his  nailscraped  face  plastered with
postage  stamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his blue  eyes flashing  in the
prism of the  chandelier as his mount lopes by at  a  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</i>.)
     THE GREEN LODGES Soft day, sir John! Soft day, your honour!
     (<i>Private  Carr,  Private Compton  and  Cissy Caffrey  pass  beneath the
windows, singing in discord</i>.)
     STEPHEN Hark! Our friend, noise in the street!
     ZOE (<i>Holds up her hand</i>.) Stop!
     PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON and CISSY CAFFREY
     Yet I've a sort a
     Yorkshire relish for...
     ZOE  That's me. (<i>She claps her hands</i>.) Dance! Dance!  (<i>She runs  to the
pianola</i>.) Who has twopence?
     BLOOM Who'll.
     LYNCH (<i>Handing her coins</i>.) Here.
     STEPHEN  (<i>Cracking his fingers impatiently</i>.) Quick!  Quick! Where's  my
augur's rod? (<i>He runs to the piano and takes  his ashplant, beating his foot
in tripudium</i>.)
     ZOE (<i>Turns the drumhandle</i>.) There.
     (<i>She drops two pennies in the slot.  Glow  pink and violet lights start
forth. The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz. Professor 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 piano stool and lifts and beats handless  sticks of
arms on the keyboard, nodding with damsels grace, his bowknot bobbing</i>.)
     ZOE (<i>Twirls around herself heeltapping</i>.) Dance. Anybody here for there?
Who'll dance?
     (<i>The  pianola, with changing lights, plays in waltz time the prelude to</i>
My  Girl's a Yorkshire Girl.  <i>Stephen  throws his ashplant  on the table and
seizes  Zoe  around the waist. Florry and Bella push the table  towards  the
fireplace. Stephen, aiming Zoe  with exaggerated grace,  begins to waltz her
around the  room. Her sleeve,  falling  from gracing arms,  reveals  a white
fleshflower  of  vaccination.  Bloom  stands  aside.  Between  the curtains,
Professor Maginni inserts a leg  on the toepoint of  which spins a silk hat.
With a deft kick, he sends it spinning  to his crown and jauntyhatted skates
in. He  wears  a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels,  a  go-et of cream
tulle,  a  green lowcut  waistcoat, stock collar  with  white kerchief tight
lavender trousers,  patent  pumps and  canary gloves. In his buttonhole is a
dahlia. He  twirls  in  reversed directions a clouded cane,  then wedges  it
tight  in  his oxter. He  places a hand limply on his  breastbone, bows  and
fondles his flower and buttons</i>.)
     MAGINNI The poetry of motion,  art of callisthenics. No connection with
Madam  Legget  Byrne's  or   Levinstone's.  Fancy   dress  balls   arranged.
Deportment.   The  Katty  Lanner  steps.  So.  Watch  me!  My  terpsichorean
abilities.  (<i>He minuets forward three paces on tripping bee's feet.) Tout le
monde an avant! Rèvèrence! Tout le monde en place!
     (The prelude  ceases. Professor Goodwin,  beating  vague arms,shrivels,
shrinks,  his  live cape falling about  the stool.  The air, in firmer waltz
time, pounds. Stephen and Zoe circle freely.  The lights change, glow, fade,
gold, rose, violet</i>.)
     THE PIANOLA  Two  young  fellows were talking about their girls, girls,
girls, Sweethearts they'd left behind.
     (<i>From a corner the  morning hours run out, goldhaired, slim, in girlish
blue, waspwaisted,  with innocent hands. Nimbly they  dance,  twirling their
skipping  ropes. The hours of noon  follow in amber  gold. Laughing  linked,
high  haircombs  flashing,  they catch the sun  in  mocking mirrors, lifting
their arms</i>.)
     MAGINNI  (<i>Clipclaps  glovesilent  hands.)  Carrè!  Avant  deux!</i> Breathe
evenly! <i>Balance!
     (The  morning and noon hours waltz in their places, turning,  advancing
to each other, shaping their curves, bowing vis a vis. Cawaliers behind them
arch and suspend their arms, with hands descending to, touching, rising from
their shoulders</i>.)
     HOURS You may touch my.
     CAVALIERS May I touch your?
     HOURS O, but lightly!
     CAVALIERS O, so lightly!
     THE PIANOLA My little shy little lass has a waist.
     (<i>Zoe  and  Stephen turn  boldly with looser swing.  The twilight  hours
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 land breeze</i>.)
     MAGINNI <i>Avant! huit! Traversè! Salut! Cours de mains! Croisè!
     (The eight hours steal  to  the last place. Morning, noon and  twilight
hours retreat before them. They are masked, with daggered hair and bracelets
of dull bells. Weary, they curchycurchy under veils</i>.)
     THE BRACELETS Heigho! Heigho!
     ZOE (<i>Twisting, her hand to her brow.)</i> O!
     MAGINNI <i>Los tiroirs! Chaíne de dames! La corbeille! Dos þ dos!
