[The evolution of Stephen's thought in the Telemachia]

Stephen's inner monolog shows signs of evolution, pursuing themes of memory...
Here's an experiment with stripping away the distractions

[with Mulligan, outside. haunted by mother-guilt?, unloved, making art with words]
Chrysostomos.
Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart.
Who chose this face for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too.
He fears the lancet of my art as I fear that of his.
Cranly's arm. His arm.
The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the harpstrings, merging their twining chords. Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the dim tide.
Where now? Phantasmal mirth, folded away: muskperfumed. Folded away in the memory of nature with her toys
Her glazing eyes, staring out of death, to shake and bend my soul. On me alone.
No, mother! Let me be and let me live.

[inside, servant vs master]
I am another now and yet the same. A servant too. A server of a servant.
Old and secret she had entered from a morning world, maybe a messenger.
A wandering crone, lowly form of an immortal serving her conqueror and her gay betrayer, their common cuckquean, a messenger from the secret morning. To serve or to upbraid, whether he could not tell: but scorned to beg her favour.
She bows her old head to a voice that speaks to her loudly, her bonesetter, her medicineman: me she slights. To the voice that will shrive and oil for the grave all there is of her but her woman's unclean loins, of man's flesh made not in God's likeness, the serpent's prey.
They wash and tub and scrub. Agenbite of inwit. Conscience. Yet here's a spot.
A crazy queen, old and jealous. Kneel down before me.

[outside, conformity vs heresy]
The proud potent titles clanged over Stephen's memory the triumph of their brazen bells: et unam sanctam catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam: the slow growth and change of rite and dogma like his own rare thoughts, a chemistry of stars. Symbol of the apostles in the mass for pope Marcellus, the voices blended, singing alone loud in affirmation: and behind their chant the vigilant angel of the church militant disarmed and menaced her heresiarchs. A horde of heresies fleeing with mitres awry: Photius and the brood of mockers of whom Mulligan was one, and Arius, warring his life long upon the consubstantiality of the Son with the Father, and Valentine, spurning Christ's terrene body, and the subtle African heresiarch Sabellius who held that the Father was Himself His own Son. Words Mulligan had spoken a moment since in mockery to the stranger. Idle mockery. The void awaits surely all them that weave the wind: a menace, a disarming and a worsting from those embattled angels of the church, Michael's host, who defend her ever in the hour of conflict with their lances and their shields.
Hear, hear! Prolonged applause. Zut! Nom de Dieu!
Usurper.

[inside, history, accident, obedience]
Fabled by the daughters of memory. And yet it was in some way if not as memory fabled it. A phrase, then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of excess. I hear the ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry, and time one livid final flame. What's left us then?
They knew: had never learned nor ever been innocent.
A jester at the court of his master, indulged and disesteemed, winning a clement master's praise. Why had they chosen all that part? Not wholly for the smooth caress. For them too history was a tale like any other too often heard, their land a pawnshop.
Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death. They are not to be thought away. Time has branded them and fettered they are lodged in the room of the infinite possibilities they have ousted. But can those have been possible seeing that they never were? Or was that only possible which came to pass? Weave, weaver of the wind.
It must be a movement then, an actuality of the possible as possible. Aristotle's phrase formed itself within the gabbled verses and floated out into the studious silence of the library of Saint Genevieve where he had read, sheltered from the sin of Paris, night by night. By his elbow a delicate Siamese conned a handbook of strategy. Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with faintly beating feelers: and in my mind's darkness a sloth of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. Thought is the thought of thought. Tranquil brightness. The soul is in a manner all that is: the soul is the form of forms. Tranquillity sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms.
Here also over these craven hearts his shadow lies and on the scoffer's heart and lips and on mine. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a coin of the tribute. To Caesar what is Caesar's, to God what is God's. A long look from dark eyes, a riddling sentence to be woven on the church's looms.


[motherlove]
But for her the race of the world would have trampled him underfoot, a squashed boneless snail. She had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own. Was that then real? The only true thing in life? His mother's prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. She was no more: the trembling skeleton of a twig burnt in the fire, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. She had saved him from being trampled underfoot and had gone, scarcely having been. A poor soul gone to heaven: and on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of rapine in his fur, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the earth, listened, scraped up the earth, listened, scraped and scraped.

[signatures?]
Across the page the symbols moved in grave morrice, in the mummery of their letters, wearing quaint caps of squares and cubes. Give hands, traverse, bow to partner: so: imps of fancy of the Moors. Gone too from the world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and movement, flashing in their mocking mirrors the obscure soul of the world, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend.

