Exactly. In Joyce’s mind, the National Maternity Hospital on Holles Street is transformed into a medieval Castle of the Soul.
By using the “Camelot” style of Sir Thomas Malory, Joyce elevates a bunch of rowdy medical students drinking bottled ale into a scene of Arthurian legend. It’s a brilliant contrast: the students are shouting and making crude jokes, but the prose is “knight-errant” and noble.
The Chivalric Transformation:
* The “Castle”: The hospital.
* The “Damsel in Distress”: Mrs. Purefoy, struggling through her three-day labor.
* The “Knight of the Rueful Countenance”: Bloom (Sir Leopold). He is the only one who actually cares about the “damsel’s” suffering.
* The “Young Squire”: Stephen Dedalus. He is the brilliant but lost youth whom Bloom wants to “rescue” from the bad influence of the other students.
The Prose (A Taste of the Style):
> “And Sir Leopold sat him down… and he was right woful for the lady that was in the cell of the castle… and there was a young knight that was named Stephen, and he was a passing wise young man…”
>
In this section, even the beer they are drinking is described in chivalric terms. They aren’t just having a drink; they are “tippling” and “carousing” in a way that mocks the gravity of the hospital setting.
The “Shield of Protection”
Bloom sits at the table but does not drink. He is “sober and sage.” He acts as a silent protector, hoping his presence will keep the younger Stephen from getting too carried away by the “blasphemous japes” (crude jokes) of the others.
Exactly. Joyce shifts the prose into the style of Sir Thomas Malory, the 15th-century author of Le Morte d’Arthur.
In this section, the hospital becomes a castle, the medical students become rowdy knights, and Leopold Bloom is transformed into a wandering traveler named Sir Leopold.
The Scene in “Malory” Style
The language becomes full of “thees,” “thous,” and chivalric phrasing. Here is the essence of how Joyce handles this transition:
* The Castle: The National Maternity Hospital is framed as a fortress where a “damsel” (Mrs. Purefoy) is held in the “duress” of labor.
* The Knights: The medical students (Stephen Dedalus, Lenehan, Dixon, and others) are sitting around a table, not studying medicine, but “feasting” on sardines and ale.
* The Protagonist: Bloom enters “full loth to irk” (hating to disturb). He is treated with the wary respect given to a knight of a different order.
Why Malory?
Joyce chooses this style because it represents the “Adolescence” of the English language—moving away from the “infancy” of Anglo-Saxon into a more structured, narrative form. It also serves as a sharp irony: the students are behaving like drunken louts, but the prose describes them as if they are noble figures from Camelot.
The Arrival of Sir Leopold
> “And Sir Leopold sat him down… and he was right woful for the lady that was in the cell of the castle… and there was a young knight that was named Stephen, and he was a passing wise young man…”
>
In this section, Bloom notices Stephen Dedalus. He is worried about Stephen, seeing him wasting his talent and money drinking with these “boisterous companions.” This is the “Father” (Bloom) finally finding the “Son” (Stephen) in the middle of a symbolic “Castle of Birth.”
Bloom is at the National Maternity Hospital primarily out of a sense of paternal empathy and neighborly concern.
Unlike the young medical students inside who treat birth as a biological joke or a technical spectacle, Bloom—who lost his infant son, Rudy, eleven years prior—approaches the hospital with a somber, almost religious respect for the “allhardest of woman hour.”
The Parturient Woman: Mrs. Purefoy
The woman in labor is Mina Purefoy.
* Relationship to Bloom: She is a long-standing acquaintance. Her husband, Theodore Purefoy, is a clerk in the same social circles as Bloom.
* The Situation: She has been in grueling labor for three days. Earlier in the day (during the “Lestrygonians” episode), Bloom ran into a friend, Mrs. Breen, who told him about Mina’s difficult struggle.
* The Motivation: Bloom decides to stop by the hospital simply to “see how she is.” It is one of the many “random acts of kindness” Bloom performs throughout June 16th.