     (Arabesquing  wearily, they  weave  a pattern  on  the floor,  weaving,
unweaving, curtseying, twisting, simply swirling</i>.)
     ZOE I'm giddy.
     (<i>She frees herself droops  on  a chair, Stephen seizes Florry and turns
with her</i>.)
     MAGINNI <i>Boulangõre! Los ronds! Los ponts! Chevaux de bois! Escargots!
     (Twining,  receding, with interchanging hands,  the  night hours  link,
each with  arching arms, in a  mosaic of movements. Stephen and  Florry turn
cumbrously</i>.)
     MAGINNI  <i>Dansez  avec  vos  dames!  Changes de dames!  Donnes le  petit
bouquet a votre dame! Remerciez!</i>
     THE PIANOLA
     Best, best of all,
     Baraabum!
     KITTY  (<i>Jumps  up</i>.) O, they played that on the hobbyhorses at the Mirus
bazaar!
     (<i>She  runs  to Stephen. He leaves Florry brusquely and  seizes Kitty. A
screaming bit tern's harsh high whistle shrieks.  Groangrousegurgling Toft's
cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room right roundabout the room</i>.)
     THE PIANOLA My girl's a Yorkshire girl.
     ZOE Yorkshire through and through. Come on all!
     (<i>She seizes Florry and waltzes her</i>.)
     STEPHEN <i>Pas seul!
     (He  wheels Kitty into Lynch's arm's, 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 horn blower blue green yellow flashes.
Toft's  cumbersome  turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled,
bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again</i>.)
     THE PIANOLA
     Though she's a factory lass
     And wears no fancy clothes.
     (<i>Closeclutched  swift  swifter   with  glareblareflare  scudding   they
scotlootshoot lumbering by. Baraabum!</i>)
     TUTTI Encore! Bis! Bravo! Encore!
     SIMON Think of your mother's people!
     STEPHEN Dance of death.
     (<i>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  one
handled Nelson,  two  trickies  Frauenzimmer plumstained from  pram  falling
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 wiswitchback lumbering up and down bump mash tub
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 wall. He stops dead</i>.)
     STEPHEN Ho!
     (<i>Stephen's  mother, emaciated,  rises stark through the floor in  leper
grey with a wreath of faded orange blossoms and a torn bridal veil, her face
worn and  noseless,  green with grave mould. 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</i>.)
     THE CHOIR
     Liliata rutilantium te confessorum...
     Iubilantium te virginum...
     (<i>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</i>.)
     BUCK MULLIGAN She's  beastly  dead. The pity of it!  Mulligan meets the
afflicted mother. (<i>He upturns his eyes</i>.) Mercurial Malachi.
     THE MOTHER  (<i>With the subtle smile of death's madness</i>.) I was  once the
beautiful May Goulding. I am dead.
     STEPHEN (<i>Horrorstruck</i>.) Lemur, who are you?  What bogey man's trick  is
this?
     BUCK  MULLIGAN (<i>Shakes his  curling capbell</i>.) The mockery  of it! Kinch
killed  her  dogsbody  bitchbody.  She kicked  the bucket. (<i>Tears of  molten
butter  fall  from his eyes into  the scone</i>.) Our  great  sweet mother!  <i>Epi
oinopa ponton</i>.
     THE MOTHER  (<i>Comes  nearer,  breathing  upon him softly  her  breath of
wetted ashes</i>.) All must go through  it,  Stephen. More women than men in the
world. You too. Time will come.
     STEPHEN (<i>Choking with fright, remorse  and horror</i>.) They  said I killed
you, mother. He offended your memory. Cancer did it, not I. Destiny.
     THE MOTHER  (<i>A  green rill of bile trickling from a side of her mouth</i>.)
You sang that song to me. <i>Love's bitter mystery</i>.
     STEPHEN (<i>Eagerly</i>.) Tell me the word, mother, if  you know now. The word
known to all men.
     THE MOTHER Who saved you the night  you jumped into the train at Dalkey
with Paddy Lee? Who had pity  for you when you were sad among the strangers?
Prayer is  all powerful. Prayer  for the  suffering  souls in  the  Ursuline
manual, and forty days' indulgence. Repent, Stephen.
     STEPHEN The ghoul! Hyena!
     THE MOTHER I pray for you in my other world. Get Dilly to make you that
boiled rice every night after your brain work. Years and years I loved  you,
O my son, my firstborn, when you lay in my womb.
     ZOE (<i>Fanning herself with the grate fan</i>.) I'm melting!
     FLORRY (<i>Points to Stephen</i>) Look! He's white.
     BLOOM (<i>Goes to the window to open it more</i>.) Giddy.
     THE MOTHER (<i>With smouldering eyes</i>.) Repent! O, the fire of hell!
     STEPHEN (<i>Panting</i>.) The corpsechewer! Raw head and bloody bones!