Waiting always for a word of help his hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a faint hue of shame flickering behind his dull skin. Amor matris: subjective and objective genitive. With her weak blood and wheysour milk she had fed him and hid from sight of others his swaddling bands.

Like him was I, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness. My childhood bends beside me. Too far for me to lay a hand there once or lightly. Mine is far and his secret as our eyes. Secrets, silent, stony, sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.

Stephen's hand, free again, went back to the hollow shells. Symbols too of beauty and of power. A lump in my pocket: symbols soiled by greed and misery.

I am among them, among their battling bodies in a medley, the joust of life. You mean that knockkneed mother's darling who seems to be slightly crawsick? Jousts. Time shocked rebounds, shock by shock. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the frozen deathspew of the slain, a shout of spearspikes baited with men's bloodied guts.

Their full slow eyes belied the words, the gestures eager and unoffending, but knew the rancours massed about them and knew their zeal was vain. Vain patience to heap and hoard. Time surely would scatter all. A hoard heaped by the roadside: plundered and passing on. Their eyes knew their years of wandering and, patient, knew the dishonours of their flesh.

History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.
What if that nightmare gave you a back kick?
That is God... A shout in the street

Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno. Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see.

Stephen closed his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. You are walking through it howsomever. I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short times of space. Five, six: the nacheinander. Exactly: and that is the ineluctable modality of the audible. Open your eyes. No. Jesus! If I fell over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the nebeneinander ineluctably. I am getting on nicely in the dark. My ash sword hangs at my side. Tap with it: they do. My two feet in his boots are at the ends of his legs, nebeneinander. Sounds solid: made by the mallet of Los demiurgos. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand?

Rhythm begins, you see. I hear. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching.... Has all vanished since? If I open and am for ever in the black adiaphane... There all the time without you: and ever shall be, world without end.

The cords of all link back, strandentwining cable of all flesh. That is why mystic monks. Will you be as gods? Gaze in your omphalos. Hello! Kinch here. Put me on to Edenville. Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one.
Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve. She had no navel. Gaze. Belly without blemish, bulging big, a buckler of taut vellum, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting. Womb of sin.
Wombed in sin darkness I was too, made not begotten. By them, the man with my voice and my eyes and a ghostwoman with ashes on her breath. They clasped and sundered, did the coupler's will. From before the ages He willed me and now may not will me away or ever. A lex eterna stays about Him. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial? Where is poor dear Arius to try conclusions? Warring his life long on the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality. Illstarred heresiarch! In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. With beaded mitre and with crozier, stalled upon his throne, widower of a widowed see, with upstiffed omophorion, with clotted hinderparts.

Houses of decay, mine, his and all. You told the Clongowes gentry you had an uncle a judge and an uncle a general in the army. Come out of them, Stephen. Beauty is not there. Nor in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. For whom? The hundredheaded rabble of the cathedral close. A hater of his kind ran from them to the wood of madness, his mane foaming in the moon, his eyeballs stars. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. Abbas father, furious dean, what offence laid fire to their brains? Paff! Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. A garland of grey hair on his comminated head see him me clambering down to the footpace (descende!) clutching a monstrance, basiliskeyed. Get down, bald poll! A choir gives back menace and echo, assisting about the altar's horns, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the fat of kidneys of wheat.
And at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. Dringdring! And two streets off another locking it into a pyx. Dringadring! And in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his own cheek. Dringdring! Down, up, forward, back. Dan Occam thought of that, invincible doctor. A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain. Bringing his host down and kneeling he heard twine with his second bell the first bell in the transept (he is lifting his) and, rising, heard (now I am lifting) their two bells (he is kneeling) twang in diphthong.

Cousin Stephen, you will never be a saint. Isle of saints. You were awfully holy, weren't you? You prayed to the Blessed Virgin that you might not have a red nose. You prayed to the devil in Serpentine avenue that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the wet street. O si, certo! Sell your soul for that, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. More tell me, more still! On the top of the Howth tram alone crying to the rain: naked women! naked women! What about that, eh?
What about what? What else were they invented for?
Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh? I was young. You bowed to yourself in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Hurray for the Goddamned idiot! Hray! No-one saw: tell no-one. Books you were going to write with letters for titles. Have you read his F? O yes, but I prefer Q. Yes, but W is wonderful. O yes, W. Remember your epiphanies on green oval leaves, deeply deep, copies to be sent if you died to all the great libraries of the world, including Alexandria? Someone was to read them there after a few thousand years, a mahamanvantara. Pico della Mirandola like. Ay, very like a whale. When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is at one with one who once...

