Key: 1922 text
(Theº Mabbot street entrance of nighttown, before which stretches an uncobbled tramsiding set with skeleton tracks, red and green will-o'-the wispsº and danger signals. Rows of flimsyº houses with gaping doors. Rare lamps with faint rainbow fans. Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble. They grab wafers between which are wedged lumps of coalº and copper snow. Sucking, they scatter slowly. Childrenº. The swancomb of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the murk, white and blue under a lighthouse. Whistles call and answer.)
Round behind the stable.
Where's the great light?
(They release him. He jerks on. A pigmy woman swings on a rope slung between theº railings, counting. A form sprawled against a dustbin and muffled by its arm and hat movesº, groans, grinding growling teeth, and snores again. On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones. A crone standing by with a smoky oil lampº rams theº last bottle in the maw of his sack. He heaves his booty, tugs askew his peaked cap and hobbles off mutely. The crone makes back for her lairº swaying her lamp. A bandy child, asquat on the doorstep with a papershuttlecockº, crawls sidling after her in spurts, clutches her skirt, scrambles up. A drunken navvy grips with both hands the railings of an area, lurching heavily. At a corner two night watch in shoulder capesº, their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall. A plate crashes;º a woman screams;º a child wails. Oaths of a man roar, mutter, cease. Figures wander, lurk, peer from warrens. In a room lit by a candle stuck in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the hair of a scrufulousº child. Cissy Caffrey's voice, still young, sings shrill from a lane.)
I gave it to Molly
Because she was jolly,
The leg of the duckº
The leg of the duck.
(Private Carr and Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their oxters, as they march unsteadilyº rightaboutface and burst together from their mouths a volleyed fart. Laughter of men from the lane. A hoarse virago retorts.)
More luck to me.
Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet. (She sings.)
(Private Carr and Private Compton turn and counterretort, their tunics bloodbright in a lampglow, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped polls. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch pass through the crowd close to the redcoats.)
(Jerks his finger.) Way for the parson.
(Turns and calls.) What ho, parson!
(Her voice soaring higher.)
She has it, she got it,
Wherever she put itº
The leg of the duck.
(Altius aliquantulum.) Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista.
(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with Bertha Supple, draws her shawl across her nostrils.)
(Bickering.) And says the one: I seen you up Faithful place with your squarepusher, the greaser off the railway, in his cometobed hat. Did you, says I. That's not for you to say, says I. You never seen me in the mantrap with a married highlander, says I. The likes of her! Stag that one is.º Stubborn as a mule! And her walking with two fellows the one time, Kildbrideº the enginedriver, and lancecorporal Oliphant.
(Triumphaliter.) Salvi facti iº sunt.
Damn your yellow stick. Where are we going?
(Stephen thrusts the ashplant on him and slowly holds out his hands, his head going back till both hands are a span from his breast, down turnedº in planes intersecting, the fingers about to part, the left being higher.)
Which is the jug of bread? It skills not. That or the customhouse. Illustrate thou. Here take your crutch and walk.
(They pass. Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a gaslamp and, clasping, climbs in spasms. From the top spur he slides down. Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb. The navvy lurches against the lamp. The twins scuttle off in the dark. The navvy, swaying, presses a forefinger against a wing of his nose and ejects from the farther nostril a long liquid jet of snot. Shoulderiugº the lamp he staggers away through the crowd with his flaring cresset.
Snakes of river fog creep slowly. From drains, clefts,
middensº arise on all sides
stagnant fumes. A glow leaps in the south beyond the seaward reaches of the
river. The navvy staggering
forwardº cleaves the crowd and
lurches towards the tramsiding. On the farther side under the railway bridge
Bloom appearsº flushed, panting,
cramming bread and chocolate into a
pocketº. From Gillen's
hairdresser's window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's
image. A concave mirror
at the side presents to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom. Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom for Bloom. He passes, struck by the stare of truculent Wellington but in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldyº the rixdix doldy.
At Antonio Rabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the bright arclampsº. He disappears. In a moment he reappears and hurries on.)
Fish and taters. N.g. Ah!
(He disappears into Olhousen'sº, the pork butcher's, under the downcoming rollshutter. A few moments later he emerges from under the shutter, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. In each hand he holds a parcel, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper. He gasps, standing upright. Then bending to one side he presses a parcel against his ribº and groans.)
Stitch in my side. Why did I run?
(He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards the lampset siding. The glow leaps again.)
What is that? A flasher? Searchlight.
(He stands at Cormack's corner, watching.)
Aurora borealis or a steel foundry? Ah, the brigade, of course. South side anyhow. Big blaze. Might be his house. Beggar's bush. We're safe. (He hums cheerfully.) London's burning, London's burning! On fire, on fire! (He catches sight of the navvy lurching through the crowd at the farther side of Talbot street.) I'll miss him. Run. Quick. Better cross here.
(He darts to cross the road. Urchins shout.)
Mind out, mister!
(He looks round, darts forward suddenly. Through rising fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon him, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the wire. The motorman bangs his footgong.)
Bang Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo.
(The brake cracks violently. Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, blundersº stifflegged, out of the track. The motormanº thrown forward, pugnosed, on the guidewheel, yells as he slides past over chains and keys.)
(Bloom trickleaps to the curbstone and halts again. He brushes a mudflake from his cheek with a parcelled hand.)
Close shave that
but cured the stitch. Must take up Sandow's
exerciserº again. On the hands down.
Insure against street accident too. The Providential. (He feels his trouser
pocket.) Poor mamma's panacea.
Heel easily catch in
or bootlace in a
cog. Day,º the wheel of the
Maria,º peeled off my shoe at
Leonard's corner. Third time is the charm. Shoe trick. Insolent driver. I
ought to report him. Tension makes them nervous. Might
be the fellow balked me this morning with that horsey woman. Same style of beauty. Quick of him all heº same. The stiff walk. True word spoken in jest. That awful cramp in Lad lane. Something poisonous I ate. Emblem of luck. Why? Probably lost cattle. Mark of the beast. (He closes his eyes an instant.) Bit light in the head. Monthly or effect of the other. Brainfogfag. That tired feeling. Too much for me now. Ow!
(A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against O'Beirne's wall, a visage unknown, injected with dark mercury. From under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with evil eye.)
(Impassive, raises a signal arm.) Password. Sraid Mabbot.
Haha. Merci. Esperanto. Slan leath. (He mutters.) Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeaterº.
(He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on.)
Keep to the right, right, right. If there is a fingerpost planted by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon? I who lost my way and contributed to the columns of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed,º In darksetº Stepaside. Keep, keep, keep to the right. Rags and bones,º at midnight. A fence more likely. First place murderer makes for. Wash off his sins of the world.
(Jacky Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey, runs full tilt against Bloom.)
(The retriever approchesº snifflingº, nose to the ground. A sprawled form sneezes. A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the long caftan of an elder in Zion and a smoking capº with magenta tassels. Horned spectacles hang down at the wings of the nose. Yellow poison streaks are on the drawn face.)
What you making down this place? Have you no soul? (With feeble vulture talons he feels the silent face of Bloom.) Are you not my son Leopold, the grand sonº of Leopold? Are you not my dear son Leopold who left the house of his father and left the god of his fathers Abraham and Jacob?
(With precaution.) I suppose so, father. Mosenthal. All that's left of him.
(Severely.) One night they bring you home drunk as dog
after spend your good money. What you call them running chaps?
(In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in brown Alpine hat, wearing gent's sterling silver waterburyº keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one side of him coated with stiffening mud.) Harriers, father. Only that once.
(Weakly.) They challenged me to a sprint. It was muddy. I slipped.
(With contempt.) Goim nachezº Nice spectacles for your poor mother!
(In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap,º crinoline and bustle, widow Twankey'sº blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her hair plaitedº in a crispine net, appears over the staircase banisters, a slanted candlestick in her handº and cries out in shrill alarm.) O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him! My smelling salts! (She hauls up a reef of skirt and ransacks the pouch of her striped blayº petticoat. A phial, an Agnus Dei, a shrivelled potato and a celluloid doll fall out.) Sacred Heart of Mary, where were you at all,º at all?
Who? (He ducks and wards off a blow clumsily.) At your service.
(He looks up. Beside her
datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before him. Opulent curves fill out her scarlet
trousers and jacketº slashed with gold. A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her. A white yashmakº violet in the night, covers her face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and raven hair.)
Welly? Mrs Marion from this out, my dear man, when you speak to me. (Satirically.) Has poor little hubby cold feet waiting so long?
(Shifts from foot to foot.) No, no. Not the least little bit.
(He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her supper, things to tell her, excuses,º desire, spellbound. A coin gleams on her forehead. On her feet are jewelled toerings. Her anklesº are linked by a slender fetterchain. Beside her a camel, hooded with a turreting turban, waits. A silk ladder of innumerable rungs climbs to his bobbing howdah. He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in Moorish.)
(The camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a tree a large mango fruit, offers it to his mistress, blinking, in his cloven hoofº then droops his head and, grunting, with uplifted neck, fumbles to kneel. Bloom stoops his back for leapfrog.)
I can give you … I mean as your business menagerer … Mrs Marion … if you …
So you notice some change? (Her hands passing slowly over
stomacher. A slow
friendly mockery in her eyes.) O Poldy, Poldy, you are a poor old stick in
the mud! Go and see
life. See theº wide world.
(He points to the south, then to the east. A cake of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume.)
We're a capital couple are Bloom and Iº
He brightens the earth, I polish the sky.
(The freckled face of Sweny, the druggist, appears in the disc of the soapsun.)
Three and a penny, please.
Yes. For my wife,º Mrs Marion. Special recipe.
Ti trema un poco il cuore?
Are you sure about that Voglio? I mean the pronunciati …
(He follows, followed by the sniffing terrier. The elderly
bawd seizes his sleeve, the bristles of her
Ten shillings a maidenhead. Fresh thing was never touched. Fifteen. There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk.
(She points. In the gap of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.)
Hatch street. Any good in your mind?
(With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. A burly rough pursues with booted strides. He stumbles on the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. Weak squeaks of laughter are heard, weaker.)
(Leering, Gerty MacDowell limps forward. She draws from behind, ogling, and shows coyly her bloodied clout.)
I? When? You're dreaming. I never saw you.
(To Bloom.) When you saw all the secrets of my bottom drawer. (She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) Dirty married man! I love you for doing that to me.
(Coughs gravely.) Madam, when we last had this pleasure by letter dated the sixteenth instant …
(Hurriedly.) Not so loud my name. Whatever do you thinkº me? Don't give me away. Walls have hearsº. How do you do? It's ages since I. You're looking splendid. Absolutely it. Seasonable weather we are having this time of year. Black refracts heat. Short cut home here. Interesting quarter. Rescue of fallen womenº Magdalen asylum. I am the secretary …
(Looks behind.) She often said she'd like to visit. Slumming. The exotic, you see. Negro servants too in liveryº if she had money. Othelloblack brute. Eugene Stratton. Even the bones and cornerman at the Livermore christies. Bohee brothers. Sweep for that matter.
and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white duck suits, scarlet socks, upstarched
Sambo chokers and large scarlet asters in their
buttonholesº leap out. Each has
his banjo slung. Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.
tusks they rattle through a
singing, back to
back, toe heel, heel toe, with smackfatclacking nigger lips.)
TOM AND SAM
(Screams gaily.) O, you ruck! You ought to see yourself!
For old sake' sake. I only meant a square party, a mixed marriage mingling of our different little conjugials. You know I had a soft corner for you. (Gloomily.) 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the dear gazelle.
(Seizes her wrist with his free hand.) Josie Powell that was, prettiest deb in Dublin. How time flies by! Do you remember, harking back in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas nightº Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading!º Subject, what is in this snuffbox!º
(Squire of dames, in dinner jacket with watered silkfacingsº, blue masonic badge in his buttonhole, black bow and mother-of-pearº studs, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his hand.) Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ireland, home and beauty.
The dear dead days beyond recall. Love's old sweet song.
(Meaningfully dropping his voice.) I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a little teapot at present.
(Gushingly.) Tremendously teapot! London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me.º (She rubs sides with him.) After the parlour mystery games and the crackers from the tree we sat on the staircase ottoman. Under the mistletoe. Two is company.
(Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with an amber halfmoon, his fingers and thumb passing slowly down to her soft moist meaty palm which she surrenders gently.) The witching hour of night. I took the splinter out of this hand, carefully, slowly. (Tenderly, as he slips on her finger a ruby ring.) Là ci darem la mano.
(In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her brow with her dancecard fallen beside her moonblue satin slipper, curves her palm softly, breathing quickly.) Voglio e non.º You're hot! You're scalding! The left hand nearest the heart.
When you made your present choice they said it was beauty and the beast. I can never forgive you for that. (His clenched fist at his brow.) Think what it means. All you meant to me then. (Hoarsely.) Woman, it's breaking me!
(Denis Breen, whitetallhatted, with Wisdom Hely's
sandwichboardº, shuffles past them
in carpet slippers, his dull beard thrust out, muttering to
right and left. Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the pall of the ace of spadesº dogs him to left and right, doubled in laughter.)
(Points jeering at the sandwich boards.) U. p: Upº.
(Shocked.) Molly's best friend! Could you?
(Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers a pigeon kiss.) Hnhn. The answer is a lemon. Have you a little present for me there?
(Offhandedly.) Kosher. A snack for supper. The home without potted meat is incomplete. I was at Leah, Mrs Bandmanº Palmer. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. Unfortunately threw away the programme. Rattling good place round there for pig'sº feet. Feel.
(Richie Goulding, three ladies' hats pinned on his head, appears weighted to one side by the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which a skull and crossbones are painted in white limewash. He opens it and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.)
Best value in Dub.
(Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands on the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait.)
(Advances with a
tilted dish of
spillspilling gravy.) Steak and kidney. Bottle of lager. Hee hee hee. Wait till I wait.
Goodgod. Inev erate inall …
(With hanging head he marches doggedly forward. The navvy, lurching by, gores him with his flaming pronghorn.)
(With a cry of pain, his hand to his back.) Ah! Bright's! Lights!
(Points to the navvy.) A spy. Don't attract attention. I hate stupid crowds. I am not on pleasure bent. I am in a grave predicament.
I want to tell you a little secret about how I came to be here. But you must never tell. Not even Molly. I have a most particular reason.
(All agog.) O, not for worlds.
Let's walk on. Shall us?
(In an oatmeal sporting suit, a sprig of woodbine in the
lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross
scarftie, white spats, fawn dustcoat on his
arm, tawny red brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a grey billycock hat.) Do you remember a long long time, years and years ago, just after Milly,º Marionette we called her, was weaned when we all went together to Fairyhouse races, was it?
I mean, Leopardstown. And Molly won seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a waggonette you were in your heyday then and you had on that new hat of white velours with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was marked down to nineteen and eleven, a bit of wire and an old rag of velveteen, and I'll lay you what you like she did it on purpose …
She did, of course, the cat! Don't tell me! Nice adviser!
Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the other ducky little tammy toque with the bird of paradise wing in it that I admired on you and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was a pity to kill it, you cruelº creature, little mite of a thing with a heart the size of a fullstop.
(Low, secretly, ever more rapidly.) And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. Frankly, though she had her advisers or admirers, I never cared much for her style. She was …
Yes. And Molly was laughing because Rogers and
Maggot O'Reilly were
mimicking a cock as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the tea merchant, drove past us in a gig with his daughter, Dancer Moses was her name, and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I ever heard or read or knew or came across …
(Eagerly.) Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
(She fades from his side. Followed by the whining dog he walks on towards hellsgates. In an archway a standing woman, bent forward, her feet apart, pisses cowily. Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of loiterers listen to a tale which their broken snoutedº gaffer rasps out with raucous humour. An armless pair of them flop wrestling, growling, in maimed sodden playfight.)
(Crouches, his voiceº twisted in his snout.) And when Cairns came down from the scaffolding in Beaver Streetº what was he after doing it into only into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers.
(Guffaw with cleft palates.) O jays!
(Their paintspeckled hats wag. Spattered with size and lime of their lodges they frisk limblessly about him.)
Coincidence too. They think it funny. Anything but that.º Broad daylight. Trying to walk. Lucky no woman.
Jays, that's a good one. Glauber salts. O jays, into the men's porter.
(Bloom passes. Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled,
dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.)
Are you going far, queer fellow?
Got a match on you?
Eh, come herº till I stiffen it for you.
(He plodges through their sump towards the lighted street beyond. From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk. In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the navvy and the two redcoats.)
(Belching.) Where's the bloody house?
Purdon street. Shilling a bottle of stout. Respectable woman.
(Gripping the two redcoats, staggers forward with them.) Come on, you British army!
(Behind his back.) He aint half balmy.
(Laughs.) What ho!
(To the navvy.) Portobello barracks canteen. You ask for Carr. Just Carr.
We are the boys. Of Wexford.
Say! What price the sergeantmajor?
Bennett? He's my pal. I love old Bennett.
The galling chain.
And free our native land.
Wildgoose chase this. Disorderly houses. Lord knows where they are gone. Drunks cover distance double quick. Nice mixup. Scene at Westland row. Then jump in first class with thirdº ticket. Then too far. Train with engine behind. Might have taken me to Malahide or a siding for the night or collision. Second drink does it. Once is a dose. What am I following him for? Still, he's the best of that lot. If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met. Kismet. He'll lose that cash. Relieving office here. Good biz for cheapjacks, organs. What do ye lack? Soon got, soon gone. Might have lost my life too with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of mind. Can't always save you, though. If I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been shot. Absence of body. Still if bullet only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred pounds. What was he? Kildare street club toff. God help his gamekeeper.
Odd!º Molly drawing on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown. What's that like?º (Gaudy dollwomen loll in the lighted doorways, in window embrasures, smoking birdseye cigarettes. The odour of the sicksewetº weed floats towards him in slow round ovalling wreaths.)
