Page 238 (10.1028-1060) "Rather lowsized... newbought book."

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— Rather lowsized, Dignam of Menton's office that was, Martin Cunningham said.

cf Simon's "low blackguardism"?


Long John Fanning could not remember him.



Clatter of horsehoofs sounded from the air.



— What's that? Martin Cunningham said.



All turned where they stood. John Wyse Nolan came down again. From the cool shadow of the doorway he saw the horses pass Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering. Gaily they went past before his cool unfriendly eyes, not quickly. In saddles of the leaders, leaping leaders, rode outriders.

cf Dilly's "sunshades spanned and wheelspokes spinning in the glare"

(isn't "Gaily" surprising?)

if they're leaders how can they be outriders too? [more]

p243: "Beyond Lundy Foot's from the shaded door of Kavanagh's winerooms John Wyse Nolan smiled with unseen coldness towards the lord lieutenantgeneral and general governor of Ireland."


— What was it? Martin Cunningham asked, as they went on up the staircase.



— The lord lieutenant general and general governor of Ireland, John Wyse Nolan answered from the stairfoot.

(is this respectful or disrespectful?)

⁎*⁎

streetview now
1909 map

As they trod across the thick carpet Buck Mulligan whispered behind his Panama to Haines:

(why is panama capitalised?)

we last saw these two at the end of the last chapter in the Library. how did their path not parallel Stephen's?


— Parnell's brother. There in the corner.

intrusion-source 16BM4:

They chose a small table near the window, opposite a longfaced man whose beard and gaze hung intently down on a chessboard.

we should expect them to spend 15min minimum

this image seemed to intrude on Lambert and Love before Kitty de-twigs: "From a long face a beard and gaze hung on a chessboard."
the cavalcade will pass them around 3:40


— Is that he? Haines asked, twisting round in his seat.

who talks like this besides professional grammarians and posers?


— Yes, Mulligan said. That's John Howard, his brother, our city marshal.



John Howard Parnell translated a white bishop quietly and his grey claw went up again to his forehead whereat it rested. An instant after, under its screen, his eyes looked quickly, ghostbright, at his foe and fell once more upon a working corner.

he's about 60yo [pics]


— I'll take a mélange, Haines said to the waitress.

— Two mélanges, Buck Mulligan said. And bring us some scones and butter and some cakes as well.

he's ordering but Haines is paying


When she had gone he said, laughing:



— We call it D.B.C. because they have damn bad cakes. O, but you missed Dedalus on Hamlet.

bad cakes compared to... Oxford???

why does BM only bring up SD now? what else have they been talking about?


Haines opened his newbought book.

Haines : new book :: Dilly : 2ndhand

>

mysteries:


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[LV2]



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Page 237 (10.987-1027) "took the elbow... Fanning in the mirror."

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took the elbow of a dapper little man in a shower of hail suit who walked uncertainly with hasty steps past Micky Anderson's watches.

shower-of-hail?

47yo in 1901

streetview now


— The assistant town clerk's corns are giving him some trouble, John Wyse Nolan told Mr Power.



They followed round the corner towards James Kavanagh's winerooms. The empty castle car fronted them at rest in Essex gate. Martin Cunningham, speaking always, showed often the list at which Jimmy Henry did not glance.

streetview now
1909 map

62yo in 1911

why "speaking always"?


— And Long John Fanning is here too, John Wyse Nolan said, as large as life.

53yo in 1901

The tall form of Long John Fanning filled the doorway where he stood.



— Good day, Mr Subsheriff, Martin Cunningham said, as all halted and greeted.



Long John Fanning made no way for them. He removed his large Henry Clay decisively and his large fierce eyes scowled intelligently over all their faces.

— Are the conscript fathers pursuing their peaceful deliberations? he said with rich acrid utterance to the assistant town clerk.

conscript fathers


Hell open to christians they were having, Jimmy Henry said pettishly, about their damned Irish language. Where was the marshal, he wanted to know, to keep order in the council chamber. And old Barlow the macebearer laid up with asthma, no mace on the table, nothing in order, no quorum even and Hutchinson, the lord mayor, in Llandudno and little Lorcan Sherlock doing locum tenens for him. Damned Irish language, language of our forefathers.

79yo in 1901

49yo in 1901

26yo in 1901

Long John Fanning blew a plume of smoke from his lips.



Martin Cunningham spoke by turns, twirling the peak of his beard, to the assistant town clerk and the subsheriff, while John Wyse Nolan held his peace.

MC twirled his beard in the funeral carriage too


— What Dignam was that? Long John Fanning asked.



Jimmy Henry made a grimace and lifted his left foot.



— O, my corns! he said plaintively. Come upstairs for goodness' sake till I sit down somewhere. Uff! Ooo! Mind!



Testily he made room for himself beside Long John Fanning's flank and passed in and up the stairs.



