Page 143 (7.1045-1075) "Kingstown and Dalkey, ...was known."

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Kingstown and Dalkey, Sandymount Green, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Donnybrook, Palmerston Park and Upper Rathmines, all still, becalmed in short circuit. Hackney cars, cabs, delivery waggons, mailvans, private broughams, aerated mineral water floats with rattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled, horsedrawn, rapidly.

"becalmed in short circuit" = waiting for electric current to be restored

p112: Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey,
Clonskea, Rathgar and Terenure,
Palmerston Park and upper Rathmines,
Sandymount Green, Rathmines, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower,
Harold's Cross

p142-143: Rathmines, Rathfarnham,
Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey,
Sandymount Green, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower,
Donnybrook,
Palmerston Park and Upper Rathmines

WHAT? - AND LIKEWISE - WHERE?

— But what do you call it? Myles Crawford asked. Where did they get the plums?

VIRGILIAN, SAYS PEDAGOGUE. SOPHOMORE
PLUMPS FOR OLD MAN MOSES.

"Old Man Moses" may be a song reference, possibly even Dvorak!!? [♬]


— Call it, wait, the professor said, opening his long lips wide to reflect. Call it, let me see. Call it: Deus nobis haec otia fecit.

trans: 'a god wrought for us this leisure' Virgil


— No, Stephen said, I call it A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or The Parable of the Plums.

Pisgah-Sight of Palestine, 1650
Mount Pisgah


— I see, the professor said.


He laughed richly.


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

HORATIO IS CYNOSURE THIS FAIR JUNE DAY

Horatio Nelson
SIGHnohsure = north star


J.J. O'Molloy sent a weary sidelong glance towards the statue and held his peace.



— I see, the professor said.



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

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING
FOR FRISKY FRUMPS. ANNE WIMBLES, FLO
WANGLES - YET CAN YOU BLAME THEM?

— Onehandled adulterer, he said smiling grimly. That tickles me, I must say.

Nelson lost an arm in battle, and carried on with Mrs Wm Hamilton


— Tickled the old ones too, Myles Crawford said, if the God Almighty's truth was known.

>

mysteries:


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[IM 1:05:46-1:07:40]

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Page 142 (7.1014-1044) "THOSE SLIGHTLY... Rathfarnham, Blackrock,"

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THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES

— Easy all, Myles Crawford said. No poetic licence. We're in the archdiocese here.



— And settle down on their striped petticoats, peering up at the statue of the onehandled adulterer.



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

DAMES DONATE DUBLIN'S CITS
SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, BELIEF

speedpills


— It gives them a crick in their necks, Stephen said, and they are too tired to look up or down or to speak. They put the bag of plums between them and eat the plums out of it one after another, wiping off with their handkerchiefs the plumjuice that dribbles out of their mouths and spitting the plumstones slowly out between the railings.

He gave a sudden loud young laugh as a close. Lenehan and Mr O'Madden Burke, hearing, turned, beckoned and led on across towards Mooney's.



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

SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN
SQUARE ON PROBOSCIS. SPARTANS GNASH
MOLARS. ITHACANS VOW PEN IS CHAMP

— 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.



Poor Penelope. Penelope Rich.



They made ready to cross O'Connell street.

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HELLO THERE, CENTRAL!

1900

cf c1960


At various points along the eight lines tramcars with motionless trolleys stood in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, Rathfarnham, Blackrock,

1907

>

mysteries:


[DD 00:34-03:02]
[DD 00:00-00:18]

[IM 1:03:54-1:05:46]

[LV1 54:35-56:11]

[LV2 39:57-41:54]



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Page 141 (7.983-1013) "A bit nervy... skirts..."

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A bit nervy. Look out for squalls. All off for a drink. Arm in arm. Lenehan's yachting cap on the cadge beyond. Usual blarney. Wonder is that young Dedalus the moving spirit. Has a good pair of boots on him today. Last time I saw him he had his heels on view. Been walking in muck somewhere. Careless chap. What was he doing in Irishtown?



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

K.M.R.I.A.

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



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

RAISING THE WIND

— Nulla bona, Jack, he said, raising his hand to his chin. I'm up to here. I've been through the hoop myself. I was looking for a fellow to back a bill for me no later than last week. Sorry, Jack. You must take the will for the deed. With a heart and a half if I could raise the wind anyhow.



J.J. O'Molloy pulled a long face and walked on silently. They caught up on the others and walked abreast.



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



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

fd: [299]

SOME COLUMN! - THAT'S
WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID

— That's new, Myles Crawford said. That's copy. Out for the waxies' Dargle. Two old trickies, what?

Waxies' Dargle [♬]


— But they are afraid the pillar will fall, Stephen went on. They see the roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue dome, Adam and Eve's, Saint Laurence O'Toole's. But it makes them giddy to look so they pull up their skirts...

copper blue dome (rebuilt)

view south

>

mysteries:


[DD 01:52-03:59]
[DD 00:00-00:34]

[IM 1:01:51-1:03:54]

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Page 140 (7.950-982) "bottleful... stable."

