Aeolus
(Note: Hibernia is the Latin name for the region that became Ireland.)
Throughout the chapter, newspaper headlines, real and imagined, are pulled from the speech stream.
By Nelson's Pillar (a pillar in the center of Dublin commemorating Lord Nelson) trams are coming in and going out to all the different parts of Dublin. Postal carts are being loaded; barrels are rolling out of Prince's warehouse.
Bloom is in the back office of the Freeman waiting to speak to a foreman at one of the papers there. He has Red Murray cut a copy of the Keyes advertisement out of a paper for him. Bloom is going to try to negotiate the renewal of the advertisement.
Bloom and Red Murray take a break to watch the Irish barrister William Brayden enter the office. They discuss whether he looks more like Jesus or the Italian tenor Mario, and Bloom thinks of the opera Martha.
Bloom passes out of the back office and makes his way to speak with the foreman, Joseph Patrick Nannetti. Hynes is putting in an obituary for Patrick Dignam, so Bloom waits. While he does, he thinks about how strange it is that Nannetti is Italian but has never seen Italy.
Bloom silently considers recent headlines that he's seen in the paper, and imagines getting caught in the printing machines and having the news printed all over himself.
As Hynes finishes his business with Nannetti, he begins leaving. Bloom stops him, and hints at a debt of Hynes by pointing out that the cashier is about to leave. Hynes does not pick up on it, and Bloom thinks that this is the third time he's had to remind him.
Bloom discusses the Keyes ad with Nannetti. In the long pauses, he lets his mind wander and considers what people do with all this paper the day after it is news.
He explains to Nannetti that the ad is going to have two crossed keys to invoke the House of Keys so as to hint at the hope of Irish home rule. (the House of Keys was on the Isle of Man, which, unlike Ireland, was independent of England) Keyes, the man, is a tea, wine, and spirit merchant.
Nannetti tells Bloom to bring him a copy of it. A typesetter brings Nannetti a galleypage.
Bloom thinks of Martin Cunningham and "his spellingbee conundrum" (7.81). Bloom begins playing around with words in his head, and as he watches the machines in the newspaper office, he thinks, "Everything speaks in its own way" (7.83).
Nannetti notes that the archbishop is going to publish a letter in the upcoming Telegraph. Bloom makes his way out and thinks ahead to the August horseshow in Ballsbridge.
Bloom makes his way back to the Evening Telegraph office. He watches the typesetters put paper in backward, and it makes him think of his father reading Hebrew to him as a young boy.
Bloom dabs his nose with a handkerchief, and notices that it smells of citron-lemon because of the soap in his pocket. He thinks that he could return home, but then decides not to.
Bloom finds professor MacHugh and Simon Dedalus in the office listening to Ned Lambert doing impressions of Dan Dawson's overblown speech. Bloom asks whose speech it is, and MacHugh kids him that it is Cicero's before actually telling him.
J.J. O'Molloy, a local lawyer, bumps Bloom with the door as he enters. They make small talk, and Bloom thinks how sad it is that O'Molloy seems to be on the decline. The gossip is that he's having money troubles.
Lambert persists reading Dawson's article, but MacHugh tells him to give it a rest and after a moment Dedalus agrees.
The editor, Myles Crawford, pokes his head in and MacHugh begins teasing him. Crawford begins rattling on about the North Cork militia during the rebellion (a bit of very patchy history). As Lambert leaves, he whispers to O'Molloy that Crawford is half-mad on account of alcoholism. Lambert and Simon Dedalus go to get a drink.
Bloom tries to get Crawford to let him make a phone call about Keyes's ad. MacHugh and Crawford make small talk about what's going to appear in the paper.
Lenehan appears with the sports pages and tosses them to the newsboys who all clamor to see the racing special. MacHugh comes out and chastises a boy for yelling, though the boy says it wasn't his fault because someone pushed him.
