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Early materials for the Cyclops chapter of Ulysses

The transcription below is the oldest surviving Cyclops manuscript, from mid-1919. The 'scene numbers' are Joyce's but I've reordered the scenes to match more closely the published sequence. I've cleaned up numerous punctuation-typos for readability, but there are still many unfinished sentences and redundancies. At the end are various other early notes, and I've also added a slightly later second draft of the pub-gossip about Bloom and Molly.

If your browser supports frames, you can compare this draft (lower pane) to the published version (upper pane) using this simple page. Once you're in the two-pane mode, hitting a '[compare]' button below should cause the upper pane to jump to the correct place. (To compare the pub-gossip drafts, though, you should start without the other frame.)

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In green Erin of the west there lies a land, the land of holy Michan. There rises a watchtower beheld from afar. There sleep the dead as they slept in life, warriors and princes of high renown. There wave the lofty trees of sycamore; the eucalyptus, giver of good shade, is not absent: and in their shadow sit the maidens of that land, the daughters of princes. They sport with silvery fishes, caught in silken nets; their fair white fingers toss the gems of the sea, ruby and purple of Tyre. And men come from afar, heroes, the sons of kings, to woo them for they are beautiful and all of noble stem.

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O'Bloom went by through Inn's quay ward, the parish of saint Michan. It is O'Bloom, the son of Rudolph, the son of Leopold Peter, son of Peter Rudolph, he of the intrepid heart, impervious to all fear, a noble hero, eastward towards Pill Lane, among the squatted fishgills, and by the gutboards where lay heaps of red and purple fishguts. He went by the city market, O'Bloom of the intrepid heart. Gurnard and plaice those are. Speckled backs. One after another hook in their gills. Can't be hunger drives them. Probably curiosity. Curiosity killed the fish.

There rises a shining palace with crystal glittering roof, beheld from afar by mariners who traverse the sea in barks: and thither come the herds, the first fruits and the offerings of that land, for O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them there, a chieftan descended from chieftans. Thither the wains bring foison of fruits and vegetables in their seasons, golden potatoes and seagreen kale and onions, pearls of the earth, and lustrous apples and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. And thither wend the heavyuddered kine, from pastures of Lusk and Ossory and Coosbaragh, their udders swollen with abundance of milk and butter and rich cheese and eggs, the agate and the dun.

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And on the dexter hand in solemn array are set forth the accoutrements of noble heroes: there hangs the breastplate of Brian, by whose might the Vikings were brought to nought: there, the helm of Oscar, son of Finn: there the bardic cloak of Ossian, the sightless seer, wanderer to many shores.

Bloom went by Mary's Lane and saw the sordid row of old clothes' shops, the old hucksterwomen seated by baskets of battered hats, amid the dangling legs of men, culprits limp coats hung by the neck.

Like culprits. Be taken to the prison from whence you came and there be hanged by the neck till you are bought and may the Lord. Emmet. Martyrs. They want to be? My life for Ireland. Romance. Girl in a window watching. Wipe away a tear. Hung up for scarecrows. Quite the contrary effect. Of course-- Where was it battle of Fontenoy they charged. Remember Limerick. Hard times those were in Holles street when Molly tried that game. Nothing in it: blind ?rut. Chiefly women, of course. Devils to please. Come back tomorrow. Ta, ta.

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Lo, as they spoke, a godlike youth came in running on swift feet, radiant as the eye of heaven, a laughing youth. And lo there passed behind him an elder of noble mien and visage, bearing the scrolls of law, and with him his lady wife, a comely dame of beauteous lineage, the fairest of her race.

Little Alf Bergan popped in and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up laughing. He made signs to ----- pointing out. And what was it but that bloody old pantaloon Denis Breen in his bath slippers and two bloody big lawbooks tucked under his oxter and the wife, unfortunate wretched creature, trotting after him like a poodle.

I thought Alf Bergan'd split.

-- Look at him, he said. Breen. He's traipsing all round Dublin with a postcard someone sent him with U.P: up on it. To take a libe...

He squirmed laughing.

-- To take a what?

-- A libel action for 10,000 pounds.

-- O, Christ!

-- He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and for lark sent him on to the subsheriff's. And long John sent him up to Greek street to look for a G division man.

-- Is long John going to hang that fellow up in Mountjoy?

-- By God, he'll have to by law or send a fellow round with a bell. Look at till I show you. Here, Terry, give us a pony of stout.

Terence O'Ryan heard him and forthwith he brought him a crystal cup full of the foam-crowned ebon ale which the noble twin brothers Iveagh and Ardilaun brew ever in their divine ale vats. He poured it forth the nectarous beverage, and reached out the crystal goblet, in beauty akin to the immortals. But he, the young chief of the O'Bergans, would not brook to be less generous but gave him with noble mien a talent of costliest bronze. Thereon embossed by cunning smith work was made the image of a fair and gracious queen, Victoria her name, who bears rule, a victress well-beloved, over countless peoples, pale and dark, ruddy and ethiop.

-- Here you are, Alf Bergan said, chucking out a copper. Talking about hanging now I'll show you something you never saw. Hangmen's letters. Look at here.

He drew forth and tossed on the counter a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes.

-- Are you codding?

The young chieftan O'Bergan, comely in his youth, quaffed the divine nectar of Iveagh.

-- Honest injun. Read them.

-- How is Tommy these times and his great invention, Stagger the World.

-- I don't know, Alf Bergan said, I saw him just now on Essex Bridge with Paddy Dignam. Boylan is going to...

