1.1  STATELY, PLUMP BUCK MULLIGAN CAME FROM THE STAIRHEAD, bearing a

1.2  bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow

1.3  dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him by the mild

1.4  morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

1.5  --INTROIBO AD ALTARE DEI.

1.6  Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called out

1.7   coarsely:

1.8  --Come up, Kinch! Come up, you fearful jesuit!

1.9  Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about

1.10  and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the

1.11  awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent

1.12  towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and

1.13  shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms

1.14  on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling

1.15  face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured

1.16  hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

1.17  Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered

1.18  the bowl smartly.

1.19  --Back to barracks! he said sternly.

1.20  He added in a preacher's tone:

1.21  --For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and

1.22  blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A

1.23  little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.

1.24  He peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused

1.25  awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there

1.26  with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered

1.27  through the calm.

1.28  --Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the

1.29  current, will you?

1.30  He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher,

1.31  gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed

1.32  face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle

1.33  ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.ages

1.34  --The mockery of it! he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek!

1.35  He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet,

1.36  laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily

1.37  halfway and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he

1.38  propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and

1.39  lathered cheeks and neck.

1.40  Buck Mulligan's gay voice went on.

1.41  --My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a

1.42  Hellenic ring, hasn't it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We

1.43  must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?

1.44  He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:

1.45  --Will he come? The jejune jesuit!

1.46  Ceasing, he began to shave with care.

1.47  --Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.

1.48  --Yes, my love?

1.49  --How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?

1.50  Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.

1.51  --God, isn't he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He thinks

1.52  you're not a gentleman. God, these bloody English! Bursting with money

1.53  and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus, you

1.54  have the real Oxford manner. He can't make you out. O, my name for you is

1.55  the best: Kinch, the knife-blade.

1.56  He shaved warily over his chin.

1.57  --He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is

1.58  his guncase?1.59--A woful lunatic! Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?

1.60  --I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the dark

1.61  with a man I don't know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a

1.62  black panther. You saved men from drowning. I'm not a hero, however. If

1.63  he stays on here I am off.

1.64  Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down

1.65  from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.

1.66  --Scutter! he cried thickly.

1.67  He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen's upper

1.68  pocket, said:

1.69  --Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.

1.70  Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a

1.71  dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly.

1.72  Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:

1.73  --The bard's noserag! A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen.

1.74  You can almost taste it, can't you?

1.75  He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair

1.76  oakpale hair stirring slightly.

1.77  --God! he said quietly. Isn't the sea what Algy calls it: a great sweet

1.78  mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. EPI OINOPA PONTON.

1.79  Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks! I must teach you. You must read them in the

1.80  original. THALATTA! THALATTA! She is our great sweet mother. Come and

1.81  look.

1.82  Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked

1.83  down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbourmouth of

1.84  Kingstown.

1.85  --Our mighty mother! Buck Mulligan said.

1.86  He turned abruptly his grey searching eyes from the sea to Stephen's

1.87  face.

1.88  --The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That's why she won't

1.89  let me have anything to do with you.

1.90  --Someone killed her, Stephen said gloomily.

1.91  --You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother asked

1.92  you, Buck Mulligan said. I'm hyperborean as much as you. But to think of

1.93  your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and pray for

1.94  her. And you refused. There is something sinister in you ...

1.95  He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. A tolerant

1.96  smile curled his lips.

1.97  --But a lovely mummer! he murmured to himself. Kinch, the loveliest

1.98  mummer of them all!

1.99  He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously.

1.100  Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against

1.10  1his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve.

1.102  Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in

1.103  a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its

1.104  loose brown graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her

1.105  breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of

1.106  wetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a

1.107  great sweet mother by the wellfed voice beside him. The ring of bay and

1.108  skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had stood

1.109  beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up

1.110  from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.

1.111  Buck Mulligan wiped again his razorblade.

1.112  --Ah, poor dogsbody! he said in a kind voice. I must give you a shirt and

1.113  a few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks?

1.114  --They fit well enough, Stephen answered.

1.115  Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his underlip.

1.116  --The mockery of it, he said contentedly. Secondleg they should be. God

1.117  knows what poxy bowsy left them off. I have a lovely pair with a hair stripe,

1.118  grey. You'll look spiffing in them. I'm not joking, Kinch. You1.

119  look damn well when you're dressed.

1.120  --Thanks, Stephen said. I can't wear them if they are grey.

1.121  --He can't wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror.

1.122  Etiquette is etiquette. He kills his mother but he can't wear grey trousers.

1.123  He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt the

1.124  smooth skin.

1.125  Stephen turned his gaze from the sea and to the plump face with its

1.126  smokeblue mobile eyes.

1.127  --That fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said Buck Mulligan, says

1.128  you have g.p.i. He's up in Dottyville with Connolly Norman. General

1.129  paralysis of the insane!

1.130  He swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the tidings abroad

1.131  in sunlight now radiant on the sea. His curling shaven lips laughed and

1.132  the edges of his white glittering teeth. Laughter seized all his strong

1.133  wellknit trunk.

1.134  --Look at yourself, he said, you dreadful bard!

1.135  Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft by a

1.136  crooked crack. Hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose this face

1.137  for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too.

