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<html>
<head>
<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8">
<link rel="stylesheet" href="portrait.css">
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Droid+Serif" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">
<script src="vendor/jquery-2.1.4.min.js"></script><script src="portrait.js"></script>
</head>
<body>
<h1 class="mainTitle"><em>A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man</em></h1>
<h2 class="mainTitle">James Joyce</h2>
<h3 class="mainTitle">The Open-Source Critical Edition</h3>
<div id="controls">
Show: <br><input type="checkbox" id="dialog" name="dialog" value="" checked>Dialog attribution<br><input type="checkbox" id="type" name="type" value="" checked>Text genre (poem, song, prayer)<br><input type="checkbox" id="lang" name="lang" value="" checked>Language<br><input type="checkbox" id="lineNumber" name="lineNumber" value="" checked>Line numbers
</div>
<div id="metadata">
Portrait of the artist as a young man
A portrait of the artist as a young man [Electronic resource] / James Joyce
Joyce, James, 1882-1941
creation of machine-readable version
Gabler, Hans Walter, 1938-
Text data
(1 file : ca. 470 kilobytes)
[Depositor details removed]1992-03-11
University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford
University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing
Services
13 Banbury Road
Oxford
OX2 6NN
otait.ox.ac.uk
1606
Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.
Mode of access: Online. OTA website.
Title proper taken from electronic text
Unknown markup version of this text (1606) available at 1359
A portrait of the artist as a young man
Joyce, James, 1882-1941
Anderson, Chester G.
Ellmann, Richard, 1918-
Viking Press
New York
1964
First ed. 1904
<p class="textParagraph">Encoding format: TEI XML</p>
University of Oxford Text Archive Subject Headings
Library of Congress Subject Headings
Novels
Irish literature -- 20th century
legacy
unrestricted
2015-10-02EditorReeve, JonathanBegan creation of open TEI edition. Further revisions logged in git.
2015-04-07CataloguerWynne, MartinAvailability and licence changed to freely available under CC, following expiry of author copyright at the end of 2011.
2002-01-17CataloguerColley, GregHeader recomposed with TEIXML header
1997-12-18ConverterFix, JakobAutomatic conversion from OTA DTD to TEI lite DTD
</div>
<div id="textBody">
<span class="lang"><span class="tag lang">
Latin
</span>
<span class="emph"> Et ignotas animum dimittit in artes. </span>
- Ovid, <span class="emph"> Metamorphoses </span>, VIII, 188
</span>
<h2 class="heading"> <span class="emph"> I </span> </h2>
<p class="textParagraph"> Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a <br>
moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that <br>
was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named <br>
baby tuckoo.....<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> His father told him that story: his father looked at him <br>
through a glass: he had a hairy face.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He was baby tuckoo. The moocow came down the road <br>
where Betty Byrne lived: she sold lemon platt.<br> </p>
<p class="lg"><span class="tag type">song</span>
<span class="emph"> O, the wild rose blossoms </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> On the little green place. </span> <span class="tag lineNumber">10</span><br>
</p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He sang that song. That was his song.<br> </p>
<p class="lg"><span class="tag type">song</span>
<span class="emph"> O, the geen wothe botheth. </span> <br>
</p>
<p class="textParagraph"> When you wet the bed first it is warm then it gets cold. His <br>
mother put on the oilsheet. That had the queer smell.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> His mother had a nicer smell than his father. She played on <br>
the piano the sailor's hornpipe for him to dance. He danced:<br> </p>
<p class="lg"><span class="tag type">song</span>
<span class="emph"> Tralala lala </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Tralala tralaladdy </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Tralala lala </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Tralala lala. </span> <span class="tag lineNumber">20</span><br>
</p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Uncle Charles and Dante clapped. They were older than his <br>
father and mother but uncle Charles was older than Dante.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Dante had two brushes in her press. The brush with the <br>
maroon velvet back was for Michael Davitt and the brush with <br>
the green velvet back was for Parnell. Dante gave him a cachou <br>
every time he brought her a piece of tissue paper.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The Vances lived in number seven. They had a different <br>
father and mother. They were Eileen's father and mother. <br>
When they were grown up he was going to marry Eileen.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He hid under the table. His mother said:<span class="tag lineNumber">30</span><br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Mary Dedalus</span>―O, Stephen will apologise. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Dante said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Dante</span>―O, if not, the eagles will come and pull out his eyes. <br></p> </p>
<p class="lg">
<span class="emph"> Pull out his eyes, </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Apologise, </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Apologise, </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Pull out his eyes. </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Apologise, </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Pull out his eyes, </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Pull out his eyes, </span> <span class="tag lineNumber">40</span><br>
<span class="emph"> Apologise. </span> <br>
</p> <div class="divider">* * *</div>
<p class="textParagraph"> The wide playgrounds were swarming with boys. All were <br>
shouting and the prefects urged them on with strong cries. The <br>
evening air was pale and chilly and after every charge and thud <br>
of the footballers the greasy leather orb flew like a heavy bird <br>
through the grey light. He kept on the fringe of his line, out of <br>
sight of his prefect, out of the reach of the rude feet, feigning to <br>
run now and then. He felt his body small and weak amid the <br>
throng of players and his eyes were weak and watery. Rody <br>
Kickham was not like that: he would be captain of the third <span class="tag lineNumber">50</span><br>
line all the fellows said.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Rody Kickham was a decent fellow but Nasty Roche was a <br>
stink. Rody Kickham had greaves in his number and a hamper <br>
in the refectory. Nasty Roche had big hands. He called the <br>
Friday pudding dog-in-the-blanket. And one day he had asked:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Nasty Roche</span>―What is your name? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Stephen had answered:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span>― Stephen Dedalus. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Then Nasty Roche had said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Nasty Roche</span>―What kind of a name is that? <span class="tag lineNumber">60</span><br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> And when Stephen had not been able to answer Nasty <br>
Roche had asked:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Nasty Roche</span>―What is your father? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Stephen had answered:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span>―A gentleman. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Then Nasty Roche had asked:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Nasty Roche</span>―Is he a magistrate? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He crept about from point to point on the fringe of his line, <br>
making little runs now and then. But his hands were bluish <br>
with cold. He kept his hands in the sidepockets of his belted <span class="tag lineNumber">70</span><br>
grey suit. That was a belt round his jacket. And belt was also to <br>
give a fellow a belt. One day a fellow had said to Cantwell:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">a fellow</span>―I'd give you such a belt in a second. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Cantwell had answered:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Cantwell</span>―Go and fight your match. Give Cecil Thunder a belt. I'd like <br>
