Ulysses by James Joyce

Leopold Bloom Telemachus
Scylla and Charybdis
Wandering Rocks
Oxen of the Sun

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Ulysses by James Joyce.
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[1134]     --You, Cochrane, what city sent for him?
[1136]     --Tarentum, sir.
[1138]     --Very good. Well?
[1140]     --There was a battle, sir.
[1142]     --Very good. Where?
[1144]     The boy's blank face asked the blank window.
[1146]     Fabled by the daughters of memory. And yet it was in some way if not as
[1147]     memory fabled it. A phrase, then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of
[1148]     excess. I hear the ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppling
[1149]     masonry, and time one livid final flame. What's left us then?
[1151]     --I forget the place, sir. 279 B. C.
[1153]     --Asculum, Stephen said, glancing at the name and date in the gorescarred
[1154]     book.
[1156]     --Yes, sir. And he said: ANOTHER VICTORY LIKE THAT AND WE ARE DONE FOR.
[1158]     That phrase the world had remembered. A dull ease of the mind. From a
[1159]     hill above a corpsestrewn plain a general speaking to his officers,
[1160]     leaned upon his spear. Any general to any officers. They lend ear.
[1162]     --You, Armstrong, Stephen said. What was the end of Pyrrhus?
[1164]     --End of Pyrrhus, sir?
[1166]     --I know, sir. Ask me, sir, Comyn said.
[1168]     --Wait. You, Armstrong. Do you know anything about Pyrrhus?
[1170]     A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrong's satchel. He curled them
[1171]     between his palms at whiles and swallowed them softly. Crumbs adhered to
[1172]     the tissue of his lips. A sweetened boy's breath. Welloff people, proud
[1173]     that their eldest son was in the navy. Vico road, Dalkey.
[1175]     --Pyrrhus, sir? Pyrrhus, a pier.
[1177]     All laughed. Mirthless high malicious laughter. Armstrong looked round at
[1178]     his classmates, silly glee in profile. In a moment they will laugh more
[1179]     loudly, aware of my lack of rule and of the fees their papas pay.
[1181]     --Tell me now, Stephen said, poking the boy's shoulder with the book,
[1182]     what is a pier.
[1184]     --A pier, sir, Armstrong said. A thing out in the water. A kind of a
[1185]     bridge. Kingstown pier, sir.
[1187]     Some laughed again: mirthless but with meaning. Two in the back bench
[1188]     whispered. Yes. They knew: had never learned nor ever been innocent. All.
[1189]     With envy he watched their faces: Edith, Ethel, Gerty, Lily. Their likes:
[1190]     their breaths, too, sweetened with tea and jam, their bracelets tittering
[1191]     in the struggle.
[1193]     --Kingstown pier, Stephen said. Yes, a disappointed bridge.
[1195]     The words troubled their gaze.
[1197]     --How, sir? Comyn asked. A bridge is across a river.
[1199]     For Haines's chapbook. No-one here to hear. Tonight deftly amid wild
[1200]     drink and talk, to pierce the polished mail of his mind. What then? A
[1201]     jester at the court of his master, indulged and disesteemed, winning a
[1202]     clement master's praise. Why had they chosen all that part? Not wholly
[1203]     for the smooth caress. For them too history was a tale like any other too
[1204]     often heard, their land a pawnshop.
[1206]     Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not
[1207]     been knifed to death. They are not to be thought away. Time has branded
[1208]     them and fettered they are lodged in the room of the infinite
[1209]     possibilities they have ousted. But can those have been possible seeing
[1210]     that they never were? Or was that only possible which came to pass?
[1211]     Weave, weaver of the wind.
[1213]     --Tell us a story, sir.
[1215]     --O, do, sir. A ghoststory.
[1217]     --Where do you begin in this? Stephen asked, opening another book.
[1219]     --WEEP NO MORE, Comyn said.
[1221]     --Go on then, Talbot.
[1223]     --And the story, sir?
[1225]     --After, Stephen said. Go on, Talbot.
