(The Mabbot street entrance of nighttown,
Round behind the stable.
(A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, his shapeless mouth dribbling,
jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance. A chain of children 's hands
(lifts a palsied left arm and gurgles) Ghahute!
Where's the great light?
(They release him. He jerks on. A pigmy woman swings on a rope
slung between two railings, counting. A form sprawled against a
dustbin and muffled by its arm and hat snores, 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 oillamp rams her last bottle in the maw of
I gave it to Molly
Because she was jolly,
The leg of the duck,
The leg of the duck.
(Private Carr and Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their
oxters, as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together
from their mouths a volleyed fart. Laughter of men from the lane. A so
hoarse virago retorts.)
Signs on you, hairy arse. More power the Cavan girl.
More luck to me. Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet. (she sings)
I gave it to Nelly
To stick in her belly,
The leg of the duck,
The leg of the duck.
(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)
(Stephen, flourishing the ashplant in his left hand, chants with
the introit for paschal time. Lynch, his jockeycap low on his brow,
attends him, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face.)
Vidi aquam egredientem de templo a latere dextro. Alleluia.
(The famished snaggletusks of an elderly bawd protrude from a
(altius aliquantulum) Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista.
(spits in their trail her jet of venom) Trinity medicals. Fallopian
prick and no pence.
(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with Bertha Supple, draws her
shawl across her nostrils.)
(triumphaliter) Salvi facti sunt.
(looks behind) So that gesture, not music not odour, would be
language, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the first
entelechy, the structural rhythm.
Pornosophical philotheology. Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street!
Anyway, who wants two gestures to illustrate a loaf and a jug? This
movement illustrates the loaf and jug of bread or wine in Omar. Hold my
Damn your yellow stick. Where are we going?
Lecherous lynx, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson,
ad deam qui
laetificat iuventutem meam.
(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 turned, 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.
Fish and taters. N. g. Ah!
(He disappears into Olhausen's, the porkbutcher'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 ribs 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)
(He darts to cross the road. Urchins shout.)
Mind out, mister!
(Two cyclists, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him,
grazing him, their bells rattling)
(halts erect, stung by a spasm) Ow!
(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.
Hey, shitbreeches, are you doing the hat trick?
(Bloom trickleaps to the curbstone and halts again. He brushes a
mudflake from his cheek with a parcelled hand.)
No thoroughfare. Close shave that but cured the stitch. Must take up
Buenas noches, senorita Blanca. Que calle es esta?
(impassive, raises a signal arm) Password. Sraid Mabbot.
(He steps forward. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. He
steps left, ragsackman left.)
(He leaps right, sackragman right.)
(He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on.)
Keep to the right, right, right. If there is a signpost planted by the
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 In darkest
Stepaside. Keep, keep, keep to the right. Rags and bones at midnight. A
fence more likely. First place murderer makes for. Wash off his sins of the
(Jacky Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey, runs full tilt against
(Shocked, on weak hams, he halts. Tommy and Jacky vanish
there, there. Bloom pats with parcelled hands watchfob,
pocketbookpocket, pursepoke, sweets of sin, potatosoap.)
Beware of pickpockets. Old thieves' dodge. Collide. Then snatch your
(The retriever approaches sniffing, 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 smokingcap with magenta tassels.
Horned spectacles hang down at the wings of the nose. Yellow
poison streaks are on the drawn face.)
Second halfcrown waste money today. I told you not go with drunken goy
ever. So you catch no money.
(hides the crubeen and trotter behind his back and, crestfallen,
and cold feetmeat) Ja, ich weiss, papachi.
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,
grandson 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
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 Waterbury keyless watch
and double curb Albert with seal attached, one side of him coated with
stiffening mud) Harriers, father. Only that once.
Once! Mud head to foot. Cut your hand open. Lockjaw. They make you
kaputt, Leopoldleben. You watch them chaps.
(weakly) They challenged me to a sprint. It was muddy. I slipped.
(with contempt) Goim nachez! Nice spectacles for your poor mother!
(in pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and
bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and
cameo brooch, her plaited hair in a crispine net, appears over the staircase
banisters, a slanted candlestick in her hand, 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 blay petticoat
A phial, an Agnus Dei, a shrivelled potato and a celluloid doll fall out)
(Bloom, mumbling, his eyes downcast, begins to bestow his parcels
in his filled pockets but desists, muttering.)
Who? (he ducks and wards off a blow clumsily) At your service.
(He looks up. Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman
in Turkish costume stands before him. Opulent curves fill out her
scarlet trousers and jacket, slashed with gold. A wide yellow
cummerbund girdles her. A white yashmak, violet in the night,
covers her face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and raven
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, excuse, desire,
spellbound. A coin gleams on her forehead. On her feet are jewelled
toerings. Her ankles 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 hoof, 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 .....
So you notice some change? (her hands passing slowly over her trinketed
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 the wide world.
I was just going back for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water.
closes early on Thursday. But the first thing in the morning. (he pats divers
pockets) This moving kidney. Ah!
(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 I.
He brightens the earth. I polish the sky.
(The freckled face of Sweny, the druggist, appears in the disc of
Three and a penny, please.
Yes. For my wife. Mrs Marion. Special recipe.
(In disdain she saunters away, humming the duet from Don
Giovanni, plump as a pampered pouter pigeon.)
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 chinmole glittering.)
Ten shillings a maidenhead. Fresh thing was never touched. Fifteen.
no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk.
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.)
(her wolfeyes shining) He's getting his pleasure. You won't get
a virgin in
the flash houses. Ten shillings. Don't be all night before the polis in plain
(Leering, Gerty MacDowell limps forward. She draws from behind,
ogling, and shows coyly her bloodied clout.)
With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. (she murmurs) You
did that. I
l? When? You're dreaming. I never saw you.
Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat. Writing the gentleman false letters.
(to Bloom) When you saw all the secrets of my bottom drawer.
his sleeve, slobbering) Dirty married man! I love you for doing that to me.
(She glides away crookedly. Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat
with loose bellows pockets, stands in the causeway, her roguish eyes
wideopen, smiling in all her herbivorous buckteeth.)
(coughs gravely) Madam, when we last had this pleasure by letter
the sixteenth instant ....
Mr Bloom! You down here in the haunts of sin! I caught you nicely!
(hurriedly) Not so loud my name. Whatever do you think of me?
give me away. Walls have ears. How do you do? It's ages since I. You're
looking splendid. Absolutely it. Seasonable weather we are having this time
(holds up a finger) Now, don't tell a big fib! I know somebody
that. O just wait till I see Molly! (slily) Account for yourself this very
sminute or woe betide you!
(looks behind) She often said she'd like to visit. Slumming.
The exotic, you
see. Negro servants in livery too if she had money. Othello black brute.
Eugene Stratton. Even the bones and cornerman at the Livermore christies.
(Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white duck suits, scarlet
socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large scarlet asters in their
buttonholes, leap out Each has his banjo slung Their paler smaller
negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires. Flashing white kaffir
eyes and tusks they rattle through a breakdown in clumsy clogs,
twinging, singing, back to back, toe heel, heel toe, with
smackfatclacking nigger lips.)
TOM AND SAM
(They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then, chuckling,
chortling, trumming, twanging, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance
(with a sour tenderish smile) A little frivol, shall we, if you
are so inclined?
Would you like me perhaps to embrace you just for a fraction of a second?
(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.
Glory Alice, you do look a holy show! Killing simply. (she puts out
hand inquisitively) What are you hiding behind your back? Tell us, there's
(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 night, Georgina Simpson's
housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the
pin blindfold and thoughtreading? Subject, what is in this snuffbox?
You were the lion of the night with your seriocomic recitation and you
looked the part. You were always a favourite with the ladies.
The dear dead days beyond recall. Love's old sweet song.
(meaningfully dropping his voice) I confess I'm teapot with curiosity
find out whether some person's something is a little teapot at present.
(wearing a purple Napoleon hat with an amber halfmoon, his fingers
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)
La ci darem la mano.
(in a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, a tinsel
diadem on her brow with her dancecard fallen beside her moonblue satin
slipper, curves her palm softly, breathing quickly) Voglio e non ..... 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.
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 sandwich-
boards, 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 spades, dogs him to left and right, doubled in
(points jeering at the sandwichboards) U. p: up.
(to Bloom) High jinks below stairs. (she gives him the glad
didn't you kiss the spot to make it well? You wanted to.
(her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers a pigeon kiss) Hnhn.
answer is a lemon. Have you a little present for me there?
(offhandedly) Kosher. A snack for supper. The home without potted
is incomplete. I was at Leah, Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Trenchant exponent
of Shakespeare. Unfortunately threw away the programme. Rattling good
place round there for pigs' 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
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.
Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your cock and bull story.
I want to tell you a little secret about how I came to be here. But
never tell. Not even Molly. I have a most particular reason.
(all agog) O, not for worlds.
Let's walk on. Shall us?
(The bawd makes an unheeded sign. Bloom walks on with Mrs
Breen. The terrier follows, whining piteously, wagging his tail.)
(in an oatmeal sporting suit, a sprig of woodbine in the lapel, tony
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
(in smart Saxe tailormade, white velours hat and spider veil)
I mean, Leopardstown. And Molly won seven shillings on a three year
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
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
cruel naughty creature, little mite of a thing with a heart the size of a
(squeezes his arm, simpers) Naughty cruel I was!
(low, secretly, ever more rapidly) And Molly was eating a sandwich
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 ....
(eagerly) Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
(She fades from his side. Followed by the whining dog he walks on =|BREa|=
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 brokensnouted gaffer rasps out
with raucous humour. An armless pair of them flop wrestling,
growling, in maimed sodden playfight.)
(crouches, his voice twisted in his snout) And when Cairns came
from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into only
into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the shavings for
(guffaw with cleft palates) O jays!
Coincidence too. They think it funny. Anything but that. 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.)
(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
(behind his back) He aint half balmy.
(laughs) What ho!
We are the boys.
Say! What price the sergeantmajor?
Bennett? He's my pal. I love old Bennett.
The galling chain.
And free our native land.
