Ulysses by James Joyce: A Scene from the Novel, Schemi e mappe concettuali di Inglese Giuridico

Scarica Ulysses by James Joyce: A Scene from the Novel e più Schemi e mappe concettuali in PDF di Inglese Giuridico solo su Docsity! 818/12 Ulysses by James Joyce The Project Gutenberg EBook ofUlysses, by James Joyce This eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it der the terms ofthe Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Ulysses Author: James Joyce Release Date: August 1, 2008 [EBook #4300] [Last updated: November 17, 2011] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 #** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ULYSSES *** Produced by Col Choat, and David Widger ULYSSES by James Joyce Contents I www.gutenberg.org/files/4300/4300-h/4300-h.htm 1/470 8/8/12 Ulysses by James Joyce -— I —lI_ — I Stately, pump Buck Mulligan came fiom the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressnggown, mgirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild moming air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned: —Introibo ad altare Dei. Halted, he peered down the dark winding stars and called out coarsely: —Come up, Kinch! Come up, you fearfùl jesuit! Solemnly he came forward and mowted the romd gwrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gugling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top ofthe staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in.its length, and at the licht untonswred hair, grained and led like pale cak. Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartiy. —Back to barracks! he said stemly. He added ina preacher's tone: —For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and os. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all He peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of call then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Cliysostomos. Two strong shill whisfles answered through the calm. — Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch offthe cument, will you? He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds ofhis gown The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron ofarts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips. —The mockery ofit! he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek! He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself Stephen www.gutenberg.org/files/4300/4300-h/4300-h.htm 2/470 818/12 Ulysses by James Joyce Î Buck Mulligan suddenly Inked his arm in Stephen's and walked with him round the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where he had thrust them. —If's not fair to tease you like that, Kinch, is it? he said kindly. God knows you have more spinit than any ofthem. Parried again. He fears the lancet ofmy art as I fear that ofhis. The cold steelpen. —Cracked lookingglass of a servant! Tell that to the oxy chap downstairs and touch him for a guinea. He's stinking with money and thinks you're not a gentleman His old fellow made his tin by selling jalap to Zulus or some bloody swindle or other. God, Kinch, if you and I could only work together we might do something for the island. Hellenise it. Cranly's arm. His arm. —And to think ofyowr having to beg from these swine. I'm the only one that knows what you are. Why don't you trust me more? What have you up your nose against me? Is it Haines? Ifhe makes any noise here I'll bring down Seymour and we'll give him a ragging worse than they gave Clive Kempthorpe. —Let him stay, Stephen said. There's nothing wrong with him except at night. — Then what is it? Buck Mulligan asked impatiently. Cough it up. I'm quite frank with you. What have you against me now? They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the water like the snout ofa sleeping whale. Stephen freed his arm quietly. —Do you wish me to tell you? he asked. www.gutenberg.org/files/4300/4300-h/4300-h.htm 51470 818/12 Ulysses by James Joyce —Yes, what is it? Buck Mulligan answered. I don't remember anything. He looked in Stephen's face as he spoke. A light wind passed his brow, fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points ofanxiety in his eyes. Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said: —Do you remember the first day I went to yowr house after my mother's death? Buck Mulligan fiowned quickly and said: — What? Where? I can't remember anything. I remember only ideas and sensations. Why? What happened in the name of God? —You were making tea, Stephen said, and went across the landing to get more hot water. Your mother and some visitor came out ofthe drawingroom. She asked you who was in your room. —Yes? Buck Mulligan said. What did I say? I forget —You said, Stephen answered, O, is only Dedalus whose mother is beastly dead. A flush which made him seem yownger and more engaging rose to Buck Mulligan's cheek. —Did I say that? he asked. Well? What harm is that? He shook his constraint from him nervously. —And what is death, he asked, your mother's or yours or my own? You saw only your mother die. I see them pop offevery day in the Mater and Richmond and cut up into tripes in the dissectingroom. Its a beastly thing and nothing else. It simply doesn't matter. You wouldn't kneel down to pray for your mother on her deathbed when she asked you. Why? Because you have the cursed jesuit stran n you, only it's injected the wrong way. To me it's alla mockery and beastly. Her cerebral lobes are not finctioning. She calls the doctor sir Peter Teazle and picks buttercups offthe quilt. Humow her till it's over. You crossed her last wish in death and yet you sulk with me because I don't whinge like some hired mute from Lalouette's. Abswrd! I suppose I did say it. I didn't mean to offènd the memory of your mother. He had spoken himselfinto boldness. Stephen, shielding the gaping wounds which the words had left in his heart, said very coldly: —I am not thinking ofthe offence to my mother. — Of what then? Buck Mulligan asked. — Ofthe offence to me, Stephen answered. Buck Mulligan swng round on his heel. —0, animpossible person! he exclaimed. He walked off quickly round the parapet. Stephen stood at his post, gazing over the calm sea towards the headland. Sea and headland now grew dim. Pulses were beating in his eyes, velling their sight, and he felt the fever ofhis cheeks. A voice within the tower called loudly: —Are you up there, Mulligan? —I'm coming, Buck Mulligan answered. www.gutenberg.org/files/4300/4300-h/4300-h.htm 61/470 818/12 Ulysses by James Joyce He tumed towards Stephen and said: —Look at the sea. What does it care about offences? Chuck Loyola, Kinch, and come on down. The Sassenach wants his moming rashers. His head halted again for a moment at the top ofthe staircase, level with the roof —Don't mope over it all day, he said. I'm inconsequent. Give up the moody brooding. His head vanished but the drone ofhis descending voice boomed out ofthe stairhead: And no more turn aside and brood Upon love's bitter mystery For Fergus rules the brazen cars. Woodshadows floated silently by thuough the moming peace from the starhead seaward where he gazed. Inshore and farther out the mirror of water whitened, spumed by lightshod hurying feet. White breast ofthe dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the harpstrings, merging their twining chords. Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the dim tide. A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly, shadowing the bay in deeper green. It lay beneath him, a bowl of bitter waters. Fergus' song; I sang it alone in the house, holding down the long dark chords. Her door was open: she wanted to hear my music. Silent with awe and pity I went to her bedside. She was crying in her wretched bed. For those words, Stephen: love's bitter mystery. Where now? Her secrets: old featherfans, tasselled dancecards, powdered with musk, a gaud ofamber beads in her locked drawer. A birdcage lung in the sunny window ofher house when she was a gi She heard old Royce sing in the pantomime of Twrko the Terrible and laughed with others when he sang: Iam the boy That can enjoy Invisibility. Phantasmal mirth, folded away: muskperfimed. And no more turn aside and brood. Folded away in the memory of nature with her toys. Memories beset his brooding brain Her glass of water from the kitchen tap when she had approached the sacrament. A cored apple, filed with brown sugar, roasting for her at the hob ona dark autumn evening. Her shapely fingemaîls reddened by the blood ofsquashed lice from the children's hits. Ina dream, silentty, she had come to him, her wasted body within its loose graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, bent over him with mute secret words, a faint odow of wetted ashes. Her glazing eyes, staring out of death, to shake and bend my soul On me alone. The ghostcandle to light her agony. Ghostly light on the tortured face. Her hoarse loud breath rattling in homor, while all prayed on their knees. Her eyes on me to strike me down. Liliata rutilantium te confessorum turma circumdet: iubilatium te virginum chorus excipiat. Ghoul! Chewer ofcorpses! No, mother! Let me be and let me live. —Kinch ahoy! www.gutenberg.org/files/4300/4300-h/4300-h.htm 71470 818/12 Ulysses by James Joyce —I fancy, Stephen said as he ate, it did not exist in or out ofthe Mabinogion. Mother Grogan was, one imagines, a kinswoman of Mary Am. Buck Mulligan's face smiled with delight. —Charming! he said in a finical sweet voice, showing his white teeth and blinking his eyes pleasantly. Do you think she was? Quite charming! Then, suddenly