1.138  --I pinched it out of the skivvy's room, Buck Mulligan said. It does her

1.139  all right. The aunt always keeps plainlooking servants for Malachi. Lead him

1.140  not into temptation. And her name is Ursula.

1.141  Laughing again, he brought the mirror away from Stephen's peering

1.142  eyes.

1.143  --The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a mirror, he said. If

1.144  Wilde were only alive to see you!

1.145  Drawing back and pointing, Stephen said with bitterness:

1.146  --It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking-glass of a servant.

1.147  Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen's and walked with him

1.148  round the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where he had

1.149  thrust them.

1.150  --It's not fair to tease you like that, Kinch, is it? he said kindly. God

1.151  knows you have more spirit than any of them.

1.152  Parried again. He fears the lancet of my art as I fear that of his. The

1.153  cold steelpen.

1.154  --Cracked lookingglass of a servant! Tell that to the oxy chap downstairs

1.155  and touch him for a guinea. He's stinking with money and thinks you're

1.156  not a gentleman. His old fellow made his tin by selling jalap to Zulus or

1.157  some bloody swindle or other. God, Kinch, if you and I could only work

1.158  together we might do something for the island. Hellenise it.

1.159  Cranly's arm. His arm.

1.160  --And to think of your having to beg from these swine. I'm the only one

1.161  that knows what you are. Why don't you trust me more? What have you up

1.162  your nose against me? Is it Haines? If he makes any noise here I'll bring

1.163  down Seymour and we'll give him a ragging worse than they gave Clive

1.164  Kempthorpe.

1.165  Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. Palefaces:

1.166  they hold their ribs with laughter, one clasping another. O, I shall

1.167  expire! Break the news to her gently, Aubrey! I shall die! With slit

1.168  ribbons of his shirt whipping the air he hops and hobbles round the

1.169  table, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the tailor's

1.170  shears. A scared calf's face gilded with marmalade. I don't want

1.171  to be debagged! Don't you play the giddy ox with me!

1.172  Shouts from the open window startling evening in the quadrangle. A deaf

1.173  gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, pushes his mower on

1.174 the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of

1.175  grasshalms.

1.176  To ourselves ... new paganism ... omphalos.

1.177  --Let him stay, Stephen said. There's nothing wrong with him except at

1.178  night.

1.179  --Then what is it? Buck Mulligan asked impatiently. Cough it up. I'm

1.180  quite frank with you. What have you against me now?

1.181  They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the

1.182  water like the snout of a sleeping whale. Stephen freed his arm quietly.

1.183  --Do you wish me to tell you? he asked.

1.184  --Yes, what is it? Buck Mulligan answered. I don't remember anything.

1.185  He looked in Stephen's face as he spoke. A light wind passed his brow,

1.186  fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of

1.187  anxiety in his eyes.

1.188  Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said:

1.189  --Do you remember the first day I went to your house after my mother's

1.190  death?

1.191  Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said:

1.192  --What? Where? I can't remember anything. I remember only ideas and

1.193  sensations. Why? What happened in the name of God?

1.194  --You were making tea, Stephen said, and went across the landing to get

1.195  more hot water. Your mother and some visitor came out of the drawingroom.

1.196  She asked you who was in your room.

1.197  --Yes? Buck Mulligan said. What did I say? I forget.

1.198  --You said, Stephen answered, O, IT'S ONLY DEDALUS WHOSE MOTHER IS

1.199  BEASTLY DEAD.

1.200  A flush which made him seem younger and more engaging rose to Buck

1.201  Mulligan's cheek.

1.202  --Did I say that? he asked. Well? What harm is that?

1.203  He shook his constraint from him nervously.

1.204  --And what is death, he asked, your mother's or yours or my own? You saw

1.205  only your mother die. I see them pop off every day in the Mater and

1.206  Richmond and cut up into tripes in the dissectingroom. It's a beastly

1.207  thing and nothing else. It simply doesn't matter. You wouldn't kneel down

1.208  to pray for your mother on her deathbed when she asked you. Why? Because

1.209  you have the cursed jesuit strain in you, only it's injected the wrong

1.210  way. To me it's all a mockery and beastly. Her cerebral lobes are not

1.211  functioning. She calls the doctor sir Peter Teazle and picks buttercups

1.212  off the quilt. Humour her till it's over. You crossed her last wish in

1.213  death and yet you sulk with me because I don't whinge like some hired

1.214  mute from Lalouette's. Absurd! I suppose I did say it. I didn't mean to

1.215  offend the memory of your mother.

1.216  He had spoken himself into boldness. Stephen, shielding the gaping wounds

1.217  which the words had left in his heart, said very coldly:

1.218  --I am not thinking of the offence to my mother.

1.219  --Of what then? Buck Mulligan asked.1.220--Of the offence to me, Stephen answered.

1.221  Buck Mulligan swung round on his heel.

1.222  --O, an impossible person! he exclaimed.

1.223  He walked off quickly round the parapet. Stephen stood at his post,

1.224  gazing over the calm sea towards the headland. Sea and headland now grew

1.225  dim. Pulses were beating in his eyes, veiling their sight, and he felt

1.226  the fever of his cheeks.

1.227  A voice within the tower called loudly:

1.228  --Are you up there, Mulligan?

1.229  --I'm coming, Buck Mulligan answered.