The Symbolic Connection
While Bloom has no blood relation to the Purefoys, the situation triggers his deep-seated grief over his own family line. By checking on Mina, he is symbolically “watching over” the continuation of life, even though his own “procreating function” (as the previous Latinate prose put it) has been stalled since the death of his son.
This section is a masterclass in Anglo-Saxon (Old English) pastiche. Joyce uses alliteration (repetition of initial consonant sounds) and “kennings” (compound metaphorical names) to make Bloom’s entry into the hospital feel like a scene from an ancient epic like Beowulf.
The language is “stony” and rhythmic, stripped of Latin influence to reflect the “embryonic” stage of the English language—just as the baby in the hospital is in an early stage of development.
Etymology & Glossary
Here is the breakdown of the archaic terms you highlighted, many of which Joyce reconstructed from Germanic roots:
| Word | Etymology / Meaning | Context in Text |
|—|—|—|
| Bedthanes | From OE bedd + thegn (attendant/servant). A thane was a feudal lord’s warrior or retainer. | Refers to the nurses as the loyal guardians of the hospital beds. |
| Tway / Twain | From OE twegen. The archaic form of “two.” | Refers to the two nurses on duty. |
| Rathe | From OE hratbe (quickly/soon). It is the root of the word “rather” (meaning “sooner”). | The nurse wants Bloom to enter “quickly” to escape the storm. |
| Infare | From OE in + faran (to go/travel). | A literal “going in” or entrance. |
| Thole | From OE tholian (to endure/suffer). Still used in Scots dialect. | The labor pains the mothers must “thole” to bring forth babies. |
| Bairns | From OE bearn (child). Common in Middle English and North England/Scotland. | The “hale” (healthy) children being born. |
| Levin | Middle English word for lightning. | “Levin leaping lightens”—the thunderstorm begins. |
| Welkin | From OE wolcen (cloud/sky). | The sky over the west of Ireland. |
| Swire ywimpled | Swire (OE swira – neck) + ywimpled (wearing a wimple/veil). | Describes the nurse’s neck covered by her habit. |
The “Sins” and the Storm
As Bloom enters, a massive crack of thunder happens (the “levin leaping”).
* The Nurse’s Fear: She makes the sign of the cross (“Christ’s rood”), fearing “God the Wreaker” is sending a second Great Flood to punish mankind’s sins.
* Bloom’s Guilt: Bloom feels “stark ruth” (strong pity/remorse). He remembers a time nine years ago when he met this nurse in town and failed to tip his hat to her. In this ancient, moralistic prose, even a small social slight is treated as a “sin” requiring forgiveness.
This section marks a fascinating transition. We have moved from the “Middle English” chronicle style into a section that mimics 18th-century “Latinate” prose—think of authors like Samuel Johnson. It is heavy, formal, and prioritizes abstract concepts over simple action.
The Divine Duty of Mothers
The first paragraph argues that a mother’s pain (“molestful”) is mitigated by the knowledge that she is fulfilling a national duty.
* “Proliferent mothers prosperity”: Again, the theme that a nation’s wealth is its children.
* The “Domicile”: This is the hospital. The prose describes the collective “desire immense” of the citizens to see the mother safely received into this “fair home of mothers.”
“Before born bliss babe had”
This second paragraph is one of the most famous in the chapter because it mimics Anglo-Saxon (Old English) alliteration and rhythm.
* “Within womb won he worship”: Notice the repetition of the “W” sound. This style is meant to feel ancient, “stony,” and elemental.
* The “Sejunct” Females: This is a bit of 1904 medical/psychological theory. It suggests that women in labor should be surrounded by “images, divine and human” to help with “tumescence” (swelling/growth) and “ease issue” (make birth easier). It’s the idea that a peaceful, beautiful environment leads to a healthy birth.