— Come on up, Martin Cunningham said to the subsheriff. I don't think you knew him or perhaps you did, though.

(cf Lambert to O'Molloy re abbey 10min earlier?)


With John Wyse Nolan Mr Power followed them in.



— Decent little soul he was, Mr Power said to the stalwart back of Long John Fanning ascending towards Long John Fanning in the mirror.

a ceiling mirror visible to people on the stairs?

>

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[DD]
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[LV1]
[LV2]



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Page 236 (10.953-986) "Filberts... while Martin Cunningham"

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— Filberts I believe they were, Mr Dedalus said, as he dropped his glasses on his coatfront, following them.

⁎*⁎

streetview now
1909 map


— The youngster will be all right, Martin Cunningham said, as they passed out of the Castleyard gate.



The policeman touched his forehead.



— God bless you, Martin Cunningham said, cheerily.



He signed to the waiting jarvey who chucked at the reins and set on towards Lord Edward street.


intrusion 15MC7:

Bronze by gold, Miss Kennedy's head by Miss Douce's head, appeared above the crossblind of the Ormond hotel.

two blocks north
identities
1901?
streetview now

"crossblind" isn't a word-- surely the restaurant is open but maybe the blinds are closed because the sunshine is too direct? or would the sun be farther north?

— Yes, Martin Cunningham said, fingering his beard. I wrote to Father Conmee and laid the whole case before him.



— You could try our friend, Mr Power suggested backward.



— Boyd? Martin Cunningham said shortly. Touch me not.

39yo in 1901

head of Protestant YMCA


John Wyse Nolan, lagging behind, reading the list, came after them quickly down Cork hill.



On the steps of the City hall Councillor Nannetti, descending, hailed Alderman Cowley and Councillor Abraham Lyon ascending.

Nannetti

48yo in 1901

The castle car wheeled empty into upper Exchange street.



— Look here, Martin, John Wyse Nolan said, overtaking them at the Mail office. I see Bloom put his name down for five shillings.

$30


— Quite right, Martin Cunningham said, taking the list. And put down the five shillings too.



— Without a second word either, Mr Power said.



— Strange but true, Martin Cunningham added.



John Wyse Nolan opened wide eyes.



— I'll say there is much kindness in the jew, he quoted elegantly.

Merchant of Venice


They went down Parliament street.

streetview now


— There's Jimmy Henry, Mr Power said, just heading for Kavanagh's.



— Righto, Martin Cunningham said. Here goes.

(is he going to ask for a donation for the Dignams?)


pseudo-intrusion 15MC29:

Outside la Maison Claire Blazes Boylan waylaid Jack Mooney's brother-in-law, humpy, tight, making for the liberties.

Bob Doran
streetview now
1909 map
half-mile southeast


John Wyse Nolan fell back with Mr Power, while Martin Cunningham

>

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[LV1]
[LV2]



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Page 235 (10.916-952) "Bad luck to... to his bulk."

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— Bad luck to the jewman that made them, Ben Dollard said. Thanks be to God he's not paid yet.



— And how is that basso profondo, Benjamin? Father Cowley asked.


pseudo-intrusion 14Si38:

Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, murmuring, glassyeyed, strode past the Kildare street club.

we saw him 45min ago in the Library, so he's heading north on Kildare or east on Leinster
streetview now
1909 map
1 mile southeast


Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanter's mouth, gave forth a deep note.

— Aw! he said.

(should be a colon? 'Awww...')


— That's the style, Mr Dedalus said, nodding to its drone.



— What about that? Ben Dollard said. Not too dusty? What?



He turned to both.



— That'll do, Father Cowley said, nodding also.


pseudo-intrusion 14Si47:

The reverend Hugh C. Love walked from the old Chapterhouse of saint Mary's abbey past James and Charles Kennedy's, rectifiers, attended by Geraldines tall and personable, towards the Tholsel beyond the Ford of Hurdles.

streetview now
1909 map
a block north


Ben Dollard with a heavy list towards the shopfronts led them forward, his joyful fingers in the air.

everyday exuberance


— Come along with me to the subsheriff's office, he said. I want to show you the new beauty Rock has for a bailiff. He's a cross between Lobengula and Lynchehaun. He's well worth seeing, mind you. Come along. I saw John Henry Menton casually in the Bodega just now and it will cost me a fall if I don't... wait awhile... We're on the right lay, Bob, believe you me.

1909 map

James Lynchehaun

— For a few days tell him, Father Cowley said anxiously.



Ben Dollard halted and stared, his loud orifice open, a dangling button of his coat wagging brightbacked from its thread as he wiped away the heavy shraums that clogged his eyes to hear aright.

cf p227: "eyes bleared with old rheum"


— What few days? he boomed. Hasn't your landlord distrained for rent?



— He has, Father Cowley said.



