Ulysses

    And they call me the jewel of Asia!

Martin Cunningham:  (GAZES on her, IMPASSIVE) Immense!  Most bloody awful demirep!

Stephen:  ET EXALTABUNTUR CORNUA IUSTI.  Queens lay with prize bulls.  Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the first confessionbox.  Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the house of Lambert.  And Noah was drunk with wine.  And his ark was open.

Bella:  None of that here.  Come to the wrong shop.

Lynch:  Let him alone.  He’s back from Paris.

Zoe:  (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 he
stands with shrugged shoulders, FINNY hands outspread, A painted smile on
his face.)

Lynch:  (POMMELLING on the sofa) Rmm Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

Stephen:  (GABBLES with Marionette jerks) Thousand places of entertainment to 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 tears silver which occur every night.  Perfectly shocking terrific of religion’s things mockery seen in universal world.  All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with DESSOUS TROUBLANTS.  (He CLACKS his tongue loudly) ho, la la!  CE PIF QU’IL A!

Lynch:  VIVE le vampire!

The whores:  Bravo!  Parleyvoo!

Stephen:  (GRIMACING with head back, laughs loudly, clapping himself) Great success of laughing.  Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians.  DEMIMONDAINES nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed.  Or do you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans? (He points about him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and the whores reply to) Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times.  Enter, gentleman, to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher’s boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the belly piece de Shakespeare.

Bella:  (CLAPPING her belly SINKS back on the sofa, with A shout of
laughter) An omelette on the …  Ho! ho! ho! ho! ... omelette on the …

Stephen:  (MINCINGLY) I love you, sir darling.  Speak you englishman tongue for double ENTENTE CORDIALE.  O yes, mon LOUP.  How much cost?  Waterloo.  Watercloset. (He ceases suddenly and holds up A forefinger)

Bella:  (Laughing) Omelette …

The whores:  (Laughing) Encore!  Encore!

Stephen:  Mark me.  I dreamt of a watermelon.

Zoe:  Go abroad and love a foreign lady.

Lynch:  Across the world for a wife.

Florry:  Dreams goes by contraries.

Stephen:  (EXTENDS his arms) It was here.  Street of harlots.  In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a fubsy widow.  Where’s the red carpet spread?

Bloom:  (Approaching Stephen) Look ...

Stephen:  No, I flew.  My foes beneath me.  And ever shall be.  World without end. (He cries) pater!  Free!

Bloom:  I say, look …

Stephen:  Break my spirit, will he?  O MERDE alors! (He cries, his vulture
talons SHARPENED) Hola!  Hillyho!

(Simon Dedalus’ voice HILLOES in answer, somewhat sleepy but ready.)

Simon:  That’s all right. (He SWOOPS uncertainly through the air, wheeling, uttering cries of HEARTENING, on strong ponderous BUZZARD wings) Ho, boy!  Are you going to win?  Hoop!  Pschatt!  Stable with those halfcastes.  Wouldn’t let them within the bawl of an ass.  Head up!  Keep our flag flying!  An eagle gules volant in a field argent displayed.  Ulster king at arms!  Haihoop! (He makes the BEAGLE’S call, giving tongue) Bulbul!  Burblblburblbl!  Hai, boy!

(The fronds and spaces of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.  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, GREYNEGROES waving
torches.  The crowd bawls of Dicers, crown and anchor players,
thimbleriggers, BROADSMEN.  CROWS and TOUTS, hoarse bookies in high WIZARD
hats clamour DEAFENINGLY.)

The crowd: 

    Card of the races.  Racing card! 
    Ten to one the field! 
    Tommy on the clay here!  Tommy on the clay! 
    Ten to one bar one!  Ten to one bar one! 
    Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! 
    Ten to one bar one! 
    Sell the monkey, boys!  Sell the monkey! 
    I’ll give ten to one! 
    Ten to one bar one!

(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!

Garrett Deasy:  (Bolt upright, his NAILSCRAPED face plastered with POSTAGESTAMPS, BRANDISHES 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.)

Stephen:  Hark!  Our friend noise in the street.

Zoe:  (HOLDS up her hand) Stop!

PRIVATE Carr, private COMPTON and Cissy Caffrey: 

    Yet I’ve a sort a
    Yorkshire relish for …

Zoe:  That’s me. (She claps her hands) Dance!  Dance! (She runs to the
pianola) Who has twopence?

Bloom:  Who’ll …?

Lynch:  (HANDING her coins) Here.

Stephen:  (Cracking his fingers impatiently) Quick!  Quick!  Where’s my augur’s rod? (He runs to the piano and takes his ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium)

Zoe:  (Turns the DRUMHANDLE) There.

(She drops two pennies in the slot.  Gold, 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 PIANOSTOOL and lifts and beats HANDLESS
sticks of arms on the keyboard, nodding with DAMSEL’S grace, his BOWKNOT
bobbing)

Zoe:  (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 VACCINATION.  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 GORGET
of cream TULLE, A green lowcut waistcoat, stock collar with white
kerchief, tight lavender trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves.  In his
buttonhole is an immense DAHLIA.  He TWIRLS in reversed directions A
clouded cane, then WEDGES it tight in his oxter.  He places A hand lightly
on his breastbone, bows, and FONDLES his flower and buttons.)

Maginni:  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 air in firmer WALTZ
time sounds.  Stephen and Zoe circle freely.  The lights change, glow, FIDE
gold rosy violet.)

The pianola: 

    Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls,
    Sweethearts they’d left behind …

(From A corner the morning hours run out, GOLDHAIRED, SLIMSANDALLED, 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.)

Maginni:  (CLIPCLAPS GLOVESILENT hands) CARRE!  AVANT DEUX!  Breathe evenly! 
BALANCE!

(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.)

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.

(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.)

Maginni:  AVANT HUIT!  TRAVERSE!  SALUT!  Cours de mains!  CROISE!

(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 under Veils.)

The bracelets:  Heigho!  Heigho!

Zoe:  (TWIRLING, her hand to her brow) O!

Maginni:  LES TIROIRS!  CHAINE de dames!  La CORBEILLE!  DOS A dos!

(ARABESQUING wearily they weave A pattern on the floor, WEAVING,
UNWEAVING, curtseying, twirling, simply swirling.)

Zoe:  I’m giddy!

(She FREES herself, DROOPS on A chair.  Stephen seizes Florry and turns
with her.)

Maginni:  BOULANGERE!  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.  Stephen and Florry turn
CUMBROUSLY.)

Maginni:  DANSEZ AVEC VOS dames!  CHANGEZ de dames!  DONNEZ le PETIT bouquet
A VOTRE dame!  REMERCIEZ!

The pianola: 

    Best, best of all,
    Baraabum!

Kitty:  (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.)

The pianola: 

    My girl’s a Yorkshire girl.