[1227]     A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the breastwork of
[1228]     his satchel. He recited jerks of verse with odd glances at the text:
[1236]     It must be a movement then, an actuality of the possible as possible.
[1237]     Aristotle's phrase formed itself within the gabbled verses and floated
[1238]     out into the studious silence of the library of Saint Genevieve where he
[1239]     had read, sheltered from the sin of Paris, night by night. By his elbow a
[1240]     delicate Siamese conned a handbook of strategy. Fed and feeding brains
[1241]     about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with faintly beating feelers: and in
[1242]     my mind's darkness a sloth of the underworld, reluctant, shy of
[1243]     brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. Thought is the thought of
[1244]     thought. Tranquil brightness. The soul is in a manner all that is: the
[1245]     soul is the form of forms. Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of
[1246]     forms.
[1248]     Talbot repeated:
[1252]         THROUGH THE DEAR MIGHT ...
[1255]     --Turn over, Stephen said quietly. I don't see anything.
[1257]     --What, sir? Talbot asked simply, bending forward.
[1259]     His hand turned the page over. He leaned back and went on again,
[1260]     having just remembered. Of him that walked the waves. Here also over
[1261]     these craven hearts his shadow lies and on the scoffer's heart and lips
[1262]     and on mine. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a coin of the
[1263]     tribute. To Caesar what is Caesar's, to God what is God's. A long look
[1264]     from dark eyes, a riddling sentence to be woven and woven on the church's
[1265]     looms. Ay.
[1268]         RIDDLE ME, RIDDLE ME, RANDY RO.
[1272]     Talbot slid his closed book into his satchel.
[1274]     --Have I heard all? Stephen asked.
[1276]     --Yes, sir. Hockey at ten, sir.
[1278]     --Half day, sir. Thursday.
[1280]     --Who can answer a riddle? Stephen asked.
[1282]     They bundled their books away, pencils clacking, pages rustling.
[1283]     Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all gabbling
[1284]     gaily:
[1286]     --A riddle, sir? Ask me, sir.
[1288]     --O, ask me, sir.
[1290]     --A hard one, sir.
[1292]     --This is the riddle, Stephen said:
[1295]         THE COCK CREW,
[1296]         THE SKY WAS BLUE:
[1297]         THE BELLS IN HEAVEN
[1298]         WERE STRIKING ELEVEN.
[1300]         TO GO TO HEAVEN.
[1303]     What is that?
[1305]     --What, sir?
[1307]     --Again, sir. We didn't hear.
[1309]     Their eyes grew bigger as the lines were repeated. After a silence
[1310]     Cochrane said:
[1312]     --What is it, sir? We give it up.
[1314]     Stephen, his throat itching, answered:
[1316]     --The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush.
[1318]     He stood up and gave a shout of nervous laughter to which their cries
[1319]     echoed dismay.
[1321]     A stick struck the door and a voice in the corridor called:
[1323]     --Hockey!
[1325]     They broke asunder, sidling out of their benches, leaping them.
[1326]     Quickly they were gone and from the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks
[1327]     and clamour of their boots and tongues.
[1329]     Sargent who alone had lingered came forward slowly, showing an
[1330]     open copybook. His thick hair and scraggy neck gave witness of
[1331]     unreadiness and through his misty glasses weak eyes looked up pleading.
[1332]     On his cheek, dull and bloodless, a soft stain of ink lay, dateshaped,
[1333]     recent and damp as a snail's bed.
[1335]     He held out his copybook. The word SUMS was written on the
[1336]     headline. Beneath were sloping figures and at the foot a crooked signature
[1337]     with blind loops and a blot. Cyril Sargent: his name and seal.
[1339]     --Mr Deasy told me to write them out all again, he said, and show them to
[1340]     you, sir.
[1342]     Stephen touched the edges of the book. Futility.
[1344]     --Do you understand how to do them now? he asked.
[1346]     --Numbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered. Mr Deasy said I was to
[1347]     copy them off the board, sir.