Sweet are the sweets. Sweets of sin.
My spine's a bit limp. Go or turn? And this food? Eat it and get all
pigsticky. Absurd I am. Waste of money. One and eight penceº too much. (The retriever drives a cold snivelling muzzle against his hand, wagging his tail.) Strange how they take to me. Even that brute today. Better speak to him first. Like women they like rencontres. Stinks like a polecat. Chacun son goût. He might be mad. Fidoº. Uncertain in his movements. Good fellow! Garryowen!º (The wolfdog sprawls on his back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, his long black tongue lolling out.) Influence of his surroundings. Give and have done with it. Provided nobody. (Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the setter into a dark stalestunk corner. He unrolls one parcel and goes to dump the crubeen softly but holds back and feels the trotter.) Sizeable for threepence. But then I have it in my left hand. Calls for more effort. Why? Smaller from want of use. O, let it slide. Two and six.
(With regret he letsº unrolled crubeen and trotter slide. The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones. Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant. They murmur together.)
Bloom. Of Bloom. For Bloom. Bloom.
(Each lays hand on Bloom's shoulder.)
Caught in the act. Commit no nuisance.
(Stammers.) I am doing good to others.
(A covey of gulls, storm petrels, rises hungrily from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their beaks.)
The friend of man. Trained by kindness.
toppling from a high barstool, sways over the munching spaniel.)
(The bulldog growls, his scruff standing, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his molars through which rabid scumspittle dribbles. Bob Doran falls silently into an area.)
(Enthusiastically.) A noble work! I scolded that tramdriver on Harold's cross bridge for illusing the poor horse with his harness scab. Bad French I got for my pains. Of course it was frosty and the last tram. All tales of circus life are highly demoralising.
(Signor Maffei, passion paleº, in liontamer's costume with diamondsº studs in his shirtfrontº steps forward, holding a circus paper hoop, a curling carriagewhip and a revolver with which he covers the gorging boarhound.º
(With a sinister smile.) Ladies and gentlemen, my educated greyhound. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores. Lash under the belly with a knotted thong. Block tackle and a strangling pullyº will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the Libyan maneater. A redhot crowbar and some liniment rubbing on the burning part produced Fritz of Amsterdam, the thinking hyena. (He glares.) I possess the Indian sign. The glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers. (With a bewitching smile.) I now introduce Mademoiselle Ruby, the pride of the ring.
Come. Name and address.
I have forgotten for the moment. Ah, yes! (He
takes off his high
saluting.) Dr Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. You have heard of von
Donnerwetter! Owns half Austria. Egypt. Cousin.
(In red fez, cadi's dress coat with broad green sash, wearing a false badge of the Legion of Honour, picks up the card hastily and offers it.) Allow me. My club is the Junior Army and Navy. Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.
(Reads.) Henry Flower. No fixed abode. Unlawfully watching and besetting.
An alibi. You are cautioned.
(Produces from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower.) This is the flower in question. It was given me by a man I don't know his name. (Plausibly.) You know that old joke, rose of Castile. Bloom. The change of name. Virag. (He murmurs privately and confidentially.) We are engaged you see, sergeant. Lady in the case. Love entanglement. (He shoulders the second watch gently.) Dash it all. It's a way we gallants have in the navy. Uniform that does it. (He turns gravely to the first watch.) Still, of course, you do get your Waterloo sometimes. Drop in some evening and have a glass of old Burgundy. (To the second watchº gaily.) I'll introduce you, inspector. She's game. Do it in the shake of a lamb's tail.
(A dark mercurialised face appears, leading a veiled figure.)
THE DARK MERCURY
(Thickveiled, a crimson halter round her neck, a copy of
the Irish Times in her hand, in tone of reproach, pointing.) Henry!
Leopold! Leopold! Lionel, thou lost one! Clear my name.
(Sternly.) Come to the station.
(Scared, hats himself, steps backº then, plucking at his heart and lifting his right forearm on the square, he gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) No, no, worshipful master, light of love. Mistaken identity. The Lyons mail. Lesurques and Dubosc. You remember the Childs fratricide case. We medical men. By striking him dead with a hatchet,º I am wrongfully accused. Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned.
(Behind his hand.) She's drunk. The woman is inebriated. (He murmurs vaguely the pastº of Ephraim.) Shitbroleeth.
(Tears in his eyes, to Bloom.) You ought to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself.
Gentlemen of the jury, let me explain. A pure mare's nest. I am a man misunderstood. I am being made a scapegoat of. I am a respectable married man, without a stain on my character. I live in Eccles street. My wife, I am the daughter of a most distinguished commander, a gallant upstanding gentleman, what do you call him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. Got his majority for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift.
(Turns to the gallery.) The royal Dublins, boys, the
salt of the
earth, known the
world over. I think I see some old comrades in arms up there
among you. The R.D.F.º With our own Metropolitan police, guardians of our homes, the pluckiest lads and the finest body of men, as physique, in the service of our sovereign.
Turncoat! Up the Boers! Who booed Joe Chamberlain?
(His hand on the shoulder of the first watch.) My old dad too was a J.P. I'm as staunch a Britisher as you are, sir. I fought with the colours for king and country in the absentminded war under general Gough in the park and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was mentioned in dispatches. I did all a white man could. (With quiet feeling.) Jim Bludso. Hold her nozzle again the bank.
Profession or trade.
Well, I follow a literary occupation. Author-journalistº. In fact we are just bringing out a collection of prize stories of which I am the inventor, something that is an entirely new departure. I am connected with the British and Irish press. If you ring up …
(Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a quill between his teeth. His scarlet beak blazes within the aureole of his straw hat. He dangles a hank of Spanish onions in one hand and holds with the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his ear.)
(Mr Philip Beaufoy,
stands in the witnessbox, in accurate morning dress, outbreast pocket with peak
of handkerchief showing, creased lavender trousers and patent boots. He carries
a large portfolio labelled Matcham's Masterstrokes.)
(Drawls.) No, you aren't, notº by a long shot if I know it. I don't see it, that's all. No born gentleman, no oneº with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct. One of those, my lord. A plagiarist. A soapy sneak masquerading as a literateurº. It's perfectly obvious that with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my bestselling booksº, really gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. The Beaufoy books of love and great possessionsº with which your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the kingdom.
(Murmurs with hangdog meeknessº.) That bit about the laughing witch hand in hand I take exception to, if I may …
(His lip upcurled, smiles superciliously on the court.) You funny ass, you! You're too beastly awfully weird for words! I don't think you need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard. My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. I presume, my lord, we shall receive the usual witnesses' fees, shan't we!º We are considerably out of pocket over this bally pressman johnny, this jackdaw of Rheims, who has not even been to a university.
(Indistinctly.) University of life. Bad art.
(Shouts.) It's a damnably foul lie showing the moral rottenness of the man! (He extends his portfolio.) We have here damning evidenceº the corpus delicti, my lord, a specimen of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark of the beast.
A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY
Moses, Moses, king of the jews,
Wiped his arse in the Daily News.
You low cad! You ought to be ducked in the horsepond, you rotter! (To the court.) Whyº look at the man's private life! Leading a quadruple existence! Street angel and house devil. Not fit to be mentioned in mixed society. The arch conspiratorº of the age.º
(To the court.) And he, a bachelor, how …
Mary Driscoll, scullerymaid!
(Mary Driscoll, a slipshod servant girlº approaches. She has a bucket on the crook of her arm and a scouringbrush in her hand.)
Another! Are you of the unfortunate class?
(Indignantly.) I'm not a bad one. I bear a respectable character and was four months in my last place. I was in a situation, six pounds a year and my chances with Fridays outº and I had to leave owing to his carryings on.
What do you tax him with?
He made a certain suggestion but I thought more of myself as poor as I am.
(In housejacket of
rippleclothº flannel trousers,
heelless slippers, unshaven,º his
hair rumpledº softly.)
I treated you
white. I gave you mementos, smart emerald
garters far above your station. Incautiously I took your part when you were accused of pilfering. There's a medium in all things. Play cricket.
(Excitedly.) As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oylsters!
He surprised me in the rere of the premises, yourº honour, when the missus was out shopping one morning with a request for a safety pin. He held me and I was discoloured in four places as a result. And he interfered twict with my clothing.
(Clerk of the crown and peace, resonantly.) Order in court! The accused will now make a bogus statement.
guilty and holding a fullblown waterlily, begins
unintelligible speech. They would hear what counsel had to say in his
stirring address to the
He was down and out but, throughº
branded as a
black sheep, if
he might say so, he meant to reform,
to retrieve the
memory of the past
in a purely sisterly
way and return to nature as a purely domestic animal. A seven
childº he had been
carefully brought up
and nurtured by an
might have been lapses of
an erring father
but he wanted to
turn over a new
leaf and now, when at long last
in sight of the
whipping post, to lead a homely life
in the evening of his
days, permeated by the affectionate
surroundings of the heaving bosom of the family. An acclimatised Britisher, he had seen that summer eve from the footplate of an engine cab of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as it were, through the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their pensums,º model young ladies playing on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family rosary round the crackling Yulelog while in the boreens and green lanes the colleens with their swains strolled what times the strains of the organtoned melodeon Brittaniaº metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a sacrifice, greatest bargain ever …)
(Renewed laughter. He mumbles incoherently. Reporters complain that they cannot hear.)
(Without looking up from their notebooks.) Loosen his boots.
(From the presstable, coughs and calls.)
º Cough it up, man. Get it out in bits.
(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the bucket. A large bucket. Bloom himself. Bowel trouble. In Beaver street. Gripe, yes. Quite bad. A plasterer's bucket. By walking stifflegged. Suffered untold misery. Deadly agony. About noon. Love or burgundy. Yes, some spinach. Crucial moment. He did not look in the bucket. Nobody. Rather a mess. Not completely. A Titbits back number.)
(Uproar and cat callsº. Bloomº in a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat sideways on his head, a strip of stickingplaster across his nose, talks inaudibly.)
(In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking with
a voice of pained protest.) This is no place for indecent levity at the
expense of an erring mortal
liquor. We are not in a beargarden nor at an Oxford
rag nor is this
a travesty of justice. My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. The trumped up misdemeanour was due to a momentary aberration of heredity, brought on by hallucination, such familiarities as the alleged guilty occurrence being quite permitted in my client's native place, the land of the Pharaoh. Prima facie, I put it to you that there was no attempt at carnally knowing. Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not repeated. I would deal in especial with atavism. There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulismº in my client's family. If the accused could speak he could a tale unfoldº one of the strangest that have ever been narrated between the covers of a book. He himself, my lord, is a physical wreck from cobbler's weak chest. His submission is that he is of Mongolian extraction and irresponsible for his actions. Not all there, in fact.
(Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in lascar's vest and trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and looks about him dazedly, passing a slow hand across his forehead. Then he hitches his belt sailor fashion and with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court, pointing one thumb heavenward.) Him makee velly muchee fine night. (He begins to lilt simply.)
Li li poo lil chile.
Blingee pigfoot evly night.º
Payee two shilly …
(He is howled down.)
(Hotly to the populace.) This is a lonehand fight.
By Hades, I will
not have any client of mine
badgered in this
fashion by a pack
of curs and laughing
hyenas. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the jungle. I say it and I
say it emphaticallyº without wishing for
one moment to defeat
the ends of justice, accused,º was
not accessory before
the act and
has not been
The young person
was treated by
defendant as if she were his very own daughter.
(Bloom takes J.J.
O'Molloy's hand and raises it to his lips.) I shall call
rebutting evidence to prove up to the hilt that the hidden hand is again at its
old game. When in
doubt persecute Bloom. My client, an innately
would be the last man in the world to do anything
which injured modesty could object to
or cast a stone at a girl who took the wrong turning when some dastard, responsible for her condition, had worked his own sweet will on her. He wants to go straight. I regard him as the whitest man I know. He is down on his luck at present owing to the mortgaging of his extensive property at Agendath Netaim in faraway Asia Minor, slides of which will now be shown. (To Bloom.) I suggest that you will do the handsome thing.
A penny in the pound.
(The mirageº of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected ouº the wall. Moses Dlugacz, ferreteyed albino, in blue dungarees, stands up in the gallery, holding in each hand an orange citron and a pork kidney.)
(J.J. O'Molloy steps on to a low plinth and holds the lapel of his coat with solemnity. His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, with sunken eyes, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. He applies his handkerchief to his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.º
(Almost voicelessly.) Excuse me, I am suffering from a severe chill, have recently come from a sickbed. A few wellchosen words. (He assumes the avine head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe.) When the angel's book comes to be opened if aught that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live I say accord the prisoner at the bar the sacred benefit of the doubt.º (A paper with something written on it is handed into court.)
(In court dress.) Can give best references. Messrs
Callan, Coleman. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P.
My old chief Joe
Cuffe. Mr V.B. Dillon, ex-lord mayor of Dublin. I have moved in the
of the highest …
Queens of Dublin
Societyº. (Carelessly.) I was
just chatting this afternoon at the viceregal lodge to
my old pals, sir
Robert and lady
royal, at the levee. Sir Bob, I said …
MRS YELVERTON BARRY
(In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing a sabletrimmed brick quilted dolman, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her hair.) Arrest him, constable. He wrote me an anonymous letter in prentice backhand when my husband was in the North Riding of Tipperary on the Munster circuit, signed James Lovebirch. He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box of the Theatre Royal at a command performance of La Cigale. I deeply inflamed him, he said. He made improper overtures to me to misconduct myself at half past four p.m. on the following Thursday, Dunsink time. He offered to send me through the post a work of fiction by Monsieur Paul de Kock, entitled The Girl with the Three Pairs of Stays.
(In cap and seal coney mantle, wrapped up to the nose, steps out of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she takes from inside her huge opossum muff.) Also to me. Yes, I believe it is the same objectionable person. Because he closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety day during the cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of the wastepipe andº ballstop in my bath cistern were frozen. Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the heights, as he said, in my honour. I had it examined by a botanical expert and elicited the information that it was a blossom of the homegrown potato plant purloined from a forcingcase of the model farm.
MRS YELVERTON BARRY
Shame on him!
(A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward.)
THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS
(Screaming.) Stop thief! Hurrah there, Bluebeard! Three cheers for Ikey Mo!
(Produces handcuffs.) Here are the darbies.
He addressed me in several handwritings with
fulsome compliments as a
Venus in furs and alleged profound pity for my frostbound coachman Palmerº while in the same breath he expressed himself as envious of his earflaps and ffeecyº sheepskins and of his fortunate proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery and the armorial bearings of the Bellingham escutcheon garnished sable, a buck's head couped or. He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limitº and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, he could conjure up. He urged me,stating that he felt it his mission in life to urge me, to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the earliest possible opportunity.
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS
(In amazon costume, hard hat, jackboots cockspurred, vermilion waistcoat, fawn musketeer gauntlets with braided drums, long train held up and hunting crop with which she strikes her welt constantly.) Also me. Because he saw me on the polo ground of the Phœnixº park at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland. My eyes, I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur. This plebeian Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney car and sent me in double envelopes an obscene photograph, such as are sold after dark on Paris boulevards, insulting to any lady. I have it still. It represents a partially nude señorita, frail and lovely (his wifeº as he solemnly assured me, taken by him from nature)º practising illicit intercourse with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. He urged me to do likewise, to misbehave, to sin with officers of the garrison. He implored me to soil his letter in an unspeakable manner, to chastise him as he richly deserves, to bestride and ride him, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping.
MRS YELVERTON BARRY
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS
Tan his breech well, the upstart! Write the stars and stripes on it!
MRS YELUERTONº BARRY
Disgraceful! There's no excuse for him! A married man!
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS
(Laughs derisively.) O, did you, my fine fellow? Well, by the living God, you'll get the surprise of your life now, believe me, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury.
MRS YELVERTON BARRY
(Severely.) Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys! He should be soundly trounced!
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS
(Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently.) I'll do no such thing. Pig dogº and always was ever since he was pupped! To dare address me! I'll flog him black and blue in the public streets. I'll dig my spurs in him up to the rowel. He is a wellknown cuckold. (She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the air.) Take down his trousers without loss of time. Come here, sir! Quick! Ready?
(Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes with a bevy of barefoot newsboys.)
Messenger of the Sacred Heart and Evening Telegraph with Saint Patrick's Day Supplementº. Containing the new addresses of all the cuckolds in Dublin.
(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece. Before him Father Conroy and the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.)
(The brass quoits of a bed are heard to jingle.)
panel of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing rapidly in the
faces of Martin
Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned
Lambert, John Henry Menton, Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn,
M'Coy and the featureless face of a
Bareback riding. Weight for age. Gob, he organised her.
(All their heads turned to his voice.) Really?
(Snarls.) Arse over tip. Hundred shillings to five.
(All their heads lowered in assent.) Most of us thought as much.
(Awed, whispers.) And in black. A mormon. Anarchist.
(Loudly.) Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a public nuisance to the citizens of Dublin and whereas at this commission of assizes the most honourable …
(His Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin,º in judicial garb of grey stone rises from the bench, stonebearded. He bears in his arms an umbrella sceptre. From his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns.)
I will put an end to this
traffic and rid
Dublin of this
(He dons the black
cap.) Let him be taken, Mr
Subsheriff,º from the dock where he now
stands and detained
in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there be hanged by the neck until he
is dead and therein fail not at your peril or may the Lord have mercy on your soul. Remove him. (A black skullcap descends upon his head.)
(The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay.)
LONG JOHN FANNING
(Scowls and calls with rich rolling utterance.) Who'll hang Judas Iscariot?
(H. Rumbold, master barber, in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, a rope coiled over his shoulder,º mounts the block. A life preserver and a nailstudded bludgeon are stuck in his belt. He rubs grimly his grappling hands, knobbed with knuckledusters.)
