满皱纹的脸上泛着苦笑，仰望那高耸的纳尔逊。

对轻佻的老妪来说，缺指头简直太逗乐了。

安妮钻孔。 弗萝[268]遮遮掩掩

然而，你能责备她们吗？

“独臂奸夫，”他狞笑着说，“不能不说是挺逗乐的。”

“要是能让人们晓得全能的天主的真理的话，”迈尔斯·克劳福德说，“两位老太婆也觉得挺逗乐的。”