to see you. He'd give you a toe in the rump for yourself. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> That was not a nice expression. His mother had told him <br>
not to speak with the rough boys in the college. Nice mother! <br>
The first day in the hall of the castle when she had said good- <br>
bye she had put up her veil double to her nose to kiss him: and <span class="tag lineNumber">80</span><br>
her nose and eyes were red. But he had pretended not to see <br>
that she was going to cry. She was a nice mother but she was <br>
not so nice when she cried. And his father had given him two <br>
fiveshilling pieces for pocket money. And his father had told <br>
him if he wanted anything to write home to him and, whatever <br>
he did, never to peach on a fellow. Then at the door of the <br>
castle the rector had shaken hands with his father and mother, <br>
his soutane fluttering in the breeze, and the car had driven off <br>
with his father and mother on it. They had cried to him from <br>
the car, waving their hands:<span class="tag lineNumber">90</span><br> </p>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Mary Dedalus, Simon Dedalus</span>
<p class="textParagraph">―Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye!<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph">―Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye!<br> </p>
</p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He was caught in the whirl of a scrimmage and, fearful of <br>
the flashing eyes and muddy boots, bent down to look through <br>
the legs. The fellows were struggling and groaning and their <br>
legs were rubbing and kicking and stamping. Then Jack <br>
Lawton's yellow boots dodged out the ball and all the other <br>
boots and legs ran after. He ran after them a little way and then <br>
stopped. It was useless to run on. Soon they would be going <br>
home for the holidays. After supper in the studyhall he would <span class="tag lineNumber">100</span><br>
change the number pasted up inside his desk from seventyseven <br>
to seventysix .<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> It would be better to be in the studyhall than out there in the <br>
cold. The sky was pale and cold but there were lights in the <br>
castle. He wondered from which window Hamilton Rowan <br>
had thrown his hat on the haha and had there been flowerbeds <br>
at that time under the windows. One day when he had been <br>
called to the castle the butler had shown him the marks of the <br>
soldiers' slugs in the wood of the door and had given him a <br>
piece of shortbread that the community ate. It was nice and <span class="tag lineNumber">110</span><br>
warm to see the lights in the castle. It was like something in a <br>
book. Perhaps <span class="hide"> 52.640379 -1.132563 </span> Leicester Abbey was like that. And there were <br>
nice sentences in Doctor Cornwell's Spelling Book. They were <br>
like poetry but they were only sentences to learn the spelling <br>
from.<br> </p>
<p class="lg">
<span class="emph"> Wolsey died in <span class="hide"> 52.640379 -1.132563 </span> Leicester Abbey </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Where the abbots buried him. </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Canker is a disease of plants, </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Cancer one of animals. </span> <br>
</p>
<p class="textParagraph"> It would be nice to lie on the hearthrug before the fire, <span class="tag lineNumber">120</span><br>
leaning his head upon his hands, and think on those sentences. <br>
He shivered as if he had cold slimy water next his skin. That <br>
was mean of Wells to shoulder him into the square ditch be- <br>
cause he would not swop his little snuffbox for Wells 's sea- <br>
soned hacking chestnut, the conqueror of forty. How cold and <br>
slimy the water had been! A fellow had once seen a big rat <br>
jump plop into the scum. He shivered and longed to cry. It <br>
would be so nice to be at home. Mother was sitting at the fire <br>
with Dante waiting for Brigid to bring in the tea. She had her <br>
feet on the fender and her jewelly slippers were so hot and they <span class="tag lineNumber">130</span><br>
had such a lovely warm smell! Dante knew a lot of things. She <br>
had taught him where the <span class="hide"> -18.615949 41.280858 </span> Mozambique Channel was and what <br>
was <span class="hide"> 38.627003 -90.199404 </span> the longest river in America and what was the name of the <br>
highest mountain in the moon. Father Arnall knew more than <br>
Dante because he was a priest but both his father and uncle <br>
Charles said that Dante was a clever woman and a wellread <br>
woman. And when Dante made that noise after dinner and <br>
then put up her hand to her mouth: that was heartburn.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> A voice cried far out on the playground:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">a voice</span>―All in! <span class="tag lineNumber">140</span><br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Then other voices cried from the lower and third lines:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">other voices from the lower and third lines</span>―All in! All in! <br> </p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The players closed around, flushed and muddy, and he went <br>
among them, glad to go in. Rody Kickham held the ball by its <br>
greasy lace. A fellow asked him to give it one last: but he <br>
walked on without even answering the fellow. Simon Moonan <br>
told him not to because the prefect was looking. The fellow <br>
turned to Simon Moonan and said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">a fellow</span>―We all know why you speak. You are McGlade 's suck. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Suck was a queer word. The fellow called Simon Moonan <span class="tag lineNumber">150</span><br>
that name because Simon Moonan used to tie the prefect's false <br>
sleeves behind his back and the prefect used to let on to be <br>
angry. But the sound was ugly. Once he had washed his hands <br>
in the lavatory of the <span class="hide"> 53.342872 -6.260651 </span> Wicklow Hotel and his father pulled the <br>
stopper up by the chain after and the dirty water went down <br>
through the hole in the basin. And when it had all gone down <br>
slowly the hole in the basin had made a sound like that: suck. <br>
Only louder.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> To remember that and the white look of the lavatory made <br>
him feel cold and then hot. There were two cocks that you <span class="tag lineNumber">160</span><br>
turned and water came out: cold and hot. He felt cold and then <br>
a little hot: and he could see the names printed on the cocks. <br>
That was a very queer thing.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> And the air in the corridor chilled him too. It was queer and <br>
wettish. But soon the gas would be lit and in burning it made a <br>
light noise like a little song. Always the same: and when the <br>
fellows stopped talking in the playroom you could hear it.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> It was the hour for sums. Father Arnall wrote a hard sum on <br>
the board and then said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Father Arnall</span>―Now then, who will win? Go ahead, York! Go ahead, Lan- <span class="tag lineNumber">170</span><br>
caster! <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Stephen tried his best but the sum was too hard and he felt <br>
confused. The little silk badge with the white rose on it that <br>
was pinned on the breast of his jacket began to flutter. He was <br>
no good at sums but he tried his best so that York might not <br>
lose. Father Arnall 's face looked very black but he was not in a <br>
wax: he was laughing. Then Jack Lawton cracked his fingers <br>
and Father Arnall looked at his copybook and said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Father Arnall</span>―Right. Bravo Lancaster! The red rose wins. Come on now, <br>
York! Forge ahead! <span class="tag lineNumber">180</span><br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Jack Lawton looked over from his side. The little silk badge <br>
with the red rose on it looked very rich because he had a blue <br>
sailor top on. Stephen felt his own face red too, thinking of all <br>
the bets about who would get first place in elements, Jack <br>