(To the recorder with sinister familiarity.) Hanging Harry, your Majesty, the Mersey terror. Five guineas a jugular. Neck or nothing.
(The bells of George's church toll slowly, loud dark iron.)
(Desperately.) Wait. Stop. Gulls. Good heart. I saw. Innocence. Girl in the monkeyhouse. Zoo. Lewd chimpanzeesº. (Breathlessly.) Pelvic basin. Her artless blush unmanned me. (Overcome with emotion.) I left the precincts. (He turns to a figure in the crowd, appealing.) Hynes, may I speak to you? You know me. That three shillings you can keep. If you want a little more …
(Coldly.) You are a perfect stranger.
(Points to the corner.) The bomb is here.
Infernal machine with a time fuse.
No, no. Pig's feet. I was at a funeral.
(Draws his truncheon.) Liar!
(The beagle liftº his snout, showing the grey scorbutic face of Paddy Dignam. He has gnawed all. He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath. He grows to human size and shape. His dachshund coat becomes a brown mortuary habit. His green eye flashes bloodshot. Half of one ear, all the nose and both thumbs are ghouleaten.)
(In a hollow voice.) It is true. itº was my funeral. Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes.
(He lifts his mutilated ashen face moonwards and bays lugubriously.)
(In triumph.) You hear?
Bloom, I am Paddy Dignam's spirit. List, list, O list!
The voice is the voice of Esau.
(Blesses himself.) How is that possible?
It is not in the penny catechism.
By metempsychosis. Spooks.
(Earnestly.) Once I was in the employ of Mr J.H. Mentonº solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk. Now I am defunct, the wall of the heart hypertrophied. Hard lines. The poor wife was awfully cut up. How is she bearing it? Keep her off that bottle of sherry. (He looks round him.) A lamp. I must satisfy an animal need. That buttermilk didn't agree with me.
(The portly figure of John O'Connell, caretaker, stands forth, holding a bunch of keys tied with crape. Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding sleepily a staff of twisted poppies.)
(Foghorns stormily through his megaphone.) Dignam, Patrick T, deceased.
(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his tail stiffpointed, his ears cocked.)
Pray for the repose of his soul.
(He worms down through a coalhole, his brown habit
tether over rattling pebbles. After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on
paws under a grey
Dignam's voice, muffled, is heard baying under ground:
Dignam's dead and
robinredbreasted, in cap and breeches, jumps from his twocolumned machine.)
(A hand to his breastbone, bows.) Reuben J. A florin I find him. (He fixes the manhole with a resolute stare.) My turn now on. Follow me up to Carlow.
(He executes a daredevil salmon leap in the air and is engulfed in the coalhole. Two discs on the columns wobble eyes of nought. All recedes. Bloom plodges forward again.º He stands before a lighted house, listening. The kisses, winging from their bowersº fly about him, twittering, warbling, cooing.)
A man's touch. Sad music. Church music. Perhaps here.
Are you looking for someone? He's inside with his friend.
Is this Mrs Mack's?
No, eightyone. Mrs Cohen's.
You might go farther
and fare worse.
Slipperslapper. (Familiarly.) She's
on the job herself
tonight with the vet,
her tipster, that
gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford.
but her luck's
turned today. (Suspiciously.)
You're not his father, are you?
(His skin, alert, feels her fingertips approach. A hand slides over his left thigh.)
How's the nuts?
Off side. Curiously they are on the right. Heavierº I suppose. One in a million my tailor, Mesias, says.
(In sudden alarm.) You've a hard chancre.
I feel it.
(Her hand slides into his left trouser pocket and brings out a hard black shrivelled potato. She regards it and Bloom with dumb moist lips.)
A talisman. Heirloom.
For Zoe? For keeps? For being so nice, eh?
(She puts the potato greedily into a pocket,º then links his arm, cuddling him with supple warmth. He smiles uneasily. Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played. He gazes in the tawny crystal of her eyes, ringed with kohol. His smile softens.)
You'll know me the next time.
(Forlornly.) I never loved a dear gazelle but it was sure to …
(Gazelles are leaping, feeding on the mountains. Near are lakes. Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves. Aroma rises, a strong hairgrowth of resin. It burns, the orient, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the bronze flight of eagles. Under it lies the womancity, nude, white, still, cool, in luxury. A fountain murmurs among damask roses. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes. A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.)
º Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.
(Fascinated.) I thought you were of good stock by your accent.
And you know what thought did?
(Draws back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a flat awkward hand.) Are you a Dublin girl?
(Catches a stray hair deftly and twists it to her coil.) No bloody fear. I'm English. Have you a swaggerroot?
(As before.) Rarely smoke, dear. Cigar now and then.
Childish device. (Lewdly.)
The mouth can be
better engaged than with a cylinder of rank weed.
Go on. Make a stump speech out of it.
(In workman's corduroy overalls, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap.) Mankind is incorrigible. Sir Walter Raleighº brought from the new world that potato and that weed, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the other a poisoner of the ear, eye, heart, memory, will, understanding, all. That is to say, he brought the poison a hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought the food. Suicide. Lies. All our habits. Why, look at our public life!
(Midnight chimes from distant steeples.)
Turn again, Leopold! Lord mayor of Dublin!
(In alderman's gown and chain.) Electors of Arran Quay, Inns Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dockº better run a tramline, I say, from the cattlemarket to the river. That's the music of the future. That's my programme. Cui bono? But our bucaneeringº Vanderdeckens in their phantom ship of finance …
Three times three for our future chief magistrate!
(The aurora borealis of the torchlight procession leaps.)
(Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of
the city shake hands with Bloom and congratulate him. Timothy Harrington, late
thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet,
chain and white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock,
locum tenens. They nod vigorously in agreement.)
LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON
(In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and large white silk scarf.) That alderman,º sir Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the expense of the ratepayers. That the house in which he was born be ornamented with a commemorative tablet and that the thoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated Boulevard Bloom.
COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK
(Impassionedly.) These flying Dutchmen or lying Dutchmen as they recline in their upholstered poop, casting dice, what reck they? Machines is their cry, their chimera, their panacea. Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour. The poor man starves while they are grassing their royal mountain stags or shooting peasants and phartridges in their purblind pomp of pelf and power. But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev …
maypoles and festal arches spring up. A streamer bearing the legends
Cead Mile Failte
and Mah Ttob Melek Israel spans the street. All the windows are
thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies. Along the route the regiments
of the royal Dublin fusiliers, the King's own Scottish
borderers,º the Cameron
Highlanders and the Welsh Fusiliers, standing to attention, keep back the crowd.
Boys from High school are perched on the lampposts, telegraph poles,
windowsills, cornices, gutters, chimneypots, railings, rainspouts, whistling and
cheering. The pillar of the cloud appears. A
fife and drum
band is heard in the distance playing the Kol Nidre. The beaters
approach with imperial
eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms. The
rises high, surrounded by pennons of the
van of the
procession appears headed by
John Howard Parnell,
city marshal, in a chessboard tabard, the
and Ulster King of Arms. They are followed by the Right Honourable Joseph
Hutchinson, lord mayor
the lord mayor of
Cork, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway,
Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the cloth of estate, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the chapter of the saints of finance in their plutocratic order of precedence, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Eminence Michael cardinal Logueº archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, His Grace, the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, the chief rabbi, the presbyterian moderator, the heads of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the honorary secretary of the society of friends. After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimney sweepsº, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, understakersº, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse repository hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. After them march gentlemen of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the master of horse, the lord great chamberlain, the earl marshal, the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the chalice and bible. Four buglers on foot blow a sennet. Beefeaters reply, winding clarions of welcome. Under an arch of triumph Bloom appearsº bareheaded, in a crimson velvet mantletrimmedº with ermine, bearing Saint Edward's staff, the orb and sceptre with the dove, the curtana. He is seated on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with golden headstall. Wild excitement. The ladies from their balconies throw down rosepetals. The air is perfumed with essences. The men cheer. Bloom's boys run amid the bystanders with branches of hawthorn and wrenbushes.)
The wren, the wren,
The king of all birds,
Saint Stephen's his day
Was caught in the furze.
(All uncover their heads. Women whisper eagerly.)
(Richly.) Isn't he simply wonderful?
(Nobly.) All that man has seen!
(Masculinely.) And done!
A classic face! He has the forehead of a thinker.
(Bloom's weather. A sunburst appears in the northwest.)
God save Leopold the First!
WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH
purple stock and
shovel hat.) Will you to your power cause law and mercy to be executed in
all your judgments in Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?
MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH
(Bloom assumes a mantle of cloth of gold and puts on a ruby ring. He ascends and stands on the stone of destiny. The representative peers put on at the same time their twentyeight crowns. Joybells ring in Christ church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide. Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs. The peers do homage, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.)
I do become your liege man of life and limb to earthly worship.
(Bloom holds up his right hand on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond. His palfrey neighs. Immediate silence. Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message.)
My subjects! We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we have this day repudiated our former spouse and have bestowed our royal hand upon the princess Selene, the splendour of night.
(The former morganatic spouse of Bloom is hastily removed in the Black Maria. The princess Selene, in moonblue robes, a silver crescent on her head, descends from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants. An outburst of cheering.)
JOHN HOWARD PARNELL
(The freedom of the city is presented to him embodied in a charter. The keys of Dublin, crossed on a crimson cushion, are given to him. He shows all that he is wearing green socks.)
On this day twenty years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith. Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect. Half a league onward! They charge! All is lost now! Do we yield? No! We drive them headlong! Lo! We charge! Deploying to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, uttering thierº warcry, Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a man.
JOHN WYSE NOLAN
A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY
My beloved subjects, a new era is about to dawn. I, Bloom, tell you verily it is even now at hand. Yea, on the word of a Bloom, ye shall ere long enter into the golden city which is to be, the new Bloomusalem in the Nova Hibernia of the future.
rosettes, from all the counties of Ireland,
under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new Bloomusalem. It is a colossal edifice, with crystal roof, built in the shape of a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms. In the course of its extension several buildings and monuments are demolished. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. Numerous houses are razed to the ground. The inhahitantsº are lodged in barrels and boxes, all marked in red with the letters: L.B. Several paupers fall from a ladder. A part of the walls of Dublinº crowded with loyal sightseers, collapses.)
(Dying.) Morituri te salutant. (They die.)
(A man in a brown macintosh springs up through a trapdoor. He points an elongated figureº at Bloom.)
THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH
(A cannonshot. The man in the macintosh
Bloom with his
sceptre strikes down poppies. The instantaneous deaths of many powerful
enemies, graziers, members of parliament,
members of standing
committees, are reported.
and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for
soup, rubber preservatives,º
envelopes tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock,
billets doux in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, porringers of
toad in the hole,
Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed
pork sausages, theatre passes, season tickets available for all tram
linesº, coupons of the royal and
prvilegedº Hungarian lottery,
penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the World's Twelve Worst Books:
Froggy and Fritz (politic), Care of the Baby
Meals for 7/6 (culinic), Was Jesus a Sun Myth? (historic), Expel that Pain (medic), Infant's Compendium of the
Universe (cosmic), Let's All Chortle (hilaric), Canvasser's Vade Mecum (journalic), Loveletters of Mother Assistant (erotic), Who's Who in Space (astric), Songs that Reached 'Ourº Heart (melodic), Pennywise's Way to Wealth (parsimonic). A general rush and scramble. Women press forward to touch the hem of Bloom's robe. The lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts through the throng, leaps on his horse and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation. A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken. Babes and sucklings are held up.)
THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS
Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home,
Cakes in his pocket for Leo alone.
(Bloom, bending down, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the stomach.)
(Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his mouth.) Hajajaja.
(Shaking hands with a blind stripling.)
My more than
Brother! (Placing his arms round the shoulders of an old couple.)
Dear old friends! (He playesº
fourcorners with ragged boys and girls.) Peep!
wheels twins in a perambulator.)
wouldyousetashoe? (He performs juggler's
red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet silk
haudherchiefsº from his
mouth.) Roygbiv. 32 feet per second. (He consoles a widow.) Absence
makes the heart grow younger. (He dances the Highland fling with grotesque
it, ye devils!
(He kisses the
bedsores of a palsied veteran.) Honourable wounds!
(He trips up a fat
policeman.) U. p: up. U. p: up. (He whispers in the ear of a blushing
waitress and laughs kindly.) Ah, naughty, naughty! (He eats a raw turnip
offered him by Maurice Butterly, farmer.) Fine! Splendid! (He refuses to
accept three shillings offered him by Joseph Hynes, journalist.)
My dear fellow,
not at all! (He
gives his coat to a beggar.) Please accept. (He takes part in a
stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.) Come on, boys! Wriggle it, girls!
(Choked with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his emerald muffler.) May the good God bless him!
(The ram'sº horns sound for silence. The standard of Zion is hoisted.)
(Uncloaks impressively, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper and reads solemnly.) Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith.
(An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.)
The Court of Conscience is now open. His Most Catholic Majesty will now administer open air justice. Free medical and legal advice, solution of doubles and other problems. All cordially invited. Given at this our loyal city of Dublin in the year 1 of the Paradisiacal Era.
Pay them, my friend.
Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance?
A Daniel did I say? Nay! A Peter O'Brien!
Where do I draw the five pounds?
For bladder trouble?
What is the parallax of the subsolar ecliptic of Aldebaran?
Pleased to hear from you, Chris. K. 11.
Why aren't you in uniform?
When my progenitor of sainted memory wore the uniform of the Austrian despot in a dank prison where was yours?
Embellish (beautify) suburban gardens.
When twins arrive?
Father (pater, dad) starts thinking.
(Coldly.) You have the advantage of me. Lady Bloom accepts no presents.
This is indeed a festivity.
(Solemnly.) You call it a festivity. I call it a sacrament.
When will we have our own house of keys?
I stand for the reform of municipal morals and the plain ten commandments. New worlds for old. Union of all, jew, moslem and gentile. Three acres and a cow for all children of nature. Saloon motor hearses. Compulsory manual labour for all. All parks open to the public day and night. Electric dishscrubbers. Tuberculosis, lunacy, war and mendicancy must now cease. General amnesty, weekly carnival,º with masked licence, bonuses for all, esperantoº theº universal brotherhood. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. Free money,º free love and a free lay church in a free lay state.
Mixed races and mixed marriage.
those near him
his schemes for
social regeneration. All agree with him.
The keeper of the
dragging a lorry on which are the shaking statues of several naked
goddesses, Venus Callipyge, Venus Pandemos, Venus Metempsychosis, and plaster figures, also naked, representing the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the People.)
(Tears up her will.) I'm disappointed in you! You bad man!
Give us a tune, Bloom. One of the old sweet songs.
(With rollicking humour.)
I vowed that I never would leave her,
She turned out a cruel deceiver.
With my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom.
Good old Bloom! There's nobody like him after all.
Plagiarist! Down with Bloom!
THE VEILED SIBYL
(Winks at the bystanders.) I bet she's a bonny lassie.
(In fishingcap and oilskin jacket.) He employs a mechanical device to frustrate the sacred ends of nature.
THE VEILED SIBYL
(Stabs herself.) My hero god! (She dies.)
(Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting themselves under steamrollers, from the top of Nelson's Pillar, into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads in gas ovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters,º leaping from windows of different storeys.)
ALEXANDER J.º DOWIE
(Violently.) Fellowchristians and antiBloomites, the man called Bloom is from the roots of hell, a disgrace to christian men. A fiendish libertine from his earliest years this stinking goat of Mendes gave precocious signs of infantile debaucheryº recalling the cities of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. This vile hypocrite, bronzed with infamy, is the white bull mentioned in the Apocalypse. A worshipper of the Scarlet Woman, intrigue is the very breath of his nostrils. The stake faggots and the caldron of boiling oil are for him. Caliban!
Grogan throws her boot at Bloom. Several shopkeepers from upper and lower
Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value,
condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, stale bread,
sheeps'tailsº, odd pieces of fat.)
(Excitedly.) This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again. By heaven, I am guiltless as the unsunned snow! It was my brother Henry. He is my double. He lives in number 2 Dolphin's Barn. Slander, the viper, has wrongfully accused me. Fellowcountrymen, sgenlº inn banº bata coisde gan capall. I call on my old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to give medical testimony on my behalf.
(In motor jerkin, green motorgoggles on his brow.) Dr Bloom is bisexually abnormal. He has recently escaped from Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen. Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the consequence of unbridled lust. Traces of elephantiasis have been discovered among his ascendants. There are marked symptoms of chronic exhibitionism. Ambidexterity is also latent. He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed rake, and has metal teeth. In consequence of a family complex he has temporarily lost his memory and I believe him to be more sinned against than sinning. I have made a pervaginal examination and, after application of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I declare him to be virgo intacta.
Hypsospadiaº is also marked. In the interest of coming generations I suggest that the parts affected should be preserved in spirits of wine in the national teratological museum.
DR PUNCH COSTELLO
a bill of
health.) Professor Bloom is a finished
example of the new
womanly man. His
moral nature is simple and lovable. Many have found
him a dear man, a dear person. He is a rather quaint fellow on the whole, coy though not feebleminded in the medical sense. He has written a really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the Reformed Priestsº Protection Society which clears up everything. He is practically a total abstainer and I can affirm that he sleeps on a straw litter and eats the most Spartan food, cold dried grocer's peas. He wears a hairshirtº winter and summer and scourges himself every Saturday. He was, I understand, at one time a firstclass misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory. Another report states that he was a very posthumous child. I appeal for clemency in the name of the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak. He is about to have a baby.
(General commotion and compassion. Women faint. A wealthy American makes a street collection for Bloom. Gold and silver coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets are rapidly collected.)
O, I so want to be a mother.
(In nursetender's gown.) Embrace me tight, dear. You'll be soon over it. Tight, dear.
(Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and white children. They appear on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants. Allº are handsome, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences. Each has his name printed in legible letters on his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindorée, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros. They are immediately appointed to positions of high public trust in several different countries as managing directors of banks, traffic managers of railways, chairmen of limited liability companies, vice chairmenº of hotel syndicates.)
(Darkly.) You have said it.
Prophesy who will win the Saint Leger.
(Bloom walks on a net, covers his left eye with his left ear, passes through several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the top ledge by his eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters (shells included), heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses of Egypt, Moses Maimonides, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turnsº each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger.)
BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO
(In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre.)
º Leopoldi autem
Moses begat Noah and Noah begat Eunuch and Eunuch begat
O'Halloran begat Guggenheim and Guggenheim begat Agendath
and Agendath begat
Netaim and Netaim begat Le Hirsch and Le Hirsch begat Jesurum and Jesurum
begat MacKay and MacKay begat Ostrolopsky and Ostrolopsky begat Smerdoz and
Smerdoz begat Weiss and Weiss begat Schwarz and Schwarz begat Adrianopoli and
Adrianopoli begat Aranjuez and Aranjuez begat Lewy Lawson and Lewy Lawson begat
Ichabudonosor and Ichabudonosor begat O'Donnell Magnus and O'Donnell
Magnus begat Christbaum and Christbaum begat ben Maimun and ben Maimun begat
Dusty Rhodes and Dusty Rhodes begat Benamor and Benamor begat Jones-Smith and
Jones-Smith begat Savorgnanovich and Savorgnanovich begat Jasperstone and
Jasperstone begat Vingtetunieme and Vingtetunieme begat Szombathely and
Szombathely begat Virag and Virag begat Bloom et vocabitur nomen eius
A FEMALE INFANT
(Shakes a rattle.) And under Ballybough bridge?
And in the devil's glen?
THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS
(In bodycoats, kneebreeches, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) Sjambok him!
(Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in the pillory with crossed arms, his feet protruding. He whistles Don Giovanni, a cenar teco. Artane orphans, joining hands, caper round him. Girls of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, caper round in the opposite direction.)
THE ARTANE ORPHANS
THE PRISON GATE GIRLS
(In ephod and huntingcap, announces.)
And he shall carry
the sins of the people to Azazel, the spirit which is in the wilderness, and to Lilith, the
nighthag. And they shall stone him and defile him, yea, all from Agendath Netaim and from Mizraim, the land of Ham.
(All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom. Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and defile him. Mastiansky and Citron approach in gaberdines, wearing long earlocks,º They wag their beards at Bloom.)
MASTIANSKY AND CITRON
To alteration one pair trousers eleven shillings.
THE FIRE BRIGADE
(Invests Bloom in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat. He places a bag of gunpowder round his neck and hands him over to the civil power, saypingº.) Forgive him his trespasses.
(Lieutenant Myers of the Dublin Fire Brigade by general request sets fire to Bloom. Lamentations.)
THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN
Kidney of Bloom, pray for us.
Flower of the Bath, pray for us.
Mentor of Menton, pray for us.
Canvasser for the Freeman, pray for us.
Charitable Mason, pray for us.
Wandering Soap, pray for us.
Sweets of Sin, pray for us.
Music without Words, pray for us.
Reprover of the Citizen, pray for us.
Friend of all Frillies, pray for us.
Midwife Most Merciful, pray for us.
Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us.º
Talk away till you're black in the face.
caubeen with clay
pipe stuck in the band, dsutyº
handkerchief bundle in his handº
leading a black bogoak pig by a sugaun, with a smile in his eye.) Let me
be going now, woman of
the house, for by all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the
father and mother of a bating. (With a tear in his eye.) All
insanityº. Patriotism, sorrow for the
dead, music, future of the race. To be or not to be.
Life's dream is
o'er. End it peacefully. They can live on. (He gazes far away
am ruined. A few pastilles of
blinds drawn. A letter. Then lie back to rest. (He breathes softly.) No
more. I have lived. Fare. Farewell.
(Bitterly.) Man and woman, love, what is it? A cork and bottle.º
(In sudden sulks.) I hate a rotter that's insincere. Give a bleeding whore a chance.
(Repentantly.) I am very disagreableº. You are a necessary evil. Where are you from? London?
(Glibly.) Hog's Norton where the pigs playsº the organs. I'm Yorkshire bornº (She holds his hand which is feeling for her nipple.) I say, Tommy Tittlemouse. Stop that and begin worse. Have you cash for a short time? Ten shillings?
(Smiles, nods slowly.) More, houri, more.
(Feeling his occiput dubiously with the unparalleled embarrassment of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her peeled pears.) Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she knew. The greeneyed monsterº (Earnestly.) You know how difficult it is. I needn't tell you.
Laughing witch! The hand that rocks the cradle.
(In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with a caul of dark hair, fixes big eyes on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles with a chubby finger, his moist tongue lolling and lisping.) One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone.
(He hesitates amid scents, music, temptations. She leads him towards the steps, drawing him by the odour of her armpits, the vice of her painted eyes, the rustle of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all the male brutes that have possessed her.)
THE MALE BRUTES
(Exhaling sulphur of rut and dung and ramping in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their drugged heads swaying to and fro.) Good!
(Zoe and Bloom reach the doorway where two sister whores are seated. They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his hasty bow. He trips awkwardly.)
(Her lucky hand instantly saving him.) Hoopsa! Don't fall upstairs.
Ladies first, gentlemen after.
(She crosses the threshold. He hesitates. She turns and, holding out her hands,
draws him over. He hops. On the antlered rack of the hall hang a man's hat and waterproof,º Bloom uncovers himself but, seeing them, frownsº then smiles, preoccupied. A door on the return landing is thrownº open. A man in purple shirt and grey trousersº brownsocked, passes with an ape's gait, his bald head and goatee beard upheld, hugging a full waterjugjar, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels. Averting his face quickly Bloom bends to examine on the halltable the spaniel eyes of a running fox: then, his lifted head sniffing, follows Zoe into the musicroom. A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the chandelier. Round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping. The floor is covered with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. Footmarks are stamped over it in all senses, heel to heel, heel to hollow, toe to toe, feet locked, a morris of shuffling feetº without body phantoms, all in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy. The walls are tapestried with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades. In the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers. Lynch squats crosslegged on the hearthrug of matted hair, his cap back to the front. With a wand he beats time slowly. Kitty Ricketts, a bony pallid whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a coral wristlet, a chain purse in her hand, sits perched on the edge of the table swinging her leg and glancing at herself in the gilt mirror over the mantlepieceº. A tag of her corset laceº hangs slightly below her jacket. Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the piano.)
(Coughs behind her hand.) She's a bit imbecillic. (She signs with a waggling forefinger.) Blemblem. (Lynch lifts up her skirt and white petticoat with theº wand. She settles them down quickly.) Respect yourself. (She hiccups, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which her hair glows, red with henna.) O, excuse!
More limelight, Charley. (She goes to the chandelier and turns the gas full cock.)
(Peers at the gasjet.) What ails it tonight?
(Deeply.) Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.
(The wand in Lynch's hand flashes: a brass poker. Stephen stands at the pianola on which sprawl his hat and ashplant. With two fingers he repeats once more the series of empty fifths. Florry Talbot, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberryº lolls spreadeagle in the sofa cornerº, her limp forearm pendent over the bolster, listening. A heavy stye droops over her sleepy eyelid.)
(Hiccups again with a kick of her horsed foot.) O, excuse!
(Kitty Ricketts bends her head. Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over her shoulder, back, arm, chair to the ground. Lynch lifts the curled catterpillarº on his wand. She snakes her neck, nestling. Stephen glances behind at the squatted figure with its cap back to the front.)
As a matter of fact it is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it or made it. The rite is the poet's rest. It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Cœlaº enarrant gloriam Domini. It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the alrightinessº of his almightiness. Mais,º nom de nom, that is another pair of trousers. Jetez la gourme. Faut que jeunesse se passe. (He stops, points at Lynch's cap, smiles, laughs.) Which side is your knowledge bump?
(With saturnine spleen.) Bah! It is because it is.
Woman's reason. Jewgreek is greekjew. Extremes meet. Death is the highest form of life. Bah!
You remember fairly accurately all my errors, boasts, mistakes. How long shall I continue to close my eyes to disloyalty? Whetstone!
Here's another for you. (He frowns.) The reason is because the fundamental and the dominant are separated by the greatest possible interval which …
(With an effort.) Interval which. Is the greatest possible elipseº. Consistent with. The ultimate return. The octave. Which.
(Outside the gramophone begins to blare The Holy City.)
(Abruptly.) What went forth to the ends of the world to traverse not itself, God, the sun, Shakespeare, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Wait a moment. Wait a second. Damn that fellow's noise in the street. Self which it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become. Ecco!
(With a mocking whinny of laughter grins at Bloom and Zoe Higgins.) What a learned speech, eh?
(With obese stupidity Florry Talbot regards Stephen.)
They say the last day is coming this summer.
(Explodes in laughter.) Great unjust God!
(Offended.) Well, it was in the papers about Antichrist. O, my foot's tickling.
(Ragged barefoot newsboysº jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, yelling.)
Stop press edition. Result of the rockinghorse races. Sea serpent in the royal canal. Safe arrival of Antichrist.
(Stephen turns and sees Bloom.)
A time, times and half a time.
(Reuben J.º Antichrist, wandering jew, a clutching hand open on his spine, stumps forward. Across his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills. Aloft over his shoulder he bears a long boatpole from the hook of which the sodden huddled mass of his only son, saved from Liffey watersº hangs from the slack of its breeches. A hobgoblin in the image of Punch Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognaticº with receding forehead and Ally Sloper noseº tumbles in somersaults through the gathering darkness.)
capers to and
fro, goggling his eyes, squeaking,
with outstretched clutching armsº
then all at
once thrusts his
through the fork of his thighs.) Il vient! C'est moi!
L'homme qui rit!
L'homme primigène! (He whirls round and round with dervish howls.) Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux! (He crouches juggling. Tiny roulette planets fly from his hands.) Les jeux sont faits! (The planets rush together, uttering crepitant cracks.) Rien n'vaº plus. (The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and away. He springs off into vacuum.)
(A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her. Nebulous obscurity occupies space. Through the drifting fog without the gramophone blares over coughs and feetshuffling.)
Open your gates and sing
(A rocket rushes up the sky and bursts. A white star falls from it, proclaiming the consummation of all things and second coming of Elijah. Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the World, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegsº whirls through the murk, head over heels, in the form of the Three Legs of Man.)
(With a Scotch accent.) Wha'll dance the keel row, the keel row, the keel row?
(Over the passingº drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah's voice, harsh as a corncrake's, jars on high. Perspiring in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the banner of old glory is draped. He thumps the parapet.)
No yapping, if you please, in this booth. Jake Crane, Creole
Sue, Daveº Campbell, Abe Kirschner,
do your coughing with
your mouths shut. Say, I am operating all this trunk line. Boys,
do it now.
God's time is
12.25. Tell mother you'll be there. Rush your order and you play a
slick ace. Join on right here!º
Book through to eternity junction, the nonstop run. Just one word more. Are you a god or a doggone clod? If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? Florry Christ, Stephen Christ, Zoe Christ, Bloom Christ, Kitty Christ, Lynch Christ, it's up to you to sense that cosmic force. Have we cold feet about the cosmos? No. Be on the side of the angels. Be a prism. You have that something within, the higher self. You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. Are you all in this vibration? I say you are. You once nobble that, congregation, and a buck joyride to heaven becomes a back number. You got me? It's a lifebrightener, sure. The hottest stuff ever was. It's the whole pie with jam in. It's just the cutest snappiest line out. It is immense, supersumptuous. It restores. It vibrates. I know and I am some vibrator. Joking apart andº getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophyº have you got that? O.K. Seventyseven west sixtyninth street. Got me? That's it. You call me up by sunphone any old time. Bumboosers, save your stamps. (He shouts.) Now then our glory song. All join heartily in the singing. Encore! (He sings.) Jeru …
(Drowning his voice.)
º Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh … (The disc rasps gratingly against the needle.)
THE THREE WHORES
(Covering their ears, squawk.) Ahhkkk!
(In rolledup shirtsleeves, black in the face, shouts at the top of his voice, his arms uplifted.) Big Brother up there, Mr President, you hear what I done just been saying to you. Certainly, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President. I certainly am thinking now Miss Higgins and Miss Ricketts got religion way inside them. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I done seed you. Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. (He winks at his audience.) Our Mr President, he twig the whole lot and he ain'tº saying nothing.
forgot myself. In a weak moment I
did what I did on
Constitution hill. I was confirmed by the bishop. My mother's sister married a Montmorency. It was a working plumber was my ruination when I was pure.
I let him larrup it into me for the fun of it.
In the beginning was the word, in the end the world without end. Blessed be the eight beatitudes.
(The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynchº in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fast past in noisy marching.)
(Incoherently.) Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop.
(In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, says discreetly.) He is our friend. I need not mention names. Seek thou the light.
(He corantos by. Best enters in hairdresserº attire, shinily laundered, his locks in curlpapers. He leads John Eglinton who wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, lizardlettered, and a high pagoda hat.)
(Smiling, lifts the hat and displays a shaven poll from the crown of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with an orange topknot.) I was just beautifying him, don't you know. A thing of beauty, don't you know, Yeats says, or I mean, Keats says.
(Produces a greencapped dark lantern and flashes it towards
a corner;º with carping
accent.) Esthetics and cosmetics are for the boudoir. I am out for truth.
Plain truth for a plain man. Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them.
(In the cone of the searchlight behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the bearded figure of Mananannº Mac Lirº broods, chin on knees. He rises slowly. A cold seawind blows from his druid mantle. About his head writhe eels and elvers. He is encrusted with weeds and shells.º His right hand holds a bicycle pump. His left hand grasps a huge crayfish by its two talons.)
(With a voice of waves.) Aum! Hek! Wal! Ak! Lub! Mor! Ma! White yoghin of the Godsº. Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos. (With a voice of whistling seawind.) Punarjanam patsypunjaub! I won't have my leg pulled. It has been said by one: beware the left, the cult of Shakti. (With a cry of stormbirds.) Shakti,º Shiva!º Dark hidden Father! (He smites with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his left hand. On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the zodiac. He wails with the vehemence of the ocean.) Aum! Baum! Pyjaum! I am the light of the homestead.º I am the dreamery creamery butter.
(A skeleton judashand strangles the light. The green light wanes to mauve. The gasjet wails whistling.)
(Zoe runs to the chandelier and, crooking her leg, adjusts the mantle.)
Who has a fag as I'm here?
(Tossing a cigarette on to the table.) Here.
head perched aside in mock pride.) Is that the way to hand the
pot to a lady? (She stretches up to light the cigarette over the
flame, twirling it slowly, showing the brown tufts of her armpits. Lynch with
his poker lifts boldly a side of her slip. Bare from her garters up her flesh
appears under the sapphire a nixie's green. She puffs calmly at her
cigarette.) Can you see the beauty spot of my behind?
I'm not looking.
(Squinting in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloomº then twists round towards him, pulling her slip free of the poker. Blue fluid again flows over her flesh. Bloom stands, smiling desirously, twirling his thumbs. Kitty Ricketts licks her middle finger with her spittle andº gazing in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the left on gawky pink stilts. He is sausaged into several overcoats and wears a brown macintosh under which he holds a roll of parchment. In his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell. On his head is perched an Egyptian pshent. Two quills project over his ears.)
(Heels together, bows.) My name is Viragº Lipoti, of Szombathely. (He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Promiscuous nakedness is much in evidence hereabouts, eh? Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee. The injection mark on the thigh I hope you perceived? Good.
Granpapachi. But …
Number two on the other hand, she of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of gopherwoodº is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I should opine. Backbone in front, so to say. Correct me but I always understood that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses of lingerie appealed to you in virtue of its exhibitionististicicity. In a word. Hippogriff. Am I right?
She is rather lean.
(Not unpleasantly.) Absolutely! Well observed and those pannier pockets of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. Meretricious finery to deceive the eye. Observe the attention to details of dustspecks. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear todayº Parallax!º (With a nervous twitch of his head.) Did you hear my brain go snap? Pollysyllabax!
(An elbow resting in a hand, a forefinger against his cheek.) She seems sad.
(Cynically, his weasel teeth bared yellow, draws down his left eye wilhº a finger and barks hoarsely.) Hoax! Beware of the flapper and bogus mournful. Lily of the alley. All possess bachelor's button discovered by Rualdus Columbus. Tumble her. Columble her. Chameleon. (More genially.) Well then, permit me to draw your attention to item number three. There is plenty of her visible to the naked eye. Observe the mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her skull. What ho, she bumps! The ugly duckling of the party, longcasted and deep in keel.
(Regretfully.) When you come out without your gun.
tongue upcurling.) Lyum! Look.
Her beam is
broad. Sbeº is coated with quite a
considerable layer of fat. Obviously mammal in
weight of bosom
you remark that she has in front well to the fore two protuberances of very
inclined to fall in
the noonday soupplate, while on her rere lower down are two additional
protuberances, suggestive of potent
leave nothing to be desired save compactness.
Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture. When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green tea endow them during their brief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. That suits your book, eh? Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Wallow in it. Lycopodium. (His throat twitches.) Slapbang! There he goes again.
The stye I dislike.
(Arches his eyebrows.) Contact with a goldring, they say. Argumentum ad feminam, as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosaurusº. For the rest Eve's sovereign remedy. Not for sale. Hire only. Huguenot. (He twitches.) It is a funny sound. (He coughs encouragingly.) But possibly it is only a wart. I presume you shall have remembered what I will have taught you on that head? Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg.