— Then our friend's writ is not worth the paper it's printed on, Ben Dollard said. The landlord has the prior claim. I gave him all the particulars. 29 Windsor avenue. Love is the name?

streetview now
1909 map


— That's right, Father Cowley said. The reverend Mr Love. He's a minister in the country somewhere. But are you sure of that?

rev. Hugh Love = landlord w/prior claim
Reuben Dodd = creditor whose writ is worthless


— You can tell Barabbas from me, Ben Dollard said, that he can put that writ where Jacko put the nuts.

cf "where Jesus left the jews"


He led Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his bulk.

>

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[DD]
[IM]
[LV1]
[LV2]



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Page 234 (10.881-915) "Hello, Simon... Ben, anyhow."

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⁎*⁎

1909 map




intrusion-source 14Si1:

— Hello, Simon, Father Cowley said. How are things?
— Hello, Bob, old man, Mr Dedalus answered, stopping.

this meeting intruded on Tom Kernan (one mile west) shortly after Kernan intruded on Simon and Dilly, so it should be almost immediately after that 11DD. in a moment, Hugh Love will intrude here from shortly after Lynch's Kitty intruded on Ned Lambert, which must be some undetermined time before Conmee intrudes on Stephen at the bookshop, which is just before Dilly shows up, so the time from Kitty to Donnycarney is approximately equal to the time it takes Dilly to reach Clohissey's from Dillon's. [yikes!]


They clasped hands loudly outside Reddy and Daughter's. Father Cowley brushed his moustache often downward with a scooping hand.

a block west of Dillon's
streetview now


— What's the best news? Mr Dedalus said.



— Why then not much, Father Cowley said. I'm barricaded up, Simon, with two men prowling around the house trying to effect an entrance.



— Jolly, Mr Dedalus said. Who is it?



— O, Father Cowley said. A certain gombeen man of our acquaintance.

moneylender (RJ Dodd)


— With a broken back, is it? Mr Dedalus asked.



— The same, Simon, Father Cowley answered. Reuben of that ilk. I'm just waiting for Ben Dollard. He's going to say a word to Long John to get him to take those two men off. All I want is a little time.



He looked with vague hope up and down the quay, a big apple bulging in his neck.



— I know, Mr Dedalus said, nodding. Poor old bockedy Ben! He's always doing a good turn for someone. Hold hard!

lame (clumsy?)


He put on his glasses and gazed towards the metal bridge an instant.



— Here he is, by God, he said, arse and pockets.



Ben Dollard's loose blue cutaway and square hat above large slops crossed the quay in full gait from the metal bridge. He came towards them at an amble, scratching actively behind his coattails.

porkpie??

As he came near Mr Dedalus greeted:


— Hold that fellow with the bad trousers.



— Hold him now, Ben Dollard said.



Mr Dedalus eyed with cold wandering scorn various points of Ben Dollard's figure. Then, turning to Father Cowley with a nod, he muttered sneeringly:

— That's a pretty garment, isn't it, for a summer's day?

just a moment ago Simon was praising him behind his back


— Why, God eternally curse your soul, Ben Dollard growled furiously, I threw out more clothes in my time than you ever saw.



He stood beside them beaming on them first and on his roomy clothes from points of which Mr Dedalus flicked fluff, saying:



— They were made for a man in his health, Ben, anyhow.

roomy, too big

>

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[DD]
[IM]
[LV1]
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Page 233 (10.842-880) "Father Conmee, having read... Misery! Misery!"

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pseudo-intrusion 13SD43:

Father Conmee, having read his little hours, walked through the hamlet of Donnycarney, murmuring vespers.

streetview now
1909 map
3 miles northeast

this should be shortly after we left him with Lynch and Kitty, though he's progressed north some ways. it would have been early for vespers, but he probably kept reading from momentum...?


Binding too good probably. What is this? Eighth and ninth book of Moses. Secret of all secrets. Seal of King David. Thumbed pages: read and read. Who has passed here before me? How to soften chapped hands. Recipe for white wine vinegar. How to win a woman's love. For me this. Say the following talisman three times with hands folded:

"Binding too good" ...to be with these cheap titles?


— Se el yilo nebrakada femininum! Amor me solo! Sanktus! Amen.



Who wrote this? Charms and invocations of the most blessed abbot Peter Salanka to all true believers divulged. As good as any other abbot's charms, as mumbling Joachim's. Down, baldynoddle, or we'll wool your wool.



— What are you doing here, Stephen?



Dilly's high shoulders and shabby dress.

since we saw her with Simon, she's crossed the river and bought a book, so this is after Simon's subsection below (1/5 mi = 4min, plus bookbuying).

"high shoulders" = not slouching now?


Shut the book quick. Don't let see.



— What are you doing? Stephen said.



