010.0 - I Am The Servant of Two Masters

We are using the original 1922 First Printing by Shakespeare & Co. - section attached

"He walked on" - to - "Snapshot, eg? Brief exposure"

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Stephen’s Haunting and Exile in Ulysses

As Stephen walks on, he expects Buck Mulligan or Haines to speak to him, but he remains silent. His thoughts turn inward, slipping into playful, symbolic associations. He drags his ashplant cane along the path, its metal ferrule (tip) squealing as it scrapes against the ground. The sound takes on a life of its own—an animalistic, ghostly presence trailing behind him. Stephen, attuned to the poetry of experience, embraces this eerie sensation, interpreting it as a voice calling his name:

"Steeeeeeeeeeeephen"

For me, this moment evokes something much deeper: a spectral echo of his mother, visiting him in death. We already know from earlier that Stephen is haunted by guilt over refusing to kneel and pray at her deathbed. Here, his cane—the familiar—becomes an extension of that haunting, a presence calling after him like a restless spirit.

The Stream of Thought – A Mind in Motion

Stephen’s mind shifts rapidly, one idea triggering another in a chain of fragmented yet deeply connected thoughts:

• He’s on a path—tonight, they will walk it again.

• They’ll return to the tower—but they need a key to enter.

• Why should he give the key to Mulligan? He paid for the place.

• But did he really? Now he is eating his salt bread—admitting his dependence.

• He looks at Mulligan and sees the usurper.

This is classic Joyce—replicating the natural flow of human consciousness, where sensations and memories spark new associations without linear order. It’s what makes Ulysses both challenging and profoundly real. Our thoughts rarely move in neat, structured lines; they leap unpredictably, one idea bleeding into the next.

Mulligan and Haines remain unaware of Stephen’s inner turmoil. But if we take this further, can we be sure that their minds aren’t just as chaotic? What would Telemachus look like from Buck’s perspective? What does he think of Stephen in return?

The Key – Stephen’s Weakness

Stephen’s internal struggle with the key is revealing. He knows Mulligan will ask for it. He knows he will give it to him. But why?

This moment exposes his passivity—his willingness to be usurped. He lacks confidence. Even before the request is made, he has already resigned himself to surrendering the key. This raises a crucial question:

Is Stephen’s weakness what makes others feel they can take advantage of him? Is he easy prey?

As the day unfolds, we will see whether Stephen gains the strength to stand his ground—or if he remains trapped in his role as the brooding, exiled intellectual.

Now I Eat His Salt Bread

This line puzzled me at first. What exactly is Stephen referencing? After some digging, I found a literary parallel that sheds light on its meaning.

Dante, in Paradiso (Canto XVII), describes the bitterness of exile:

“You shall learn how salty is the taste of another man’s bread, and how hard is the way, going down and up another’s stairs.”

In Dante’s time, salt was expensive, so “salt bread” symbolized hardship—specifically, the humiliation of relying on someone else’s hospitality. This resonates deeply with Stephen. He sees himself as an exiled artist, alienated from Ireland yet without a new home to claim.

By saying “Now I eat his salt bread,” Stephen admits to his dependence on Mulligan—someone he resents. Just as Dante had to endure the patronage of others, Stephen is forced into an arrangement that wounds his pride.

But there’s an additional layer of irony here. Earlier, Stephen claims he paid for the Martello Tower. Yet those familiar with Joyce’s real-life inspiration—Oliver St. John Gogarty (the model for Mulligan)—know that it was actually Gogarty who paid the rent. So is Stephen trying to convince himself that he has more control than he does? Is this an act of self-deception, an attempt to deny his own powerlessness?

The Haunted Artist

When we connect this idea of exile with the earlier “My familiar” moment, we see a Stephen tormented from all sides.

• His dead mother follows him, her voice carried in the squeal of his cane.

• His living circumstances humiliate him—he is financially and socially dependent on someone he dislikes.

• He recognizes his own weakness but cannot yet escape it.

Joyce layers these elements beautifully, turning the seemingly simple act of dragging a cane into a moment rich with symbolism. Telemachus sets the stage for Stephen’s internal conflict, and by the end of this episode, we are left wondering:

Will he remain the exile, or will he find a way to reclaim his own power?

Servant or Master?

Haines interrupts Stephen’s stream of consciousness with a question, pulling him back into the present. In this moment, Stephen looks at him and realizes something unexpected—Haines, by engaging him in conversation, seems almost kind. This is the very exchange Stephen anticipated earlier, yet now that it is happening, it surprises him.

Haines even goes so far as to suggest that Stephen appears to be in control, his own master. The remark catches Stephen off guard. Here is an Englishman, an outsider, yet speaking to him with a certain respect. For a brief moment, Stephen entertains the thought of engaging in a deeper conversation with this kind soul. But is this real kindness, or just another act of dominance wrapped in politeness?

Who is Stephen a Servant To?

Despite Haines’ comment about mastery, Stephen feels anything but in control. He sees himself as a servant to three oppressive forces:

1. The English

Ireland has long suffered under British rule, and Stephen, like many Irish, feels the weight of this history. The country is not truly independent, and neither is he. As discussed in the Irish Jug blog entry, the tension between Irish identity and English dominance is ever-present. Haines, with his Oxford airs and his detached curiosity about Ireland, represents this power imbalance.

2. An Italian

This reference is a foreshadowing of a later episode, so we won’t go too deep just yet. But as a hint—this Italian is connected to Stephen’s employer, someone who exerts control over his livelihood.

3. The Church

Stephen continues to wrestle with religion, a struggle that has shaped his identity. We already know that his mother wanted him to kneel and pray for her on her deathbed, and he refused. This moment haunts him. His stance on faith remains unresolved—he is still searching for meaning, still working out who he really is.

