He turned the pages.
—Metempsychosis, he said, is what the ancient Greeks called it. They used to believe you could be changed into an animal or a tree, for instance. What they called nymphs, for example.
Her spoon ceased to stir up the sugar. She gazed straight before her, inhaling through her arched nostrils.
—There's a smell of burn, she said. Did you leave anything on the fire?
—The kidney! he cried suddenly."
Equally artistic is the end of the chapter where through tht back door into the garden, to the earth closet, goes Bloom. The hat is the link for some musings. He mentally hears the bell of Drago, the barbershop (Drago, however, is on Dawson Street far to the south)—and mentally sees Boylan, with brown glossy hair, coming out after having had a wash and a brush up, which suggests to Bloom a bath at the Taro Street baths, but he will go to Leinster Street instead.
In the beautifully described scene in the privy Bloom reads a magazine story, "Matcham's Masterstroke," and echoes of this will vibrate here and there throughout Ulysses. There is something of an artist about old Bloom, as in the dance of the hours that he on his warm seat imagines. "Evening hours, girls in grey gauze. Night hours then black with daggers and eyemasks. Poetical idea pink, then golden, then grey, then black. Still true to life also. Day, then the night.
He tore away half the prize story sharply and wiped himself with it. Then he girded up his trousers, braced and buttoned himself. He pulled back the jerky shaky door of the jakes and came forth from the gloom into the air.
In the bright light, lightened and cooled in limb, he eyed carefully his black trousers, the ends, the knees, the houghs of the knees. What time is the funeral? Better find out in the paper."
The clock tolls a quarter to nine. Dignam will be buried at eleven.
PART TWO, CHAPTER 2
Time: Between ten and eleven in the morning of 16 June.
Place: Various streets to the south of the Liffey, the river that crosses Dublin from west to east.
Characters: Bloom; an acquaintance M'Coy who stops him in the street and asks him to put his name down at Dignam's funeral which he cannot attend since "There's a drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and then the coroner and myself would have to go down if the body is found."
M'Coy's wife is a singer but not as good as Marion Bloom is. Another character who talks to Bloom in the street at the end of the chapter is Bantam Lyons, of whom I shall speak presently in connection with the Ascot race theme.
Action and style: Bloom is at first seen on Sir John Rogerson's Quay, which runs south of the Liffey and which he has reached on foot from Eccles Street, his home, a mile away northwest of the Liffey. On the way he has bought a morning paper, the Freeman: The stream of consciousness is the main device in this chapter. From the quay Bloom walks south to the post office, transferring the address card from behind the headband of his hat to his waistcoat pocket. His thoughts float from the window of the Oriental Tea Company into a world of fragrancy and flowers. At the post office there is a letter for him from the unknown Martha Clifford whom we shall never meet. While Bloom talks to M'Coy in the street his roving eye watches a woman about to get into a carriage. "Watch! Watch! Silk flash rich stockings white. Watch!" Ankles in 1904 were more seldom seen than today. But a heavy tramcar honks and lumbers between Bloom's watchful eye and the lady. "Lost it. Curse your noisy pugnose. Feels locked out of it. Paradise and the peri. Always happening like that. The very moment. Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it settling her garter. Her friend covering the display of Esprit de corps. Well, what are you gaping at?"
Now walking down Cumberland Street Bloom reads Martha's letter. Its sentimental vulgarity affects his senses, and his thoughts run to soft satisfactions. He passes under a railway bridge. The image of the barrels of beer, Dublin's chief item of export, is suggested by the rumble of the train above, just as the sea suggests barreled porter to Stephen walking on the beach. "In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. And, spent, its speech ceases. It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling." This is quite close to Bloom's vision of flowing beer: "An incoming train clanked heavily above his head, coach after coach. Barrels bumped in his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside. The bungholes sprang open and a huge dull flood leaked, flowing together, winding through mudflats all over the level land, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its froth." This is still another synchronization. One should note that this chapter will end with the word flower in a paragraph of Bloom in his bath that has some relation to Stephen's imaginings of the drowned man. Bloom foresees: "his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower." And the chapter ends on the word flower.