(Severely, his nose hardhumped,º his side eye winking.) Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk. See, you have forgotten. Exercise your mnemotechnic. La causa è santa. Tara. Tara. (Aside.) He will surely remember.
(Excitedly.) I say so. I say so. E'en so. Technic.
(He taps his parchment roll energetically.)
This book tells
you how to act with all
particulars. Consult index for
agitated fear of
aconite, melancholy of muriatic,
pulsatilla. Virag is
going to talk
Our old friend
They must be starved. Snip off with horsehair under the denned neck. But, to change the venue to the Bulgar and the Basque,º have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments.º (With a dry snigger.) You intended to devote an entire year to the study of the religious problem and the summer months of 1882º to square the circle and win that million. Pomegranate! From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step. Pyjamas, let us say? Or stockingette gussetted knickers, closed? Or, put we the case, those complicated combinations, camiknickers? (He crows derisively.) Keekeereekee!
(Prompts into his ear inº a pig's whisper.) Insects of the day spend their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the smell of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumaleº possessing extendified pudendal verveº in dorsal region. Pretty Poll! (His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally.) They had a proverb in the Carpathians in or about the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our era. One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. Bear's buzz bothers bees. But of this apart. At another time we may resume. We were very pleased, we others. (He coughs and,º bending his brow, rubs his nose thoughtfully with a scooping hand.) You shall find that these night insects follow the light. An illusion for remember their complex unadjustable eye. For all these knotty points see the seventeenth book of my Fundamentals of Sexology or the Love Passion which Doctor L.B. says is the book sensation of the year. Some, to example, there are again whose movements are automatic. Perceive. That is his appropriate sun. Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Chase me, Charley! Buzz!º
other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I …
(His face impassive, laughs in a rich feminine key.) Splendid! Spanish fly in his fly or mustard plaster on his dibble. (He gabblesº gluttonously with turkey wattles.) Bubbly jock! Bubbly jock! Where are we? Open Sesame! Cometh forth! (He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the letters which he claws.) Stay, good friend. I bring thee thy answer. Redbank oysters will shortly be upon us. I'm the best o'cook. Those succulent bivalves may help us and the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous porker, were unsurpassed in cases of nervous debility or viragitis. Though they stink yet they sting. (He wags his head with cackling raillery.) Jocular. With my eyeglass in my ocular.º
(Absently.) Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. Always open sesame. The cloven sex. Why they fear vermin, creeping things. Yet Eve and the serpent contradictº. Not a historical fact. Obvious analogy to my idea. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. Wind their way through miles of omnivorous forest to sucksucculent her breast dry. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis.
I am going to scream. I beg your pardon. Ah? So.º (He repeats.) Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction. Ant milks aphis. (Profoundly.) Instinct rules the world. In life. In death.
(Head askew, arches his back and
wingshoulders, peers at the moth out of blear bulged eyes,
points a horning
cries.) Who's Ger Ger?º
Who's dear Gerald?º O, I much fear
he shall be most badly burned.º Will some
not now impediment so catastrophics
mit agitation of
puss puss puss!
draws back and
stares sideways down with dropping underjaw.) Well, well. He doth rest
I'm a tiny tiny thing
Ever flying in the spring
Round and round a ringaring.
Long ago I was a king,º
Now I do this kind of thing
On the wing, on the wing!
(From left upper entrance with two slidingº steps Henry Flower comes forward to left front centre. He wears a dark mantle and drooping plumed sombrero. He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its clay bowl fashioned as a female head. He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps. He has the romantic Saviour's face with flowing locks, thin beard and moustache. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia. He settles down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a passage of his amorous tongue.)
(In a low dulcet voice, touching the strings of his guitar.) There is a flower that bloometh.
(Virag truculent, his jowl set, stares at the lamp. Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck. Henry gallant turns with pendantº dewlap to the piano.)
(To himself.) Play with your eyes shut. Imitate pa. Filling my belly with husks of swine. Too much of this. I will arise and go to my. Expect this is the. Steve, thou art in a parlous way. Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. Our interview of this morning has left on me a deep impression. Though our ages. Will write fully tomorrow. I'm partially drunk, by the way.º (He touches the keys again.) Minor chord comes now. Yes. Not much however.
(Almidano Artifoni holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.)
Ci rifletta. Lei rovina tutto.
Sing us something. Love's old sweet song.
No voice. I am a most finished artist. Lynch, did I show you the letter about the lute?
(Smirking.) The bird that can sing and won't sing.
(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the window embrasure. Both are masked with Matthew Arnold's face.)
Take a fool's advice. All is not well. Work it out with the buttend of a pencil, like a good young idiot. Three poundsº twelve you got, two notes, one sovereign, two crowns, if youth but knew. Mooney's en ville, Mooney's sur mer, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. Eh? I am watching you.
(Impatiently.) Ah, bosh, man. Go to hell! I paid my way. If I could only find out about octaves. Reduplication of personality. Who was it told me his name? (His lawnmower begins to purr.) Aha, yes. Zoe mou sas agapo. Have a notion I was here before. When was it not Atkinson his card I have somewhere. Mac somebody. Unmackº I have it. He told me about, hold on, Swinburne, was it, no?
And the song?
PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER
(Their lawnmowers purring with a rigadoon of grasshalms.) Clever ever. Out of it. Out of it.º By the byeº have you the book, the thing, the ashplant? Yes, there it, yes. Cleverever outofitnow. Keep in condition. Do like us.
There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of business with his coat buttoned up. You needn't try to hide, I says to him. I know you've a Roman collar.
Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Fall of man. (Harshly, his pupils waxing.) To hell with the pope! Nothing new under the sun. I am the Virag who disclosed the sex secretsº of monks and maidensº. Why I left the Churchº of Rome. Read the Priest, the Woman and the Confessional. Penrose. Flipperty Jippert. (He wriggles.) Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam. Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat. Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the stiff one. (He cries.) Coactus volui. Then giddy woman will run about. Strong man grapsesº woman's wrist. Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. (He chases his tail.) Piffpaff! Popo! (He stops, sneezes.) Pchp! (He worries his butt.) Prrrrrht!
I hope you gave the good father a penance. Nine glorias for shooting a bishop.
(Lightly.) Only for what happened him.
(A diabolic rictus of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward. He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls.) Verfluchte Goim! He had a father, forty fathers. He never existed. Pig God! He had two left feet. He was Judas Iacchiasº, a Lybianº eunuch, the pope's bastard. (He leans out on tortured forepaws, elbows bent rigid, his eye agonising in his flat skullneck and yelps over the mute world.) A son of a whore. Apocalypse.
And Mary Shortall that was in the lock with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow and was smothered with the convulsions in the mattress and we all suscribedº for the funeral.
(Gravely.) Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe?
(Gaily.) C'était le sacré pigeon, Philippe.
(Kitty unpins her hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair. And a prettier, a daintier head of winsome curls was never seen on a whore's shoulders. Lynch puts on her hat. She whips it off.)
(Nods.) Locomotor ataxy.
(Gaily.) O, my dictionary.
Three wise virgins.
(Agueschakenº, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his bony epileptic lips.) She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orange flowerº. Panther, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. (He sticks out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his hand on his fork.) Messiah! He burst her tympanum. (With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the cynical spasm.) Hik! Hek! Hak! Hok! Huk! Kok! Kuk!
(Ben Jumbo Dollard, rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded,º cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fatpapped, stands forth, his loins and genitals tightened into a pair of black bathing bagslops.)
(Nakkering castanet bones in his huge padded paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone.) When love absorbs my ardent soul.
(Gushingly.) Big Ben! Ben Mac Chree!º
Hold that fellow with the bad breeches.
(Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) Hold him now.
his skins, his multitudinous plumage
yawns,º showing a coalblack
throat and closes his jaws by an upward push of his parchment
rollº.) After having said which I took my departure. Farewell. Fare thee well. Dreck!
(Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a pocketcomb and givesº a cow's lick to his hair. Steered by his rapier,º he glides to the door, his wild harp slung behind him. Virag reaches the door in two ungainly stilthops, his tail cocked, and deftly claps sideways on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his head.)
All is lost now.
(Virag unscrews his head in aº trice and holds it under his arm.)
(Over his shoulder to Zoe.) You would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. But beware Antisthenes, the dog sage, and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. The agony in the closet.
All one and the same God to her.
(To Stephen.) I'm sure you areº a spoiled priest. Or a monk.
He is. A cardinal's son.
(His Eminence,º Simon Stephen Cardinalº Dedalus,º Primateº of allº Ireland,º appears in the doorway, dressed in red soutane, sandals and socks. Seven dwarf simian acolytes, also in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it. He wears a battered silk hat sideways on his head. His thumbs are stuck in his armpits and his palms outspread. Round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his breast in a corkscrew cross. Releasing his thumbs,º he invokes grace from on high with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp.)º
(He looks at all for a moment,º his right eye closed tight, his left cheek puffed out. Then, unable to repress his merriment, he rocks to and fro, arms akimbo, and sings with broad rollicking humour.)º
O, the poor little fellow
Hi-hi-hi-hi-hisº legs they were yellow
He was plump, fat and heavy and brisk as a snake
But some bloody savage
To graize his white cabbage
He murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.
aslant,º he blesses curtly with
fore and middle fingers, imparts
the Easter kiss
and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying his hat from side to side, shrinking
quickly to the size of his trainbearers. The dwarf
peeping, nudging, ogling, Easterkissingº,
zigzag behind him. His voice is heard mellow from afar, merciful,º male, melodious.)
(A male form passes down the creaking staircase and is heard taking the waterproof and hat from the rack. Bloom starts forward involuntarily and, half closing the door as he passes, takes the chocolate from his pocket and offers it nervously to Zoe.)
(Hearing a male voice in talk with the whores on the doorstep, pricks his ears.) If it were he? After? Or because not? Or the double event?
(Tears open the silverfoil.) Fingers was made before forks.º (She breaks off and nibbles a piece, gives a piece to Kitty Ricketts and then turns kittenishly to Lynch.) No objection to French lozenges? (He nods. She taunts him.) Have it now or wait till you get it? (He opens his mouth, his head cocked. She whirls the prize in left circle. His head follows. She whirls it back in right circle. He eyes her.) Catch.º
(She tosses a piece. With an adroit snap he catches it and bites it through with a crack.)
(Chewing.) The engineer I was with at the bazaar does have lovely ones. Full of the best liqueurs. And the viceroy was there with his lady. The gas we had on the Toft's hobbyhorses. I'm giddy still.
(In Svengali's fur overcoat, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock,º frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the door. Then, rigid, with left foot advanced,º he makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and gives the sign of past masterº drawing his right arm downwards from his left shoulder.) Go, go, go, I conjure you, whoever you are.º
(A male cough and tread are heard passing through the mist outside. Bloom's features relax. He places a hand in his waistcoat, posingº calmly. Zoe offers him chocolate.)
Do as you're bid. Here.º
(A firm heelclackingº is heard on the stairs.)
(Takes the chocolate.) Aphrodisiac?º But I bought it. Vanilla calms or? Mnemo. Confused light confuses memory. Red influences lupus. Colours affect women's characters, any they have. This black makes me sad. Eat and be merry for tomorrow.º (He eats.) Influence taste too, mauve. But it is so long since I. Seems new. Aphro. That priest. Must come. Better late than never. Try truffles at Andrews.
(The door opens. Bella Cohen, a massive
whoremistressº enters. She is
dressed in a threequarter ivory
gown,º fringed round the hem with
tasselled selvedge and cools
herself,º flirting a black horn
fan like Minnie
Carmen. On her
left hand are
wedding and keeper
rings. Her eyes are deeply carboned. She has a sprouting moustache. Her
olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and
fullnosed,º with orangetainted
nostrils. She has large pendantº beryl eardrops.)
My word! I'm all of a mucksweat.
Yes …º Partly, I have mislaid …
(Looks down with a sheepish grin.) That is so.
(Bella approaches, gently tapping with the fan.)
(Wincing.) Powerful being. In my eyes read that slumber which women love.
(Tapping.) We have met. You are mine. It is fate.
(Cowed.) Exuberant female. Enormously I desiderate your domination. I am exhausted, abandoned, no more young. I stand, so to speak, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the too late box of the general postoffice of human life. The door and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the law of falling bodies. I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my left glutear muscle. It runs in our family. Poor dear papa, a widower, was a regular barometer from it. He believed in animal heat. A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat. Near the end, remembering king David and the Sunamite, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. A dog's spittle,º as you probably … (He winces.) Ah!
(Bagweighted, passes the door.) Mocking is catch. Best value in Dub. Fit for a prince's liverº and kidney.
(Tapping.) All things end. Be mine. Now.
(Points downwards slowly.) You may.
(Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace.) We are observed.
(Points downwards quickly.) You must.
(With desire, with reluctance.) I can make
I served my time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. Experienced hand. Every knot says a lot. Let me. In courtesy. I knelt once before today. Ah!
(Bella raises her gown slightly and, steadying her pose, lifts to the edge of a chair a plump buskined hoof and a full pastern, silksocked. Bloom, stifflegged, agingº, bends over her hoof and with gentle fingers draws out and in her laces.)
(Murmurs lovingly.) To be a shoefitter in Mansfield'sº was my love's young dream, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incrediblyº small, of Clyde Road ladies. Even their wax model Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick of rhubarb toe, as worn in Paris.
Smell my hot goathide. Feel my royal weight.
(Crosslacing.) Too tight?
If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you.
(He knots the lace. Bella places her foot on the floor. Bloom raises his head. Her heavy face, her eyes strike him in midbrow. His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his nose thickens.)
(With a hard basilisk stare, in a baritone voice.) Hound of dishonour!
(His heavy cheekchops sagging.) Adorer of the adulterous rump!
(With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his feet,º then lies, shamming deadº with eyes shut tight,º trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground in the attitude of most excellent master.)
(With bobbed hair,º purple gills, fat moustache rings ronndº his shaven mouth, in mountaineer's puttees, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and alpine hat with moorcock's feather, his hands stuck deep in his breeches pockets, places his heel on her neck and grinds it in.)º Feel my entire weight. Bow, bondslave, before the throne of your despot's glorious heels,º so glistening in their proud erectness.
(Laughs loudly.) Holy smoke! You little know what's in store for you. I'm the tartarº to settle your little lot and break you in! I'll bet Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out of you, old son. Cheek me, I dare you. If you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be inflicted in gym costume.
(Widening her slip to screen her.) She's not here.
(Coaxingly.) Come, ducky dear. I want a word with you, darling, just to administer correction. Just a little heart to heart talk, sweety. (Bloom puts out her timid head.) There's a good girly now.º (Bello grabs her hair violently and drags her forward.) I only want to correct you for your own good on a soft safe spot. How's that tender behind? O, ever so gently, pet. Begin to get ready.
(Savagely.) The nosering, the pliers, the bastinado, the hanging hook, the knout I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old. You're in for it this time.º I'll make you remember me for the balance of your natural life. (His forehead veins swollen, his face congested.) I shall sit on your ottomansaddlebackº every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat ham rashersº and a bottle of Guinness's porter. (He belches.) And suck my thumping good Stock Exchange cigar while I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette. Very possibly I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my stables and enjoy a slice of you with crisp crackling from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. It will hurt you.
Don't be cruel, nurse! Don't!
(Shouts.) Good, by the rumping jumping general! That's the best bit of news I heard these six weeks. Here, don't keep me waiting, damn you.º (He slaps her face.)
(Whimpers.) You're after hitting me. I'll tell …
Yes. Walk on him! I will.
I will. Don't be greedy.
No, me. Lend him to me.
(The brothel cook, Mrs Keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in a greasy bib, men's grey and green socks and brogues, floursmeared, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her bare red arm and hand, appears at the door.)
with a grunt on Bloom's upturned face, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat
leg.) I see
Keating Clay is elected chairmanº
of the Richmond
bythebyº Guinness's preference
shares are at sixteen three quarters. Curse me for a fool that
Iº didn't buy
that lot Craig
and Gardner told me about. Just my
curse it. And that Goddamned outsider Throwaway at twenty
to one.º (He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear.) Where's that Goddamned cursed ashtray?
Ask for that every ten minutes. Beg, prayº for it as you never prayed before. (He thrusts out a figged fist and foul cigar.) Here, kiss that. Both. Kiss. (He throws a leg astride and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls in a hard voice.) Gee up! A cockhorse to Banbury cross. I'll ride him for the Eclipse stakes. (He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting.º) Ho! offº we pop! I'll nurse you in proper fashion. (He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the, in the saddle.) The lady goes a pace a pace and the coachman goes a trot a trot and the gentleman goes a gallop a gallop a gallop a gallop.
Well, I'm not. Wait. (He holds in his breath.) Curse it. Here. This bung's about burst. (He uncorks himself behind: then, contorting his features,º farts loudlyº.) Take that! (He recorks himself.) Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters.
(A sweat breaking out over him.) Not man. (He sniffs.) Woman.
(Stands up.) No more blow hot and cold. What you longed
for has come to pass. Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a thing
under the yoke.
Now for your
You will shed your
male garments, you understand, Ruby
Cohen? and don
the shot silk
luxuriously rustling over head and shoulders
(Points to his whores.) As they are now,º so will you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with smoothshaven armpits. Tape measurements will be taken next your skin. You will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille,º with whalebone busk,º to the diamond trimmedº pelvis, the absolute outside edge, while your figure, plumper than when at large, will be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty two ounce petticoats and fringes and things stamped, of course, with my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice and nice scent for Alice. Alice will feel the pullpull. Martha and Mary will be a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare knees will remind you …
(Aº charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, mustard hair and large male hands and nose, leering mouth.) I tried her things on only onceº, a small prank, in Holles street. When we were hardupº I washed them to save the laundry bill. My own shirts I turned. It was the purest thrift.