-- You what! Ned Lambert said. With who?

-- Dignam, Alf Bergan said.

-- Is it Paddy?

-- Yes. Why?

-- Don't you know he's dead?

-- Paddy Dignam dead! Alf Bergan cried. Are you codding?

-- I am not, Ned Lambert said.

-- Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago on Essex bridge talking to Tommy...

-- You saw his ghost then if you did.

-- What? Good Christ, only five... What...? And Tommy with him, the two of them there near what you call him's. Dead? He's no more dead than you are.

-- I don't know, Ned Lambert said reflectively. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow.

-- Paddy?

-- Ay. God be merciful to him.

Bob Doran bent over with the hat on the back of his poll. "Who's dead?" says he. "Dignam" says Ned Lambert. "Is it little Dignam that was in Menton's office." "Ay, poor chap, he's gone to a better world," says Ned.

Bob kept gaping at him with the glass in his hand. He's on a hell of a bend those times. Bloody safe if he doesn't finish up in Saint John of God's. That bloody little sleepwalking bitch he married. Mooney, the bailiff's daughter. The mother kept a kind of a kip in Hardwicke Street. He was damn well had anyhow. Ask Bantam Lyons. Walking about the house at two in the morning in her shift. Open to all comers. A fair field and no favour.

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He is gone from mortal haunts, the beamy sun of our morning. Light was his foot on the bracken, Patrick of the beamy countenance. Mourn, O Inisfail, with your wind! Mourn, O ocean, with your whirlwind.

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In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when thought had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasing luminosity of dark ruby light became visible, the apparition being particularly lifelike in consequence of the discharge of jivic rays from the head and face. Communication was made through the pituitary body and also through the orange-fiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral and solar plexi. Questioned he stated that he was now on the path of pralaya or return but was submitted to trial by some bloodthirsty entities on the lower astrals. Questioned as to his first sensations he stated that before he had seen in a glass darkly but that those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development. Interrogated as to whether life there resembled our experience here he stated that he had heard from more favoured beings that their abodes were equipped with all modern comfort and that the highest adepts were steeped in volupcy of the purest kind. Having requested a jug of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief. Asked if he had any message for the living he exhorted all men to acknowledge the true path for it was reported that Mars and Jupiter the Ram were out for mischief on the extreme horn of the western horizon. It was then queried whether there were any special desires of the defunct and the reply was: Watch Corny. It was understood that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, a friend of the defunct who had been responsible for the interment arrangements. Before departing he requested that it should be made known to Patsy, his dear son, that the other boot which he had been looking for was at present under the commode and that the pair should be soled only as the heels were still good. He stated that this had greatly disturbed his peace of mind and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known. Assurances were given that this matter would be seen to and it was intimated that this had given satisfaction.

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X perused the missive of the avenger, Rambold the hand of the law. No Man of Guilt may scape him. Dread is his Ire.

-- O, Christ MacKeon, says he, will you listen to this.

-- He read:

7 Hunter street
Liverpool

To the Sheriff of Dublin

Dublin

Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case. i hanged Joe Gann in Holloway jale on the 12th of february 1900 and i hanged...

-- O, God! says Z, peering over.

-- ...Arthur Chace for the murder of Jessie Tilsit in Dartmoor prison and I was assistant when...

-- God Almighty!

-- ...Billington hanged the awful murderer J. Smith...

Z made a grab at it.

-- Wait, says X, i have a special nack of putting the noose once in he can't get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir, my terms is five guinees.

H. Rambold
barber

-- And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too. Look at the dirty scrawl of the...

-- O, put them away to hell out of that, says X. Here take them out of my sight.

Alf stuck them all back in his pocket.

-- They're all barbers from the black country. One chap sent in a mourning card with a black border on it. Five guineas is the fee but they make a good bit cutting up the rope in bits and selling it. Do you not believe me? That's a fact. They do, faith.

In the dark Regions they bide: the vengeful Knights of the Razor. Their deadly Coil they grasp: yea, and therein lead to Erebus whomsoever hath done a deed of blood for I will in nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord.

-- I wonder has it a deterrent effect, X said.

-- There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, Alf said.

-- What's that?

-- The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, Alf said.

-- Do you mean he...

-- That's God's truth, Alf Bergan said. I heard that from the head warder that was in Kilmainham when they hanged Joe Brady.

-- The invincible?

-- Ay. He told me when they cut him down it was standing out like a poker in their faces.

-- Good Christ!

-- Fact. Horrible it must be.

-- What's the cause of it. I suppose the shock or...

-- The ruling passion strong in death.

XY tendered medical evidence to the effect that the fracture of the cervical vertebrae and consequent scission of the spinal cord would, in the opinion of science, be calculated to produce a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus thereby causing the pores of the corpus spongiosum to rapidly dilate in such a way as to facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the human anatomy known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been called by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis.

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-- And these are the swine that want to govern us here in Ireland, ----- cried. Set of barbarians. Sure they have nothing, blast them, a race of mongrels with their mongrel bloody language. We want no mongrels here. Eh, Garryowen?

He heard the voice of his lord: and raised his head in pride. Short brow, quick eye, black palate: proud of his noble sires.

----- caught the setter by the scruff of the neck and says he:

-- Eh, Garry, old boy, what do you think?

-- Garan

-- Eh?

He shook the setter's nape.

-- What's that? What are you saying?