The Logistics of Labor
Joyce describes the “surgical implements” and “cleanest swaddles” with a sense of “wise foresight.” Even in this difficult language, Bloom is observing the order and cleanliness of the hospital, which contrasts sharply with the rowdy, chaotic “medical students” he is about to encounter inside.
In this specific section, written in the style of Middle English chronicles, Joyce uses “divers methods” (diverse methods) to refer to the collective medical wisdom passed down through generations of Irish physicians.
To answer your question directly: the “divers methods” weren’t one single procedure, but rather a systematic tradition of care documented by the great hereditary medical families (the O’Shiels, O’Hickeys, and O’Lees).
The “Methods” of the Irish Doctors:
* Documentation and Observation: They “sedulously set down” (diligentely recorded) treatments for specific ailments.
* Specific Cures for specific Maladies: * The Trembling Withering: Likely referring to ague, palsy, or consumption (TB).
* Loose Boyconnell Flux: A period-appropriate term for dysentery or severe diarrhea.
* The “Plan” for Maternity: The most significant “method” mentioned here is the institutionalization of care. The “plan” was to create a hospital (Holles Street) where “maternity was so far from all accident possibility removed.”
The “Driver” of the Logic
The “driver” behind these methods was universal access. Joyce emphasizes that this medical plan was adopted so that care was provided:
* Not just for the “copiously opulent” (the wealthy).
* But also for the woman who could “scarcely subsist valiantly” (the poor).
By framing the hospital’s mission in this ancient, hallowed language, Joyce is elevating the act of birth and the science of medicine to the level of a sacred national duty.
Welcome to the “Oxen of the Sun.” As you noted, the “simplest language” of the beach has vanished, replaced by this architectural, thunderous prose. We have moved from the individual’s mind to the evolution of the English language itself.
The “Three Incantations”
The chapter begins with three rhythmic shouts, mimicking the labor pains and the “calling down” of life:
* “Deshil Holles Eamus”: A mix of Irish (Deiseal – sunwise/prosperous) and Latin (Eamus – let us go). It literally means “Let us go prosperously to Holles Street.”
* The “Horhorn” Chant: This is an invocation to Sir Andrew Horne, the actual master of the National Maternity Hospital in 1904. Joyce turns him into a god of fertility (“bright one, light one”) who brings “wombfruit.”
* “Hoopsa boyaboy!”: The triumphant cry of the midwife as the baby is finally lifted into the world.
The Latinate Jungle
The massive paragraph that follows is written in a style that mimics Medieval Latin translated into English. It is intentionally dense, repetitive, and “erudite.”
* The Message: Stripped of the flowery language, it says something very simple: A nation’s prosperity is measured by its birth rate. It argues that nothing is more important than “proliferent continuance” (having babies) and that anyone who neglects this “evangel” (the command to procreate) is committing an “odious offence.”
* The Irony: This high-minded defense of procreation is being read by us while Bloom, who has lost his only son, enters the hospital.
The Medical History
The final section transitions into the style of early English chronicles. Joyce pays homage to the great hereditary medical families of Ireland—the O’Shiels, O’Hickeys, and O’Lees. He frames the hospital at Holles Street as the pinnacle of this long tradition, a place where “maternity was so far from all accident possibility removed.”
Bloom is now stepping inside, moving from the “grey surf” of the beach into the “allhardest of woman hour.”
You have hit on the exact reason why “Nausicaa” is many readers’ favorite chapter. After the linguistic acrobatics of the earlier episodes, this chapter feels like a deep, cooling breath of sea air.
As you noted, it contains some of the most accessible and tender prose in Ulysses. In this closing section, Bloom isn’t just a “scientist” or an “ad man”—he is a father and a husband, drowning in the “years of dreams” that return to him.
The “Cuckoo” Finale
The ending is a masterpiece of Joycean irony. The three-fold repetition of “Cuckoo” functions on three levels:
* The Literal: The clock in the priest’s house telling the time.