[1349]     --Can you do them. yourself? Stephen asked.
[1351]     --No, sir.
[1353]     Ugly and futile: lean neck and thick hair and a stain of ink, a snail's
[1354]     bed. Yet someone had loved him, borne him in her arms and in her heart.
[1355]     But for her the race of the world would have trampled him underfoot, a
[1356]     squashed boneless snail. She had loved his weak watery blood drained from
[1357]     her own. Was that then real? The only true thing in life? His mother's
[1358]     prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. She was no
[1359]     more: the trembling skeleton of a twig burnt in the fire, an odour of
[1360]     rosewood and wetted ashes. She had saved him from being trampled
[1361]     underfoot and had gone, scarcely having been. A poor soul gone to heaven:
[1362]     and on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of rapine in his fur,
[1363]     with merciless bright eyes scraped in the earth, listened, scraped up the
[1364]     earth, listened, scraped and scraped.
[1366]     Sitting at his side Stephen solved out the problem. He proves by
[1367]     algebra that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather. Sargent peered
[1368]     askance through his slanted glasses. Hockeysticks rattled in the
[1369]     lumberroom: the hollow knock of a ball and calls from the field.
[1371]     Across the page the symbols moved in grave morrice, in the mummery
[1372]     of their letters, wearing quaint caps of squares and cubes. Give hands,
[1373]     traverse, bow to partner: so: imps of fancy of the Moors. Gone too from
[1374]     the world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and
[1375]     movement, flashing in their mocking mirrors the obscure soul of the
[1376]     world, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not
[1377]     comprehend.
[1379]     --Do you understand now? Can you work the second for yourself?
[1381]     --Yes, sir.
[1383]     In long shaky strokes Sargent copied the data. Waiting always for a
[1384]     word of help his hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a faint hue
[1385]     of shame flickering behind his dull skin. AMOR MATRIS: subjective and
[1386]     objective genitive. With her weak blood and wheysour milk she had fed him
[1387]     and hid from sight of others his swaddling bands.
[1389]     Like him was I, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness. My
[1390]     childhood bends beside me. Too far for me to lay a hand there once or
[1391]     lightly. Mine is far and his secret as our eyes. Secrets, silent, stony
[1392]     sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their
[1393]     tyranny: tyrants, willing to be dethroned.
[1395]     The sum was done.
[1397]     --It is very simple, Stephen said as he stood up.
[1399]     --Yes, sir. Thanks, Sargent answered.
[1401]     He dried the page with a sheet of thin blottingpaper and carried his
[1402]     copybook back to his bench.
[1404]     --You had better get your stick and go out to the others, Stephen said as
[1405]     he followed towards the door the boy's graceless form.
[1407]     --Yes, sir.
[1409]     In the corridor his name was heard, called from the playfield.
[1411]     --Sargent!
[1413]     --Run on, Stephen said. Mr Deasy is calling you.
[1415]     He stood in the porch and watched the laggard hurry towards the
[1416]     scrappy field where sharp voices were in strife. They were sorted in teams
[1417]     and Mr Deasy came away stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet.
[1418]     When he had reached the schoolhouse voices again contending called to
[1419]     him. He turned his angry white moustache.
[1421]     --What is it now? he cried continually without listening.
[1423]     --Cochrane and Halliday are on the same side, sir, Stephen said.
[1425]     --Will you wait in my study for a moment, Mr Deasy said, till I restore
[1426]     order here.
[1428]     And as he stepped fussily back across the field his old man's voice
[1429]     cried sternly:
[1431]     --What is the matter? What is it now?
[1433]     Their sharp voices cried about him on all sides: their many forms
[1434]     closed round him, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his illdyed
[1435]     head.
[1437]     Stale smoky air hung in the study with the smell of drab abraded
[1438]     leather of its chairs. As on the first day he bargained with me here. As
[1439]     it was in the beginning, is now. On the sideboard the tray of Stuart
[1440]     coins, base treasure of a bog: and ever shall be. And snug in their
[1441]     spooncase of purple plush, faded, the twelve apostles having preached to
[1442]     all the gentiles: world without end.
