尤利西斯-第32章

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Mr　Bloom　turned　at　Gray's　confectioner's　window　of　unbought　tarts　and　passed　the　reverend　Thomas　Connellan's　bookstore。　Why　I　left　the　church　of　Rome？　Bird's　Nest。　Women　run　him。　They　say　they　used　to　give　pauper　children　soup　to　change　to　protestants　in　the　time　of　the　potato　blight。　Society　over　the　way　papa　went　to　for　the　conversion　of　poor　jews。　Same　bait。　Why　we　left　the　church　of　Rome？　
A　blind　stripling　stood　tapping　the　curbstone　with　his　slender　cane。　No　tram　in　sight。　Wants　to　cross。　
　Do　you　want　to　cross？　Mr　Bloom　asked。　
The　blind　stripling　did　not　answer。　His　wall　face　frowned　weakly。　He　moved　his　head　uncertainly。　
　You're　in　Dawson　street；　Mr　Bloom　said。　Molesworth　street　is　opposite。　Do　you　want　to　cross？　There's　nothing　in　the　way。　
The　cane　moved　out　trembling　to　the　left。　Mr　Bloom's　eye　followed　its　line　and　saw　again　the　dyeworks'　van　drawn　up　before　Drago's。　Where　I　saw　his　brilliantined　hair　just　when　I　was。　Horse　drooping。　Driver　in　John　Long's。　Slaking　his　drouth。　
　There's　a　van　there；　Mr　Bloom　said；　but　it's　not　moving。　I'll　see　you　across。　Do　you　want　to　go　to　Molesworth　street？　
　Yes；　the　stripling　answered。　South　Frederick　street。　
　e；　Mr　Bloom　said。　
He　touched　the　thin　elbow　gently：　then　took　the　limp　seeing　hand　to　guide　it　forward。　
Say　something　to　him。　Better　not　do　the　condescending。　They　mistrust　what　you　tell　them。　Pass　a　mon　remark：　
　The　rain　kept　off。　
No　answer。　
Stains　on　his　coat。　Slobbers　his　food；　I　suppose。　Tastes　all　different　for　him。　Have　to　be　spoonfed　first。　Like　a　child's　hand　his　hand。　Like　Milly's　was。　Sensitive。　Sizing　me　up　I　daresay　from　my　hand。　Wonder　if　he　has　a　name；　Van。　Keep　his　cane　clear　of　the　horse's　legs　tired　drudge　get　his　doze。　That's　right。　Clear。　Behind　a　bull：　in　front　of　a　horse。　
　Thanks；　sir。　
Knows　I'm　a　man。　Voice。　
　Right　now？　First　turn　to　the　left。　
The　blind　stripling　tapped　the　curbstone　and　went　on　his　way；　drawing　his　cane　back；　feeling　again。　
Mr　Bloom　walked　behind　the　eyeless　feet；　a　flatcut　suit　of　herringbone　tweed。　Poor　young　fellow！　How　on　earth　did　he　know　that　van　was　there？　Must　have　felt　it。　See　things　in　their　foreheads　perhaps。　Kind　of　sense　of　volume。　Weight。　Would　he　feel　it　if　something　was　removed？　Feel　a　gap。　Queer　idea　of　Dublin　he　must　have；　tapping　his　way　round　by　the　stones。　Could　he　walk　in　a　beeline　if　he　hadn't　that　cane？　Bloodless　pious　face　like　a　fellow　going　in　to　be　a　priest。　
Penrose！　That　was　that　chap's　name。　
Look　at　all　the　things　they　can　learn　to　do。　Read　with　their　fingers。　Tune　pianos。　Or　we　are　surprised　they　have　any　brains。　Why　we　think　a　deformed　person　or　a　hunchback　clever　if　he　says　something　we　might　say。　Of　course　the　other　senses　are　more。　Embroider。　Plait　baskets。　People　ought　to　help。　Work　basket　I　could　buy　Molly's　birthday。　Hates　sewing。　Might　take　an　objection。　Dark　men　they　call　them。　
Sense　of　smell　must　be　stronger　too。　Smells　on　all　sides　bunched　together。　Each　person　too。　Then　the　spring；　the　summer：　smells。　Tastes。　They　say　you　can't　taste　wines　with　your　eyes　shut　or　a　cold　in　the　head。　Also　smoke　in　the　dark　they　say　get　no　pleasure。　