Garryowen made answer and thus he spake, not in beurla, I ween:

The curse of my curses
Seven times every day
And seven dry Thursdays
On you, Barney Biernan
Has no sup of water
To cool my courage
And my guts red roaring
After Buckley's lights.

-- Did you hear that? ----- cried.

He clasped the noble friend of man.

-- God, peòg mo hon is all the Irish I know, ----- said.

-- Shame on you, shoneen, then ----- cried.

I'll tell you what he said.

He opened his mouth and spoke in the tongue of the hated stranger:

The curse of my curses
Seven times every day
And seven dry Thursdays
On you Barney Kiernan
Has no sup of water
To cool my courage
And my guts red roaring
After Buckley's lights

-- Bring us a saucer of water, young chap, ----- cried.

And at his behest the youthful Terence came and bare a silver ewer inwrought with findrinny and therein sparkled water of the most pure springs of Vartry and the glens and Lugnaquilla.

The poor brute lapped it up like old boots. He must have had a hell of a thirst. Good old doggy!

-- That's the language we want here, ----- cried. Down with the beurla. We want an Irish speaking Ireland. There was a meeting of those shoneens in the city hall today to have the Irish language... Here's the man can tell us.

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John Wyse O'Power, clad in shining armour, hastened in and low bending, he made obeisance to the high chief of Erin and bore him tidings of what had befallen, how that the grave elders of the city had met them in the tholsel and there, after meet prayer to the gods who dwell in realms supernal, had taken counsel whereby they might if so be bring once more to honour among mortals the winged speech of the Gael. And ----- gave ear, a chieftan excellent in counsel. And they had bethought them of how it might come to pass for great is their wisdom, and thereat were all right glad and joyous.

-- It's on the match, ----- cried, dark Rosaleen's hour of triumph. What about the scoffers now? A nation once again. To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their language!

-- But still English, ----- said, we must keep it also, for culture, I mean.

-- To hell with them, ----- bawled, they have no culture, no music, no literature, no nothing. All they're good for is making waterclosets. Any civilisation they have they stole from us. Yes, from us. The curse of a lopsided God light sideways on the bloody thicklugged sons of whore's gets. The closetmakers of Europe.

He smote his cudgel upon the resounding winekeg, awful in ire as he spoke of the race of foemen, a race of mighty, valorous heroes begotten of Bullybull the Bull, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster, silent as the deathless gods.

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----- wanted to get him away before Bloom came back for the next round and he took him by the arm.

-- Come on, Michael. Come where the boose is cheaper.

But Cusack was blue mouldy for a fight.

-- His country! says Cusack. Is it a bloody jew? His country is no man's land.

-- Hath not a jew eyes? says O'Madden Burke.

He's one of those literary fellows buys secondhand books always coming out with a bit from Shakespeare or the Melodies about Ireland a nation. Know what I mean? Gentleman, patriot and scholar and judge of malt.

-- Well, says JJ O'Molloy, if you grant him human impulses like ours why can he not love his country? I mean logically, why not?

-- Why not? says young Dedalus, when he is quite sure which country it is.

Old MacHugh began laughing and gave him a bear's hug and says he, settling his specs "That's Gallic," says he, "Paris did that for you." The young chap stood another. "Talking about Gaelic," says Ned. "You should see our friend chopping up raw onions for the missus for her complexion the time he was in Cuffe's, the salesmaster's. They were staying up in the City Arms hotel in Prussia street next to the cattle market." "O, don't tell me," says N. "Gaffney was stopping there. He gives a great ----- of the two of them chewing the fat. Bloom with his but don't you see and but if you consider and the wife screeching his head off. She's a bloody awful bitch, by all accounts." "O, I don't know about that" says Ned "She was the handsomest girl in Dublin in her day. I think the fault is on the other side." "How's that." "Well, Gaffney says she used to be in tears there sometimes. I don't think our friend does the trick of the loop at all. Weren't they going to be divorced or something. Maybe that's what they were going to be divorced for. Restitution of conjugal rights." "Still, he's very attentive to her," says -----, "brings her up her grub into the bed and nibbles his own bit down in the kitchen. ----- told me that for a fact." "Separatio a mensa et a thoro, says JJ O'Molloy. "Arra what good is that for a woman," says -----, "she wants something else in her bed."

-- I'll tell you a bloody good one ----- told me. There was an old one up in the hotel, a Mrs Riordan with some money and Bloom of course got inside her to be the whitehaired boy. Doing the molly coddle, same as he made up to his mother-in-law.

-- Is that how he got to marry her?

-- Commend me to a jewman, says

-- I see, says -----, That explains the milk in the cocoanut and the absence of hair on the animal's chest. Playing bézique with her every night. Suppose he thought he'd be remembered in the will. Anyway she had a young chap there, grandnephew of hers, and Bloom put in for giving him German lessons--

-- Is he a German? says -----.

-- I don't know what he isn't, says -----. One day, by God, he took the young chap out for a walking lesson but, by God, when they came back to tea he was boosed.

-- Who? Bloom?

-- No, the young fellow laughing in their faces like a fool. You should have heard the old one and Bloom's missus and the landlady. Gave him all torts. And Bloom said he did it to teach him the evils of drink.

-- Bloody good idea too, says -----. Will you join us, P-?

-- I don't mind, Joe.

-- Give it a name, then.

-- Two d of stout.

-- Two d stout, Terry. Here, Tom, says he handing him the boose. Take that in your right hand and repeat after me the following words.

-- Which is which? says -----.

-- That's mine, says -----, taking his boose, as the devil said to the dead policeman.

