Bloom from outside

There's a distinct pattern starting with Menton (in Hades) of allowing us peeks at others' opinions, shared behind Bloom's back.  But this is so strong a pattern we need an explanation for why it's apparently missing in episodes 4 and 5-- so could it be that the letters in those chapters somehow also fill in the pattern?

(i notice there's surprisingly little explicit antisemitism in their unguarded comments-- just mulligan and the citizen)


calypso:
64  milly's letter shares boylan gossip, but bannon wouldn't gossip about molly even if he had some hint, and has never met bloom so he can't gossip there

"Dearest Papli,
Thanks ever so much for the lovely birthday present. It suits me splendid. Everyone says I'm quite the belle in my new tam. I got mummy's lovely box of creams and am writing. They are lovely. I am getting on swimming in the photo business now. Mr Coghlan took one of me and Mrs will send when developed. We did great biz yesterday. Fair day and all the beef to the heels were in. We are going to lough Owel on Monday with a few friends to make a scrap picnic. Give my love to mummy and to yourself a big kiss and thanks. I hear them at the piano downstairs. There is to be a concert in the Greville Arms on Saturday. There is a young student comes here some evenings named Bannon his cousins or something are big swells he sings Boylan's (I was on the pop of writing Blazes Boylan's) song about those seaside girls. Tell him silly Milly sends my best respects. I must now close with fondest love.
Your fond daughter,
MILLY.
P. S. Excuse bad writing, am in a hurry. Byby.
M."


lotus-eaters:
74 75 martha's letter includes flirtatious criticism but no hint of her gossiping to any others about him

"Dear Henry,
I got your last letter to me and thank you very much for it. I am sorry you did not like my last letter. Why did you enclose the stamps? I am awfully angry with you. I do wish I could punish you for that. I called you naughty boy because I do not like that other world. Please tell me what is the real meaning of that word. Are you not happy in your home you poor little naughty boy? I do wish I could do something for you. Please tell me what you think of poor me. I often think of the beautiful name you have. Dear Henry, when will we meet? I think of you so often you have no idea. I have never felt myself so much drawn to a man as you. I feel so bad about. Please write me a long letter and tell me more. Remember if you do not I will punish you. So now you know what I will do to you, you naughty boy, if you do not wrote. O how I long to meet you. Henry dear, do not deny my request before my patience are exhausted. Then I will tell you all. Goodbye now, naughty darling. I have such a bad headache today and write by return to your longing
MARTHA.
P. S. Do tell me what kind of perfume does your wife use. I want to know."


hades: 
102 menton on bloom, contemptuously dismissive (is 'coon' antisemitic?) 'bloom' w/o 'leopold'

"— Who is that chap behind with Tom Kernan? John Henry Menton asked. I know his face.
Ned Lambert glanced back.
— Bloom, he said, Madam Marion Tweedy that was, is, I mean, the soprano. She's his wife. — O, to be sure, John Henry Menton said. I haven't seen her for some time. She was a finelooking woman. I danced with her, wait, fifteen seventeen golden years ago, at Mat Dillon's, in Roundtown. And a good armful she was.
He looked behind through the others.
— What is he? he asked. What does he do? Wasn't he in the stationery line? I fell foul of him one evening, I remember, at bowls.
Ned Lambert smiled.
— Yes, he was, he said, in Wisdom Hely's. A traveller for blottingpaper.
— In God's name, John Henry Menton said, what did she marry a coon like that for? She had plenty of game in her then.
— Has still, Ned Lambert said. He does some canvassing for ads.
John Henry Menton's large eyes stared ahead."


eolus: 
125 lenehan on bloom, laughing at others' jeers (machugh is respectful) no naming

"J. J. O'Molloy took the tissues from Lenehan's hand and read them, blowing them apart gently, without comment.
— He'll get that advertisement, the professor said, staring through his blackrimmed spectacles over the crossblind. Look at the young scamps after him.
— Show. Where? Lenehan cried, running to the window.
A STREET CORTÈGE
Both smiled over the crossblind at the file of capering newsboys in Mr Bloom's wake, the last zigzagging white on the breeze a mocking kite, a tail of white bowknots.
— Look at the young guttersnipe behind him hue and cry, Lenehan said, and you'll kick. O, my rib risible! Taking off his flat spaugs and the walk. Small nines. Steal upon larks.
He began to mazurka in swift caricature across the floor on sliding feet past the fireplace to J. J. O'Molloy who placed the tissues in his receiving hands.
— What's that? Myles Crawford said with a start. Where are the other two gone?"


