Chapter 11 Chapter 9 1

In order to ease everyone's emotions, the Quaker [1] - the librarian said softly and politely: "Isn't the goal still the precious chapter of William Meister? One great poet speaks of another great fraternal poet.[2] An indecisive soul, by contradictory Torn apart by doubts, stand up against the boundless suffering of the world[3], just as we see in real life." Stepping on creaking cowhide shoes[4], he danced a five-step dance[5] to step forward, and danced a five-step dance[6] to take a step back on the solemn floor. One of the orderlies quietly opened the door and gestured silently to him.

"Come right on," he said, and was about to walk away on his squeaky shoes, but hesitated. "Dreamers who are full of gorgeous fantasies but are not practical, when faced with harsh reality, they will only fail. [7] We read this, and we always feel that Goethe's thesis is really right. His macro analysis is correct." As if listening to a doubly loud analysis, he walked away on the "Corando" dance.Resting his head, he raised his big ears by the door, listened to every word of the foreman, and then left. There are only two people left. "Monsieur de Lapalis," said Stephen, sneering, "was alive until a quarter of an hour before he died.[9]"

"Have you found those six brave medical students?" asked John Eglinton,[10] in an elderly harsh tone, "so that they might take notes[11]. He called it The Devil's "Trouble".[12]" smile.Make Cranly[13] smile. At first he tickled her, And then caress her, And poked in a female urinary catheter. Because he is a medical student, A hearty and happy old doctor... "If it's Hamlet, I think you need to add another character. Seven is a precious number to the mystic. Will Bar called it the splendid seven.[14]" Bright-eyed, he put his auburn-haired head close to the green-shaded desk lamp, and in the dark green shadows searched for the unshaven face—Olaf's face with the eyes of a saint. [15] He chuckled under his breath.This is the smile of the work-study students[16] of Trinity College.No one paid him any attention.

The devil of the orchestra cries, Angelic tears were shed. [17] Instead of the horn, however, he substituted his own ass. [18] He took my folly as a handle. Cranly's eleven native Wicklow[19] men had ambitions to liberate their country.Kathleen the Toothless, her four beautiful green fields, the stranger in her family. [20] Yet another greeted him: "Hello, Rabbi.[21] Twelve of the city of Tinayli[22]. In the shadow of the ravine he whistled to them. One after another To him I give the youth of my soul at night. I wish you a safe journey. Good hunter.[23] Mulligan had my telegram. [twenty four]

folly.If you don't do it, you won't stop. "Our young poets in Ireland," warned John Eglinton, "have yet to produce a character who will be hailed by the world as the equal of the Saxon Shakespeare's Hamlet. Although I and old Ben [25] also admire him, and adore him so much." "These are purely academic questions," Russell mused from the shadows. "I mean the question of whether Hamlet was Shakespeare or James I[26] or the Earl of Essex[27], as if it were for the priests to discuss the historical truth of Jesus. Art A certain concept must be revealed to us—the invisible spiritual essence[28]. The most important question about a work of art is: what kind of profound life does it emerge from. Gustave Moreau[29 ]’s paintings express ideas. Shelley’s most profound verses and Hamlet’s words can make our hearts come into contact with eternal wisdom and Plato’s world of ideas. The rest are just fantasies among students .”

A. E. once said this to the American reporters who came to interview. [30] Oh, damn it! "Scholars have to be students first," Stephen said very politely, "Aristotle was once a student of Plato." "And he's always been that way, as we hope," said John Eglinton quietly. "We always seem to see him as a model student with a diploma under his arm." He smiled again at the bearded face that was smiling now. Intangible spiritual.Father, Word, Holy Breath.Father of all souls, heaven and man [31].Hisus Christos[32], magician of beauty, logos[33] who is constantly suffering within us.It really is that.I am the fire on the altar.I am butter for sacrifice. [34]

Dunlop[35], Judge[36], the noblest Roman among their kind[37], A.E. [39]—That was their Master, whose true face is known to all who are well informed.The members of the Big White House Branch[40] are always watching to see if they can help.Christ carries the bride nun[41], the moistening light, the virgin conceived of the Holy Spirit, the repentant divine wisdom[42], and after death enters the realm of the Buddha.Mysterious life is not suitable for ordinary people.All living beings must first redeem their sins.Mrs. Cooper Oakley[43] once caught a glimpse of our illustrious sister, H. P. B., in her original state.

Hum! Hum! Bah! Bah! [44] Shame on you, daredevil! [45] You shouldn't watch, ma'am.When a woman is raw, it's not allowed to look. Mr. Best[46] came in.Tall, young, gentle, and serene.In his hand he held a large, new, clean and brightly colored notebook gracefully. "That model student would have thought," said Stephen, "that Prince Hamlet's meditations on the afterlife of his soul, his incredible, insignificant, banal monologues, were as shallow as Plato."[47] John Eglinton frowned and said angrily: "Honestly, when someone compares Aristotle to Plato, it blows my lungs."