     THE  MOTHER  (<i>Her  face drawing near  and nearer, sending out an  ashen
breath</i>.) Beware!  (<i>She  raises  her  blackened,  withered  right  arm slowly
towards Stephen's breast with outstretched  fingers</i>.) Beware! God's hand! (<i>A
green crab  with  malignant red  eyes  sticks  deep  its  grinning  claws in
Stephen's heart</i>.)
     STEPHEN (<i>Strangled with rage</i>.) Shite! (<i>His features grow drawn and grey
and old</i>.)
     BLOOM (<i>At the window</i>.) What?
     STEPHEN <i>Ah non, par exemple!</i>  The intellectual imagination! With me all
or not at all. <i>Non serviam!</i>
     FLORRY Give him some cold water. Wait. (<i>She rushes out</i>.)
     THE MOTHER  (<i>Wrings  her hands  slowly, moaning  desperately</i>.) O Sacred
Heart  of  Jesus, have  mercy on him! Save  him  from  hell, O divine Sacred
Heart!
     STEPHEN No! No! No! Break  my  spirit all of you if you can! I'll bring
you all to heel!
     THE MOTHER  (<i>In  the agony of her deathrattle</i>.) Have mercy on  Stephen,
Lord,  for my sake! Inexpressible  was  my anguish  when expiring with love,
grief and agony on Mount Calvary.
     STEPHEN <i>Nothung!
     (He hits his ashplant high with both hands and smashes the  chandelier.
Time's livid final flame leaps and, in  the following darkness,  ruin of all
space, shattered glass and toppling masonry</i>.)
     THE GASJET Pwfungg!
     BLOOM Stop!
     LYNCH (<i>Rushes forward and  seizes Stephen's hand</i>.) Here! Hold on! Don't
run amok!
     BELLA Police!
     (<i>Stephen, abandoning his ashplant, his head and arms thrown back stark,
beats the ground and flees from the room past the whores at the door</i>.)
     BELLA (<i>Screams</i>.) After him!
     (<i>The two whores rush to the halldoors. Lynch and Kitty and Zoe stampede
from the room. They talk excitedly. Bloom follows, returns</i>.)
     THE WHORES (<i>Jammed in the doorway, pointing</i>.) Down there.
     ZOE (<i>Pointing</i>.) There. There's something up.
     BELLA Who pays  for the lamp? (<i>She seizes Bloom's coattail</i>.) There. You
were with him. The lamp's broken.
     BLOOM (<i>Rushes to the hall, rushes back</i>.) What lamp, woman?
     A WHORE He tore his coat.
     BELLA (<i>Her eyes hard with anger and cupidity, points</i>.) Who's to pay for
that? Ten Shillings. You're a witness.
     BLOOM (<i>Snatches up Stephen's ashplant</i>.) Me? Ten  shillings? Haven't you
lifted enough off him? Didn't he...
     BELLA (<i>Loudly</i>.) Here, none of your tall  talk. This isn't  a brothel. A
ten shilling house.
     BLOOM (<i>His hand under the  lamp, pulls the chain. Pulling,  the  gasjet
lights up a crushed  mauve purple shade. He raises the  ashplant</i>.) Only  the
chimney's broken. Here is all he...
     BELLA (<i>Shrinks back and screams</i>.) Jesus! Don't!
     BLOOM (<i>Warding off a blow</i>.) To show you  how he hit the paper.  There's
not a sixpenceworth of damage done. Ten shillings!
     FLORRY (<i>With a glass of water enters</i>.) Where is he?
     BELLA Do you want me to call the police?
     BLOOM  O, I know. Bulldog on the premises. But he's  a Trinity student.
Patrons  of your  establishment. Gentlemen  that pay the rent.  (<i>He makes  a
masonic sign</i>.)  Know what I mean? Nephew of the  vice-chancellor.  You don't
want a scandal.
     BELLA (<i>Angrily</i>.) Trinity! Coming down here ragging after the boat races
and paying nothing. Are you my commander here? Where is he? I'll charge him.
Disgrace him, I will. (<i>She shouts</i>.) Zoe! Zoe!
     BLOOM (<i>Urgently</i>.) And if it were your own son in Oxford! (<i>Warningly</i>.) I
know.
     BELLA (<i>Almost speechless</i>.) Who are you incog?
     ZOE (<i>In the doorway</i>.) There's a row on.
     BLOOM  What?  Where?  (He throws <i>a shilling on the  table  and shouts</i>.)