[1444]     A hasty step over the stone porch and in the corridor. Blowing out his
[1445]     rare moustache Mr Deasy halted at the table.
[1447]     --First, our little financial settlement, he said.
[1449]     He brought out of his coat a pocketbook bound by a leather thong. It
[1450]     slapped open and he took from it two notes, one of joined halves, and laid
[1451]     them carefully on the table.
[1453]     --Two, he said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away.
[1455]     And now his strongroom for the gold. Stephen's embarrassed hand
[1456]     moved over the shells heaped in the cold stone mortar: whelks and money
[1457]     cowries and leopard shells: and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and
[1458]     this, the scallop of saint James. An old pilgrim's hoard, dead treasure,
[1459]     hollow shells.
[1461]     A sovereign fell, bright and new, on the soft pile of the tablecloth.
[1463]     --Three, Mr Deasy said, turning his little savingsbox about in his hand.
[1464]     These are handy things to have. See. This is for sovereigns. This is for
[1465]     shillings. Sixpences, halfcrowns. And here crowns. See.
[1467]     He shot from it two crowns and two shillings.
[1469]     --Three twelve, he said. I think you'll find that's right.
[1471]     --Thank you, sir, Stephen said, gathering the money together with shy
[1472]     haste and putting it all in a pocket of his trousers.
[1474]     --No thanks at all, Mr Deasy said. You have earned it.
[1476]     Stephen's hand, free again, went back to the hollow shells. Symbols
[1477]     too of beauty and of power. A lump in my pocket: symbols soiled by greed
[1478]     and misery.
[1480]     --Don't carry it like that, Mr Deasy said. You'll pull it out somewhere
[1481]     and lose it. You just buy one of these machines. You'll find them very
[1482]     handy.
[1484]     Answer something.
[1486]     --Mine would be often empty, Stephen said.
[1488]     The same room and hour, the same wisdom: and I the same. Three
[1489]     times now. Three nooses round me here. Well? I can break them in this
[1490]     instant if I will.
[1492]     --Because you don't save, Mr Deasy said, pointing his finger. You don't
[1493]     know yet what money is. Money is power. When you have lived as long as I
[1494]     have. I know, I know. If youth but knew. But what does Shakespeare say?
[1497]     --Iago, Stephen murmured.
[1499]     He lifted his gaze from the idle shells to the old man's stare.
[1501]     --He knew what money was, Mr Deasy said. He made money. A poet, yes,
[1502]     but an Englishman too. Do you know what is the pride of the English? Do
[1503]     you know what is the proudest word you will ever hear from an
[1504]     Englishman's mouth?
[1506]     The seas' ruler. His seacold eyes looked on the empty bay: it seems
[1507]     history is to blame: on me and on my words, unhating.
[1509]     --That on his empire, Stephen said, the sun never sets.
[1511]     --Ba! Mr Deasy cried. That's not English. A French Celt said that. He
[1512]     tapped his savingsbox against his thumbnail.
[1514]     --I will tell you, he said solemnly, what is his proudest boast. I PAID
[1515]     MY WAY.
[1517]     Good man, good man.
[1520]     that? I OWE NOTHING. Can you?
[1522]     Mulligan, nine pounds, three pairs of socks, one pair brogues, ties.
[1523]     Curran, ten guineas. McCann, one guinea. Fred Ryan, two shillings.
[1524]     Temple, two lunches. Russell, one guinea, Cousins, ten shillings, Bob
[1525]     Reynolds, half a guinea, Koehler, three guineas, Mrs MacKernan, five
[1526]     weeks' board. The lump I have is useless.
[1528]     --For the moment, no, Stephen answered.
[1530]     Mr Deasy laughed with rich delight, putting back his savingsbox.
[1532]     --I knew you couldn't, he said joyously. But one day you must feel it. We
[1533]     are a generous people but we must also be just.
[1535]     --I fear those big words, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy.