Later draft

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Hynes wanted to get him away before Bloom came back for the next round.

-- Change the venue, citizen, says he. Come where the boose is cheaper.

But Cusack was blue mouldy for a fight. The porter was up in him.

-- His country, says he. A bloody jew. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing. His country. No man's land.

-- Hath not a jew eyes, says O'Madden Burke.

He's always coming out with a quotation from Shakespeare or the melodies. He was a school teacher one time. Don't know how he knocks it out now. Always the silk umbrella on show. Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of malt.

-- Well, says JJ, if you grant the jew human impulses why can't he love his country too. I mean, logically, why not?

-- Why not? says young Dedalus, when he is quite sure which country it is.

Old MacHugh began laughing and says he, settling his specs:

-- That's Gallic, says he. Paris did that for you, says he.

Bit of a shaper that fellow, son of Si Dedalus. He was in Paris in the quartier latin and he came back an atheist. He'll never be as good a man as his father anyhow.

-- Talking about Gaelic, says Ned, you should see our friend B. chopping up raw onions for the missus for her complexion.

-- When was that? says Hynes.

-- When he had a job up in the knacker's yard then, says Ned. Cuffe's the salesmaster's. He was staying in the City Arms Hotel then near the markets in Prussia street. Stink Burke was there at the time. He told me about our friend chopping the onions in the kitchen. You should hear him taking off the two of them chewing the fat. Bloom with his but don't you see and but on the other hand and the wife screeching his head off.

-- She's a bloody awful bitch by all accounts, says Ned.

-- I don't know about that, says J.J. She was the belle of Dublin in her day. Black hair down to her middle. I suspect the fault is on the other side.

-- How's that? says Hynes.

-- I know what you mean, says Ned. Ay, Gaffney told me a wrinkle about that. Said she used to be in tears there with Mrs O'Dowd that keeps the hotel. I don't think our friend does the trick of the loop, at all.

-- I heard some talk one time that they were going to be divorced, says Hynes.

-- Restitution of conjugal rights, says MacHugh. What, Jack?

-- Still, they say he's always dancing attendance on her. Brings her up her breakfast in the bed every morning and has his own bit down in the kitchen.

-- Separatio a mensa et a thoro, says JJ.

Thus did they speak of her: the ravenlocked daughter of Tweedy. A rockbound isle of ocean bare her where the middle sea changes its name. There grew she to peerless beauty where the wafty groves of orange and olivegarths scent the air. The chaste spouse of Leopold she is: Marion of the bountiful bosoms.

-- Same again, Terry, says Joe.

-- I'll tell you a bloody good one Gaffney told me, says Ned. There was an old one in the hotel, a Mrs Riordan that had some money of her own and no child or chick belonged to her only a nephew of hers and a bloody mangy terrier she had. And Bloom of course got the soft side of her doing the molly coddle. Playing bezique with her every night, and wouldn't eat meat of a Friday because she was an old bitch that was thumping her craw.

-- Suppose he thought he'd get some of the wampum in the will, says Joe.

-- What else? says Ned. The whitehaired boy. Same as he sucked up to his mother-in-law.

-- Ah, is that how he managed? says J.J. That was always a mystery to me. Commend me to a jewman. Ah, I see. The mother-in-law.

-- Ah, says Lenehan. That explains the milk in the cocoanut and the absence of hair on the animal's chest.

Terry brought the boose.

-- Anyway, says Ned. The young chap, the nephew, came to stop with her and my brave Bloom put in for giving him lessons in German.

-- Is he a German? says Joe.

-- Yerra, I don't know what he isn't, says Ned. But anyhow, as I was saying, one day he took the young chap out for a walking lesson but, by God, when they came back to tea, he was drunk as a boiled owl.

-- Who? says Lenehan. Bloom drunk?

-- No, says Ned, the young chap, blind to Jaysus and laughing in their faces like a bloody fool. O, Gaffney says, you should have heard the three women, the old one, Mrs Bloom... and the landlady. Gave him all torts. Roasted him, by herrings. What did he do a thing like that for? Was he mad? Sha, poor Bloom said he did it to teach him the evils of drink.

-- Bloody good idea too, says Joe. Will you join us, Alf?

-- I don't mind, Joe.

-- Give it a name, then.

-- Uphander, says Alf. Imperial yeomanry, Terry.

-- Right, says Joe. Terry, bottle of Allsopp. Here Ned, says he, handing the boose. Take that in your right hand and repeat after me the following words.

-- Which is which? says Ned.

-- After you with the push. That's mine, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman.

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-- He has shares in the Tivoli, ----- said, and it was he got up that Keogh-Bennett boxing match. I heard he made a hundred quid over it, laying the odds. He spread the report Myler was on the beer and, by God, he was training all the time. Did you see that match?

-- I did not.

-- Myler dusted the floor with him. A grand sight it was, to see the little chap standing up to him not up to his navel, and the big fellow swiping. Jesus, he gave him one puck in the wind made him puke what he never ate.

Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft. The final round was a grueling for both champions. Bennett had tapped some claret in the previous mix up and Myler came on looking groggy. The soldier got to business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which Myler retaliated by shooting out a stiff one to Bennett's face. The latter ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a left hook, the punch being a fine one. The men came to grips and the round ended with Bennett on the ropes and Myler punishing him. The Englishman was well drenched with water and when the whistle went came on refreshed and full of pluck. It was a fight to the finish. The men fought like tigers and the excitement was terrific. After a rapid exchange of blows during which a clever upper cut of the military man brought blood freely from his opponent's mouth the lamb suddenly landed a terrific left to Bennett's stomach which floored him flat. Amid tense excitement the Shropshire boy was counted out and Myler declared the winner amid the frenzied plaudits of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight.