* The Insult: “Cuckoo” is the traditional cry aimed at a cuckold (a man whose wife is unfaithful). The clock is literally mocking Bloom’s knowledge of Molly and Boylan.
* The Mental State: It suggests Bloom is “cuckoo” (crazy) for his wandering thoughts, or perhaps Gerty’s perception of him as a “strange” foreign gentleman.
Key Revelations in the Monologue
* The “Foreigner” Mystery: We finally get a direct answer to “Why me?” from Molly’s perspective (via Bloom’s memory): “Because you were so foreign from the others.” Bloom’s Jewishness and his “otherness” were exactly what attracted the daughter of a Major from Gibraltar.
* The “U.p: up” Riddle: Bloom mentions the postcard sent to Mr. Breen. It’s a moment of dark fate—a “curse” that dogs people.
* The “Naughty” Letter: We see the fragments of Bloom’s secret correspondence with Martha Clifford (“I called you naughty boy”), showing how his private life is a patchwork of small transgressions and deep regrets.
The “Simplest” Language?
You are right that the language is simple, but Joyce uses that simplicity to create a hypnotic effect. The final paragraph is a “word-melt” where all of Bloom’s memories—the breadvan, the red slippers, the “pike hoses” (his daughter Milly’s mispronunciation of metempsychosis)—blend together as he drifts into a “half dream.”
This passage marks the exquisite close of the “Nausicaa” episode. The prose shifts from Bloom’s internal, fragmented thoughts to a lyrical, almost orchestral description of Dublin settling into the night. It is the “shepherd’s hour”—a time of folding things away.
The Symbolism of the Final Moments
* The Mirus Bazaar Fireworks: The “last lonely candle” is a firework from a real historical charity event held on June 16, 1904. Its colors—violet and white—echo the liturgical colors of penance and purity, but for Bloom, they represent the fading of the “magnetic” spark he felt on the beach.
* The Postman and the Lamp-lighter: Life in Dublin continues its rhythmic, clockwork motion. The “nine o’clock postman” and the “lintstock” at Leahy’s terrace represent the transition from the private world of Bloom’s mind back to the shared, public world of the city.
* The Gold Cup Result: The “shrill voice” crying the race results is a cruel irony for Bloom. All day, people have mistakenly thought he had a tip on the horse Throwaway (the 20-to-1 outsider who actually won). While the city reels from the betting results, Bloom remains an outsider to the excitement.
Howth as a Sleeping Giant
Joyce personifies Howth Head as a massive, prehistoric creature:
> “He lay but opened a red eye unsleeping… slumberous but awake.”
>
The “red eye” is the Baily Lighthouse, which Bloom watched earlier. By turning the landscape into a living being, Joyce suggests that the earth itself is a witness to the “yumyum” cycles of human lovers. Bloom isn’t just a man on a beach; he is a small part of a vast, breathing history.
The Lightship’s Wink
The final image—the Kish lightship twinkling at Mr. Bloom—is a moment of cosmic recognition. After a day of feeling ignored, cuckolded, and isolated, the universe (in the form of a mechanical light) gives him a “wink.” It’s a nod to his resilience. He has survived the “sharks” and the “placid sea,” and he is ready to move on.
In this passage, Bloom experiences a classic “muddle” of his Jewish heritage. He is thinking of the Mezuzah, but he incorrectly calls it the tephilim (Tefillin).
For Bloom, a secular man who has converted to Protestantism (and then Catholicism) for marriage, these terms are fading memories of his father, Rudolf Virág.
1. The Mezuzah (The “Thing on his door”)
The “thing on his door to touch” is the Mezuzah. It is a decorative case containing a piece of parchment (the Klaf) inscribed with specific Hebrew verses from the Torah (the Shema Yisrael).
* The Ritual: Jewish law mandates fixing it to the doorpost. It is customary to touch the Mezuzah when entering or leaving a house and then kiss the fingers that touched it.