overclouding all his features, he growled in a hoarsened rasping voice as he hewed again vigorously at the loaf —For old Mary Am She doesn't care a damn. But, hising up her petticoatts... He crammed his mouth with ffy and munched and droned. The doorway was darkened by an entering form. —The milk, sir! —Come in, ma'am, Mulligan said. Kinch, get the jug. An old woman came forward and stood by Stephens elbow. — That's a lovely moming, sir, she said. Glory be to God. —To whom? Mulligan said, glancing at her. Ah, to be sue! Stephen reached back and took the milkjug from the locker. — The islanders, Mulligan said to Haines casually, speak frequently ofthe collector ofprepuces. —How much, sir? asked the old woman —A quart, Stephen said. He watched her pour into the measure and thence into the jug rich white milk, not hers. Old shrunken paps. She powed again a measwefil and a tilly. Old and secret she had entered fiom a moming world, maybe a messenger. She praised the goodness of the milk, pouring it out. Crouching by a patient cow at daybreak in the lush field, a witch on her toadstool, her wrinkled fingers quick at the squirting dugs. They lowed about her whom they knew, dewsilky cattle. Silk ofthe kine and poor old woman, names given her n old times. A wandering crone, lowly form of an immortal serving her conqueror and her gay betrayer, their common cuckquean, a messenger from the secret morning. To serve or to upbraid, whether he could not tell: but scored to beg her favo. —Itis indeed, ma'am, Buck Mulligan said, pouring milk into their cups. —Taste it, sir, she said. He drank at her biddmng. —Ifwe could live on good food like that, he said to her somewhat loudly, we wouldn't have the country full of rotten teeth and rotten guts. Living in a bogswamp, eating cheap fbod and the streets paved with dust, horsedung and consumptives' spits. —Are you a medical student, sir? the old woman asked. —I am, ma'am, Buck Mulligan answered. www.gutenberg.org/files/4300/4300-h/4300-h.htm 10/470 818/12 Ulysses by James Joyce —Look at that now, she said. Stephen listened in scomfil silence. She bows her old head to a voice that speaks to her loudly, her bonesetter, her medicineman: me she slights. To the voice that will shrive and oil for the grave all there is ofher but her woman's wnelean loins, of man's flesh made not in God's likeness, the serpent's prey. And to the loud voice that now bids her be silent with wondering msteady eyes. —Do you understand what he says? Stephen asked her. —Is it French you are talking, sir? the old woman said to Haines. Haines spoke to her again a longer speech, confidently. —Hrish, Buck Mulligan said. Is there Gaelic on you? —I thought it was Irish, she said, by the sound ofit. Are you from the west, sir? —’I am an Englishman, Hanes answered. —He's English, Buck Mulligan said, and he thinks we ought to speak Irish in Ireland. —Sure we oughtto, the old woman said, and I'm ashamed I don't speak the language myself I'm told it's a grand language by them that knows. —Grand is no name for it, said Buck Mulligan Wonderfil entirely. Fill us out some more tea, Kinch. Would you like a cup, ma'am? —No, thank you, sir, the old woman said, slipping the ring ofthe milkcan on her forearm and about to go. Haines said to her: —Have you your bill? We had better pay her, Mulligan, hadn't we? Stephen filled again the three cups. —Bill sir? she said, halting. Well it's seven momings a pint at twopence is seven twos is a shilling and twopence over and these three momings a quart at fourpence is three quarts is a shillng. That's a shilling and one and two is two and two, sir. Buck Mulligan sighed and, having filled his mouth with a crust thickly buttered on both sides, stretched forth his legs and began to search his trouser pockets. —Pay up and look pleasant, Haines said to him, smiling. Stephen filled a third cup, a spoonfil of tea colowing faintly the thick rich milk. Buck Mulligan brought up a florin, twisted it round in his fingers and cried: —A miracle! He passed it along the table towards the old woman, saying: —Ask nothing more of me, sweet. AILI can give youI give. Stephen laid the coin in her meager hand. —We'll owe twopence, he said. —Time enough, sir, she said, taking the con. Time enough. Good moming, sir. She cutseyed and went out, followed by Buck Mulligan's tender chant: www.gutenberg.org/files/4300/4300-h/4300-h.htm 11/470 818/12 Ulysses by James Joyce —Heart of my heart, were it more, More would be laid at your feet. He tumed to Stephen and said: —Seriously, Dedalus. I'm stony. Hwry out to your school kip and bring us back some money. Today the bards must drink and junket. Ireland expects that every man this day will do his duty. —That reminds me, Haines said, rising, that I have to visit your national library today. —Ow swim first, Buck Mulligan said. He tumed to Stephen and asked blandly: —Is this the day for your monthly wash, Kinch? Then he said to Haines: — The nelean bard makes a point ofwashing once a month. —All Ireland is washed by the gulfstream, Stephen said as he let honey trickle over a slice ofthe loaf. Haines from the corner where he was knotting easily a scarfabout the loose collar of his termis shirt spoke: —I intend to make a collection ofyow sayings ifyou will let me. Speaking to me. They wash and tub and scrub. Agenbite ofinwit. Conscience. Yet here's a spot. —That one about the cracked lookingglass ofa servant being the symbol of Irish art is deuced good. Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen's foot under the table and said with warmth oftone: — Wait till you hear him on Hamlet, Haines. —Well I mean it, Haines said, still speaking to Stephen. I was just thinking ofit when that poor old creature came in — Would I make any money by it? Stephen asked. Haines laughed and, as he took his soft grey hat from the holdfast ofthe hammock, said: —I don't know, I'm sure. He strolled out to the doorway. Buck Mulligan bent across to Stephen and said with coarse vigour: —You put your hoofin it now. What did you say that for? —Well? Stephen said. The problem is to get money. From whom? From the milkwoman or fiom him. It's a toss up, I think. —I blow him out about you, Buck Mulligan said, and then you come along with your lousy leer and your gloomy jesuit jibes. —I see little hope, Stephen said, from her or from him. Buck Mulligan sighed tragically and laid his hand on Stephen's amm. —From me, Kinch, he said. www.gutenberg.org/files/4300/4300-h/4300-h.htm 12/470 8/8/12 Ulysses by James Joyce He tugged swiftly at Stephen's ashplant in farewell and, rumning forward to a brow of the cliff fiuttered his hands at his sides like fins or wings ofone about to rise in the air, and chanted: —Goodbye, now, goodbye! Write down all I said And tell Tom, Dick and Harry I rose from the dead. What's bred in the bone cannot fail me to fly And Olivet's breezy... Goodbye, now, goodbye! He capered before them down towards the fortyfbot hole, fiutterng his winglike hands, leaping nimbly, Mercwy's hat quivering in the fresh wind that bore back to them his brief birdsweet cries. Haines, who had been laughing guardedly, walked on beside Stephen and said: —We oughtn't to laugh, I suppose. He's rather blasphemous. I'm not a believer myself that is to say. Still his gaiety takes the harm out ofit somehow, doesn't it? What did he call it? Joseph the Joiner? — The ballad ofjoking Jesus, Stephen answered. —0, Haines said, you have heard it before? — Three times a day, after meals, Stephen said drily. —Youre not a believer, are you? Haines asked. I mean, a believer in the narrow sense of the word. Creation from nothing and miracles and a personal God. — There's only one sense offhe word, it seems to me, Stephen said. Haines stopped to take out a smooth silver case in which twinkled a green stone. He sprang it open with his thumb and offered it. — Thank you, Stephen said, taking a cigarette. Haines helped himself and snapped the case to. He put it back in his sidepocket and took from his waistcoatpocket a nickel tinderbox, sprang it open too, and, having lit his cigarette, held the flaming spunk towards Stephen in the shell ofhis hands. — Yes, ofcowrse, he said, as they went on again. Either you believe or you dont, isn't it? Personally I couldn't stomach that idea ofa personal God. You don't stand for that, I suppose? —You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeaswre, a horrible example of free thought. He walked on, waiting to be spoken to, trailing his ashplant by his side. Its femule followed lightly on the path, squealing at his heels. My familiar, after me, calling, Steeeeeeeeeeeephen! A wavering line along the path. They will walk on it tonight, coming here in the dark. He wants that key. It is mine. I paid the rent. Now I eat his salt bread. Give him the key too. AIl He will ask for it. That was in his eyes. —After all, Haines began... Stephen tuned and saw that the cold gaze which had measwed him was not all kind. —After all, I should think you are able to free yourself You are your own master, it seems to me. —Iama servant oftwo masters, Stephen said, an English and an Italian. — Italian? Haines said. A crazy queen, old and jealous. Kneel down before me. www.gutenberg.org/files/4300/4300-h/4300-h.htm 15/470 8/8/12 Ulysses by James Joyce —And a third, Stephen said, there is who wants me for odd jobs. —Italian? Haines said again What do you mean? —The imperial British state, Stephen answered, his colour rising, and the holy Roman catholic and apostolic church. Haines detached from his underlip some fibres