Page 23 (1.729-744) "His plump... Usurper."

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Delaney: [53]

<
His plump body plunged.
— We'll see you again, Haines said, turning as Stephen walked up the path, and smiling at wild Irish.
Horn of a bull, hoof of a horse, smile of a Saxon.
— The Ship, Buck Mulligan cried. Half twelve.
— Good, Stephen said.

'wild Irish' is the Saxon's way of repackaging bad behavior into a cliche

Gaelic saying: 'An trí rud is dainséaraí amuigh: éadan tairbh, deireadh staile, gáire an tSasanaigh' = The three [four] most dangerous things there are: the front of a bull, the back of a stallion, [the growl of a dog,] the laugh of an Englishman.

"Irish men would all beware / the dog's loud bark and then take care, / the bull's white horn, the horse's hoof / and the smile of an Englishman under your roof" [Delaney]

Telemachus to Athena: "after thou hast bathed... wend to the ship"
BM is anticipating drinking SD's pay at the pub mentioned on page 6 above
SD's "Good" is unexpected-- doesn't he mean the opposite?

He walked along the upwardcurving path.

Liliata rutilantium.
Turma circumdet.
Iubilantium te virginum.

cf p10 above:
Liliata rutilantium = bright as lilies
turma  = company (of confessors)
circumdet: = may they encompass (you)
iubilantium = jubilant
te = (accept) you
virginum  = virgins
(is he paring away excess words again? wishing his mother well? wishing BM ill? calming himself?)
"upwardcurving" sounds hopeful, too

The priest's grey nimbus in a niche where he dressed discreetly. I will not sleep here tonight. Home also I cannot go.
A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from the sea. Turning the curve he waved his hand. It called again. A sleek brown head, a seal's, far out on the water, round.
Usurper.

'nimbus' = cloud (so, grey more threatening than white? two pages ago it was a 'garland')
niche in rocky shore (cf niches for statues of saints?)

what has changed that he can't return? is it significant that there's no paragraph break-- was it BM's hypocritical crossing-self that cemented it?

"sweettoned" makes BM sound sympathetic (or seductive?)

the curve: Delaney suggests SD thinks he's moving out of the bathers' sight here, but BM has swum out so far he's still barely visible?

but is this a real seal, or Mulligan?
seal = maybe folklore fallen angel (selkie)
'Roundheads' = British who favored Parliament over king
usurpers: suitors in Homer, Claudius in Hamlet, British in Ireland

Hamlet V.ii "Popp'd in between the election and my hopes"

>

mysteries: why 'Good'? why the Latin? why the decision? real seal or BM?

[DD 02:32-04:02]


[IM 56:28-57:42]

[LV1 58:14-59:33]

[LV2 19:42-20:33]


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Page 22 (1.695-728) "Seymour's... Zarathustra."

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 <
— Seymour's back in town, the young man said, grasping again his spur of rock. Chucked medicine and going in for the army.
— Ah, go to God! Buck Mulligan said.
— Going over next week to stew. You know that red Carlisle girl, Lily?
— Yes.
— Spooning with him last night on the pier. The father is rotto with money.
— Is she up the pole?
— Better ask Seymour that.

Seymour = BM's friend from p7: "I'll bring down Seymour" (from where?)
'going over' where?
Lily Carlisle, redhead
Carlisle girls
'stew' = study for army???
"up the pole" maybe 'pregnant', explaining Seymour's career-change?

— Seymour a bleeding officer! Buck Mulligan said.
He nodded to himself as he drew off his trousers and stood up, saying tritely:
— Redheaded women buck like goats.

the manuscript continued "...And all creation simply gloats."
(Buck says 'buck')
'bleeding' (BM chooses a British obscenity here?)
'officer' (it's taken for granted he won't just be an enlisted man)
no one seems bothered that it's the British army he's joining

He broke off in alarm, feeling his side under his flapping shirt.
— My twelfth rib is gone, he cried. I'm the Übermensch. Toothless Kinch and I, the supermen.
He struggled out of his shirt and flung it behind him to where his clothes lay.
— Are you going in here, Malachi?
— Yes. Make room in the bed.

rib = Eve?
BM's boast pointedly includes SD and omits Haines
both dressing and almost immediately undressing cause BM difficulties

Delaney: [53]

The young man shoved himself backward through the water and reached the middle of the creek in two long clean strokes. Haines sat down on a stone, smoking.
— Are you not coming in? Buck Mulligan asked.
— Later on, Haines said. Not on my breakfast.