A Stuart face of nonesuch Charles, lank locks falling at its sides. It glowed as she crouched feeding the fire with broken boots. I told her of Paris. Late lieabed under a quilt of old overcoats, fingering a pinchbeck bracelet, Dan Kelly's token. Nebrakada femininum.

the domestic scene would have been during their mother's illness (probably before her death). burning boots would stink. dan kelly sounds like a sweetheart of dilly's. (joyce may be mentioning the sweetheart to reassure us it wasn't an incestuous lieabed.)


— What have you there? Stephen asked.



— I bought it from the other cart for a penny, Dilly said, laughing nervously. Is it any good?



she probably didn't want to pay the halfpenny toll (stopping at the cart under Merchant's arch?) instead using O'Connell bridge. we know that "The gates of the drive opened wide" for the cavalcade just before Lenehan saw Bloom, and it "passed... out of Parkgate" before Dilly and Simon parted.


My eyes they say she has. Do others see me so? Quick, far and daring. Shadow of my mind.



He took the coverless book from her hand. Chardenal's French primer.

[ebook]

— What did you buy that for? he asked. To learn French?



She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips.



Show no surprise. Quite natural.



— Here, Stephen said. It's all right. Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on you. I suppose all my books are gone.



— Some, Dilly said. We had to.



She is drowning. Agenbite. Save her. Agenbite. All against us. She will drown me with her, eyes and hair. Lank coils of seaweed hair around me, my heart, my soul. Salt green death.



We.

the sisters supporting each other, without Stephen or Simon



Agenbite of inwit. Inwit's agenbite.



Misery! Misery!

neither Stephen nor Bloom interacts with the cavalcade (do they?)

>

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[IM]
[LV1]
[LV2]



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Page 232 (10.803-841) "coils of bronze... palmam ferenti."

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coils of bronze and silver, lozenges of cinnabar, on rubies, leprous and winedark stones.



Born all in the dark wormy earth, cold specks of fire, evil lights shining in the darkness. Where fallen archangels flung the stars of their brows. Muddy swinesnouts, hands, root and root, gripe and wrest them.

lust-guilt?
cf fox burying grandmother?


She dances in a foul gloom where gum burns with garlic. A sailorman, rustbearded, sips from a beaker rum and eyes her. A long and seafed silent rut. She dances, capers, wagging her sowish haunches and her hips, on her gross belly flapping a ruby egg.

belly dancer


Old Russell with a smeared shammy rag burnished again his gem, turned it and held it at the point of his Moses' beard. Grandfather ape gloating on a stolen hoard.

61yo in 1901

cf Yeats? "One day I saw faintly an immense pit of blackness, round which went a circular parapet, and on this parapet sat innumerable apes eating precious stones out of the palms of their hands. The stones glittered green and crimson, and the apes devoured them with an insatiable hunger"


And you who wrest old images from the burial earth? The brainsick words of sophists: Antisthenes. A lore of drugs. Orient and immortal wheat standing from everlasting to everlasting.

McHugh to SD, p142: "You remind me of Antisthenes, the professor said, a disciple 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."

p38, just after seeing the 'midwives': "Belly without blemish, bulging big, a buckler of taut vellum, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting."


pseudo-intrusion 13SD19 from two miles east:

Two old women fresh from their whiff of the briny trudged through Irishtown along London bridge road, one with a sanded tired umbrella, one with a midwife's bag in which eleven cockles rolled.

streetview now
1909 map


The whirr of flapping leathern bands and hum of dynamos from the powerhouse urged Stephen to be on. Beingless beings. Stop! Throb always without you and the throb always within. Your heart you sing of. I between them. Where? Between two roaring worlds where they swirl, I. Shatter them, one and both. But stun myself too in the blow. Shatter me you who can. Bawd and butcher were the words. I say! Not yet awhile. A look around.

Corporation Electricity Works 1909


Yes, quite true. Very large and wonderful and keeps famous time. You say right, sir. A Monday morning. 'Twas so, indeed.

passing a clockmaker's window (with the same name as the archbishop?)

52yo in 1911??

Stephen went down Bedford row, the handle of the ash clacking against his shoulderblade. In Clohissey's window a faded 1860 print of Heenan boxing Sayers held his eye. Staring backers with square hats stood round the roped prizering. The heavyweights in tight loincloths proposed gently each to other his bulbous fists. And they are throbbing: heroes' hearts.

"shoulderblade" = resting it on his shoulder?

streetview now
[1909 map]

32yo in 1901

He turned and halted by the slanted bookcart.



— Twopence each, the huckster said. Four for sixpence.



Tattered pages. The Irish Beekeeper. Life and Miracles of the Curé of Ars. Pocket Guide to Killarney.



I might find here one of my pawned schoolprizes. Stephano Dedalo, alumno optimo, palmam ferenti.

>

mysteries:


[DD]
[IM]
[LV1]
[LV2]



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