"The protestants are the same. Convert Dr William J. Walsh D.D. to the true religion. Save China's millions. Wonder how they explain it to the heathen Chinee. Prefer an ounce of opium. Celestials. Rank heresy for them." (U5.325)
William Joseph Walsh (1841 - 1921) served as the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Dublin from 1885 to his death in 1921.
"Buddha their god lying on his side in the museum." (U5.328)
"Taking it easy with hand under his cheek. Josssticks burning." (U6.328)
"Not like Ecce Homo. Crown of thorns and cross." (U5.329)
'Ecce Homo' (Latin = Behold the Man) are the words said by Pontius Pilate during the trial of Jesus, as related in the Gospel of St. John (19:5). Pilate presented a scourged Jesus Christ, bound and crowned with thorns, to a hostile crowd shortly before His Crucifixion. Popular in Christian art, Ecce Homo refers to any work that depicts Jesus wearing the crown of thorns, be it a close up of his head (with crown of thorns and torture wounds, as in this PC), his full figure (with purple robe and loincloth), or the whole tableau with Pilate and the mocking crowd (+/- scenery from Jerusalem).
"Clever idea Saint Patrick the shamrock. Chopsticks?" (U5.330)
The word 'shamrock' is derived from the Irish 'seamrog' = summer plant. Before Christianity in Ireland, the shamrock was a sacred plant of the Druids. Legend has it that St Patrick, teaching in the open air on the doctrine of the trinity, and wanting to illustrate the existence of the Three in One, plucked a shamrock from the ground and showed it to his congregation. Since then, the Shamrock has become a symbol of Ireland (though not its official emblem, which is the harp).
"Conmee: Martin Cunningham knows him: distinguished looking. Sorry I didn't work him about getting Molly into the choir" (U5.331)
(Image courtesy of the ZJJF)
"instead of that Father Farley who looked a fool but wasn't. They're taught that." (U5.332)
[Image courtesy of the ZJJF]
"He's not going out in bluey specs with the sweat rolling off him to baptise blacks, is he? The glasses would take their fancy, flashing. Like to see them sitting round in a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening. Still life. Lap it up like milk, I suppose." (U6.333)
"The cold smell of sacred stone called him. He trod the worn steps, pushed the swingdoor and entered softly by the rere.
Something going on: some sodality. Pity so empty. Nice discreet place to be next some girl." (U5.338)
St Andrew's Church on Westland Row had masses every 1/2hr from 7am till 12, and Vespers at 7:30pm.
"Who is my neighbour? Jammed by the hour to slow music. That woman at midnight mass. Seventh heaven. Women knelt in the benches with crimson halters round their necks, heads bowed. A batch knelt at the altar rails." (U5.341)
"The priest went along by them, murmuring, holding the thing in his hands. He stopped at each, took out a communion, shook a drop or two (are they in water?) off it" (U5.344)
"and put it neatly into her mouth. Her hat and head sank. Then the next one. Her hat sank at once. Then the next one: a small old woman. The priest bent down to put it into her mouth, murmuring all the time. Latin. The next one." (U5.346)
"Shut your eyes and open your mouth." (U5.349)
"Shut your eyes and open your mouth. What?" (U5.349)
"Corpus: body. Corpse. Good idea the Latin. Stupefies them first. Hospice for the dying. They don't seem to chew it: only swallow it down. Rum idea: eating bits of a corpse why the cannibals cotton to it.
He stood aside watching their blind masks pass down the aisle, one by one, and seek their places. He approached a bench and seated himself in its corner, nursing his hat and newspaper." (U5.350)
"These pots we have to wear. We ought to have hats modelled on our heads." (U5.355)