Continuing on Cumberland Street after reading Martha's letter Bloom, in passing, enters for a moment a Catholic church. His thoughts flow on. A few minutes later, around a quarter past ten, he walks along Westland Row to a drugstore to order a certain hand lotion for his wife. Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, and orange-flower water. He buys a cake of soap and says he will call later for the lotion,but he will forget to do so. The soap, however, is going to be quite a character in the story.
Let me at this point follow up two themes in this chapter—the soap and the Ascot Gold Cup. The soap is a cake of Barrington's lemon-flavored soap which costs fourpence and smells of sweet lemony wax. After Bloom's bath, on the way to the funeral in the horse-drawn carriage, the soap is lodged in his hip pocket. "I am sitting on something hard. Ah, that soap in my hip pocket. Better shift it out of that. Wait for an opportunity." This comes when they reach Prospect Cemetery. He gets out. Only then does he make the transfer of the paper-stuck soap from hip to inner handkerchief pocket. In the newspaper office, after the funeral, he takes out his handkerchief, and here the theme of lemon perfume is mingled with Martha's letter and his wife's unfaithfulness. Still later, in the early afternoon, near the library and near the museum in Kildare Street Bloom catches a glimpse of Blazes Boylan. Why the museum? Well, Bloom had decided to investigate out of sheer curiosity certain details of anatomy in marble goddesses. "Straw hat in sunlight. Tan shoes. Turnedup trousers. It is. It is.
His heart quopped softly. To the right. Museum. Goddesses. He swerved to the right.
Is it? Almost certain. Won't look. Wine in my face. Why did I? Too heady. Yes, it is. The walk. Not see. Not see. Get on.
Making for the museum gate with long windy strides he lifted his eyes. Handsome building. Sir Thomas Deane designed. Not following me?
Didn't see me perhaps. Light in his eyes.
The flutter of his breath came forth in short sighs. Quick. Cold statues: quiet there. Safe in a minute.
No, didn't see me. After two. Just at the gate.
My heart!
His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of stone. Sir Thomas Deane was the Greek architecture.
Look for something I.
His hasty hand went quick into a pocket, took out, read unfolded Agendath Netaim. Where did I?
Busy looking for.
He thrust back quickly Agendath.
Afternoon she said.
I am looking for that. Yes, that. Try all pockets. Handker. Freeman. Where did I? Ah, yes. Trousers. Purse. Potato. Where did I?
Hurry. Walk quietly. Moment more. My heart.
His hand looking for the where did I put found in his hip pocket soap lotion have to call tepid paper stuck. Ah, soap there! Yes. Gate.
Safe!"
The soap is mentioned as being sticky in his hip pocket at four o'clock, and then in the tremendous comedy nightmare at midnight in the house of ill fame, a cake of new clean lemon soap arises diffusing light and perfume, a perfumed moon in an advertisement come to celestial life, and the soap actually sings a
s it soars in its adman's paradise:
We're a capital couple are Bloom and I;
He brightens the earth, l polish the sky—
The apotheosis of the soap theme is here identified as the wandering soap; the cake finally is used by Bloom at home to wash his soiled hands. "Having set the halffilled kettle on the now burning coals, why did he return to the stillflowing tap?
To wash his soiled hands with a partially consumed tablet of Barrington's lemonflavoured soap, to which paper still adhered (bought thirteen hours previously for fourpence and still unpaid for), in fresh cold neverchanging everchanging water and dry them, face and hands, in a long redbordered holland cloth passed over a wooden revolving roller."
At the end of part two, chapter 2, the rereader will discover the starting point of a theme that runs through the whole day of the book—the Ascot Gold Cup race which is to take place that afternoon, 16 June 1904, at three o'clock at Ascot Heath in Berkshire, England. The results of the Gold Cup event reach Dublin an hour later, at four o'clock. This race with these horses took place in so-called reality. A number of Dubliners are betting on the four runners: the horses are Maximum the second, a French horse and last year s winner; Zinfandel, a favorite after his display in the Coronation Cup at Epsom; Sceptre, which is the choice of the sports editor Lenehan; and finally Throwaway, an outsider.
Let us now look at the evolution of the theme throughout the book. It starts, as I said, at the end of Bloom's second chapter: "At his armpit Bantam Lyons' voice and hand said:
—Hello, Bloom, what's the best news? Is that today's? Show us a minute.