"Which of the two of them is it that wants to drive me out of the Utopia?" Stephen asked.[48] Show off your dagger-like definition.Horse nature is the essence of all horses.They venerate the ups and downs and Yi Chung[49].God: Shouts in the street.The Peripatetic School[50] is full of flavor.Space: That's something you have to see.Through a space smaller than a red blood cell in human blood, chasing after Black's hip, they slowly crawled into eternity.This vegetable world is only its shadow. [51] Hold tight to the here and now, through which all the future will flow into the past. [52]

Mr. Best approached his colleague amiably. "Haynes is gone," he said. "yes?" "I showed him Jubainville. You know, he's all over Hyde's 'Connaught's Love Song.' I went to the bookstore to buy this book." My pamphlet, go quickly, Greetings to the numb public, Written in impoverished English, Never my intention. [54] "Peat smoke on his brain," remarked John Eglinton. We Brits feel...[55] repentant thieves. [56] Gone.I smoked his cigarettes.A brilliant green gemstone.Emerald set in the ring of the sea. [57] "People don't know how dangerous love songs are," warns Golden Egg[58] Russell in treacherous tones, "that the revolutionary movements that arouse in the world were born in the foothills, in the dreams and visions of a peasant Yes. To them the earth is not a soil to cultivate, but a living mother. The thin air of colleges and squares produces novels for six shillings apiece and ditties for the theater. France through Ulamé [59] Created the most delicate flowers of decadence, but only the spiritually poor[60] can obtain the enlightenment of the ideal life. For example, the life of the Phoenicians described by Homer."

After hearing these words, Mr. Best turned his non-aggressive face to Stephen. "You know, those wonderful prose poems written by Ulamet," he said, "Stige McKenna [61] used to read to me when I was in Paris. There was one about "Hamlet" [62] He said: He strolled while reading a book he wrote himself.[63] You know: reading a book he wrote himself. He described a French town where Hamlet was staged. The scene. You know, it’s a town in the interior. They even advertised.” He gestured gracefully with his free hand, and wrote small words in the void: Hamlet or trance man Shakespeare's plays[64] He repeated to John Eglinton's renewed frown: "You know, Shakespeare's plays[65]. Very French. French point of view. Hamlet or...[66]" "A beggar in a trance [67]," Stigiel finished for him. John Eglinton laughed. "Yes, that's how it seems to me," he said, "a fine people, no doubt, but annoyingly short-sighted about certain things."[68] A homicide drama with luxurious but dull plot and exaggerated content. [69] "Robert Greene called him 'The Executioner of Souls,'" said Stephen, "and he was worthy of being a butcher's son,[71] spitting on the palm of his hand, and swung the buffed axe [72] Nine were buried for the life of his father[73]. Our father in purgatory.[74] The Hamlets in khaki uniforms fired without hesitation.[75] The bloody tragedy in five acts [76] is the prelude to the concentration camps that Mr. Swinburne has sung in his poems [77]." Cranly, and I, one of his taciturn orderlies, watched the battle from a distance. To the women and children of vicious enemies, Only we forgive... Caught between a Saxon smile and a Yankee chatter.Between the devil and the abyss. "He wanted to make Hamlet a ghost story," explained John Eglinton for Mr. Best, "like the fat boy in Pickwick, and he wanted to scare us to the bone. [78] Listen, listen, ah, listen! [79] My physical body listened to his words, listening with trepidation. If you ever...[80] "What's a ghost?" said Stephen briskly. "It's nothing more than a person's disappearance into nothingness through death, absence, and change of form. Elizabethan London and Stratford[ 81] As far as depraved Paris is today from chaste Dublin. Who is the ghost that has left the house of his imprisoned ancestors[82] and returned to a world that has forgotten him? Who is Hamlet Where is the king?" John Eglinton shifted his small frame, leaned back, and passed judgment. Emotions run high. "It was at this hour in the middle of June," said Stephen, with a quick glance to draw attention to him, "that the flag was hoisted in the theater by the river. In the Paris garden next door, Saxon The big bear roared in the pen. The old sailors who had sailed with Drake, mingled with the spectators at the pit, chewed their sausages.