That's for the chimney. Where? I need mountain air. (<i>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 uses on  her
whores. They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses. Corny Kelleher replies with
a  ghostly  lewd smile. The silent  lechers turn  to pay the jarvey. Zoe and
Kitty  still point right. Bloom,  parting  them  swiftly, draws his caliph's
hood  and poncho and hurries down the steps with sideways face. Incog Haroun
al  Baschid, he  flits behind  the  silent lechers  and  hastens  on  by the
railings  with  fleet  step  of a pard strewing  the drag behind  him,  torn
envelopes  drenched in  aniseed. The ashplant  marks his  stride. A  pack of
bloodhounds, led  by Hornblower  of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho
cap  and an old  pair of  grey trousers,  follows from far,  picking  up the
scent,  nearer,  baying, panting,  at fault,  breaking away,  throwing their
tongues, biting his  heels, leaping at his tail.  He  walks,  runs, zigzags,
gallops,  lugs  laid  back.   He  is   pelted  with  gravel,  cabbagestumps,
biscuitboxes,  eggs, potatoes, dead codfish, womans  slipperslappers.  After
him, freshfound, the hue  and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my
leader:  65 C 66 C night watch, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon,
Councillor  Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'Rourke, Joe Cuffe, Mrs O'Dowd
Pisser  Burke,  The  Nameless  One,  Mrs Riordan,  The  Citizen,  Garryowen,
Whatdoyoucallhim,  Strangeface,  Fellowthatslike,   Sawhimbefore,  Chapwith,
Chris  Callinan,  sir  Charles Cameron, Benjamin  Dollard,  Lenehan, Bartell
d'Arcy, Joe Hynes,  red  Murray,  editor  Brayden,  T.M. Healy,  Mr  Justice
Fitzgibbon, John Howard Parnell, the reverend Tinned Salmon, Professor Joly,
Mrs Breen,  Denis  Breen, Theodore Purefoy,  Mina Purefoy, the  Westland Row
postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, man in the street,
other man  in  the  street, Footballboots, pugnosed driver  rich  protestant
lady, Davy  Byrne,  Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Joe Gallaher  George  Lidwell,
Jimmy Henry on corns,  Superintendent Laracy, Father  Cowley, Crofton out of
the Collector Generals, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with  tweezers, Mrs
Bob   Doran,   Mrs   Kennefick,   Mrs   Wyse   Nolan,   John   Wyse   Nolan,
handsomemamedwomanrubbed againstwidebehindinClonskeatram, the bookseller  of
Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad,  Mesdames  Gerald  and Stanislaus
Moran of Roebuck, the managing  clerk of Drimmies 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</i>.
     THE  HUE AND  CRY  (<i>Helterskelterelterwelter</i>) He's  Bloom!  Stop Bloom!
Stopabloom! Stopperrobber! Hi! Hi! Stop him on the corner!
     (<i>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 brawlaltogether</i>.)
     STEPHEN (<i>With elaborate gestures, breathing deeply and slowly</i>.) You are
my  guests. The uninvited. By  virtue of the fifth  of George and seventh of
Edward. History to blame. Fabled by mothers of memory.
     PRIVATE CARR (<i>To Cissy Caffrey</i>.) Was he insulting you?
     STEPHEN   Addressed  her   in  vocative   feminine.   Probably  neuter.
Ungenitive.
     VOICES No, he didn't. The girl's telling lies.  He  was in Mrs Cohen's.
What's up? Soldiers and civilians.
     CISSY CAFFREY I was in company with the soldiers and they left me to do
- you know and the young man ran up behind me.  But  I'm faithful to the man
that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.
     STEPHEN (<i>Catches sight  of Kitty's and Lynch's  heads</i>.) Hail, Sisyphus.
(<i>He points to himself and the others</i>.) Poetic. Neopoetic.
     VOICES She's faithfultheman.
     CISSY CAFFREY Yes, to go with him. And me with a soldier friend.
     PRIVATE COMPTON  He  doesn't half want a thick ear, the blighter.  Biff
him one, Harry.
     PRIVATE CARR (<i>To  Cissy</i>.) Was  he  insulting you  while me and  him was
having a piss?
     LORD TENNYSON (<i>In Union Jack blazer  and  cricket flannels, bareheaded,
flowingbearded</i>.) Their's not to reason why.
     PRIVATE COMPTON Biff him, Harry.
     STEPHEN (<i>To Private Compton</i>. ) I don't know your name but you are quite
right. Doctor  Swift  says one  man  in armour  will  beat ten men  in their
shirts. Shirt is synechdoche. Part for the whole.
     CISSY CAFFREY (<i>To the crowd</i>.) No, I was with the private.
     STEPHEN (<i>Amiably</i>.) Why not? The bold soldier  boy. In my  opinion every
lady for example...
     PRIVATE CARR  (<i>His cap  awry, advancing to  Stephen</i>.) Say, how would it
be, governor, if I was to bash in your jaw?
     STEPHEN  (<i>Looks  up  in the sky</i>.)  How? Very unpleasant.  Noble  art of
self-pretence.  Personally, I detest action. (<i>He waves his hand</i>)  Hand hurts
me slightly. <i>Enfin, ce sont vos oignons</i>.
     (<i>To Cissy Caffrey</i>.) Some trouble is on here. What is it, precisely?
     DOLLY  GRAY (<i>From her balcony waves her handkerchief giving the sign of
the heroine  of Jericho</i>.) Rahab.  Cook's son, goodbye.  Safe home  to Dolly.
Dream of the girl you left behind and she will dream of you.
