The world believes that Shakespeare made a mistake； he said； and got out of it as quickly and as best he could。
Bosh！ Stephen said rudely。 A man of genius makes no mistakes。 His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery。
Portals of discovery opened to let in the quaker librarian； softcreakfooted； bald； eared and assiduous。
A shrew； John Eglinton said shrewdly； is not a useful portal of discovery； one should imagine。 What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe？
Dialectic； Stephen answered： and from his mother how to bring thoughts into the world。 What he learnt from his other wife Myrto （absit nomen！） Socratididion's Epipsychidion； no man； not a woman； will ever know。 But neither the midwife's lore nor the caudlectures saved him from the archons of Sinn Fein and their noggin of hemlock。
But Ann Hathaway？ Mr Best's quiet voice said forgetfully。 Yes； we seem to be forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her。
His look went from brooder's beard to carper's skull； to remind； to chide them not unkindly； then to the baldpink lollard costard； guiltless though maligned。
He had a good groatsworth of wit； Stephen said； and no truant memory。 He carried a memory in his wallet as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me。 If the earthquake did not time it we should know where to place poor Wat； sitting in his form； the cry of hounds； the studded bridle and her blue windows。 That memory； Venus and Adonis； lay in the bedchamber of every light…of…love in London。 Is Katharine the shrew illfavoured？ Hortensio calls her young and beautiful。 Do you think the writer of Antony and Cleopatra； a passionate pilgrim； had his eyes in the back of his head that he chose the ugliest doxy in all Warwickshire to lie withal？ Good： he left her and gained the world of men。 But his boywomen are the women of a boy。 Their life； thought； speech are lent them by males。 He chose badly？ He was chosen； it seems to me。 If others have their will Ann hath a way。 By cock； she was to blame。 She put the ether on him； sweet and twentysix。 The greyeyed goddess who bends over the boy Adonis； stooping to conquer； as prologue to the swelling act； is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a cornfield a lover younger than herself。
And my turn？ When？
e！
Ryefield； Mr Best said brightly； gladly； raising his new book； gladly brightly。
He murmured then with blonde delight for all：
Between the acres of the rye
These pretty countryfolk would lie。
Paris： the wellpleased pleaser。
A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from shadow and unveiled its cooperative watch。
I am afraid I am due at the Homestead。
Whither away？ Exploitable ground。
Are you going； John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked。 Shall we see you at Moore's tonight？ Piper is ing。
Piper！ Mr Best piped。 Is Piper back？
Peter Piper pecked a peck of pick of peck of pickled pepper。
I don't know if I can。 Thursday。 We have our meeting。 If I can get away in time。
Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers。 Isis Unveiled。 Their Pali book we tried to pawn。 Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones an Aztec logos； functioning on astral levels； their oversoul； mahamahatma。 The faithful hermetists await the light； ripe for chelaship； ringroundabout him。 Louis H。 Victory。 T。 Caulfield Irwin。 Lotus ladies tend them i'the eyes； their pineal glands aglow。 Filled with his god he thrones； Buddh under plantain。 Gulfer of souls； engulfer。 Hesouls； shesouls； shoals of souls。 Engulfed with wailing creecries； whirled； whirling； they bewail。
In quintessential triviality
For years in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt。
They say we are to have a literary surprise； the quaker librarian said； friendly and earnest。 Mr Russell； rumour has it； is gathering together a sheaf of our younger poets' verses。 We are all looking forward anxiously。
Anxiously he glanced in the cone of lamplight where three faces； lighted； shone。
See this。 Remember。
Stephen looked down on a wide headless caubeen； hung on his ashplanthandle over his knee。 My casque and sword。 Touch lightly with two index fingers。 Aristotle's experiment。 One or two？ Necessity is that in virtue of which it is impossible that one can be otherwise。 Argai； one hat is one hat。
Listen。
Young Colum and Starkey。 George Roberts is doing the mercial part。 Longworth will give it a good puff in the Express。 O； will he？ I liked Colum's Drover。 Yes； I think he has that queer thing； genius。 Do you think he has genius really？ Yeats admired his line： As in wild earth a Grecian vase。 Did he？ I hope you'll be able to e tonight。 Malachi Mulligan is ing too。 Moore asked him to bring Haines。 Did you hear Miss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martyn？ That Moore is Martyn's wild oats？ Awfully clever； isn't it？ They remind one of don Quixote and Sancho Panza。 Our national epic has yet to be written； Dr Sigerson says。 Moore is the man for it。 A knight of the rueful countenance here in Dublin。 With a saffron kilt？ O'Neill Russell？ O； yes； he must speak the grand old tongue。 And his Dulcinea？ James Stephens is doing some clever sketches。 We are being important； it seems。