lestrygonians:
168 169 nosey flynn on bloom: freemason, throwaway (hint about jewishness?) almost no naming

"When the sound of his boots had ceased Davy Byrne said from his book:
— What is this he is? Isn't he in the insurance line?
— He's out of that long ago, Nosey Flynn said. He does canvassing for the Freeman.
— I know him well to see, Davy Byrne said. Is he in trouble?
— Trouble? Nosey Flynn said. Not that I heard of. Why?
— I noticed he was in mourning.
— Was he? Nosey Flynn said. So he was, faith. I asked him how was all at home. You're right, by God. So he was.
— I never broach the subject, Davy Byrne said humanely, if I see a gentleman is in trouble that way. It only brings it up fresh in their minds.
— It's not the wife anyhow, Nosey Flynn said. I met him the day before yesterday and he coming out of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in Henry street with a jar of cream in his hand taking it home to his better half. She's well nourished, I tell you. Plovers on toast.
— And is he doing for the Freeman? Davy Byrne said.
Nosey Flynn pursed his lips.
— He doesn't buy cream on the ads he picks up. You can make bacon of that.
— How so? Davy Byrne asked, coming from his book.
Nosey Flynn made swift passes in the air with juggling fingers. He winked.
— He's in the craft, he said.
— Do you tell me so? Davy Byrne said.
— Very much so, Nosey Flynn said. Ancient free and accepted order. Light, life and love, by God. They give him a leg up. I was told that by a, well, I won't say who.
— Is that a fact?
— O, it's a fine order, Nosey Flynn said. They stick to you when you're down. I know a fellow was trying to get into it, but they're as close as damn it. By God they did right to keep the women out of it.
Davy Byrne smiledyawnednodded all in one:
— Iiiiiichaaaaaaach!
— There was one woman, Nosey Flynn said, hid herself in a clock to find out what they do be doing. But be damned but they smelt her out and swore her in on the spot a master mason. That was one of the Saint Legers of Doneraile.
Davy Byrne, sated after his yawn, said with tearwashed eyes:
— And is that a fact? Decent quiet man he is. I often saw him in here and I never once saw him, you know, over the line.
— God Almighty couldn't make him drunk, Nosey Flynn said firmly. Slips off when the fun gets too hot. Didn't you see him look at his watch? Ah, you weren't there. If you ask him to have a drink first thing he does he outs with the watch to see what he ought to imbibe. Declare to God he does.
— There are some like that, Davy Byrne said. He's a safe man, I'd say.
— He's not too bad, Nosey Flynn said, snuffling it up. He has been known to put his hand down too to help a fellow. Give the devil his due. O, Bloom has his good points. But there's one thing he'll never do.
His hand scrawled a dry pen signature beside his grog.
— I know, Davy Byrne said.
— Nothing in black and white, Nosey Flynn said.
Paddy Leonard and Bantam Lyons came in. Tom Rochford followed, a plaining hand on his claret waistcoat.
— Day, Mr Byrne.
— Day, gentlemen.
They paused at the counter.
— Who's standing? Paddy Leonard asked.
— I'm sitting anyhow, Nosey Flynn answered.
— Well, what'll it be? Paddy Leonard asked.
— I'll take a stone ginger, Bantam Lyons said.
— How much? Paddy Leonard cried. Since when, for God' sake? What's yours, Tom?
— How is the main drainage? Nosey Flynn asked, sipping.
For answer Tom Rochford pressed his hand to his breastbone and hiccupped.
— Would I trouble you for a glass of fresh water, Mr Byrne? he said.
— Certainly, sir.
Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates.
— Lord love a duck, he said, look at what I'm standing drinks to! Cold water and gingerpop! Two fellows that would suck whisky off a sore leg. He has some bloody horse up his sleeve for the Gold cup. A dead snip.
— Zinfandel is it? Nosey Flynn asked.
Tom Rochford spilt powder from a twisted paper into the water set before him.
— That cursed dyspepsia, he said before drinking.
— Breadsoda is very good, Davy Byrne said.
Tom Rochford nodded and drank.
— Is it Zinfandel?
— Say nothing, Bantam Lyons winked. I'm going to plunge five bob on my own.
— Tell us if you' re worth your salt and be damned to you, Paddy Leonard said. Who gave it to you?
Mr Bloom on his way out raised three fingers in greeting.
— So long, Nosey Flynn said.
The others turned.
— That's the man now that gave it to me, Bantam Lyons whispered.
— Prrwht! Paddy Leonard said with scorn. Mr Byrne, sir, we'll take two of your small Jamesons after that and a...
— Stone ginger, Davy Byrne added civilly.
— Ay, Paddy Leonard said. A suckingbottle for the baby."