Joyce’s Use of Environmental Descriptors – The Rising Temperature of Tension

Joyce, ever the master of subtlety, gently taps his way through Ulysses with environmental descriptors that elevate the emotional temperature of a scene. A perfect example of this can be found when Stephen speaks of servitude:

“Stephen answered, his colour rising.”

This simple phrase adds another dimension to Stephen’s internal turmoil. His colour rising suggests a flush of emotion—perhaps frustration, shame, or even anger. It gives the reader a sensory cue, a glimpse into Stephen’s feelings without needing direct exposition.

Joyce rarely tells—he shows. And here, with just a hint of bodily reaction, we feel what our artist feels.

History, Heresy, and the Void

Haines, in his ever-detached manner, pauses to remove stray tobacco fibers from his lips before speaking. His next words agree with Stephen's thoughts;

“I can quite understand that,” he said calmly. “An Irishman must think like that, I daresay. We feel in England that we have treated you rather unfairly. It seems history is to blame.”

This moment distills the condescending distance between Stephen and Haines. Haines, with his typical colonial coolness, acknowledges historical injustices—but conveniently shifts responsibility to history itself, as if it were some impersonal force, rather than the direct result of British rule. There’s no apology, no reckoning—just a detached observation.

For Stephen, this moment sparks a flood of associations, a mental clang of triumphant brazen bells, evoking Catholicism’s dominance and its own history of dogma and schisms. He recalls the Unam Sanctam, the declaration of the Church’s supreme authority, and envisions the slow evolution of doctrine, “like his own rare thoughts, a chemistry of stars.” The symbol of the apostles in Palestrina’s Mass for Pope Marcellus echoes in his mind—a pure, blending harmony, a stark contrast to the messy, divisive reality of history.

But Stephen’s mind doesn’t rest in reverence—it veers into a horde of heresies, figures

who challenged orthodoxy:

• Photius: the schismatic patriarch,

• Arius: who denied the consubstantiality of Christ,

• Valentinus: who rejected the earthly Christ,

• Sabellius: who blurred the lines between Father and Son.

And then, back to the present: Buck Mulligan—a modern heretic of another kind, a mocker who, like the heresiarchs of the past, twists sacred words into parody.

“Idle mockery.”

Stephen sees all these figures—religious dissenters, blasphemers, intellectual rebels tied to the same fate. They are cast out, crushed by the militant guardians of orthodoxy, their defiance dissolving into nothingness.

“The void awaits surely all them that weave the wind.”

The Britisher and the National Problem

Haines, oblivious to Stephen’s inner firestorm, continues speaking, reaffirming his own identity:

“Of course I’m a Britisher, 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.”

Here, Joyce drops the façade of polite conversation and lets Haines expose the deep-seated prejudices that lurk beneath his Oxford veneer. His casual antisemitism is telling—it reflects the widespread paranoia of the British elite at the time, fearing financial and political shifts that threatened their comfortable dominance. For Stephen, it’s just another reminder that despite Haines’ surface-level “kindness,” he is fundamentally a representative of imperial power, carrying its prejudices and entitlement.

Death in the Bay – The Drowned Man

As if on cue, the novel pivots from abstract discussions of power and history to something starkly physical—a drowned man, lost at sea. Two men, a businessman and a boatman, watch the waves:

“She’s making for Bullock Harbour.”

“There’s five fathoms out there. It’ll be swept up that way when the tide comes in about one. It’s nine days today.”

The shift is abrupt yet deliberate. Death, the ever-present force, surfaces again—this time, literally, in the form of a body waiting to resurface. A “swollen bundle,” a “puffy face, salt white”—a stark, grotesque contrast to all the high-minded discourse about theology and empire.

The drowned man lingers in the background, unseen but inevitable, much like the specter of Stephen’s dead mother or the larger fate of all exiles and outcasts. The void does not just await the heretics—it awaits everyone.

“Here I am.”

A chilling moment—who is speaking? The drowned man? Stephen? Joyce himself? The body will roll over, facing the sun, lifeless yet present, a silent witness to the tides of history and time.

Buck Mulligan, Unbothered

Meanwhile, Mulligan stands above the water, the picture of physical ease, his tie loose, his posture casual. A friend calls out to him about his brother, a reference to another layer of Ulysses’ vast web of personal histories. A fleeting mention of Bannon, a ladies’ man who has found a “sweet young thing”, a “photo girl”, “snapshot, eh? Brief exposure.”

A world indifferent to the heaviness in Stephen’s mind. Mulligan moves like a swimmer, frog-like and agile, while Stephen remains burdened, tangled in thought. The conversation drifts into banter, into passing pleasures and snapshots of youth.

The Closing Mood

The section ends with these contrasting energies:

• Stephen, lost in intellectual and existential torment, unable to fully engage with the world around him.

• Haines, the English outsider, unbothered, politely prejudiced, standing apart.

• Mulligan, physical and carefree, thriving in the world Stephen resents.

Death lingers in the water, but Mulligan stands above it. Stephen feels bound to something he cannot escape. Telemachusleaves us with a sense of tension—between history and the present, between servitude and mastery, between the mind and the body.

Where will Stephen go from here? The tide is coming in.

References:

Dante Alighieri. The Divine Comedy: Paradiso. Translated by Allen Mandelbaum, Bantam Books, 1986.

Kelly, J. N. D. Early Christian Doctrines. HarperOne, 1978.

Gifford, Don, and Robert J Seidman. Ulysses Annotated. Univ. California P., 1992

“The Joyce Project : Ulysses : Telemachus:. M.Joyceproject.Com, http://m.joyceproject.com/chatpers/telem.html.