1.230  He turned towards Stephen and said:

1.231--Look at the sea. What does it care about offences? Chuck Loyola, Kinch,

1.232  and come on down. The Sassenach wants his morning rashers.

1.233  His head halted again for a moment at the top of the staircase, level

1.234  with the roof:

1.235  --Don't mope over it all day, he said. I'm inconsequent. Give up the

1.236  moody brooding.

1.237  His head vanished but the drone of his descending voice boomed out of the

1.238  stairhead:

1.239  AND NO MORE TURN ASIDE AND BROOD

1.240  UPON LOVE'S BITTER MYSTERY

1.241  FOR FERGUS RULES THE BRAZEN CARS.

1.242  Woodshadows floated silently by through the morning peace from the

1.243  stairhead seaward where he gazed. Inshore and farther out the mirror of

1.244  water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. White breast of the

1.245  dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the

1.246  harpstrings, merging their twining chords. Wavewhite wedded on the dim tide.

1.248  A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly, shadowing the bay in

1.249 deeper green. It lay beneath him, a bowl of bitter waters. Fergus' song:

1.250  I sang it alone in the house, holding down the long dark chords. Her door

1.251  was open: she wanted to hear my music. Silent with awe and pity I went to

1.252  her bedside. She was crying in her wretched bed. For those words,

1.253  Stephen: love's bitter mystery.

1.254  Where now?

1.255  Her secrets: old featherfans, tasselled dancecards, powdered with musk, a

1.256  gaud of amber beads in her locked drawer. A birdcage hung in the sunny

1.257  window of her house when she was a girl. She heard old Royce sing in the

1.258  pantomime of TURKO THE TERRIBLE and laughed with others when he

1.259  sang:

1.260  I AM THE BOY1.261THAT CAN ENJOY

1.262  INVISIBILITY.

1.263  Phantasmal mirth, folded away: muskperfumed.

1.264  AND NO MORE TURN ASIDE AND BROOD.

1.265  Folded away in the memory of nature with her toys. Memories beset his

1.266  brooding brain. Her glass of water from the kitchen tap when she had

1.267  approached the sacrament. A cored apple, filled with brown sugar,

1.268  roasting for her at the hob on a dark autumn evening. Her shapely

1.269  fingernails reddened by the blood of squashed lice from the children's shirts.

1.270  In a dream, silently, she had come to him, her wasted body within its

1.271  loose graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath,

1.272  bent over him with mute secret words, a faint odour of wetted ashes.

1.273 Her glazing eyes, staring out of death, to shake and bend my soul. On me

1.274  alone. The ghostcandle to light her agony. Ghostly light on the tortured

1.275  face. Her hoarse loud breath rattling in horror, while all prayed on

1.276  their knees. Her eyes on me to strike me down. LILIATA RUTILANTIUM TE

1.277  CONFESSORUM TURMA CIRCUMDET: IUBILANTIUM TE VIRGINUM CHORUS EXCIPIAT.

1.278 Ghoul! Chewer of corpses!

1.279  No, mother! Let me be and let me live.

1.280  --Kinch ahoy!

1.281  Buck Mulligan's voice sang from within the tower. It came nearer up the

1.282  staircase, calling again. Stephen, still trembling at his soul's cry,

1.283  heard warm running sunlight and in the air behind him friendly words.

1.284  --Dedalus, come down, like a good mosey. Breakfast is ready. Haines is

1.285  apologising for waking us last night. It's all right.

1.286  --I'm coming, Stephen said, turning.

1.287  --Do, for Jesus' sake, Buck Mulligan said. For my sake and for all our

1.288  sakes.

1.289  His head disappeared and reappeared.

1.290  --I told him your symbol of Irish art. He says it's very clever. Touch

1.291  him for a quid, will you? A guinea, I mean.

1.292  --I get paid this morning, Stephen said.

1.293  --The school kip? Buck Mulligan said. How much? Four quid? Lend us

1.294  one.1.295--If you want it, Stephen said.

1.296  --Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan cried with delight. We'll have a

1.297  glorious drunk to astonish the druidy druids. Four omnipotent sovereigns.

1.298  He flung up his hands and tramped down the stone stairs, singing out of

1.299  tune with a Cockney accent:

1.300  O, WON'T WE HAVE A MERRY TIME,

1.301  DRINKING WHISKY, BEER AND WINE!

1.302  ON CORONATION,

1.303  CORONATION DAY!

1.304  O, WON'T WE HAVE A MERRY TIME

1.305  ON CORONATION DAY!

1.306  Warm sunshine merrying over the sea. The nickel shavingbowl shone,

1.307  forgotten, on the parapet. Why should I bring it down? Or leave it there

1.308all day, forgotten friendship?

1.309  He went over to it, held it in his hands awhile, feeling its coolness,

1.310  smelling the clammy slaver of the lather in which the brush was stuck. So

1.311  I carried the boat of incense then at Clongowes. I am another now and yet

1.312  the same. A servant too. A server of a servant.

1.313 In the gloomy domed livingroom of the tower Buck Mulligan's gowned form

1.314  moved briskly to and fro about the hearth, hiding and revealing its

1.315  yellow glow. Two shafts of soft daylight fell across the flagged floor

1.316  from the high barbacans: and at the meeting of their rays a cloud of

1.317  coalsmoke and fumes of fried grease floated, turning.