[1537]     Mr Deasy stared sternly for some moments over the mantelpiece at
[1538]     the shapely bulk of a man in tartan filibegs: Albert Edward, prince of
[1539]     Wales.
[1541]     --You think me an old fogey and an old tory, his thoughtful voice said. I
[1542]     saw three generations since O'Connell's time. I remember the famine
[1543]     in '46. Do you know that the orange lodges agitated for repeal of the
[1544]     union twenty years before O'Connell did or before the prelates of your
[1545]     communion denounced him as a demagogue? You fenians forget some things.
[1547]     Glorious, pious and immortal memory. The lodge of Diamond in
[1548]     Armagh the splendid behung with corpses of papishes. Hoarse, masked and
[1549]     armed, the planters' covenant. The black north and true blue bible.
[1550]     Croppies lie down.
[1552]     Stephen sketched a brief gesture.
[1554]     --I have rebel blood in me too, Mr Deasy said. On the spindle side. But I
[1555]     am descended from sir John Blackwood who voted for the union. We are all
[1556]     Irish, all kings' sons.
[1558]     --Alas, Stephen said.
[1560]     --PER VIAS RECTAS, Mr Deasy said firmly, was his motto. He voted for it
[1561]     and put on his topboots to ride to Dublin from the Ards of Down to do so.
[1564]         LAL THE RAL THE RA
[1565]         THE ROCKY ROAD TO DUBLIN.
[1568]     A gruff squire on horseback with shiny topboots. Soft day, sir John!
[1569]     Soft day, your honour! ... Day! ... Day! ... Two topboots jog dangling
[1570]     on to Dublin. Lal the ral the ra. Lal the ral the raddy.
[1572]     --That reminds me, Mr Deasy said. You can do me a favour, Mr Dedalus,
[1573]     with some of your literary friends. I have a letter here for the press.
[1574]     Sit down a moment. I have just to copy the end.
[1576]     He went to the desk near the window, pulled in his chair twice and
[1577]     read off some words from the sheet on the drum of his typewriter.
[1579]     --Sit down. Excuse me, he said over his shoulder, THE DICTATES OF COMMON
[1580]     SENSE. Just a moment.
[1582]     He peered from under his shaggy brows at the manuscript by his
[1583]     elbow and, muttering, began to prod the stiff buttons of the keyboard
[1584]     slowly, sometimes blowing as he screwed up the drum to erase an error.
[1586]     Stephen seated himself noiselessly before the princely presence.
[1587]     Framed around the walls images of vanished horses stood in homage, their
[1588]     meek heads poised in air: lord Hastings' Repulse, the duke of
[1589]     Westminster's Shotover, the duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, PRIX DE PARIS,
[1590]     1866. Elfin riders sat them, watchful of a sign. He saw their speeds,
[1591]     backing king's colours, and shouted with the shouts of vanished crowds.
[1593]     --Full stop, Mr Deasy bade his keys. But prompt ventilation of this
[1594]     allimportant question ...
[1596]     Where Cranly led me to get rich quick, hunting his winners among
[1597]     the mudsplashed brakes, amid the bawls of bookies on their pitches and
[1598]     reek of the canteen, over the motley slush. Fair Rebel! Fair Rebel! Even
[1599]     money the favourite: ten to one the field. Dicers and thimbleriggers we
[1600]     hurried by after the hoofs, the vying caps and jackets and past the
[1601]     meatfaced woman, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange.
[1603]     Shouts rang shrill from the boys' playfield and a whirring whistle.
[1605]     Again: a goal. I am among them, among their battling bodies in a
[1606]     medley, the joust of life. You mean that knockkneed mother's darling who
[1607]     seems to be slightly crawsick? Jousts. Time shocked rebounds, shock by
[1608]     shock. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the frozen deathspew of the
[1609]     slain, a shout of spearspikes baited with men's bloodied guts.
[1611]     --Now then, Mr Deasy said, rising.
[1613]     He came to the table, pinning together his sheets. Stephen stood up.