     (<i>The soldiers turn their swimming eyes</i>.)
     BLOOM (<i>Elbowing through the crowd plucks  Stephen's sleeve vigorously</i>.)
Come now, professor, that carman is waiting.
     STEPHEN (<i>Turns</i>.)  Eh? (<i>He disengages himself</i>) Why should I not speak to
him or to  any  human being who walks upright  upon this oblate  orange? (<i>He
points  his finger</i>.) I'm not afraid of what  I can talk to if I see his eye.
Retaining the perpendicular.
     (<i>He staggers a pace back</i>.)
     BLOOM (<i>Propping him</i>.) Retain your own.
     STEPHEN  (<i>Laughs  emptily</i>.) My centre of  gravity is displaced. I  have
forgotten the trick. Let  us sit down somewhere  and  discuss.  Struggle for
life is the law of existence  but modern philirenists, notably the  tsar and
the king of England, have invented  arbitration.  (<i>He taps his brow</i>.) 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.
     CUNTY KATE I did. I heard that.
     BIDDY THE CLAP He expresses himself  with  much  marked  refinement  of
phraseology.
     CUNTY KATE Indeed,  yes.  And at  the  same  time  with  such  apposite
trenchancy.
     PRIVATE CARR (<i>Pulls himself free and comes forward</i>.) What's that you're
saying about my king?
     (<i>Edward the Seventh  appears in an archway. He  wears a white jersey on
which an  image of the Sacred Heart is stitched, with the insignia of Garter
and  Thistle, Golden  Fleece, Elephant of Denmark,  Skinners'  and  Probyns'
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 plasterers bucket  on which is printed:</i> Dèfense d'uriner.  <i>A
roar of welcome greets him</i>.)
     EDWARD THE SEVENTH (<i>Slowly, solemnly but  indistinctly</i>.) Peace, perfect
peace. For identification bucket in my hand. Cheerio, boys. (<i>He turns to his
subjects</i>.) We  have  come here  to witness a  clean  straight  fight and  we
heartily wish both men the best of good luck. Mahak makar a back.
     (<i>He shakes hands with Private Carr, Private Compton, Stephen, Bloom and
Lynch. General applause. Edward  the Seventh lifts the bucket graciously  in
acknowledgement</i>.)
     PRIVATE CARR (<i>To Stephen</i>.) Say it again.
     STEPHEN (<i>Nervous, friendly, pulls  himself up</i>.) I understand your point
of  view, though I have no king myself for  the moment. This  is  the age of
patent medicine. A discussion is difficult down here. But this is the point.
You  die  for your  country, suppose. (<i>He places  his arm  on Private Carr's
sleeve</i>.)  Not that I wish it for you.  But I say: Let my country die for me.
Up  to the present it has done so. I don't  want it to die. Damn death. Long
live life!
     EDWARD THE SEVENTH  (<i>Levitates over heaps of slain in the garb and with
the halo of Joking Jesus, a white jujube in his phosphorescent face</i>.)
     My methods are new and are causing surprise.
     To make the blind see I throw dust in their eyes.
     STEPHEN Kings  and unicorns! (<i>He falls back a pace</i>.) Come somewhere and
we'll... What was that girl saying?...
     PRIVATE COMPTON Eh, Harry, give  him a kick in the  knackers. Stick one
into Jerry.
     BLOOM  (<i>To  the privates, softly</i>.)  He doesn't know what  he's  saying.
Taking a little more  than is good for him. Absinthe, the greeneyed monster.
I know him. He's a gentleman, a poet. It's all right.
     STEPHEN (<i>Nods, smiling and laughing</i>.)  Gentleman, patriot, scholar  and
judge of impostors.
     PRIVATE CARR I don't give a bugger who he is. PRIVATE  COMPTON We don't
give a bugger who he is.
     STEPHEN I seem to annoy them. Green rag to a bull.
     (<i>Kevin Egan of  Paris  in black Spanish tasselled shirt and peep-o'-day
boys hat signs to Stephen</i>.)
     KEVIN EGAN H'lo. <i>Bonjour!</i> The <i>vieille ogresse</i> with the <i>dents jaunes.
     (Patrice  Egan peeps from  behind, his  rabbit face nibbling  a  quince
leaf</i>.)
     PATRICE <i>Socialiste!</i>
     DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY (<i>In medieval hauberk, two
wild geese  volant on his helm, with  noble indignation points a mailed hand
against  the privates</i>.) Were those  eykes to footboden, big grand  porcos of
johnyellows todos covered of gravy!
     BLOOM (<i>To Stephen</i>.) Come home. You'll get into trouble.
     STEPHEN (<i>Swaying</i>.) I don't avoid it. He provokes my intelligence.
     BIDDY THE  CLAP  One  immediately  observes  that  he  is of  patrician
lineage.
     THE VIRAGO Green above the red, says he. Wolfe Tone.
     THE BAWD The red's  as good as the green, and better. Up the  soldiers!
Up King Edward!