(He staggers forward, dragging them with him. Bloom stops, at
fault. The dog approaches, his tongue outlolling, panting)
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 third ticket. Then too far. Train with engine
behind. Might have taken me to Malahide or a siding for the night or
Odd! Molly drawing on the frosted carriagepane at
Kingstown. What's that like?
Sweet are the sweets. Sweets of sin.
My spine's a bit limp. Go or turn? And this food? Eat it and get all
(With regret he lets the 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.
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.)
Kaw kave kankury kake.
(He points. Bob Doran, toppling from a high barstool, sways over
the munching spaniel.)
Towser. Give us the paw. Give the paw.
(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.)
Prevention of cruelty to animals.
(enthusiastically) A noble work! I scolded that tramdriver on
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, passionpale, in liontamer's costume with diamond
studs in his shirtfront, steps forward, holding a circus paperhoop, a
curling carriagewhip and a revolver with which he covers the
I have forgotten for the moment. Ah, yes! (he takes off his high
saluting) Dr Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. You have heard of von Blum
Pasha. Umpteen millions. Donnerwetter! Owns half Austria. Egypt.
(A card falls from inside the leather headband of Bloom's hat.)
(reads) Henry Flower. No fixed abode. Unlawfully watching and
An alibi. You are cautioned.
(produces from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower) This
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 watch gaily) I'll introduce you,
(A dark mercurialised face appears, leading a veiled figure.)
THE DARK MERCURY
The Castle is looking for him. He was drummed out of the army.
(thickveiled, a crimson halter round her neck, a copy of the Irish
her hand, in tone of reproach, pointing) Henry! Leopold! Lionel, thou lost
one! Clear my name.
(sternly) Come to the station.
(scared, hats himself, steps back, then, plucking at his heart and
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
(sobbing behind her veil) Breach of promise. My real name is
Griffin. He wrote to me that he was miserable. I'll tell my brother, the
(behind his hand) She's drunk. The woman is inebriated. (he
vaguely the pass of Ephraim) Shitbroleeth.
(tears in his eyes, to Bloom) You ought to be thoroughly well
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
(turns to the gallery) The royal Dublins, boys, the salt of the
the world over. I think I see some old comrades in arms up there among
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.
Profession or trade.
Well, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. In fact we
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.)
(his cock's wattles wagging) Hello, seventyseven eightfour. Hello.
Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here. Paralyse Europe. You which?
Bluebags? Who writes? Is it Bloom?
(Mr Philip Beaufoy, palefaced, 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. Not by a long shot if I know it. I don't
that's all. No born gentleman, no-one 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 litterateur. It's perfectly obvious that with the most inherent baseness
he has cribbed some of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a perfect
gem, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. The Beaufoy books
of love and great possessions, with which your lordship is doubtless
familiar, are a household word throughout the kingdom.
(murmurs with hangdog meekness glum) 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
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? We are considerably out of pocket over this bally
pressman johnny, this jackdaw of Rheims, who has not even been to a
(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 evidence, the corpus
delicti, my lord, a specimen of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark
of the beast.
A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY
You low cad! You ought to be ducked in the horsepond, you rotter! (to
court) Why, 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
archconspirator of the age!
(to the court) And he, a bachelor, how...
The King versus Bloom. Call the woman Driscoll.
Mary Driscoll, scullerymaid!
(Mary Driscoll, a slipshod servant girl, 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
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 ripplecloth, flannel trousers, heelless slippers,
his hair rumpled: softly) I treated you white. I gave you mementos, smart
emerald garters far above your station. Incautiously I took your part when
(excitedly) As God is looking down on me this night if ever I
laid a hand to
The offence complained of? Did something happen?
He surprised me in the rere of the premises, Your 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
(scornfully) I had more respect for the scouringbrush, so I had.
remonstrated with him, Your lord, and he remarked: keep it quiet.
(clerk of the crown and peace, resonantly) Order in court! The
will now make a bogus statement.
sevenmonths' child, he had been carefully brought up and nurtured
by an aged bedridden parent. There 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 or 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 Britanniametalbound
with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a sacrifice, greatest
bargain ever ....)
(Renewed laughter. He mumbles incoherently. Reporters complain
that they cannot hear.)
LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND
(without looking up from their notebooks) Loosen his boots.
(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the bucket. A
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 catcalls. Bloom 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
protest) This is no place for indecent levity at the expense of an erring
mortal disguised in 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
(Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in lascar's vest and trousers, apologetic
turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and looks about him dazedly, passing
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
Payee two shilly ....
(He is howled down.)
J. J. O'MOLLOY
(hotly to the populace) This is a lonehand fight. By Hades, I
will not have
A penny in the pound.
(The image of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping
silver haze is projected on 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.)
(hoarsely) Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W. 13.
(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.)
(almost voicelessly) Excuse me. I am suffering from a severe
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.
(A paper with something written on it is handed into court.)
MRS YELVERTON BARRY
(in lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing
sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a comb of brilliants and panache of
osprey in her hair) Arrest him, constable. He wrote me an anonymous
(in cap and seal coney mantle, wrapped up to the nose, steps out
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 and the 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
(A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward)
THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS
(screaming) Stop thief! Hurrah there, Bluebeard! Three cheers
(produces handcuffs) Here are the darbies.
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 Phoenix 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
MRS YELVERTON BARRY
(Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters
received from Bloom.)
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS
(stamps her jingling spurs in a sudden paroxysm of fury) I will,
God above me. I'll scourge the pigeonlivered cur as long as I can stand over
him. I'll flay him alive.
(his eyes closing, quails expectantly) Here? (he squirms)
Again! (he pants
cringing) I love the danger.
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS
Very much so! I'll make it hot for you. I'll make you dance Jack Latten
Tan his breech well, the upstart! Write the stars and stripes on it!
MRS YELVERTON 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
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.
(shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses vindictively) Make him
Hanna dear. Give him ginger. Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his
(shuddering, shrinking, joins his hands: with hangdog mien) O
shivery! It was your ambrosial beauty. Forget, forgive. Kismet. Let me off
this once. (he offers the other cheek)
MRS YELVERTON BARRY
(severely) Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys! He should
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS
(unbuttoning her gauntlet violently) I'll do no such thing. Pigdog
(trembling, beginning to obey) The weather has been so warm.
(Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes with a bevy of barefoot
DAVY STEPHEN S
(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.)
Jigjag. Jigajiga. Jigjag.
(A panel of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing rapidly in the jurybox
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 Nameless One.)
THE NAMELESS ONE
(all their heads turned to his voice) Really?
THE NAMELESS ONE
(snarls) Arse over tip. Hundred shillings to five.
(all their heads lowered in assent) Most of us thought as much.
He is a marked man. Another girl's plait cut. Wanted: Jack the Ripper.
thousand pounds reward.
(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
(His Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, 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
I will put an end to this white slave traffic and rid Dublin of this
pest. Scandalous! (he dons the black cap) Let him be taken, Mr Subsheriff,
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.
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, 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
(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 chimpanzee. (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
(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!
(in a hollow voice) It is true. It was my funeral. Doctor Finucane
pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural
(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?
By metempsychosis. Spooks.
(earnestly) Once I was in the employ of Mr J. H. Menton, 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.
(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 twisted poppies.)
(yawns, then chants with a hoarse croak) Namine. Jacobs. Vobiscuits.
(with pricked up ears, winces) Overtones. (he wriggles forward
places an ear to the ground) My master's voice!
Burial docket letter number U. P. eightyfive thousand. Field seventeen.
House of Keys. Plot, one hundred and one.
(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his tail
stiffpointcd, his ears cocked.)
(He worms down through a coalhole, his brown habit trailing its
tether over rattling pebbles. After him toddles an obese grandfather
rat on fungus turtle paws under a grey carapace. Dignam's voice,
muffled, is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone
below. Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in cap and breeches,
jumps from his twocolumned machine.)
(a hand to his breastbone, bows) Reuben J. A florin I find him.
the manhole with a resolute stare) My turn now on. Follow me up to
(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
(warbling) Leo! (twittering) Icky licky micky sticky for
Coo coocoo! Yummyyum, Womwom! (warbling) Big comebig! Pirouette!
(They rustle, flutter upon his garments, alight, bright giddy flecks,
A man's touch. Sad music. Church music. Perhaps here.
(Zoe Higgins, a young whore in a sapphire slip, closed with three
bronze buckles, a slim black velvet fillet round her throat, nods,
trips down the steps and accosts him.)
Are you looking for someone? He's inside with his friend.
No, eightyone. Mrs Cohen's. You might go farther and fare worse. Mother
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.
Working overtime but her luck's turned today. (suspiciously) You're not
his father, are you?
(His skin, alert, feels her fingertips approach. A hand glides over
his left thigh.)
How's the nuts?
Off side. Curiously they are on the right. Heavier, I suppose. One in
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
A talisman. Heirloom.
For Zoe? For keeps? For being so nice, eh?
(She puts the potato greedily into a pocket 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.)
(murmuring singsong with the music, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared
with salve of swinefat and rosewater) Schorach ani wenowach, benoith
(fascinated) I thought you were of good stock by your accent.
And you know what thought did?
(She bites his ear gently with little goldstopped teeth, sending
him a cloying breath of stale garlic The roses draw apart, disclose a
sepulchre of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones.)
(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
English. Have you a swaggerroot?
(as before) Rarely smoke, dear. Cigar now and then. Childish
Go on. Make a stump speech out of it.
(in workman's corduroy overalls, black gansy with red floating tie
apache cap) Mankind is incorrigible. Sir Walter Ralegh 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
(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 Dock, 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 bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their
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, gold 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
That alderman 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
(Prolonged applause. Venetian masts, 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, 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 chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded
by pennons of the civic flag. The van of the procession appears
headed by John Howard Parnell, city marshal, in a chessboard
tabard, the Athlone poursuivant and Ulster King of Arms. They are
followed by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor
of Dublin, his lordship 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 Logue, 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, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin
The wren, the wren,
The king of all birds,
Saint Stephen's his day
Was caught in the furze.
(murmurs) For the honour of God! And is that Bloom? He scarcely
A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER
That's the famous Bloom now, the world's greatest reformer. Hats off!