Bloom calls Keyes from Crawford's office, but misses him. He hears Keyes is right around the corner at Dillon's, but as he rushes out of the office to go see him he bumps into Lenehan. A bunch of newspaper boys follow Bloom and imitate his jerky walk. From the window, Lenehan laughs at the scene and also mimics Bloom.
Crawford and MacHugh leave to go meet Lambert and Simon at the oval for a drink. On the way out, MacHugh leans over to O'Molloy and notes that Crawford's already pretty drunk.
O'Molloy offers MacHugh a cigarette. He offers Lenehan one too, but only after he lights theirs. Crawford comes out and joins in the smoking session. Crawford, O'Molloy, and MacHugh joke about the Roman Empire and compare it to Britain. Lenehan tries to insert himself into the conversation by telling a riddle, but they all ignore him.
Stephen Dedalus enters the office behind O'Madden Burke. The editor greets Stephen, who gives him Deasy's article on foot and mouth. The professor peeks over Stephen's shoulder and asks why he's writing about foot and mouth disease.
Stephen is embarrassed and explains that it's not his. Crawford goes on about Deasy's disagreeable late wife and tells Stephen that he is a widower.
Stephen thinks back to Deasy's view that women brought sin into the world and he begins to understand where it came from. (We see here that even Stephen is capable of empathy.)
Crawford scans the article, and begins to speak about the Irishman O'Donnell knocking out a Hungarian that tried to assassinate the Austrian emperor Franz Joseph, but MacHugh cuts him off.
MacHugh begins to talk about how the Irish "were always loyal to lost causes. Success for us is the death of the intellect and of the imagination. We were never loyal to the successful" (7.284).
MacHugh compares the Irish to the Greeks and the British to the Romans. Both the British and the Romans held power and worshipped money, but the Greeks and the Irish, though subordinate, held a certain "radiance of the intellect" (7.287).
Lenehan tells Stephen a limerick he has made up about MacHugh. Crawford stuffs Deasy's letter in his pocket and agrees to publish it. Lenehan finally tells his riddle, but it falls flat.
The professor and O'Molloy make fun of Stephen and O'Madden Burke for looking like Paris communards. Stephen plays it off.
Crawford notes the gathering of talents in the room, "Law, the classics…" (7.310). The professor notes that if Bloom were there he would represent the art of advertisement, and O'Madden Burke notes that if Molly were present she would represent singing. Lenehan makes an off-color remark about Molly.
Crawford puts his hand on Stephen's shoulder and tries to recruit him for the paper. He wants Stephen to write something with "a bite in it" (7.321).
Crawford recalls Ignatius Gallaher, who made a name for himself reporting on the Phoenix Park murders, which he sent to The New York World. They all begin discussing their memory of the Phoenix Park murders and what happened to the culprits. Crawford recounts how Gallaher used an advertisement to explain the getaway route.
In the office, MacHugh takes a call from Bloom. He tells Crawford, but Crawford is distracted and tells MacHugh that Bloom can "go to hell" (7.350).
Crawford goes on about what a fine journalist Gallaher was and how hard it is to find anybody like him. They all agree that he was clever.
O'Molloy argues that Gallaher was only one of many fine journalists. He argues that Seymour Bushe is incredibly eloquent and recalls a line from Hamlet that Seymour used in the Childs murder case, which gets Stephen thinking about the play.
There is a lull in the conversation and O'Molloy lights a cigar. Stephen thinks jokingly (in the manner of melodramatic literature; in other words, Joyce is having fun here so don't go looking for how this changes anyone's life) that it was that strike of the match "that determined the whole aftercourse of both our lives" (7.395).
O'Molloy recalls Bushe's statement about Michelangelo's statue of Moses in the Vatican. Stephen finds "his blood wooed by grace of language and gesture" (7.403). He blushes and takes a cigarette.
O'Molloy begins to tell Stephen that Professor Magennis has been asking about him. Magennis heard that Stephen had stopped the mystical poet, George William Russell, in the street to ask him about planes of consciousness. The professor thinks that Stephen was simply joking with Russell.