[83]” local color.Knead everything you know.Make them accomplices. "Shakespeare left the Huguenot house in Silver Street and set out along the swan-threshold that lined the river bank. Yet he did not stop to feed the little swans who were driving flocks of cygnets toward the rushes. Going mother swans. The swans of the Avon [84] have other ideas." The composition of the field. [85] Come and help me, Ignatius Loyola! "The play begins. An actor walks up out of the shadows. He's in the leftover armor of some dandy at court. He's big and has a bass voice. That's the ghost, the king. , not a king,[87] the actor is Shakespeare.[88] He spent his whole life in the study of "Hamlet" in order to play the part of the ghost. He stretched a layer of wax cloth [89], calling the name of the young actor Burbage [90] who stood opposite him: Hamlet.Ah, I am your father's ghost...[91] and bade him listen.He spoke to the son, the son of his own soul—the prince, young Hamlet; and also to Hamnet[92] Shakespeare, the inner son—who died at Stratford, that Grant his namesake eternal life. " As an actor, Shakespeare became a ghost because he went out, and he wore the costume of the Danish king in the tomb that became a ghost after death[93]. did not die, he became Prince Hamlet's twin brother), speaking his own lines? I would like to know if he could not, is there any reason to believe that he did not derive from these premises or did not foresee To the logical conclusion: You are the deposed son, I the murdered father, your mother the guilty queen,[94] Ann Shakespeare née Hathaway? "But to spy on the family life of a great man like this, that's..." Russell began impatiently. Are you there, honest man?[95] "Only the deacon is interested in that. I mean, we have the script. That is, when we read the poems of "King Lear", how did the poet live, fuck us What is it? Our servants can live for us, said Villiers de Lisier.[96] Peep and pry at the gossip of the actors in the lounge that day: how the poet is drunk, how the poet is in debt. We have "King Lear," and that's immortal." This was addressed to Mr. Best, who gave a look of approval. Sink them with your waves, your oceans, Manannan, Manannan McLear...[97] Well, man, where's that pound he lent you when you were hungry?[98] Ouch, I need that money. Take this Noble[99]. Go to yours! You spend most of your money on the bed of Georgina Johnson, the Vicar's daughter.Inner blame. Are you going to pay it back? Well, of course. when? now? Well... no. So when? I have never been in debt.I have never been in debt. Be calm.He came from the other side of the Boyne.On the northeast corner. [101] You owe him money. Wait a minute.It's been five months.All the molecules have changed.I am now a different person.The money is owed by the other one. Long outdated! [102] However, I, the principle of life, the form of form, because the form is constantly changing, in memory, I am still me. [103] I have sinned, prayed, and fasted. One of the children Conmi saved from corporal punishment. [104] Me, me and me, me. A·E·I·O·U· "Are you trying to violate a tradition that has lasted three centuries?" asked John Eglinton, in a critical tone. "At least her soul is at rest forever. At least, as far as literature is concerned, she died before she was born." passed away." "She died sixty-seven years after her birth," retorted Stigmad, "she saw him born and departed.[105] She accepted his first embrace. She gave birth to his Dolls. When he was dying, she put a few pennies on his eyelids, so that he could die." The mother was lying on her death bed.Candle.A mirror covered with a sheet.There lay the man who brought me into this world, with bronze coins on his eyelids, under a few cheap flowers.Lights adorned with lilies...