尤利西斯-第4章

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garette；　held　the　flaming　spunk　towards　Stephen　in　the　shell　of　his　hands。　
　Yes；　of　course；　he　said；　as　they　went　on　again。　Either　you　believe　or　you　don't；　isn't　it？　Personally　I　couldn't　stomach　that　idea　of　a　personal　God。　You　don't　stand　for　that；　I　suppose？　
　You　behold　in　me；　Stephen　said　with　grim　displeasure；　a　horrible　example　of　free　thought。　
He　walked　on；　waiting　to　be　spoken　to；　trailing　his　ashplant　by　his　side。　Its　ferrule　followed　lightly　on　the　path；　squealing　at　his　heels。　My　familiar；　after　me；　calling　Steeeeeeeeeephen。　A　wavering　line　along　the　path。　They　will　walk　on　it　tonight；　ing　here　in　the　dark。　He　wants　that　key。　It　is　mine；　I　paid　the　rent。　Now　I　eat　his　salt　bread。　Give　him　the　key　too。　All。　He　will　ask　for　it。　That　was　in　his　eyes。　
　After　all；　Haines　began。。。　
Stephen　turned　and　saw　that　the　cold　gaze　which　had　measured　him　was　not　all　unkind。　
　After　all；　I　should　think　you　are　able　to　free　yourself。　You　are　your　own　master；　it　seems　to　me。　
　I　am　the　servant　of　two　masters；　Stephen　said；　an　English　and　an　Italian。　
　Italian？　Haines　said。　
A　crazy　queen；　old　and　jealous。　Kneel　down　before　me。　
　And　a　third；　Stephen　said；　there　is　who　wants　me　for　odd　jobs。　
　Italian？　Haines　said　again。　What　do　you　mean？　
　The　imperial　British　state；　Stephen　answered；　his　colour　rising；　and　the　holy　Roman　catholic　and　apostolic　church。　
Haines　detached　from　his　underlip　some　fibres　of　tobacco　before　he　spoke。　
　I　can　quite　understand　that；　he　said　calmly。　An　Irishman　must　think　like　that；　I　daresay。　We　feel　in　England　that　we　have　treated　you　rather　unfairly。　It　seems　history　is　to　blame。　
The　proud　potent　titles　clanged　over　Stephen's　memory　the　triumph　of　their　brazen　bells：　et　unam　sanctam　catholicam　et　apostolicam　ecclesiam：　the　slow　growth　and　change　of　rite　and　dogma　like　his　own　rare　thoughts；　a　chemistry　of　stars。　Symbol　of　the　apostles　in　the　mass　for　pope　Marcellus；　the　voices　blended；　singing　alone　loud　in　affirmation：　and　behind　their　chant　the　vigilant　angel　of　the　church　militant　disarmed　and　menaced　her　heresiarchs。　A　horde　of　heresies　fleeing　with　mitres　awry：　Photius　and　the　brood　of　mockers　of　whom　Mulligan　was　one；　and　Arius；　warring　his　life　long　upon　the　consubstantiality　of　the　Son　with　the　Father；　and　Valentine；　spurning　Christ's　terrene　body；　and　the　subtle　African　heresiarch　Sabellius　who　held　that　the　Father　was　Himself　His　own　Son。　Words　Mulligan　had　spoken　a　moment　since　in　mockery　to　the　stranger。　Idle　mockery。　The　void　awaits　surely　all　them　that　weave　the　wind：　a　menace；　a　disarming　and　a　worsting　from　those　embattled　angels　of　the　church；　Michael's　host；　who　defend　her　ever　in　the　hour　of　conflict　with　their　lances　and　their　shields。　
Hear；　hear。　Prolonged　applause。　Zut！　Nom　de　Dieu！　