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bottleful from a passionist father. Florence MacCabe takes a crubeen and a bottle of double X for supper every Saturday.



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

(JJOM)


He turned.



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



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



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



— Yes, he said. I see them.

RETURN OF BLOOM

Mr Bloom, breathless, caught in a whirl of wild newsboys near the offices of the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called:

— Mr Crawford! A moment!

LB is returning from the west, as SD and McHugh head east, following Lenahan, and with MC and JJOM between


— Telegraph! Racing special!



— What is it? Myles Crawford said, falling back a pace.



A newsboy cried in Mr Bloom's face:

analysis


— Terrible tragedy in Rathmines! A child bit by a bellows!

ow, a little pinch

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INTERVIEW WITH THE EDITOR

— Just this ad, Mr Bloom said, pushing through towards the steps, puffing, and taking the cutting from his pocket. I spoke with Mr Keyes just now. He'll give a renewal for two months, he says. After he'll see. But he wants a par to call attention in the Telegraph too, the Saturday pink. And he wants it copied if it's not too late I told councillor Nannetti from the Kilkenny People. I can have access to it in the national library. House of keys, don't you see? His name is Keyes. It's a play on the name. But he practically promised he'd give the renewal. But he wants just a little puff. What will I tell him, Mr Crawford?

K.M.A.

— Will you tell him he can kiss my arse? Myles Crawford said, throwing out his arm for emphasis. Tell him that straight from the stable.

barnyard vulgarity?

>

mysteries: does LB see SD's muddy boots here, or from the carriage earlier?


[DD 02:38-03:37]
[DD 00:00-01:52]

[IM 59:55-1:01:51]

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[LV2 35:43-37:53]



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Page 139 (7.915-949) "Dublin. I... lady who got a"

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Dublin. I have much, much to learn.



They turned to the left along Abbey street.



— I have a vision too, Stephen said.



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



Another newsboy shot past them, yelling as he ran:



— Racing special!

fd: [297]

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN

phrase


Dubliners.

cf p130 MC to SD "Give them something with a bite in it. Put us all into it, damn its soul."


— Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said, elderly and pious, have lived fifty and fiftythree years in Fumbally's lane.

1901 Fumbally's Lane 1909 map StreetView now


— Where is that? the professor asked.

— Off Blackpitts, Stephen said.



Damp night reeking of hungry dough. Against the wall. Face glistening tallow under her fustian shawl. Frantic hearts. Akasic records. Quicker, darlint!

"hungry dough"???


On now. Dare it. Let there be life.



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

3 shillings = 36p
36p + 10p = 46p
cf Deasy's prim savingsbox, p30
1s7p in coppers = 19 copper pennies
2s3p in silver = 27p
= 1 sixpence + 7 tuppenceor 2 + 5, or 3 + 3, or 4 + 1


— Wise virgins, professor MacHugh said.

LIFE ON THE RAW

cf p130 "on the shaughraun"?


— They buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn and four slices of panloaf at the north city dining rooms in Marlborough street from Miss Kate Collins, proprietress. They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from a girl at the foot of Nelson's pillar to take off the thirst of the brawn. They give two threepenny bits to the gentleman at the turnstile and begin to waddle slowly up the winding staircase, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid of the dark, panting, one asking the other have you the brawn, praising God and the Blessed Virgin, threatening to come down, peeping at the airslits. Glory be to God. They had no idea it was that high.

girls at the foot of the pillar

entrance

pic

1942

1921

meat from a pig's or calf's head that is cooked and pressed in a pot with jelly

?

Thom's confirms "Kate Collins" (1901 lists 9)
Marlborough street seems a bit out of their way?
46p - 1s4p = 46 - 16 = 30p
plums were 8 for a penny (p92)
30p - 3 = 27p
27p - 6p = 21p = 1s9p (minus panloaf)
a 4 lb loaf of bread was only 6p so 4 slices ought to be 2c max
Pillar height = 120ft

(a spoken paragraph break!)

Their names are Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe. Anne Kearns has the lumbago for which she rubs on Lourdes water, given her by a lady who got a

FM'C was the imaginary name SD assigned that purported midwife p38
(one had an umbrella, one was a widow, they lived in the liberties)

>

mysteries:


[DD 04:18-04:50]
[DD 00:00-02:38]

[IM 57:39-59:55]

[LV1 49:20-51:09]

[LV2 33:19-35:43]


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[etext: The Parable of the Plums]

A Pisgah Sight of Palestine

or, The Parable of the Plums
by Stephen Dedalus
16 June 1904, ~1230 GMT

Two Dublin vestals, elderly and pious, have lived fifty and fiftythree years in Fumbally's lane. They want to see the views of Dublin from the top of Nelson's pillar. They save up three and tenpence in a red tin letterbox moneybox. They shake out the threepenny bits and sixpences and coax out the pennies with the blade of a knife. Two and three in silver and one and seven in coppers. They put on their bonnets and best clothes and take their umbrellas for fear it may come on to rain.

They buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn and four slices of panloaf at the north city diningrooms in Marlborough street from Miss Kate Collins, proprietress. They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from a girl at the foot of Nelson's pillar to take off the thirst of the brawn. They give two threepenny bits to the gentleman at the turnstile and begin to waddle slowly up the winding staircase, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid of the dark, panting, one asking the other have you the brawn, praising God and the Blessed Virgin, threatening to come down, peeping at the airslits. Glory be to God. They had no idea it was that high.

Their names are Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe. Anne Kearns has the lumbago for which she rubs on Lourdes water, given her by a lady who got a bottleful from a passionist father. Florence MacCabe takes a crubeen and a bottle of double X for supper every Saturday. When they have eaten the brawn and the bread and wiped their twenty fingers in the paper the bread was wrapped in they go nearer to the railings. But they are afraid the pillar will fall. They see the roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue dome, Adam and Eve's, saint Laurence O'Toole's.

But it makes them giddy to look so they pull up their skirts and settle down on their striped petticoats, peering up at the statue of the onehandled adulterer. It gives them a crick in their necks, and they are too tired to look up or down or to speak. They put the bag of plums between them and eat the plums out of it, one after another, wiping off with their handkerchiefs the plumjuice that dribbles out of their mouths and spitting the plumstones slowly out between the railings.

by the same author: The Sisters, August 1904

Page 138 (7.881-914) "Miles... yelling: Racing special!"

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Miles of ears of porches. The tribune's words, howled and scattered to the four winds. A people sheltered within his voice. Dead noise. Akasic records of all that ever anywhere wherever was. Love and laud him: me no more.



I have money.



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



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



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

(reduced to rubble in 1916: pic)


He led the way, admonishing:



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



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



— Lay on, Macduff!



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



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



— Foot and mouth. I know. That'll be all right. That'll go in. Where are they? That's all right.



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

LET US HOPE

J.J. O'Molloy, about to follow him in, said quietly to Stephen:



— I hope you will live to see it published. Myles, one moment.



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



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



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



— Racing special!

latest on the horserace, before it starts, for bettors?

>

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[DD 00:54-04:18]

[IM 55:29-57:39]

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Page 137 (7.845-880) "Why will you... of the kings."

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Joyce's reading [1:28-4:07]:


— Why will you jews not accept our culture, our religion and our language? You are a tribe of nomad herdsmen: we are a mighty people. You have no cities nor no wealth: our cities are hives of humanity and our galleys, trireme and quadrireme, laden with all manner merchandise furrow the waters of the known globe. You have but emerged from primitive conditions: we have a literature, a priesthood, an agelong history and a polity.



Nile.


Child, man, effigy.



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



— You pray to a local and obscure idol: our temples, majestic and mysterious, are the abodes of Isis and Osiris, of Horus and Ammon Ra. Yours serfdom, awe and humbleness: ours thunder and the seas. Israel is weak and few are her children: Egypt is an host and terrible are her arms. Vagrants and daylabourers are you called: the world trembles at our name.



A dumb belch of hunger cleft his speech. He lifted his voice above it boldly:

(the rhetoric transcends the speaker)


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



He ceased and looked at them, enjoying silence.

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OMINOUS - FOR HIM!

J.J. O'Molloy said not without regret:


— And yet he died without having entered the land of promise.

Moses/Taylor


— A sudden-at-the-moment-though-from-lingering-illness-often-previously-expectorated demise, Lenehan added. And with a great future behind him.

(is there some lost gossip about Taylor's death?)


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



— That is oratory, the professor said, uncontradicted.

we can guess that "uncontradicted" is not spoken


Gone with the wind. Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the kings.

>

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Page 136 (7.805-844) "the vials... Augustine."

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the vials of his wrath but pouring the proud man's contumely upon the new movement. It was then a new movement. We were weak, therefore worthless.

Hamlet III.1 "the proud man's contumely"


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

fd: [295]

IMPROMPTU

In ferial tone he addressed J.J. O'Molloy:

ferial


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



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



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



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

(there's no livefishbowls in Ulysses!?)


He began:


Joyce's reading [0:00-1:28]:

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

(Joyce trills his 'r's conspicuously when he's doing MacHugh)


His listeners held their cigarettes poised to hear, their smokes ascending in frail stalks that flowered with his speech. And let our crooked smokes. Noble words coming. Look out. Could you try your hand at it yourself?

Cymbeline V.5.475 'CYMBELINE Laud we the gods; And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils From our blest altars'

(whispered inner thoughts)
Joyce had tested himself, acting in plays and presenting papers


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

FROM THE FATHERS

(our only example of Joyce reading a headline, it's surprisingly understated)



It was revealed to me that those things are good which yet are corrupted which neither if they were supremely good nor unless they were good could be corrupted. Ah, curse you! That's saint Augustine.

(mumbled like familiar rote recitation)
uhGUStin

>

mysteries:


[DD 03:56-04:30]
[DD 00:00-02:55]
[DD 00:00-00:26]

[IM 50:02-52:39]

[LV1 43:04-45:18]

[LV2 25:04-28:00]



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