[106] I cry alone. John Eglinton looked at his fluorescent lamp with tangled flames. [107] "The world believed that Shakespeare had done something wrong," he said, "and as soon as she got out of it by the most ingenious means."[108] "That's nonsense!" said Stephen rashly. "A genius can do no wrong. He did it knowingly. That's the door of knowledge." The door of knowledge opened, and the Quaker-librarian entered, his shoes creaking softly.He has rested his head, pricked up his ears, and is conscientious. "It's hard to imagine," said John Eglinton wisely, "that the shrew would be a useful door of insight. What did Socrates learn from Zantibe?" "Dialectic[110] well," said Stephen, "and from his mother how to bring ideas into the world.[111] He learned from another wife, Mertault[112] (the name doesn't matter![113]) —that is, 'a duplicate of the soul of good Socrates[114]'—what is learned there, no man or woman can ever know. But 'midwifery', the boudoir [ 116] No matter what, Sinn Féin[117] consuls and their cup of hemlock can save his life.[118]” "But Ann Hartaway?" said Mr. Best, in a quiet, absent-minded tone. "Yes, we seem to have forgotten her, as Shakespeare himself has forgotten her." He glanced from the beard of the meditating man to the head of the critic, as if to remind them, to rebuke them affably, and then to the pink bald head of the persecuted though innocent Lollard. head. "He has a touch of wit," said Stephen, "and a good memory. As he trudged toward Romeville, whistling 'The Girl I Left Behind,' his pack There is memory in it. Even if the earthquake had not been recorded[122], we should know that the poor little rabbit squatting in the nest, the barking of the hound, the carved rein, her blue window ,[123] at what period of his life. The memory depicted in "Venus and Adonis"[124] exists in the bedroom of every slut in London. Shrew Katharina[ 125] Is she ugly? Hortensio says she is young and beautiful. Do you think that the author of Antony and Cleopatra, a passionate pilgrim[126], has eyes behind his head, Singled out the ugliest whore in Warwickshire to sleep with himself? Yes, he left her, and got the man's world[127]. Yet the heroines[128] played by boys were Women as seen through the eyes of a boy[129]. Their life, thought, and language are all given by the man. Did he not choose? I think he was rather chosen.[130] If Other women can do what they want[131], Anne has her way.[132] Indeed, she is to blame.[133] It was she, the sweet girl of twenty-six years[134] who seduced him. Like a beautiful prologue[135], the gray-eyed goddess[136] crouching over the young Adonis, and condescending to win. Such is the impudent Stratford slut who took her younger lover[137] Overturned in the wheat field[138]." my turn? when? bring it on! "Ryefield," said Mr. Best cheerfully, and held up his new book with delight and gaiety. Then he murmured into a chant; the fair hair pleased all the eyes. Between the ridges of the rye field, Handsome country men and women sleep. [139] Paris, the intoxicated seducer. [140] A tall man in a shaggy home-knit[141] rose from the shadows and lifted the cover of his pocket watch from the head of the co-op. "Looks like I've got the Homeland." Where? To developable land. "Are you going?" asked John Eglinton, raising his eyebrows. "Let's meet at Moore's tonight, shall we? Piper is coming." "Piper!" shrieked Mr. Best. "Is Piper back?" Peter Piper crackled and picked at the brine and pepper. [144] "That's hard to say. It's Thursday, and we've got another meeting, if I can get away in time..." The yoga chamber of the theosophists in Dawson's suite[145]. "Isis Unveiled". [146] We tried to pawn their Pali[147] work.He sits cross-legged on a throne under the shade of a dun canopy; the Logos[148] of the Aztecs functioning in the astral world, their Oversoul[149], the Self[150].Devout mystic believers who are qualified enough to get started surround him, waiting for the revelation.Louis H. Victory [151]. T. Caulfield Allwin [152].The maidens of the Lotus Pure Land watched them constantly. [153] Their pineal gland[154] glows brightly.He was filled with God in his heart and ascended to the throne.Buddha under the banana tree. [155] One who swallows the soul, one who devours. [156] His ghost, her ghost, hordes of ghosts. [157] They groaned and were drawn into the whirlpool, whirling and weeping. [158] Trifles of the essence of all things, The soul of a woman who has been in a meat prison for many years. [159] "They say there's going to be an astonishment in the arts," said the Quaker librarian, friendly and earnest. "I hear Mr. Russell is putting together a collection of our young poets.