Cordelia。 Cordoglio。 Lir's loneliest daughter。
Nookshotten。 Now your best French polish。
Thank you very much； Mr Russell； Stephen said； rising。 If you will be so kind as to give the letter to Mr Norman。。。
O； yes。 If he considers it important it will go in。 We have so much correspondence。
I understand； Stephen said。 Thanks。
Good ild you。 The pigs' paper。 Bullockbefriending。
Synge has promised me an article for Dana too。 Are we going to be read？ I feel we are。 The Gaelic league wants something in Irish。 I hope you will e round tonight。 Bring Starkey。
Stephen sat down。
The quaker librarian came from the leavetakers。 Blushing his mask said：
Mr Dedalus； your views are most illuminating。
He creaked to and fro； tiptoing up nearer heaven by the altitude of a chopine； and； covered by the noise of outgoing； said low：
Is it your view； then； that she was not faithful to the poet？
Alarmed face asks me。 Why did he e？ Courtesy or an inward light？
Where there is a reconciliation； Stephen said； there must have been first a sundering。
Yes。
Christfox in leather trews； hiding； a runaway in blighted treeforks from hue and cry。 Knowing no vixen； walking lonely in the chase。 Women he won to him； tender people； a whore of Babylon； ladies of justices； bully tapsters' wives。 Fox and geese。 And in New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was ely； once as sweet； as fresh as cinnamon； now her leaves falling； all； bare； frighted of the narrow grave and unforgiven。
Yes。 So you think。
The door closed behind the outgoer。
Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell； rest of warm and brooding air。
A vestal's lamp。
Here he ponders things that were not： what Caesar would have lived to do had he believed the soothsayer： what might have been： possibilities of the possible as possible： things not known： what name Achilles bore when he lived among women。
Coffined thoughts around me； in mummycases； embalmed in spice of words。 Thoth； god of libraries； a birdgod； moonycrowned。 And I heard the voice of that Egyptian highpriest。 In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks。
They are still。 Once quick in the brains of men。 Still： but an itch of death is in them； to tell me in my ear a maudlin tale； urge me to wreak their will。
Certainly； John Eglinton mused； of all great men he is the most enigmatic。 We know nothing but that he lived and suffered。 Not even so much。 Others abide our question。 A shadow hangs over all the rest。
But Hamlet is so personal； isn't it？ Mr Best pleaded。 I mean； a kind of private paper； don't you know； of his private life。 I mean I don't care a button； don't you know； who is killed or who is guilty。。。
He rested an innocent book on the edge of the desk； smiling his defiance。 His private papers in the original。 Ta an bad ar an tir。 Taim imo shagart。 Put beurla on it； littlejohn。
Quoth littlejohn Eglinton：
I was prepared for paradoxes from what Malachi Mulligan told us but I may as well warn you that if you want to shake my belief that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have a stern task before you。
Bear with me。
Stephen withstood the bane of miscreant eyes； glinting stern under wrinkled brows。 A basilisk。 E quando vede l'uomo l'attosca。 Messer Brunetto； I thank thee for the word。
As we； or mother Dana； weave and unweave our bodies； Stephen said； from day to day； their molecules shuttled to and fro； so does the artist weave and unweave his image。 And as the mole on my right breast is where it was when I was born； though all my body has been woven of new stuff time after time； so through the ghost of the unquiet father the image of the unliving son looks forth。 In the intense instant of imagination； when the mind； Shelley says； is a fading coal； that which I was is that which I am and that which in possibility I may e to be。 So in the future； the sister of the past； I may see myself as I sit here now but by reflection from that which then I shall be。
Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at that stile。
Yes； Mr Best said youngly； I feel Hamlet quite young。 The bitterness might be from the father but the passages with Ophelia are surely from the son。
Has the wrong sow by the lug。 He is in my father。 I am in his son。
That mole is the last to go； Stephen said； laughing。
John Eglinton made a nothing pleasing mow。
If that were the birthmark of genius； he said； genius would be a drug in the market。 The plays of Shakespeare's later years which Renan admired so much breathe another spirit。
The spirit of reconciliation； the quaker librarian breathed。
There can be no reconciliation； Stephen said； if there has not been a sundering。
Said that。
If you want to know what are the events which cast their shadow over the hell of time of King Lear； Othello； Hamlet； Troilus and Cressida； look to see when and how the shadow lifts。 What softens the heart of a man； Shipwrecked in storms dire； Tried； like another Ulysses； Pericles； prince of Tyre？
Head； redconecapped； buffeted； brineblinded。
A child； a girl placed in his arms； Marina。
The leaning of sophists towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a constant quantity； John Eglint