1.318  --We'll be choked, Buck Mulligan said. Haines, open that door, will you?

1.319  Stephen laid the shavingbowl on the locker. A tall figure rose from the

1.320  hammock where it had been sitting, went to the doorway and pulled open

1.321  the inner doors.

1.322  --Have you the key? a voice asked.

1.323  --Dedalus has it, Buck Mulligan said. Janey Mack, I'm choked!

1.324  He howled, without looking up from the fire:

1.325 --Kinch!

1.326  --It's in the lock, Stephen said, coming forward.

1.327  The key scraped round harshly twice and, when the heavy door had been set

1.328  ajar, welcome light and bright air entered. Haines stood at the doorway,

1.329  looking out. Stephen haled his upended valise to the table and sat down

1.330  to wait. Buck Mulligan tossed the fry on to the dish beside him. Then he

1.331  carried the dish and a large teapot over to the table, set them down

1.332  heavily and sighed with relief.

1.333  --I'm melting, he said, as the candle remarked when ... But, hush! Not a

1.334 word more on that subject! Kinch, wake up! Bread, butter, honey. Haines,

1.335  come in. The grub is ready. Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts.

1.336  Where's the sugar? O, jay, there's no milk.

1.337  Stephen fetched the loaf and the pot of honey and the buttercooler from

1.338  the locker. Buck Mulligan sat down in a sudden pet.

1.339  --What sort of a kip is this? he said. I told her to come after eight.

1.340  --We can drink it black, Stephen said thirstily. There's a lemon in the

1.341  locker.

1.342  --O, damn you and your Paris fads! Buck Mulligan said. I want Sandycove

1.343  milk.

1.344  Haines came in from the doorway and said quietly:

1.345  --That woman is coming up with the milk.

1.346  --The blessings of God on you! Buck Mulligan cried, jumping up from his

1.347  chair. Sit down. Pour out the tea there. The sugar is in the bag. Here, I

1.348  can't go fumbling at the damned eggs.

1.349  He hacked through the fry on the dish and slapped it out on three plates,

1.350  saying:

1.351  --IN NOMINE PATRIS ET FILII ET SPIRITUS SANCTI.

1.352  Haines sat down to pour out the tea.

1.353  --I'm giving you two lumps each, he said. But, I say, Mulligan, you do

1.354  make strong tea, don't you?

1.355  Buck Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the loaf, said in an old woman's

1.356  wheedling voice:

1.357  --When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said. And when I

1.358  makes water I makes water.

1.359  --By Jove, it is tea, Haines said.

1.360  Buck Mulligan went on hewing and wheedling:

1.361  --SO I DO, MRS CAHILL, says she. BEGOB, MA'AM, says Mrs Cahill, GOD SEND

1.362  YOU DON'T MAKE THEM IN THE ONE POT.

1.363  He lunged towards his messmates in turn a thick slice of bread, impaled

1.364  on his knife.

1.365  --That's folk, he said very earnestly, for your book, Haines. Five lines

1.366  of text and ten pages of notes about the folk and the fishgods of

1.367  Dundrum. Printed by the weird sisters in the year of the big wind.

1.368  He turned to Stephen and asked in a fine puzzled voice, lifting his

1.369  brows:

1.370  --Can you recall, brother, is mother Grogan's tea and water pot spoken of

1.371  in the Mabinogion or is it in the Upanishads?

1.372  --I doubt it, said Stephen gravely.

1.373  --Do you now? Buck Mulligan said in the same tone. Your reasons, pray?

1.374  --I fancy, Stephen said as he ate, it did not exist in or out of the

1.375  Mabinogion. Mother Grogan was, one imagines, a kinswoman of Mary

1.376  Ann.

1.377  Buck Mulligan's face smiled with delight.

1.378  --Charming! he said in a finical sweet voice, showing his white teeth and

1.379  blinking his eyes pleasantly. Do you think she was? Quite charming!

1.380  Then, suddenly overclouding all his features, he growled in a hoarsened

1.381  rasping voice as he hewed again vigorously at the loaf:

1.382  --FOR OLD MARY ANN

1.383  SHE DOESN'T CARE A DAMN.

1.384  BUT, HISING UP HER PETTICOATS ...

1.385  He crammed his mouth with fry and munched and droned.

1.386  The doorway was darkened by an entering form.

1.387  --The milk, sir!

1.388  --Come in, ma'am, Mulligan said. Kinch, get the jug.

1.389  An old woman came forward and stood by Stephen's elbow.

1.390  --That's a lovely morning, sir, she said. Glory be to God.

1.391  --To whom? Mulligan said, glancing at her. Ah, to be sure!

1.392  Stephen reached back and took the milkjug from the locker.

1.393  --The islanders, Mulligan said to Haines casually, speak frequently of

1.394  the collector of prepuces.

1.395  --How much, sir? asked the old woman.

1.396  --A quart, Stephen said.

1.397  He watched her pour into the measure and thence into the jug rich white

1.398  milk, not hers. Old shrunken paps. She poured again a measureful and a

1.399  tilly. Old and secret she had entered from a morning world, maybe a

1.400  messenger. She praised the goodness of the milk, pouring it out.