scylla&charybdis:
192 193 mulligan on bloom's jewishness, kinkiness. name: 'bloom'

"Voluble, dutiful, he led the way to all the provincial papers, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels.
The door closed.
— The sheeny! Buck Mulligan cried.
He jumped up and snatched the card.
— What's his name? Ikey Moses? Bloom.
He rattled on.
— Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is no more. I found him over in the museum where I went to hail the foamborn Aphrodite. The Greek mouth that has never been twisted in prayer. Every day we must do homage to her. Life of life, thy lips enkindle.
Suddenly he turned to Stephen:
— He knows you. He knows your old fellow. O, I fear me, he is Greeker than the Greeks. His pale Galilean eyes were upon her mesial groove. Venus Kallipyge. O, the thunder of those loins! The god pursuing the maiden hid."

209: "A man passed out between them, bowing, greeting.
— Good day again, Buck Mulligan said.
The portico.
Here I watched the birds for augury. Ængus of the birds. They go, they come. Last night I flew. Easily flew. Men wondered. Street of harlots after. A creamfruit melon he held to me. In. You will see.
— The wandering jew, Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe. Did you see his eye? He looked upon you to lust after you. I fear thee, ancient mariner. O, Kinch, thou art in peril. Get thee a breechpad.
Manner of Oxenford.
Day. Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge.
A dark back went before them. Step of a pard, down, out by the gateway, under portcullis barbs.
They followed."


wandering rocks:
224 225 lenehan on bloom: knows 1stname and even nickname

"— Even money, Lenehan said returning. I knocked against Bantam Lyons in there going to back a bloody horse someone gave him that hasn't an earthly. Through here.
They went up the steps and under Merchants' arch. A darkbacked figure scanned books on the hawker's cart.
— There he is, Lenehan said.
— Wonder what he's buying, M'Coy said, glancing behind.
— Leopoldo or the Bloom is on the Rye, Lenehan said.
— He's dead nuts on sales, M'Coy said. I was with him one day and he bought a book from an old one in Liffey street for two bob. There were fine plates in it worth double the money, the stars and the moon and comets with long tails. Astronomy it was about.
Lenehan laughed.
— I'll tell you a damn good one about comets' tails, he said. Come over in the sun.
They crossed to the metal bridge and went along Wellington quay by the river wall.
Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam came out of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, carrying a pound and a half of porksteaks.
— There was a big spread out at Glencree reformatory, Lenehan said eagerly. The annual dinner you know. Boiled shirt affair. The lord mayor was there, Val Dillon it was, and Sir Charles Cameron and Dan Dawson spoke and there was music. Bartell D'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard...
— I know, M'Coy broke in. My missus sang there once.
— Did she? Lenehan said.
A card Unfurnished Apartments reappeared on the windowsash of number 7 Eccles street.
He checked his tale a moment but broke out in a wheezy laugh.
— But wait till I tell you, he said, Delahunt of Camden street had the catering and yours truly was chief bottlewasher. Bloom and the wife were there. Lashings of stuff we put up: port wine and sherry and curacoa to which we did ample justice. Fast and furious it was. After liquids came solids. Cold joints galore and mince pies...
— I know, M'Coy said. The year the missus was there...
Lenehan linked his arm warmly.
— But wait till I tell you, he said. We had a midnight lunch too after all the jollification and when we sallied forth it was blue o'clock the morning after the night before. Coming home it was a gorgeous winter's night on the Featherbed Mountain. Bloom and Chris Callinan were on one side of the car and I was with the wife on the other. We started singing glees and duets: Lo, the early beam of morning. She was well primed with a good load of Delahunt's port under her bellyband. Every jolt the bloody car gave I had her bumping up against me. Hell's delights! She has a fine pair, God bless her. Like that.
He held his caved hands a cubit from him, frowning:
— I was tucking the rug under her and settling her boa all the time. Know what I mean?
His hands moulded ample curves of air. He shut his eyes tight in delight, his body shrinking, and blew a sweet chirp from his lips.
— The lad stood to attention anyhow, he said with a sigh. She's a gamey mare and no mistake. Bloom was pointing out all the stars and the comets in the heavens to Chris Callinan and the jarvey: the great bear and Hercules and the dragon and the whole jingbang lot. But, by God, I was lost, so to speak, in the milky way. He knows them all, faith. At last she spotted a weeny weeshy one miles away. And what star is that, Poldy? says she. By God, she had Bloom cornered. That one, is it? says Chris Callinan, sure that's only what you might call a pinprick. By God, he wasn't far wide of the mark.
Lenehan stopped and leaned on the riverwall, panting with soft laughter.
— I'm weak, he gasped.
M'Coy's white face smiled about it at instants and grew grave. Lenehan walked on again. He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly. He glanced sideways in the sunlight at M'Coy.
— He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is, he said seriously. He's not one of your common or garden... you know... There's a touch of the artist about old Bloom."