Lawton or he. Some weeks Jack Lawton got the card for first <br>
and some weeks he got the card for first. His white silk badge <br>
fluttered and fluttered as he worked at the next sum and heard <br>
Father Arnall 's voice. Then all his eagerness passed away and <br>
he felt his face quite cool. He thought his face must be white <br>
because it felt so cool. He could not get out the answer for the <span class="tag lineNumber">190</span><br>
sum but it did not matter. White roses and red roses: those <br>
were beautiful colours to think of. And the cards for first place <br>
and second place and third place were beautiful colours too: <br>
pink and cream and lavender. Lavender and cream and pink <br>
roses were beautiful to think of. Perhaps a wild rose might be <br>
like those colours: and he remembered the song about the wild <br>
rose blossoms on the little green place. But you could not have <br>
a green rose. But perhaps somewhere in the world you could.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The bell rang and then the classes began to file out of the <br>
rooms and along the corridors towards the refectory. He sat <span class="tag lineNumber">200</span><br>
looking at the two prints of butter on his plate but could not <br>
eat the damp bread. The tablecloth was damp and limp. But he <br>
drank off the hot weak tea which the clumsy scullion, girt with <br>
a white apron, poured into his cup. He wondered whether the <br>
scullion's apron was damp too or whether all white things were <br>
cold and damp. Nasty Roche and Saurin drank cocoa that their <br>
people sent them in tins. They said they could not drink the tea; <br>
that it was hogwash. Their fathers were magistrates, the fel- <br>
lows said.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> All the boys seemed to him very strange. They had all fa- <span class="tag lineNumber">210</span><br>
thers and mothers and different clothes and voices. He longed <br>
to be at home and lay his head on his mother's lap. But he <br>
could not: and so he longed for the play and study and prayers <br>
to be over and to be in bed.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He drank another cup of hot tea and Fleming said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Fleming</span>―What's up? Have you a pain or what's up with you? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span>―I don't know, Stephen said. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Fleming</span>―Sick in your breadbasket, Fleming said, because your face <br>
looks white. It will go away. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span>―O yes, Stephen said. <span class="tag lineNumber">220</span><br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> But he was not sick there. He thought that he was sick in his <br>
heart if you could be sick in that place. Fleming was very <br>
decent to ask him. He wanted to cry. He leaned his elbows on <br>
the table and shut and opened the flaps of his ears. Then he <br>
heard the noise of the refectory every time he opened the flaps <br>
of his ears. It made a roar like a train at night. And when he <br>
closed the flaps the roar was shut off like a train going into a <br>
tunnel. That night at <span class="hide"> 53.277911 -6.105844 </span> Dalkey the train had roared like that and <br>
then, when it went into the tunnel, the roar stopped. He closed <br>
his eyes and the train went on, roaring and then stopping; <span class="tag lineNumber">230</span><br>
roaring again, stopping. It was nice to hear it roar and stop and <br>
then roar out of the tunnel again and then stop.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Then the higher line fellows began to come down along the <br>
matting in the middle of the refectory, Paddy Rath and Jimmy <br>
Magee and the Spaniard who was allowed to smoke cigars and <br>
the little Portuguese who wore the woolly cap. And then the <br>
lower line tables and the tables of the third line. And every <br>
single fellow had a different way of walking.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He sat in a corner of the playroom pretending to watch a <br>
game of dominos and once or twice he was able to hear for an <span class="tag lineNumber">240</span><br>
instant the little song of the gas. The prefect was at the door <br>
with some boys and Simon Moonan was knotting his false <br>
sleeves. He was telling them something about <span class="hide"> 52.888640 -8.428450 </span> Tullabeg .<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Then he went away from the door and Wells came over to <br>
Stephen and said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Wells</span>―Tell us, Dedalus , do you kiss your mother every night before <br>
you go to bed? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Stephen answered:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span>―I do. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Wells turned to the other fellows and said:<span class="tag lineNumber">250</span><br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Wells</span>―O, I say, here's a fellow says he kisses his mother every night <br>
before he goes to bed. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The other fellows stopped their game and turned round, <br>
laughing. Stephen blushed under their eyes and said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span>―I do not. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Wells said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Wells</span>―O, I say, here's a fellow says he doesn't kiss his mother <br>
before he goes to bed. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> They all laughed again. Stephen tried to laugh with them. <br>
He felt his whole body hot and confused in a moment. What <span class="tag lineNumber">260</span><br>
was the right answer to the question? He had given two and <br>
still Wells laughed. But Wells must know the right answer for <br>
he was in third of grammar. He tried to think of Wells 's mother <br>
but he did not dare to raise his eyes to Wells 's face. He did not <br>
like Wells 's face. It was Wells who had shouldered him into the <br>
square ditch the day before because he would not swop his <br>
little snuffbox for Wells 's seasoned hacking chestnut, the con- <br>
queror of forty. It was a mean thing to do; all the fellows said it <br>
was. And how cold and slimy the water had been! And a fellow <br>
had once seen a big rat jump plop into the scum.<span class="tag lineNumber">270</span><br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The cold slime of the ditch covered his whole body; and, <br>
when the bell rang for study and the lines filed out of the <br>
playrooms, he felt the cold air of the corridor and staircase <br>
inside his clothes. He still tried to think what was the right <br>
answer. Was it right to kiss his mother or wrong to kiss his <br>
mother? What did that mean, to kiss? You put your face up like <br>
that to say goodnight and then his mother put her face down. <br>
That was to kiss. His mother put her lips on his cheek; her lips <br>
were soft and they wetted his cheek; and they made a tiny little <br>
noise: kiss. Why did people do that with their two faces?<span class="tag lineNumber">280</span><br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Sitting in the studyhall he opened the lid of his desk and <br>
changed the number pasted up inside from seventyseven to <br>
seventysix . But the Christmas vacation was very far away: but <br>
one time it would come because the earth moved round always.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> There was a picture of the earth on the first page of his <br>
geography: a big ball in the middle of clouds. Fleming had a <br>
box of crayons and one night during free study he had coloured <br>
the earth green and the clouds maroon. That was like the two <br>
brushes in Dante 's press, the brush with the green velvet back <br>
for Parnell and the brush with the maroon velvet back for <span class="tag lineNumber">290</span><br>
Michael Davitt . But he had not told Fleming to colour them <br>
those colours. Fleming had done it himself.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He opened the geography to study the lesson; but he could <br>
not learn the names of places in America . Still they were all <br>
different places that had those different names. They were all in <br>
different countries and the countries were in continents and the <br>