-- I wouldn't like to see that, ----- said. And those butting matches they have in California, going for each heads down like a bull at a gate.

-- And bullfighting, Mr B----, and cockfighting, all those sports are terribly inhuman, and hare hunting...

-- Well, yes, of course...

-- What about bughunting, ----- asked with a grin.

-- Cimex lectularius, L---- put in.

-- Isn't it what you call brain versus brawn...

-- They are simply disgusting, Bloom said. Brutal.

He walked to...

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-- Did you twig the one I gave him? ----- said, about the buggy jews?

-- Still and all, ----- said, he's a humane chap.

-- He is that, ----- said sourly. He'd shove a soft hand under a hen. But I'd like to see him in the nine acres in a hurley scrap.

Gara, Klooklooklook. Black Liz is our hen. She lays eggs for us. When she lays her egg she is so glad. Gara Klooklooklook. Then comes good uncle Leo. She puts his hand under black Liz and takes her fresh egg. Gara Klooklooklook.

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He sang the Paean of the Games of the Gael: he sang the Deeds of his Prowess. Youthful he drove the Wolf and the Boar: in the chace he led the knights of Uladh. From his godlike shoulder sped the Stone: terrible, swift as the Glance of Balor.

-- Ay, that's a fact, ----- bore out. How many feet could you put it?

-- And that's what you want in Ireland today. Fine open air games. Irish games. Irish strength and skill. Hurley, Gaelic slogger, soccer. Racy of the soil. That's what'll build up men. Ireland a nation once again.

A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of ----- under the auspices of Cumann na Gadhael on the revivial of ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient times for the development of the race. The venerable president of the ancient order of hibernians brother Michael Cusack was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions. After an instructive discourse by the chairman a most instructive discussion ensued as to the desirability of reviving the ancient games and sports of our Irish forefathers. J. Hynes made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes handed down to us from ancient times. L. Bloom having espoused the negative the chairman brought the discussion to a close and, in response to repeated requests from all parts of the house, by a remarkably noteworthy rendering of Thomas Osborne Davis's immortal anthem A Nation Once Again. His stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage and the timehonoured anthem was vociferously applauded by the audience among whom were to be noticed many prominent members of the clergy as well as representatives of the press and the bar and of the other learned professions. The proceedings then terminated.

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There entered a noble and grave hero of the tribe of the O'Molloy's, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him the prince and heir of the noble house of Lambert.

-- Hello, Ned.

-- Hello, Alf.

-- Hello, Jack.

-- Hello, Tom.

-- How did that swindle case go off? Were you round there?

-- Remanded. Yes, I was.

Bloody jewman it was called himself James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the paper saying he'd give you a passage to Canada for one quid. What? Course it was a barney. Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, and his own kidney too. J.J. was telling there was an ancient Hebrew Zaretsky or something got badly landed. Put on his hat to swear in the witness box.

-- Who tried the case?

-- The recorder.

And on the sixteenth day of the month of the oxeyed goddess, ruler of the heavens, the daughter of the skies being then in her first quarter, the lady moon, the learned judge Frederick the Falconer, repaired them to the halls of justice. And there he sat to

[compare]

-- Buncombe, says -----. Can you point to any part of the wide world where the population has decreased fifty per cent in fifty years under a civilised government? Where are the twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four? They killed one wool trade and our textiles and our potteries, the finest in the world. Where is the government would leave half a million acres of marsh in the middle of the country to make us all die of consumption. Not a ship to be seen in our harbours, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Killybegs, the third harbour in the world for size. First. First they tried to slaughter, then to banish us, then to make us paupers and to starve us, but they're as far off as they were 700 years ago when they first began-- and damn well they know it. But they'll know more than that when the first Irish battleship breasts the sea with the green flag at her helm.

-- That's a long way off, says -----.

-- Long or short it'll come, says Cusack. Our history that Geoffrey Keating wrote, as an outlaw, hiding in the fastnesses of the Galtees is not finished yet. What did John Mitchel say: the last conquest of Ireland (perhaps).

-- And what about the British Navy? says -----?

-- What about it? says -----. Read the revelations that are going on in the papers.

-- What's that? says -----.

-- The Navy regulations about flogging, says -----. Didn't you read Bernard Shaw's letter?

-- I thought that was abolished by Parnell.

-- You thought wrong then, says -----. He gives them chapter and verse. The whole crew drawn up on the lower deck and the parson with his bible and the officers. Then they lug out the young chap to give him what the bloody old scoundrel Beresford called a rump and dozen. And they tie him down over a gun, with his legs straddled out...

-- Stripped, is it?

-- He has a pair of duck trousers on him--

-- Yes, says J.J. They distinguish caning on the breech and caning on the bare breech.

O'Madden Burke put in his goo

-- Tis a custom more honoured in the breech than in the observance, says he.

-- And then the master-at-arms takes a long cane and flogs the bloody backside off the poor chap till he yells.

-- Bloody in all senses of the word, says -----.

-- As in ancient Sparta, says ----- MacHugh.

-- The battle of Trafalgar, says -----, was won on the whipping stools of Portsmouth.