     A ROUGH (<i>Laughs</i>.) Ay! Hands up to De Wet.
     THE CITIZEN (<i>With a huge emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls</i>.)
     May the God above
     Send down a cove
     With teeth as sharp as razors
     To slit the throat
     Of the English dogs
     That hanged our Irish leaders.
     THE CROPPY BOY (<i>The rope noose round  his neck,  gripes in his  issuing
bowels with both hands</i>.)
     I bear no hate to a living thing,
     But love my country beyond the king.
     RUMBOLD,  DEMON  BARBER  (<i>Accompanied  by  two blackmasked  assistants,
advances with  a  gladstone  bag which he opens</i>.) 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 the body  of  Miss Barrow which  sent  Seddon to the
gallows.
     (<i>He jerks the  rope, the assistants leap at the  victims  legs and drag
him downward, grunting: the croppy boys tongue protrudes violently</i>.)
     THE CROPPY BOY <i>Horhot ho hray ho rhother's hest.
     (He gives up the ghost. A violent erection of the hanged sends gouts of
sperm spouting  through his  death  clothes  on  to  the  cobblestones.  Mrs
Bellingham,  Mrs Yelverton Barry and  the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush
forward with their handkerchiefs to sop it up</i>.)
     RUMBOLD I'm near it myself.  (<i>He undoes  the noose</i>.)  Rope which hanged
the awful rebel. Ten shillings a time as applied  to His Royal Highness. (<i>He
plunges his head into the gaping belly of the  hanged and draws out his head
again clotted with  coiled  and smoking entrails</i>.) My painful  duty  has now
been done. God save the king!
     EDWARD THE  SEVENTH (<i>Dances slowly, solemnly,  rattling his  bucket and
sings with soft contentment</i>.)
     On coronation day, on coronation day,
     O, Won't We have a merry time,
     Drinking whisky, beer and wine!
     PRIVATE CARR Here. What are you saying about my king?
     STEPHEN (<i>Throws  up his hands</i>.) O, this is too monotonous! Nothing.  He
wants my money and my life, though want must be his master, for some brutish
empire of his. Money I haven't. (<i>He  searches his pockets vaguely</i>.)  Gave it
to someone.
     PRIVATE CARR Who wants your bleeding money?
     STEPHEN (<i>Tries  to  move off</i>.) Will  some  one tell me where I am least
likely to meet these  necessary evils?  <i>ãa se voit  aussi þ  Paris</i>. Not that
I... But by Saint Patrick!...
     (<i>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</i>.)
     STEPHEN Aha!  I  know  you, grammer! Hamlet, revenge! The old  sow that
eats her farrow!
     OLD GUMMY GRANNY  (<i>Rocking to and fro</i>.) Ireland's sweetheart,  the king
of Spain's daughter,  alanna. Strangers  in my house, bad manners  to  them!
(<i>She keens with banshee woe</i>.) Ochone! Ochone! Silk of the kine! (<i>She wails</i>.)
You met with poor old Ireland and how does she stand?
     STEPHEN How do I stand you? The hat trick!  Where's the third person of
the Blessed Trinity? Soggarth Aroon? The reverend Carrion Crow.
     CISSY CAFFREY (<i>Shrill</i>.) Stop them from fighting!
     A ROUGH Our men retreated.
     PRIVATE  CARR (<i>Tugging at  his belt</i>.) I'll wring the neck of any bugger
says a word against my fucking king.
     BLOOM  (<i>Terrified</i>.)   He   said   nothing.   Not   a   word.   A   pure
misunderstanding.
     THE CITIZEN <i>Erin go bragh!</i> _
     (<i>Major  Tweedy  and   the   Citizen  exhibit  to   each  other  medals,
decorations, trophies of war wounds. Both salute with fierce hostility</i>.)
     PRIVATE COMPTON Go it, Harry. Do him one in the eye. He's a proboer.
     STEPHEN Did I? When?
     BLOOM (<i>To  the  redcoats</i>.)  We fought for  you  in South  Africa, Irish
missile troops. Isn't that history?  Royal Dublin Fusiliers. Honoured by our
monarch.
     THE  NAVVY (<i>Staggering past</i>.) O, yes. O, God, yes! O, make the kwawr  a
krowawr! O! Bo!
     (<i>Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spear
points. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko  the terrible,  in  bearskin cap
with hackle  plume  and  accoutrements, with  epaulette,  gilt chevrons  and
sabretache,  his  breast bright  with  medals, toes the  line.  He gives the
pilgrim warrior's sign of the knights templars</i>.)
     MAJOR TWEEDY (<i>Growls  gruffly</i>.) Rorke's Drift! Up, guards, and at them!
Mahal shalal hashbaz.
     PRIVATE CARR I'll do him in.
     PRIVATE  COMPTON  (<i>Waves  the crowd  back</i>.)  Fair play,  here.  Make  a
bleeding butcher's shop of the bugger.
     (<i>Massed bands blare</i> Garryowen <i>and</i> God save the king.)