oftobacco before he spoke. —I can quite mderstand that, he said calmly. An Irishman must think like that, I daresay. We feelin England that we have treated you rather mfairly. It seems history is to blame. The proud potent titles clanged over Stephen's memory the triumph oftheir brazen bells: ef unam sanctam catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam: the slow growth and change ofrite and dogma like his own rare thoughts, a chemistry ofstars. Symbol ofthe apostles in the mass for pope Marcellus, the voices blended, singing alone loud in affirmation: and behind their chant the vigilant angel of the church militant disarmed and menaced her heresiarchs. A horde of heresies fleeng with mitres awry: Photus and the brood of mockers of whom Mulligan was one, and Arius, warring his life long upon the consubstantiality of the Son with the Father, and Valentine, spurning Chuist's terrene body, and the subtle African heresiarch Sabellus who held that the Father was Himself His own Son. Words Mulligan had spoken a moment since in mockery to the stranger. Idle mockery. The void awaits surely all them that weave the wind: a menace, a disarming and a worsting from those embattled angels of the church, Michael's host, who defend her ever in the hour of conflict with their lances and their shields. Hear, hear! Prolonged applause. Zut! Nom de Dieu! — Of cowse I'm a Britisher, Haines's voice said, and I feel as one. I don't want to see my country fall into the hands of German jews either. That's our national problem, I'm afraid, just now. Two men stood at the verge ofthe cliff watching: busmessman, boatman —She's making for Bullock harbour. The boatman nodded towards the north ofthe bay with some disdain — There's five fathoms out there, he said. Itl be swept up that way when the tide comes in about one. It's nine days today. The man that was drowned. A sail veering about the blank bay waiting fr a swollen bundle to bob up, roll over to the sma puffy face, saltwhite. Here I am. They followed the winding path down to the creek. Buck Mulligan stood ona stone, in shirtsleeves, his celipped tie rippling over his shoulder. A young man clinging to a spur ofrock near him, moved slowly fiogwise his green legs in the deep jelly of the water. —Is the brother with you, Malachi? — Down in Westmeath. With the Bannons. —-Stil there? I got a card from Bannon. Says he found a sweet young thing down there. Photo gil he calls her. —Snapshot, eh? Brief exposure. Buck Mulligan sat down to mlace his boots. An elderly man shot up near the spur ofrock a blowing red face. He scrambled up by the stones, water glistening on his pate and on its garland of grey hair, water rilling over his chest and pamch and spillng jets out ofhis black sagging loincloth. Buck Mulligan made way for him to scramble past and, glancing at Haines and Stephen, crossed www.gutenberg.org/files/4300/4300-h/4300-h.htm 16/470 818/12 Ulysses by James Joyce himself piousty with his thumbnail at brow and lips and breastbone. —Seymour's back in town, the young man said, grasping again his spur of rock. Chucked medicine and going in for the amy. —Al, go to God! Buck Mulligan said. —Going over next week to stew. You know that red Carlisle gul, Lily? —Yes. —Spooning with him last night on the pier. The father is rotto with money. —Is she up the pole? — Better ask Seymour that. —Seymour a bleeding officer! Buck Mulligan said. He nodded to himselfas he drew offhis trousers and stood up, saying tritely: —Redheaded women buck like goats. He broke offin alarm, feeling his side under his flapping shirt. —My twelfth rib is gone, he cried. I'm the Uedermensch. Toothless Kinch and I, the supermen He struggled out of his shirt and fiung it behind him to where his clothes lay. —Are you going in here, Malachi? — Yes. Make room in the bed. The young man shoved himselfbackward through the water and reached the middle ofthe creek in two long clean strokes. Hamnes sat down ona stone, smoking. —Are you not coming in? Buck Mulligan asked. —Later on, Hamnes said. Not on my breakfast. Stephen tuned away. —I'm going, Mulligan, he said. —Give us that key, Kinch, Buck Mulligan said, to keep my chemise flat. Stephen handed him the key. Buck Mulligan laid it across his heaped clothes. —And twopence, he said, for a pint. Throw it there. Stephen threw two pennies on the soft heap. Dressing, undressing. Buck Mulligan erect, with joined ‘hands before him, said solemmly: —He who stealeth from the poor lendeth to the Lord. Thus spake Zarathustra. His phunp body plunged. —We'l see you again, Haines said, tuning as Stephen walked up the path and smiling at wild Irish. Homofa bull, hoofofa horse, smile ofa Saxon. — The Ship, Buck Mulligan cried. Halftwelve. www.gutenberg.org/files/4300/4300-h/4300-h.htm 17/470