MacHugh interrupts to recall the finest piece of oratory he has ever heard. It was John F. Taylor speaking in favor of the revival of the Irish tongue. MacHugh dramatically re-enacts Taylor's speech, which compared the Irish struggle for independence from Britain to that of the Jews struggling for independence from the Egyptians. It is a fine piece of oratory, and they all become somber as they listen to it.
When he finishes it, O'Molloy notes that "he died without having entered the land of promise" referring to Moses but also invoking the many devotees of Irish independence like Parnell who never saw the realization of what they were fighting for (7.437).
Stephen suggests they all go to the bar for a drink, and O'Madden Burke agrees. Lenehan leads the way.
O'Molloy stops Crawford to ask him for a loan. Stephen and MacHugh walk out together. The newspaper boys are in the street shouting about the racing special, and Stephen tells MacHugh that he has a vision for a short piece.
Stephen begins to narrate a story about two old Dublin virgins that want to see the view from the top of Nelson's Pillar. They buy food and climb the Pillar, though it exhausts them and "they had no idea it was that high" (7.478). (This is the "Parable of the Plums" – one of many key moments in Ulysses.)
The women from the parable are actual Dublin women, Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe. MacHugh is following intently, but takes a break to call back to Crawford and O'Molloy.
Bloom returns and tries to get Crawford's attention. He tells him that Keyes will renew his ad, but wants to do it for two months instead of three. Crawford tells Bloom to tell Keyes that he can "kiss my arse" (7.496).
Bloom decides to back off noticing that they're all out for a drink. He observes Stephen and thinks that he is a "moving spirit" (7.497). He notes that Stephen is wearing good boots today though before he had seen him with boots so old that his heels were peeking through.
Bloom says he'll get the ad design lined up for Keyes, but Crawford is persistent: "He can kiss my royal Irish arse" (7.500).
Crawford turns to O'Molloy and apologizes, but says he won't be able to give him the loan. O'Molloy strides on silently.
Stephen continues with his parable, and MacHugh catches Crawford up on it.
Stephen explains that the women are afraid the pillar will fall. They look out at the rooftops and argue about what is where. Stephen notes that they are so giddy they pull up their skirts, and Crawford notes that he has to watch himself because they are in the archdiocese (which is, metaphorically speaking, omnipresent in Dublin).
The two women sit down and look up at the statue of Nelson, whom Stephen refers to as "the onehandled adulterer" (7.512). He is alluding to the fact that Nelson lost an arm in battle and that he carried on an affair with the wife of the British minister at Naples. MacHugh thinks it is very clever.
The women sit at the top of the pillar and eat plums. They wipe the juice off of their mouths with handkerchiefs and spit the plum seeds between the railings.
Stephen laughs. Crawford isn't quite sure he gets it, but MacHugh is delighted and says that Stephen reminds him of the Greek philosopher Antisthenes who equated virtue with happiness.
The tramcars continue to come and go at the station, and Crawford asks what Stephen calls it. Stephen says, "A Pisgah Sight of Palestine" (vision that was granted Moses) or "The Parable of the Plums."
The professor looks up at Nelson's statue, and continues to chuckle over "the onehandled adulterer."
In the last few episodes, we've been focusing a great deal on character development. Here, let's put our eye on the theme of the chapter. Namely: pumped up rhetoric and the chaos of the media world.
"Aeolus" has the first visually jarring stylistic change-up in the book: the insertion of newspaper headlines throughout the chapter. There are a number of different ways to think about what these headlines are doing here. As we keep saying, style is something that is extremely flexible in Ulysses. The way that Joyce writes incorporates the moods and emotions of his characters as well as the current setting. It's not too hard to imagine the free-associating Mr. Bloom imagining everything that goes on in the newspaper office in terms of headlines, but that's not quite what's going on here. The headlines are coming from outside the context of the scene. We're being made aware of the narrator of the story, and of the fact that the book is aware of itself as a book. Whoever is telling this story acknowledges that it is being written, and this acknowledgment of the written form allows the narrator to toy with the form as he sees fit.