1.401  Crouching by a patient cow at daybreak in the lush field, a witch on her

1.402  toadstool, her wrinkled fingers quick at the squirting dugs. They lowed

1.403  about her whom they knew, dewsilky cattle. Silk of the kine and poor old

1.404  woman, names given her in old times. A wandering crone, lowly form of an

1.405  immortal serving her conqueror and her gay betrayer, their common

1.406  cuckquean, a messenger from the secret morning. To serve or to upbraid,

1.407  whether he could not tell: but scorned to beg her favour.

1.408  --It is indeed, ma'am, Buck Mulligan said, pouring milk into their cups.

1.409  --Taste it, sir, she said.

1.410  He drank at her bidding.

1.411  --If we could live on good food like that, he said to her somewhat

1.412  loudly, we wouldn't have the country full of rotten teeth and rotten

1.413  guts. Living in a bogswamp, eating cheap food and the streets paved with

1.414  dust, horsedung and consumptives' spits.

1.415  --Are you a medical student, sir? the old woman asked.

1.416  --I am, ma'am, Buck Mulligan answered.

1.417  --Look at that now, she said.

1.418  Stephen listened in scornful silence. She bows her old head to a voice

1.419  that speaks to her loudly, her bonesetter, her medicineman: me she slights.

1.420  To the voice that will shrive and oil for the grave all there is

1.421  of her but her woman's unclean loins, of man's flesh made not in God's

1.422  likeness, the serpent's prey. And to the loud voice that now bids her be

1.423  silent with wondering unsteady eyes.

1.424  --Do you understand what he says? Stephen asked her.

1.425  --Is it French you are talking, sir? the old woman said to Haines.

1.426  Haines spoke to her again a longer speech, confidently.

1.427  --Irish, Buck Mulligan said. Is there Gaelic on you?

1.428  --I thought it was Irish, she said, by the sound of it. Are you from the

1.429  west, sir?

1.430  --I am an Englishman, Haines answered.

1.431  --He's English, Buck Mulligan said, and he thinks we ought to speak Irish

1.432  in Ireland.

1.433  --Sure we ought to, the old woman said, and I'm ashamed I don't speak the

1.434  language myself. I'm told it's a grand language by them that knows.

1.435  --Grand is no name for it, said Buck Mulligan. Wonderful entirely. Fill

1.436  us out some more tea, Kinch. Would you like a cup, ma'am?

1.437  --No, thank you, sir, the old woman said, slipping the ring of the

1.438  milkcan on her forearm and about to go.

1.439  Haines said to her:

1.440  --Have you your bill? We had better pay her, Mulligan, hadn't we?

1.441  Stephen filled again the three cups.

1.442  --Bill, sir? she said, halting. Well, it's seven mornings a pint at

1.443  twopence is seven twos is a shilling and twopence over and these three

1.444  mornings a quart at fourpence is three quarts is a shilling. That's a

1.445  shilling and one and two is two and two, sir.

1.446  Buck Mulligan sighed and, having filled his mouth with a crust thickly

1.447  buttered on both sides, stretched forth his legs and began to search his

1.448  trouser pockets.

1.449  --Pay up and look pleasant, Haines said to him, smiling.

1.450  Stephen filled a third cup, a spoonful of tea colouring faintly the thick

1.451  rich milk. Buck Mulligan brought up a florin, twisted it round in his

1.452  fingers and cried:

1.453  --A miracle!

1.454  He passed it along the table towards the old woman, saying:

1.455  --Ask nothing more of me, sweet.

1.456  --All I can give you I give.

1.457  Stephen laid the coin in her uneager hand.

1.458  --We'll owe twopence, he said.

1.459  --Time enough, sir, she said, taking the coin. Time enough. Good morning,

1.460  sir.1.461She curtseyed and went out, followed by Buck Mulligan's tender

1.462  Chant:

1.463  --HEART OF MY HEART, WERE IT MORE,

1.464  MORE WOULD BE LAID AT YOUR FEET.

1.465  He turned to Stephen and said:

1.466  --Seriously, Dedalus. I'm stony. Hurry out to your school kip and bring

1.467  us back some money. Today the bards must drink and junket. Ireland

1.468  expects that every man this day will do his duty.

1.469  --That reminds me, Haines said, rising, that I have to visit your

1.470  national library today.

1.471  --Our swim first, Buck Mulligan said.

1.472  He turned to Stephen and asked blandly:

1.473  --Is this the day for your monthly wash, Kinch?

1.474  Then he said to Haines:

1.475  --The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month.

1.476  --All Ireland is washed by the gulfstream, Stephen said as he let honey

1.477  trickle over a slice of the loaf.

1.478  Haines from the corner where he was knotting easily a scarf about the

1.479  loose collar of his tennis shirt spoke:

1.480  --I intend to make a collection of your sayings if you will let me.

1.481  Speaking to me. They wash and tub and scrub. Agenbite of inwit.

1.482  Conscience. Yet here's a spot.

1.483  --That one about the cracked lookingglass of a servant being the symbol

1.484  of Irish art is deuced good.

1.485  Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen's foot under the table and said with warmth

1.486  of tone:

1.487  --Wait till you hear him on Hamlet, Haines.

1.488  --Well, I mean it, Haines said, still speaking to Stephen. I was just

1.489  thinking of it when that poor old creature came in.

1.490  --Would I make any money by it? Stephen asked.