(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.)
I here present your undoubted emperor-president and king-chairman, the
most serene and potent and very puissant ruler of this realm. God save
Leopold the First!
God save Leopold the First!
(in dalmatic and purple mantle, to the bishop of Down and Connor,
dignity) Thanks, somewhat eminent sir.
(in purple stock and shovel hat) Will you to your power cause
mercy to be executed in all your judgments in Ireland and territories
(placing his right hand on his testicles, swears) So may the
with me. All this I promise to do.
MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH
(pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head) Gaudium magnum annuntio
vobis. Habemus carneficem. Leopold, Patrick, Andrew, David, George, be
(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.
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
(raises the royal standard) Illustrious Bloom! Successor to my
(embraces John Howard Parnell) We thank you from our heart, John,
this right royal welcome to green Erin, the promised land of our common
You deserve it, your honour.
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
THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS
JOHN WYSE NOLAN
There's the man that got away James Stephens.
A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY
AN OLD RESIDENT
You're a credit to your country, sir, that's what you are.
He's a man like Ireland wants.
My beloved subjects, a new era is about to dawn. I, Bloom, tell you
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.
(Thirtytwo workmen, wearing 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
inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all marked in red with
the letters: L. B. Several paupers fill from a ladder. A part of the
walls of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, collapses.)
(dying) Morituri te salutant. (they die)
THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH
Don't you believe a word he says. That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the
notorious fireraiser. His real name is Higgins.
Shoot him! Dog of a christian! So much for M'Intosh!
(A cannonshot. The man in the macintosh disappears. Bloom with
his sceptre strikes down poppies. The instantaneous deaths of many
powerful enemies, graziers, members of parliament, members of
standing committees, are reported. Bloom's bodyguard distribute
Maundy money, commemoration medals, loaves and fishes,
temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for
soup, rubber preservatives in sealed 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, bottles of
Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins,
dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, season tickets available for
all tramlines, coupons of the royal and privileged Hungarian
lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the World's Twelve
Worst Books: Froggy and Fritz (politic), Care of the Baby
(infantilic), so 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 Our 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
Little father! Little father!
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
(hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his mouth) Hajajaja.
(shaking hands with a blind stripling) My more than Brother!
arms round the shoulders of an old couple) Dear old friends! (he plays
pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls) Peep! Bopeep! (he wheels
twins in a perambulator) Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe? (he performs
juggler's tricks, draws red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet
silk handkerchiefs 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 antics) Leg it, ye devils! (he kisses the
bedsores of a palsied veteran) Honourable wounds! (he trips up a fit
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)
good God bless him!
(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
What am I to do about my rates and taxes?
Pay them, my friend.
Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance?
(obdurately) Sirs, take notice that by the law of torts you are
in your own recognisances for six months in the sum of five pounds.
J. J. O'MOLLOY
A Daniel did I say? Nay! A Peter O'Brien!
Where do I draw the five pounds?
Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims
Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims
Extr. taraxel. Iiq., 30 minims.
Aq. dis. ter in die.
What is the parallax of the subsolar ecliptic of Aldebaran?
Pleased to hear from you, Chris. K. II.
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.
Father (pater, dad) starts thinking.
An eightday licence for my new premises. You remember me, sir Leo, when
you were in number seven. I'm sending around a dozen of stout for the
(coldly) You have the advantage of me. Lady Bloom accepts no presents.
(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
Free fox in a free henroost.
What about mixed bathing?
(Bloom explains to those near him his schemes for social
regeneration. All agree with him. The keeper of the Kildare street
museum appears, 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.)
He is an episcopalian, an agnostic, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow
our holy faith.
(tears up her will) I'm disappointed in you! You bad man!
(removes her boot to throw it at Bloom) You beast! You abominable
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.
What railway opera is like a tramline in Gibraltar? The Rows of Casteele.
Plagiarist! Down with Bloom!
THE VEILED SIBYL
(enthusiastically) I'm a Bloomite and I glory in it. I believe
in him in spite
of all. I'd give my life for him, the funniest man on earth.
(in fishingcap and oilskin jacket) He employs a mechanical device
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 gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping from
windows of different storeys.)
ALEXANDER J DOWIE
(violently) Fellowchristians and antiBloomites, the man called
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 debauchery, 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
Lynch him! Roast him! He's as bad as Parnell was. Mr Fox!
(Mother Grogan throws her boot at Bloom. Several shopkeepers
from upper and lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no
commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable
cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.)
(excitedly) This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again.
(in motor jerkin, green motorgoggles on his brow) Dr Bloom is
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
(Bloom holds his high grade hat over his genital organs.)
Hypsospadia is also marked. In the interest of coming generations I
that the parts affected should be preserved in spirits of wine in the national
I have examined the patient's urine. It is albuminoid. Salivation is
insufficient, the patellar reflex intermittent.
DR PUNCH COSTELLO
The fetor judaicus is most perceptible.
(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
(Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and white
children. They appear on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with
expensive plants. All the octuplets 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, Maindore,
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, vicechairmen
of hotel syndicates.)
Bloom, are you the Messiah ben Joseph or ben David?
(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, turns each foot simultaneously in different
directions, bids the tide turn back, eclipses the sun by extending his
BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO
(in papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates,
thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre)
Leopoldi autem generatio. Moses begat Noah and Noah begat Eunuch and
Eunuch begat O'Halloran and O'Halloran begat Guggenheim and
Guggenheim begat Agendath and Agendath begat Netaim and Netaim
(writes on the wall) Bloom is a cod.
(in bushranger's kit) What did you do in the cattlecreep behind
A FEMALE INFANT
(shakes a rattle) And under Ballybough bridge?
And in the devil's glen?
(blushes furiously all over from frons to nates, three tears filling
left eye) Spare my past.
THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS
(in bodycoats, kneebreeches, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs)
(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
You hig, you hog, you dirty dog!
You think the ladies love you!
THE PRISON GATE GIRLS
If you see Kay
Tell him he may
See you in tea
Tell him from me.
(in ephod and huntingcap, announces) And he shall carry the sins
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. They wag their beards at Bloom.)
MASTIANSKY AND CITRON
(George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears, a tailor's goose under
his arm, presenting a bill)
To alteration one pair trousers eleven shillings.
(rubs his hands cheerfully) Just like old times. Poor Bloom!
(Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded Iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on
his shoulders the drowned corpse of his son, approaches the
(whispers hoarsely) The squeak is out. A split is gone for the
the first rattler.
THE FIRE BRIGADE
(Invests Bloom in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames
high pointed hat He places a bag of gunpowder round his neck and hands
him over to the civil power, saying) Forgive him his trespasses.
(in a seamless garment marked I. H. S. stands upright amid phoenix
flames) Weep not for me, O daughters of Erin. (he exhibits to Dublin
reporters traces of burning)
(The daughters of Erin, in black garments, with large prayerbooks
and long lighted candles in their hands, kneel down and pray.)
THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN
(A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'Brien,
sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah Alleluia for the Lord God
Omnipotent reigneth, accompanied on the organ by Joseph Glynn.
Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised.)
Talk away till you're black in the face.
(in caubeen with clay pipe stuck in the band, dusty brogues, an emigrant's
red handkerchief bundle in his hand, 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 insanity. 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 mournfully) I am
ruined. A few pastilles of aconite. The blinds drawn. A letter. Then lie back
to rest. (he breathes softly) No more. I have lived. Fare. Farewell.
(stiffly, her finger in her neckfillet) Honest? Till the next
time. (she sneers)
(bitterly) Man and woman, love, what is it? A cork and bottle.
I'm sick of
it. Let everything rip.
(in sudden sulks) I hate a rotter that's insincere. Give a bleeding
(repentantly) I am very disagreeable. You are a necessary evil.
(glibly) Hog's Norton where the pigs plays the organs. I'm Yorkshire
born. (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?
(smiles, nods slowly) More, houri, more.
And more's mother? (she pats him offhandedly with velvet paws)
(feeling his occiput dubiously with the unparalleled embarrassment
harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her peeled pears) Somebody
would be dreadfully jealous if she knew. The greeneyed monster.
(earnestly) You know how difficult it is. I needn't tell you.
(flattered) What the eye can't see the heart can't grieve for.
(she pats him)
(in babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with a caul of dark hair, fixes
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.
Love me. Love me not. Love me.
(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,
roaring, their drugged heads swaying to and fro) Good!
(her lucky hand instantly saving him) Hoopsa! Don't fall upstairs.
The just man falls seven times. (he stands aside at the threshold)
is good manners.
Ladies first, gentlemen after.
feet locked, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all
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,
(coughs behind her hand) She's a bit imbecillic. (she signs with
forefinger) Blemblem. (Lynch lifts up her skirt and white petticoat with his
wand She settles them down quickly.) Respect yourself. (she hiccups, then
bends quickly her sailor hat under which her hair glows, red with henna)
More limelight, Charley. (she goes to the chandelier and turns the
(peers at the gasjet) What ails it tonight?
(deeply) Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.
Clap on the back for Zoe.
(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
caterpillar 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
it or made it. The rite is the poet's rest. It may be an old hymn to Demeter
or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini. It is susceptible of nodes
or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so
(with saturnine spleen) Ba! It is because it is. Woman's reason.
greekjew. Extremes meet. Death is the highest form of life. Ba!
You remember fairly accurately all my errors, boasts, mistakes. How
Here's another for you. (he frowns) The reason is because the
fundamental and the dominant are separated by the greatest possible
interval which ....
Which? Finish. You can't.
(Outside the gramophone begins to blare The Holy City.)
(abruptly) What went forth to the ends of the world to traverse
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
(with a mocking whinny of laughter grins at Bloom and Zoe Higgins)
What a learned speech, eh?
(briskly) God help your head, he knows more than you have forgotten.
(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
(Ragged barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past,
Stop press edition. Result of the rockinghorse races. Sea serpent in
(Stephen turns and sees Bloom.)
A time, times and half a time.
(Reuben I 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 waters,
hangs from the slack of its breeches. A hobgoblin in the image of
Punch Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic
with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, tumbles in
somersaults through the gathering darkness.)