* The Symbolism: It serves as a reminder of God’s presence and a symbol of protection. Bloom views it through the lens of a “lucky charm,” much like the sailor’s scapular.
2. The Tefillin (The “Tephilim”)
What Bloom calls “tephilim” are actually the Tefillin (phylacteries). These are two small black leather boxes containing parchment scrolls.
* The Ritual: One box is strapped to the forehead (the shel rosh) and the other to the arm (the shel yad) during weekday morning prayers.
* The Purpose: They are meant to bind the mind and the heart to the divine.
Bloom’s “House of Bondage” Irony
Bloom thinks: “That brought us out of the land of Egypt and into the house of bondage.”
In the Passover Haggadah, the phrase is “out of the house of bondage” (slavery in Egypt) and into freedom. Bloom cynically reverses it. To him, the strict adherence to ritual and the weight of history feel like a new kind of bondage. He sees the “scapular” and the “tephilim” not as spiritual liberation, but as heavy anchors people carry because they are “afraid of the dark” or the “sharks.”
You’ve highlighted a beautiful moment of calm before the linguistic storm of Oxen of the Sun. This is Bloom at his most “down-to-earth,” observing the world with the curiosity of a naturalist.
Bloom as the Naturalist
In this passage, Joyce uses Bloom’s wandering mind to bridge the gap between the tiny world of insects and the vast, terrifying scale of the ocean.
* The Bee and the Shadow: Bloom’s observation of the bee “playing with his shadow” is a perfect example of his scientific curiosity. He looks for cause and effect (did it come back to see the man it bit?) rather than just seeing a pest.
* Bird “Small Talk”: He treats the animal kingdom with the same social scrutiny as Dublin society. To Bloom, bird calls are just “and says she and says he”—the same gossip he hears in the pubs.
* The Curvature of the Earth: Even while pitying sailors, he can’t help but correct the idiom: “No ends really because it’s round.”
Faith and Superstition
Bloom compares the sailor’s scapular (a Catholic sacramental) to his father’s Mezuzah (which he calls the tephilim or the thing “on his door to touch”).
* He ironically flips the Passover story: instead of moving from bondage to the Promised Land, he feels the family moved “into the house of bondage.”
* The Survival Instinct: To Bloom, whether it’s a Jewish Mezuzah or a Catholic medal, these are just “lifebelts” for the soul—man’s attempt to find safety in a world where sharks and “stormy winds” are always waiting.
“Do fish ever get seasick?”
This is one of the most famous “Bloomisms.” It’s the ultimate “simple” question that is actually quite profound. It shows his empathy—he doesn’t just wonder about human suffering; he wonders about the biological discomfort of a fish in a churning sea.
> Note: Biologically, fish generally don’t get seasick because they have a different vestibular system, but they can experience “motion sickness” if kept in a tank on a moving ship!
>
Moving from the quiet, rhythmic sands of “Nausicaa,” we now enter Episode 14: Oxen of the Sun.
This is arguably the most technically difficult chapter in the book. Joyce decided that since the setting is a maternity hospital (where Mrs. Purefoy is in a grueling three-day labor), the language itself should undergo a birth process.
The Evolution of English
The chapter starts with ancient, primitive Latinate incantations and then moves through every major style of English literature in chronological order:
* Old English/Anglo-Saxon: Harsh, alliterative prose.
* Medieval/Malory: Tales of “Sir Leopold” as a traveling knight.
* Elizabethan/Shakespearean: Rich, dramatic metaphors.
* 18th-century Satire: Poking fun at the rowdy medical students.
* Victorian Dickensian: Sentimental and flowery.
* Modern Slang: Ending in a chaotic burst of drunken dialect.
Bloom’s Role: The “Father” Figure
While the young medical students (led by Buck Mulligan and Dixon) are drinking, shouting, and making light of birth, Bloom sits quietly. He feels a deep sense of paternal responsibility. Having lost his own son, Rudy, he looks at the young, wild Stephen Dedalus and feels a “magnetic” urge to protect him—the beginning of the father-son bond that defines the rest of the novel.