-- That's your British navy for you! says -----. Those are the fellows that never will be slaves. Serfs they are still, with the only hereditary chamber in the world and their country in the hands of twenty five nobleman. Would we ever stand that in Ireland, eh? What about the land league, eh? And they prate of the liberty of their empire of drudges.

-- On which the sun never rises, says young D-----.

-- And they believe it, says -----. The poor buggers believe it.

[compare]

Cusack read on.

-- A distinguished gathering assembled to do honour to a ruler of Africa, the Alaki of Abekuta. A delegation from the chief cotton magnates of the district was presented to His Majesty by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs and tendered their best thanks to His Majesty for the facilities afforded to British traders in His Majesty's dominion. The negro potentate in the course of a gracious speech, translated by the British Chaplain from Alakamekohaptla, the reverend Ananias Praisegod Barebones, emphasised the cordial relations existing between his people and the British empire and stated that he treasured as one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible presented to him by her late Majesty, Queen Victoria. Amid general applause the Alaki then drank a lovingcup to the toast of "The King, God bless him" from the skull of his immediate predecessor Kakachakachak, surnamed Bull's Eye. The ceremony was brought to a close by a musical setting of the versicle I am black but comely excellently rendered by the royal musicians with native instruments, alligator carapaces strung with the guts of vanquished Zulu warriors and the thighbones of early christian missionaries, the effect of these latter being quite remarkably similar to the dulcet tones of the Italian ocarina.

-- Wonder what he did with the bible, says Ned Lambert. I could have put it to good use.

-- The same only more so, says Lenehan, and thereafter in Abeakuta the broadleaved palm flourished exceedingly.

-- Is that by Griffith? says -----.

-- I don't know, says -----, it's initalled "P."

-- Bloody good initial too, says -----.

-- No, Griffith's stuff is signed Shanganagh, says O'Madden Burke.

-- Are you going to write that pantomime? asked -----.

-- Yes, by God, I heard about that. Brian Boru or Finn MacCool?

-- Well, says O'MB, we're sick of those puling pantomimes with their musichall songs and girls in tights.

-- Do you know it was Bloom gave Griffith the hard word about that Hungarian lay he's on.

-- Using the county councils, is it?

-- Yes and sending no more members over to London.

-- Leaders of the Irish people at home and abroad, says -----.

-- Well, isn't it sensible. If Peter the Packer, he says, can pack a jury why can't you pack the civil service and the police and constabulary and boycott the post too, that was an idea of his, have your own private post that they can't open the letters.

-- And they want to send Irish consuls to the continent to open up direct trade.

-- What about the kudos? says -----.

-- Well, and wouldn't Irish Americans put their money into it.

Then did you speak, noble Cusack, and all men heard:

-- They were driven out of house and home. Their roadside cabins were laid low by the battering rams of the Sassenach. And the Times rubbed its hands and told the whitelivered English public that there would soon be as few Irish in Ireland as redskins in India and suggested to ship off the few of us that still lived to the banks of the Ganges. Twenty thousand of the poor wretches died in the coffin ships. And the land full of harvest and the nation of shopkeepers, as Napoleon called them, selling the harvest of our peasants in rio de Janeiro, hoarded it up in famine time till it rotted. They departed with tears and wailing for the land of the brave and free to build up there a greater Ireland beyond the waves. They departed: but they will come again. And with a vengeance. The sons of Granuaile.

-- We're a long time waiting for that, says -----. One time it was the French have landed at Killala, then the Yankees now it's the Germans or the Japanese.

-- The French! says -----. Do you know what it is? They were never worth a roasted fart to Ireland. Now they're going to make an alliance with England. Aren't they the firebrands of Europe and always were.

-- Conspuez les anglais says Lenehan.

He knows a bit of French he picked up in the smutty papers.

-- The Germans! says -----. Haven't we had enough of them on the throne since George the Elector, and the flatulent old bitch that's dead.

-- And Edward the Peacemaker, says -----.

-- Tell that to a fool, says -----, there's a bloody sight more pox than pax about him if you ask me. And when he was over here last year in Maynooth what about the priests and bishops that killed our rightful king, Charles Stewart Parnell, sticking up pictures of all the horses his jockeys rode. They ought to have stuck up pictures of all the married women he rode himself.

-- Considerations of space, says J.J. O'M, no doubt influenced their lordships' choice.

-- We want no king or crown, says

The Royal Stuarts were as bad

-- Strangle the last king with the guts of the last priest. We want neither French nor Germans.

-- I tell you what it is, says -----, there's a war coming for the English and the Germans will give them a hell of a gate of going.

-- But aren't you after saying? says -----.

-- I know what I'm after saying, says -----. But this time, whether they win or lose, they'll have to fight their match not naked Zulus to mow them down with machine guns or Ashantimen with tomahawks in their hands. Not likely! They'll be up against an army that'll kill a man for every man they kill. Wait till you see.

Thus did they laud the prowess of those farfamed races, the lordly Gauls, a noble nation descended from the gods, nimble of foot, who dwell in the land of Oui-Oui, and of their neighbours, the lordly Teutons, a noble race of the seed of the gods, feasters at the board, whose dwelling is in the land of Ja-Ja.

[compare]

...and up with him on the bloody car.

The milkwhite Dolphin tossed his Mane and, rising in the golden Poop the Helmsman spread the glorious Sail upon the Wind. A many comely Nymphs drew nigh to starboard and to Larboard and linked their shining Forms as doth the cunning Wheelwright when he fashions about the Heart of his Wheel the equidistant Rays whereof each one is Sister to the next and he binds them all with an outer Ring and giveth Speed to the Feet of Men whenas they ride to an Hosting or contend for a Prize. Even so did they come and set them, those willing nymphs, foamwhite sisters. And they laughed sporting in a Circle of their Foam: and the bark clave the Waves.