　Of　course　I'm　a　Britisher；　Haines'　voice　said；　and　I　feel　as　one。　I　don't　want　to　see　my　country　fall　into　the　hands　of　German　jews　either。　That's　our　national　problem；　I'm　afraid；　just　now。　
Two　men　stood　at　the　verge　of　the　cliff；　watching：　businessman；　boatman。　
　She's　making　for　Bullock　harbour。　
The　boatman　nodded　towards　the　north　of　the　bay　with　some　disdain。　
　There's　five　fathoms　out　there；　he　said。　It'll　be　swept　up　that　way　when　the　tide　es　in　about　one。　It's　nine　days　today。　
The　man　that　was　drowned。　A　sail　veering　about　the　blank　bay　waiting　for　a　swollen　bundle　to　bob　up；　roll　over　to　the　sun　a　puffy　face；　salt　white。　Here　I　am。　
They　followed　the　winding　path　down　to　the　creek。　Buck　Mulligan　stood　on　a　stone；　in　shirtsleeves；　his　unclipped　tie　rippling　over　his　shoulder。　A　young　man　clinging　to　a　spur　of　rock　near　him　moved　slowly　frogwise　his　green　legs　in　the　deep　jelly　of　the　water。　
　Is　the　brother　with　you；　Malachi？　
　Down　in　Westmeath。　With　the　Bannons。　
　Still　there？　I　got　a　card　from　Bannon。　Says　he　found　a　sweet　young　thing　down　there。　Photo　girl　he　calls　her。　
　Snapshot；　eh？　Brief　exposure。　
Buck　Mulligan　sat　down　to　unlace　his　boots。　An　elderly　man　shot　up　near　the　spur　of　rock　a　blowing　red　face。　He　scrambled　up　by　the　stones；　water　glistening　on　his　pate　and　on　its　garland　of　grey　hair；　water　rilling　over　his　chest　and　paunch　and　spilling　jets　out　of　his　black　sagging　loincloth。　
Buck　Mulligan　made　way　for　him　to　scramble　past　and；　glancing　at　Haines　and　Stephen；　crossed　himself　piously　with　his　thumbnail　at　brow　and　lips　and　breastbone。　
　Seymour's　back　in　town；　the　young　man　said；　grasping　again　his　spur　of　rock。　Chucked　medicine　and　going　in　for　the　army。　
　Ah；　go　to　God；　Buck　Mulligan　said。　
　Going　over　next　week　to　stew。　You　know　that　red　Carlisle　girl；　Lily？　
　Yes。　
　Spooning　with　him　last　night　on　the　pier。　The　father　is　rotto　with　money。　
　Is　she　up　the　pole？　
　Better　ask　Seymour　that。　
　Seymour　a　bleeding　officer；　Buck　Mulligan　said。　
He　nodded　to　himself　as　he　drew　off　his　trousers　and　stood　up；　saying　tritely：　
　Redheaded　women　buck　like　goats。　
He　broke　off　in　alarm；　feeling　his　side　under　his　flapping　shirt。　
　My　twelfth　rib　is　gone；　he　cried。　I'm　the　Uebermensch。　Toothless　Kinch　and　I；　the　supermen。　
He　struggled　out　of　his　shirt　and　flung　it　behind　him　to　where　his　clothes　lay。　
　Are　you　going　in　here；　Malachi？　
　Yes。　Make　room　in　！he　bed。　
The　young　man　shoved　himself　backward　through　the　water　and　reached　the　middle　of　the　creek　in　two　long　clean　strokes。　Haines　sat　down　on　a　stone；　smoking。　
　Are　you　not　ing　in？　Buck　Mulligan　asked。　
　Later　on；　Haines　said。　Not　on　my　breakfast。　Stephen　turned　away。　
　I'm　going；　Mulligan；　he　said。　
　Give　us　that　key；　Kinch；　Buck　Mulligan　said；　to　keep　my　chemise　flat。　