     CISSY CAFFREY They're going to fight. For me!
     CUNTY KATE The brave and the fair.
     BIDDY THE CLAP Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the best.
     CUNTY  KATE (<i>Blushing deeply</i>.) Nay,  Madam. The gules doublet and merry
Saint George for me!
     STEPHEN  The  harlot's  cry  from  street  to street  Shall  weave  old
Ireland's windingsheet.
     PRIVATE CARR (<i>Loosening his belt, shouts</i>.) I'll  wring the neck of  any
fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king.
     BLOOM  (<i>Shakes  Cissy Caffrey's shoulders</i>.) Speak, you! Are  you struck
dumb? You are the link between nations and generations. Speak, woman, sacred
lifegiver.
     CISSY CAFFREY (<i>Alarmed seizes Private Carr's sleeve.) Amn't I with you?
Amn't I your girl? Cissy's your girl. (She cries</i>.) Police!
     STEPHEN (<i>Ecstatically, to Cissy Caffrey</i>.)
     White thy fambles, red thy gan
     And thy quarrons dainty is.
     VOICES Police!
     DISTANT VOICES Dublin's burning! Dublin's burning! On fire, on fire!
     (<i>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
marsh lands, swooping from  eyries,  hover  screaming, gannets,  connorants,
vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlin, 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 goat-fell  cloaks  arise and appear to
many. A  chasm opens with a noiseless yawn. Tom Rochford, winner in athletes
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  dragon's  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   liar  O'Johnny,  lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  against   lord   Gerald
Fitzedward,  The  O'Donoghue of the Glens against The Glens of The Donoghue.
On an eminence,  the  centre of the earth,  rises  the  field altar of Saint
Barbara. Black candles rise  from  its  gospel and epistle horns. >From  the
high  barbicans 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 long petticoat and reversed chasuble,  his two left feet  back
to the front, celebrates camp mash. The Reverend Mr Hugh C. Haines  love MA.
in a plain cassock and mortar board, his head and collar back to the  front,
holds over the celebrants head an open umbrella</i>.)
     FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN <i>Introibo ad altare diaboli</i>.
     THE REVEREND  MR HAINES LOVE To the devil which hath made glad my young
days.
     FATHER  MALACHI  O'FLYNN  (<i>Takes  from  the   chalice  and  elevates  a
blooddripping host.) Corpus Meum</i>.
     THE  REVEREND  MR  HAINES  LOVE  (<i>Raises high  behind  the  celebrant's
petticoats, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which a carrot is
stuck</i>.) My body.
     THE  VOICE OF ALL  THE DAMNED  Htengier Tnetopinmo  Dog  Drol eht  rot,
Aiulella!
     (<i>From on high the voice of Adonai calls</i>.)
     ADONAI Dooooooooooog!
     THE  VOICE OF ALL THE  BLESSED  Alleluia,  for the Lord God  Omnipotent
reigneth!
     (<i>From on high the voice of Adonai calls</i>.)
     ADONAI Goooooooooood!
     (<i>In  strident discord peasants and townsmen of mange and Green factions
sing</i> Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.)
     PRIVATE  CARR (<i>With ferocious articulation</i>.) I'll do him in, so help me
fucking  Christ!  I'll wring  the bastard fucker's  bleeding blasted fucking
windpipe!
     OLD GUMMY GRANNY (<i>Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's hand</i>.) Remove him,
acushla. At 8.35 a.m. you will be in heaven and  Ireland will be  free. (<i>She
prays</i>.) O good God, take him!
     BLOOM (<i>Runs to Lynch</i>.) Can't you get him away?
     LYNCH He likes  dialectic, the  universal language. Kitty! (<i>To  Bloom</i>.)
Get him away, you. He won't listen to me. (<i>He drags Kitty away</i>.)
     STEPHEN (<i>Points.) Exit Judas. Et laqueo se suspendit</i>.
     BLOOM (<i>Runs  to  Stephen</i>.) Come along with me now before worse happens.
Here's your stick.
     STEPHEN Stick, no. Reason. This feast of pure reason.
     CISSY  CAFFREY  (<i>Pulling  Private  Carr</i>.)  Come  on,  you're boosed. He
insulted me but  I  forgive him.  (<i>Shouting  in  his ear</i>.) I forgive him for
insulting me.
     BLOOM (<i>Over Stephen's shoulder</i>.) Yes, go. You see he's incapable.
     PRIVATE CARR (<i>Breaks loose.)</i> I'll insult him.
     (<i>He rushes towards Stephen, fists outstretched, and  strikes him in the
face. Stephen totters,  collapses, falls stunned. He lies prone, his face to
the sky, his hat rolling to the wall. Bloom follows and picks it up</i>.)
     MAJOR TWEEDY (<i>Loudly</i>.) Carbine in bucket! cease fire! Salute!
     THE RETRIEVER (<i>Barking furiously</i>.) Ute ute ute ute ute ute uteute.
     THE CROWD 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!