Martin and Jack Power did their level best to keep him quiet but Bloom had his rag out, all the ragamuffins and guttersnipes of the place were jeering round the car and says one of the fishgirls:

-- Ay, mister. Look at your hat, mister!

What was it but Cusack had stuck two of the bloody betting tickets in the front of Bloom's topper and what was on it but: W.C.13. And Terry, the curate, and Alf Bergan were doubled up laughing:

-- O, mister! Look at what's on your hat, mister.

Arra sure Bloom didn't know what was up till Jack stood up and took off the tickets and all the sluts began to yell:

-- Eh, mister, give us a speech!

And the mudlarks screaming the Boys of Wexford. And Martin trying to get the jarvey to drive on. But Bloom was on his high horse speeching about the jews.

-- Mendelsohn was a jew, he says, and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza and your god was a jew, he shouted, and his father was a jew.

-- What? says Cusack.

-- He had no father, says Jack Power trying to pull him down.

Sure Bloom didn't know about father or mother, only shouting:

-- Yes, your god was a jew, Jesus Christ was a jew.

Cusack made one bound in:

-- By Jesus, says he, I'll brain the bloody jewman for using the holy name. Give us that biscuit tin here. By Jesus, I will. Give it here.

God there was meila murder.

-- Stop! Stop! says Alf

However the jarvey began lashing the bloody nag and the street arabs began to peg cabbage stumps, yelling like blazes.

-- Three cheers for the jew's droppings!

-- Get your hair cut.

A large and appreciative gathering of friends and acquaintances assembled to bid farewell to Mr Leopold Bloom on the occasion of his departure. The ceremony which was characterized by the most affecting cordiality was rendered all the more picturesque by the presence of numerous delegates from all parts of the provinces whose traditional national costumes lent a welcome note of colour to the scene. An illuminated address, the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished orientalist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic ornament, a work which reflects credit on the makers, Messrs. Jacob and Jacob. The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin as a sendoff. Amid the echoing cheers of the multitude the vessel slowly put off, saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the fair sex who were present in large numbers. Gone but not soon forgotten!

It was the mercy of God the sun was in his eyes. Anyway he made a swipe in the air and let fly. God, he near sent it into the county Longford. The bloody tin fell on the cobblestones with a crash that would waken the dead. You know he's a powerful fellow Cusack. Best man in Ireland in his time at putting the fifty six pound shot. That's a fact. He won prizes and cups and medals. O, Cusack was a famous man in his day, faith.

Well you should have heard the yells of the crowd and the horse took fright and off with him and all the ragtag and bobtail after the car, warhooping.

The explosion was terrific and instantaneous in its effect. The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks and there is no record of a similar seismic disturbance in our island since the great earthquake of 1534. The epicentre appears to have been that part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay Ward and parish of saint Michan. All the palatial residences in the immediate vicinity of the palace of justice were demolished and the noble edifice itself is literally a mass of ruins beneath which, it is only to be feared, all the occupants have been buried alive. From the reports of eyewitnesses it would seem that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character. An article of headgear, since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace, Mr George Fottrell, and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and genealogical tree of the worshipful recorder of Dublin, sir Frederick Falkiner, were discovered by search parties in remote parts of the island respectively, the former on the third basaltic ridge of the Giant's Causeway in Antrim, the latter embedded to the extent of one foot three inches in the sandy beach beneath the old head of Kinsale, latitude 64', longitude, '17. Other eyewitnesses state that they observed an incandescent object of huge volume hurtling through the atmosphere in a trajectory directed southwest by west. Messages of condolence and sympathy are being hourly received from all parts of the various continents and the sovereign pontiff has been graciously pleased to order that a special missa pro defunctis shall be celebrated simultaneously by the ordinaries of all parish churches of all dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the holy see in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst. The work of salvage and of removal of debris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son of 4 Great Brunswick Street and to Messrs T. and C. Martin, 18 North Wall assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of rear admiral sir Heracles Hannibal Blitzblank Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.R.C.S.I. and F.R.C.P.I.

Tare an ouns it was the grandest sight you ever seen in all your born puff. Bloom up on the bloody car, trying to blather out of him and the mudlarks yelling like old boots and the bloody tin bursting open and the horse galloping like mad man, and the sparks flying out of his hoofs. God, if he got that tin on the head he would have been carted off to Jervis Street and, by God, Cusack would have pulled for assault and battery. The jarvey saved his life as sure as God made little apples. What? O, he did, faith. Where is he? says he. Did I kill him or what? Terry and little Alf Bergan took him by the arm to bring him back but he kept shouting to the bloody dog, after him, Garryowen. After him, boy. And the last we saw was the car turn the corner and the bloody dog after it for all he was worth.

When, lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld a golden chariot which held Him ascend to heaven. And they beheld Him therein, clothed upon in the Glory of the Brightness, with Raiment as of the Sun, fair as the Moon and terrible that they durst not look upon him. And there came a Voice out of Heaven, saying, Elijah! Elijah ben Reuben! And He answered, Abba. And they beheld Him in His Glory ascend to Heaven in the direction of a beeline over Hogan's in Little Green Street.

The full published chapter in two parts is here and here.