(his jaws chattering, capers to and fro, goggling his eyes, squeaking,
kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, then all at once thrusts
his lipless face through the fork of his thighs) Il vient! C'est moi! L'homme
qui rit! L'homme primigne! (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 va plus! (The planets, buoyant
balloons, sail swollen up and away. He springs off into vacuum.)
(sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly) The end of the world!
(A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her. Nebulous obscurity
occupies space. Through the drifting fog without the gramophone
blares over coughs and feetshuffling.)
(A rocket rushes up the sky and bursts. A white star fills 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 filibegs, whirls through the murk, head over heels, in the
form of the Three Legs of Man.)
THE END OF THE WORLD
(Over the possing 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
No yapping, if you please, in this booth. Jake Crane, Creole Sue, Dove
Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do your coughing with your mouths shut. Say, I
THE THREE WHORES
(covering their ears, squawk) Ahhkkk!
(in rolledup shirtsleeves, black in the face,shouts at the top of
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
I forgot myself. In a weak moment I erred and did what I did on
Constitution hill. I was confirmed by the bishop and enrolled in the brown
scapular. My mother's sister married a Montmorency. It was a working
plumber was my ruination when I was pure.
It was in consequence of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three
star. I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the bed.
In the beginning was the word, in the end the world without end. Blessed
the eight beatitudes.
(The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, Lenehan,
Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch in white surgical students' gowns,
four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching)
(incoherently) Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum
(in quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, says discreetly)
our friend. I need not mention names. Seek thou the light.
(He corantos by. Best enters in hairdresser's 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.)
(produces a greencapped dark lantern and flashes it towards a corner:
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
(In the cone of the searchlight behind the coalscuttle, ollave,
holyeyed, the bearded figure of Mananaun MacLir broods, chin on
knees. He rises slowly. A cold seawind blows from his druid mouth.
About his head writhe eels and elvers. He is encrusted with weeds
and shells. 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 gods. 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 Shiva, darkhidden Father! (He smites with
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! I am the dreamery
(A skeleton judashand strangles the light. The green light wanes
mauve. The gasjet wails whistling.)
Who has a fag as I'm here?
(tossing a cigarette on to the table) Here.
(her 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
the beautyspot of my behind?
I'm not looking
(makes sheep's eyes) No? You wouldn't do a less thing. Would
you suck a
(Squinting in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at
Bloom, 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 and, 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.)
Granpapachi. But .....
Number two on the other hand, she of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse
whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking
She is rather lean.
(not unpleasantly) Absolutely! Well observed and those pannier
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.
(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
finger and barks hoarsely) Hoax! Beware of the flapper and bogus
mournful. Lily of the alley. All possess bachelor's button discovered by
(regretfully) When you come out without your gun.
We can do you all brands, mild, medium and strong. Pay your money, take
your choice. How happy could you be with either...
(his tongue upcurling) Lyum! Look. Her beam is broad. She is
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
respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the noonday soupplate, while on
her rere lower down are two additional protuberances, suggestive of potent
rectum and tumescent for palpation, which leave nothing to be desired save
compactness. Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture. When
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
feminam, as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the consulship
Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros. 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.
(reflecting) Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax. This searching
ordeal. It has been an unusually fatiguing day, a chapter of accidents. Wait.
I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you said ...
(severely, his nose hardhumped, his side eye winking) Stop twirling
thumbs and have a good old thunk. See, you have forgotten. Exercise your
mnemotechnic. La causa santa. Tara. Tara. (aside) He will surely
Rosemary also did I understand you to say or willpower over parasitic
tissues. Then nay no I have an inkling. The touch of a deadhand cures.
I wanted then to have now concluded. Nightdress was never. Hence this.
But tomorrow is a new day will be. Past was is today. What now is will then
morrow as now was be past yester.
Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then
wandered dazed down shirt good job I ....
(absently) Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. Always open
The cloven sex. Why they fear vermin, creeping things. Yet Eve and the
serpent contradicts. 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.
(his mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes stonily forlornly closed,
in outlandish monotone) That the cows with their those distended udders
that they have been the the known ....
I am going to scream. I beg your pardon. Ah? So. (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 hunched wingshoulders, peers at
moth out of blear bulged eyes, points a horning claw and cries) Who's
(he rushes against the mauve shade, flapping noisily)
Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats.
(From left upper entrance with two gliding steps Henry Flower
comes forward to left front centre. He wears a dark mantle and
drooping plumed sombrero. He carries a silverstringed inlaid
(in a low dulcet voice, touching the strings of his guitar) There
is a flower
(to himself) Play with your eyes shut. Imitate pa. Filling my
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. (he
touches the keys again) Minor chord comes now. Yes. Not much however.
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
(smirking) The bird that can sing and won't sing.
Take a fool's advice. All is not well. Work it out with the buttend
of a pencil,
like a good young idiot. Three pounds 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
And the song?
Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.
Are you out of Maynooth? You're like someone I knew once.
Out of it now. (to himself) Clever.
PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER
(their lawnmowers purring with a rigadoon of grasshalms) Clever
Out of it out of it. By the bye 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
Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Fall of man. (harshly, his
waxing) To hell with the pope! Nothing new under the sun. I am the Virag
who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. Why I left the church
of Rome. Read the Priest, the Woman and the Confessional. Penrose.
Flipperty Jippert. (he wriggles) Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt
I hope you gave the good father a penance. Nine glorias for shooting
(spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils) He couldn't get a
Only, you know, sensation. A dry rush.
(lightly) Only for what happened him.
(A diabolic rictus of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes
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
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 subscribed for
(gaily) C'etait le sacr 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.)
(laughs) And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.
(nods) Locomotor ataxy.
(gaily) O, my dictionary.
Three wise virgins.
(agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his bony epileptic
She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower. 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, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-
papped, stands forth, his loins and genitals tightened into a pair
of black bathing bagslops.)
(nakkering castanet bones in his huge padded paws, yodels jovially
barreltone) When love absorbs my ardent soul.
(The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the
ringkeepers and the ropes and mob him with open arms.)
(gushingly) Big Ben! Ben my Chree!
Hold that fellow with the bad breeches.
(smites his thigh in abundant laughter) Hold him now.
(caressing on his breast a severed female head, murmurs) Thine
mine love. (he plucks his lutestrings) When first I saw ...
(Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a
pocketcomb and gives a cow's lick to his hair. Steered by his rapier,
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 a trice and holds it under his arm.)
(over his shoulder to Zoe) You would have preferred the fighting
who founded the protestant error. But beware Antisthenes, the dog sage,
All one and the same God to her.
(devoutly) And sovereign Lord of all things.
(to Stephen) I'm sure you're a spoiled priest. Or a monk.
He is. A cardinal's son.
(His Eminence Simon Stephen cardinal Dedalus, primate of all
Ireland, 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, he invokes
grace from on high with large wave gestures and proclaims with
Conservio lies captured
He lies in the lowest dungeon
With manacles and chains around his limbs
Weighing upwards of three tons.
(He looks at all for a moment, 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:)
(A multitude of midges swarms white over his robe. He scratches
himself with crossed arms at his ribs, grimacing, and exclaims:)
I'm suffering the agony of the damned. By the hoky fiddle, thanks be
Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous. If they were they'd walk
me off the face of the bloody globe.
(His head aslant 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 acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling,
easterkissing, zigzag behind him. His voice is heard mellow from
afar, merciful male, melodious:)
Shall carry my heart to thee,
Shall carry my heart to thee,
And the breath of the balmy night
Shall carry my heart to thee!
(The trick doorhandle turns.)
The devil is in that door.
(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.)
(sniffs his hair briskly) Hmmm! Thank your mother for the rabbits.
(hearing a male voice in talk with the whores on the doorstep, pricks
(tears open the silverfoil) Fingers was made before forks. (she
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!
(She tosses a piece. With an adroit snap he catches it and bites
through with a crack.)
(chewing) The engineer I was with at the bazaar does have lovely
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,
frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the
door. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swift pass with
impelling fingers and gives the sign of past master, drawing his right arm
downwards from his left shoulder.) Go, go, go, I conjure you, whoever you
(A male cough and tread are heard passing through the mist
outside. Bloom's features relax. He places a hand in his waistcoat,
posing calmly. Zoe offers him chocolate.)
(A firm heelclacking tread is heard on the stairs.)
(takes the chocolate) Aphrodisiac? Tansy and pennyroyal. 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. (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 whoremistress, enters. She
is dressed in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the hem with
tasselled selvedge, and cools herself flirting a black horn fan like
Minnie Hauck in 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
with orangetainted nostrils. She has large pendant beryl eardrops.)
My word! I'm all of a mucksweat.
(She glances round her at the couples Then her eyes rest on Bloom THE FAN (flirting quickly, then slowly) Married, I see. BLOOM Yes. Partly, I have mislaid..... THE FAN (half opening, then closing) And the missus is master. Petticoat BLOOM (looks down with a sheepish grin) That is so.
with hard insistence. Her large fan winnows wind towards her
heated faceneck and embonpoint. Her falcon eyes glitter.)
(flirting quickly, then slowly) Married, I see.
Yes. Partly, I have mislaid.....
(half opening, then closing) And the missus is master. Petticoat
(looks down with a sheepish grin) That is so.
(folding together, rests against her left eardrop) Have you forgotten me?
(folded akimbo against her waist) Is me her was you dreamed before?
then she him you us since knew? Am all them and the same now me?
(Bella approaches, gently tapping with the fan.)
(wincing) Powerful being. In my eyes read that slumber which
(tapping) We have met. You are mine. It is fate.
(cowed) Exuberant female. Enormously I desiderate your domination.
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
(bagweighted, passes the door) Mocking is catch. Best value in
Dub. Fit for
a prince's. Liver and kidney.
(tapping) All things end. Be mine. Now,
(undecided) All now? I should not have parted with my talisman.
exposure at dewfall on the searocks, a peccadillo at my time of life. Every
phenomenon has a natural cause.
(points downwards slowly) You may.
(looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace) We are
(with desire, with reluctance) I can make a true black knot.
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.