Shaved off his moustache again, by Jove! Long cold upper lip. To look younger. He does look balmy. Younger than I am.
Bantam Lyons' yellow blacknailed fingers unrolled the baton. Wants a wash too. Take off the rough dirt. Good morning, have you used Pears' soap? Dandruff on his shoulders. Scalp wants oiling.
—I want to see about the French horse that's running today, Bantam Lyons said. Where the bugger is it?
He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his high collar. Barber's itch. Tight collar he'll lose his hair. Better leave him the paper and get shut of him.
—You can keep it, Mr Bloom said.
—Ascot. Gold cup. Wait, Bantam Lyons muttered. Half a mo. Maximum the second.
—I was just going to throw it away, Mr Bloom said.
Bantam Lyons raised his eyes suddenly and leered weakly.
—What's that? his sharp voice said.
—I say you can keep it, Mr Bloom answered. I was going to throw it away that moment.
Bantam Lyons doubted an instant, leering: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom's arms.
—I'll risk it, he said. Here, thanks.
He sped off towards Conway's corner. God speed scut."
Apart from the beautiful display of the stream-of-thought technique in this passage, what should we mark? Two facts: (1) that Bloom has no interest in (and perhaps no knowledge of) this race whatsoever, and (2) that Bantam Lyons, a casual acquaintance, mistakes Bloom's remark for a tip concerning the horse Throwaway. Bloom is not only indifferent to the Ascot Gold Cup race, he remains serenely unaware that his remark has been misinterpreted as a tip.
Now look at the evolution of the theme. The racing edition of the Freeman appears at noon, and Lenehan, the sports editor, picks Sceptre, a tip that Bloom then overhears in the newspaper office. At two o'clock Bloom is standing at a food counter having a snack beside a very stupid fellow, Nosey Flynn, who is discussing the form sheet. "Mr Bloom, champing standing, looked upon his sigh. Nosey numskull. Will I tell him that horse Lenehan? He knows already. Better let him forget. Go and lose more. Fool and his money. Dewdrop coming down again. Cold nose he'd have kissing a woman. Still they might like. Prickly beards they like. Dog's cold noses. Old Mrs Riordan with the rumbling stomach's Skye terrier in the City Arms hotel. Molly fondling him in her lap. O the big doggybowwowsywowsy!
Wine soaked and softened rolled pith of bread mustard a moment mawkish cheese. Nice wine it is. Taste it better because I'm not thirsty. Bath of course does that. Just a bite or two. Then about six o'clock I can. Six, six. Time will be gone then. She ..."
Coming in later into the eating place after Bloom has left, Bantam Lyons hints to Flynn that he has a good bet and will plunge five bob on his own, but he does not mention Throwaway, only says that Bloom gave him that tip. When the sports editor Lenehan pops into a bookie's to find out about Sceptre's starting price, he meets Lyons there and dissuades him from betting on Throwaway. In the great chapter in the Ormond bar, around four in the afternoon, Lenehan tells Blazes Boylan that he is sure Sceptre will win in a canter, and Boylan, who is on his way to his date with Molly Bloom, admits that he has plunged a bit for the benefit of a lady-friend (Molly). The wire with the result will be in any time now. In the Kiernan bar chapter, sports editor Lenehan enters the bar and gloomily announces that Throwaway has won "at twenty to one. A rank outsider... Frailty, thy name is Sceptre." Now look at the way all this fatefully reacts on Bloom, who has no interest in the Gold Cup whatsoever. Bloom leaves Kiernan's bar to walk over to the courthouse on a mission of mercy (concerning the life insurance of his dead friend Pat Dignam), and Lenehan at the bar remarks: "—I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers.
—Who? says I.
—Bloom, says he, the courthouse is a blind. He had a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels.
—Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life.
That's where he's gone, says Lenehan. I met Bantam Lyons going to back that horse, only I put him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the tip. Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on. He's the only man in Dublin has it. A dark horse.
—He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe."