'creek'??
sitting-on-stone is an FW motif for Shaun

Stephen turned away.
— I'm going, Mulligan, he said.
— Give us that key, Kinch, Buck Mulligan said, to keep my chemise flat.
Stephen handed him the key. Buck Mulligan laid it across his heaped clothes.
— And twopence, he said, for a pint. Throw it there.
Stephen threw two pennies on the soft heap. Dressing, undressing. Buck Mulligan erect, with joined hands before him, said solemnly:
— He who stealeth from the poor lendeth to the Lord. Thus spake Zarathustra.

why 'chemise'? (BM must remove: shoes, socks, pants, underpants, jacket?, vest, shirt)
Delaney says 'tuppence', Donnelly 'two pence'
does "Dressing" refer to BM a few minutes earlier? SD sees BM treating him like an inferior each time
"He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord" Proverbs 19:17

>

mysteries: "stew"

[DD 00:11-02:33]


[IM 54:18-56:28]

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Page 21 (1.657-694) "of whom... breastbone."

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Delaney: [49]

<
of whom Mulligan was one, and Arius, warring his life long upon the consubstantiality of the Son with the Father, and Valentine, spurning Christ's terrene body, and the subtle African heresiarch Sabellius who held that the Father was Himself His own Son. Words Mulligan had spoken a moment since in mockery to the stranger. Idle mockery.

isn't SD honoring BM's mockery by classing it with these historic heresies?

Delaney: [50]

The void awaits surely all them that weave the wind: a menace, a disarming and a worsting from those embattled angels of the church, Michael's host, who defend her ever in the hour of conflict with their lances and their shields.
Hear, hear! Prolonged applause. Zut! Nom de Dieu!

is SD imagining himself giving this eloquent speech in public?

— Of course I'm a Britisher, Haines's voice said, and I feel as one. I don't want to see my country fall into the hands of German jews either. That's our national problem, I'm afraid, just now. 

more than 100,000 German Jews had immigrated to Britain in recent decades [wiki] only 75 were in Ireland in 1901, then down to 66 in 1911

Harold Bloom notes the evolving antisemitism in Shakespeare, Dickens, Eliot, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Willa Cather [nytbr]

Two men stood at the verge of the cliff, watching: businessman, boatman.
— She's making for Bullock harbour.
The boatman nodded towards the north of the bay with some disdain.
— There's five fathoms out there, he said. It'll be swept up that way when the tide comes in about one. It's nine days today.
The man that was drowned. A sail veering about the blank bay waiting for a swollen bundle to bob up, roll over to the sun a puffy face, saltwhite. Here I am.

5 fathoms = 30ft (less than 40 feet, but the depth of the Forty Foot is less anyway)
9 days: the drowning happened the day the milkwoman started delivering (or was last paid up)
pic: 1920s 

Delaney: [51]

They followed the winding path down to the creek. Buck Mulligan stood on a stone, in shirtsleeves, his unclipped tie rippling over his shoulder. A young man clinging to a spur of rock near him moved slowly frogwise his green legs in the deep jelly of the water.
— Is the brother with you, Malachi?
— Down in Westmeath. With the Bannons.
— Still there? I got a card from Bannon. Says he found a sweet young thing down there. Photo girl he calls her.
— Snapshot, eh? Brief exposure.

"green... jelly" (frogspawn?)

'the brother' is BM's brother (OG had two younger brothers: Henry) ((does BM's reappear?))

Bannon's photo girl is 15yo Milly Bloom, daughter of our Ulysses

"Brief exposure" suggests she might pose for naughty pictures


Buck Mulligan sat down to unlace his boots. An elderly man shot up near the spur of rock a blowing red face. He scrambled up by the stones, water glistening on his pate and on its garland of grey hair, water rilling over his chest and paunch and spilling jets out of his black sagging loincloth.
Buck Mulligan made way for him to scramble past and, glancing at Haines and Stephen, crossed himself piously with his thumbnail at brow and lips and breastbone.