(Bella raises her gown slightly and, steadying her pose, lifts to
edge of a chair a plump buskined hoof and a full pastern,
silksocked. Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over her hoof and with
gentle fingers draws out and in her laces.)
Smell my hot goathide. Feel my royal weight.
(crosslacing) Too tight?
Not to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the night of the bazaar dance.
luck. Hook in wrong tache of her .... person you mentioned. That night she
(He knots the lace. Bella places her foot on the floor. Bloom raises BLOOM (mumbles) Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen,
his head. Her heavy face, her eyes strike him in midbrow. His eyes
grow dull, darker and pouched, his nose thickens.)
(mumbles) Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen, ....
(with a hard basilisk stare, in a baritone voice) Hound of dishonour!
(his heavy cheekchops sagging) Adorer of the adulterous rump!
(with sinews semiflexed) Magmagnificence!
Down! (he taps her on the shoulder with his fan) Incline feet
Slide left foot one pace back! You will fall. You are falling. On the hands
(her eyes upturned in the sign of admiration, closing, yaps) Truffles!
(With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting,
snuffling, rooting at his feet: then lies, shamming dead, with eyes
shut tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground in the attitude
of most excellent master.)
(with bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round 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) Footstool! Feel my
entire weight. Bow, bondslave, before the throne of your despot's glorious
heels so glistening in their proud erectness.
(laughs loudly) Holy smoke! You little know what's in store for
the Tartar 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
(Bloom creeps under the sofa and peers out through the fringe.)
(widening her slip to screen her) She's not here.
(hiding her with her gown) She didn't mean it, Mr Bello. She'll
Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello. Sure you won't, ma'amsir.
(coaxingly) Come, ducky dear, I want a word with you, darling,
administer correction. Just a little heart to heart talk, sweety. (Bloom puts
out her timid head) There's a good girly now. (Bello grabs her hair
violently and drags her forward) I only want to correct you for your
good on a soft safe spot. How's that tender behind? O, ever so gently, pet.
Begin to get ready.
(fainting) Don't tear my ...
(savagely) The nosering, the pliers, the bastinado, the hanging
knout I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old.
You're in for it this time! I'll make you remember me for the balance of
your natural life. (his forehead veins swollen, his face congested) I shall sit
Don't be cruel, nurse! Don't!
(screams) O, it's hell itself! Every nerve in my body aches like mad!
(shouts) Good, by the rumping jumping general! That's the best
news I heard these six weeks. Here, don't keep me waiting, damn you! (he
slaps her face)
(whimpers) You're after hitting me. I'll tell ....
Hold him down, girls, till I squat on him.
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.)
(ferociously) Can I help?
(They hold and pinion Bloom.)
(squats with a grunt on Bloom's upturned face, puffing cigarsmoke,
nursing a fat leg) I see Keating Clay is elected vicechairman of the
Richmond asylum and by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen
three quaffers. Curse me for a fool that didn't buy that lot Craig and
(goaded, buttocksmothered) O! O! Monsters! Cruel one!
Ask for that every ten minutes. Beg. Pray for it as you never prayed
(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
(pulls at Bello) Let me on him now. You had enough. I asked before you.
(pulling at Florry) Me. Me. Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress?
Well, I'm not. Wait. (he holds in his breath) Curse it. Here.
about burst. (he uncorks himself behind: then, contorting his features, farts
stoutly) Take that! (he recorks himself) Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three
(a sweat breaking out over him) Not man. (he sniffs) Woman.
(stands up) No more blow hot and cold. What you longed for has
(shrinks) Silk, mistress said! O crinkly! scrapy! Must I tiptouch
it with my
(points to his whores) As they are now so will you be, wigged,
perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with smoothshaven armpits. Tape
(jeers) Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh? And showed
coquettishly in your domino at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your
unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various poses of surrender, eh?
Ho! ho! I have to laugh! That secondhand black operatop shift and short
trunkleg naughties all split up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam
Miriam. Black. Demimondaine.
(guffaws) Christ Almighty it's too tickling, this! You were a
Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the
thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated by lieutenant
Smythe-Smythe, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M. P., signor Laci Daremo,
the robust tenor, blueeyed Bert, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon
Bennett fame, Sheridan, the quadroon Croesus, the varsity wetbob eight
(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
Science. To compare the various joys we each enjoy. (earnestly)
it's better the position .... because often I used to wet ....
(sternly) No insubordination! 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
THE SINS OF THE PAST
(in a medley of voices) He went through a form of clandestine
with at least one woman in the shadow of the Black church. Unspeakable
messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn at an address in D'Olier
street while he presented himself indecently to the instrument in the callbox.
By word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal strumpet to deposit
fecal and other matter in an unsanitary outhouse attached to empty
premises. In five public conveniences he wrote pencilled messages offering
(whistles loudly) Say! What was the most revolting piece of obscenity
your career of crime? Go the whole hog. Puke it out! Be candid for once.
stripling, Larry rhinoceros, the girl, the woman, the whore, the
other the, lane the.)
Don't ask me! Our mutual faith. Pleasants street. I only thought the
the ... I swear on my sacred oath ....
(peremptorily) Answer. Repugnant wretch! I insist on knowing.
something to amuse me, smut or a bloody good ghoststory or a line of
poetry, quick, quick, quick! Where? How? What time? With how many? I
(docile, gurgles) I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant
(imperiously) O, get out, you skunk! Hold your tongue! Speak
you're spoken to.
(bows) Master! Mistress! Mantamer!
(He lifts his arms. His bangle bracelets fill.)
Thank you, mistress.
You will make the beds, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in the
rooms, including old Mrs Keogh's the cook's, a sandy one. Ay, and rinse
laid down their lives. (he chuckles) My boys will be no end charmed
you so ladylike, the colonel, above all, when they come here the night before
the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels. First I'll have a go
at you myself. A man I know on the turf named Charles Alberta Marsh (I
(Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell.)
One and eightpence too much.
CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH
Must be virgin. Good breath. Clean.
(gives a rap with his gavel) Two bar. Rockbottom figure and cheap
price. Fourteen hands high. Touch and examine shis points. Handle hrim.
This downy skin, these soft muscles, this tender flesh. If I had only my gold
A DARKVISAGED MAN
(in disguised accent) Hoondert punt sterlink.
(subdued) For the Caliph. Haroun Al Raschid.
(gaily) Right. Let them all come. The scanty, daringly short
skirt, riding up
at the knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent weapon and
transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with the long straight seam trailing
up beyond the knee, appeal to the better instincts of the blase man about
town. Learn the smooth mincing walk on four inch Louis Quinze heels, the
Grecian bend with provoking croup, the thighs fluescent, knees modestly
kissing. Bring all your powers of fascination to bear on them. Pander to
their Gomorrahan vices.
What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you? (he stoops
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
limp as 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?
(sarcastically) I wouldn't hurt your feelings for the world but
man of brawn in possession there. The tables are turned, my gay young
fellow! He is something like a fullgrown outdoor man. Well for you, you
muff, 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
I was indecently treated, I ..... Inform the police. Hundred pounds.
Unmentionable. I ....
Would if you could, lame duck. A downpour we want not your drizzle.
To drive me mad! Moll! I forgot! Forgive! Moll .... We .... Still .....
(ruthlessly) No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed by woman's will
(Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the wold.)
Rip van Wink! Rip van Winkle!
(in tattered mocassins with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, 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 ....
(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 writingtable where we never wrote, aunt
Hegarty's armchair, our classic reprints of old masters. A man and his
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
Ten and six. The act of low scoundrels. Let me go. I will return. I
As a paying guest or a kept man? Too late. You have made your secondbest
bed and others must lie in it. Your epitaph is written. You are down and out
and don't you forget it, old bean.
Justice! All Ireland versus one! Has nobody ...? (he bites his thumb)
Die and be damned to you if you have any sense of decency or grace about
(sneers) Crybabby! Crocodile tears!
(Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the sacrifice, sobs, his face
earth. The passing bell is heard. Darkshawled figures of the
circumcised, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the wailing wall, M.
Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses Herzog, Harris
Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky,
the reverend Leopold Abramovitz, chazen. With swaying arms they
wail in pneuma over the recreant Bloom.)
(in dark guttural chant as they cast dead sea fruit upon him, no
Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.
(sighing) So he's gone. Ah yes. Yes, indeed. Bloom? Never heard
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 oakframe a
nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours,
descends from her grotto and passing under interlacing yews stands
(their leaves whispering) Sister. Our sister. Ssh!
(softly) Mortal! (kindly) Nay, dost not weepest!
(crawls jellily forward under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with
dignity) This position. I felt it was expected of me. Force of habit.
by the stale smut of clubmen, stories to disturb callow youth, ads for
transparencies, truedup dice and bustpads, proprietary articles and why
wear a truss with testimonial from ruptured gentleman. Useful hints to the
(lifts a turtle head towards her lap) We have met before. On another star.
(sadly) Rubber goods. Neverrip brand 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.
(humbly kisses her long hair) Your classic curves, beautiful
was glad to look on you, to praise you, a thing of beauty, almost to pray.
During dark nights I heard your praise.
(quickly) Yes, yes. You mean that I.... Sleep reveals the worst
everyone, children perhaps excepted. I know I fell out of bed or rather was
pushed. Steel wine is said to cure snoring. For the rest there is that English
(her fingers in her ears) And words. They are not in my dictionary.
You understood them?
(apologetically) I know. Soiled personal linen, wrong side up
The quoits are loose. From Gibraltar by long sea long ago.
(bends her head) Worse, worse!
(reflects precautiously) That antiquated commode. It wasn't her
She scaled just eleven stone nine. She put on nine pounds after weaning. It
(The sound of a waterfall is heard in bright cascade.)
(mingling their boughs) Listen. Whisper. She is right, our sister.
by Poulaphouca waterfall. We gave shade on languorous summer days.
JOHN WYSE NOLAN
(murmuring) Who came to Poulaphouca with the High School excursion?
Who left his nutquesting classmates to seek our shade?
(scared) High School of Poula? Mnemo? Not in full possession
faculties. Concussion. Run over by tram.
(pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in nondescript juvenile
and black striped suit, too small for him, white tennis shoes, bordered
stockings with turnover tops and a red schoolcap with badge) I was in my
teens, 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 stairs (for they love crushes, instinct of the herd, and the dark
sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice), even a pricelist of their hosiery. And
then the heat. There were sunspots that summer. End of school. And
tipsycake. Halcyon days.
THE HALCYON DAYS
Mackerel! Live us again. Hurray! (they cheer)
(hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent
snowballs, struggles to rise) Again! I feel sixteen! What a lark! Let's ring
(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 break, blossoming into bloom.) Who profaned our silent shade?
(coyly, through parting fingers) There? In the open air?
(sweeping downward) Sister, yes. And on our virgin sward.
(with wide fingers) O, infamy!
I was precocious. Youth. The fauna. I sacrificed to the god of the forest.
The flowers that bloom in the spring. It was pairing time. Capillary
(Staggering Bob, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with
humid nostrils through the foliage.)
(large teardrops rolling from his prominent eyes, snivels) Me. Me see.
(High on Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes,
plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants.)
(bleats) Megeggaggegg! Nannannanny!
(hatless, flushed, covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine)
Regularly engaged. Circumstances alter cases. (he gazes intently
downwards on the water) Thirtytwo head over heels per second. Press
(Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom, rolled in a
mummy, rolls roteatingly from the Lion's Head cliff into the purple
(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, yellowkitefaced, his hand in his
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 today, have not such a place
and no hair
there either. We are stonecold and pure. We eat electric light. (she arches
her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in her mouth)
(pawing the heather abjectly) O, I have been a perfect pig. Enemas
have administered. One third of a pint of quassia to which add a
tablespoonful of rocksalt. Up the fundament. With Hamilton Long's
syringe, the ladies' friend.
In my presence. The powderpuff. (she blushes and makes a knee)
(Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the
THE VOICE OF KITTY
(in the thicket) Show us one of them cushions.
THE VOICE OF FLORRY
(A grouse wings clumsily through the underwood.)
(in the thicket) Whew! Piping hot!
THE VOICE OF ZOE
(in the thicket) Came from a hot place.
THE VOICE OF VIRAG
(a birdchief, bluestreaked and feathered in war panoply with his
striding through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns) Hot!
Hot! Ware Sitting Bull!
It overpowers me. The warm impress of her warm form. Even to sit where
Ssh! Sister, speak!
(eyeless, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly,
remote eyes) Tranquilla convent. Sister Agatha. Mount Carmel. The
apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. No more desire. (she reclines her head,
sighing) Only the ethereal. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the
(Bloom half rises. His back trouserbutton snaps.)
(Two sluts of the Coombe dance rainily by, shawled, yelling flatly.)
(coldly) You have broken the spell. The last straw. If there
ethereal where would you all be, postulants and novices? Shy but willing
like an ass pissing.
(their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their skinny arms aging
(her features hardening, gropes in the folds of her habit) Sacrilege!
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. (she
clutches again in her robe) Wait. Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs.
Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. (she draws a poniard and, clad in the
sheathmail of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his loins) Nekum!
(starts up, seizes her hand) Hoy! Nebrakada! Cat o' nine lives!
madam. No pruningknife. The fox and the grapes, is it? What do you lack
(with a cry flees from him unveiled, her plaster cast cracking, a
stench escaping from the cracks) Poli ...!
(calls after her) As if you didn't get it on the double yourselves.
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 mendancers on
(The figure of Bella Cohen stands before him.)
You'll know me the next time.
(composed, regards her) Passe. Mutton dressed as lamb. Long
tooth and superfluous hair. A raw onion the last thing at night would
(contemptuously) You're not game, in fact. (her sowcunt barks)
(contemptuously) Clean your nailless middle finger first, your
spunk is dripping from your cockscomb. Take a handful of hay and wipe
I know you, canvasser! Dead cod!
I saw him, kipkeeper! Pox and gleet vendor!
(turns to the piano) Which of you was playing the dead march from Saul?
Me. Mind your cornflowers. (she darts to the piano and bangs chords
with crossed arms) The cat's ramble through the slag. (she glances back)
Eh? Who's making love to my sweeties? (she darts back to the table)
(Kitty, disconcerted, coats her teeth with the silver paper. Bloom
(gently) Give me back that potato, will you?
Forfeits, a fine thing and a superfine thing.
(with feeling) It is nothing, but still, a relic of poor mamma.
There is a memory attached to it. I should like to have it.
To have or not to have that is the question.
Here. (she hauls up a reef of her slip, revealing her bare thigh,
the potato from the top of her stocking) Those that hides knows where
(frowns) Here. This isn't a musical peepshow. And don't you smash
piano. Who's paying here?
(She goes to the pianola. Stephen fumbles in his pocket and, taking
out a banknote by its corner, hands it to her.)
(with exaggerated 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 o tenons nostre tat.
(calls from the hearth) Dedalus! Give her your blessing for me.
(hands Bella a coin) Gold. She has it.
(looks at the money, then at Stephen, then at Zoe, Florry and Kitty)
you want three girls? It's ten shillings here.
(Bella goes to the table to count the money while Stephen talks to
himself in monosyllables. Zoe bends over the table. Kitty leans over
Zoe's neck. Lynch gets up, rights his cap and, 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.
(chattering and squabbling) The gentleman... ten shillings....
the three... allow me a moment... this gentleman pays separate.... who's
touching it?... ow!... 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.
(at the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence) No bottles!
(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,
The 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)
(admiringly) You're such a slyboots, old cocky. I could kiss you.
(points) Him? Deep as a drawwell.
(Lynch bends Kitty back over the sofa and kisses her. Bloom goes
with the poundnote to Stephen.)
This is yours.
How is that? The distrait or absentminded beggar. (He fumbles again
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
(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't answer for what you may have lost.
Why striking eleven? Proparoxyton. Moment before the next Lessing says.
Thirsty fox. (he laughs loudly) Burying his grandmother. Probably he
Doesn't matter a rambling damn.
(comes to the table) Cigarette, please. (Lynch tosses a cigarette
sofa to the table)
(watching him) You would have a better chance of lighting it
if you held
the match nearer.
(brings the match near his eye) Lynx eye. Must get glasses. Broke
yesterday. Sixteen years ago. Distance. The eye sees all flat. (He draws the
match away. It goes out.) Brain thinks. Near: far. Ineluctable modality of
the visible. (he frowns mysteriously) 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.
(The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. Bloom picks it up and
throws it in the grate.)
Don't smoke. You ought to eat. Cursed dog I met. (to Zoe) You
Is he hungry?
(extends his hand to her smiling and chants to the air of the bloodoath
(The Dusk of the Gods)
(tragically) Hamlet, I am thy father's gimlet! (she takes
his hand) Blue
eyes beauty I'll read your hand. (she points to his forehead) No wit, no
wrinkles. (she counts) Two, three, Mars, that's courage. (Stephen shakes
his head) No kid.
(laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice) Like that. Pandybat.
(Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the coffin of the pianola flies
the bald little round jack-in-the-box head of Father Dolan springs
Any boy want flogging? Broke his glasses? Lazy idle little schemer.
See it in
DON JOHN CONMEE
Now, Father Dolan! Now. I'm sure that Stephen is a very good little boy!
(examining Stephen's palm) Woman's hand.
(murmurs) Continue. Lie. Hold me. Caress. I never could read
handwriting except His criminal thumbprint on the haddock.
Thursday's child has far to go. (she traces lines on his hand)
Line of fate.
Mount of the moon. You'll meet with a .... (she peers at his hands
(detaches her fingers and offers his palm) More harm than good.
Show. (she turns up Bloom's hand) I thought so. Knobby knuckles
(peering at Bloom's palm) Gridiron. Travels beyond the sea and
(quickly) O, I see. Short little finger. Henpecked husband. That wrong?
(Black Liz, a huge rooster hatching in a chalked circle, rises,
stretches her wings and clucks.)
Gara. Klook. Klook. Klook. (she sidles from her newlaid egg and waddles
I see, says the blind man. Tell us news.
(A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with a
gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony avenue,
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
(Bronze by gold they whisper.)
(to Florry) Whisper. (she whispers again)
(Over the well of the car Blazes Boylan leans, his boater straw set
sideways, a red flower in his mouth. Lenehan in yachtsman's cap
and white shoes officiously detaches a long hair from Blazes
Boylan's coat shoulder.)
(sated, smiles) Plucking a turkey.
A good night's work.
(holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, winks) Blazes
Kate! Up to
sample or your money back. (he holds out a forefinger) Smell that.
ZOE AND FLORRY
(laugh together) Ha ha ha ha.
(jumps surely from the car and calls loudly for all to hear)
Mrs Bloom dressed yet?
(in flunkey's prune plush coat and kneebreeches, buff stockings and
powdered wig) I'm afraid not, sir. The last articles .....
Thank you, sir. Yes, sir. Madam Tweedy is in her bath, sir.
He ought to feel himself highly honoured. (she plops splashing out
water) Raoul darling, come and dry me. I'm in my pelt. Only my new hat
and a carriage sponge.
What? What is it?
(Zoe whispers to her.)
Let him look, the pishogue! Pimp! And scourge himself! I'll write to
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
(clasps himself) Here, I can't hold this little lot much longer.
(he strides off
on stiff cavalry legs)
(laughing) Ho ho ho ho.
(to Bloom, over his shoulder) You can apply your eye to the keyhole
play with yourself while I just go through her a few times.
Thank you, sir. I will, sir. May I bring two men chums to witness the
(from the sofa) Tell us, Florry. Tell us. What ...
(Florry whispers to her. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping
loudly, poppysmic plopslop.)
(her eyes upturned) O, it must be like the scent of geraniums
peaches! O, he simply idolises every bit of her! Stuck together! Covered
(her mouth opening) Yumyum. O, he's carrying her round the room
it! Ride a cockhorse. You could hear them in Paris and New York. Like
mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.
(laughing) Hee hee hee.