[1615]     --I have put the matter into a nutshell, Mr Deasy said. It's about the
[1616]     foot and mouth disease. Just look through it. There can be no two opinions
[1617]     on the matter.
[1619]     May I trespass on your valuable space. That doctrine of LAISSEZ FAIRE
[1620]     which so often in our history. Our cattle trade. The way of all our old
[1621]     industries. Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme.
[1622]     European conflagration. Grain supplies through the narrow waters of the
[1623]     channel. The pluterperfect imperturbability of the department of
[1624]     agriculture. Pardoned a classical allusion. Cassandra. By a woman who
[1625]     was no better than she should be. To come to the point at issue.
[1627]     --I don't mince words, do I? Mr Deasy asked as Stephen read on.
[1629]     Foot and mouth disease. Known as Koch's preparation. Serum and
[1630]     virus. Percentage of salted horses. Rinderpest. Emperor's horses at
[1631]     Murzsteg, lower Austria. Veterinary surgeons. Mr Henry Blackwood Price.
[1632]     Courteous offer a fair trial. Dictates of common sense. Allimportant
[1633]     question. In every sense of the word take the bull by the horns. Thanking
[1634]     you for the hospitality of your columns.
[1636]     --I want that to be printed and read, Mr Deasy said. You will see at the
[1637]     next outbreak they will put an embargo on Irish cattle. And it can be
[1638]     cured. It is cured. My cousin, Blackwood Price, writes to me it is
[1639]     regularly treated and cured in Austria by cattledoctors there. They offer
[1640]     to come over here. I am trying to work up influence with the department.
[1641]     Now I'm going to try publicity. I am surrounded by difficulties,
[1642]     by ... intrigues by ... backstairs influence by ...
[1644]     He raised his forefinger and beat the air oldly before his voice spoke.
[1646]     --Mark my words, Mr Dedalus, he said. England is in the hands of the
[1647]     jews. In all the highest places: her finance, her press. And they are the
[1648]     signs of a nation's decay. Wherever they gather they eat up the nation's
[1649]     vital strength. I have seen it coming these years. As sure as we are
[1650]     standing here the jew merchants are already at their work of destruction.
[1651]     Old England is dying.
[1653]     He stepped swiftly off, his eyes coming to blue life as they passed a
[1654]     broad sunbeam. He faced about and back again.
[1656]     --Dying, he said again, if not dead by now.
[1663]     His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly across the sunbeam in
[1664]     which he halted.
[1666]     --A merchant, Stephen said, is one who buys cheap and sells dear, jew or
[1667]     gentile, is he not?
[1669]     --They sinned against the light, Mr Deasy said gravely. And you can see
[1670]     the darkness in their eyes. And that is why they are wanderers on the
[1671]     earth to this day.
[1673]     On the steps of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting
[1674]     prices on their gemmed fingers. Gabble of geese. They swarmed loud,
[1675]     uncouth about the temple, their heads thickplotting under maladroit silk
[1676]     hats. Not theirs: these clothes, this speech, these gestures. Their full
[1677]     slow eyes belied the words, the gestures eager and unoffending, but knew
[1678]     the rancours massed about them and knew their zeal was vain. Vain patience
[1679]     to heap and hoard. Time surely would scatter all. A hoard heaped by the
[1680]     roadside: plundered and passing on. Their eyes knew their years of
[1681]     wandering and, patient, knew the dishonours of their flesh.
[1683]     --Who has not? Stephen said.
[1685]     --What do you mean? Mr Deasy asked.
[1687]     He came forward a pace and stood by the table. His underjaw fell
[1688]     sideways open uncertainly. Is this old wisdom? He waits to hear from me.
[1690]     --History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.
[1692]     From the playfield the boys raised a shout. A whirring whistle: goal.
[1693]     What if that nightmare gave you a back kick?
[1695]     --The ways of the Creator are not our ways, Mr Deasy said. All human
[1696]     history moves towards one great goal, the manifestation of God.