And　with　a　woman；　for　instance。　More　shameless　not　seeing。　That　girl　passing　the　Stewart　institution；　head　in　the　air。　Look　at　me。　I　have　them　all　on。　Must　be　strange　not　to　see　her。　Kind　of　a　form　in　his　mind's　eye。　The　voice　temperature　when　he　touches　her　with　fingers　must　almost　see　the　lines；　the　curves。　His　hands　on　her　hair；　for　instance。　Say　it　was　black　for　instance。　Good。　We　call　it　black。　Then　passing　over　her　white　skin。　Different　feel　perhaps。　Feeling　of　white。　
Postoffice。　Must　answer。　Fag　today。　Send　her　a　postal　order　two　shillings　half　a　crown。　Accept　my　little　present。　Stationer's　just　here　too。　Wait。　Think　over　it。　
With　a　gentle　finger　he　felt　ever　so　slowly　the　hair　bed　back　above　his　ears。　Again。　Fibres　of　fine　fine　straw。　Then　gently　his　finger　felt　the　skin　of　his　right　cheek。　Downy　hair　there　too。　Not　smooth　enough。　The　belly　is　the　smoothest。　No…one　about。　There　he　goes　into　Frederick　street。　Perhaps　to　Levenston's　dancing　academy　piano。　Might　be　settling　my　braces。　
Walking　by　Doran's　public　house　he　slid　his　hand　between　waistcoat　and　trousers　and；　pulling　aside　his　shirt　gently；　felt　a　slack　fold　of　his　belly。　But　I　know　it's　whiteyellow。　Want　to　try　in　the　dark　to　see。　
He　withdrew　his　hand　and　pulled　his　dress　to。　
Poor　fellow！　Quite　a　boy。　Terrible。　Really　terrible。　What　dreams　would　he　have；　not　seeing？　Life　a　dream　for　him。　Where　is　the　justice　being　born　that　way？　All　those　women　and　children　excursion　beanfeast　burned　and　drowned　in　New　York。　Holocaust。　Karma　they　call　that　transmigration　for　sins　you　did　in　a　past　life　the　reincarnation　met　him　pike…hoses。　Dear；　dear；　dear。　Pity　of　course：　but　somehow　you　can't　cotton　on　to　them　someway。　
Sir　Frederick　Falkiner　going　into　the　freemasons'　hall。　Solemn　as　Troy。　After　his　good　lunch　in　Earlsfort　terrace。　Old　legal　cronies　cracking　a　magnum。　Tales　of　the　bench　and　assizes　and　annals　of　the　bluecoat　school。　I　sentenced　him　to　ten　years。　I　suppose　he'd　turn　up　his　nose　at　that　stuff　I　drank。　Vintage　wine　for　them；　the　year　marked　on　a　dusty　bottle。　Has　his　own　ideas　of　justice　in　the　recorder's　court。　Wellmeaning　old　man。　Police　chargesheets　crammed　with　cases　get　their　percentage　manufacturing　crime。　Sends　them　to　the　rightabout。　The　devil　on　moneylenders。　Gave　Reuben　J。　a　great　strawcalling。　Now　he's　really　what　they　call　a　dirty　jew。　Power　those　judges　have。　Crusty　old　topers　in　wigs。　Bear　with　a　sore　paw。　And　may　the　Lord　have　mercy　on　your　soul。　
Hello；　placard。　Mirus　bazaar。　His　excellency　the　lord　lieutenant。　Sixteenth　today　it　is。　In　aid　of　funds　for　Mercer's　hospital。　The　Messiah　was　first　given　for　that。　Yes　Handel。　What　about　going　out　there。　Ballsbridge。　Drop　in　on　Keyes。　No　use　sticking　to　him　like　a　leech。　Wear　out　my　wele。　Sure　to　know　someone　on　the　gate。　
Mr　Bloom　came　to　Kildare　Street。　First　I　must。　Library。　
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！　
Scylla　and　Charybdis
URBANE；　TO　FORT　THEM；　THE　QUAKER　LIBRARIAN　PURRED：　
　And　we　have；　have　we　not；　those　priceless　pages　of　Wilhelm　Meister？　A　great　poet　on　a　great　brother　poet。　A　hesitating　soul　taking　arms　against　a　sea　of　troubles；　torn　by　conflicting　doubts；　as　one　sees　in　real　life。　
He　came　a　step　a　sinkapace　forward　on　neatsleather　creaking　and　a　step　backward　a　sinkapace　on　the　solemn　floor。　
A　noiseless　attendant；　setting　open　the　door　but　slightly；　made　him　a　noiseless　beck。　
　Directly；　said　he；　creaking　to　go；　albeit　lingering。　The　beautiful　ineffectual　dreamer　who　es　to　grief　against　hard　facts。　One　always　feels　that　Goethe's　judgments　are　so　true。　True　in　the　larger　analysis。　