This passage captures the exact moment Bloom’s physical exhaustion turns into a deep, philosophical melancholy. He is mourning his “youth” while realizing that time doesn’t move in a straight line—it moves in a circle, like a “circus horse walking in a ring.”
Key Themes in this Reflection:
* The Law of Return: Bloom’s thought, “Think you’re escaping and run into yourself,” is one of the most famous lines in Ulysses. It summarizes the “Ulyssean” journey: no matter how much you wander or try to change, your character and your past are always waiting for you at the end of the road.
* Moorish Eyes: His mention of Molly’s “Moorish eyes” reminds us of her heritage (born in Gibraltar), which always represents the “exotic” and “vibrant” past that Bloom feels he is losing as he gets older.
* The Rusty Gun: This is the perfect symbol for his current state. Like Rip Van Winkle, he has “woken up” to find he is no longer the young man who courted Molly in 1887. The “dew” (time) has corroded his vitality.
In this final lingering moment on the beach, Bloom is contrasting the present (Gerty and the darkening strand) with the “rhododendrons” of Howth Head—the site of his proposal to Molly sixteen years prior.
The Bittersweet Return
* “He gets the plums, and I the plumstones”: This is a stark admission of his status as a “cuckold.” While Boylan (the “he”) gets the juicy fruit (Molly’s physical affection today), Bloom feels he is left with the hard, dry pit of the memory.
* “All that old hill has seen”: Bloom looks at Howth Head as a silent witness to history. He realizes that while his personal drama feels monumental, to the “old hill,” lovers are just “yum yum”—a repetitive cycle where names change, but the biological drive remains the same.
* “I am a fool perhaps”: This is the vulnerable core of Leopold Bloom. He’s spent the day analyzing physics and magnetism to distract himself, but here, in the quiet, he acknowledges the emotional cost of his “voyage round [his] own little world.”
The “White Fluxions” & Medical Folklore
Bloom’s mention of “white fluxions” (leukorrhea) and “piles” (hemorrhoids) from sitting on a cold stone is typical of his “hygienic” mindset. He views the body as a delicate instrument that reacts to the “dew falling,” constantly balancing health against the environment.
Before he leaves the strand, Bloom picks up a piece of driftwood and attempts to leave a final, secret mark in the sand.
The Incomplete Message
He begins to write:
> I. AM. A.
>
He stops there. Why?
* Physical Constraint: He runs out of space in the “thick sand.”
* Existential Doubt: He realizes the futility of it. “Useless. Washed away. Tide comes here.”
* The Missing Word: Critics and readers have debated for a century what that final word was meant to be. Was it “I AM A CUCKOLD” (the realization that has haunted him all day)? Or perhaps “I AM A MAN”?
By stopping at “I AM A,” the sentence remains open—much like Bloom himself, who is constantly trying to define his identity in a city that often rejects him. He eventually “effaces the letters with his slow boot,” choosing to remain a mystery.
“A Stick in the Mud”
In a classic Joycean bit of humor, Bloom flings his “wooden pen” (the stick) away. It lands upright, stuck fast in the silt. This creates a visual pun: Leopold Bloom, the wandering hero, is literally and figuratively a “stick in the mud”—stuck in his habits, stuck in his grief, and stuck in the Dublin sand as the night rolls in.
Bloom is now in the “post-glow” slump—physically drained and emotionally nostalgic. This passage is one of the most poignant in the “Nausicaa” episode because it highlights Bloom’s core philosophy: The Circularity of Time.
The “Dolphin’s Barn” Flashback
He is looking back nearly 20 years to 1887, the year he met Molly.
* The Bevy of Daughters: He lists the Dillon girls (Tiny, Atty, etc.), a rhythmic litany that emphasizes the abundance of youth he once felt surrounded by.
* “Only Child”: He notes the symmetry between himself and Molly. To Bloom, these “curious” coincidences are the “magnetism” of fate.
