wandering-rocks.xml

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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" href="wandering-rocks.xsl"?>

<!-- Chapter 10, Wandering Rocks of Ulysses by James Joyce --> 
<!-- Script converted to XML by George V. Reilly --> 

<xml>

<!--
<n1>in eternum omnia iuidicia iustiitiæ tuæ.</n1>
<n1>Eppoi me sono convinto che il mondo è una bestia. &#200; peccato</n1>
<n1>Ci rifletterò.</n1>
<n1>Wandering Ængus I call him.</n1>
-->

<!-- ============================================================== -->

<rock id="1">

<cast>
    <role>N1</role>         <actor>Ray Crerand</actor>
    <role>Fr Conmee</role>  <actor>Conor Byrne</actor>
    <role>Sailor</role>     <actor>Don Berg</actor>
    <role>Mrs Sheehy</role> <actor>Maura Donegan</actor>
    <role>Boy 1</role>     	<actor>?</actor>
    <role>Boy 2</role>     	<actor>Michael Green</actor>
    <role>Boy 3</role>     	<actor>?</actor>
</cast>

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<n1>The superior, the
very reverend John Conmee S.J., reset his smooth watch in his
interior pocket as he came down the presbytery steps.</n1>

<conmee>Five to three.
Just nice time to walk to Artane. What is that boy's name again?
Dignam, yes. <latin>Vere dignum et iustum est.</latin>
Brother Swan is the person
to see. Mr Cunningham's letter. Yes. Oblige him, if possible. Good
practical catholic: useful at mission time.</conmee>

<stage>Enter sailor</stage>

<n1>A one-legged sailor, swinging himself onward by lazy jerks of his
crutches, growled some notes. He jerked short before the convent of
the sisters of charity and held out a peaked cap for alms towards the
very reverend John Conmee S. J. Father Conmee blessed him in the
sun for his purse held, he knew, one silver crown.</n1>

<stage>Exit sailor</stage>

<n1>Father Conmee crossed to Mountjoy square. He thought, but not
for long:
Of soldiers and sailors, whose legs had been shot off by
cannonballs, ending their days in some pauper ward, and of cardinal
Wolsey's words:</n1>

<conmee><quote>If I had served my God as I have served my king He would
not have abandoned me in my old days.</quote></conmee>

<n1>He walked by the treeshade of
sunnywinking leaves and towards him came the wife of Mr David
Sheehy M. P.</n1>

<stage>Enter Mrs Sheehy</stage>

<mrs-sheehy>Very well, indeed, father. And you father?</mrs-sheehy>

<n1>Father Conmee was wonderfully well indeed. He would go to
Buxton probably for the waters.</n1>

<conmee>And your boys, are they getting on
well at Belvedere? Is that so?</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee was very glad indeed
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to hear that.</n1>

<conmee>And Mr Sheehy himself?</conmee>

<mrs-sheehy>Still in London. The house is
still sitting, to be sure it is.</mrs-sheehy>

<conmee>Beautiful weather it is, delightful
indeed. Yes, it is very probable that Father Bernard Vaughan will
come again to preach. O, yes: a very great success. A wonderful
man really.</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee was very glad to see the wife of Mr David Sheehy
M. P. looking so well and he begged to be remembered to Mr David
Sheehy M. P.</n1>

<conmee>Yes, I will certainly call.</conmee>

<conmee>Good afternoon, Mrs Sheehy.</conmee>

<stage>Exit Mrs Sheehy</stage>

<n1>Father Conmee doffed his silk hat, as he took leave, at the jet
beads of her mantilla inkshining in the sun. And smiled yet again in
going. He had cleaned his teeth, he knew, with arecanut paste.</n1>

<n1>Father Conmee walked and, walking, smiled for he thought on
Father Bernard Vaughan's droll eyes and cockney voice.</n1>

<conmee> <stage>Cockney accent</stage>
Pilate! Wy don't you old back that owlin mob?</conmee>

<conmee>A zealous man, however. Really he is. And really does great
good in his way. Beyond a doubt. He loves Ireland, he says, and he
loves the Irish. Of good family too would one think it? Welsh, are
they not?</conmee>

<conmee>O, lest I forget. That letter to father provincial.</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee stopped three little schoolboys at the corner of
Mountjoy square.</n1>

<stage>Enter boys</stage>

<boy1>Yes.</boy1>

<boys>We are from Belvedere.</boys>

<conmee>The little
house: Aha. And are you good boys at school? O. That is very
good now. And what is your name?</conmee>

<boy1>Jack Sohan.</boy1>

<conmee>And your name?</conmee>

<boy2>Ger. Gallaher.</boy2>

<conmee>And the other little man?</conmee>

<boy3>My name is Brunny Lynam.</boy3>

<conmee>O, that is a very nice name to have.</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee gave a letter from his breast to master Brunny
Lynam and pointed to the red pillarbox at the corner of Fitzgibbon
street.</n1>

<conmee>But mind you don't post yourself into the box, little man.</conmee>

<n1>The boys sixeyed Father Conmee and laughed.</n1>

<boys>O, sir.</boys>

<conmee>Well, let me see if you can post a letter.</conmee>

<n1>Master Brunny Lynam ran across the road and put Father
Conmee's letter to father provincial into the mouth of the bright red
letterbox. <stage>Exit boys</stage> 
Father Conmee smiled and nodded and smiled and walked
along Mountjoy square east.</n1>

<interject>
    <nstar>Mr Denis J. Maginni, professor of dancing, etc., in silk hat, slate
    frock coat with silk facings, white kerchief tie, tight lavender trousers,
    canary gloves and pointed patent boots, walking with grave
<!-- page 212 -->
    deportment most respectfully took the curbstone as he passed lady Maxwell
    at the corner of Dignam's court.</nstar>
</interject>

<conmee>Is that not Mrs M'Guinness?</conmee>

<n1>Mrs M'Guinness, stately, silverhaired, bowed to Father Conmee
from the farther footpath along which she sailed. And Father Conmee
smiled and saluted.</n1>

<conmee>How do you do?</conmee>

<conmee>A fine carriage she has. Like Mary, queen of Scots, something.
And to think that she is a pawnbroker! Well, now. Such a ... what
should I say? ... such a queenly mien.</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee walked down Great Charles street and glanced
at the shutup free church on his left.</n1>

<conmee>The reverend T. R. Greene
B. A. will (D. V.) speak. The incumbent they called him. He feels it
incumbent on him to say a few words. But one should be charitable.
Invincible ignorance. They act according to their lights.</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee turned the corner and walked along the North
Circular road.</n1>

<conmee>It is a wonder that there is not a tramline in such
an important thoroughfare. Surely, there ought to be.</conmee>

<n1>A band of satchelled schoolboys crossed from Richmond street.
All raised untidy caps. Father Conmee greeted them more than once
benignly.</n1>

<conmee>Christian brother boys.</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee smelled incense on his right hand as he walked.</n1>

<conmee>Saint Joseph's church, Portland row.
For aged and virtuous females.</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee raised his hat to the Blessed Sacrament.</n1>

<conmee>Virtuous: but
occasionally they are also badtempered.</conmee>

<n1>Near Aldborough house Father Conmee thought of that
spendthrift nobleman.</n1>

<conmee>And now it is an office or something.</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee began to walk along the North Strand road and
was saluted by Mr William Gallagher who stood in the doorway of
his shop. Father Conmee saluted Mr William Gallagher and perceived
the odours that came from baconflitches and ample cools of butter. He
passed Grogan's the Tobacconist against which newsboards leaned and
told of a dreadful catastrophe in New York.</n1>

<conmee>In America those things
are continually happening. Unfortunate people to die like that,
unprepared. Still, an act of perfect contrition.</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee went by Daniel Bergin's publichouse against the
window of which two unlabouring men lounged. They saluted him
and were saluted.</n1>

<n1>Father Conmee passed H. J. O'Neill's funeral establishment
where Corny Kelleher totted figures in the daybook while he chewed
a blade of hay. A constable on his beat saluted Father Conmee and
Father Conmee saluted the constable. In Youkstetter's, the
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porkbutcher's, Father Conmee observed pig's puddings, white and black
and red, lie neatly curled in tubes.</n1>

<n1>Moored under the trees of Charleville Mall Father Conmee saw
a turfbarge, a towhorse with pendent head, a bargeman with a hat of
dirty straw seated amidships, smoking and staring at a branch of poplar
above him. It was idyllic. ||</n1>

<n1>And Father Conmee reflected on the
providence of the Creator who had made turf to be in bogs whence men
might dig it out and bring it to town and hamlet to make fires in
the houses of poor people. ||</n1>

<n1>On Newcomen bridge the very reverend John Conmee S. J. of
saint Francis Xavier's church, upper Gardiner street, stepped on to an
outward bound tram.</n1>