Stephen　handed　him　the　key。　Buck　Mulligan　laid　it　across　his　heaped　clothes。　
　And　twopence；　he　said；　for　a　pint。　Throw　it　there。　
Stephen　threw　two　pennies　on　the　soft　heap。　Dressing；　undressing。　Buck　Mulligan　erect；　with　joined　hands　before　him；　said　solemnly：　
　He　who　stealeth　from　the　poor　lendeth　to　the　Lord。　Thus　spake　Zarathustra。　
His　plump　body　plunged。　
　We'll　see　you　again；　Haines　said；　turning　as　Stephen　walked　up　the　path　and　smiling　at　wild　Irish。　
Horn　of　a　bull；　hoof　of　a　horse；　smile　of　a　Saxon。　
　The　Ship；　Buck　Mulligan　cried。　Half　twelve。　
　Good；　Stephen　said。　
He　walked　along　the　upwardcurving　path。　
Liliata　rutilantium。
Turnia　circumdet。
Iubilantium　te　virginum
The　priest's　grey　nimbus　in　a　niche　where　he　dressed　discreetly。　I　will　not　sleep　here　tonight。　Home　also　I　cannot　go。　
A　voice；　sweettoned　and　sustained；　called　to　him　from　the　sea。　Turning　the　curve　he　waved　his　hand。　It　called　again。　A　sleek　brown　head；　a　seal's；　far　out　on　the　water；　round。　
Usurper。　
Nestor
YOU；　COCHRANE；　WHAT　CITY　SENT　FOR　HIM？　
　Tarentum；　sir。　
　Very　good。　Well？　
　There　was　a　battle；　sir。　
　Very　good。　Where？　
The　boy's　blank　face　asked　the　blank　window。　
Fabled　by　the　daughters　of　memory。　And　yet　it　was　in　some　way　if　not　as　memory　fabled　it。　A　phrase；　then；　of　impatience；　thud　of　Blake's　wings　of　excess。　I　hear　the　ruin　of　all　space；　shattered　glass　and　toppling　masonry；　and　time　one　livid　final　flame。　What's　left　us　then？　
　I　forgot　the　place；　sir。　279　B。C。　
　Asculum；　Stephen　said；　glancing　at　the　name　and　date　in　the　gorescarred　book。　
　Yes；　sir。　And　he　said：　Another　victory　like　that　and　we　are　done　for。　
That　phrase　the　world　had　remembered。　A　dull　ease　of　the　mind。　From　a　hill　above　a　corpsestrewn　plain　a　general　speaking　to　his　officers；　leaned　upon　his　spear。　Any　general　to　any　officers。　They　lend　ear。　
　You；　Armstrong；　Stephen　said。　What　was　the　end　of　Pyrrhus？　
　End　of　Pyrrhus；　sir？　
　I　know；　sir。　Ask　me；　sir；　yn　said。　
　Wait。　You；　Armstrong。　Do　you　know　anything　about　Pyrrhus？　
A　bag　of　figrolls　lay　snugly　in　Armstrong's　satchel。　He　curled　them　between　his　palms　at　whiles　and　swallowed　them　softly。　Crumbs　adhered　to　the　tissues　of　his　lips。　A　sweetened　boy's　breath。　Welloff　people；　proud　that　their　eldest　son　was　in　the　navy。　Vico　Road；　Dalkey。　
　Pyrrhus；　sir？　Pyrrhus；　a　pier。　
All　laughed。　Mirthless　high　malicious　laughter。　Armstrong　looked　round　at　his　classmates；　silly　glee　in　profile。　In　a　moment　they　will　laugh　more　loudly；　aware　of　my　lack　of　rule　and　of　the　fees　their　papas　pay。　
　Tell　me　now；　Stephen　said；　poking　the　boy's　shoulder　with　the　book；　what　is　a　pier。　
　A　pier；　sir；　Armstrong　said。　A　thing　out　in　the　waves。　A　kind　of　bridge。　Kingstown　pier；　sir。　