"young man... elderly man"
"shot up.. a... face" ('face' seems to be the object of the verb, rather than the reworded subject)
garland = tonsured
loincloth = what priests would have worn there (now that it's wet he'll have to change it)

Delaney thinks BM's gesture is mocking (cf disingenuflect)

>

mysteries:


[DD 00:51-03:56]
[DD 00:00-00:12]


[IM 51:03-54:18]

[LV1 53:33-56:24]

[LV2 15:33-17:58]


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Page 20 (1.620-656) "open... mockers"

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Delaney: [45]

<
open with his thumb and offered it.
— Thank you, Stephen said, taking a cigarette.
Haines helped himself and snapped the case to. He put it back in his sidepocket and took from his waistcoatpocket a nickel tinderbox, sprang it open too, and, having lit his cigarette, held the flaming spunk towards Stephen in the shell of his hands.

tinderboxes predated safety matches, c1850 [wiki]
(Haines favors antique tech)

Delaney: [46]

— Yes, of course, he said, as they went on again. Either you believe or you don't, isn't it? Personally I couldn't stomach that idea of a personal God. You don't stand for that, I suppose?
— You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible example of free thought.



He walked on, waiting to be spoken to, trailing his ashplant by his side. Its ferule followed lightly on the path, squealing at his heels. My familiar, after me, calling, Steeeeeeeeeeeephen! A wavering line along the path. They will walk on it tonight, coming here in the dark. He wants that key. It is mine. I paid the rent. Now I eat his salt bread. Give him the key too. All. He will ask for it. That was in his eyes.

"ferule" = tip, probably metal
"path" = packed soil, or gravel?
familiars are magicians' guardian spirits [eb11]

"They will walk on it tonight" = they won't come from the south?

Someday we'll have sorted out who paid what when and who requested the milk deliveries. For now we know Gogarty paid and moved in first with Trench. But since SD has a paying fictional job, he might have paid and moved in with BM (without Haines). JAJ might have tweaked the facts so SD can feel usurped by BM, like Telemachus with the suitors.
"It is mine. I paid the rent." sounds less like SD rehearsing than SD imagining BM's attitude

Delaney: [47]

— After all, Haines began...
Stephen turned and saw that the cold gaze which had measured him was not all unkind.
— After all, I should think you are able to free yourself. You are your own master, it seems to me.
— I am the servant of two masters, Stephen said, an English and an Italian.
— Italian? Haines said.
A crazy queen, old and jealous. Kneel down before me.
— And a third, Stephen said, there is who wants me for odd jobs.
— Italian? Haines said again. What do you mean?
— The imperial British state, Stephen answered, his colour rising, and the holy Roman catholic and apostolic church.

Haines repeats "After all" because SD's look has unsettled him momentarily

Haines willfully overlooks the Church

(aPOStolic or apoSTOLic?)


Haines detached from his underlip some fibres of tobacco before he spoke.
— I can quite understand that, he said calmly. An Irishman must think like that, I daresay. We feel in England that we have treated you rather unfairly. It seems history is to blame.

a nervous gesture, calming

Delaney: [48]

The proud potent titles clanged over Stephen's memory the triumph of their brazen bells: et unam sanctam catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam: the slow growth and change of rite and dogma like his own rare thoughts, a chemistry of stars. Symbol of the apostles in the mass for pope Marcellus, the voices blended, singing alone loud in affirmation:


and behind their chant the vigilant angel of the church militant disarmed and menaced her heresiarchs.

Joyce loved Palestrina-- so is he reluctantly acknowledging that the Church sometimes made room for such artists?

Delaney: [49]

A horde of heresies fleeing with mitres awry: Photius and the brood of mockers

Photios [wiki]

>

mysteries:


[DD 01:25-04:17]
[DD 00:00-00:52]


[IM 47:18-51:03]

[LV1 50:07-53:33]

[LV2 12:54-15:33]


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Page 19 (1.588-619) "He held... sprang it"

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Delaney: [44]

<
He held up a forefinger of warning.
— If anyone thinks that I amn't divine
    He'll get no free drinks when I'm making the wine
    But have to drink water and wish it were plain
    That I make when the wine becomes water again.

BM/OG neatly demonstrates the shallowness of Catholicism's requiring belief in Jesus's divinity

yet another 'make water' pun

He tugged swiftly at Stephen's ashplant in farewell and, running forward to a brow of the cliff, fluttered his hands at his sides like fins or wings of one about to rise in the air, and chanted:
— Goodbye, now, goodbye! Write down all I said
    And tell Tom, Dick and Harry I rose from the dead.
    What's bred in the bone cannot fail me to fly
    And Olivet's breezy — Goodbye, now, goodbye!