Schemata symbols: green; Prometheus, No one (I), Ulysses, Galatea; Noman-I, Stake-cigar, challenge-apotheosis; Alternating symmetry, gigantism; Surgery, politics; The Egocidal Terror; muscle, bones; Nation, State, Religion, Dynasty, Idealism, Exaggeration, Fanaticism, Collectivity, fenian [more]

Notesheet notes: [more]

1:16 "Heredity: few secured at cost of all."
1:16 "money no warrant for after death"
1:21 "Tyrants: men lend them power, cut nose to please face, bow head to yoke, custom stronger than nature"
1:23 "Rule: dead rule living: 1 enslaved by many"
1:24 "Judgment of ?God absurd between two [therefore] right between many!"

1:31 "Troy: liege bailiff's LB got in wooden horse"
1:32 "Law: effective when consecrated by custom = useless."
1:33 "Communism also men? Some evil needed in doing good."
1:34 "Altruism makes survive race, egoism individ. 1/2 and 1/2."
1:40 "Luck: every chap gets his ration 500 yrs"
1:42 "U.P. = up."

1:47 "Galatea = milkmaid"
1:52 "Suffering proof of sin (David)"
1:53 "Jews + Irish remember past"
1:56 "L.B.'s ?son Messiah"
1:57 "Jews fouled wells of thought"
1:60 "Family: ?Stoer, Kubler, Virag(o)"

1:66 "Eng. work well [therefore] so bored by Sunday"
1:67 "Burglar: no attack on 'property' (?abs)"
1:68 "Violence begets habit to lord habit to serve"
1:69 "Justice: hard to establish principle but work for better lot"
1:71 "Minority privilege to disappear not physically but socially"

2:01 "L.B. Sexual impulse only the root of tree"
2:02 "Marriage: physical difference, spiritual likeness"
2:03 "Woman Ireland: Slave no sense of honour, genius of beast"
2:13 "L.B hates class hate (Weavers. Jacobs)"

2:15 "Publican: off his head, his own drink (whiskey usquebaugh)"
2:18 "Leopold. Hungarian name (cf Stephen)"
2:23 "State: 12 soldiers shoot, none is bloodguilty. Jury"
2:27 "Private property conceded only by all [therefore] property of all"
2:29 "Property could be collective, wages individual (according to needs? deeds?)"

2:46 "Danes and Romans conquered England"
2:48 "policeman's helmet sweat (LB smells jew)"
2:57 "Eng. afraid to commit themselves"
2:64 "no name, number him"
2:72 "every land govt. it merits"
2:74 "LB asked for definition"
2:75 "Ulysses - projects his envy at each chapter"
2:76 "Penelope - ?her body possessed"
2:77 "Smthg of day before"

4:84 "Irel: centripetal ambition (Zionism)"
4:98 "Contracts invalidated by violence done to 1 party [therefore] social contract no validity for individual constraint by violence of birth to enter the society of the living on their terms."

5:01 "LB made up to mother-in-law."
5:18 "Cycl. Exaggeration of things previously given: Superlatives"
5:23 "Objects: tram (crystal sliding ark)"
5:23 "?noserag (Irish history)"
5:24 "shout (welsh mariner, Cambrian bear)"
5:25 "market (crystal palace)"

5:29 "Technique: Sudden vituperation follows depression ferocity Iliad"
5:55 "?Eng. no music"
5:57 "L.B. sleeps at other end of bed"
5:58 "S.D. tempted to drink"
5:65 "Hist. who got away J. Stephen's, [who] shot Buckley, [who] bore Wellington (horse + stable cf. Eng law)"
5:67 "Lie: S.D. receives £5"
5:70 "Derwan builder's story bucket full of porter."

6:26 "LB. w. eat meat on Friday (dispens. from pope)"
6:27 "Cycl = lanceur des roches"
7:15 "LB meets people from Eccles Street"
7:23 "SD forgets to pay: Penelope keeps room for days"
7:26 "Lottery - insurance swindle: one chap thinks next fellow is going to lose (hell (R) for the other fellow)"

8:55 "Names (Pseudonyms, Shean Vean Vocht,"
8:55 "L.B. loss of maiden name"
8:56 "Kiernan's other proprietor"
8:57 "Exaggeration (Rhet. SD's lies, Molly's romancing)"

10:01 "Wooden horse (Hungary):"
10:10 "John Eglinton, tried criminal assault, 2 years 2 sec"
10:11 "the jew hates the jew in the jew"
10:36 "State: monster fed with our blood, must be starved."
10:38 "Heaven: when quite sure of none men will make it on earth"
10:42-3 "Govt: why add govt to moral + material forces existing. police provoke crimes or disappear, armies war."

10:57 "Bantam Lyons buys flowers for girl: drunk fall about"
10:79 "learn - unlearn, build - destroy, Penelope"
10:89 "New York is new Jerusalem - new Dublin"
10:92 "Some laugh out, some snigger"

Early list of characters: J.J. O'Molloy, Lenehan, Stephen Dedalus, Ned Lambert, Bloom, Corny Kelleher, Denis Breen, Mrs Breen (b. Powell), Richie Goulding, Alf Bergan, Citizen Cusack, Martin Cunningham, Mr Power, Leary the dog, Sir Fred. Falkiner, Seymour Bushe

Early outline of scenes:

Religion-- Saints (Isle of)
Whipping
Arrival Lenehan + John Nolan
Alaki
Exit of Bloom
Virag Discussion
Arrival Martin
Saints
Return Bloom
Discussion Jews
Finale

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