Some　laughed　again：　mirthless　but　with　meaning。　Two　in　the　back　bench　whispered。　Yes。　They　knew：　had　never　learned　nor　ever　been　innocent。　All。　With　envy　he　watched　their　faces。　Edith；　Ethel；　Gerty；　Lily。　Their　likes：　their　breaths；　too；　sweetened　with　tea　and　jam；　their　bracelets　tittering　in　the　struggle。　
　Kingstown　pier；　Stephen　said。　Yes；　a　disappointed　bridge。　The　words　troubled　their　gaze。　
　How；　sir？　yn　asked。　A　bridge　is　across　a　river。　
For　Haines's　chapbook。　No…one　here　to　hear。　Tonight　deftly　amid　wild　drink　and　talk；　to　pierce　the　polished　mail　of　his　mind。　What　then？　A　jester　at　the　court　of　his　master；　indulged　and　disesteemed；　winning　a　clement　master's　praise。　Why　had　they　chosen　all　that　part？　Not　wholly　for　the　smooth　caress。　For　them　too　history　was　a　tale　like　any　other　too　often　heard；　their　land　a　pawnshop。　
Had　Pyrrhus　not　fallen　by　a　beldam's　hand　in　Argos　or　Julius　Caesar　not　been　knifed　to　death？　They　are　not　to　be　thought　away。　Time　has　branded　them　and　fettered　they　are　lodged　in　the　room　of　the　infinite　possibilities　they　have　ousted。　But　can　those　have　been　possible　seeing　that　they　never　were？　Or　was　that　only　possible　which　came　to　pass？　Weave；　weaver　of　the　wind。　
　Tell　us　a　story；　sir。　
　Oh；　do；　sir；　a　ghoststory。　
　Where　do　you　begin　in　this？　Stephen　asked；　opening　another　book。　
　Weep　no　more；　yn　said。　
　Go　on　then；　Talbot。　
　And　the　history；　sir？　
　After；　Stephen　said。　Go　on；　Talbot。　
A　swarthy　boy　opened　a　book　and　propped　it　nimbly　under　the　breastwork　of　his　satchel。　He　recited　jerks　of　verse　with　odd　glances　at　the　text：　
　Weep　no　more；　woful　shepherd；　weep　no　more　
For　Lycidas；　your　sorrow；　is　not　dead；
Sunk　though　he　be　beneath　the　watery　floor。。。　
It　must　be　a　movement　then；　an　actuality　of　the　possible　as　possible。　Aristotle's　phrase　formed　itself　within　the　gabbled　verses　and　floated　out　into　the　studious　silence　of　the　library　of　Saint　Genevieve　where　he　had　read；　sheltered　from　the　sin　of　Paris；　night　by　night。　By　his　elbow　a　delicate　Siamese　conned　a　handbook　of　strategy。　Fed　and　feeding　brains　about　me：　under　glowlamps；　impaled；　with　faintly　beating　feelers：　and　in　my　mind's　darkness　a　sloth　of　the　underworld；　reluctant；　shy　of　brightness；　shifting　her　dragon　scaly　folds。　Thought　is　the　thought　of　thought。　Tranquil　brightness。　The　soul　is　in　a　manner　all　that　is：　the　soul　is　the　form　of　forms。　Tranquillity　sudden；　vast；　candescent：　form　of　forms。　
Talbot　repeated：　
　Through　the　dear　might　of　Him　that　walked　the　waves；　
Through　the　dear　might。。。　
　Turn　over；　Stephen　said　quietly。　I　don't　see　anything。　
　What；　sir？　Talbot　asked　simply；　bending　forward。　
His　hand　turned　the　page　over。　He　leaned　back　and　went　on　again　having　just　remembered。　Of　him　that　walked　the　waves。　Here　also　over　these　craven　hearts　his　shadow　lies　and　on　the　scoffer's　heart　and　lips　and　on　mine。　It　lies　upon　their　eager　faces　who　offered　him　a　coin　of　the　tribute。　To　Caesar　wh