[160] Everyone Everyone is looking forward to it.” He scanned eagerly by the cone of light.Under the light, the three faces glowed brightly. See it, and keep it in your mind. Stephen looked down at the wide-brimmed flat hat that hung across his knee from the handle of his ash stick.my helmet and sword.Touch lightly with two index fingers.Aristotle's experiments.One or two? Therein lies the inevitability.A person can only be himself and cannot be anything else. [161] So, a hat is a hat. [162] listen. [163] Young Colum and Stuckey [164].George Roberts[165] was in charge of the commercial side.Longworth[166] would have smacked it in the Express.Oh, will he? I love Colum's The Livestock Trader.Yes, I think he has that weird thing--genius.Do you think he is really a genius? Yeats once praised his poem: like a Greek bottle buried in the desert. [167] Really? I hope you can come tonight.Malachi Mulligan was coming too.Murto He brought Haines.Did you hear Miss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martin? She said Moore was Martin's rascal. [168] It is so ingeniously told that it reminds one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.Dr. Sigerson [169] said that the epic of our nation has not yet been written.Moore is just the right guy.He is a sad knight here in Dublin[170].O'Neil Russell[171] in an orange pleated skirt[172]? Ah, yes, he must speak dignified archaisms.And his Dulcinia[173]? James Stephens[174] is writing witty vignettes.It seems we are becoming more and more important. Cordelia.Caudellio.Lear's loneliest daughter. [175] Remote and wild.Now it's time to apply your favorite French polish. [176] "Thank you very much, Mr. Russell," Stephen said as he stood up, "Please give this letter to Mr. Norman..." "Ah, all right. If he thinks it's important, he'll publish it. We've had an overwhelming response from readers." "I know," said Stephen, "thanks." God bless you. [177] Piggy's Newspaper [178].Friends of the Steer pie. Singer had also promised me to write an article for Dana magazine.Will there be readers for our articles? I think there will be.The Gaelic League[180] highlights what is written in Irish.I hope you will come tonight.Bring Starkey too. Stephen sat down. The Quaker-Librarian approached after greeting those who were taking their leave.With a flushed face like a mask, he said: "Mr. Dedalus, your point of view is very illuminating." He stood on tiptoe, pacing up and down with squeaky footsteps, how thick the heels were, and how close he was to the sky[181].Then, under the din of going out, he whispered: "So, do you think she was unfaithful to the poet?" The astonished face asked me.Why did he come? Is it out of politeness, or did he get some inner light?[182] "Since there is a reconciliation," Stephen said, "there must have been disputes in the first place." "is not it." Christ Fox in tan leather leggings.A desperado, hiding in a dead tree, avoiding the hustle and bustle.He has never dealt with female foxes.Alone and chased.He won the hearts of women, soft-hearted ones: a Babylonian whore, and judges' wives, and plump tavernkeeper's wives. [183] ​​"Fox into Geese" [184].In the "Xindi" mansion [185], there is a lazy, prodigal woman.When she was once bright and tender and lovely as cinnamon, she was all fallen and naked, and fearful of the narrow grave and unforgiven. "Isn't it? Well, you think-" The door closed behind the backs of those who went out. A silence suddenly fell over the deep vaulted room.It was the stillness of the warm and stagnant air. A lamp by Vestai[186]. Here, he contemplates some unfounded things. If Caesar believed the prophet's warning and survived,[187] then what would he do? Things that may happen.The possibilities of possible occurrences, possible situations. [188] Unknowable things.When A Xiliu lived among the female generation, what name did he use?