Ulysses
stomach. For answer Mr Mulligan, in a gale of laughter at his smalls,
smote himself bravely below the diaphragm, exclaiming with an admirable
droll mimic of Mother Grogan (the most excellent creature of her sex
though ’tis pity she’s a trollop): There’s a belly that never bore a
bastard. This was so happy a conceit that it renewed the storm of mirth
and threw the whole room into the most violent agitations of delight.
The spry rattle had run on in the same vein of mimicry but for some
larum in the antechamber.
Here the listener who was none other than the Scotch student, a little
fume of a fellow, blond as tow, congratulated in the liveliest fashion
with the young gentleman and, interrupting the narrative at a salient
point, having desired his visavis with a polite beck to have the
obligingness to pass him a flagon of cordial waters at the same time by
a questioning poise of the head (a whole century of polite breeding had
not achieved so nice a gesture) to which was united an equivalent but
contrary balance of the bottle asked the narrator as plainly as was
ever done in words if he might treat him with a cup of it. _Mais bien
sûr_, noble stranger, said he cheerily, _et mille compliments_. That
you may and very opportunely. There wanted nothing but this cup to
crown my felicity. But, gracious heaven, was I left with but a crust in
my wallet and a cupful of water from the well, my God, I would accept
of them and find it in my heart to kneel down upon the ground and give
thanks to the powers above for the happiness vouchsafed me by the Giver
of good things. With these words he approached the goblet to his lips,
took a complacent draught of the cordial, slicked his hair and, opening
his bosom, out popped a locket that hung from a silk riband, that very
picture which he had cherished ever since her hand had wrote therein.
Gazing upon those features with a world of tenderness, Ah, Monsieur, he
said, had you but beheld her as I did with these eyes at that affecting
instant with her dainty tucker and her new coquette cap (a gift for her
feastday as she told me prettily) in such an artless disorder, of so
melting a tenderness, ’pon my conscience, even you, Monsieur, had been
impelled by generous nature to deliver yourself wholly into the hands
of such an enemy or to quit the field for ever. I declare, I was never
so touched in all my life. God, I thank thee, as the Author of my days!
Thrice happy will he be whom so amiable a creature will bless with her
favours. A sigh of affection gave eloquence to these words and, having
replaced the locket in his bosom, he wiped his eye and sighed again.
Beneficent Disseminator of blessings to all Thy creatures, how great
and universal must be that sweetest of Thy tyrannies which can hold in
thrall the free and the bond, the simple swain and the polished
coxcomb, the lover in the heyday of reckless passion and the husband of
maturer years. But indeed, sir, I wander from the point. How mingled
and imperfect are all our sublunary joys. Maledicity! he exclaimed in
anguish. Would to God that foresight had but remembered me to take my
cloak along! I could weep to think of it. Then, though it had poured
seven showers, we were neither of us a penny the worse. But beshrew me,
he cried, clapping hand to his forehead, tomorrow will be a new day
and, thousand thunders, I know of a _marchand de capotes_, Monsieur
Poyntz, from whom I can have for a _livre_ as snug a cloak of the
French fashion as ever kept a lady from wetting. Tut, tut! cries Le
Fécondateur, tripping in, my friend Monsieur Moore, that most
accomplished traveller (I have just cracked a half bottle _avec lui_ in
a circle of the best wits of the town), is my authority that in Cape
Horn, _ventre biche_, they have a rain that will wet through any, even
the stoutest cloak. A drenching of that violence, he tells me, _sans
blague_, has sent more than one luckless fellow in good earnest
posthaste to another world. Pooh! A _livre!_ cries Monsieur Lynch. The
clumsy things are dear at a sou. One umbrella, were it no bigger than a
fairy mushroom, is worth ten such stopgaps. No woman of any wit would
wear one. My dear Kitty told me today that she would dance in a deluge
before ever she would starve in such an ark of salvation for, as she
reminded me (blushing piquantly and whispering in my ear though there
was none to snap her words but giddy butterflies), dame Nature, by the
divine blessing, has implanted it in our hearts and it has become a
household word that _il y a deux choses_ for which the innocence of our
original garb, in other circumstances a breach of the proprieties, is
the fittest, nay, the only garment. The first, said she (and here my
pretty philosopher, as I handed her to her tilbury, to fix my
attention, gently tipped with her tongue the outer chamber of my ear),
the first is a bath... But at this point a bell tinkling in the hall
cut short a discourse which promised so bravely for the enrichment of
our store of knowledge.
Amid the general vacant hilarity of the assembly a bell rang and, while
all were conjecturing what might be the cause, Miss Callan entered and,
having spoken a few words in a low tone to young Mr Dixon, retired with
a profound bow to the company. The presence even for a moment among a
party of debauchees of a woman endued with every quality of modesty and
not less severe than beautiful refrained the humourous sallies even of
the most licentious but her departure was the signal for an outbreak of
ribaldry. Strike me silly, said Costello, a low fellow who was fuddled.