(why not 'all that I said'?)
"bred in the bone" = father's a bird

OG's actual last verse:
Goodbye, now, goodbye, you are sure to be fed
You will come on My Grave when I rise from the Dead
What's bred in the bone cannot fail me to fly
And Olivet's breezy-- Goodbye now Goodbye.


He capered before them down towards the fortyfoot hole, fluttering his winglike hands, leaping nimbly, Mercury's hat quivering in the fresh wind that bore back to them his brief birdlike cries.

Forty Foot

Delaney: [45]

Haines, who had been laughing guardedly, walked on beside Stephen and said:
— We oughtn't to laugh, I suppose. He is rather blasphemous. I'm not a believer myself, that is to say. Still his gaiety takes the harm out of it somehow, doesn't it? What did he call it? Joseph the Joiner?
— The ballad of joking Jesus, Stephen answered.
— O, Haines said, you have heard it before?
— Three times a day, after meals, Stephen said drily.

actually "The Song of the Cheerful (but slightly sarcastic) Jesus"

— You're not a believer, are you? Haines asked. I mean, a believer in the narrow sense of the word. Creation from nothing and miracles and a personal God.
— There is only one sense of the word, it seems to me, Stephen said.
Haines stopped to take out a smooth silver case in which twinkled a green stone. He sprang it


"one sense" = Jesuit/Aquinas all-or-nothing, dismissing all watered-down Protestant compromises

>

mysteries:


[DD 02:04-03:08]
[DD 00:00-01:26]


[IM 45:16-47:18]

[LV1 47:43-50:07]

[LV2 11:16-12:54]


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[The objective third-person voice in Telemachus]

(Surely there's a simpler name for this rhetorical device?!)

(In later episodes too) I'm noticing descriptions that attribute actions to bodyparts-- faces, voices, lips, heads, forms, figures, hands:

the shaking gurgling face that blessed him
the sea hailed as a great sweet mother by the wellfed voice beside him
His curling shaven lips laughed and the edges of his white glittering teeth. Laughter seized all his strong wellknit trunk.
A voice within the tower called loudly:
His head halted again
His head vanished
Buck Mulligan's voice sang from within the tower. It came nearer up the staircase, calling again.
Buck Mulligan's gowned form moved briskly about the hearth
A tall figure rose from the hammock where it had been sitting, went to the doorway and pulled open the inner doors.
-- Have you the key? a voice asked.
Buck Mulligan's face smiled with delight.
His hands plunged and rummaged in his trunk
A limp black missile flew out of his talking hands.

It gives a sort of disembodied clinical objectivity...? While also animating nature...


Nestor
The boy's blank face asked the blank window
The words troubled their gaze
Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a beldam's hand
the scrappy field where sharp voices were in strife
his old man's voice cried sternly
Their sharp voices cried about him on all sides: their many forms closed round him
Stephen's embarrassed hand moved over the shells
Stephen's hand, free again, went back to the hollow shells.
A coughball of laughter leaped from his throat dragging after it a rattling chain of phlegm. He turned back quickly, coughing, laughing, his lifted arms waving to the air.


Proteus

Page 18 (1.551-587) "You couldn't... Calvary."

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Delaney: [42] [43] [44] Useen: [50] [51] [52] [map] [*]
Delaney: [41]

<
— You couldn't manage it under three pints, Kinch, could you?
— It has waited so long, Stephen said listlessly, it can wait longer.

SD sees himself as the first to solve a riddle posed three centuries earlier

Delaney: [42]

— You pique my curiosity, Haines said amiably. Is it some paradox?
— Pooh! Buck Mulligan said. We have grown out of Wilde and paradoxes. It's quite simple. He proves by algebra that Hamlet's grandson is Shakespeare's grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his own father.
— What? Haines said, beginning to point at Stephen. He himself?
Buck Mulligan slung his towel stolewise round his neck and, bending in loose laughter, said to Stephen's ear:
— O, shade of Kinch the elder! Japhet in search of a father!
— We're always tired in the morning, Stephen said to Haines. And it is rather long to tell.

SD gets to expound his theory, stone sober, in episode 9. Briefly, his veryclosereading of all Shakespeare's works leads him to see WS's relation to his wife as central, with Gertrude in Hamlet playing her role.

'stolewise' like leaningplace is a real word, neat but rarely used.

why "shade" not 'shades'?