(Jeers.) Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh! andº showed off coquettishly in your domino at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders,º in various poses of surrender, eh? Ho! Ho!º I have to laugh! That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunk leg naughties all split up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the Shelbourne Hotelº, eh?
Miriam. Black. Demimondaine.
Almighty,º it's too tickling, this!
You were a nicelooking
Miriam when you
clipped off your
backgate hairs and lay swooning in the thing across the bed
about to be
violated by Lieutenantº
Smythe-Smythe, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell, M.P.,º Signorº Laci Daremo, the robust tenor, blueeyed Bert, the liftboy, Henryº Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame, Sheridan, the quadroon Crœsusº, the varsity wetbob eight from old Trinity, Ponto, her splendid Newfoundland and Bobs, dowager duchess of Manorhamilton. (He guffaws again.) Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh?
(Her hands and features working.) It was Gerald converted me to be a true corsetlover when I was female impersonator in the High School play Vice Versa. It was dear Gerald. He got that kink, fascinated by sister's stays. Now dearest Gerald uses pinky greasepaint and gilds his eyelids. Cult of the beautiful.
(With wicked glee.) Beautiful! Give us a breather! When you took your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on the smoothworn throne.
(Sternly.) No insubordination.º The sawdust is there in the corner for you. I gave you strict instructions, didn't I? Do it standing, sir! I'll teach you to behave like a jinkleman! If I catch a trace on your swaddles. Aha! By the ass of the Dorans'º you'll find I'm a martinet. The sins of your past are rising against you. Many. Hundreds.
THE SINS OF THE PAST
(In a medley of voices.) He
went through a form
with at least one
woman in the shadow of the
he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn
at an address in
d'Olier Streetº while he presented
himself indecently to the instrument in the
callbox. By word
and deed he encouragedº a
strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter
in an unsanitary
outhouse attached to empty premises.
wrote pencilled messages offering his
nuptial partner to
all strongmembered males. And by the
works did he not
pass night after night by loving
couples to see if and what
and how much he could see? Did he not lie in bed, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order?
(Mute inhuman faces throng forward, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom.º Poldy Kock, Bootlaces a penny.º Cassidy's hag, blind stripling, Larry Rhinocerosº, the girl, the woman, the whore, the other, the …º)
(Peremptorily.) Answer. Repugnant wretch! I insist on knowing. Tell me something to amuse me, smut or a bloody good ghoststory or a lineº of poetry, quick, quick, quick! Where? How? What time? With how many? I give you just three seconds. One! Two! Thr …!º
(Bows.) Master! Mistress! Mantamer!
(He lifts his arms. His bangle bracelets fall.)
(Satirically.) By day you will souse and bat our smelling underclothes,º also when we ladies are unwell, and swab out our latrines with dress pinned up and a dishclout tied to your tail,º Won't that be nice? (He places a ruby ring on her finger.) And there now! With this ring I thee own. Say, thank you, mistressº.
Thank you, mistress.
You will make the beds, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in the different rooms, including old Mrs Keogh's the cook's, a sandy one. Ay, and rinse the seven of them well, mind, or lap it up like champagne. Drink me piping hot. Hop! youº will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your misdeeds,º Miss Ruby, and spank your bare bot right well, miss, with the hairbrush. You'll be taught the error of your ways. At night your wellcreamed bracelettedº hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. For such favours knights of old laid down their livesº (He chuckles.) My boys will be no end charmed to see you so ladylike, the colonel, aboveº all. Whenº they come here the night before the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels. First,º I'll have a go at you myself. A man I know on the turf named Charles Alberta Marsh (I was in bed with him just now and another gentleman out of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office) is on the lookout for a maid of all work at a short knock. Swell the bust. Smile. Droop shoulders. What offers? (He points.) For that lotº trainedº by owner to fetch and carry, basket in mouth. (He bares his arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva.) There's fine depth for you! What, boys? That give you a hardon? (He shoves his arm in a bidder's face.) Hereº wet the deck and wipe it round!
One and eightpence too much.
CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH.º
(Gives a rap with his gavel.) Two bar.
and cheap at the
examine shis points.
This downy skin, these soft muscles, this tender flesh. If I had only my gold
piercer here! And quiteº easy to milk.
gallons a day.
stockgetter, due to lay within the hour. His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Whoa, my jewel! Beg up! Whoa! (He brands his initial C on Bloom's croup.) So! Warranted Cohen! What advance on two bob, gentlemen?
A DARKVISAGED MAN
(In disguised accent.) Hoondert punt sterlink.
(Gaily.) Right. Let them all come. The scanty, daringly short skirt, riding up at the knee to show a peep of white panteletteº, is a potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered,º with the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee, appeal to the better instincts of the blasé man about town. Learn the smooth mincing walkº on four inch Louis XVº heels, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the thighs fluescent, knees modestly kissing. Bring all your powerº of fascination to bear on them. Pander to their Gomorrahan vices.
What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you? (He stoops and, peering, pokes with his fan rudely under the fat suet folds of Bloom's haunches.) Up! Up! Manx cat! What have we here? Where's your curly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, cockyolly? Sing, birdy, sing. It's as limpº a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart. Buy a bucket or sell your pump. (Loudly.) Can you do a man's job?
Eccles Streetº …
I wouldn't hurt
your feelings for the world but there's a man of brawn in possession
there. The tables
are turned, my
gay young fellow! He is
something like a
Well for you,
if you had that
weapon with knobs and lumps and
warts all over
it. He shot his
bolt, I can tell you! Foot to foot, knee to knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! He's no eunuch. A shock of red hair he has sticking out of him behind like a furzebush! Wait for nine months, my lad! Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and down in her guts already! That makes you wild, don't it? Touches the spot? (He spits in contempt.) Spittoon!
(Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the wold.)
Rip Van Winkle! Rip Vanº Winkle!
(In tattered mocassinsº with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoingº, fingertipping, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the diamond panes, cries out.) I see her! It's she! The first night at Mat Dillon's! But that dress, the green! And her hair is dyed gold and he …
(Laughs mockingly.) That's your daughter, you owl, with a Mullingar student.
(Milly Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, her blue scarf in the seawind simply swirling, breaks from the arms of her lover and calls, her young eyes wonderwide.)
My! It's Papli! But, O Papli, how old you've grown!
Changed, eh? Our whatnot, our writing tableº where we never wrote, Auntº Hegarty's armchair, our classic reprints of old masters. A man and his menfriends are living there in clover. The Cuckoos' Rest! Why not? How many women had you, say? Followingº them up dark streets,,º flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts. Whatº, you male prostitute? Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. Turn about. Sauce for the goose, my gander, O.
They … I …
(Cuttingly.) Their heelmarks will stamp the Brusselette carpet you bought at Wren's auction. In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find the buck flea in her breeches they will deface the little statue you carried home in the rain for art for art'º sake. They will violate the secrets of your bottom drawer. Pages will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. And they will spit in your ten shillingº brass fender from Hampton Leedom's.
Ten and six. The act of low scoundrels. Let me go. I will return. I will prove …
(Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, a bowie knifeº between his teeth.)
Justice! All Ireland versus one! Has nobody …?
º (He bites his thumb.)
Die and be damned to you if you have any sense of decency or
about you. I can give you a rare old wine that'll send you skipping to hell and back. Sign a will and leave us any coin you have. If you have none see you damn well get it, steal it, rob it! We'll bury you in our shrubbery jakes where you'll be dead and dirty with old Cuck Cohen, my stepnephew I married, the bloody old gouty procurator and sodomite with a crick in his neck, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever the buggers' names were, suffocated in the one cesspool. (He explodes in a loud phlegmy laugh.) We'll manure you, Mr Flower! (He pipes scoffingly.) Byby, Poldy! Byby.º Papli!
º (He weeps tearlessly.)
(Sneers.) Crybabby! Crocodile tears!
(Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the sacrifice, sobs, his face to the earth. The passing bell is heard. Darkshawled figures of the circumcised, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the wailing wall.º M. Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, O.º Mastiansky, the Reverendº Leopold Abramovitz, Chazenº. With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the recreant Bloom.)
(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.
(From the suttee pyre the flame of gum camphire ascends. The pall of incense smoke screens and disperses. Out of her oak frameº a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown art coloursº, descends from her grotto and passing under interlacing yews,º stands over Bloom.)
(Softly.) Mortal! (Kindly.) Nay, dost not weepest!
Mortal! You found me in evil company, highkickers, coster picnic makersº, pugilists, popular generals, immoral panto boys in flesh tightsº and the nifty shimmy dancers, La Aurora and Karini, musical act, the hit of the century. I was hidden in cheap pink paper that smelt of rock oil. I was surrounded by the stale smut of clubmen, stories to disturb callow youth, adsf orº transparencies, truedup dice and bustpads, proprietary articles and why wear a truss with testimonial from ruptured gentleman. Useful hints to the married.
(Sadly.) Rubber goods. Neverrip.º Brandº as supplied to the aristocracy. Corsets for men. I cure fits or money refunded. Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldmann's wonderful chest exuber. My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo.
You mean Photo Bits?
I do. You bore me away, framed me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch. Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in four places. And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes, my bosom and my shame.
During dark nights I heard your praise.
(Quickly.) Yes, yes. You mean that I … Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. I know I fell out of myº bed or rather was pushed. Steel wine is said to cure snoring. For the rest there is that English invention, pamphlet of which I received some days ago, incorrectly addressed. It claims to afford a noiselessº inoffensive vent. (He sighs.) 'Twas ever thus. Frailty, thy name is marriage.
(Her fingers in her ears.) And words. They are not in my dictionary.
You understood them?
(Covers her face with her handº.) What have I not seen in that chamber? What must my eyes look down on?
(Bends her head.) Worse! Worse!º
(Reflects precautiously.) That antiquated commode. It wasn't her weight. She scaled just eleven stone nine. She put on nine pounds after weaning. It was a crack and want of glue. Eh? And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle.
(The sound of a waterfall is heard in bright cascade.)
(Mingling their boughs.) Listen. Whisper. She is right,
our sister. We grew by
waterfall. We gave shade on languorous summer days.
JOHN WYSE NOLAN
(In the background, in Irish National Forester's uniform, doffs his plumed hat.) Prosper! Give shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland!
(Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in nondescript juvenile grey and black striped suit, too small for him, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops,º and a red school capº with badge.) I was in my tensº, a growing boy. A little then sufficed, a jolting car, the mingling odours of the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the throng penned tight on the old Royal stairsº forº they love crushes, instinct of the herd, and the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.º Evenº a pricelist of their hosiery. And then the heat. There were sunspots that summer. End of school. And tipsycake. Halcyon days.
(Halcyon Days, high schoolº boys in blue and white football jerseys and shorts,º Master Donald Turnbull, Master Abraham Chatterton, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Jack Meredith, Master Percy Apjohn, stand in a clearing of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom.)
Mackerel! Live us again. Hurray! (They cheer.)
(Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, stunnedº with spent snowballs, struggles to rise.) Again! I feel sixteen! What a lark! Let's ring all the bells in Montague Streetº. (He cheers feebly.) Hurray for the High School!
(Rustling.) She is right, our sister. Whisper.
(Whispered kisses are heard in all the wood. Faces of hamadryads peep out
from the boles and among the leaves and
breakº blossoming into bloom.) Who profaned our silent shade?
(Sweeping downward.) Sister, yes. And on our virgin sward.
(With wide fingers.) O! Infamy!º
I was precocious. Youth. The faunsº. I sacrificed to the god of the forest. The flowers that bloom in the spring. It was pairing time. Capillary attraction is a natural phenomenon. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I saw at her night toilette troughº illclosed curtains,º with poor papa's operaglasses.º The wanton ate grass wildly. She rolled downhill at Rialto Bridgeº to tempt me with her flow of animal spirits. She climbed their crooked tree and I … A saint couldn't resist it. The demon possessed me. Besides,º who saw?
Me.º Me see.
(Bleats.) Megegaggegg! Nannannanny!
flushed,º covered with burrs of
engaged. Circumstances alter cases.º (He gazes intently downwards on the water.) Thirtytwo head over heels per second. Press nightmare. Giddy Elijah. Fall from cliff. Sad end of government printer's clerk.º (Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom, rolled in a mummy, rolls roteatinglyº from the Lion's Head cliff into the purple waiting waters.)
(Far out in the bay between Bailey and Kish lights the Erin's King sails, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her funnel towards the land.)
(Alone on deck, in dark alpaca, yellow kitefacedº, his hand in his waistcoat,º opening, declaims.) When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written. I have …
(Loftily.) We immortals, as you saw todayº have not such a place and no hair there either. We are stonecold and pure. We eat electric light.º (She arches her body in lascivious crispation,º placing her forefinger in her mouth.) Spoke to me. Heard from behind. How then could you …?
(Pacingº the heather abjectly.) O, I have been a perfect pig. Enemas too, Iº have administered. One third of a pint ofº quassiaº to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. Up the fundament. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the ladies' friend.
(Dejected.) Yes. Peccavi! I have paid homage on that living altar where
the back changes name.º (With sudden fervour.) For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, the hand that rules …?º
THE VOICE OF KITTY
(In the thicket.) Show us one of them cushions.
THE VOICE OF FLORRY
(A grouse wings clumsily through the underwood.)
THE VOICE OF LYNCH
(In the thicket.) Whew! Piping hot!
THE VOICE OF ZOE
THE VOICE OF VIRAG
It overpowers me. The warm impress of her warm form. Even to sit where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as though to grant the last favours, most especially with previously well uplifted white sateen coatpans. So womanly full. It fills me full.
Ssh! Sister, speak!
(Eyeless, in nun's white habit, coif and huge
wingedº wimple, softly, with remote
eyes.) Tranquilla convent. Sister Agatha. Mount Carmel, theº apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. No more desire. (She reclines her head, sighing.) Onlyº the ethereal. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull.
(Two sluts of the Coombe dance rainily by, shawled, yelling flatly.º)
Sacrilege!º To attempt my virtue! (A large moist stain appears on her robe.) Sully my innocence! You are not fit to touch the garment of a pure woman.º (She clutches in her robe.) Wait, Satan. You'llº sing no more lovesongs.º Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. (She draws a poniard and, clad in the sheathmail of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his loins.) Nekum!
up, seizes her hand.) Hoy!
nine lives! Fair
play, madam. No pruning knifeº. The fox
and the grapes, is it? What do weº lack
with your barbed
wire? Crucifix not
thick enough? (He clutches her veil.) A
holy abbot you
want or Brophy, the
or the spoutless statue of the watercarrier or good
Motherº Alphonsus, eh
(With a cry,º flees from him unveiled, her plaster cast cracking, a cloud of stench escaping from the cracks.) Poli …!
(Calls after her.) As if you didn't get it on the double yourselves. No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you. I tried it. Your strength our weakness. What's our studfee? What will you pay on the nail? You fee men dancersº on the Riviera,º I read.º (The fleeing nymph raises a keen.) Eh? I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me. And would a jury give me five shillings alimony to morrowº, eh? Fool someone else, not me. (He sniffs.) But,º Onions. Stale. Sulphur.º Grease.
(Theº figure of Bella Cohen stands before him.)
You'll know me the next time.
(Composed, regards her.) Passée. Mutton dressed as lamb. Long in the tooth and superflousº hair. A raw onion the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. And take some double chin drill. Your eyes are as vapid as the glass eyesº of your stuffed fox. They have the dimensions of your other features, that's all. I'm not a triple screw propeller.
I know you, canvasser! Dead cod!
I saw him, kipkeeper!
Pox and gleet vendor!
(Turns to the piano.) Which of you was playing theº dead march from Saul?
Me. Mind your cornflowers. (She darts to the piano and bangs chordsº on it with crossed arms.) The cat's rambleº through the slag. (She glances back.) Eh? Who's making love to my sweeties? (She darts back to the table.) What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own.
(Gently.) Give me back that potato, will you?
Forfeits, a fine thing and a superfine thing.
There is a memory attached to it. I should like to have it.
Here. (She hauls up a reef of her slip, revealing her bare
thigh and unrolls the potato from the top of her stocking.)
Those that hides knows where to find.
(She goes to the pianola. Stephen fumbles in his pocket and, taking out a banknote by its corner, hands it to her.)
(With exageratedº politeness.) This silken purse I made out of the sow's ear of the public. Madam, excuse me. If you allow me. (He indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom.) We are all in the same sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch. Dans ce bordel où tenons nostre état.
(Calls from the hearth.) Dedalus! Give her your blessing for me.
(Hands Bella a coin.) Gold. She has it.
(Delightedly.) A hundred thousand apologies. (He fumbles again and takes out and hands her two crowns.) Permit, brevi manu, my sight is somewhat troubled.
(Bella goes to the table to count the money while Stephen talks to himself in monosyllabbesº. Zoe bounds over toº the table. Kitty leans over Zoe's neck,º Lynch gets up, rights his cap andº clasping Kitty's waist, adds his head to the group.)
(Strives heavily to rise.) Ow! My foot's asleep. (She limps over to the table. Bloom approaches.)
BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM
and squabbling.) The gentleman … ten shillings …
paying for the three … allow me a moment … this
gentleman pays separate … who's touching it? …
ow …º mind who you're
pinching … are you staying the night or a
short time? … who did? … you're a liar, excuse me … the gentleman paid down like a gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven.
(Lifting up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the top of her stocking.) Hard earned on the flat of my back.
(Lifting Kitty from the table.) Come!
Wait. (She clutches the two crowns.)
(He lifts her, carries her and bumps her down on the sofa.)
The fox crew, the cocks flew,
Theº bells in heaven
Were striking eleven.
'Tis time for her poor soul
To get out of heaven.
(Quietly lays a half sovereign on the table between Bella and Florry.) So. Allow me.º (He takes up the poundnote.) Three times ten. We're square.
This is yours.