A monstrous fine bit of cowflesh! I’ll be sworn she has rendezvoused
you. What, you dog? Have you a way with them? Gad’s bud, immensely so,
said Mr Lynch. The bedside manner it is that they use in the Mater
hospice. Demme, does not Doctor O’Gargle chuck the nuns there under the
chin. As I look to be saved I had it from my Kitty who has been
wardmaid there any time these seven months. Lawksamercy, doctor, cried
the young blood in the primrose vest, feigning a womanish simper and
with immodest squirmings of his body, how you do tease a body! Drat the
man! Bless me, I’m all of a wibbly wobbly. Why, you’re as bad as dear
little Father Cantekissem, that you are! May this pot of four half
choke me, cried Costello, if she aint in the family way. I knows a lady
what’s got a white swelling quick as I claps eyes on her. The young
surgeon, however, rose and begged the company to excuse his retreat as
the nurse had just then informed him that he was needed in the ward.
Merciful providence had been pleased to put a period to the sufferings
of the lady who was _enceinte_ which she had borne with a laudable
fortitude and she had given birth to a bouncing boy. I want patience,
said he, with those who, without wit to enliven or learning to
instruct, revile an ennobling profession which, saving the reverence
due to the Deity, is the greatest power for happiness upon the earth. I
am positive when I say that if need were I could produce a cloud of
witnesses to the excellence of her noble exercitations which, so far
from being a byword, should be a glorious incentive in the human
breast. I cannot away with them. What? Malign such an one, the amiable
Miss Callan, who is the lustre of her own sex and the astonishment of
ours? And at an instant the most momentous that can befall a puny child
of clay? Perish the thought! I shudder to think of the future of a race
where the seeds of such malice have been sown and where no right
reverence is rendered to mother and maid in house of Horne. Having
delivered himself of this rebuke he saluted those present on the by and
repaired to the door. A murmur of approval arose from all and some were
for ejecting the low soaker without more ado, a design which would have
been effected nor would he have received more than his bare deserts had
he not abridged his transgression by affirming with a horrid
imprecation (for he swore a round hand) that he was as good a son of
the true fold as ever drew breath. Stap my vitals, said he, them was
always the sentiments of honest Frank Costello which I was bred up most
particular to honour thy father and thy mother that had the best hand
to a rolypoly or a hasty pudding as you ever see what I always looks
back on with a loving heart.
To revert to Mr Bloom who, after his first entry, had been conscious of
some impudent mocks which he however had borne with as being the fruits
of that age upon which it is commonly charged that it knows not pity.
The young sparks, it is true, were as full of extravagancies as
overgrown children: the words of their tumultuary discussions were
difficultly understood and not often nice: their testiness and
outrageous _mots_ were such that his intellects resiled from: nor were
they scrupulously sensible of the proprieties though their fund of
strong animal spirits spoke in their behalf. But the word of Mr
Costello was an unwelcome language for him for he nauseated the wretch
that seemed to him a cropeared creature of a misshapen gibbosity, born
out of wedlock and thrust like a crookback toothed and feet first into
the world, which the dint of the surgeon’s pliers in his skull lent
indeed a colour to, so as to put him in thought of that missing link of
creation’s chain desiderated by the late ingenious Mr Darwin. It was
now for more than the middle span of our allotted years that he had
passed through the thousand vicissitudes of existence and, being of a
wary ascendancy and self a man of rare forecast, he had enjoined his
heart to repress all motions of a rising choler and, by intercepting
them with the readiest precaution, foster within his breast that
plenitude of sufferance which base minds jeer at, rash judgers scorn
and all find tolerable and but tolerable. To those who create
themselves wits at the cost of feminine delicacy (a habit of mind which
he never did hold with) to them he would concede neither to bear the
name nor to herit the tradition of a proper breeding: while for such
that, having lost all forbearance, can lose no more, there remained the
sharp antidote of experience to cause their insolency to beat a
precipitate and inglorious retreat. Not but what he could feel with
mettlesome youth which, caring nought for the mows of dotards or the
gruntlings of the severe, is ever (as the chaste fancy of the Holy
Writer expresses it) for eating of the tree forbid it yet not so far
forth as to pretermit humanity upon any condition soever towards a
gentlewoman when she was about her lawful occasions. To conclude, while
from the sister’s words he had reckoned upon a speedy delivery he was,
however, it must be owned, not a little alleviated by the intelligence
that the issue so auspicated after an ordeal of such duress now
testified once more to the mercy as well as to the bounty of the
Supreme Being.
Accordingly he broke his mind to his neighbour, saying that, to express
his notion of the thing, his opinion (who ought not perchance to
express one) was that one must have a cold constitution and a frigid
genius not to be rejoiced by this freshest news of the fruition of her
confinement since she had been in such pain through no fault of hers.
The dressy young blade said it was her husband’s that put her in that
expectation or at least it ought to be unless she were another Ephesian
matron. I must acquaint you, said Mr Crotthers, clapping on the table
so as to evoke a resonant comment of emphasis, old Glory Allelujurum
was round again today, an elderly man with dundrearies, preferring
through his nose a request to have word of Wilhelmina, my life, as he
calls her. I bade him hold himself in readiness for that the event
would burst anon. ’Slife, I’ll be round with you. I cannot but extol