1.491  Haines laughed and, as he took his soft grey hat from the holdfast of the

1.492  hammock, said:

1.493  --I don't know, I'm sure.

1.494  He strolled out to the doorway. Buck Mulligan bent across to Stephen and

1.495  said with coarse vigour:

1.496  --You put your hoof in it now. What did you say that for?

1.497  --Well? Stephen said. The problem is to get money. From whom? From the

1.498  milkwoman or from him. It's a toss up, I think.

1.499  --I blow him out about you, Buck Mulligan said, and then you come along

1.500  with your lousy leer and your gloomy jesuit jibes.

1.501  --I see little hope, Stephen said, from her or from him.

1.502  Buck Mulligan sighed tragically and laid his hand on Stephen's arm.

1.503  --From me, Kinch, he said.

1.504  In a suddenly changed tone he added:

1.505  --To tell you the God's truth I think you're right. Damn all else they

1.506  are good for. Why don't you play them as I do? To hell with them all. Let

1.507  us get out of the kip.

1.508  He stood up, gravely ungirdled and disrobed himself of his gown, saying

1.509  resignedly:

1.510  --Mulligan is stripped of his garments.

1.511  He emptied his pockets on to the table.

1.512  --There's your snotrag, he said.

1.513  And putting on his stiff collar and rebellious tie he spoke to them,

1.514  chiding them, and to his dangling watchchain. His hands plunged and

1.515  rummaged in his trunk while he called for a clean handkerchief. God,

1.516  we'll simply have to dress the character. I want puce gloves and green

1.517  boots. Contradiction. Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I

1.518  contradict myself. Mercurial Malachi. A limp black missile flew out of his talking hands.

1.519  --And there's your Latin quarter hat, he said.

1.520  Stephen picked it up and put it on. Haines called to them from the

1.521  doorway:

1.522  --Are you coming, you fellows?

1.523  --I'm ready, Buck Mulligan answered, going towards the door. Come out,

1.524  Kinch. You have eaten all we left, I suppose.

1.525  Resigned he passed out with grave words and gait, saying, wellnigh

1.526  with sorrow:

1.527  --And going forth he met Butterly.

1.528S  tephen, taking his ashplant from its leaningplace, followed them out

1.529  and, as they went down the ladder, pulled to the slow iron door and

1.530  locked it. He put the huge key in his inner pocket.

1.531  At the foot of the ladder Buck Mulligan asked:

1.532  --Did you bring the key?

1.533  --I have it, Stephen said, preceding them.

1.534  He walked on. Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan club with his heavy

1.535  bathtowel the leader shoots of ferns or grasses.

1.536  --Down, sir! How dare you, sir!

1.537  Haines asked:1.538--Do you pay rent for this tower?

1.539  --Twelve quid, Buck Mulligan said.

1.540  --To the secretary of state for war, Stephen added over his shoulder.

1.541  They halted while Haines surveyed the tower and said at last:

1.542  --Rather bleak in wintertime, I should say. Martello you call it?

1.543  --Billy Pitt had them built, Buck Mulligan said, when the French were on

1.544  the sea. But ours is the OMPHALOS.

1.545  --What is your idea of Hamlet? Haines asked Stephen.

1.546  --No, no, Buck Mulligan shouted in pain. I'm not equal to Thomas Aquinas

1.547  and the fifty-five reasons he has made out to prop it up. Wait till I have

1.548 a few pints in me first.

1.549  He turned to Stephen, saying, as he pulled down neatly the peaks of his

1.550  primrose waistcoat:

1.551  --You couldn't manage it under three pints, Kinch, could you?

1.552  --It has waited so long, Stephen said listlessly, it can wait longer.

1.553  --You pique my curiosity, Haines said amiably. Is it some paradox?

1.554  --Pooh! Buck Mulligan said. We have grown out of Wilde and paradoxes.

1.555  It's quite simple. He proves by algebra that Hamlet's grandson is

1.556  Shakespeare's grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his own

1.557  father.

1.558  --What? Haines said, beginning to point at Stephen. He himself?

1.559  Buck Mulligan slung his towel stolewise round his neck and, bending in

1.560  loose laughter, said to Stephen's ear:

1.561  --O, shade of Kinch the elder! Japhet in search of a father!

1.562  --We're always tired in the morning, Stephen said to Haines. And it is

1.563  rather long to tell.

1.564  Buck Mulligan, walking forward again, raised his hands.

1.565  --The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue of Dedalus, he said.

1.566  --I mean to say, Haines explained to Stephen as they followed, this tower

1.567  and these cliffs here remind me somehow of Elsinore. THAT BEETLES O'ER

1.568HIS BASE INTO THE SEA, ISN'T IT?

1.569  Buck Mulligan turned suddenly. for an instant towards Stephen but did not

1.570  speak. In the bright silent instant Stephen saw his own image in cheap

1.571  dusty mourning between their gay attires.

1.572  --It's a wonderful tale, Haines said, bringing them to halt again.

1.573  Eyes, pale as the sea the wind had freshened, paler, firm and prudent.

1.574  The seas' ruler, he gazed southward over the bay, empty save for the

1.575  smokeplume of the mailboat vague on the bright skyline and a sail tacking

1.576  by the Muglins.

1.577  --I read a theological interpretation of it somewhere, he said bemused.