<n1>Off an inward bound tram stepped the reverend Nicholas Dudley
C. C. of saint Agatha's church, north William street, on to Newcomen
bridge.</n1>

<n1>At Newcomen bridge Father Conmee stepped into an outward
bound tram for he disliked to traverse on foot the dingy way past Mud
Island.</n1>

<stage>Fr. Conmee sits down</stage>

<n1>Father Conmee sat in a corner of the tramcar, a blue ticket tucked
with care in the eye of one plump kid glove, while four shillings, a
sixpence and five pennies chuted from his other plump glovepalm into
his purse. Passing the ivy church he reflected that the ticket inspector
usually made his visit when one had carelessly thrown away the ticket.
The solemnity of the occupants of the car seemed to Father Conmee
excessive for a journey so short and cheap. Father Conmee liked
cheerful decorum.</n1>

<n1>It was a peaceful day. || The gentleman with his glasses opposite
Father Conmee had finished explaining and looked down.</n1>

<conmee>His wife</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee supposed. A tiny yawn opened the mouth of the wife
of the gentleman with the glasses. She raised her small gloved fist,
yawned ever so gently, tiptapping her small gloved fist on her opening
mouth and smiled tinily, sweetly.</n1>

<n1>Father Conmee perceived her perfume in the car. He perceived
also that the awkward man at the other side of her was sitting on the
edge of the seat.</n1>

<interject>
    <nstar>Father Conmee at the altarrails placed the host with difficulty in
    the mouth of the awkward old man who had the shaky head.</nstar>
</interject>

<n1>At Annesley bridge the tram halted and, when it was about to go,
an old woman rose suddenly from her place to alight. The conductor
pulled the bellstrap to stay the car for her. She passed out with her
basket and a market net: and Father Conmee saw the conductor help
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her and net and basket down: and Father Conmee thought that, as she
had nearly passed the end of the penny fare, she was one of those good
souls who had always to be told twice:</n1>

<conmee>Bless you, my child.</conmee>

<n1>That they have been absolved.</n1>

<conmee>Pray for me.</conmee>

<conmee>But they have so many worries in life, so
many cares, poor creatures.</conmee>

<n1>From the hoardings Mr Eugene Stratton grinned with thick
niggerlips at Father Conmee.</n1>

<n1>Father Conmee thought of:</n1>

<conmee>The souls of black and brown and
yellow men</conmee>

<n1>and of his sermon of</n1>

<conmee>saint Peter Claver S. J. and the
African mission and of the propagation of the faith and of the millions
of black and brown and yellow souls that have not received the baptism
of water when their last hour comes like a thief in the night.</conmee>

<n1>That book
by the Belgian jesuit,</n1>

<conmee><title>Le Nombre des Élus</title></conmee>

<n1>Seemed to Father Conmee a reasonable plea.</n1>

<conmee>Those are millions of human souls created by God
in His Own likeness to whom the faith has not (D.V.) been brought.
But they are God's souls created by God.</conmee>

<n1>It seemed to Father
Conmee a pity that they should all be lost, a waste if one might say.</n1>

<n1>At the Howth road stop Father Conmee alighted
<stage>Fr. Conmee stands up</stage>,
was saluted by
the conductor and saluted in his turn.</n1>

<n1>The Malahide road was quiet. It pleased Father Conmee, road
and name.</n1>

<conmee>The joybells were ringing in gay Malahide. Lord Talbot de
Malahide, immediate hereditary lord admiral of Malahide and the seas
adjoining. Then came the call to arms and she was maid, wife and
widow in one day. Those were old worldish days, loyal times in joyous
townlands, old times in the barony.</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee, walking, thought of his little book <title>Old Times in
the Barony</title> and of the book that might be written about jesuit houses
and of Mary Rochfort, daughter of lord Molesworth, first countess of
Belvedere.</n1>

<n1>A listless lady, no more young, walked alone the shore of lough
Ennel, Mary, first countess of Belvedere, listlessly walking in the
evening, not startled when an otter plunged.</n1>

<conmee>Who could know the
truth? Not the jealous lord Belvedere and not her confessor if she had
not committed adultery fully, <latin>eiaculatio seminis inter vas naturale
mulieris</latin>, with her husband's brother?
She would half confess if she had
not all sinned as women do. Only God knows and she and he, her
husband's brother.</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee thought of that tyrannous incontinence, needed
however for man's race on earth, and of the ways of God which were
not our ways.</n1>

<n1>Don John Conmee walked and moved in times of yore. He was
<!-- page 215 -->
humane and honoured there. He bore in mind secrets confessed and
he smiled at smiling noble faces in a beeswaxed drawingroom, ceiled
with full fruit clusters. And the hands of a bride and of a bridegroom,
noble to noble, were impalmed by Don John Conmee. ||</n1>

<n1>It was a charming day. ||</n1>

<n1>The lychgate of a field showed Father Conmee breadths of
cabbages, curtseying to him with ample underleaves. The sky showed him
a flock of small white clouds going slowly down the wind.</n1>

<conmee><french>Moutonner</french>,
the French say. A just and homely word.</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee, reading his office, watched a flock of muttoning
clouds over Rathcoffey. His thinsocked ankles were tickled by the
stubble of Clongowes field. He walked there, reading in the evening,
and heard the cries of the boys' lines at their play, young cries in the
quiet evening. He was their rector: his reign was mild.</n1>

<n1>Father Conmee drew off his gloves and took his rededged
breviary out. An ivory bookmark told him the page.</n1>

<conmee>Nones. I should have read that before lunch. But lady Maxwell
came.</conmee>

<n1>Father Conmee read in secret <latin>Pater</latin> and
<latin>Ave</latin> and crossed his breast.</n1>

<conmee><latin>Deus in adiutorium</latin>.</conmee>

<n1>He walked calmly and read mutely the nones, walking and reading till he
came to</n1>

<conmee>Res</conmee>

<n1>in</n1>

<conmee><latin>Beati immaculati: Principium verborum tuorum
veritas: in eternum omnia indicia iustiitiæ tuæ.</latin></conmee>

<n1>A flushed young man came from a gap of a hedge and after him
came a young woman with wild nodding daisies in her hand. The
young man raised his cap abruptly: the young woman abruptly bent
and with slow care detached from her light skirt a clinging twig.</n1>

<n1>Father Conmee blessed both gravely and turned a thin page of
his breviary.</n1>

<conmee>Sin.</conmee>

<conmee><latin>Principes persecuti sunt me gratis: et a verbis tuis
formidavit cor meum.</latin></conmee>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="2">

<cast>
    <role>N2</role>             <actor>Olivia Bermingham-McDonogh (Wed)</actor>
    <role>N2</role>             <actor>Emma Bartholomew (Sat)</actor>
    <role>Corny Kelleher</role> <actor>Ciaran O'Mahony</actor>
    <role>Constable 57C</role>  <actor>Michael Green</actor>
</cast>

<n2>Corny Kelleher closed his long daybook and glanced with his
drooping eye at a pine coffinlid sentried in a corner. He pulled himself
erect, went to it and, spinning it on its axle, viewed its shape and brass
furnishings. Chewing his blade of hay he laid the coffinlid by and came
to the doorway. There he tilted his hatbrim to give shade to his eyes
and leaned against the doorcase, looking idly out.</n2>

<!-- page 216 -->
<n2>Corny Kelleher locked his largefooted boots and gazed, his hat
downtilted, chewing his blade of hay.</n2>

<interject>
    <n1>Father John Conmee stepped into the Dollymount tram on
    Newcomen bridge.</n1>
</interject>

<n2>Constable 57C, on his beat, stood to pass the time of day.</n2>

<constable>That's a fine day, Mr Kelleher.</constable>

<corny>Ay</corny>

<constable>It's very close.</constable>

<n2>Corny Kelleher sped a silent jet of hayjuice arching from his
mouth while a generous white arm from a window in Eccles street
flung forth a coin.</n2>

<corny>What's the best news?</corny>

<constable>I seen that particular party last evening.</constable>

<n2>The constable said with bated breath.</n2>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="3">

<cast>
    <role>N3</role>             <actor>Joe Martin</actor>
    <role>Urchin</role>         <actor>Michael Green</actor>
</cast>


<n3>A onelegged sailor crutched himself round MacConnell's corner,
skirting Rabaiotti's icecream car, and jerked himself up Eccles street.
Towards Larry O'Rourke, in shirtsleeves in his doorway, he growled
unamiably.</n3>

<sailor> <stage>Singing</stage> For England.</sailor>

<stage>Enter Katey and Boody Dedalus</stage>

<n3>He swung himself violently forward past Katey and Boody
Dedalus, halted and growled:</n3>

<sailor> <stage>Singing</stage> home and beauty.</sailor>

<stage>Exit Katey and Boody Dedalus</stage>

<interject>
    <n8>J. J. O'Molloy's white careworn face was told that Mr Lambert
    was in the warehouse with a visitor.</n8>
</interject>