continents were in the world and the world was in the universe.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He turned to the flyleaf of the geography and read what he <br>
had written there: himself, his name and where he was.<br> </p>
<p class="lg">
<span class="emph"> Stephen Dedalus </span> <span class="tag lineNumber">300</span><br>
<span class="emph"> Class of Elements </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> <span class="hide"> 53.310769 -6.684716 </span> Clongowes Wood College </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> <span class="hide"> 53.251067 -6.665231 </span> Sallins </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> County Kildare </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Ireland </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Europe </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> The World </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> The Universe </span> <br>
</p>
<p class="textParagraph"> That was in his writing: and Fleming one night for a cod had <br>
written on the opposite page:<span class="tag lineNumber">310</span><br> </p>
<p class="lg">
<span class="emph"> Stephen Dedalus is my name, </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Ireland is my nation. </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> <span class="hide"> 53.310769 -6.684716 </span> Clongowes is my dwellingplace </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> And heaven my expectation. </span> <br>
</p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He read the verses backwards but then they were not poetry. <br>
Then he read the flyleaf from the bottom to the top till he came <br>
to his own name. That was he: and he read down the page <br>
again. What was after the universe ? Nothing. But was there <br>
anything round the universe to show where it stopped before <br>
the nothing place began? It could not be a wall but there could <span class="tag lineNumber">320</span><br>
be a thin thin line there all round everything. It was very big to <br>
think about everything and everywhere. Only God could do <br>
that. He tried to think what a big thought that must be but he <br>
could think only of God . God was God 's name just as his name <br>
was Stephen . <span class="emph"> Dieu </span> was the French for God and that was God 's <br>
name too; and when anyone prayed to God and said <span class="emph"> Dieu </span> then <br>
God knew at once that it was a French person that was pray- <br>
ing. But though there were different names for God in all the <br>
different languages in the world and God understood what all <br>
the people who prayed said in their different languages still <span class="tag lineNumber">330</span><br>
God remained always the same God and God 's real name was <br>
God .<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> It made him very tired to think that way. It made him feel <br>
his head very big. He turned over the flyleaf and looked wearily <br>
at the green round earth in the middle of the maroon clouds. <br>
He wondered which was right, to be for the green or for the <br>
maroon, because Dante had ripped the green velvet back off <br>
the brush that was for Parnell one day with her scissors and <br>
had told him that Parnell was a bad man. He wondered if they <br>
were arguing at home about that. That was called politics. <span class="tag lineNumber">340</span><br>
There were two sides in it: Dante was on one side and his <br>
father and Mr Casey were on the other side but his mother and <br>
uncle Charles were on no side. Every day there was something <br>
in the paper about it.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> It pained him that he did not know well what politics meant <br>
and that he did not know where the universe ended. He felt <br>
small and weak. When would he be like the fellows in poetry <br>
and rhetoric? They had big voices and big boots and they <br>
studied trigonometry. That was very far away. First came the <br>
vacation and then the next term and then vacation again and <span class="tag lineNumber">350</span><br>
then again another term and then again the vacation. It was <br>
like a train going in and out of tunnels and that was like the <br>
noise of the boys eating in the refectory when you opened and <br>
closed the flaps of the ears. Term, vacation; tunnel, out; noise, <br>
stop. How far away it was! It was better to go to bed to sleep. <br>
Only prayers in the chapel and then bed. He shivered and <br>
yawned. It would be lovely in bed after the sheets got a bit hot. <br>
First they were so cold to get into. He shivered to think how <br>
cold they were first. But then they got hot and then he could <br>
sleep. It was lovely to be tired. He yawned again. Night prayers <span class="tag lineNumber">360</span><br>
and then bed: he shivered and wanted to yawn. It would be <br>
lovely in a few minutes. He felt a warm glow creeping up from <br>
the cold shivering sheets, warmer and warmer till he felt warm <br>
all over, ever so warm; ever so warm and yet he shivered a little <br>
and still wanted to yawn.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The bell rang for night prayers and he filed out of the study- <br>
hall after the others and down the staircase and along the <br>
corridors to the chapel. The corridors were darkly lit and the <br>
chapel was darkly lit. Soon all would be dark and sleeping. <br>
There was cold night air in the chapel and the marbles were the <span class="tag lineNumber">370</span><br>
colour the sea was at night. The sea was cold day and night: <br>
but it was colder at night. It was cold and dark under the <br>
seawall beside his father's house. But the kettle would be on the <br>
hob to make punch.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The prefect of the chapel prayed above his head and his <br>
memory knew the responses:<br> </p>
<p class="lg"><span class="tag type">prayer</span>
<span class="emph"> O Lord, open our lips </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> And our mouth shall announce Thy praise. </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Incline unto our aid, O God! </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> O Lord, make haste to help us! </span> <span class="tag lineNumber">380</span><br>
</p>
<p class="textParagraph"> There was a cold night smell in the chapel. But it was a holy <br>
smell. It was not like the smell of the old peasants who knelt at <br>
the back of the chapel at Sunday mass. That was a smell of air <br>
and rain and turf and corduroy. But they were very holy peas- <br>
ants. They breathed behind him on his neck and sighed as they <br>
prayed. They lived in <span class="hide"> 53.293785 -6.687040 </span> Clane , , a fellow said: there were little <br>
cottages there and he had seen a woman standing at the half- <br>
door of a cottage with a child in her arms, as the cars had come <br>
past from <span class="hide"> 53.251067 -6.665231 </span> Sallins . It would be lovely to sleep for one night in <br>
that cottage before the fire of smoking turf, in the dark lit by <span class="tag lineNumber">390</span><br>
the fire, in the warm dark, breathing the smell of the peasants, <br>
air and rain and turf and corduroy. But, O, the road there <br>
between the trees was dark! You would be lost in the dark. It <br>
made him afraid to think of how it was.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He heard the voice of the prefect of the chapel saying the last <br>
prayer. He prayed it too against the dark outside under the <br>
trees.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Visit, we beseech Thee, O Lord, this habitation and <br>
drive away from it all the snares of the enemy. May <br>
Thy holy angels dwell herein to preserve us in peace <span class="tag lineNumber">400</span><br>
and may Thy blessing be always upon us through <br>
Christ, Our Lord. Amen. <br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> His fingers trembled as he undressed himself in the dormi- <br>
tory. He told his fingers to hurry up. He had to undress and <br>
then kneel and say his own prayers and be in bed before the gas <br>
was lowered so that he might not go to hell when he died. He <br>
rolled his stockings off and put on his nightshirt quickly and <br>
knelt trembling at his bedside and repeated his prayers quickly <br>
quickly fearing that the gas would go down. He felt his shoul- <br>
ders shaking as he murmured:<span class="tag lineNumber">410</span><br> </p>
<p class="lg"><span class="tag type">prayer</span>
God bless my father and my mother and spare them to <br>
me! <br>
God bless my little brothers and sisters and spare them <br>