236

"— Look here Martin, John Wyse Nolan said, overtaking them at the Mail office. I see Bloom put his name down for five shillings.
— Quite right, Martin Cunningham said, taking the list. And put down the five shillings too.
— Without a second word either, Mr Power said.
— Strange but true, Martin Cunningham added.
John Wyse Nolan opened wide eyes.
— I'll say there is much kindness in the jew, he quoted elegantly."


sirens: 
257 258 simon and dollard and cowley on the blooms

"— God, do you remember? Ben bulky Dollard said, turning from the punished keyboard. And by Japers I had no wedding garment.
They laughed all three. He had no wed. All trio laughed. No wedding garment.
— Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night, Mr Dedalus said. Where's my pipe by the way?
He wandered back to the bar to the lost chord pipe. Bald Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie and Poldy. And Father Cowley laughed again.
— I saved the situation, Ben, I think.
— You did, averred Ben Dollard. I remember those tight trousers too. That was a brilliant idea, Bob.
Father Cowley blushed to his brilliant purply lobes. He saved the situa. Tight trou. Brilliant ide.
— I knew he was on the rocks, he said. The wife was playing the piano in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a very trifling consideration and who was it gave me the wheeze she was doing the other business? Do you remember? We had to search all Holles street to find them till the chap in Keogh's gave us the number. Remember?
Ben remembered, his broad visage wondering.
— By God she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there.
Mr Dedalus wandered back, pipe in hand.
— Merrion square style. Balldresses, by God, and court dresses. He wouldn't take any money either. What? Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose. What?
— Ay, ay, Mr Dedalus nodded. Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all descriptions.
Jingle jaunted down the quays. Blazes sprawled on bounding tyres.
Liver and bacon. Steak and kidney pie. Right, sir. Right, Pat.
Mrs Marion met him pike hoses. Smell of burn of Paul de Kock. Nice name he.
— What's this her name was? A buxom lassy. Marion...
— Tweedy.
— Yes. Is she alive?
— And kicking.
— She was a daughter of...
— Daughter of the regiment.
— Yes, begad. I remember the old drummajor.
Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after
— Irish? I don't know, faith. Is she, Simon?
Puff after stiff, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling.
— Buccinator muscle is... What?... Bit rusty... O, she is... My Irish Molly, O.
He puffed a pungent plumy blast.
— From the rock of Gibraltar... all the way."