<n3>A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her purse and
dropped it into the cap held out to her.
<stage>Lady drops coin into cap.</stage>
The sailor grumbled thanks,
glanced sourly at the unheeding windows, sank his head and
swung himself forward four strides.</n3>

<n3>He halted and growled angrily:</n3>

<sailor> <stage>Singing</stage> For England.</sailor>

<n3>Two barefoot urchins, sucking long liquorice laces, halted near
him, gaping at his stump with their yellowslobbered mouths.</n3>

<n3>He swung himself forward in vigorous jerks, halted, lifted his
head towards a window and bayed deeply:</n3>

<sailor> <stage>Singing</stage> home and beauty.</sailor>

<n3>The gay sweet chirping whistling within went on a bar or two,
ceased. The blind of the window was drawn aside. A card <quote>Unfurnished
Apartments</quote> slipped from the sash and fell. A plump bare generous arm
shone, was seen, held forth from a white petticoatbodice and taut
<!-- page 217 -->
shiftstraps. A woman's hand flung forth a coin over the area railings.
It fell on the path.</n3>

<n3>One of the urchins ran to it, picked it up and dropped it into the
minstrel's cap, saying:</n3>

<urchin>There, sir.</urchin>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="4">

<cast>
    <role>N4</role>             <actor>Bill Barnes</actor>
    <role>Maggy Dedalus</role>  <actor>Maura Donegan</actor>
    <role>Katey Dedalus</role>  <actor>Mary Kelly</actor>
    <role>Boody Dedalus</role>  <actor>Olivia Bermingham-McDonogh (Wed)</actor>
    <role>Boody Dedalus</role>  <actor>Emma Bartholomew (Sat)</actor>
</cast>

<stage>Enter Maggy Dedalus. Enter Katey and Boody Dedalus</stage>

<n4>Katey and Boody Dedalus shoved in the door of the
closesteaming kitchen.</n4>

<boody>Did you put in the books?</boody>

<n4>Maggy at the range rammed down a greyish mass beneath
bubbling suds twice with her potstick and wiped her brow.</n4>

<maggy>They wouldn't give anything on them.</maggy>

<interject>
    <n1>Father Conmee walked through Clongowes field, his thinsocked
    ankles tickled by stubble.</n1>
</interject>

<boody>Where did you try?</boody>

<maggy>M'Guinness's.</maggy>

<n4>Boody stamped her foot and threw her satchel on the table.</n4>

<boody>Bad cess to her big face!</boody>

<n4>Katey went to the range and peered with squinting eyes.</n4>

<katey>What's in the pot?</katey>

<maggy>Shirts.</maggy>

<boody><stage>angrily</stage> Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?</boody>

<n4>Katey, lifting the kettlelid in a pad of her stained shirt, asked:</n4>

<katey>And what's in this?</katey>

<n4>A heavy fume gushed in answer.</n4>

<maggy>Peasoup.</maggy>

<katey>Where did you get it?</katey>

<maggy>Sister Mary Patrick.</maggy>

<interject>
    <n11>The lacquey rang his bell.</n11>

    <stage>Barang!</stage>
</interject>

<n4>Boody sat down at the table and said hungrily:</n4>

<boody>Give us it here!</boody>

<n4>Maggy poured yellow thick soup from the kettle into a bowl.
Katey, sitting opposite Boody, said quietly, as her fingertip lifted to
her mouth random crumbs.</n4>

<katey>A good job we have that much. Where's Dilly?</katey>

<maggy>Gone to meet father.</maggy>

<!-- page 218 -->
<n4>Boody, breaking big chunks of bread into the yellow soup,
added:</n4>

<boody>Our father who art not in heaven.</boody>

<n4>Maggy, pouring yellow soup in Katey's bowl, exclaimed:</n4>

<maggy>Boody! For shame!</maggy>

<interject>
    <nstar>A skiff, a crumpled throwaway, Elijah is coming, rode lightly
    down the Liffey, under Loopline bridge, shooting the rapids where
    water chafed around the bridgepiers, sailing eastward past hulls and
    anchorchains, between the Customhouse old dock and George's quay.</nstar>
</interject>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="5">

<cast>
    <role>N5</role>             <actor>Scott McKinstry</actor>
    <role>Blazes Boylan</role>  <actor>Don Berg</actor>
    <role>Blond Girl</role>     <actor>Margaret Donegan</actor>
    <role>H.</role>             <actor>Joe Martin</actor>
    <role>E.</role>             <actor>Emma Bartholomew</actor>
    <role>L.</role>             <actor>George Reilly</actor>
    <role>Y.</role>             <actor>Michael Green</actor>
    <role>'S.</role>            <actor>Ciaran O'Mahony</actor>
</cast>

<n5>The blond girl in Thornton's bedded the wicker basket with
rustling fibre. Blazes Boylan handed her the bottle swathed in pink
tissue paper and a small jar.</n5>

<blazes>Put these in first, will you?</blazes>

<blond-girl>Yes, sir, and the fruit on top.</blond-girl>

<blazes>That'll do, game ball.</blazes>

<n5>She bestowed fat pears neatly, head by tail, and among them ripe
shamefaced peaches.</n5>

<n5>Blazes Boylan walked here and there in new tan shoes about the
fruitsmelling shop, lifting fruits, young juicy crinkled and plump red
tomatoes, sniffing smells.</n5>

<n5>Haitch Ee Ell Wye Apostrophe Ess <stage>H.E.L.Y.'S.</stage>
filed before him, tallwhitehatted, past Tangier
lane, plodding towards their goal.</n5>

<n5>He turned suddenly from a chip of strawberries, drew a gold
watch from his fob and held it at its chain's length.</n5>

<blazes>Can you send them by tram? Now?</blazes>

<interject>
    <n9>A darkbacked figure under Merchants' arch scanned books on
    the hawker's car.</n9>
</interject>

<blond-girl>Certainly, sir. Is it in the city?</blond-girl>

<blazes>O, yes. Ten minutes.</blazes>

<n5>The blond girl handed him a docket and pencil.</n5>

<blond-girl>Will you write the address, sir?</blond-girl>

<n5>Blazes Boylan at the counter wrote and pushed the docket to her.</n5>

<blazes>Send it at once, will you? It's for an invalid.</blazes>

<blond-girl>Yes, sir. I will, sir.</blond-girl>

<n5>Blazes Boylan rattled merry money in his trousers' pocket.</n5>

<blazes>What's the damage?</blazes>

<n5>The blond girl's slim fingers reckoned the fruits.</n5>

<n5>Blazes Boylan looked into the cut of her blouse.</n5>

<blazes>A young pullet.</blazes>

<!-- page 219 -->
<n5>He took a red carnation from the tall stemglass.</n5>

<blazes>This for me?</blazes>

<n5>He asked gallantly.</n5>

<n5>The blond girl glanced sideways at him, got up regardless, with
his tie a bit crooked, blushing.</n5>

<blond-girl>Yes, sir.</blond-girl>

<n5>Bending archly she reckoned again fat pears and blushing
peaches.</n5>

<n5>Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse with more favour, the stalk
of the red flower between his smiling teeth.</n5>

<blazes>May I say a word to your telephone, missy?</blazes>

<n5>He asked roguishly.</n5>

<stage>Re-enter H. E. L. Y. 'S.</stage>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="6">

<cast>
    <role>N6</role>                 <actor>Kieran O'Mahony</actor>
    <role>Stephen Dedalus</role>    <actor>Niall McDonnell</actor>
    <role>Almidano Artifoni</role>  <actor>Michael Green</actor>
</cast>

<almidano><italian>Ma!</italian></almidano> 
<n6>Almidano Artifoni said.</n6>

<n6>He gazed over Stephen's shoulder at Goldsmith's knobby poll.</n6>

<n6>Two carfuls of tourists passed slowly, their women sitting fore,
gripping frankly the handrests. Palefaces. Men's arms frankly round
their stunted forms. They looked from Trinity to the blind columned
porch of the bank of Ireland where pigeons roocoocooed.</n6>

<almidano><italian>Anch'io ho avuto di queste idee, quand'
ero giovine come Lei. Eppoi me sono convinto che il mondo è una bestia. È
peccato. Perchè la sua voce ... sarebbe un cespite di rendita, via.
Invece, Lei si sacrifica.</italian></almidano>

<stephen><italian>Sacrifizio incruento,</italian></stephen>

<n6>Stephen said smiling, swaying his ashplant
in slow swingswong from its midpoint, lightly.</n6>

<almidano><italian>Speriamo.</italian></almidano>
<n6>the round mustachioed face said pleasantly.</n6>
<almidano><italian>Ma, dia retta a me. Ci rifletta.</italian></almidano>

<n6>By the stern stone hand of Grattan, bidding halt, an Inchicore
tram unloaded straggling Highland soldiers of a band.</n6>