to me! <br>
God bless Dante and uncle Charles and spare them to <br>
me! <br>
</p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He blessed himself and climbed quickly into bed and, tuck- <br>
ing the end of the nightshirt under his feet, curled himself to <br>
gether under the cold white sheets, shaking and trembling. But <br>
he would not go to hell when he died; and the shaking would <span class="tag lineNumber">420</span><br>
stop. A voice bade the boys in the dormitory goodnight. He <br>
peered out for an instant over the coverlet and saw the yellow <br>
curtains round and before his bed that shut him off on all sides. <br>
The light was lowered quietly.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The prefect's shoes went away. Where? Down the staircase <br>
and along the corridors or to his room at the end? He saw the <br>
dark. Was it true about the black dog that walked there at night <br>
with eyes as big as carriagelamps ? They said it was the ghost of <br>
a murderer. A long shiver of fear flowed over his body. He saw <br>
the dark entrance hall of the castle. Old servants in old dress <span class="tag lineNumber">430</span><br>
were in the ironingroom above the staircase. It was long ago. <br>
The old servants were quiet. There was a fire there but the hall <br>
was still dark. A figure came up the staircase from the hall. He <br>
wore the white cloak of a marshal; his face was pale and <br>
strange; he held his hand pressed to his side. He looked out of <br>
strange eyes at the old servants. They looked at him and saw <br>
their master's face and cloak and knew that he had received his <br>
deathwound . But only the dark was where they looked: only <br>
dark silent air. Their master had received his deathwound on <br>
the battlefield of <span class="hide"> 50.075538 14.437800 </span> Prague far away over the sea. He was standing <span class="tag lineNumber">440</span><br>
on the field; his hand was pressed to his side; his face was pale <br>
and strange and he wore the white cloak of a marshal.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> O how cold and strange it was to think of that! All the dark <br>
was cold and strange. There were pale strange faces there, great <br>
eyes like carriagelamps . They were the ghosts of murderers, the <br>
figures of marshals who had received their deathwound on <br>
battlefields far away over the sea. What did they wish to say <br>
that their faces were so strange?<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Visit, we beseech Thee, O Lord, this habitation and drive <br>
away from it all.... <span class="tag lineNumber">450</span><br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Going home for the holidays! That would be lovely: the <br>
fellows had told him. Getting up on the cars in the early wintry <br>
morning outside the door of the castle. The cars were rolling <br>
on the gravel. Cheers for the rector!<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The cars drove past the chapel and all caps were raised. <br>
They drove merrily along the country roads. The drivers <br>
pointed with their whips to <span class="hide"> 53.262617 -6.666295 </span> Bodenstown . The fellows cheered. <br>
They passed the farmhouse of the Jolly Farmer. Cheer after <br>
The fellows cheered. They passed the farmhouse of the Jolly Farmer. Cheer after
cheer after cheer. Through <span class="hide"> 53.293785 -6.687040 </span> Clane they drove, cheering and <span class="tag lineNumber">460</span><br>
cheered. The peasant women stood at the halfdoors , the men <br>
stood here and there. The lovely smell there was in the wintry <br>
air: the smell of Clane: rain and wintry air and turf smoul- <br>
dering and corduroy.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The train was full of fellows: a long long chocolate train <br>
with cream facings. The guards went to and fro opening, <br>
closing, locking, unlocking the doors. They were men in dark <br>
blue and silver; they had silvery whistles and their keys made a <br>
quick music: click, click: click, click.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> And the train raced on over the flat lands and past the <span class="hide"> 53.230556 -6.866389 </span> Hill <span class="tag lineNumber">470</span><br>
of Allen . The telegraphpoles were passing, passing. The train <br>
went on and on. It knew. There were coloured lanterns in the <br>
hall of his father's house and ropes of green branches. There <br>
were holly and ivy round the pierglass and holly and ivy, green <br>
and red, twined round the chandeliers. There were red holly <br>
and green ivy round the old portraits on the walls. Holly and <br>
ivy for him and for Christmas.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Lovely......<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> All the people. Welcome home, Stephen ! Noises of welcome. <br>
His mother kissed him. Was that right? His father was a mar- <span class="tag lineNumber">480</span><br>
shal now: higher than a magistrate. Welcome home, Stephen !<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Noises...<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> There was a noise of curtainrings running back along the <br>
rods, of water being splashed in the basins. There was a noise <br>
of rising and dressing and washing in the dormitory: a noise of <br>
clapping of hands as the prefect went up and down telling the <br>
fellows to look sharp. A pale sunlight showed the yellow cur- <br>
tains drawn back, the tossed beds. His bed was very hot and his <br>
face and body were very hot.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He got up and sat on the side of his bed. He was weak. He <span class="tag lineNumber">490</span><br>
tried to pull on his stocking. It had a horrid rough feel. The <br>
sunlight was queer and cold.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Fleming said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Fleming</span>―Are you not well? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He did not know; and Fleming said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Fleming</span>―Get back into bed. I'll tell McGlade you're not well. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Fleming</span>―He's sick. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog"></span>―Who is? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Fleming</span>―Tell McGlade . <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog"></span>―Get back into bed. <span class="tag lineNumber">500</span><br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog"></span>―Is he sick? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> A fellow held his arms while he loosened the stocking cling- <br>
ing to his foot and climbed back into the hot bed.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He crouched down between the sheets, glad of their tepid <br>
glow. He heard the fellows talk among themselves about him <br>
as they dressed for mass. It was a mean thing to do, to shoulder <br>
him into the square ditch, they were saying.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Then their voices ceased; they had gone. A voice at his bed <br>
said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Wells</span>― Dedalus , don't spy on us, sure you won't? <span class="tag lineNumber">510</span><br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Wells 's face was there. He looked at it and saw that Wells <br>
was afraid.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Wells</span>―I didn't mean to. Sure you won't? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> His father had told him, whatever he did, never to peach on <br>
a fellow. He shook his head and answered no and felt glad. <br>
Wells said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Wells</span>―I didn't mean to, honour bright. It was only for cod. I'm <br>
sorry. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The face and the voice went away. Sorry because he was <br>
afraid. Afraid that it was some disease. Canker was a disease of <span class="tag lineNumber">520</span><br>
plants and cancer one of animals: or another different. That <br>
was a long time ago then out on the playgrounds in the evening <br>
light, creeping from point to point on the fringe of his line, a <br>
heavy bird flying low through the grey light. Leicester Abbey lit <br>
up. Wolsey died there. The abbots buried him themselves.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> It was not Wells 's face, it was the prefect's. He was not <br>