How is that? Le distrait or absentminded beggar. (He fumbles again in his pocket and draws out a handful of coins. An object falls.) That fell.
(Stooping, picks up and hands a box of matches.) This.
(Quietly.) You had better hand over that cash to me to take care of. Why pay more?
(Hands him all his coins.) Be just before you are generous.
I will but is it wise? (He counts.) One, seven, eleven, and five. Six. Eleven. I don'tº answer for what you may have lost.
That is one poundº six and eleven. One pound seven, say.
Doesn't matter a rambling damn.
No, but …
(Comes to the table.) Cigarette, please. (Lynch tosses a cigarette from the sofa to the table.) And so Georgina Johnson is dead and married. (A cigarette appears on the tableº Stephen looks at it.) Wonder. Parlour magic. Married. Hm. (He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.)
(Brings the match nearerº his eye.) Lynx eyeº. Must get glasses. Broke them yesterday. Sixteen years ago. Distance. The eye seesº all flat.º (He draws the match away. It goes out.) Brain thinks. Near: far.º Ineluctable modality of the visible. (He frowns mysteriouslyº.) Hm. Sphinx. The beast that has two backs at midnight. Married.
It was a commercial traveller married her and took her away with him.
(Nods.) Mr Lambe from London.
Lamb of London, who takest away the sins of our world.
(Embracing Kitty on the sofa, chants deeply.) Dona nobis pacem.
Don't smoke. You ought to eat. Cursed dog I met. (To Zoe.) You have nothing?
Is he hungry?
(Tragically.) Hamlet, I am thy father's gimlet! (She takes his hand.) Blue eyes beautyº I'll read your hand. (She points to his forehead.) No wit, no wrinklesº (She counts.) Twoº, three,º Mars, that's courage. (Stephen shakes his head.) No kid.
(Turns.) Ask my ballocks that I haven't got. (To Stephen.) I see it in your face. The eye, like that. (She frowns with lowered head.)
(Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the coffin of the pianola flies open, the bald tittleº round jack-in-the-box head of Father Dolan springs up.)
Any boy want flogging? Broke his glasses? Lazyº idle little schemer. See it in your eye.
DON JOHN CONNEEº
(Examining Stephen's palm.) Woman's hand.
What day were you born?
(Quickly.) O, I see. Short little finger. Henpecked husband. That wrong?
Gara. Klook. Klook. Klook.
I see, says the blind man. Tell us news.
See? Moves to one great goal. I amº twentytwo too. Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled,º twentytwoº years ago he sixteen fell off his hobbyhorseº (He winces.) Hurt my hand somewhere. Must see a dentist. Money?
(Zoe whispers to Florry. They giggle. Bloom releases his hand and writes idly on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.)
(A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with a gallant buttockedº mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenueº, Donnybrook, trots past. Blazes Boylan and Lenehan sprawl swaying on the sideseats. The Ormond boots crouches behind on the axle. Sadly over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.)
(Jogging, mocks them with thumb and wriggling wormfingers.) Haw,º haw, have you the horn?
(Bronze by gold they whisper.).º
(To Florry.) Whisper.
(They whisper again.)
(Over the well of the car Blazes Boylan leans, his
straw,º set sideways, a red
flower in his mouth. Lenehan, in a yachtsman's cap and
white shoes, officiously detaches a long hair from Blazes Boylan's shoulder.)
Ho! What do I here behold? Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few quims?
(Sated, smiles.) Plucking a turkey.
(Smells gleefully.) Ah! Lobster and mayonnaise. Ah!
ZOE AND FLORRY
(Laugh together.) Ha ha ha ha.
(Tosses him sixpence.) Here, to buy yourself a gin and splash. (He hangs his hat smartly on a peg of Bloom's autleredº head.) Show me in. I have a little private business with your wife. You understand?
What? What is it?
(Zoe whispers to her.)
Let him look, the pishogue! Pimp! And scourge himself! I'll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt.
(Laughing.) Ho ho ho ho.
(From the sofa.) Tell us, Florry. Tell us. What …
(Florry whispers to her. Whispering lovewords murmurº liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop.)
(Laughing.) Hee hee hee.
BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY
(Stephen and Bloom gaze in the mirror. The face of William Shakespeare, beardless, appears there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the reflection of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the hall.)
(In dignified ventriloquy.) 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind.º (To Bloom.) Thou thoughtest as how thou wastest invisible. Gaze. (He crows with a black capon's laugh.) Iagogo! How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymomunº. Iagogogo!
(Smiles yellowly at the
whoresº.) When will I hear the joke?
Before you're twice married and once a widower.
(Mrs Dignam, widow woman, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, fearsº and Tunny'sº tawny sherry, hurries by in her weeds, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and noseº a pen chivvying her brood of cygnets. Beneath her skirt appear her late husband's everydayº trousers and turnedup boots, large eights. She holds a Scottish widow'sº insurance policy andº large marqueeumbrellaº under which her brood runsº with her, Patsy,º hopping on one shortº foot, his collar loose, a hank of porksteaks dangling, Freddy,º whimpering, Susy with a crying cods'º mouth, Alice,º struggling with the baby. She cuffs them on, her streamers flaunting aloft.)
Ah, ma, you're dragging me along!
(With paralytic rage.) Weda seca whokilla farst.
(The face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face. The marqueeumbrellaº sways drunkenly, the children run aside. Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widowº hat and kimono gown. She glides sidling and bowing, twistingº japanesily.)
(Gazes on herº
impassive.) Immense! Most bloody awful demirep!
Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti. Queens lay with prize bulls. Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the first confessionbox. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the house of Lambert. And Noah was drunk with wine. And his ark was open.
None of that here. Come to the wrong shop.
Let him alone. He's back from Paris.
(Runs to Stephen and links him.) O go on! Give us some parleyvoo.
(Stephen claps hat on head and leaps over to the fireplace,º where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a painted smile on his face.)
(Pommelling on the sofa.) Rmm Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmmmº.
(Gabbles, with marionette jerks.) Thousand places of entertainment to expenses your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps herº heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous. Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night. Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublantsº (He clacks his tongue loudly.) Ho, la la!º Ce pif qu'il a!º
Vive le vampire!
(Grimacingº with head back, laughs loudly, clapping himself.) Great success of laughing. Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians. Demimondaines nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed. Or do you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans? (He points about him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and the whores reply to.) Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptomsº virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times. Enter gentlemen to see in mirrors every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omletteº on the belly pièce de Shakespeare.
(Laughing.) Omelette …
(Laughing.) Encore! Encore!
Mark me. I dreamt of a watermelon.
Across the world for a wife.
(Approaching Stephen.) Look …
I say, look …
Break my spirit, will he? O merde alors! (He cries, his vulture talons sharpened.) Hola!º Hillyho!
(Simon Dedalus' voice hilloes in answer, somewhat sleepy but ready.)
That's all right. (He swoops uncertainly through the air, wheeling, uttering cries of hearkening,º on strong ponderous buzzard wings.) Ho, boy! Are you going to win? Hoop! Pschatt! Stable with those halfcastes. Wouldn't let them within the bawl of an ass. Head up! Keep our flag flying! An eagle gules volant in a field argent displayed. Ulster king at arms! hai hoop!º (He makes the beagle's callº giving tongue.) Bulbul! Burblblbrurblbl!º Hai, boy!
fronds and spaces of the wall
covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs swift,
openº brighteyed, seeking
under the leaves. The
follows, nose to the
burblbrbling to be blooded.
huntsmen and huntswomen live with them, hot for
a kill. From
Six Mile Point,
Nine Mile Stone
lassos, flockmasters with stockwhips,
bearbaiters with tomtoms, toreadors with bullswords, grey negroes waving torches. The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. Crows and touts,º hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.)
Card of the races. Racing card!
Ten to one the field!
Tommy on the clay here! Tommy on the clay!
Ten to one bar one. Ten to one bar one.º
Try your luck on spinning Jenny!
Tenº to one bar one!
Sell the monkey, boys! Sell the monkey!
I'll give ten to one!
Ten to one bar one!
(A dark horseº riderless, bolts like a phantom past the winningpost, his mane moonfoaming, his eyeballs stars. The field follows, a bunch of bucking mounts. Skeleton horses:º Sceptre, Maximum the Second,º Zinfandel, the Dukeº of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, The Dukeº of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris. Dwarfs ride them, rusty armoured, leaping, leaping in their, in their saddles. Last in a drizzle of rain,º on a brokenwinded isabelle nag.º Cock of the North, the favourite, honey cap, green jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a hockey stickº at the ready. His nag, stumbling on whitegaitered feet, jogs along the rocky road.)
THE ORANGE LODGES
(Jeering.) Get down and push, mister. Last lap! You'll be home the night!
THE GREEN LODGES
Soft day, sir John! Soft day, your honour!
(Private Carr, Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows, singing in discord.)
Hark! Our friend, noise in the street!
(Holds up her hand.) Stop!
PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON andº CISSY CAFFREY
Yet I've a sortº a
Yorkshire relish for …
That's me. (She claps her hands.) Dance! Dance! (She runs to the pianola.) Who has twopence?
(Handing her coins.) Here.
(Cracking his fingers impatiently.) Quick! Quick! Where's my augur's rod? (He runs to the piano and takes his ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium.)
(Turns the drumhandle.) There.
(She drops two pennies in the slot.
Goldº pink and violet lights start
forth. The drum turns purring in low
waltz. Professor Goodwin, in a bowknotted
wearing a stained
bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room, his hands
fluttering. He sits tinily on the piano
stoolº and lifts and beats
handless sticks of arms on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, his bowknot bobbing.)
(The pianola,º with changing lights plays in waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire Girl. Stephen throws his ashplant on the table and seizes Zoe aroundº the waist. Florry and Bella push the table towards the fireplace. Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, begins to waltz her aroundº the room. Her sleeve, falling from gracing arms, reveals a white fleshflower of vaccination. Bloom stands aside. Between the curtains, Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the toepoint of which spins a silk hat. With a deft kick,º he sends it spinning to his crown and jauntyhatted skates in. He wears a slate frockcoatº with claret silk lapels, a gorget of cream tulle, a green lowcut waistcoat, stock collar with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves. In his buttonhole is aº dahlia. He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then wedges it tight in his oxter. He places a hand limplyº on his breastbone, bowsº and fondles his flower and buttons.)
The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. No connection withº Madam Legget Byrne's or Levinstone'sº. Fancy dress balls arranged. Deportment. The Katty Lanner stepsº. So. Watch me! My terpsichorean abilities.º (He minuets forward three pacesº on tripping bee's feet.) Tout le monde en avant! Reverence!º Tout le monde en place!
(The prelude ceases. Professor Goodwin, beating vague arms, shrivels, shrinksº, his live cape falling about the stool. The air, in firmer waltz time, poundsº. Stephen and Zoe circle freely. The lights change, glow, fade, gold, rose,º violet.)
Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls,
Sweethearts they'd left behind …
(From a corner the morning hours run out, goldhaired,
slimº, in girlish blue,
hands. Nimbly they dance, twirling their
The hours of noon follow in amber gold.
linked, high haircombs flashing, they catch the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting their arms.)
(The morning and noon hours waltz in their places, turning,º advancing to each other, shaping their curves, bowing vis a visº. Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, with hands descending to, touching, rising from their shoulders.)
May I touch your?
O, so lightly!
My little shy little lass has a waist.
(Zoe and Stephen turn boldly with looser swing. The twilight hours advance,º from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom. They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the land breezeº.)
(The night hoursº steal to the last place. Morning, noon and twilight hours retreat before them. They are masked, with daggered hair and bracelets of dull bells. Weary, they curchycurchy under veils.)
(Twistingº, her hand to her brow.) O!
(She frees herself, droops on a chair,º Stephen seizes Florry and turns with her.)
Best, best of all,
(Jumps up.) O, they played that on the hobbyhorses at the Mirus bazaar!
(She runs to Stephen. He leaves Florry brusquely and seizes Kitty. A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. Groangrousegurgling Toft's cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room right roundabout the room.)
My girl's a Yorkshire girl.
Yorkshire through and through.
Come on all!
(She seizes Florry and waltzes her.)
(He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, snatches up his ashplant from the table and takes the floor. All wheel, whirl, waltz, twirl.º Bloombella, Kittylynch, Florryzoe, jujuby women. Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh, withº clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again.)
Though she's a factory lass
And wears no fancy clothes.
(Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scotlootshootº lumbering by. Baraabum!)
Encore! Bis! Bravo! Encore!
(Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, horse, nag, steer, piglings.º Conmee on Christassº lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through,º Baraabum! On nags, hogs, bellhorses,º Gadarene swine,º Corny in coffin. Steelº shark stone onehandled Nelson,º two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram falling bawling. Gum,º he's a champion. Fuseblue peer from barrel rev. evensong Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes. Then in last wiswitchbackº lumbering up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. Baraabum!)
(The couples fall aside. Stephen whirls giddily. Room whirls back. Eyes closed,º he totters. Red rails fly spacewards. Stars all around suns turn roundabout. Bright midges dance on wallº. He stops dead.)
(Stephen's mother, emaciated, rises stark through the floorº in leper grey with a wreath of faded orange blossomsº and a torn bridal veil, her face worn and noseless, green with grave mould.º Her hair is scant and lank. She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word. A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly.)
(From the top of a tower Buck Mulligan, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, stands gaping at her, a smoking buttered split scone in his hand.)
(With the subtle smile of death's madness.) I was once the beautiful May Goulding. I am dead.
(Shakes his curling capbell.)
The mockery of it!
Kinch killed her dogsbody
bitchbody.º She kicked the bucket. (Tears of molten butter fall from his eyes intoº the scone.) Our great sweet mother! Epi oinopa pontonº.
(Comes nearer, breathing upon him softly her breath of wetted ashes.) All must go through it, Stephen. More women than men in the world. You too. Time will come.
(A green rill of bile trickling from a side of her mouth.) You sang that song to me. Love's bitter mystery.
Who saved you the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee? Who had pity for you when you were sad among the strangers? Prayer is all powerfulº. Prayer for the suffering souls in the Ursuline manual,º and forty daysº indulgence. Repent, Stephen.
The ghoul! Hyena!
(Fanning herself with the grate fanº.) I'm melting!
(Points to Stephen.) Look! He's white.
(Goes to the window to open it more.) Giddy.
(With smouldering eyes.) Repent! O, the fire of hell!
(Her face drawing near and nearer, sending out an ashen breath.) Beware! (She raises her blackened,º withered right arm slowly towards Stephen's breast with outstretched fingersº.) Beware!º God's hand!º (A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart.)
(Strangled with rage.) Shite! (His features grow drawn and grey and old.)
(At the window.) What?
Give him some cold water. Wait. (She rushes out.)
(In the agony of her
deathrattle.) Have mercy on Stephen, Lord, for my
sake! Inexpressible was my anguish when expiring with love, grief and agony on Mount Calvary.
(He lifts his ashplant high with both hands and smashes the chandelier. Time's livid final flame leaps and, in the following darkness, ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.)
(Rushes forward and seizes Stephen's hand.) Here! Hold on! Don't run amok!
(Screams.) After him!
(The two whores rush to the halldoorsº. Lynch and Kitty and Zoe stampede from the room. They talk excitedly. Bloom follows, returns.)
(Jammed in the doorway, pointing.) Down there.
(Pointing.) There. There's something up.
Who pays for the lamp? (She seizes Bloom's
coattail.) There. Youº were with him. The lamp's broken.
(Rushes to the hall, rushes back.) What lamp, woman?
( Her eyes hard with anger and cupidity, points.) Who's to pay for that? Ten shillings. You're a witness.
(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) Me? Ten shillings? Haven't you lifted enough off him? Didn't he …!º
(Loudly.) Here, none of your tall talk. This isn't a brothel. A ten shillingº house.
(With a glass of water,º enters.) Where is he?
Do you want me to call the police?
O, I know. Bulldog on the premises. But he's a Trinity
student. Patrons of your establishment. Gentlemen that pay the rent. (He makes a masonic
sign.) Know what I mean? Nephew of the vicechancellor. You don't want a scandal.
(In the doorway.) There's a row on.
(He hurries out through the hall. The whores point. Florry
follows, spilling water from her tilted tumbler. On the doorstep all the whores
clustered talk volubly, pointing to the right where
the fog has cleared
off. From the left arrives a jingling hackney car. It slows to in front of
the house. Bloom at the halldoor perceives Corny Kelleher who is about to
the car with two silent lechers. He
averts his face.
Bella from within the hall urges on her whores. They blow ickylickysticky yumyum
kisses. Corny Kelleher replies with a
lewd smile. The silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey. Zoe and Kitty still
point right. Bloom, parting them swiftly, draws his caliph's hood and
poncho and hurries down the steps with sideways face. Incog
he flits behind the silent lechers and hastens on by the railings with fleet
step of a pard
strewing the drag
behind him, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. The ashplant marks
his stride. A pack of
led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a
dogwhipº in tallyho
cap,º and an old pair of grey
trousers, followsº from far,
picking up the
scent, nearer, baying, panting,
tongues, biting his heels, leaping at his tail. He walks, runs,
gallops, lugs laid back. He is pelted with gravel, cabbagestumps, biscuitboxes, eggs, potatoes, dead codfish, woman's slipperslappers. After him, freshfound,º the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 Cº 66 Cº night watch, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B.º Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'Rourke, Joe Cuffe, Mrs O'Dowd, Pisser Burke, Theº Nameless One, Mrs Riordan, Theº Citizen, Garryowen, Whatdoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatslikeº , Sawhimbefore, Chapwithº , Chris Callinan, sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Hynes, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John Howard Parnell, the reverend Tinned Salmon, Professor Joly, Mrs Breen, Denis Breen, Theodore Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, Theº Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, man in the street, other man in the street,º Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the Collector General's,º Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Bob Doran, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Wyse Nolan, John Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwidebehindinClonskea tramº , the bookseller of Sweets of Sin,º Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the managing clerk of Drimmie's,º colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Michael E. Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Galbraith, the constable off Eccles Streetº corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the mystery man on the beach, a retriever, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her lovers.)