cyclops: 
321 322 discussion of bloom

"— I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers.
— Who? says I.
— Bloom, says he, the courthouse is a blind. He had a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels.
— Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life.
— That's where he's gone, says Lenehan. I met Bantam Lyons going to back that horse only I put him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the tip. Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on. He's the only man in Dublin has it. A dark horse.
— He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe.
— Mind, Joe, says I. Show us the entrance out.
— There you are, says Terry.
Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort. So I just went round the back of the yard to pumpship and begob (hundred shillings to five) while I was letting off my (Throwaway twenty to) letting off my load gob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his (two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off) in his mind to get off the mark to (hundred shillings is five quid) and when they were in the (dark horse) Pisser Burke was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick (gob, must have done about a gallon) flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's (ow!) all a plan so he could vamoose with the pool if he won or (Jesus, full up I was) trading without a licence (ow!) Ireland my nation says he (hoik! phthook!) never be up to those bloody (there's the last of it) Jerusalem (ah!) cuckoos.
So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the Government and appointing consuls all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. Robbing Peter to pay Paul. Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show. Give us a bloody chance. God save Ireland from the likes of that bloody mouseabout. Mr Bloom with his argol bargol. And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. Loans by post on easy terms. Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. Distance no object. No security. Gob he's like Lanty Mac Hale's goat that'd go a piece of the road with every one.
— Well, it's a fact, says John Wyse. And there's the man now that'll tell you all about it, Martin Cunningham.
Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power with him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense.
Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys.
— Ho, varlet! cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party. Saucy knave! To us!
So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice.
Mine host came forth at the summons girding him with his tabard.
— Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow.
— Bestir thyself, sirrah! cried he who had knocked. Look to our steeds. And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it.
— Lackaday, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder. I know not what to offer your lordships.
— How now, fellow? cried the second of the party, a man of pleasant countenance, so servest thou the king's messengers, Master Taptun?
An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage.
— Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. An you be the king's messengers (Gold shield His Majesty!) you shall not want for aught. The king's friends (God bless His Majesty!) shall not go afasting in my house I warrant me.
— Then about! cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect. Hast aught to give us?
Mine host bowed again as he made answer:
— What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish?
— Gadzooks! cried the last speaker. That likes me well. Pistachios!
— Aha! cried he of the pleasant countenance. A poor house and a bare larder, quotha! 'Tis a merry rogue.
So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom.
— Where is he? says Lenehan. Defrauding widows and orphans.
— Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein?
— That's so, says Martin. Or so they allege.
— Who made those allegations? says Alf.
— I, says Joe. I'm the alligator.
— And after all, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow?
— Why not? says J. J., when he's quite sure which country it is.
— Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? says Ned. Or who is he? No offence, Crofton.
— Who is Junius? says J. J.
— We don't want him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.
— He's a perverted jew, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was he drew up all the plans according to the Hungarian system. We know that in the castle.
— Isn't he a cousin of Bloom the dentist? says Jack Power.
— Not at all, says Martin. Only namesakes. His name was Virag. The father's name that poisoned himself. He changed it by deedpoll, the father did.
— That's the new Messiah for Ireland! says the citizen. Island of saints and sages!
— Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin. For that matter so are we.
— Yes, says J. J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah. And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother.
— Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan.
— O, by God, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. I met him one day in the south city markets buying a tin of Neave's food six weeks before the wife was delivered.
— En ventre sa mère, says J. J.
— Do you call that a man? says the citizen.
— I wonder did he ever put it out of sight, says Joe.
— Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack Power.
— And who does he suspect? says the citizen.
Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest. One of those mixed middlings he is. Lying up in the hotel Pisser was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. Do you know what I'm telling you? It'd be an act of God to take a hold of a fellow the like of that and throw him in the bloody sea. Justifiable homicide, so it would. Then sloping off with his five quid without putting up a pint of stuff like a man. Give us your blessing. Not as much as would blind your eye.
— Charity to the neighbour, says Martin. But where is he? We can't wait.
— A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen. That's what he is. Virag from Hungary! Ahasuerus I call him. Cursed by God.
— Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? says Ned.
— Only one, says Martin. We must be quick. J. J. and S.
— You, Jack? Crofton? Three half ones, Terry.
— Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores.
— Well, says Martin, rapping for his glass. God bless all here is my prayer.
— Amen, says the citizen.
— And I'm sure he will, says Joe."


nausikaa: 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365

"Gerty Mac Dowell bent down her head and crimsoned at the idea of Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that out loud she'd be ashamed of her life to say, flushing a deep rosy red, and Edy Boardman said she was sure the gentleman opposite heard what she said. But not a pin cared Ciss.
— Let him! she said with a pert toss of her head and a piquant tilt of her nose. Give it to him too on the same place as quick as I'd look at him."

(others?)


oxen: 
405 gossip
406 407

"Cornfide. Wha gev ye thon colt? Pal to pal. Jannock. Of John Thomas, her spouse. No fake, old man Leo. S'elp me, honest injun. Shiver my timbers if I had. There's a great big holy friar. Vyfor you no me tell? Vel, I ses, if that aint a sheeny nachez, vel, I vil get misha mishinnah. Through yerd our lord, Amen. [...] Rome boose for the Bloom toff. I hear you say onions? Bloo? Cadges ads? Photo's papli, by all that's gorgeous. Play low, pardner. Slide."


circe: maybe?

 430

"THE WATCH Bloom. Of Bloom. For Bloom. Bloom."

509

"VOICES (Sighing.) So he's gone. Ah, yes. Yes, indeed. Bloom? Never heard of him. No? Queer kind of chap. There's the widow. That so? Ah, yes."