<stephen><italian>Ci rifletterò.</italian></stephen>
<n6>Stephen said, glancing down the solid trouserleg.</n6>

<almidano><italian>Ma, sul serio, eh?</italian></almidano>

<n6>His heavy hand took Stephen's firmly.</n6>

<stephen>Human eyes.</stephen>

<n6>They gazed
curiously an instant and turned quickly towards a Dalkey tram.</n6>

<almidano><italian>Eccolo.</italian></almidano>
<n6>Almidano Artifoni said in friendly haste.</n6>
<almidano><italian>Venga a trovarmi e ci pensi.
Addio, caro.</italian></almidano>

<stephen><italian>Arrivederla, maestro.</italian></stephen>
<n6>Stephen said, raising his hat when his hand was freed.</n6>
<stephen><italian>E grazie.</italian></stephen>

<stage>Exit Stephen</stage>

<almidano><italian>Di che? Scusi, eh? Tante belle cose!</italian></almidano>

<n6>Almidano Artifoni, holding up a baton of rolled music as a signal,
trotted on stout trousers after the Dalkey tram. In vain he trotted,
<!-- page 220 -->
signalling in vain among the rout of barekneed gillies smuggling
implements of music through Trinity gates.</n6>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="7">

<cast>
    <role>N7</role>             <actor>Andrew Anderson</actor>
    <role>Miss Dunne</role>     <actor>Maura Donegan</actor>
</cast>

<n7>Miss Dunne hid the Capel street library copy of <title>The Woman in
White</title> far back in her drawer and rolled a sheet of gaudy notepaper
into her typewriter.</n7>

<miss-dunne>Too much mystery business in it? Is he in love with that one,
Marion? Change it and get another by Mary Cecil Haye.</miss-dunne>

<interject>
    <n9>The disk shot down the groove, wobbled a while, ceased and
    ogled them: six.</n9>
</interject>

<n7>Miss Dunne clicked on the keyboard:</n7>

<miss-dunne>16 June nineteen-hundred and four<stage>1904</stage>.</miss-dunne>

<interject>
    <n5>Five tallwhitehatted sandwichmen between Monypeny's corner
    and the slab where Wolfe Tone's statue was not, eeled themselves
    turning Haitch Ee Ell Wye Apostrophe Ess <stage>H.E.L.Y.'S.</stage>
    and plodded back as they had come.</n5>
</interject>

<n7>Then she stared at the large poster of Marie Kendall, charming
soubrette, and, listlessly lolling, scribbled on the jotter sixteens and
capital esses.</n7>

<miss-dunne>Mustard hair and dauby cheeks. She's not nicelooking,
is she? The way she's holding up her bit of a skirt. Wonder will that
fellow be at the band tonight. If I could get that dressmaker to make
a concertina skirt like Susy Nagle's. They kick out grand. Shannon and
all the boatclub swells never took his eyes off her. Hope to goodness
he won't keep me here till seven.</miss-dunne>

<stage>bell rings</stage>

<n7>The telephone rang rudely by her ear.</n7>

<miss-dunne>Hello. | Yes, sir. | No, sir. | Yes, sir. |
I'll ring them up after five. |
Only those two, sir, for Belfast and Liverpool. | All right, sir. | Then I
can go after six if you're not back. | A quarter after. | Yes, sir. |
Twentyseven and six. | I'll tell him. | Yes: | one, seven, six.</miss-dunne>

<n7>She scribbled three figures on an envelope.</n7>

<miss-dunne>Mr Boylan! | Hello! | That gentleman from Sport was in looking
for you. | Mr Lenehan, yes. | He said he'll be in the Ormond at four. | No,
sir. | Yes, sir. | I'll ring them up after five.</miss-dunne>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="8">

<cast>
    <role>N8</role>             <actor>Niall McDonnell</actor>
    <role>Ned Lambert</role>    <actor>Ciaran O'Mahony</actor>
    <role>J. J. O'Molloy</role> <actor>George Reilly</actor>
    <role>Rev Love</role>       <actor>Ray Crerand</actor>
</cast>

<n8>Two pink faces turned in the flare of the tiny torch.</n8>

<lambert>Who's that?</lambert>
<n8>Ned Lambert asked.</n8>
<lambert>Is that Crotty?</lambert>

<jjom>Ringabella and Crosshaven.</jjom>
<n8>A voice replied, groping for foothold.</n8>

<!-- page 221 -->
<lambert>Hello, Jack, is that yourself?</lambert>
<n8>Ned Lambert said, raising in
salute his pliant lath among the flickering arches.</n8>
<lambert>Come on. Mind your steps there.</lambert>

<n8>The vesta in the clergyman's uplifted hand consumed itself in a
long soft flame and was let fall. At their feet its red speck died: and
mouldy air closed round them.</n8>

<rev-love>How interesting!</rev-love>
<n8>A refined accent said in the gloom.</n8>

<lambert> <stage>heartily</stage> Yes, sir. We are standing in the
historic council chamber of saint Mary's abbey where silken Thomas
proclaimed himself a rebel in fifteen hundred and thirty-four
<stage>1534</stage>. This is the most historic spot in
all Dublin. O'Madden Burke is going to write something about it one
of these days. The old bank of Ireland was over the way till the time
of the union and the original jews' temple was here too before they
built their synagogue over in Adelaide road. You were never here
before, Jack, were you?</lambert>

<jjom>No, Ned.</jjom>

<rev-love>He rode down through Dame walk,
if my memory serves me. The mansion of the Kildares was in Thomas
court.</rev-love>

<lambert>That's right. That's quite right, sir.</lambert>

<rev-love>If you will be so kind then, the next time
to allow me perhaps ...</rev-love>

<lambert>Certainly. Bring the camera whenever you
like. I'll get those bags cleared away from the windows. You can take
it from here or from here.</lambert>

<n8>In the still faint light he moved about, tapping with his lath the
piled seedbags and points of vantage on the floor.</n8>

<interject>
    <n16>From a long face a beard and gaze hung on a chessboard.</n16>
</interject>

<rev-love>I'm deeply obliged, Mr Lambert. I won't
trespass on your valuable time...</rev-love>

<lambert>You're welcome, sir. Drop in whenever
you like. Next week, say. Can you see?</lambert>

<rev-love>Yes, yes. Good afternoon, Mr Lambert. Very pleased to have
met you.</rev-love>

<lambert>Pleasure is mine, sir.</lambert>

<stage>Exit Rev. Love</stage>

<n8>He followed his guest to the outlet and then whirled his lath away
among the pillars. With J. J. O'Molloy he came forth slowly into
Mary's abbey where draymen were loading floats with sacks of carob
and palmnut meal, O'Connor, Wexford.</n8>

<n8>He stood to read the card in his hand.</n8>

<lambert>The reverend Hugh C. Love, Rathcoffey. Present address:
<!-- page 222 -->
Saint Michael's, Sallins. Nice <omit>young</omit> chap he is.
He's writing a book
about the Fitzgeralds he told me. He's well up in history, faith.</lambert>

<interject>
    <n1>The young woman with slow care detached from her light skirt
    a clinging twig.</n1>
</interject>

<jjom>I thought you were at a new gunpowder plot.</jjom>
<n8>J. J. O'Molloy said.</n8>

<n8>Ned Lambert cracked his fingers in the air.</n8>

<lambert>God. I forgot to tell him that one about the earl of
Kildare after he set fire to Cashel cathedral. You know that one? <quote>I'm
bloody sorry I did it,</quote> says he,
<quote>but I declare to God I thought the archbishop
was inside.</quote> He mightn't like it, though. What? God, I'll tell him
anyhow. That was the great earl, the Fitzgerald Mor. Hot members
they were all of them, the Geraldines.</lambert>

<n8>The horses he passed started nervously under their slack harness.
He slapped a piebald haunch quivering near him and cried:</n8>

<lambert>Woa, sonny!</lambert>

<n8>He turned to J. J. O'Molloy and asked:</n8>

<lambert>Well, Jack. What is it? What's the trouble? Wait a while.
Hold hard.</lambert>

<n8>With gaping mouth and head far back he stood still and, after an
instant, sneezed loudly.</n8>

<lambert>Chow! Blast you!</lambert>

<jjom>The dust from those sacks.</jjom>
<omit>J. J. O'Molloy said politely.</omit>

<lambert> <stage>gasping</stage> No, I caught a ... cold night before
... blast your soul ... night before last ... and there was a hell of
a lot of draught ...</lambert>

<n8>He held his handkerchief ready for the coming ...</n8>

<lambert>I was ... Glasnevin this morning ... poor little ... what do you call
him ... Chow! ... Mother of Moses!</lambert>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="9">