* “Longest way round is the shortest way home”: This is a key theme of the entire novel. Like Odysseus (Ulysses), Bloom is taking the long, wandering path through Dublin only to return to the same point—himself.
Rip Van Winkle and the “Rusty Gun”
Bloom’s memory of the charades at the Doyles’ house is a masterful piece of Joycean wordplay and symbolism:
* The Punny Breakdown: He breaks the name down into everyday Dublin objects: a “Rip” (tear) in a coat, a “Van” (bread delivery), and “Winkle” (the shellfish sold on the streets).
* The Symbolism: By playing Rip Van Winkle—the man who slept for twenty years and woke up to a world that forgot him—Bloom is expressing his fear of stagnation. He feels like Rip; he has “slept” through his own life, and now his “youth” is a “rusty gun,” no longer functional or powerful.
“Nothing New Under the Sun”
Bloom’s cynicism returns. He wants “the new,” but he realizes he is just a “circus horse walking in a ring.” He realizes that no matter how far you travel or how much you “think you’re escaping,” you eventually just “run into yourself.”
Bloom is now fully immersed in the “optical” transition from day to night. As the light fades on Sandymount Strand, his mind becomes a prism, refracting memories of Molly through the physics of color and the geography of Dublin Bay.
The “Roygbiv” Spectrum
Bloom recalls his schoolteacher, Mr. Vance, teaching the mnemonic for the visible spectrum: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet. * Red rays are longest: Bloom correctly notes that red light has the longest wavelength in the visible spectrum. This is why the setting sun appears red—the shorter blue wavelengths are scattered away, leaving the “long” red rays to reach his eyes across the bay.
* The “Bailey Light”: He is watching the Howth lighthouse. Its rhythmic flashing (two, four, six…) is a “reassuring” signal, a mathematical comfort against the “wreckers” (land pirates who used false lights to lure ships to their doom).
The “Evening Influence”
Bloom moves from the physics of light to the “botany” of women. He observes that women “open like flowers” in the evening.
* Jerusalem Artichokes & Sunflowers: He’s thinking of heliotropism—how plants track the sun—and applying it to the social “ballrooms” and “chandeliers” where people gravitate toward the light.
* Mat Dillon’s Garden: This is a pivotal memory. It’s where he first courted Molly in June 1887. The “nightstock” (a flower that only smells sweet at night) triggers the memory of kissing her shoulder, linking the current “evening influence” on the beach back to the origin of his marriage.
“History Repeats Itself”
When Bloom says “Ye crags and peaks,” he’s quoting the play William Tell by James Sheridan Knowles. He feels he is revisiting his own history—the “voyage round your own little world.” Even his pity for Gerty’s limp is tempered by his practical, slightly cynical “guard,” a defense mechanism he uses to navigate the “friction” of life.
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Bloom is now transitioning into his “amateur detective” persona, observing a passerby he dubs the “Mystery Man on the Beach” while his mind leaps toward folk weather lore.
“Whistle brings rain?”
Bloom is referencing a common maritime and rural superstition. In Irish and British folklore, there are two conflicting ideas about whistling:
* Whistling for a Wind: Sailors would “whistle” to beckon a breeze during a calm.
* Whistling up a Storm: Conversely, whistling at the wrong time (especially on a ship or near the coast) was thought to provoke the “hidden powers” of the air, bringing on a downpour or a gale.
Bloom, ever the amateur scientist, immediately tries to find a physical cause: “Must be some [moisture] somewhere.” He links the “whistle” to the physical sensation of the atmosphere—like the salt in the Ormond hotel being damp or “Old Betty’s” aching joints (rheumatism) acting as a barometer.
The “Royal Reader” and the Signs of Rain
When Bloom thinks of “distant hills seem coming nigh,” he is quoting a specific mnemonic poem found in the Royal Readers (a popular schoolbook series in the 19th century). The poem, often attributed to Edward Jenner, lists natural signs of an approaching storm:
> The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,
> And distant hills look near and steep…
> ’Twill surely rain, I see with sorrow,
> Our jaunt must be put off tomorrow.