(sweetly, hoarsely, in the pit of his stomach) Ah! Godblazegruk-
(hoarsely, sweetly, rising to her throat) O! Weeshwashtkissinapoo-
(his eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself) Show! Hide! Show! Plough
BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY
Ho ho! Ha ha! Hee hee!
(points) The mirror up to nature. (he laughs) Hu hu hu hu hu!
(in dignified ventriloquy) 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant
Bloom) Thou thoughtest as how thou wastest invisible. Gaze. (he crows
with a black capon 's laugh) Iagogo! How my Oldfellow chokit his
Before you're twice married and once a widower.
Lapses are condoned. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were
taken next the skin after his death ...
(Mrs Dignam, widow woman, her snubnose and cheeks flushed
with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her
weeds, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips
and nose, a pen chivvying her brood of cygnets. Beneath her skirt
appear her late husband's everyday trousers and turnedup boots,
large eights. She holds a Scottish Widows' insurance policy and a
large marquee umbrella under which her brood run with her, Patsy
hopping on one shod foot, his collar loose, a hank of porksteaks
dangling, Freddy whimpering, Susy with a crying cod's mouth,
Alice struggling with the baby. She cuffs them on, her streamers
Ah, ma, you're dragging me along!
Mamma, the beeftea is fizzing over!
(with paralytic rage) Weda seca whokilla farst.
(The face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures
Shakespeare's beardless face. The marquee umbrella sways
drunkenly, the children run aside. Under the umbrella appears Mrs
Cunningham in merry widow hat and kimono gown. She glides
sidling and bowing, twirling japanesily.)
And they call me the jewel of Asia!
(gazes on her, 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
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 where
stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a painted
smile on his face.)
(gabbles with marionette jerks) Thousand places of entertainment
expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things
perhaps hers 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
Vive le vampire!
(clapping her belly sinks back on the sofa, with a shout of laughter)
omelette on the.... Ho! ho! ho! ho!... omelette on the....
(mincingly) I love you, sir darling. Speak you englishman tongue
double entente cordiale. O yes, mon loup. How much cost? Waterloo.
Watercloset. (he ceases suddenly and holds up a forefinger)
(laughing) Encore! Encore!
Mark me. I dreamt of a watermelon.
Go abroad and love a foreign lady.
Across the world for a wife.
Dreams goes by contraries.
(extends his arms) It was here. Street of harlots. In Serpentine
Beelzebub showed me her, a fubsy widow. Where's the red carpet spread?
(approaching Stephen) Look ....
No, I flew. My foes beneath me. And ever shall be. World without end.
cries) Pater! Free!
I say, look...
Break my spirit, will he? O merde alors! (he cries, his vulture
sharpened) Hol! Hillyho!
(Simon Dedalus' voice hilloes in answer, somewhat sleepy but
That's all right. (he swoops uncertainly through the air, wheeling,
cries of heartening, on strong ponderous buzzard wings) Ho, boy! Are
you going to win? Hoop! Pschatt! Stable with those halfcastes. Wouldn't let
(The fronds and spaces of the wallpaper file rapidly crosscountry.
A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his
grandmother, runs swift for the open, brighteyed, seeking badger
earth, under the leaves. The pack of staghounds follows, nose to the
ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be
blooded. Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them,
hot for a kill. From Six Mile Point, Flathouse, Nine Mile Stone
follow the footpeople with knotty sticks, hayforks, salmongaffs,
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, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats
(A dark horse, riderless, bolts like a phantom past the winningpost,
his mane moonfoaming, his eyeballs stars. The field follows, a
bunch of bucking mounts. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the
Second, Zinfandel, the duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse,
the duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris. Dwarfs ride them,
rustyarmoured, leaping, leaping in their, in their saddles. Last in a
drizzle of rain on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, Cock of the North,
the favourite, honey cap, green jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy
up, gripping the reins, a hockeystick at the ready. His nag on
spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.)
THE ORANGE LODGES
(jeering) Get down and push, mister. Last lap! You'll be home the night!
(bolt upright, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps,
his hockeystick, his blue eyes flashing in the prism of the chandelier as his
mount lopes by at schooling gallop) Per vias rectas!
(A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and his rearing nag a
torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley,
onions, turnips, potatoes.)
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 AND CISSY CAFFREY
Yet I've a sort of a
Yorkshire relish for...
That's me. (she claps her hands) Dance! Dance! (she runs to
Who has twopence?
(cracking his fingers impatiently) Quick! Quick! Where's my augur's
(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. Gold, pink and violet lights
forth. The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz.
Goodwin, in a bowknotted periwig, in court dress, wearing a
stained Inverness cape, bent in two from incredible age, totters
across the room, his hands fluttering. He sits tinily on the pianostool
and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the keyboard, nodding
with damsel's grace, his bowknot bobbing)
(twirls round herself, heeltapping) Dance. Anybody here for there?
Who'll dance? Clear the table.
(The pianola 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 round the waist. Florry and Bella push the
table towards the fireplace. Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated
grace, begins to waltz her round the room. Bloom stands aside. Her
sleeve filling from gracing arms reveals a white fleshflower of
The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. No connection with Madam
Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Fancy dress balls arranged. Deportment.
The Katty Lanner step. So. Watch me! My terpsichorean abilities. (he
minuets forward three paces on tripping bee's feet) Tout le monde en
avant! Reverence! Tout le monde en place!
(The prelude ceases. Professor Goodwin, beating vague arms
shrivels, sinks, his live cape filling about the stool.
THE PIANOLA Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls,
Sweethearts they'd left behind ......
Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls,
noon follow in amber gold. Laughing, linked, high haircombs
flashing, they catch the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting their arms.)
(The morning and noon hours waltz in their places, turning,
advancing to each other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.
Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, with hands
descending to, touching, rising from their shoulders.)
You may touch my.
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 MAGINNI
advance 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 landbreeze.)
Avant huit! Traversé! Salut! Cours de mains! Croisé!
(The night hours, one by one, 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
(twirling, her hand to her brow) O!
(Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the floor, weaving,
unweaving, curtseying, twirling, simply swirling.)
(She frees herself, droops on a chair. Stephen seizes Florry and
turns with her.)
Boulangre! Les ronds! Les ponts! Chevaux de bois! Escargots!
(Twining, receding, with interchanging hands the night hours link
each each with arching arms in a mosaic of movements.
Dansez avec vos dames! Changez de dames! Donnez le petit bouquet a votre =|MAGa|=
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 Bloombella
Kittylynch Florryzoe jujuby women. Stephen with hat ashplant
frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand
clasp part under thigh. With 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.
Encore! Bis! Bravo! Encore!
Think of your mother's people!
Dance of death.
(Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, horse, nag, steer,
piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in
cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through
and through. Baraabum! On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine
Corny in coffin steel shark stone onehandled Nelson two trickies
Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling Gum 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 switchback 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 he totters. Red rails fly spacewards. Stars all around
suns turn roundabout. Bright midges dance on walls. He stops
(Stephen's mother, emaciated, rises stark through the floor, in leper
grey with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a torn bridal veil,
her face worn and noseless, green with gravemould. 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.)
Liliata rutilantium te confessorum
Iubilantium te virginum
(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.)
She's beastly dead. The pity of it! Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.
upturns his eyes) Mercurial Malachi!
(with the subtle smile of death's madness) I was once the beautiful
Goulding. I am dead.
(horrorstruck) Lemur, who are you? No. What bogeyman's trick is this?
(shakes his curling capbell) The mockery of it! Kinch dogsbody
bitchbody. She kicked the bucket. (tears of molten butter fall from his eyes
on to the scone) Our great sweet mother! Epi oinopa ponton
(choking with fright, remorse and horror) They say I killed you,
He offended your memory. Cancer did it, not I. Destiny.
(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 allpowerful. Prayer for the suffering souls in the Ursuline manual
and forty days' indulgence. Repent, Stephen.
The ghoul! Hyena!
(fanning herself with the gratefan) I'm melting!
(points to Stephen) Look! He's white.
(goes to the window to open it more) Giddy.
(panting) His noncorrosive sublimate! The corpsechewer! Raw head
(her face drawing near and nearer, sending out an ashen breath) Beware!
(she raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards Stephen's
breast with outstretched finger) Beware God's hand!
(A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws
in Stephen's heart.)
(strangled with rage, his features drawn grey and old) Shite!
(at the window) What?
Ah non, par exemple! The intellectual imagination! With me all
or not at
all. Non serviam!
Give him some cold water. Wait. (she rushes out)
No! No! No! Break my spirit, all of you, if you can! I'll bring you
(in the agony of her deathrattle) Have mercy on Stephen, Lord,
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
(rushes forward and seizes Stephen's hand) Here! Hold on! Don't
(Stephen, abandoning his ashplant, his head and arms thrown back
stark, beats the ground and flies from the room, past the whores at
(screams) After him!
(jammed in the doorway, pointing) Down there.
(pointing) There. There's something up.
Who pays for the lamp? (she seizes Bloom's coattail) Here, you
him. The lamp's broken.
(rushes to the hall, rushes back) What lamp, woman?
He tore his coat.
(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
enough off him? Didn't he ....?
(loudly) Here, none of your tall talk. This isn't a brothel.
(His head under the lamp, pulls the chain. Puling, the gasjet lights
crushed mauve purple shade. He raises the ashplant.) Only the chimney's
broken. Here is all he ....
(shrinks back and screams) Jesus! Don't!
(warding off a blow) To show you how he hit the paper. There's
sixpenceworth of damage done. Ten shillings!
(with a glass of water, 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
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
(urgently) And if it were your own son in Oxford? (warningly) I know.
(almost speechless) Who are. Incog!
(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 dismount from 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 ghastly lewd smile. The silent lechers turn to pay the
jarvey. Zoe and Kitty still point right.
Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns,
superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the
Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with
tweezers, Mrs Bob Doran, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Wyse Nolan, John
Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwidebehind-
inClonskeatram, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss
Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran
of Roebuck, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel
Hayes, Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses
Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Galbraith, the
constable off Eccles street corner, old doctor Brady with
stethoscope, the mystery man on the beach, a retriever, Mrs Miriam
Dandrade and all her lovers.)