<cast>
    <role>N9</role>             <actor>Mary Kelly</actor>
    <role>Tom Rochford</role>   <actor>Andrew Anderson</actor>
    <role>Nosey Flynn</role>    <actor>Joe Martin</actor>
    <role>Lenehan</role>        <actor>Ciaran O'Mahony</actor>
    <role>M'Coy</role>          <actor>Conor Byrne</actor>
</cast>

<n9>Tom Rochford took the top disk from the pile he clasped against
his claret waistcoat.</n9>

<rochford>See? Say it's turn six. In here, see. Turn Now On.</rochford>

<n9>He slid it into the left slot for them. It shot down the groove,
wobbled a while, ceased, ogling them.</n9>

<rochford>Six.</rochford>

<interject>
    <nstar>Lawyers of the past, haughty, pleading, beheld pass from the
    consolidated taxing office to Nisi Prius court Richie Goulding
    carrying the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward and heard rustling from
    the admiralty division of king's bench to the court of appeal an elderly
<!-- page 223 -->
    female with false teeth smiling incredulously and a black silk skirt
    of great amplitude.</nstar>
</interject>

<rochford>See? See now the last one I put in is over here. Turns
Over. The impact. Leverage, see?</rochford>

<n9>He showed them the rising column of disks on the right.</n9>

<nosey>Smart idea,</nosey>
<n9>Nosey Flynn said, snuffling.</n9>
<nosey>So a fellow coming in
late can see what turn is on and what turns are over.</nosey>

<rochford>See?</rochford>

<n9>He slid in a disk for himself: and watched it shoot, wobble, ogle,
stop.</n9>

<nosey>Four.</nosey>

<rochford>Turn Now On.</rochford>

<lenehan>I'll see him now in the Ormond,</lenehan>
<n9>Lenehan said,</n9>
<lenehan>And sound him.
One good turn deserves another.</lenehan>

<rochford>Do. Tell him I'm Boylan with impatience.</rochford>

<mcoy>Good night.</mcoy>
<n9>M'Coy said abruptly.</n9>
<mcoy>When you two begin ...</mcoy>

<n9>Nosey Flynn stooped towards the lever, snuffling at it.</n9>

<nosey>But how does it work here, Tommy?</nosey>

<lenehan>Tooraloo. See you later.</lenehan>

<n9>He followed M'Coy out across the tiny square of Crampton
court.</n9>

<lenehan>He's a hero.</lenehan>

<mcoy>I know. The drain, you mean.</mcoy>

<lenehan>Drain? It was down a manhole.</lenehan>

<n9>They passed Dan Lowry's musichall where Marie Kendall,
charming soubrette, smiled on them from a poster a dauby smile.</n9>

<n9>Going down the path of Sycamore street beside the Empire
musichall Lenehan showed M'Coy how the whole thing was.</n9>

<lenehan>One of
those manholes like a bloody gaspipe and there was the poor devil
stuck down in it half choked with sewer gas. Down went Tom
Rochford anyhow, booky's vest and all, with the rope round him. And be
damned but he got the rope round the poor devil and the two were
hauled up.</lenehan>

<lenehan>The act of a hero.</lenehan>

<n9>At the Dolphin they halted to allow the ambulance car to gallop
past them for Jervis street.</n9>

<lenehan>This way.</lenehan>
<n9>He said, walking to the right.</n9>
<lenehan>I want to pop into
Lynam's to see Sceptre's starting price. What's the time by your gold
watch and chain?</lenehan>

<n9>M'Coy peered into Marcus Tertius Moses' sombre office, then at
O'Neill's clock.</n9>

<mcoy>After three. Who's riding her?</mcoy>

<lenehan>O. Madden. And a game filly she is.</lenehan>

<!-- page 224 -->
<n9>While he waited in Temple bar M'Coy dodged a banana peel
with gentle pushes of his toe from the path to the gutter.</n9>

<mcoy>Fellow might
damn easy get a nasty fall there coming along tight in the dark.</mcoy>

<n9>The gates of the drive opened wide to give egress to the viceregal
cavalcade.</n9>

<lenehan>Even money. I knocked against
Bantam Lyons in there going to back a bloody horse someone gave him
that hasn't an earthly. Through here.</lenehan>

<n9>They went up the steps and under Merchants' arch. A darkbacked
figure scanned books on the hawker's cart.</n9>

<lenehan>There he is.</lenehan>

<mcoy>Wonder what he is buying.</mcoy>

<lenehan>Leopoldo or the Bloom is on the Rye.</lenehan>

<stage>Exit Tom Rochford and Nosey Flynn</stage>

<mcoy>He's dead nuts on sales. I was with him one day
and he bought a book from an old one in Liffey street for two bob.
There were fine plates in it worth double the money, the stars and the
moon and comets with long tails. Astronomy it was about.</mcoy>

<n9>Lenehan laughed.</n9>

<lenehan>I'll tell you a damn good one about comets' tails.
Come over in the sun.</lenehan>

<n9>They crossed to the metal bridge and went along Wellington
quay by the riverwall.</n9>

<interject>
    <n18>Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam came out of Mangan's, late
    Fehrenbach's, carrying a pound and a half of porksteaks.</n18>
</interject>

<lenehan>There was a long spread out at Glencree reformatory.
The annual dinner you know. Boiled shirt affair. The
lord mayor was there, Val Dillon it was, and sir Charles Cameron and
Dan Dawson spoke and there was music. Bartell D'Arcy sang and
Benjamin Dollard ...</lenehan>

<mcoy>I know. My missus sang there once.</mcoy>

<lenehan>Did she?</lenehan>

<interject>
    <n3>A card <quote>Unfurnished Apartments</quote>
    reappeared on the windowsash of
    number 7 Eccles street.</n3>
</interject>

<n9>He checked his tale a moment but broke out in a wheezy laugh.</n9>

<lenehan>But wait till I tell you, Delahunt of Camden street had
the catering and yours truly was chief bottlewasher. Bloom and the
wife were there. Lashings of stuff we put up: port wine and sherry and
curaçao to which we did ample justice. Fast and furious it was. After
liquids came solids. Cold joints galore and mince pies ...</lenehan>

<mcoy>I know. The year the missus was there ...</mcoy>

<n9>Lenehan linked his arm warmly.</n9>

<!-- page 225 -->
<lenehan>But wait till I tell you. We had a midnight lunch too
after all the jollification and when we sallied forth it was blue o'clock
the morning after the night before. Coming home it was a gorgeous
winter's night on the Featherbed Mountain. Bloom and Chris Callinan
were on one side of the car and I was with the wife on the other. We
started singing glees and duets:
<quote>Lo, the early beam of morning.</quote> She was
well primed with a good load of Delahunt's port under her bellyband.
Every jolt the bloody car gave I had her bumping up against me.
Hell's delights! She has a fine pair, God bless her. Like that.</lenehan>

<n9>He held his caved hands a cubit from him, frowning:</n9>

<lenehan>I was tucking the rug under her and settling her boa all the
time. Know what I mean?</lenehan>

<n9>His hands moulded ample curves of air. He shut his eyes tight
in delight, his body shrinking, and blew a sweet chirp from his lips.</n9>

<lenehan>The lad stood to attention anyhow. She's
a gamey mare and no mistake. Bloom was pointing out all the stars
and the comets in the heavens to Chris Callinan and the jarvey: the
great bear and Hercules and the dragon, and the whole jingbang lot.
But, by God, I was lost, so to speak, in the milky way. He knows them
all, faith. At last she spotted a weeny weeshy one miles away. <quote>And
what star is that, Poldy?</quote> says she. By God, she had Bloom cornered.
<quote>That one, is it?</quote> says Chris Callinan,
<quote>sure that's only what you might call
a pinprick.</quote> By God, he wasn't far wide of the mark.</lenehan>

<n9>Lenehan stopped and leaned on the riverwall, panting with soft
laughter.</n9>

<lenehan> <stage>gasping</stage> I'm weak.</lenehan>

<n9>M'Coy's white face smiled about it at instants and grew grave.
Lenehan walked on again. He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his
hindhead rapidly. He glanced sideways in the sunlight at M'Coy.</n9>

<lenehan>He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is. He's not one of
your common or garden ... you know ... There's a touch
of the artist about old Bloom.</lenehan>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="10">

<cast>
    <role>N10</role>            <actor>Maura Donegan</actor>
    <role>Leopold Bloom</role>  <actor>Scott McKinstry (Wed)</actor>
    <role>Leopold Bloom</role>  <actor>Jim McDermott (Sat)</actor>
    <role>Shopman</role>        <actor>Don Berg</actor>
    <role>Woman</role>          <actor>Mary Kelly</actor>
    <role>Book</role>           <actor>Meg Savlov</actor>
</cast>

<n10>Mr Bloom turned over idly pages of <title>The Awful Disclosures of
Maria Monk</title>, then of Aristotle's <title>Masterpiece</title>.</n10>

