Page 209 (9.1193-1225) "their skirts... altars."

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their skirts to step over you as you lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!

this actually took place on 20 June, during Joyce's 'spree' after being thrown out of his lodgings at McKernans for nonpayment of rent (and also after meeting Nora). Joyce's version: (Ellmann 161):

O, there are two brothers, the Fays,
Who are excellent players of plays,
And, needless to mention, all
Most unconventional,
Filling the world with amaze.

But I angered those brothers, the Fays,
Whose ways are conventional ways,
For I lay in my urine
While ladies so pure in
White petticoats ravished my gaze.

the 'ladies' included Vera Esposito, and actress whom Joyce had impressed a few days earlier with his singing, at Cousins' house.


— The most innocent son of Erin, Stephen said, for whom they ever lifted them.



About to pass through the doorway, feeling one behind, he stood aside.



Part. The moment is now. Where then? If Socrates leave his house today, if Judas go forth tonight. Why? That lies in space which I in time must come to, ineluctably.



My will: his will that fronts me. Seas between.



A man passed out between them, bowing, greeting.



— Good day again, Buck Mulligan said.



The portico.



Here I watched the birds for augury. Ængus of the birds. They go, they come. Last night I flew. Easily flew. Men wondered. Street of harlots after. A creamfruit melon he held to me. In. You will see.



— The wandering jew, Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe. Did you see his eye? He looked upon you to lust after you. I fear thee, ancient mariner. O, Kinch, thou art in peril. Get thee a breechpad.



Manner of Oxenford.



Day. Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge.



A dark back went before them. Step of a pard, down, out by the gateway, under portcullis barbs.

They followed.



Offend me still. Speak on.



Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street. No birds. Frail from the housetops two plumes of smoke ascended, pluming, and in a flaw of softness softly were blown.



Cease to strive. Peace of the druid priests of Cymbeline: hierophantic: from wide earth an altar.

Laud we the gods And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
From our bless'd altars.

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