(helterskelterpelterwelter) He's Bloom! Stop Bloom! Stopabloom!
Stopperrobber! Hi! Hi! Stophim on the corner!
(At the corner of Beaver street beneath the scaffolding Bloom
panting stops on the fringe of the noisy quarrelling knot, a lot not
knowing a jot what hi! hi! row and wrangle round the whowhat
(with elaborate gestures, breathing deeply and slowly) You are
Uninvited. By virtue of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward. History
(to Cissy Caffrey) Was he insulting you?
Addressed her in vocative feminine. Probably neuter. Ungenitive.
No, he didn't. I seen him. The girl there. He was in Mrs Cohen's. What's
up? Soldier and civilian.
I was in company with the soldiers and they left me to do, you know,
(catches sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads) Hail, Sisyphus.
(he points to
himself and the others) Poetic. Uropoetic.
Yes, to go with him. And me with a soldier friend.
(to Cissy) Was he insulting you while me and him was having a piss?
(gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded,
flowingbearded) Theirs not to reason why.
Biff him, Harry.
(to Private Compton) I don't know your name but you are quite
(to the crowd) No, I was with the privates.
(amiably) Why not? The bold soldier boy. In my opinion every
(his cap awry, advances to Stephen) Say, how would it be, governor,
was to bash in your jaw?
(looks up to the sky) How? Very unpleasant. Noble art of selfpretence.
Personally, I detest action. (he waves his hand) Hand hurts me slightly.
Enfin ce sont vos oignons. (to Cissy Caffrey) Some trouble is on here.
What is it precisely?
(from her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving the sign of the
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)
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
trick. Let us sit down somewhere and discuss. Struggle for life is the law of
existence but but human 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 college.
I did. I heard that.
He expresses himself with such 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
(Edward the Seventh appears in an archway. He wars 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 Inn bencher
and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts.
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
Defense d'uriner. A roar of welcome greets him.)
EDWARD THE SEVENTH
(slowly, solemnly but indistinctly) Peace, perfect peace. For
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
(General applause. Edward the Seventh lifts his bucket graciously
(to Stephen) Say it again.
(nervous, friendly, pulls himself up) I understand your point
though I have no king myself for the moment. This is the age of patent
medicines. A discussion is difficult down here. But this is the point. You die
EDWARD THE SEVENTH
(levitates over heaps of slain, in the garb and with the halo of
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 fills back a pace) Come somewhere and
Eh, Harry, give him a kick in the knackers. Stick one into Jerry.
(to the privates, softly) He doesn't know what he's saying. Taken
more than is good for him. Absinthe. Greeneyed monster. I know him.
He's a gentleman, a poet. It's all right.
(nods, smiling and laughing) Gentleman, patriot, scholar and
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.)
H'lo! Bonjour! The vieille ogresse with the dents jaunes.
DON EMILE PATRIZ1O FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY
(in medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant 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
(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 throats
Of the English dogs
That hanged our Irish leaders.
THE CROPPY BOY
(the ropenoose round his neck, gripes in his issuing bowels with
I bear no hate to a living thing,
But I love my country beyond the king.
RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER
(accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone
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 body of Miss
Barron which sent Seddon to the gallows.
THE CROPPY BOY
Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.
(He gives up the ghost. A violent erection of the hanged sends gouts
of sperm spouting through his deathclothes on to the cobblestones.
Mrs Bellingham, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the Honourable Mrs
Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their handkerchiefs to sop it
I'm near it myself. (he undoes the noose) Rope which hanged the
rebel. Ten shillings a time. As applied to Her 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 bucket, and sings with soft
Here. What are you saying about my king?
(throws up his hands) O, this is too monotonous! Nothing. He
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
(tries to move off) Will someone tell me where I am least likely
these necessary evils? Ca se voit aussi a Paris. Not that I ... But, by saint
(The women's heads coalesce. Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf
hat appears seated on a toadstool, the deathflower of the potato
blight on her breast.)
OLD GUMMY GRANNY
(rocking to and fro) Ireland's sweetheart, the king of Spain's
alanna. Strangers in 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?
How do I stand you? The hat trick! Where's the third person of the Blessed
Trinity? Soggarth Aroon? The reverend Carrion Crow.
(shrill) Stop them from fighting!
Our men retreated.
(tugging at his belt) I'll wring the neck of any fucker says
a word against
my fucking king.
(terrified) He said nothing. Not a word. A pure misunderstanding.
Did I? When?
(to the redcoats) We fought for you in South Africa, Irish missile
Isn't that history? Royal Dublin Fusiliers. Honoured by our monarch.
(staggering past) O, yes! O God, yes! O, make the kwawr a krowawr!
bearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with epaulettes,
gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his breast bright with medals, toes
the line. He gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the knights
(growls gruffly) Rorke's Drift! Up, guards, and at them! Mahar
Erin go bragh!
I'll do him in.
(moves the crowd back) Fair play, here. Make a bleeding butcher's
(Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the king.)
The brave and the fair.
BIDDY THE CLAP
Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the best.
(blushing deeply) Nay, madam. The gules doublet and merry saint
(loosening his belt, shouts) I'll wring the neck of any fucking
a word against my bleeding fucking king.
(shakes Cissy Caffrey's shoulders) Speak, you! Are you struck
are the link between nations and generations. Speak, woman, sacred
(alarmed, seizes Private Carr's sleeve) Amn't I with you? Amn't
(ecstatically, to Cissy Caffrey)
White thy fambles, red thy gan
And thy quarrons dainty is.
Dublin's burning! Dublin's burning! On fire, on fire!
(Brimstone fires spring up. Dense clouds roll past. Heavy Gatling
guns boom. Pandemonium. Troops deploy. Gallop of hoofs.
Artillery. Hoarse commands. Bells clang Backers shout. Drunkards
bawl. 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, vultures, goshawks,
climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea 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 noiseless yawn. Tom
Rochford, winner, 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
witches in red cutty sarks ride through the air on broomsticks.
Quakerlyster plasters blisters. It rains dragons' 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 Tone
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 O'Donoghue. On an eminence, the centre of the earth, rises the
feldaltar of Saint Barbara. Black candles rise from its gospel and
epistle horns. From the high barbacans 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 lace 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 mortarboard, 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.
(takes from the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host) Corpus
THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE
(raises high behind the celebrant's petticoat, revealing his grey
buttocks between which a carrot is stuck) My body.
THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED
Htengier Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella!
(From on high the voice of Adonai calls.)
THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED
Alleluia, for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!
(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
(The retriever, nosing on the fringe of the crowd, barks noisily.)
(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.
Stick, no. Reason. This feast of pure reason.
OLD GUMMY GRANNY
(thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's hand) Remove him, acushla.
8.35 a.m. you will be in heaven and Ireland will be free. (she prays) O
good God, take him!
(over Stephen's shoulder) Yes, go. You see he's incapable.
(breaks loose) I'll insult him.
(He rushes towards Stephen, fist 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
(loudly) Carbine in bucket! Cease fire! Salute!
(barking furiously) Ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute.
Let him up! Don't strike him when he's down! Air! Who? The soldier hit
him. He's a professor. Is he hurted? Don't manhandle him! He's fainted!
What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman and he under the
influence. Let them go and fight the Boers!
Listen to who's talking! Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl?
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!
(tugging his comrade) Here. Bugger off, Harry. Here's the cops!
What's wrong here?
We were with this lady. And he insulted us. And assaulted my chum. (the
retriever barks) Who owns the bleeding tyke?
(with expectation) Is he bleeding!
(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,
his regimental number.
(pulling his comrade) Here, bugger off Harry. Or Bennett'll shove
(staggering as he is pulled away) God fuck old Bennett. He's
bugger. I don't give a shit for him.
(takes out his notebook) What's his name?
Name and address.
(Corny Kelleker, 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.
(to the watch, with drawling eye) That's all right. I know him.
Won a bit
on the races. Gold cup. Throwaway. (he laughs) Twenty to one. Do you
(turns to the crowd) Here, what are you all gaping at? Move on
(The crowd disperses slowly, muttering, down the lane.)
(laughs) I suppose so.
(nudges the second watch) Come and wipe your name off the slate.
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
gentlemen. Thank you. (he mumbles confidentially) We don't want any
scandal, you understand. Father is a wellknown highly respected citizen.
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.
Good night, men.
(saluting together) Night, gentlemen.
(They move off with slow heavy tread)
(blows) Providential you came on the scene. You have a car...?
(laughs, pointing his thumb over his right shoulder to the car brought
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. And 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 house, what, eh, do
(tries to laugh) He, he, he! Yes. Matter of fact I was just visiting
friend of mine there, Virag, you don't know him (poor fellow, 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.)
No, in Sandycove, I believe, from what he let drop.
(Stephen, prone, breathes to the stars. Corny Kelleher, asquint,
drawls at the horse. Bloom, in gloom, looms town.)
(scratches his nape) Sandycove! (he bends down and calls to
No, no, no. I have his money and his hat here and stick.
Ah, well, he'll get over it. No bones broken. Well, I'll shove along.
laughs) I've a rendezvous in the morning. Burying the dead. Safe home!
(Corny Kelleher returns to the outside car and mounts it. The
(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 hat, festooned with shavings, and ashplant,
stands irresolute. Then he bends to him and shakes him by the
Eh! Ho! (There is no answer. He bends again.) Mr Dedalus! (there
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!
(frowns) Who? Black panther. Vampire. (he sighs and stretches
then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels)
Who... drive... Fergus now
And pierce ... wood's woven shade ..?
(He turns on his left side, sighing, doubling himself together.)
Poetry. Well educated. Pity.(he bends again and undoes the buttons of
.... shadows ... the woods
... white breast... dim sea.
(He stretches out his arms, sighs again and curls his body. Bloom,
holding the hat and ashplant, 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.
shady wood. The deep white breast. Ferguson, I think I caught. A girl.
Some girl. Best thing could happen him. (he murmurs) ..swear that
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
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
(wonderstruck, calls inaudibly) Rudy!
(gazes, unseeing, into Bloom's eyes and goes on reading, kissing,
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 lambkin peeps out of his waistcoat pocket.)