1.578  The Father and the Son idea. The Son striving to be atoned with the Father.

1.579  Buck Mulligan at once put on a blithe broadly smiling face. He looked at

1.580  them, his wellshaped mouth open happily, his eyes, from which he had

1.581  suddenly withdrawn all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety. He moved a

1.582  doll's head to and fro, the brims of his Panama hat quivering, and began

1.583  to chant in a quiet happy foolish voice:

1.584  --I'M THE QUEEREST YOUNG FELLOW THAT EVER YOU HEARD.

1.585  MY MOTHER'S A JEW, MY FATHER'S A BIRD.

1.586  WITH JOSEPH THE JOINER I CANNOT AGREE.

1.587 SO HERE'S TO DISCIPLES AND CALVARY.

1.588  He held up a forefinger of warning.

1.589  --IF ANYONE THINKS THAT I AMN'T DIVINE

1.590  HE'LL GET NO FREE DRINKS WHEN I'M MAKING THE WINE

1.591  BUT HAVE TO DRINK WATER AND WISH IT WERE PLAIN

1.592  THAT I MAKE WHEN THE WINE BECOMES WATER AGAIN.

1.593  He tugged swiftly at Stephen's ashplant in farewell and, running forward

1.594  to a brow of the cliff, fluttered his hands at his sides like fins or

1.595  wings of one about to rise in the air, and chanted:

1.596  --GOODBYE, NOW, GOODBYE! WRITE DOWN ALL I SAID

1.597  AND TELL TOM, DIEK AND HARRY I ROSE FROM THE DEAD.

1.598  WHAT'S BRED IN THE BONE CANNOT FAIL ME TO FLY

1.599  AND OLIVET'S BREEZY ... GOODBYE, NOW, GOODBYE!

1.600  He capered before them down towards the forty-foot hole, fluttering his

1.601  winglike hands, leaping nimbly, Mercury's hat quivering in the fresh wind

1.602  that bore back to them his brief birdsweet cries.

1.603  Haines, who had been laughing guardedly, walked on beside Stephen and

1.604  said:

1.605  --We oughtn't to laugh, I suppose. He's rather blasphemous. I'm not a

1.606  believer myself, that is to say. Still his gaiety takes the harm out of

1.607  it somehow, doesn't it? What did he call it? Joseph the Joiner?

1.608  --The ballad of joking Jesus, Stephen answered.

1.609  --O, Haines said, you have heard it before?

1.610  --Three times a day, after meals, Stephen said drily.

1.611  --You're not a believer, are you? Haines asked. I mean, a believer in the

1.612  narrow sense of the word. Creation from nothing and miracles and a

1.613  personal God.

1.614  --There's only one sense of the word, it seems to me, Stephen said.

1.615  Haines stopped to take out a smooth silver case in which twinkled a green

1.616  stone. He sprang it open with his thumb and offered it.

1.617  --Thank you, Stephen said, taking a cigarette.

1.618  Haines helped himself and snapped the case to. He put it back in his

1.619  sidepocket and took from his waistcoatpocket a nickel tinderbox, sprang

1.620  it open too, and, having lit his cigarette, held the flaming spunk

1.621  towards Stephen in the shell of his hands.

1.622  --Yes, of course, he said, as they went on again. Either you believe or

1.623  you don't, isn't it? Personally I couldn't stomach that idea of a

1.624  personal God. You don't stand for that, I suppose?

1.625  --You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible

1.626  example of free thought.

1.627  He walked on, waiting to be spoken to, trailing his ashplant by his side.

1.628  Its ferrule followed lightly on the path, squealing at his heels. My

1.629  familiar, after me, calling, Steeeeeeeeeeeephen! A wavering line along

1.630  the path. They will walk on it tonight, coming here in the dark. He wants

1.631  that key. It is mine. I paid the rent. Now I eat his salt bread. Give him

1.632  the key too. All. He will ask for it. That was in his eyes.

1.633  --After all, Haines began ...

1.634  Stephen turned and saw that the cold gaze which had measured him was no

t1.635  all unkind.

1.636  --After all, I should think you are able to free yourself. You are your

1.637  own master, it seems to me.

1.638  --I am a servant of two masters, Stephen said, an English and an Italian.

1.639  --Italian? Haines said.

1.640  A crazy queen, old and jealous. Kneel down before me.

1.641  --And a third, Stephen said, there is who wants me for odd jobs.

1.642  --Italian? Haines said again. What do you mean?

1.643  --The imperial British state, Stephen answered, his colour rising, and

1.644  the holy Roman catholic and apostolic church.

1.645  Haines detached from his underlip some fibres of tobacco before he

1.646  spoke.1.647--I can quite understand that, he said calmly. An Irishman must think

1.648  like that, I daresay. We feel in England that we have treated you rather

1.649  unfairly. It seems history is to blame.