[1698]     Stephen jerked his thumb towards the window, saying:
[1700]     --That is God.
[1702]     Hooray! Ay! Whrrwhee!
[1704]     --What? Mr Deasy asked.
[1706]     --A shout in the street, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders.
[1708]     Mr Deasy looked down and held for awhile the wings of his nose
[1709]     tweaked between his fingers. Looking up again he set them free.
[1711]     --I am happier than you are, he said. We have committed many errors and
[1712]     many sins. A woman brought sin into the world. For a woman who was no
[1713]     better than she should be, Helen, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten years
[1714]     the Greeks made war on Troy. A faithless wife first brought the strangers
[1715]     to our shore here, MacMurrough's wife and her leman, O'Rourke, prince of
[1716]     Breffni. A woman too brought Parnell low. Many errors, many failures but
[1717]     not the one sin. I am a struggler now at the end of my days. But I will
[1718]     fight for the right till the end.
[1721]         FOR ULSTER WILL FIGHT
[1722]         AND ULSTER WILL BE RIGHT.
[1725]     Stephen raised the sheets in his hand.
[1727]     --Well, sir, he began ...
[1729]     --I foresee, Mr Deasy said, that you will not remain here very long at
[1730]     this work. You were not born to be a teacher, I think. Perhaps I am
[1731]     wrong.
[1733]     --A learner rather, Stephen said.
[1735]     And here what will you learn more?
[1737]     Mr Deasy shook his head.
[1739]     --Who knows? he said. To learn one must be humble. But life is the great
[1740]     teacher.
[1742]     Stephen rustled the sheets again.
[1744]     --As regards these, he began.
[1746]     --Yes, Mr Deasy said. You have two copies there. If you can have them
[1747]     published at once.
[1751]     --I will try, Stephen said, and let you know tomorrow. I know two editors
[1752]     slightly.
[1754]     --That will do, Mr Deasy said briskly. I wrote last night to Mr Field,
[1755]     M.P. There is a meeting of the cattletraders' association today at the
[1756]     City Arms hotel. I asked him to lay my letter before the meeting. You see
[1757]     if you can get it into your two papers. What are they?
[1759]     --THE EVENING TELEGRAPH ...
[1761]     --That will do, Mr Deasy said. There is no time to lose. Now I have to
[1762]     answer that letter from my cousin.
[1764]     --Good morning, sir, Stephen said, putting the sheets in his pocket.
[1765]     Thank you.
[1767]     --Not at all, Mr Deasy said as he searched the papers on his desk. I like
[1768]     to break a lance with you, old as I am.
[1770]     --Good morning, sir, Stephen said again, bowing to his bent back.
[1772]     He went out by the open porch and down the gravel path under the
[1773]     trees, hearing the cries of voices and crack of sticks from the playfield.
[1774]     The lions couchant on the pillars as he passed out through the gate:
[1775]     toothless terrors. Still I will help him in his fight. Mulligan will dub
[1776]     me a new name: the bullockbefriending bard.
[1778]     --Mr Dedalus!
[1780]     Running after me. No more letters, I hope.
[1782]     --Just one moment.
[1784]     --Yes, sir, Stephen said, turning back at the gate.
[1786]     Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath.
[1788]     --I just wanted to say, he said. Ireland, they say, has the honour of
[1789]     being the only country which never persecuted the jews. Do you know that?
[1790]     No. And do you know why?
[1792]     He frowned sternly on the bright air.
[1794]     --Why, sir? Stephen asked, beginning to smile.
[1796]     --Because she never let them in, Mr Deasy said solemnly.
[1798]     A coughball of laughter leaped from his throat dragging after it a
[1799]     rattling chain of phlegm. He turned back quickly, coughing, laughing, his
[1800]     lifted arms waving to the air.
[1802]     --She never let them in, he cried again through his laughter as he
[1803]     stamped on gaitered feet over the gravel of the path. That's why.
[1805]     On his wise shoulders through the checkerwork of leaves the sun flung
[1806]     spangles, dancing coins.