"Kinch the elder" is Simon Dedalus (John Joyce) who'll appear presently in the fictional flesh. Japhet was one of three sons of Noah (the infamous biblical drunk) who turn up often in FW. "Japhet in Search of a Father" was the title of an 1836 bestseller never mentioned in FW (so the novel itself is probably irrelevant).

Delaney: [43]

Buck Mulligan, walking forward again, raised his hands.
— The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue of Dedalus, he said.
— I mean to say, Haines explained to Stephen as they followed, this tower and these cliffs here remind me somehow of Elsinore. That beetles o'er his base into the sea, isn't it?
Buck Mulligan turned suddenly for an instant towards Stephen but did not speak. In the bright silent instant Stephen saw his own image in cheap dusty mourning between their gay attires.
— It's a wonderful tale, Haines said, bringing them to halt again.

"We"?
"as they followed" meticulously choreographed to show character and relationship (SD and H follow BM)

Hamlet I.iv (Haines gets the quote exactly right)
'beetles' comes from beetle-browed or scowling; it's not Elsinore itself but a cliff that juts dangerously, and the danger is that the malevolent Ghost will cause Hamlet to fall to his death.

BM may be self-censoring the quote's continuation, because it's too close to SD's issues? "...And there assume some other horrible form, Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason And draw you into madness?"

SD momentarily sees himself as they see him, dirty and poor and sad

"wonderful tale" diminishes WS
'bring to halt' is much less common than '...to a halt'

Eyes, pale as the sea the wind had freshened, paler, firm and prudent. The seas' ruler, he gazed southward over the bay, empty save for the smokeplume of the mailboat, vague on the bright skyline, and a sail tacking by the Muglins.
— I read a theological interpretation of it somewhere, he said bemused. The Father and the Son idea. The Son striving to be atoned with the Father.

this is the first we've heard of Haines' eyes. "firm and prudent" is generous. (1920 notesheet: "Haines I was polite.")

Rule Britannia ♬

'smoke-plume' and 'smoke plume' are slightly more common than "smokeplume"

the mailboat would have been due north, not south!? could JAJ have been working with a skewed mental map? "southward" is all land, not water

(everything else is so crystalline that "vague" is jarring)

calling it "tacking" implies some familiarity with sailing. The Muglins are a shoal to avoid.

Delaney: [44]

Buck Mulligan at once put on a blithe broadly smiling face. He looked at them, his wellshaped mouth open happily, his eyes, from which he had suddenly withdrawn all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety. He moved a doll's head to and fro, the brims of his Panama hat quivering, and began to chant in a quiet happy foolish voice:

— I'm the queerest young fellow that ever you heard.
    My mother's a jew, my father's a bird.
    With Joseph the joiner I cannot agree.
    So here's to disciples and Calvary.

OG, later that year:
I'm the queerest young fellow that ever was heard.
My mother's a Jew; my father's a Bird
With Joseph the Joiner I cannot agree
So 'Here's to Disciples and Calvary.' [more]

jew (for Catholics, an awkward fact); bird (Holy Ghost); joiner (carpenter)

GoogleMap

>

mysteries: wrong compass direction


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Page 17 (1.513-550) "And putting... waistcoat:"

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Delaney: [39] [40] [41] Useen: [47] [48] [49] [map] [*]

<

Delaney: [39]

And putting on his stiff collar and rebellious tie he spoke to them, chiding them, and to his dangling watchchain. His hands plunged and rummaged in his trunk while he called for a clean handkerchief.

Haines' collar was 'loose' and his scarf wellbehaved. (p16 above). BM's stiff collar sounds like he's dressing to impress someone (or everyone) rather than for comfort.

1908 notebook: "Gogarty: He addresses lifeless objects and hits them smartly with his cane: the naturalism of the Celtic mind." (as atypical as OG must have been, JAJ sees him here as typically Celtic)
We don't hear what he says to these lifeless objects (yet), surprisingly.

The watchchain would have been attached to the watch in his yellow vest's watchpocket (aka "primrose waistcoat" below), to be buttoned to the vest (suggesting he's assembling his public persona (disguise?) here).

Joyce used the word 'trunk' for BM on page 6, above: "Laughter seized all his strong wellknit trunk." He'll re-use 'plunged' below, again of BM: "His plump body plunged."