     (<i>The retriever, nosing on the fringe of the crowd, barks noisily</i>.)
     What call  had the redcoat to  strike the  gentleman  and  he under the
influence? Let them go and fight the Boers!
     THE BAWD Listen to who's talking! Hasn't the soldier a right to go with
his girl? He gave him the coward's blow.
     (<i>They grab at each other's hair, claw at each other and spit</i>.)
     THE RETRIEVER (<i>Barking</i>.) Wow wow wow.
     BLOOM (<i>Shoves them back, loudly</i>.) Get back, stand back!
     PRIVATE COMPTON (<i>Tugging his comrade</i>.) Here  bugger off, Harry. There's
the cops!
     (<i>Two raincaped watch, tall, stand in the group</i>)
     FIRST WATCH What's wrong here?
     PRIVATE COMPTON We were with this lady and he insulted us and assaulted
my chum. (<i>The retriever barks</i>.) Who owns the bleeding tyke?
     CISSY CAFFREY (<i>With expectation</i>.) Is he bleeding?
     A MAN (<i>Rising from his knees</i>.) No. Gone off. He'll come to all right.
     BLOOM (<i>Glances sharply at the man</i>.) Leave him to me. I can easily...
     SECOND WATCH Who are you? Do you know him?
     PRIVATE CARR (<i>Lurches towards the watch</i>.) He insulted my lady friend.
     BLOOM  (<i>Angrily</i>.)  You  hit him  without  provocation. I'm  a  witness.
Constable, take his regimental number.
     SECOND WATCH  I don't want  your instructions in  the  discharge  of my
duty.  PRIVATE COMPTON (<i>Pulling his  comrade</i>.) Here,  bugger  off, Harry. Or
Bennett'll have you in the lockup.
     PRIVATE CARR (<i>Staggering as he is  pulled  away</i>.) God fuck old Bennett!
He's a whitearsed bugger. I don't give a shit for him.
     FIRST WATCH (<i>Taking out his notebook</i>.) What's his name?
     BLOOM (<i>Peering over the crowd</i>.) I just see a car there. If you  give me
a hand a second, sergeant.
     FIRST WATCH Name and address.
     (<i>Corny  Kelleher  weepers  round  his  hat, a death wreath in his hand,
appears among the bystanders</i>.)
     BLOOM (<i>Quickly</i>.) O, the very man! (<i>He whispers</i>.) Simon Dedalus'  son. A
bit sprung. Get those policemen to move those loafers back.
     SECOND WATCH Night, Mr Kelleher.
     CORNY KELLEHER (<i>To  the watch, with drawling eye</i>.) That's all  right. I
know him. Won a bit on the races. Gold cup. Throwaway.  (<i>He  laughs</i>.) Twenty
to one. Do you follow me?
     FIRST  WATCH (<i>Turns  to the crowd</i>.) Here, what  are you all  gaping at?
Move on out of that.
     (<i>The crowd disperses slowly, muttering, down the lane</i>.)
     CORNY  KELLEHER  Leave it to  me, sergeant. That'll  be  all right. (<i>He
laughs,  shaking  his  head</i>.)  We were often  as bad ourselves, ay or worse.
What? Eh, what?
     FIRST WATCH (<i>Laughs</i>.) I suppose so.
     CORNY  KELLEHER (<i>Nudges  the second watch</i>.) Come and wipe your name off
the slate.  (<i>He  lilts,  wagging  his  head</i>.)  With  my  tooraloom tooraloom
tooraloom tooraloom. What, eh, do you follow me?
     SECOND WATCH (<i>Genially</i>.) Ah, sure we were too.
     CORNY KELLEHER (<i>Winking</i>.) Boys will be boys. I've a car round there.
     SECOND WATCH All right, Mr Kelleher. Good night.
     CORNY KELLEHER I'll see to that.
     BLOOM  (<i>Shakes hands  with  both of the watch in  turn</i>.) Thank you very
much gentlemen, thank  you. (<i>He  mumbles confidentially</i>.)  We don't want any
scandal, you understand. Father is  a well known, highly  respected citizen.
Just a little wild oats, you understand.
     FIRST WATCH O, I understand, sir.
     SECOND WATCH That's all right, Sir.
     FIRST WATCH It  was only in  case of corporal injuries I'd have had  to
report it at the station.
     BLOOM (<i>Nods rapidly</i>.) Naturally. Quite right. Only your bounden duty.
     SECOND WATCH It's our duty.
     CORNY KELLEHER Good night, men.
     THE WATCH  (<i>Saluting together</i>.)  Night,  gentlemen. (<i>They move off with
slow heavy tread</i>.)
     BLOOM (<i>Blows</i>.) Providential you came on the scene. You have a car?.
     CORNY KELLEHER  (<i>Laughs, pointing his thumb over his right shoulder  to
the car brought  up  against  the scaffolding</i>.)  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.
     BLOOM I was just going home by Gardiner street when I happened to...
     CORNY  KELLEHER (<i>Laughs</i>.) Su