[189] Around me are closed thoughts, preserved in mummification boxes filled with linguistic spices.Thoth [190], god of the library, god of birds wearing a moon crown.I heard the voice of the Egyptian chief priest[191]: In the colorful rooms full of clay books. These thoughts are silent.They were once very active in the human mind.Silent, but within them was a desire for death, telling a sentimental story in my ear, urging me to reveal their desire. "There is no doubt," said John Eglinton, after a moment's pause, "that of all great men he is the most incomprehensible. We know nothing of him except that he lived and suffered. No, Not even this is clear. Others are subject to our doubts[192]. The rest are in shadow[193]." "But Hamlet is such a personal work, isn't it?" pleaded Mr. Best, "you know, I mean, it's a kind of personal diary about his private life—I mean , his life. As for who was killed or who was the murderer, I don't care a bit..." He put the innocent notebook on the edge of the table with a challenging smile on his face.His personal account written in Gaelic.The ship is on land.I am a monk. [194] Translate it into English[195], Little John. [196] Little John Eglinton said: "From what I've heard Malachi Mulligan say, I'm prepared for such absurdities. But I may as well advise you that if you want to shake my belief that Shakespeare is Hamlet, you can do so." It's not easy." forgive me. [197] Stephen endured the poison of eyes that gleamed sternly and evilly under furrowed brows.Xiao Wang [198].And once it stares at it, people will be bewitched to death. [199] Monsieur Brunetto[200], I thank you for this statement. "Just as we, or Mother Dana[201], weave and unravel our bodies day by day,[202]" said Stephen, "the molecules of the flesh go back and forth; so an artist weaves his figure Rise up and unravel. Although my physical body is repeatedly woven with new matter, the mole[203] brought from the fetus on my right breast is still where it was. Similarly, the image of the son who did not live in the world, through the The dead soul of my father, who will not rest in peace, is looking forward. The moment when the imagination bursts out, in Shelley's words, when the spirit turns into burnt coal[204], the past me becomes the present my future me, and possibly my future me. So in the future (which is the sister of the past), I can see my present sitting here, but it reflects my future me.” Drummond [205] of Hawthornden got you through. "Yes," said Mr. Best cheerily, "I think Hamlet is very young.[206] His passion for the world may have come from his father, but those passages with Ophelia must have come from him. " This is a big mistake.He is in my father and I am in his son. "That sore never goes away," laughed Stephen. John Eglinton frowned sullenly. "If that's the birthmark of genius," he said, "genius is a slow seller. The plays of Shakespeare's later years, so admired by Renan, show a different spirit." "Spirit of reconciliation," whispered a Quaker librarian. "What's the point of reconciliation," Stephen said, "unless there was a dispute first." That's all for now. "If you want to know what events overshadowed the terrible moments of King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, and Troilus and Cressida, you must first Note when and how this shadow vanished. In terrible tempests, Lycles, prince of Tyre, was capsized, and he suffered like another Ulysses.[209] What gave Where does his heart bring comfort?" Wearing a red pointed hat, he was tortured and his eyes were blocked by tears. [210] "A doll—the girl Marina[211] in his arms." "The tendency of the Sophists to go astray into the Apocrypha[212] is a constant law," John Eglinton put it, "the Highway[213] is deserted, but it leads to the city." Nice bacon[214].Already moldy.The far-fetched notion that Shakespeare is Bacon. [215] The cipher-juggler [216] walks the avenue.People who engage in magnificent exploration.What city are you going to, gentlemen? Incognito: A·E·, eternity.Magee was John Eglinton[217].East of the sun, west of the moon, [218] the country of immortality [219].Both wear boots and use crutches. [220] How far is it from Dublin[211]? Sir, seventy miles to go. Can it be time to light up the lights? "Brandeis decided," said Stephen, "that it was the first play of the late period.