foxing. No, no: he was sick really. He was not foxing. And he <br>
felt the prefect's hand on his forehead; and he felt his forehead <br>
warm and damp against the prefect's cold damp hand. That <br>
was the way a rat felt, slimy and damp and cold. Every rat had <span class="tag lineNumber">530</span><br>
two eyes to look out of. Sleek slimy coats, little little feet <br>
tucked up to jump, black shiny eyes to look out of. They could <br>
understand how to jump. But the minds of rats could not <br>
understand trigonometry. When they were dead they lay on <br>
their sides. Their coats dried then. They were only dead things.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The prefect was there again and it was his voice that was <br>
saying that he was to get up, that Father Minister had said he <br>
was to get up and dress and go to the infirmary. And while he <br>
was dressing himself as quickly as he could the prefect said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">the prefect</span>―We must pack off to Brother Michael because we have the <span class="tag lineNumber">540</span><br>
collywobbles. Terrible thing to have the collywobbles! How we <br>
wobble when we have the collywobbles! <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He was very decent to say that. That was all to make him <br>
laugh. But he could not laugh because his cheeks and lips were <br>
all shivery: and then the prefect had to laugh by himself.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The prefect cried:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">the prefect</span>―Quick march! Hayfoot! Strawfoot! <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> They went together down the staircase and along the corri- <br>
dor and past the bath. As he passed the door he remembered <br>
with a vague fear the warm turfcoloured bogwater, the warm <span class="tag lineNumber">550</span><br>
moist air, the noise of plunges, the smell of the towels, like <br>
medicine.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Brother Michael was standing at the door of the infirmary <br>
and from the door of the dark cabinet on his right came a smell <br>
like medicine. That came from the bottles on the shelves. The <br>
prefect spoke to Brother Michael and Brother Michael <br>
answered and called the prefect sir. He had reddish hair mixed <br>
with grey and a queer look. It was queer that he would always <br>
be a brother. It was queer too that you could not call him sir <br>
because he was a brother and had a different kind of look. Was <span class="tag lineNumber">560</span><br>
he not holy enough or why could he not catch up on the others?<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> There were two beds in the room and in one bed there was a <br>
fellow: and when they went in he called out:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―Hello! It's young Dedalus ! What's up? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Brother Michael</span>―The sky is up, Brother Michael said. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He was a fellow out of the third of grammar and, while Stephen <br>
was undressing, he asked Brother Michael to bring him a round <br>
of buttered toast.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"><p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―Ah, do!</p> he said. <br></p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Brother Michael</span>―Butter you up! said Brother Michael . You'll get your walking <span class="tag lineNumber">570</span><br>
papers in the morning when the doctor comes. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―Will I?</p> the fellow said. <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>I'm not well yet. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Brother Michael repeated:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―You'll get your walking papers, I tell you. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He bent down to rake the fire. He had a long back like the <br>
long back of a tramhorse . He shook the poker gravely and <br>
nodded his head at the fellow out of third of grammar.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Then Brother Michael went away and after a while the fel- <br>
low out of third of grammar turned in towards the wall and fell <br>
asleep.<span class="tag lineNumber">580</span><br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> That was the infirmary. He was sick then. Had they written <br>
home to tell his mother and father? But it would be quicker for <br>
one of the priests to go himself to tell them. Or he would write <br>
a letter for the priest to bring.<br> </p>
<p class="lg"><span class="tag type">letter</span>
<span class="emph"> Dear Mother </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> I am sick. I want to go home. Please come and take <br>
me home. I am in the infirmary. </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Your fond son, </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Stephen </span> <br>
</p>
<p class="textParagraph"> How far away they were! There was cold sunlight outside <span class="tag lineNumber">590</span><br>
the window. He wondered if he would die. You could die just <br>
the same on a sunny day. He might die before his mother came. <br>
Then he would have a dead mass in the chapel like the way the <br>
fellows had told him it was when Little had died. All the fellows would be at the mass, dressed in black, all with sad faces. <br>
Wells too would be there but no fellow would look at him. The <br>
rector would be there in a cope of black and gold and there <br>
would be tall yellow candles on the altar and round the cata- <br>
falque. And they would carry the coffin out of the chapel <br>
slowly and he would be buried in the little graveyard of the <span class="tag lineNumber">600</span><br>
community off the main avenue of limes. And Wells would be <br>
sorry then for what he had done. And the bell would toll <br>
slowly.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He could hear the tolling. He said over to himself the song <br>
that Brigid had taught him.<br> </p>
<p class="lg"><span class="tag type">song</span>
<span class="emph"> Dingdong! The castle bell! </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Farewell, my mother! </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Bury me in the old churchyard </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Beside my eldest brother. </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> My coffin shall be black, </span> <span class="tag lineNumber">610</span><br>
<span class="emph"> Six angels at my back, </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> Two to sing and two to pray </span> <br>
<span class="emph"> And two to carry my soul away. </span> <br>
</p>
<p class="textParagraph"> How beautiful and sad that was! How beautiful the words <br>
were where they said <span class="emph"> Bury me in the old churchyard </span>! A tremor <br>
passed over his body. How sad and how beautiful! He wanted <br>
to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful <br>
and sad, like music. The bell! The bell! Farewell! O farewell!<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The cold sunlight was weaker and Brother Michael was <br>
standing at his bedside with a bowl of beeftea . He was glad for <span class="tag lineNumber">620</span><br>
his mouth was hot and dry. He could hear them playing on the <br>
playgrounds. It was after lunchtime. And the day was going on <br>
in the college just as if he were there.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Then Brother Michael was going away and the fellow out of <br>
third of grammar told him to be sure and come back and tell <br>
him all the news in the paper. He told Stephen that his name <br>
was Athy and that his father kept a lot of racehorses that were <br>
spiffing jumpers and that his father would give a good tip to <br>
Brother Mi- <br>
chael any time he wanted it because Brother Michael was very decent and always told him the news out of the <span class="tag lineNumber">630</span><br>
paper they got every day up in the castle. There was every kind <br>
of news in the paper: accidents, shipwrecks, sports and politics.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"><p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―Now it is all about politics in the paper,</p> he said. <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>Do your <br>