<bloom>Crooked botched print.
Plates: infants cuddled in a ball in bloodred wombs like livers of
slaughtered cows. Lots of them like that at this moment all over the
world. All butting with their skulls to get out of it.
<stage>falsetto</stage> Child born every
minute somewhere. Mrs Purefoy.</bloom>

<!-- page 226 -->
<n10>He laid both books aside and glanced at the third: <title>Tales of the
Ghetto</title> by Leopold von Sacher Masoch.</n10>

<bloom>That I had.</bloom>

<n10>The shopman let two volumes fall on the counter.</n10>

<shopman>Them are two good ones.</shopman>

<n10>Onions of his breath came across the counter out of his ruined
mouth. He bent to make a bundle of the other books, hugged them
against his unbuttoned waistcoat and bore them off behind the dingy
curtain.</n10>

<interject>
    <nstar>On O'Connell bridge many persons observed the grave
    deportment and gay apparel of Mr Denis J. Maginni, professor of
    dancing etc.</nstar>
</interject>

<n10>Mr Bloom, alone, looked at the titles.
<title>Fair Tyrants</title> by James
Lovebirch.</n10>

<bloom>Know the kind that is. Had it? Yes.</bloom>

<n10>He opened it.</n10>
<bloom>Thought so.</bloom>

<n10>A woman's voice behind the dingy curtain.</n10>

<woman>Listen: The man.</woman>

<bloom>No: she wouldn't like that much. Got her it once.</bloom>

<n10>He read the other title: <title>Sweets of Sin</title>.</n10>

<bloom>More in her line. Let us see.</bloom>

<n10>He read where his finger opened.</n10>

<book>All the dollarbills her husband gave her were spent in the stores on
wondrous gowns and costliest frillies. For him! For Raoul!</book>

<bloom>Yes. This. Here. Try.</bloom>

<book>Her mouth glued on his in a luscious voluptuous kiss while his hands
felt for the opulent curves inside her déshabillé.</book>

<bloom>Yes. Take this. The end.</bloom>

<book>You are late, he spoke hoarsely, eyeing her with a suspicious
glare.</book>

<book>The beautiful woman threw off her sabletrimmed wrap, displaying her
queenly shoulders and heaving embonpoint. An imperceptible smile played
round her perfect lips as she turned to him calmly.</book>

<n10>Mr Bloom read again:</n10>
<book> The beautiful woman.</book>

<n10>Warmth showered gently over him, cowing his flesh. Flesh
yielded amply amid rumpled clothes: whites of eyes swooning up. His
nostrils arched themselves for prey. Melting breast ointments</n10>
<book>(for him! For Raoul!)</book>
<n10>Armpits' oniony sweat. Fishgluey slime</n10>
<book>(her heaving embonpoint!).</book>
<n10>Feel! Press! Crushed! Sulphur dung of lions!</n10>

<bloom>Young! <stage> with book </stage> Young!</bloom>

<interject>
    <nstar>An elderly female, no more young, left the building of the courts
    of chancery, king's bench, exchequer and common pleas having heard
    in the lord chancellor's court the case in lunacy of Potterton, in the
    admiralty division the summons, exparte motion, of the owners of the
    Lady Cairns versus the owners of the barque Mona, in the court of
<!-- page 227 -->
    appeal reservation of judgment in the case of Harvey versus the Ocean
    Accident and Guarantee Corporation.</nstar>
</interject>

<n10>Phlegmy coughs shook the air of the bookshop, bulging out the
dingy curtains. The shopman's uncombed grey head came out and his
unshaven reddened face, coughing. He raked his throat rudely, spat
phlegm on the floor. He put his boot on what he had spat, wiping his
sole along it, and bent, showing a rawskinned crown, scantily haired.</n10>

<n10>Mr Bloom beheld it.</n10>

<n10>Mastering his troubled breath, he said:</n10>

<bloom>I'll take this one.</bloom>

<n10>The shopman lifted eyes bleared with old rheum.</n10>

<shopman><title>Sweets of Sin</title>. <stage>tapping on book</stage>
That's a good one.</shopman>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="11">

<cast>
    <role>N11</role>            <actor>George Reilly</actor>
    <role>Simon Dedalus</role>  <actor>Bill Barnes</actor>
    <role>Dilly Dedalus</role>  <actor>Margaret Donegan</actor>
</cast>

<n11>The lacquey by the door of Dillon's auctionrooms shook his
handbell twice again and viewed himself in the chalked mirror of the
cabinet.</n11>

<n11>Dilly Dedalus, loitering by the curbstone, heard the beats of the
bell, the cries of the auctioneer within.</n11>

<auctioneer>Four and nine. Those lovely
curtains. Five shillings. Cosy curtains. Selling new at two guineas. Any
advance on five shillings? Going for five shillings.</auctioneer>

<n11>The lacquey lifted his handbell and shook it:</n11>

<stage>Barang!</stage>

<interject>
    <stage>Bicycle bell rings</stage>
    <n19-b>Bang of the lastlap bell spurred the halfmile wheelmen to their
    sprint. J. A. Jackson, W. E. Wylie, A. Munro and H. T. Gahan,
    their stretched necks wagging, negotiated the curve by the College
    library.</n19-b>
</interject>

<n11>Mr Dedalus, tugging a long moustache, came round from
Williams's row. He halted near his daughter.</n11>

<dilly>It's time for you.</dilly>

<simon>Stand up straight for the love of the lord Jesus.
Are you trying to imitate your uncle John the cornetplayer, head
upon shoulder? Melancholy God!</simon>

<n11>Dilly shrugged her shoulders. Mr Dedalus placed his hands on
them and held them back.</n11>

<simon>Stand up straight, girl. You'll get curvature of the
spine. Do you know what you look like?</simon>

<n11>He let his head sink suddenly down and forward, hunching his
shoulders and dropping his underjaw.</n11>

<dilly>Give it up, father. All the people are looking at you.</dilly>

<!-- page 228 -->
<n11>Mr Dedalus drew himself upright and tugged again at his
moustache.</n11>

<dilly>Did you get any money?</dilly>

<simon>Where would I get money? There is no-one in Dublin
would lend me fourpence.</simon>

<dilly>You got some.</dilly>

<simon>How do you know that?</simon>
<omit>Mr Dedalus asked, his tongue in his cheek.</omit>

<interject>
    <n12>Mr Kernan, pleased with the order he had booked, walked
    boldly along James's street.</n12>
</interject>

<dilly>I know you did. Were you in the Scotch house now?</dilly>

<simon>I was not then. Was it the little nuns
taught you to be so saucy? Here.</simon>

<n11>He handed her a shilling.</n11>

<simon>See if you can do anything with that.</simon>

<dilly>I suppose you got five. Give me more than that.</dilly>

<simon> <stage>threateningly</stage> Wait awhile. You're like the
rest of them, are you? An insolent pack of little bitches since your poor
mother died. But wait awhile. You'll all get a short shrift and a long
day from me. Low blackguardism! I'm going to get rid of you.
Wouldn't care if I was stretched out stiff. He's dead. The man upstairs
is dead.</simon>

<n11>He left her and walked on. Dilly followed quickly and pulled
his coat.</n11>

<simon>Well, what is it?</simon>
<omit>He said, stopping.</omit>

<n11>The lacquey rang his bell behind their backs.</n11>

<stage>Barang!</stage>

<simon>Curse your bloody blatant soul.</simon>
<omit>Mr Dedalus cried, turning on him.</omit>

<n11>The lacquey, aware of comment, shook the lolling clapper of his
bell but feebly:</n11>

<stage>Bang!</stage>

<n11>Mr Dedalus stared at him.</n11>

<simon>Watch him. It's instructive. I wonder will he allow us
to talk.</simon>

<dilly>You got more than that, father.</dilly>

<simon>I'm going to show you a little trick. I'll leave
you all where Jesus left the jews. Look, that's all I have. I got two
shillings from Jack Power and I spent twopence for a shave for the
funeral.</simon>

<!-- page 229 -->
<n11>He drew forth a handful of copper coins, nervously.</n11>

<dilly>Can't you look for some money somewhere?</dilly>

<n11>Mr Dedalus thought and nodded.</n11>

<simon> <stage>gravely</stage> I will. I looked all along the gutter in
O'Connell street. I'll try this one now.</simon>

<dilly> <stage>grinning</stage> You're very funny</dilly>

<simon>Here.</simon>

<n11>Mr Dedalus said, handing her two pennies.</n11>

<simon>Get a glass of
milk for yourself and a bun or a something. I'll be home shortly.</simon>

<n11>He put the other coins in his pocket and started to walk on.</n11>

<interject>
    <n19-b>The viceregal cavalcade passed, greeted by obsequious
    policemen, out of Parkgate.</n19-b>
</interject>

<dilly>I'm sure you have another shilling.</dilly>

<stage>Lacquey bangs loudly!</stage>

<n11>Mr Dedalus amid the din walked off, murmuring to himself with
a pursing mincing mouth gently:</n11>