>
Bloom uses these “signs” to ground himself. He’s moved from the high-flown magnetism of the universe back to the practical reality of a Dublin evening: it’s probably going to rain, and his own body (and kismet/corns) can feel it.
This is Bloom at his most sensory and “scientific,” moving from the delicate scent of Gerty’s perfume to the raw, animalistic “mansmell” of the clergy.
He is essentially inventing a primitive theory of pheromones here. He views the human body not just as flesh, but as a chemical factory constantly spinning out a “gossamer” web of scent that “clings to everything.”
Bloom’s Olfactory Map
* The Science of Scent: He correctly guesses the mechanics of smell—”millions of tiny grains blown across”—linking the perfume on the beach to the “Spice Islands” (Ceylon/Sri Lanka) he read about on his morning tea wrapper.
* The “Hogo”: When he mentions a “hogo you could hang your hat on,” he’s using a corruption of the French haut goût (high taste/strong flavor), usually referring to meat that’s gone slightly off.
* The “Priest Smell”: Bloom’s observation that women “buzz round” priests because of a specific “mansmell” (which he curiously identifies as celery sauce) is a sharp bit of Joycean irony. He suggests that the very celibacy of the “forbidden tree” makes the priest a more potent “source of life” to the women of the parish.
* Opoponax & Jessamine: He differentiates between Gerty’s “sweet and cheap” scents and Molly’s heavier, more complex preferences. To Bloom, a woman’s scent is her “high notes and low notes”—a physical music.
Continuing with the post-climactic drift of “Nausicaa,” Bloom is now transitioning from cosmic magnetism back to earthy, sensory memories. This passage is classic Bloom—shifting from Gerty’s immediate presence to his long-term preoccupation with Molly.
Breaking Down Bloom’s Associations
* The “Region”: He’s wondering about Gerty’s physical state after their “encounter,” but immediately pivots to the performance of modesty (“shame all put on”).
* Molly’s Memories: Mentioning Lombard Street West takes him back to the early days of his marriage (1888-1893).
* The Smell of Violets: This is a famous bit of “Bloom-logic.” He smells violets but immediately rationalizes it as a byproduct of the turpentine the painters were using. He can’t help but deconstruct the “romance” into chemistry.
* “Kick the beam”: This is an old idiom meaning to be “found wanting” or to fall short (derived from a balance scale where the lighter side kicks the beam). He’s likely reflecting on women’s stamina or their ability to reach a certain “peak” compared to men.
* The “General all round”: He’s describing that lingering, physical “afterglow” sensation—that magnetic hum he was just theorizing about, now physically cooling down his spine.
You’re absolutely right to correct me—my mistake! While the “Lestrygonians” episode is where Bloom famously ponders his lunch and the “stream of life,” this specific magnetic reverie takes place in “Nausicaa” (Episode 13), right on Sandymount Strand.
He’s sitting there in the aftermath of watching Gerty MacDowell, and his mind is drifting through that hazy, post-climax state where physics, sex, and the stars all start to blur together.
Why the “Nausicaa” Context Matters
In this episode, the “ghesabo” refers to the entire cosmic “setup” or “contraption” that Bloom feels he’s just been a part of.
* Magnetism: He is rationalizing his attraction to Gerty as a purely physical force—like the “magnetic needle” or “earth pulling.”
* The Fork and Steel: This is his metaphor for sexual attraction. The “steel” (the man) is drawn to the “fork” (the woman/magnet).
* The “Whole Ghesabo”: If that attraction or that movement stopped, Bloom imagines the entire clockwork of the universe would simply grind to a halt.
It’s a classic Bloom-ism: trying to use “science” to explain away his own very human (and slightly scandalous) impulses on the beach.
Dancing light of grace 