"called for" = talking to himself, pretending to have a servant (neither Haines nor SD would have responded)

God, we'll simply have to dress the character. I want puce gloves and green boots. Contradiction. Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. Mercurial Malachi.

Joyce omits both paragraph break and leading dash for once, BM speaking aloud, to no one, as if it's a running interior monolog. (Haines is out of hearing, at the door.)

'Dressing the character' implies BM is still pondering his spat with SD, imagining 'playing them' via ostentatious dandyism.

"puce" echoes 'prepuces' above (p13). The color notoriously derives from squashed fleas (cf squashed lice above). (Reds paired with greens are a recurring motif in PoA.)

BM is quoting Walt Whitman here (continues "...I am large, I contain multitudes")

A limp black missile flew out of his talking hands.
— And there's your Latin quarter hat, he said.

cf Portrait "the greasy leather orb flew like a heavy bird through the grey light"

The latin quarter of Paris was the student/bohemian ghetto at the time [wiki] Joyce could in fact speak Latin as a lingua franca there.

rather than play the dandy, SD's rebellion-of-dress is limited perhaps to romantic bohemian poverty.

Stephen picked it up and put it on. Haines called to them from the doorway:
— Are you coming, you fellows?
— I'm ready, Buck Mulligan answered, going towards the door.

Throwing the hat so SD has to pick it up off the floor (and saying "There's" rather than 'Here's') shows some lingering contempt, which BM never risks with Haines even though he insults him behind his back.

Delaney: [40]

Come out, Kinch. You have eaten all we left, I suppose.
Resigned he passed out with grave words and gait, saying, wellnigh with sorrow:
— And going forth he met Butterly.

BM is wellfed, SD is always hungry. "You have eaten all we left" anticipates the first vignette of FW, Roderick O'Connor drinking everyone's dregs

longshot: Maurice Butterly, 69yo magistrate in 1901

'butter' is a leitmotif associated with JAJ's enemies

'wept bitterly' Matthew 26:75 in the Douay-Rheims, not KJV

Stephen, taking his ashplant from its leaningplace, followed them out and, as they went down the ladder, pulled to the slow iron door and locked it. He put the huge key in his inner pocket.
At the foot of the ladder Buck Mulligan asked:
— Did you bring the key?
— I have it, Stephen said, preceding them.

Gogarty says the ashplant had a right-angled handle:

'leaning-place' is a real word, rarely needed.

"inner pocket" (of his (black) jacket)

The towers were designed with one ladder each that could be pulled up to discourage attackers. I think these were bolted on in peacetime, or replaced with stairs. If this ladder truly hadn't been replaced yet, the milkwoman's ascent while carrying a full milkjug would have been remarkable!

ladder or stairs?

Delaney: [41]

He walked on. Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan club with his heavy bathtowel the leader shoots of ferns or grasses.
— Down, sir! How dare you, sir!

cf 1908 notebook: "Gogarty: He addresses lifeless objects and hits them smartly with his cane: the naturalism of the Celtic mind."

SD sees himself as another leadershoot clubbed by BM

"sir" could refer to a dog

Haines asked:
— Do you pay rent for this tower?
— Twelve quid, Buck Mulligan said.
— To the secretary of state for war, Stephen added over his shoulder.

either Mulligan or Joyce is exaggerating: it was even cheaper, at eight pounds a year ($90/month now) paid quarterly

SD seems to lighten up a bit here, unless it's a subtle jesuit jibe about contributing to the enemy (the detail about the shoulder seems to make this less likely, somehow. Cf above? "Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.")

They halted while Haines surveyed the tower and said at last:
— Rather bleak in wintertime, I should say. Martello you call it?
— Billy Pitt had them built, Buck Mulligan said, when the French were on the sea. But ours is the omphalos.

(how bleaker than other places? why winter especially, given that snow is rare?)

worldmap of Towers

[♬ when the French were on the sea]

JAJ and OG did describe the Tower as 'the Omphalos'


— What is your idea of Hamlet? Haines asked Stephen.
— No, no, Buck Mulligan shouted in pain. I'm not equal to Thomas Aquinas and the fiftyfive reasons he has made to prop it up. Wait till I have a few pints in me first.
He turned to Stephen, saying, as he pulled down neatly the peaks of his primrose waistcoat:

Aquinas was a Jesuit favorite Joyce never rejected

primrose (yellow, not rose-colored)

>

mysteries:


[DD 00:00-02:56]


[IM 39:28-42:12]

[LV1 41:38-44:19]

[LV2 06:58-09:01]


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