<simon>The little nuns! Nice little things!
O, sure they wouldn't do
anything! O, sure they wouldn't really!
<stage>Nun's bell</stage>
Is it little sister Monica!</simon>


</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="12">

<cast>
    <role>N12</role>            <actor>Olivia Bermingham-McDonogh (Wed)</actor>
    <role>N12</role>            <actor>Emma Bartholomew (Sat)</actor>
    <role>Mr Kernan</role>      <actor>George Reilly</actor>
    <role>Crimmins</role>       <actor>Don Berg</actor>
    <role>Simon Dedalus</role>  <actor>Bill Barnes</actor>
</cast>

<n12>From the sundial towards James's Gate walked Mr Kernan
pleased with the order he had booked for Pulbrook Robertson,
boldly along James's street, past Shackleton's offices.</n12>

<kernan-i>Got round him all right.</kernan-i>

<kernan>How do you do, Mr Crimmins?</kernan>

<crimmins>First rate, sir.</crimmins>

<kernan>I was afraid
you might be up in your other establishment in Pimlico. How are
things going?</kernan>

<crimmins>Just keeping alive.</crimmins>

<kernan>Lovely weather we're having.</kernan>

<crimmins>Yes, indeed.</crimmins>

<kernan>Good for the country. Those farmers are always
grumbling. I'll just take a thimbleful of your best gin, Mr Crimmins.</kernan>

<crimmins>A small
gin, sir. Yes, sir.</crimmins>

<kernan>Terrible affair that General Slocum explosion.</kernan>

<crimmins>Terrible, terrible!</crimmins>

<kernan>A thousand casualties. And heartrending scenes. Men
trampling down women and children. Most brutal thing.</kernan>

<crimmins>What do
they say was the cause?</crimmins>

<kernan>Spontaneous combustion. Most scandalous
revelation. Not a single lifeboat would float and the firehose all
burst.</kernan>

<crimmins>What I can't understand is how the inspectors ever allowed a
boat like that ...</crimmins>

<kernan>Now you are talking straight, Mr Crimmins. You
know why? <stage>rubbing fingers</stage> Palm oil.</kernan>

<crimmins>Is that a fact?</crimmins>

<kernan>Without a doubt.</kernan>

<crimmins>Well now, look at that.</crimmins>

<kernan>And America they say is the land of the free. I thought we
were bad here.</kernan>

<kernan><omit>I smiled at him.</omit>
<quote>America</quote>, <omit>I said, quietly, just like that.</omit>
<quote>What is it?
The sweepings of every country including our own.</quote></kernan>

<kernan>Isn't that true?</kernan>

<crimmins>That's a fact.</crimmins>

<!-- page 230 -->
<kernan>Graft, my dear sir. Well, of course, where there's money going
there's always someone to pick it up.</kernan>

<kernan-i>Saw him looking at my frockcoat. Dress does it. Nothing like a
dressy appearance. Bowls them over.</kernan-i>

<interject>
    <cowley>Hello, Simon.</cowley>
    <n14>Father Cowley said.</n14>
    <cowley>How are things?</cowley>

    <simon>Hello, Bob, old man.</simon>
    <n14>Mr Dedalus answered stopping.</n14>
</interject>

<n12>Mr Kernan halted and preened himself before the sloping mirror
of Peter Kennedy, hairdresser.</n12>

<kernan-i>Stylish coat, beyond a doubt. | Scott of
Dawson street. | Well worth the half sovereign I gave Neary for it. |
Never built under three guineas. Fits me down to the ground. | Some
Kildare street club toff had it probably. || John Mulligan, the manager
of the Hibernian bank, gave me a very sharp eye yesterday on Carlisle
bridge as if he remembered me.</kernan-i>

<kernan-i>Aham! | Must dress the character for those fellows. Knight of the
road. Gentleman.</kernan-i>

<kernan>And now, Mr Crimmins, may we have the honour
of your custom again, sir. The cup that cheers but not inebriates, as
the old saying has it.</kernan>

<interject>
    <nstar>North wall and sir John Rogerson's quay, with hulls and
    anchorchains, sailing westward, sailed by a skiff, a crumpled throwaway,
    rocked on the ferry-wash, Elijah is coming.</nstar>
</interject>

<n12>Mr Kernan glanced in farewell at his image.</n12>

<kernan-i>High colour, of
course. Grizzled moustache. Returned Indian officer. Bravely he bore
his stumpy body forward on spatted feet, squaring his shoulders. Is
that Lambert's brother over the way, Sam? What? Yes. He's as like
it as damn it. No. The windscreen of that motorcar in the sun there.
Just a flash like that. Damn like him.</kernan-i>

<kernan>Aham!</kernan>
<n12>Hot spirit of juniper juice warmed his vitals and his breath.</n12>
<kernan>Good drop of gin, that was.</kernan>

<stage>Exit Crimmins</stage>

<n12>His frocktails winked in bright
sunshine to his fat strut.</n12>

<kernan-i>Down there Emmet was hanged, drawn and quartered. Greasy
black rope. Dogs licking the blood off the street when the lord
lieutenant's wife drove by in her noddy.</kernan-i>

<kernan-i>Bad times those were. Well, well. Over and done with.
Great topers too. Fourbottle men.</kernan-i>

<kernan-i>Let me see. Is he buried in saint Michan's? Or no, there was a
midnight burial in Glasnevin. Corpse brought in through a secret
door in the wall. Dignam is there now. Went out in a puff. Well, well.
Better turn down here. Make a detour.</kernan-i>

<n12>Mr Kernan turned and walked down the slope of Watling street
by the corner of Guinness's visitors' waitingroom. Outside the
Dublin Distillers Company's stores an outside car without fare or
jarvey stood, the reins knotted to the wheel.</n12>

<kernan>Damn dangerous thing.
<!-- page 231 -->
Some Tipperary bosthoon endangering the lives of the citizens. Runaway
horse.</kernan>

<interject>
    <nstar>Denis Breen with his tomes, weary of having waited an hour in
    John Henry Menton's office, led his wife over O'Connell bridge,
    bound for the office of Messrs Collis and Ward.</nstar>
</interject>

<n12>Mr Kernan approached Island street.</n12>

<kernan-i>Times of the troubles. || Must ask Ned Lambert to lend me those
reminiscences of sir Jonah Barrington. | When you look back on it all
now in a kind of retrospective arrangement. || Gaming at Daly's. No
cardsharping then. One of those fellows got his hand nailed to the
table by a dagger. || Somewhere here lord Edward Fitzgerald escaped
from major Sirr. Stables behind Moira house.</kernan-i>

<kernan>Damn good gin that was.</kernan>

<kernan-i>Fine dashing young nobleman. Good stock, of course. That
ruffian, that sham squire, with his violet gloves, gave him away.
Course they were on the wrong side.
<quote>"They rose in dark and evil days."</quote>
Fine poem that is: Ingram. || They were gentlemen. Ben Dollard does
sing that ballad touchingly. Masterly rendition.</kernan-i>

<dollard><stage>Air from The Croppy Boy</stage>
<song>At the siege of Ross did my father fall.</song></dollard>

<n12>A cavalcade in easy trot along Pembrook quay passed,
outriders leaping, leaping in their, in their saddles. Frockcoats. Cream
sunshades.</n12>

<n12>Mr Kernan hurried forward, blowing pursily.</n12>

<kernan>
<stage>Steps forward, points</stage>
His Excellency! Too bad! Just missed that by a hair. Damn it!
What a pity!</kernan>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="13">

<cast>
    <role>N13</role>            <actor>Meg Savlov</actor>
    <role>Stephen Dedalus</role><actor>Niall McDonnell</actor>
    <role>Huckster</role>		<actor>Andrew Anderson</actor>
    <role>Dilly Dedalus</role>  <actor>Margaret Donegan</actor>
</cast>

<n13>Stephen Dedalus watched through the webbed window the
lapidary's fingers prove a timedulled chain.</n13>

<stephen> <unsure/> Dust webbed the window and
the showtrays. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture
nails. Dust slept on dull coils of bronze and silver, lozenges of
cinnabar, on rubies, leprous and winedark stones.</stephen>

<stephen>Born all in the dark wormy earth, cold specks of fire, evil lights
shining in the darkness. Where fallen archangels flung the stars of
their brows. Muddy swinesnouts, hands, root and root, gripe and
wrest them.</stephen>

<stephen>She dances in a foul gloom where gum burns with garlic.</stephen>

<n13>A sailorman, rustbearded, sips from a beaker rum and eyes her.</n13>

<stephen>A long
and seafed silent rut. She dances, capers, wagging her sowish
<!-- page 232 -->
haunches and her hips, on her gross belly flapping a ruby egg.</stephen>

<n13>Old Russell with a smeared shammy rag burnished again his gem,
turned it and held it at the point of his Moses' beard.</n13>