[222]" "Really? What does Mr. Sidney Lee—or, as some say, formerly Simon Lazarus—say about that?" "Marina was the child of the storm[224], Miranda was the miracle[225], Perdita was lost[226]. What was lost was returned to him; the doll of his daughter.[227] Pericris Said: 'My dearest wife is like this girl.'[228] Would any man love his daughter if he had never loved his mother?[229]” "The art of being grandpa," muttered Mr. Best, "the art of becoming great...[230]" ["Would he see another image reborn in her, referring to the memory of his own youth?" Do you know what you're talking about? Love - yes.Words that everyone knows. [231] Love is due to the desire to give to the other person to make him happy.Wanting something is the satisfaction of one's desire. ][232] "For a man of that queer thing called genius, his image is the benchmark of all experience, material and spiritual. Such resonances would touch his heartstrings. Other men of his blood He would be disgusted by the image of nature. He would see in it the nondescript attempt of nature to foreshadow or repeat his own." The broad forehead of the Quaker-Librarian was rosy with hope aflame. "For enlightenment, I hope Mr. Dedalus will complete this doctrine of his. We must also mention another Irish commentator, Mr. George Bernard Shaw[233]. Nor must we forget Frank Harris[234] Mr. His essay on Shakespeare in the Saturday Review is wonderful. Strangely enough, he also gives us a description of the unhappy relationship between the author of the Sonnets and the 'Black Lady' The rival in love favored by this woman was William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke.[236] If the poet had to be rejected, such a refusal—what shall I say?—seems to me to be It is rather consistent with our view of what should not be."[237] With these well-worded words he held up his docile head in the midst of the crowd—a puffin's egg[238], the prey they all fought over. He used the old-fashioned phrases of a husband—like wife, wife.Do you love me, Miriam? [239] Do you love your husband? [240] "That's possible," said Stephen, "Maggie likes to quote Goethe: 'Be careful what you dream of when you are young, for it will come true in middle age. [241] Why did he send a petty nobleman[242] to propose to a flower girl[243]? She is the bay that everyone travels[244], maid of disrepute[245] in girlhood.A linguistic aristocrat[246] himself, becoming a humble gentleman, he also wrote Romeo and Juliet.Why? His self-confidence was stifled prematurely.First, he was crushed in a wheat field (or rye field, so to speak).After that he was no longer a winner in his own eyes, much less at the game of laughing and lying down[247].No matter how much Tang Su[248] pretends to be himself, it will not help.No matter how you make up for it later, you can't recover the initial failure.他被野猪的獠牙咬伤了[249]，悍妇即使输了， 她手中也还有那看不见的女性武器。我感觉，他的言词中有着刺激肉身使其陷入新的激情的东西。这是比最初的激情还要晦暗的影子，甚至使他对自己的认识都模糊起来。同样的命运在等待着他，两种狂乱汇成一股漩涡。 他们在倾听。我往他们的耳腔内注入。 “灵魂已经受到了致命的一击，睡觉的时候，毒草汁被注入耳腔。[250]然而在睡眠中遇害的人不可能了解自己是怎样被害的，除非造物主赋予他们的灵魂以洞察来世的本事。倘若造物主不曾让他晓得，哈姆莱特王的鬼魂不可能知道毒杀以及促使这一行动的双背禽兽[251]的事。正因为如此，他的言辞(贫乏而且寒伧的英语[252])总是转到旁的方面，转到后面。既是凌辱者又是被凌辱者，既愿意又不愿意[253]，从鲁克丽丝那蓝纹纵横的象牙球般的双乳[254]，到伊摩琴袒露着的胸脯上那颗梅花形的痣[255]，一直紧紧缠绕着他。为了逃避自己，他积累起一大堆创作。如今对这些都已厌倦了，就像一只舔着旧时伤口的老狗似的折回去了。然而，由于失对他来说就是得，他就带着丝毫不曾减弱的人性步入永恒。他所写下的智慧也罢，他所阐明的法则也罢，都没有使他受到教益。他的脸甲掀起来了。[256]如今他成为亡灵，成为阴影;他成为从艾尔西诺的峰岩间刮过去的风;或是各遂所愿[257]，成了海洋的声音——只有作为影子的实体的那个人，与父同体的儿子，才听得见的声音。” “啊们!”有个声音在门口回答说。 我的冤家呀，你找到我了吗？[258] 幕间休息[259]。 这时，形容猥琐、神态像副主教那样阴沉的勃克·穆利根身穿色彩斑斓的小丑服装，愉快地向笑脸相迎的人们走来。我的电报。[260] “假若我没听错的话，你在谈论设有实质的脊椎动物[261]吧?”他问斯蒂芬。 他穿着淡黄色背心，把他摘下的巴拿马草帽当作丑角的帽子似的抡着，快活地致意。 大家向他表示欢迎。你尽管嘲弄他，也还是得侍奉他[262]。 一样嘲弄者，佛提乌，冒牌的小先知，[263]约翰·莫斯特[264]。 他，自我诞生之神，以圣灵为媒介，自己委派自己为赎罪者，来到自己和旁人之间，他受仇敌欺骗，被剥光衣服，遭到鞭笞，被钉在十字架上饿死，宛若蝙蝠钉于谷仓门上，听任自己被埋葬，重新站起，征服了地狱，[265]升入天堂。