THE HUE AND CRY
(Helterskelterpelterwelter.) He's Bloom! Stop Bloom! Stopabloom! Stopperrobber! Hi! Hi! Stop himº on the corner!
(At the corner of Beaver Streetº beneath the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the fringe of the noisy quarellingº knot, a lot not knowing a jot what hi! hi! row and wrangle round the whowhat brawlaltogether.)
(With elaborate gestures, breathing deeply and slowly.) You are my guests.
The uninvitedº. By virtue of the fifth of Georgeº and seventh of Edward. History to blame. Fabled by mothersº of memory.
(To Cissy Caffrey.) Was he insulting you?
Addressed her in vocative feminine. Probably neuter. Ungenitive.
I was in company with the soldiers and they left me to do — you know and the young man ranº up behind me. But I'm faithful to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.
(Catches sight of Kitty's and Lynch'sº heads.) Hail, Sisyphus. (He points to himself and the others.) Poetic. Neopoetic.
Yes, to go with him. And me with a soldier friend.
He doesn't half want a thick ear, the blighter. Biff him one, Harry.
(To Cissy.) Was he insulting you while me and him was having a piss?
Biff him, Harry.
(To Privateº Compton.) I don't know your name but you are quite right. Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in their shirts. Shirt is synechdoche. Part for the whole.
(Amiably.) Why not? The bold soldier boy. In my opinion every lady for example …
(Looks up inº the sky.) How? Very unpleasant. Noble art of selfpretence. Personally, I detest action. (He waves his hand.) Hand hurts me slightly. Enfin,º ce sont vos oignonsº. (To Cissy Caffrey.) Some trouble is on here. What is it,º precisely?
(From her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving the sign of the heroine of Jericho.) Rahab. Cook's son, goodbye. Safe home to Dolly. Dream of the girl you left behind and she will dream of you.
(The soldiers turn their swimming eyes.)
(Elbowing through the crowd, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously.) Come now, professor, that carman is waiting.
(Turns.) Eh? (He disengages himself.) Why should I not speak to him or to any human being who walks upright upon this oblate orange? (He points his finger.) I'm not afraid of what I can talk to if I see his eye. Retaining the perpendicular.
(He staggers a pace back.)
(Propping him.) Retain your own.
(Laughs emptily.) My centre of gravity is displaced. I have forgotten the trick. Let us sit down somewhere and discuss. Struggle for life is the law of existence butº modernº philirenists, notably the tsar and the king of England, have invented arbitration. (He taps his brow.) But in here it is I must kill the priest and the king.
BIDDY THE CLAP
Did you hear what the professor said? He's a professor out of the collegeº
I did. I heard that.
BIDDY THE CLAP
He expresses himself with muchº marked refinement of phraseology.
Indeed, yes. And at the same time with such apposite trenchancy.
(Pulls himself free and comes forward.) What's that you're saying about my king?
(Edward the Seventh appears in an archway. He wears a white jersey on which an image of the Sacred Heart is stitched, with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, Lincoln's Inns'º bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachussetsº. He sucks a red jujube. He is robed as a grand elect perfect and sublime mason with trowel and apron, marked made in Germany. In his left hand he holds a plasterer's bucket on which is printed: Défense d'uriner. A roar of welcome greets him.)
(Slowly, solemnly but indistinctly.)
bucket in my hand. Cheerio, boys. (He turns to his subjects.) We have come
here to witness a clean straight fight and we heartily wish both men the best of good luck. Mahak makar a backº.
(To Stephen.) Say it again.
(Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up.) I understand your point of view though I have no king myself for the moment. This is the age of patent medicineº. A discussion is difficult down here. But this is the point. You die for your country, suppose.º (He places his arm on Private Carr's sleeve.) Not that I wish it for you. But I say: Let my country die for me. Up to the present it has done so. I don'tº want it to die. Damn death. Long live life!
EDWARD THE SEVENTH
(Levitates over heaps of slain in the garb and with the halo of Joking Jesus, a white jujube in his phosphorescent face.)
My methods are new and are causing surprise.
To make the blind see I throw dust in their eyes.
Kings and unicorns! (He falls back a pace.) Come somewhere and we'll … What was that girl saying? …º
(Nods, smiling and laughing.)
Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors.
I don't give a bugger who he is.
We don't give a bugger who he is.
I seem to annoy them. Green rag to a bull.
(Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and peep-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen.)
(In medieval hauberk, two wild geese valantº on his helm, with noble indignation points a mailed hand against the privates.) Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy!
(To Stephen.) Come home. You'll get into trouble.
BIDDY THE CLAP
One immediately observes that he is of patrician lineage.
Green above the red, says he. Wolfe Tone.
The red's as good as the green, and better. Up the soldiers! Up King Edward!
(Laughs.) Ay! Hands up to De Wet.
(With a huge emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls.)
May the God above
Send down a dove
With teeth as sharp as razors
To slit the throatº
Of the English dogs
That hanged our Irish leaders.
THE CROPPY BOY
I bear no hate to a living thing,
But I love my country beyond the king.
(Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with aº gladstone bag which he opens.) Ladies and gents, cleaver purchased by Mrs Pearcy to slay Mogg. Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a compatriot and hid remains in a sheet in the cellar, the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear. Phial containing arsenic retrieved from theº body of Miss Barronº which sent Seddon to the gallows.
(He gives up the ghost. A violent erection of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his death clothesº on to the cobblestones. Mrs Bellingham, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the Honourable Mrs Mervyº Talboys rush forward with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.)
near it myself. (He undoes the noose.) Rope which hanged the awful
rebel. Ten shillings a time asº appliedº to Hisº Royal Highness. (He plunges his head into the gaping belly of the hanged and draws out his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails.) My painful duty has now been done. God save the king!
EDWARD THE SEVENTH
(Dances slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucketº and sings with soft contentment.)
On coronation day, on coronation day,
O, won't we have a merry time,
Drinking whisky, beer and wine!
Here. What are you saying about my king?
(Throws up his hands.) O, this is too monotonous! Nothing. He wants my money and my life, though want must be his master, for some brutish empire of his. Money I haven't. (He searches his pockets vaguely.) Gave it to someone.
Who wants your bleeding money?
(Tries to move off.) Will some oneº tell me where I am least likely to meet these necessary evils? Ça se voit aussi à Paris. Not that I … Butº by Saint Patrick! …º
(The women's heads coalesce. Old Gummy Grannyº in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a toadstool, the deathflower of the potato blight on her breast.)
Aha! I know you, gammer! Hamlet, revenge! The old sow that eats her farrow!
OLD GUMMY GRANNY
to and fro.)
king of Spain's daughter,
Strangers imº my house,
bad manners to them! (She keens with banshee
woe.) Ochone! Ochone! Silk of the kine! (She wails.) You met with poor old Ireland and how does she stand?
(Shrill.) Stop them from fighting!
Our men retreated.
(Tugging at his belt.) I'll wring the neck of any buggerº says a word against my fucking king.
(Terrified.) He said nothing. Not a word. A pure misunderstanding.
Erin go hragh!
(Major Tweedy and the Citizen exhibit to each other medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds. Both salute with fierce hostility.)º
Go it, Harry. Do him one in the eye. He's a proboerº.
Did I? When?
(Staggering past.) O, yes. O,º God, yes! O, make the kwawr a krowawr! O! Bo!
(Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice
of gutted spear
Major Tweedy, moustached like
terrible, in bearskin
cap with hackle plume and accoutrements, with epauletteº, gilt chevrons and sabretacheº, his breast bright with medals, toes the line. He gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the knights templars.)
I'll do him in.
(Wavesº the crowd back.) Fair play, here. Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the bugger.
(Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the king.)
They're going to fight. For me!
The brave and the fair.
BIDDY THE CLAP
Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the best.
(Loosening his belt, shouts.) I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king.
(Shakes Cissy Caffrey's shoulders.) Speak, you! Are you struck dumb? You
are the link between nations and generations. Speak, woman, sacred life giverº!
(Alarmed, seizes Private Carr's sleeve.) Amn't I with you? Amn't I your girl? Cissy's your girl.º (She cries.) Police!
(Ecstatically, to Cissy Caffrey.)
White thy fambles, red thy gan
And thy quarrons dainty is.
fires spring up.
Dense clouds roll past. Heavy
Gatling guns boom.
Gallop of hoofs. Artillery. Hoarse commands. Bells clang. Backers shout.
Drunkards bawlº Whores screech.
Foghorns hoot. Cries of valour. Shrieks of dying.
Pikes clash on
cuirasses. Thieves rob the slain. Birds of prey, winging from the sea, rising
from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants,
eagles, gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese. The midnight sun is darkened. The
earth trembles. The dead of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white
sheepskin overcoats and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many. A chasm
opens with a noislessº yawn. Tom
Rochford, winnerº in
athlete's singlet and breeches, arrives at the head of the national hurdle
handicap and leaps into the void. He is followed by a race of runners and
leapers. In wild attitudes they spring from the brink. Their bodies plunge.
Factory lasses with fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs.
Society ladies lift
their skirts above their heads to protect themselves. Laughing
red cutty sarks ride through the air
broomsticks. Quakerlyster plasters blisters. It rains
dragon'sº teeth. Armed heroes
spring up from furrows. They exchange in amity
the pass of knights of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tomeº against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The O'Donoghue of the Glens against The Glens of The Donoghueº. On an eminence, the centre of the earth, rises the field altar of Saint Barbara. Black candles rise from its gospel and epistle horns. From the high barbacansº of the tower two shafts of light fall on the smokepalled altarstone. On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, naked, fettered, a chalice resting on her swollen belly. Father Malachi O'Flynn in a longº petticoat and reversed chasuble, his two left feet back to the front, celebrates camp mass. The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M.A. in a plain cassock and mortar board,º his head and collar back to the front, holds over the celebrant's head an open umbrella.)
FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN
Introibo ad altare diaboli.
THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE
To the devil which hath made glad my young days.
FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN
(Takes from the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host.) Corpus Meum.
THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE
THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED
(From on high the voice of Adonai calls.)
THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED
(From on high the voice of Adonai calls.)
(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.)
(With ferocious articulation.) I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ! I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe!
OLD GUMMY GRANNY
(Runs to Lynch.) Can't you get him away?
He likes dialectic, the universal language. Kitty! (To Bloom.) Get him away, you. He won't listen to me.
(He drags Kitty away.)
(Points.) Exit Judas. Et laqueo se suspendit.
(Runs to Stephen.) Come along with me now before worse happens. Here's your stick.
(Pulling Private Carr.) Come on, you're boosed. He
insulted me but I forgive him. (Shouting in his ear.) I forgive him for insulting me.
(Over Stephen's shoulder.) Yes, go. You see he's incapable.
(Breaks loose.) I'll insult him.
(He rushes towards Stephen, fistsº outstretched, and strikes him in the face. Stephen totters, collapses, falls stunned. He lies prone, his face to the sky, his hat rolling to the wall. Bloom follows and picks it up.)
(Loudly.) Carbine in bucket! Cease fire! Salute!
(Barking furiously.) Ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute.
(The retriever, nosing on the fringe of the crowd, barks noisily.)º
What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman and he under the influence.º Let them go and fight the Boers!
Listen to who's talking! Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl? He gave him the coward's blow.
(They grab at each other's hair, claw at each other and spit.)
(Barking.) Wow wow wow.
(Shoves them back, loudly.) Get back, stand back!
What's wrong here?
(With expectation.) Is he bleeding?º
(Rising from his knees.) No. Gone off. He'll come to all right.
(Glances sharply at the man.) Leave him to me. I can easily …
Who are you? Do you know him?
(Lurches towards the watch.) He insulted my lady friend.
(Angrily.) You hit him without provocation. I'm a witness. Constable, take his regimental number.
I don't want your instructions in the discharge of my duty.
(Pulling his comrade.) Here, bugger off, Harry. Or
Bennett'll haveº you in the lockup.
(Staggering as he is pulled away.) God fuck old Bennett!º He's a whitearsed bugger. I don't give a shit for him.
(Takingº out his notebook.) What's his name?
(Peering over the crowd.) I just see a car there. If you give me a hand a second, sergeant …
Name and address.
(Corny Kelleher, weepers round his hat, a death wreath in his hand, appears among the bystanders.)
(Quickly.) O, the very man! (He whispers.) Simon Dedalus' son. A bit sprung. Get those policemen to move those loafers back.
Night, Mr Kelleher.
(To the watch, with drawling eye.) That's all right. I know him. Won a bit on the races. Gold cup. Throwawayº. (He laughs.) Twenty to one. Do you follow me?
(Turns to the crowd.) Here, what are you all gaping at? Move on out of that.
(The crowd disperses slowly, muttering, down the lane.)
Leave it to me, sergeant. That'll be all right. (He laughs, shaking his head.) We were often as bad ourselves, ay or worse. What? Eh, what?
(Laughs.) I suppose so.
(Nudges the second watch.) Come and wipe your name off the slate. (He lilts, wagging his head.) With my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom. What, eh, do you follow me?
(Genially.) Ah, sure we were too.
(Winking.) Boys will be boys. I've a car round there.
All right, Mr Kelleher. Good night.
I'll see to that.
(Shakes hands with both of the watch in turn.) Thank you very much, gentlemen, thankº you. (He mumbles confidentially.) We don't want any scandal, you understand. Father is a well known, highly respected citizen. Just a little wild oats, you understand.
O, I understand, sir.
That's all right, sir.
It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.
(Nods rapidly.) Naturally. Quite right. Only your bounden duty.
It's our duty.
Good night, men.
(Saluting together.) Night, gentlemen.º (They move off with slow heavy tread.)
(Blows.) Providential you came on the scene. You have a car? …º
(Laughs, pointing his thumb over his right shoulder to the car brought up against the scaffolding.) Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's. Like princes, faith. One of them lost two quid on the race. Drowning his grief andº were on for a go with the jolly girls. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown.
I was just going home by Gardiner street when I happened to …
(Laughs.) Sure they wanted me to join in with the mots. No, by God, says I. Not for old stagers like myself and yourself. (He laughs again and leers with lacklustre eye.) Thanks be to God we have it in the houseº what, eh, do you follow me? Hah! hah! hah!º
(Tries to laugh.) He, he, he! Yes. Matter of fact I was just visiting an old friend of mine there, Virag, you don't know him (poor fellowº he's laid up for the past week) and we had a liquor together and I was just making my way home …
(The horse neighs.)
Sure it was Behan, our jarvey there, that told me after we
left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to
pull up and got
off to see. (He laughs.)
specialtyº. Will I give him a lift
home? Where does he hang out? Somewhere in Cabra, what?
No, in Sandycove, I believe, from what he let drop.
(Stephen, prone, breathes to the stars. Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the horse. Bloomº in gloom, looms down.)
(Scratches his nape.) Sandycove! (He bends down and calls to Stephen.) Eh! (He calls again.) Eh! He's covered with shavings anyhow. Take care they didn't lift anything off him.
No, no, no. I have his money and his hat here and stick.
Good night. I'll just wait and take him along in a few …
(Corny Kelleher returns to the outside car and mounts it. The horse harnessº jingles.)
(From the car, standing.) Night.
(The jarvey chucks the reins and raises his whip
encouragingly. The car and horse back slowly, awkwardly and turn. Corny Kelleher
on the sideseat sways his head to and fro in sign of mirth at Bloom's
plight. The jarvey joins in the mute pantomimic merriment nodding from the
farther seat. Bloom shakes his head in mute mirthful reply. With thumb and palm
Corny Kelleher reassures that the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue
for what else is to be done. With a slow
nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs. The car jingles tooraloom round the corner of the tooraloom lane. Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his hand. Bloom with his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher that he is reassuraloomtay. The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their tooralooloo looloo lay. Bloom, holding in his hand Stephen's hatº festooned with shavings and ashplant, stands irresolute. Then he bends to him and shakes him by the shoulder.)
Eh! Ho! (There is no answer; heº bends again.) Mr Dedalus! (There is no answer.) The name if you call. Somnambulist. (He bends again and, hesitating, brings his mouth near the face of the prostrate form.) Stephen! (There is no answer. He calls again.) Stephen!
(He turns on his left side, sighing, doubling himself together.)
Poetry. Well educated. Pity. (He bends again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat.) To breathe. (He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light handsº and fingers.) One pound seven. Not hurt anyhow. (He listens.) What!º
(He stretches out his arms, sighs again and curls his body.
hisº hat and
ashplantº stands erect. A dog
barks in the distance. Bloom tightens and loosens his grip on the ashplant. He
looks down on Stephen's face and form.)
(Communes with the night.) Face reminds me of his poor mother. In the shady wood. The deep white breast. Ferguson, I think I caught. A girl. Some girl. Best thing could happen him …º (He murmurs.) … swear that I will always hail, ever conceal, never reveal, any part or parts, art or arts … (He murmurs.) … in the rough sands of the sea … a cabletow's length from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows …
(Silent, thoughtful, alert, he stands on guard, his fingers at his lips in the attitude of secret master. Against the dark wall a figure appears slowly, a fairy boy of eleven, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in an Eton suit with glass shoes and a little bronze helmet, holding a book in his hand. He reads from right to left inaudibly, smiling, kissing the page.)
(Wonderstruck, calls inaudibly.) Rudy!
(Gazes unseeing into Bloom's eyes and goes on reading, kissing, smiling. He has a delicate mauve face. On his suit he has diamond and ruby buttons. In his free left hand he holds a slim ivory cane with a violet bowknot. A white lambskinº peeps out of his waistcoat pocket.)