There's another way one might think of these headlines. Normally, when we wander down to breakfast to read the paper, we think of headlines as something quite separate form our lives. The newspaper is telling us: "This is what's going on in the world today. Listen up." We think of the news as something external, something that happens to us, something out there. The waythat the headlines in "Aeolus" pick up on little bits of speech between the men in the newspaper office and puts words to minor events emphasizes the fact that the news is pulled from everyday experiences. It is tied into human lives, not disconnected from them. In other words, the news records what's going on in the world; it does not dictate it.
Now, in The Odyssey, Aeolus is the god of the winds. He first agrees to help Odysseus make his way home by harnessing all of the winds and putting them into a bag for Odysseus to keep while he sails home. Yet Odysseus's crew, thinking that the bag must be full of treasure, opens it and the winds are released. They are blown all about and eventually end up back at Aeolus's island. This time he isn't so ready to help Odysseus.
Here, the winds are compared to the rhetoric of the journalism world: speech just being blown this way and that without really being controlled or carefully crafted. In the back offices of the paper, the men banter and recall great journalists and orators of the past. But speech just floats about in the chapter. Many stories hang open-ended. We often move from one conversation to another without much warning or indication. Each person's words are overblown and largely directionless. Bloom is one of the only men there who seems to be focused upon a specific task – renewing Keyes's ad – but his attempts are thwarted. Crawford, eager to hurry over to the bar, tells Bloom that Keyes can "Kiss his Royal Irish Arse."
As the cast of minor characters continues to widen, we also get more of a sense of the overall atmosphere of Dublin. We learn that Myles Crawford is something of a drunk; we see that for all his erudition professor MacHugh isn't exactly set on accomplishing much; we are introduced to J.J. O'Molloy who once was a promising lawyer but now has fallen on hard times and needs a loan. As in Dubliners, we get a sense of Dublin as a stifling place, one that is quick to knock men's ambitions flat. And the solution here is often: go to the pub.
The chapter also brings our two major characters, Bloom and Stephen Dedalus, into early glancing contact. Stephen Dedalus enters while Bloom is across the street trying to track down Keyes. Then Bloom returns just as Stephen and the rest of the men are headed out to the pub. Bloom observes Dedalus as "a moving spirit" and it is clear that he is attentive to him as he notices that he has put on new boots. Stephen, in contrast, doesn't even acknowledge Bloom. Stephen's in his element; Bloom is not. The newspapermen dote on Stephen. Crawford agrees to publish Deasy's letter because it came from Stephen, and offers him a job at the paper. Bloom, by contrast, is constantly slighted by other men in the office and remains aloof, left to observe them as they all go off drinking together.
What's the deal with "The Parable of the Plums?" Stephen tells a bizarre story about these two old Irish virgins climbing up to the top of Nelson's pillar, having a picnic on top and throwing their plum seeds down to Dublin. First, note that Lord Nelson was a British Flag Officer famous for his participation in the Battle of Trafalgar. He later became famously embroiled in an affair with the wife of the British Minister to Naples. In Joyce's time, there was much controversy over the pillar in the center of O'Connell street that had been set up to commemorate Nelson. Part of the controversy was related to the fact that there was a statue honoring a British officer in the center of Dublin when many people in the city wanted nothing more than to be free of their British oppressors. On a simpler level, people thought that it was ugly and that it blocked traffic (this controversy was settled later, in 1966, when some IRA men blew up the pillar; today the Spire of Dublin stands in its place).
Now, in Stephen's parable, these two older women who have never given birth to anyone hike up the top of this British monument and sit admiring Dublin. They eat their plums and then throw down the seeds. On one level, Stephen is comparing Dublin (namely, an independent Dublin) to the Promised Land in the Old Testament. But, in his version, the people looking out on the Promised Land are looking out on it from a British monument. Everything seems barren, infertile, unpromising; the old women eat their plums, but then toss the desiccated seeds down into the street. In short, optimism is not running high in Dublin.