Walking with eyes closed and ashplant
hanging "by my side," Stephen thinks, "Tap with it: they do."
Who are "they"? The book will retrospectively confirm a
common-sense answer to the question: blind people tap the
ground with sticks to see where they are going.
In Lestrygonians Bloom crosses paths with a "blind
stripling" who stands "tapping the curbstone with his slender
cane." (The stripling will reappear in Sirens, where
the "tap" sound of his wand becomes a musical motif in the
chapter's play of sounds.) After he has helped the unfortunate
young man cross the street, Bloom tries to imagine how blind
people sense presences in space, how they manage to walk a
straight line, how they compensate for their disability, and
how their other senses may be augmented. Soon he is touching
various parts of his body to see what touch can do independent
of sight, and thinking, "Want to try in the dark to see."
Stephen's tapping with his eyes closed seems to connect with
Bloom's efforts to imagine what it is like to be blind—one of
many esoteric correspondences between the two men in the
novel.
§ Declan
Kiberd reads another kind of significance into "Tap with it:
they do." The ancient Irish bards, he notes, also tapped with
sticks: "Once upon a time in ancient Ireland the bard was a
powerful figure, standing second only to the chieftain. But
those days are long gone, and Stephen is utterly marginal in
the colonial society which has since emerged. Yet he carries
an ashplant walking cane to evoke memories of those filí
who carried a rod as a symbol of their vatic power. Those filí
were often blind or short-sighted, so the rod helped them to
feel their way forward, as the stick assists Stephen" (Ulysses
and Us, 32).
Kiberd observes that Mulligan has called Stephen a bard
several times in the book's first chapter, and Stephen recalls
these mocking invocations at the end of "Nestor": "Mulligan
will dub me a new name: the
bullockbefriending bard." He also supports his
contention that Stephen is thinking of the ancient bards by
observing that when Joyce carried his cane through the streets
of Paris, matching the dress of fashionably decadent flâneurs,
he insisted on the Irishness of his ashplant: "'It was a
symbol of his country,' said Jacques Mercanton, 'that he
always carried with him on the roads of the world'" (32-33).
To this argument one might object that Stephen thinks, "Tap
with it. They do," not "They did." But the ancient
Irish bards' powers of prophecy would cohere with the Roman
powers of divination that he summons later in Proteus
when he thinks of an alter-self sitting on another planet
"with his augur's rod of
ash."