people talk about that too? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span>―Yes, Stephen said. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"><p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―Mine too,</p> he said. <br></p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Then he thought for a moment and said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―You have a queer name, Dedalus , and I have a queer name <br>
too, <span class="hide"> 52.991834 -6.985728 </span> Athy . My name is the name of a town. Your name is like <br>
Latin. <span class="tag lineNumber">640</span><br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Then he asked:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―Are you good at riddles? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Stephen answered:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span>―Not very good. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Then he said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―Can you answer me this one? Why is the county Kildare like <br>
the leg of a fellow's breeches? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Stephen thought what could be the answer and then said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span>―I give it up. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"><p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―Because there is a thigh in it,</p> he said. <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>Do you see the joke? <span class="tag lineNumber">650</span><br>
Athy is the town in the county Kildare and a thigh is the other <br>
thigh. <br></p></p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span>―O, I see, Stephen said. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"><p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―That's an old riddle,</p> he said. <br></p>
<p class="textParagraph"> After a moment he said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―I say! <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span>―What? asked Stephen . <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―You know, he said, you can ask that riddle another way? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span>―Can you? said Stephen . <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―The same riddle, he said. Do you know the other way to ask <span class="tag lineNumber">660</span><br>
it?<br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span>―No, said Stephen . <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"><p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―Can you not think of the other way?</p> he said. <br></p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He looked at Stephen over the bedclothes as he spoke. Then <br>
he lay back on the pillow and said:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Athy</span>―There is another way but I won't tell you what it is. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Why did he not tell it? His father, who kept the racehorses, <br>
must be a magistrate too like Saurin 's father and Nasty Roche 's <br>
father. He thought of his own father, of how he sang songs <br>
while his mother played and of how he always gave him a <span class="tag lineNumber">670</span><br>
shilling when he asked for sixpence and he felt sorry for him <br>
that he was not a magistrate like the other boys' fathers. Then <br>
why was he sent to that place with them? But his father had <br>
told him that he would be no stranger there because his grand- <br>
uncle had presented an address to the liberator there fifty years <br>
before. You could know the people of that time by their old <br>
dress. It seemed to him a solemn time: and he wondered if that <br>
was the time when the fellows in Clongowes wore blue coats <br>
with brass buttons and yellow waistcoats and caps of rabbit- <br>
skin and drank beer like grownup people and kept greyhounds <span class="tag lineNumber">680</span><br>
of their own to course the hares with.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He looked at the window and saw that the daylight had <br>
grown weaker. There would be cloudy grey light over the play- <br>
grounds. There was no noise on the playgrounds. The class <br>
must be doing the themes or perhaps Father Arnall was reading <br>
a legend out of the book.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> It was queer that they had not given him any medicine. <br>
Perhaps Brother Michael would bring it back when he came. <br>
They said you got stinking stuff to drink when you were in the <br>
infirmary. But he felt better now than before. It would be nice <span class="tag lineNumber">690</span><br>
getting better slowly. You could get a book then. There was a <br>
book in the library about Holland . There were lovely foreign <br>
names in it and pictures of strangelooking cities and ships. It <br>
made you feel so happy.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> How pale the light was at the window! But that was nice. <br>
The fire rose and fell on the wall. It was like waves. Someone <br>
had put coal on and he heard voices. They were talking. It was <br>
the noise of the waves. Or the waves were talking among them- <br>
selves as they rose and fell.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He saw the sea of waves, long dark waves rising and falling, <span class="tag lineNumber">700</span><br>
dark under the moonless night. A tiny light twinkled at the <br>
pierhead where the ship was entering: and he saw a multitude <br>
of people gathered by the waters' edge to see the ship that was <br>
entering their harbour. A tall man stood on the deck, looking <br>
out towards the flat dark land: and by the light at the pierhead <br>
he saw his face, the sorrowful face of Brother Michael .<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He saw him lift his hand towards the people and heard him <br>
say in a loud voice of sorrow over the waters:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Brother Michael</span>―He is dead. We saw him lying upon the catafalque. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> A wail of sorrow went up from the people.<span class="tag lineNumber">710</span><br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">the people</span>―Parnell! Parnell ! He is dead! <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> They fell upon their knees, moaning in sorrow.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> And he saw Dante in a maroon velvet dress and with a green <br>
velvet mantle hanging from her shoulders walking proudly and <br>
silently past the people who knelt by the waters' edge.<br> </p>
<div class="divider">* * *</div>
<p class="textParagraph"> A great fire, banked high and red, flamed in the grate and <br>
under the ivytwined branches of the chandelier the Christmas <br>
table was spread. They had come home a little late and still <br>
dinner was not ready: but it would be ready in a jiffy, his <br>
mother had said. They were waiting for the door to open and <span class="tag lineNumber">720</span><br>
for the servants to come in, holding the big dishes covered with <br>
their heavy metal covers.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> All were waiting: uncle Charles, who sat far away in the <br>
shadow of the window, Dante and Mr Casey, who sat in the <br>
easychairs at either side of the hearth, Stephen, seated on a <br>
chair between them, his feet resting on the toasted boss. Mr <br>
Dedalus looked at himself in the pierglass above the mantel- <br>
piece, waxed out his moustache ends and then, parting his <br>
coattails, stood with his back to the glowing fire: and still, from <br>
time to time, he withdrew a hand from his coattail to wax out <span class="tag lineNumber">730</span><br>
one of his moustache ends. Mr Casey leaned his head to one <br>
side and, smiling, tapped the gland of his neck with his fingers. <br>
And Stephen smiled too for he knew now that it was not true <br>
that Mr Casey had a purse of silver in his throat. He smiled to <br>
think how the silvery noise which Mr Casey used to make had <br>
deceived him. And when he had tried to open Mr Casey's hand <br>
to see if the purse of silver was hidden there he had seen that <br>
the fingers could not be straightened out: and Mr Casey had <br>
told him that he had got those three cramped fingers making a <br>
birthday present for Queen Victoria.<span class="tag lineNumber">740</span><br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Mr Casey tapped the gland of his neck and smiled at StephenSte- <br>
phen with sleepy eyes: and Mr Dedalus said to him: <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―Yes. Well now, that's all right. O, we had a good walk, <br>