The I of the chapter in Kiernan's bar is an anonymous narrator, a drunken muddleheaded fellow with a lynching streak in him. Aroused by Bloom's gentle ways and humane wisdom, he is now—this anonymous narrator—inflamed by the suspicion that a Jew has won a hundred to five on the dark horse Throwaway. The anonymous narrator views with pleasure the brawl that follows when a hoodlum (the so-called citizen of the chapter) throws a biscuit tin at Bloom.
The race results appear later in the Evening Telegraph that Bloom reads in the cabman's shelter at the end of his long day, where there is also an account of Dignam's funeral and Deasy's letter appears—a newspaper summing up the events of the day. And finally, in the last but one chapter of the book when Bloom comes home at last, we note two things: (1) he finds on the apron of the dresser in the kitchen four fragments of two torn red betting slips that Blazes Boylan on his visit to Molly in a blazing rage tore up on learning that Sceptre had not won; and (2) kindly Bloom reflects with satisfaction that he had not risked, had not been disappointed, and also had not at lunch urged Flynn to put money on Lenehan's choice, Sceptre.
Let me say at this point between chapters 2 and 3 of part two a few words about Bloom's character. One of his main characteristics is kindness to animals, kindness to the weak. Although he has eaten with relish the inner organ of a beast, the pork kidney, for his breakfast that day, and can actually experience a sense of acute hunger when thinking of smoking, hot, thick sugary blood, despite these somewhat coarse tastes he feels a keen compassion for man-degraded, man-injured animals. One may note his kindly attitude at breakfast towards his little black cat: "Mr Bloom watched curiously, kindly, the lithe black form. Clean to see: the gloss of her sleek hide, the white button under the butt of her tail, the green flashing eyes. He bent down to her, his hands on his knees.
—Milk for the pussens, he said.
—Mrkgnao! the cat cried."
Also his understanding of dogs, as when, for example, he recalls on the way to the cemetery his dead father's dog Athos. "Poor old Athos! Be good to Athos, Leopold, is my last wish." And the picture of Athos in Bloom's mind is
that of a "Quiet brute. Old men's dogs usually are." Bloom's mind reveals a sympathetic participation in animal emblems of life that in artistic and human values vies with Stephen's understanding of dogs, as in the Sandymount beach scene. Likewise Bloom experiences a pang of pity and tenderness as after his meeting with M'Coy he passes, near the cabman's stop, the drooping nags at nosebag time. "He came nearer and heard a crunching of gilded oats, the gently champing teeth. Their full buck eyes regarded him as he went by, amid the sweet oaten reek of horsepiss. Their Eldorado. Poor jugginses! Damn all they know or care about anything with their long noses stuck in nosebags. Too full for words. Still they get their feed all right and their doss. Gelded too: a stump of black guttapercha wagging limp between their haunches. Might be happy all the same that way. Good poor brutes they look. Still their neigh can be very irritating." (Joyce's curious interest in the bladder is shared by Bloom.) In his compassionate attitude to animals Bloom even feeds sea gulls, which I personally consider to be nasty birds with drunkard's eyes—and there are other of his kindnesses to animals throughout the book. It is interesting that on his walk before luncheon his passing thought regarding a flock of pigeons before the Irish House of Parliament, the tone of his definition "Their little frolic after meals" corresponds exactly in intonation and meter to Stephen's musing on the beach, "The simple pleasures of the poor" (an ironic distortion of Thomas Gray's Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, 1751), as a dog, being called, lifted his hindleg and "pissed quick short at an unsmelt rock."
PART TWO, CHAPTER 3
Style: Lucid and logical Joyce, with Bloom's thoughts easily followed by the reader.
Time: Just after eleven o'clock.
Place: Bloom has taken a tram from the baths on Leinster Street eastward to Dignam's residence, 9 Serpentine Avenue, southeast of the Liffey, from which the funeral starts. Instead of going immediately in a western direction towards the center of Dublin and then northwest to Prospect Cemetery, the procession goes by way of Irishtown, curving northeast and then west. It is a fine old custom to take Dignam's body first through Irishtown, up Tritonville Road, north of Serpentine Avenue, and only after passing through Irishtown to turn west by way of Ringsend Road and New Brunswick Street, then across the Liffey River and northwest to Prospect Cemetery.
Lectures on Literature Page 39