Twicreakingly　analysis　he　corantoed　off。　Bald；　most　zealous　by　the　door　he　gave　his　large　ear　all　to　the　attendant's　words：　heard　them：　and　was　gone。　
Two　left。　
　Monsieur　de　la　Palisse；　Stephen　sneered；　was　alive　fifteen　minutes　before　his　death。　
　Have　you　found　those　six　brave　medicals；　John　Eglinton　asked　with　elder's　gall；　to　write　Paradise　Lost　at　your　dictation？　The　Sorrows　of　Satan　he　calls　it。　
Smile。　Smile　Cranly's　smile。　
First　he　tickled　her
Then　he　patted　her
Then　he　passed　the　female　catheter。
For　he　was　a　medical
jolly　old　medi。
　I　feel　you　would　need　one　more　for　Hamlet。　Seven　is　dear　to　the　mystic　mind。　The　shining　seven　W。　B。　calls　them。　
Glittereyed；　his　rufous　skull　close　to　his　greencapped　desklamp　sought　the　face；　bearded　amid　darkgreener　shadow；　an　ollav；　holyeyed。　He　laughed　low：　a　sizar's　laugh　of　Trinity：　unanswered。　
Orchestral　Satan；　weeping　many　a　rood　
Tears　such　as　angels　weep。
Ed　egli　avea　del　cul　fatto　trombetta。
He　holds　my　follies　hostage。　
Cranly's　eleven　true　Wicklowmen　to　free　their　sireland。　Gaptoothed　Kathleen；　her　four　beautiful　green　fields；　the　stranger　in　her　house。　And　one　more　to　hail　him：　ave；　rabbi。　The　Tinahely　twelve。　In　the　shadow　of　the　glen　he　cooees　for　them。　My　soul's　youth　I　gave　him；　night　by　night。　Godspeed。　Good　hunting。　
Mulligan　has　my　telegram。　
Folly。　Persist。　
　Our　young　Irish　bards；　John　Eglinton　censured；　have　yet　to　create　a　figure　which　the　world　will　set　beside　Saxon　Shakespeare's　Hamlet　though　I　admire　him；　as　old　Ben　did；　on　this　side　idolatry。　
　All　these　questions　are　purely　academic；　Russell　oracled　out　of　his　shadow。　I　mean；　whether　Hamlet　is　Shakespeare　or　James　I　or　Essex。　Clergymen's　discussions　of　the　historicity　of　Jesus。　Art　has　to　reveal　to　us　ideas；　formless　spiritual　essences。　The　supreme　question　about　a　work　of　art　is　out　of　how　deep　a　life　does　it　spring。　The　painting　of　Gustave　Moreau　is　the　painting　of　ideas。　The　deepest　poetry　of　Shelley；　the　words　of　Hamlet　bring　our　mind　into　contact　with　the　eternal　wisdom；　Plato's　world　of　ideas。　All　the　rest　is　the　speculation　of　schoolboys　for　schoolboys。　
A。　E。　has　been　telling　some　yankee　interviewer。　Wall；　tarnation　strike　me！　
　The　schoolmen　were　schoolboys　first；　Stephen　said　superpolitely。　Aristotle　was　once　Plato's　schoolboy。　
　And　has　remained　so；　one　should　hope；　John　Eglinton　sedately　said。　One　can　see　him；　a　model　schoolboy　with　his　diploma　under　his　arm。　
He　laughed　again　at　the　now　smiling　bearded　face。　
Formless　spiritual。　Father；　Word　and　Holy　Breath。　Allfather；　the　heavenly　man。　Hiesos　Kristos；　magician　of　the　beautiful；　the　Logos　who　suffers　in　us　at　every　moment。　This　verily　is　that。　I　am　the　fire　upon　the　altar。　I　am　the　sacrificial　butter。　
Dunlop；　Judge；　the　noblest　Roman　of　them　all；　A。　E。；　Arval；　the　Name　Ineffable；　in　heaven　hight；　K。　H。；　their　master；　whose　identity　is　no　secret　to　adepts。　Brothers　of　the　great　white　lodge　always　watching　to　see　if　they　can　help。　The　Christ　with　the　bridesister；　moisture　of　light；　born　of　an　ensouled　virgin；　repentant　sophia；　departed　to　the　plane　of　buddhi。　The　life　esoteric　is　not　for　ordinary　person。　O。　P。　must　work　off　bad　karma　first。　Mrs　Cooper　Oakley　once　glimpsed　our　very　illustrious　sister　H。　P。　B's　elemental。　
O；　fie！　Out　on't！　Pfuiteufel！　You　naughtn't　to　look；　missus；　so　you　naug