1.650  The proud potent titles clanged over Stephen's memory the triumph of

1.651  their brazen bells: ET UNAM SANCTAM CATHOLICAM ET APOSTOLICAM ECCLESIAM:

1.652  the slow growth and change of rite and dogma like his own rare thoughts,

1.653  a chemistry of stars. Symbol of the apostles in the mass for pope

1.654  Marcellus, the voices blended, singing alone loud in affirmation: and

1.655  behind their chant the vigilant angel of the church militant disarmed and

1.656  menaced her heresiarchs. A horde of heresies fleeing with mitres awry:

1.657  Photius and the brood of mockers of whom Mulligan was one, and Arius,

1.658  warring his life long upon the consubstantiality of the Son with the

1.659  Father, and Valentine, spurning Christ's terrene body, and the subtle

1.660  African heresiarch Sabellius who held that the Father was Himself His own

1.661  Son. Words Mulligan had spoken a moment since in mockery to the stranger.

1.662  Idle mockery. The void awaits surely all them that weave the wind: a

1.663  menace, a disarming and a worsting from those embattled angels of the

1.664  church, Michael's host, who defend her ever in the hour of conflict with

1.665  their lances and their shields.

1.666  Hear, hear! Prolonged applause. ZUT! NOM DE DIEU!

1.667  --Of course I'm a Britisher, Haines's voice said, and I feel as one. I

1.668  don't want to see my country fall into the hands of German jews either.

1.669  That's our national problem, I'm afraid, just now.

1.670  Two men stood at the verge of the cliff, watching: businessman, boatman.

1.671  --She's making for Bullock harbour.

1.672  The boatman nodded towards the north of the bay with some disdain.

1.673  --There's five fathoms out there, he said. It'll be swept up that way

1.674  when the tide comes in about one. It's nine days today.

1.675  The man that was drowned. A sail veering about the blank bay waiting for

1.676  a swollen bundle to bob up, roll over to the sun a puffy face, saltwhite.

1.677  Here I am.

1.678  They followed the winding path down to the creek. Buck Mulligan stood on

1.679  a stone, in shirtsleeves, his unclipped tie rippling over his shoulder.

1.680  A young man clinging to a spur of rock near him, moved slowly frogwise his

1.681  green legs in the deep jelly of the water.

1.682  --Is the brother with you, Malachi?

1.683  --Down in Westmeath. With the Bannons.

1.684  --Still there? I got a card from Bannon. Says he found a sweet young

1.685  thing down there. Photo girl he calls her.

1.686  --Snapshot, eh? Brief exposure.

1.687  Buck Mulligan sat down to unlace his boots. An elderly man shot up near

1.688  the spur of rock a blowing red face. He scrambled up by the stones, water

1.689  glistening on his pate and on its garland of grey hair, water rilling

1.690  over his chest and paunch and spilling jets out of his black sagging

1.691  loincloth.

1.692  Buck Mulligan made way for him to scramble past and, glancing at Haines

1.693  and Stephen, crossed himself piously with his thumbnail at brow and lips

1.694 and breastbone.

1.695  --Seymour's back in town, the young man said, grasping again his spur of

1.696  rock. Chucked medicine and going in for the army.

1.697  --Ah, go to God! Buck Mulligan said.

1.698  --Going over next week to stew. You know that red Carlisle girl, Lily?

1.699  --Yes.

1.700  --Spooning with him last night on the pier. The father is rotto with money.

1.701  --Is she up the pole?

1.702  --Better ask Seymour that.

1.703  --Seymour a bleeding officer! Buck Mulligan said.

1.704  He nodded to himself as he drew off his trousers and stood up, saying

1.705  tritely:

1.706  --Redheaded women buck like goats.

1.707  He broke off in alarm, feeling his side under his flapping shirt.

1.708  --My twelfth rib is gone, he cried. I'm the UBERMENSCH. Toothless Kinch

1.709  and I, the supermen.

1.710  He struggled out of his shirt and flung it behind him to where his

1.711  clothes lay.

1.712  --Are you going in here, Malachi?

1.713  --Yes. Make room in the bed.

1.714  The young man shoved himself backward through the water and reached the

1.715  middle of the creek in two long clean strokes. Haines sat down on a

1.716  stone, smoking.

1.717  --Are you not coming in? Buck Mulligan asked.

1.718  --Later on, Haines said. Not on my breakfast.

1.719  Stephen turned away.

1.720  --I'm going, Mulligan, he said.

1.721  --Give us that key, Kinch, Buck Mulligan said, to keep my chemise flat.

1.722  Stephen handed him the key. Buck Mulligan laid it across his heaped

1.723  clothes.

1.724  --And twopence, he said, for a pint. Throw it there.

1.725  Stephen threw two pennies on the soft heap. Dressing, undressing. Buck

1.726  Mulligan erect, with joined hands before him, said solemnly:

1.727  --He who stealeth from the poor lendeth to the Lord. Thus spake

1.728  Zarathustra.

1.729  His plump body plunged.

1.730  --We'll see you again, Haines said, turning as Stephen walked up the path

1.731  and smiling at wild Irish.

1.732  Horn of a bull, hoof of a horse, smile of a Saxon.

1.733  --The Ship, Buck Mulligan cried. Half twelve.

1.734  --Good, Stephen said.

1.735  He walked along the upwardcurving path.

1.736  LILIATA RUTILANTIUM.1.737TURMA CIRCUMDET.

1.738  IUBILANTIUM TE VIRGINUM.

1.739  The priest's grey nimbus in a niche where he dressed discreetly. I will

1.740  not sleep here tonight. Home also I cannot go.

1.741  A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from the sea. Turning

1.742  the curve he waved his hand. It called again. A sleek brown head, a

1.743 seal's, far out on the water, round.

1.744  Usurper.