一千九百年来，坐于自己的实体之右。当生者全部死亡之日，将从彼而来，审判生死者。 [266] 天主 受享荣 福于——天。[267] 他举起双手。圣器的帷幕垂下来了。啊，成簇的花儿!一座又一座又一座钟，响成一片。 “是呀，确实是，”公谊会教徒－图书馆长说，“那是一场最令人受教益的讨论。穆利根先生想必对莎士比亚的戏剧也自有他的高见。应该把人生的各个方面都谈一谈。” 他一视同仁地朝四面八方微笑着。 勃克·穆利根困惑地左思右想。 “莎士比亚?”他说，“我好像听说过这个名字。” 他那皮肉松弛的脸上闪过一丝开朗的微笑。 “没错儿，”他恍然大悟了，“就是写得像辛格[268]的那位老兄。” 贝斯特先生转向他。 “海恩斯找你哪，”他说，“你碰上他了吗?回头他要在都柏林面包公司跟你见面。他到吉尔书店买海德的《康纳特情歌》去了。” “我是从博物馆穿过来的，”勃克·穆利根说，“他来过这儿吗?” “'大诗人'的同胞们也许对咱们这精彩的议论颇感厌烦了，”约翰·埃格林顿回答说，“我听说昨天晚上在都柏林，一位女演员[269]第四百零人次演出《哈姆莱特》。维宁[270]提出，这位王子是个女的。有没有人发现他是个爱尔兰人呢?我相信审判官巴顿[271]正在查找什么线索。他(指王子殿下，而不是审判官大人) 曾凭着圣帕特里克的名义起过誓[272]。” “最妙的是王水德的故事《威·休先生的肖像》，”贝斯特先生举起他那出色的笔记本说，“他在其中证明《十四行诗》是一个名叫威利·休斯的八面玲珑的人写的。”[273] “那不是献给威利·休斯的吗?”公谊会教徒－图书馆长问。 要不就是休依·威尔斯?威廉先生本人。 [274]W·H。who am I? “我认为是为威利·休斯而写的，”贝斯特先生顺口纠正自己的谬误说，“当然喽，这全是些似是而非的话。要知道，就像休斯和砍伐和色彩，[275]他的写法独特。要知道，这才是王尔德的精髓呢。落笔轻松。” 他泛着微笑，轻轻地扫视大家一眼。白肤金发碧眼的年轻小伙子。王尔德那柔顺的精髓。[276] 你着实鬼得很。用堂迪希的钱[277]喝了三杯威士忌。 我花了多少？哦，不过几个先令。 为了让一样新闻记者喝上一通。讲那些干净的和不干净的笑话。机智。为了把他打扮自己的那身青春的华服弄到手，你不惜舍弃你的五种机智。[278] 欲望得到满足的面貌。[279] 机会是很多的。交情的时候，把她让给你吧。天神啊，让他们过一个凉快的交尾期吧。[280]对，把她当作斑鸠那样地疼爱吧。 夏娃在赤裸的小麦色肚皮下面犯的罪孽。一条蛇盘绕着她，龇着毒牙跟她接吻。[281] “你认为这不过是谬论吗?”公谊会教徒－图书馆长在问，“当嘲弄者最认真的时候，却从未被认真对待过。” 他们严肃地讨论起嘲弄者的真诚。 勃克·穆利根又把脸一耷拉，朝斯蒂芬瞅了几眼。然后摇头晃脑地凑过来，从兜里掏出一封折叠着的电报。他那灵活的嘴唇读时露出微笑，带着新的喜悦。 “电报!”他说，“了不起的灵感!电报!罗马教皇的训渝!” 他坐在桌子灯光照不到的一角，兴高采烈地大声读着： “伤感主义者乃只顾享受而对所做之事不深觉歉疚之火。[282]署名：迪达勒斯。你是打哪儿打的电报?窑子吗?不。学院公园？你把四镑钱都喝掉了吧?姑妈说是要去拜访你那位非同体的父亲。电报!玛拉基·穆利根。下阿贝街'船记'酒馆。噢，你这个举世无双的滑稽演员!哦，你这个以教士自居的混蛋金赤!” 他乐呵呵地将电报和封套塞到兜里，却又用爱尔兰土腔气冲冲地说： “是这么回事。好兄弟，当海恩斯亲自把电报拿进来的时候，他和我都正觉得苦恼烦闷来着。我们曾嘟囔说，要足足地喝上它一杯，让行乞的修士都会起魔障。我正转着这个念头，他呢，跟姑娘们黏糊起来了。我们就乖乖儿地坐在康纳里[283]那儿，一个钟头，两个钟头，三个钟头地等下去，指望着每人喝上五六杯呢。” 他唉声叹气地说： “我们就呆在那儿，乖乖[284]，把舌头耷拉得一码长，活像那想酒想得发昏的干嗓子教士。你呢，也不知道躲到哪儿去了，居然还给我们送来了这么个玩艺儿。” 斯蒂芬笑了。 勃克·穆利根像是要提出警告似地弯下腰去。 “流浪汉辛格[285]正在找你哪，”他说，“好把你宰了。他听说你曾往他那坐落在格拉斯特赫尔的房子的正门上撒尿。他趿拉着一双破鞋到处走， 说是要把你宰了。” “我!”斯蒂芬喊道，“那可是你对文学做出的一桩贡献呀。” 勃克·穆利根开心地向后仰着，朝那黑咕隆咚偷听着的天花板大笑。 “宰了你!”他笑道。 在圣安德烈艺术街上，我一边吃着下水杂烩，一边望着那些严厉的怪兽形面孔。[286]用那对语言报以语言的语言，讲一通话。[287]莪相和帕特里克。[288]他在克拉玛尔森林遇见了抡着酒瓶的牧羊神。[289]那是圣星期五!杀人凶手爱尔兰人。他遇见了自己游荡着的形象。我遇见了我的。我在林中遇见一个傻子。[290] “利斯特[291]先生，”一个工役从半掩着的门外招呼说。 “……每个人都能在其中找到自己的形象。审判官先生马登在他的《威廉·赛伦斯少爷日记》中找到了狞猎术语……[292]啊，什么事?” “老爷，来了一位先生，”工役走过来，边递上名片边说，“是《自由人报》社的。他是想看看去年的《基尔肯尼民众报》[293]合订本。” “好的，好的，好的。这位先生在……?” 他接过那张殷勤地递过来的名片，带看不看地瞥了一眼，放下来，并没有读，只是瞟着，边问边把鞋踩得橐橐作响。又问： “他在……?哦，在那儿哪!” 他快步跳着五步舞[294]出去了。在浴满阳光的走廊上，他不辞劳苦，热情地、口若悬河地谈着，极其公正、极其和蔼地尽着本分，不愧为一名最忠诚的“宽边帽”[295]。 “是这位先生吗?《自由人报》?《基尔肯尼民众报》?对。您好，先生。《基尔肯尼……》……我们当然有喽……” 一个男子的侧影耐心地等待着，耹听着。 “主要的地方报纸全都有……《北方辉格》、《科克观察报》、《恩尼斯科尔西卫报》[296]。去年。一九0三……请您……埃文斯，给这位先生领路……您只要跟着这个工役……要么，还是我自己……这边……先生，请您……” 口若悬河，尽着本分，他领先到放着所有地方报纸的所在。一个鞠着躬的黑影儿尾随着他那匆忙的脚后跟。 The door is closed. “犹太佬!”勃克·穆利根大声说。 他一跃而起，一把抓住名片。 “他叫什么名字?艾克依·摩西[297]吗?布卢姆。” 他喋喋不休地讲下去： “包皮的搜集者[298]耶和华已经不在了。刚才我在博物馆里遇见过他。我到那儿是去向海泡里诞生的阿佛洛狄忒致意的。这位希腊女神从来没有歪起嘴来祷告过。咱们每天都得向她致敬。生命的生命，你的嘴唇点燃起火焰。[299]” 他突然转向斯蒂芬： “他认识你。他认识你的老头子。哦，我怕他，他比希腊人还要希腊化。他那双淡色的加利利[300]眼睛总盯着女神中央那道沟沟。美臀维纳斯。[301]啊，她有着怎样一副腰肢啊!天神追逐，女郎躲藏。[302]” “我们还想再听听，”约翰·埃格林顿征得贝斯特先生的赞同后说，“我们开始对莎[303]太太感兴趣了。在这之前，即便我们想到过她， 也不过把她看作是一位有耐心的克雨雪达[304]，留守家中的潘奈洛佩[305]。” “戈尔吉亚的弟子安提西尼[306]，”斯蒂芬说，“从曼涅劳王的妻子、阿凯人海伦手里把美的标志棕榈枝拿过来，交给了可怜的潘奈洛佩。二十位英雄在特洛伊那匹母木马[307]里睡过觉。他[308]在伦敦住了二十年， 其间有个时期领的薪水跟爱尔兰总督一样多。他的生活是丰裕的。他的艺术超越了沃尔特·惠特曼所说的封建主义艺术，[309]乃是饱满的艺术。热腾腾的鲜鱼馅饼、 绿杯里斟得满满的白葡萄酒、蜂蜜酱、蜜饯玫瑰、杏仁糖、醋栗填鸽、刺芹糖块。沃尔特·雷利爵士[310]被捕的时候，身上穿着值五十万法郎的衣服，包括一件精致的胸衣。放高利贷的伊丽莎·都铎[311]的内衣之多，赛得过示巴女王。[312]足足有二十年之久， 他徘徊在夫妻那纯洁缠绵的恩爱与娼妇淫荡的欢乐之间。你们可晓得曼宁汉姆那个关于一个市民老婆的故事吧，她看了迪克[313]·伯比奇在《理查三位》中的演出，就邀请他上自己的床。莎士比亚无意中听到了，没费多大力气[314]就制服了母牛。当伯比奇前来敲门的时候，他从阉鸡[315]的毯子下面回答说：'征服者威廉已比理查三世捷足先登啦。'[316]快活的小夫人、情妇菲顿[317]噢的一声就骑了上去。[318]还有他那娇滴滴的婆娘潘奈洛佩·里奇。[319]这位端庄的上流夫人适合做个演员;而河堤上的娼妇，一回只要一便士。” 王后大道。再出二十苏吧。给你搞点小花样儿。玩小猫味?你愿意吗?[320] “上流社会的精华。还有牛津的威廉·戴夫南特爵士[321]的母亲，只要是长得像金丝雀那样俊秀的男人，她就请他喝杯加那利酒[322]。” 勃克·穆利根虔诚地抬起两眼祷告道： “圣女玛格丽特·玛丽·安尼科克[323]!” “还有换过六个老婆的哈利的女儿。[324]再就是草地· 丁尼生、绅士诗人所唱的：附近邸舍的高贵女友。[325]这漫长的二十年间，你们猜猜，斯特拉持福的潘奈洛佩[326]在菱形窗玻璃后面都干什么来着?” 干吧，干吧，[327]干出成绩。他在药用植物学家杰勒德那座位于费特小巷的玫瑰花圃[328]里散步，赤褐色的头发已灰白了。像她的脉管一样蓝的风信子。[329]朱诺的艰睑，紫罗兰。[330]他散步。人生只有一次，肉体只有一具。干吧。专心致志地干。近处，在淫荡和污浊的臭气中，一双手放在白净的肉身上。 勃克·穆利根使劲敲着约翰·埃格林顿的桌子。 “你猜疑谁呢?”[331]他盘问。 “假定他是《十四行诗》里那位被舍弃的情人吧。被舍弃一回，就有第二回。然而宫廷里的那个水性扬花的女子是为了一个贵族——他的好友——而舍弃他的。[332]” 不敢说出口的爱。[333] “你的意思是说，”刚毅的约翰·埃格林顿插进嘴去，“作为一个英国人，他爱上了一位贵族。” 蜥蜴们沿着古老的墙壁一闪而过。我在查伦顿[334]仔细观察过它们。