hadn't we, John? Yes ...... I wonder if there's any likelihood of <br>
dinner this evening. Yes ..... O, well now, we got a good breath <br>
of ozone round <span class="hide">53.190760 -6.089490</span>the Head today. Ay, bedad. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He turned to Dante and said: <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">John Casey</span>―You didn't stir out at all, Mrs Riordan? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Dante frowned and said shortly: <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Dante</span>―No. <span class="tag lineNumber">750</span><br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Mr Dedalus dropped his coattails and went over to the side- <br>
sideboard. He brought forth a great stone jar of whisky from the <br>
locker and filled the decanter slowly, bending now and then to <br>
see how much he had poured in. Then replacing the jar in the <br>
locker he poured out a little of the whisky into two glasses, <br>
added a little water and came with them back to the fireplace. <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―A thimbleful, John,</p> he said. <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>Just to whet your appetite. <br></p></p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Mr Casey took the glass, drank, and placed it near him on <br>
the mantelpiece. Then he said: <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">John Casey</span>―Well, I can't help thinking of our friend Christopher manu- <span class="tag lineNumber">760</span><br>
facturing .... <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He broke into a fit of laughter and coughing and added: <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">John Casey</span>―... manufacturing that champagne for those fellows. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph">Mr Dedalus laughed loudly. <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―Is it Christy?</p> he said. <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>There's more cunning in one of those <br>
warts on his bald head than in a pack of jack foxes. <br></p></p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He inclined his head, closed his eyes, and, licking his lips <br>
profusely, began to speak with the voice of the hotel keeper. <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―And he has such a soft mouth when he's speaking to you, <br>
don't you know. He's very moist and watery about the dew- <span class="tag lineNumber">770</span><br>
dewlaps, God bless him. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Mr Casey was still struggling through his fit of coughing and <br>
laughter. Stephen, seeing and hearing the hotel keeper through <br>
his father's face and voice, laughed.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Mr Dedalus put up his eyeglass and, staring down at him, <br>
said quietly and kindly: <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―What are you laughing at, you little puppy, you? <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> The servants entered and placed the dishes on the table. Mrs <br>
Dedalus followed and the places were arranged. <br></p>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Mary Dedalus</span>―Sit over,</p> she said. <span class="tag lineNumber">780</span><br>
<p class="textParagraph"> Mr Dedalus went to the end of the table and said: <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―Now, Mrs Riordan, sit over. John, sit you down, my hearty. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He looked round to where uncle Charles sat and said: <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―Now then, sir, there's a bird here waiting for you. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> When all had taken their seats he laid his hand on the cover <br>
and then said quickly, withdrawing it: <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―Now, Stephen. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Stephen stood up in his place to say the grace before meals:<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> <p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Stephen</span> <p class="lg"> Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which through <br>
Thy bounty we are about to receive through Christ <span class="tag lineNumber">790</span><br>
Our Lord. Amen. </p> <br> </p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> All blessed themselves and Mr Dedalus with a sigh of pleas- <br>
ure lifted from the dish the heavy cover pearled around the <br>
edge with glistening drops.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Stephen looked at the plump turkey which had lain, trussed <br>
and skewered, on the kitchen table. He knew that his father <br>
had paid a guinea for it in <span class="hide">53.346308 -6.257925</span>Dunn's of D'Olier Street and that the <br>
man had prodded it often at the breastbone to show how good <br>
it was: and he remembered the man's voice when he had said: <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">the butcher</span>―Take that one, sir. That's the real Ally Daly. <span class="tag lineNumber">800</span><br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Why did Mr Barrett in Clongowes call his pandybat a tur- <br>
key? It was not like a turkey. But Clongowes was far away: and <br>
the warm heavy smell of turkey and ham and celery rose from <br>
the plates and dishes and the great fire was banked high and <br>
red in the grate and the green ivy and red holly made you feel <br>
so happy and when dinner was ended the big plumpudding <br>
would be carried in, studded with peeled almonds and sprigs of <br>
holly, with bluish fire running around it and a little green flag <br>
flying from the top.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> It was his first Christmas dinner and he thought of his little <span class="tag lineNumber">810</span><br>
brothers and sisters who were waiting in the nursery, as he had <br>
often waited, till the pudding came. The deep low collar and <br>
the <span class="hide">51.487402 -0.607942</span>Eton jacket made him feel queer and oldish: and that morn- <br>
ing when his mother had brought him down to the parlour, <br>
dressed for mass, his father had cried. That was because he was <br>
thinking of his own father. And uncle Charles had said so too.<br> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Mr Dedalus covered the dish and began to eat hungrily. <br>
Then he said: <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―Poor old Christy, he's nearly lopsided now with roguery. <br> </p>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Mary Dedalus</span>―Simon, said Mrs Dedalus, you haven't given Mrs Riordan <span class="tag lineNumber">820</span><br>
any sauce. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Mr Dedalus seized the sauceboat. <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―Haven't I? he cried. Mrs Riordan, pity the poor blind. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Dante covered her plate with her hands and said: <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Dante</span>―No, thanks. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> Mr Dedalus turned to uncle Charles. <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―How are you off, sir? <br> </p>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Uncle Charles</span>―Right as the mail, Simon. <br> </p>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―You, John? <br> </p>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">John Casey</span>―I'm all right. Go on yourself. <span class="tag lineNumber">830</span><br> </p>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―Mary? Here, Stephen, here's something to make your hair <br>
curl. <br></p> </p>
<p class="textParagraph"> He poured sauce freely over Stephen's plate and set the boat <br>
again on the table. Then he asked uncle Charles was it tender. <br>
Uncle Charles could not speak because his mouth was full but <br>
he nodded that it was. <br>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―That was a good answer our friend made to the canon. <br>
What? said Mr Dedalus. <br> </p>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">John Casey</span>―I didn't think he had that much in him, said Mr Casey. <br> </p>
<p class="dialog"><span class="tag dialog">Simon Dedalus</span>―I'll pay you your dues, father, when you cease turning the <span class="tag lineNumber">840</span><br>