<stephen>Grandfather ape
gloating on a stolen hoard.</stephen>

<stephen>And you who wrest old images from the burial earth! The
brainsick words of sophists: Antisthenes. A lore of drugs. Orient and
immortal wheat standing from everlasting to everlasting.</stephen>

<n13>Two old women fresh from their whiff of the briny trudged
through Irishtown along London bridge road, one with a
sanded tired umbrella, one with a midwife's bag in which eleven cockles
rolled.</n13>

<n13>The whirr of flapping leathern bands and hum of dynamos from
the powerhouse urged Stephen to be on.</n13>

<stephen>Beingless beings. Stop!
Throb always without you and the throb always within. Your heart
you sing of. I between them. Where? Between two roaring worlds
where they swirl, I. Shatter them, one and both. But stun myself too
in the blow. Shatter me you who can. Bawd and butcher were the
words. I say! Not yet awhile. A look around.</stephen>

<stephen>Yes, quite true. Very large and wonderful and keeps famous
time. You say right, sir. A Monday morning, 'twas so, indeed.</stephen>

<n13>Stephen went down Bedford row, the handle of the ash clacking
against his shoulderblade. In Clohissey's window a faded
eighteen hundred and sixty <stage>1860</stage> print
of Heenan boxing Sayers held his eye. Staring backers with square
hats stood round the roped prizering. The heavyweights in tight
loincloths proposed gently each to other his bulbous fists.</n13>

<stephen>And they are
throbbing: heroes' hearts.</stephen>

<n13>He turned and halted by the slanted bookcart.</n13>

<huckster>Twopence each.</huckster>
<n13>The huckster said.</n13>
<huckster>Four for sixpence.</huckster>

<stephen>Tattered pages. <title>The Irish Beekeeper</title>.
<title>Life and Miracles of the Curé of
Ars</title>. <title>Pocket Guide to Killarney</title>.</stephen>

<stephen>I might find here one of my pawned schoolprizes. <latin>Stephano
Dedalo, alumno optimo, palmam ferenti</latin>.</stephen>

<interject>
    <n1>Father Conmee, having read his little hours, walked through the
    hamlet of Donnycarney, murmuring vespers.</n1>
</interject>

<stephen>Binding too good probably, what is this? Eighth and ninth book
of Moses: Secret of all secrets. Seal of King David. Thumbed pages:
read and read. Who has passed here before me? How to soften
chapped hands. Recipe for white wine vinegar. How to win a
woman's love. | For me this. | Say the following talisman three times
with hands folded:</stephen>

<stephen><stage>all whisper</stage>
<latin>Se el yilo nebrakada femininum! Amor me solo!
Sanktus! Amen</latin>.</stephen>

<!-- page 233 -->
<stephen>Who wrote this? Charms and invocations of the most blessed
abbot Peter Salanka to all true believers divulged. As good as any
other abbot's charms, as mumbling Joachim's. Down, baldynoddle,
or we'll wool your wool.</stephen>

<stage>Enter Dilly</stage>

<dilly>What are you doing here, Stephen.</dilly>

<stephen>Dilly's high shoulders and shabby dress.</stephen>

<stage>Dilly or Stephen?</stage>

<stephen>Shut the book quick. Don't let see.</stephen>

<stephen> <stage>to Dilly</stage> What are you doing?</stephen>

<stephen>A Stuart face of nonesuch Charles, lank locks falling at its sides.
It glowed as she crouched feeding the fire with broken boots. I told
her of Paris. Late lieabed under a quilt of old overcoats, fingering a
pinchbeck bracelet. Dan Kelly's token.
<stage>all whisper</stage><latin>Nebrakada femininum</latin>.</stephen>

<stephen> <stage>to Dilly</stage> What have you there?</stephen>

<dilly> <stage>laughing nervously</stage>
I bought it from the other cart for a penny.
Is it any good?</dilly>

<stephen>My eyes they say she has. Do others see me so? Quick, far and
daring. Shadow of my mind.</stephen>

<n13>He took the coverless book from her hand.</n13>

<stephen>Chardenal's French primer.</stephen>

<stephen> <stage>to Dilly</stage> What did you buy that for?
To learn French?</stephen>

<n13>She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips.</n13>

<stephen>Show no surprise. Quite natural.</stephen>

<stephen> <stage>to Dilly</stage> Here. It's all right. Mind Maggy doesn't pawn
it on you. I suppose all my books are gone.</stephen>

<dilly>Some. We had to.</dilly>

<stage>Exit Dilly</stage>

<stephen>She is drowning. Agenbite. Save her. Agenbite. All against us.
She will drown me with her, eyes and hair. Lank coils of seaweed hair
around me, my heart, my soul. Salt green death.</stephen>

<stephen>We.</stephen>

<stephen>Agenbite of inwit. Inwit's agenbite.</stephen>

<stephen>Misery! Misery!</stephen>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="14">

<cast>
    <role>N14</role>            <actor>Michael Green</actor>
    <role>Simon Dedalus</role>  <actor>Bill Barnes</actor>
    <role>Fr Cowley</role>      <actor>Ray Crerand</actor>
    <role>Ben Dollard</role>    <actor>Conor Byrne</actor>
</cast>

<cowley>Hello, Simon.</cowley>
<n14>Father Cowley said.</n14>
<cowley>How are things?</cowley>

<simon>Hello, Bob, old man.</simon>
<n14>Mr Dedalus answered, stopping.</n14>

<n14>They clasped hands loudly outside Reddy and Daughter's.
Father Cowley brushed his moustache often downward with a
scooping hand.</n14>

<simon>What's the best news?</simon>

<cowley>Why then not much. I'm barricaded up,
<!-- page 234 -->
Simon, with two men prowling around the house trying to effect
an entrance.</cowley>

<simon>Jolly. Who is it?</simon>

<cowley>O. A certain gombeen man of our
acquaintance.</cowley>

<simon>With a broken back, is it?</simon>

<cowley>The same, Simon. Reuben of that
ilk. I'm just waiting for Ben Dollard. He's going to say a word to long
John to get him to take those two men off. All I want is a little time.</cowley>

<n14>He looked with vague hope up and down the quay, a big apple
bulging in his neck.</n14>

<simon>I know. Poor old bockedy Ben!
He's always doing a good turn for someone. Hold hard!</simon>

<n14>He put on his glasses and gazed towards the metal bridge an
instant.</n14>

<simon>There he is, by God, arse and pockets.</simon>

<stage>Enter Dollard</stage>

<n14>Ben Dollard's loose blue cutaway and square hat above large
slops crossed the quay in full gait from the metal bridge. He came
towards them at an amble, scratching actively behind his coattails.</n14>

<n14>As he came near Mr Dedalus greeted:</n14>

<simon>Hold that fellow with the bad trousers.</simon>

<dollard>Hold him now.</dollard>
<n14>Ben Dollard said.</n14>

<n14>Mr Dedalus eyed with cold wandering scorn various points of
Ben Dollard's figure. Then, turning to Father Cowley with a nod, he
muttered sneeringly:</n14>

<simon>That's a pretty garment, isn't it, for a summer's day?</simon>

<dollard> <stage>growling furiously</stage> Why, God eternally curse your soul.
I threw out more clothes in my time than you ever saw.</dollard>

<n14>He stood beside them beaming on them first and on his roomy
clothes from points of which Mr Dedalus flicked fluff, saying:</n14>

<simon>They were made for a man in his health, Ben, anyhow.</simon>

<dollard>Bad luck to the jewman that made them.
Thanks be to God he's not paid yet.</dollard>

<cowley>And how is that basso profondo, Benjamin?</cowley>

<interject>
    <n17>Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, murmuring,
    glassyeyed, strode past the Kildare street club.</n17>
</interject>

<n14>Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanter's mouth,
gave forth a deep note.</n14>

<dollard>Aw!</dollard>

<simon>That's the style.</simon>
<n14>Mr Dedalus said, nodding to its drone.</n14>

<!-- page 235 -->
<dollard>What about that? Not too dusty? What?</dollard>

<n14>He turned to both.</n14>

<cowley>That'll do.</cowley>

<n14>Father Cowley said, nodding also.</n14>

<interject>
    <n8>The reverend Hugh C. Love walked from the old chapterhouse
    of saint Mary's abbey past James and Charles Kennedy's, rectifiers,
    attended by Geraldines tall and personable, towards the Tholsel
    beyond the ford of hurdles.</n8>
</interject>

<n14>Ben Dollard with a heavy list towards the shopfronts led them
forward, his joyful fingers in the air.</n14>

<dollard>Come along with me to the subsheriff's office. I want
to show you the new beauty Rock has for a bailiff. He's a cross
between Lobengula and Lynchehaun. He's well worth seeing, mind
you. Come along. I saw John Henry Menton casually in the Bodega
just now and it will cost me a fall if I don't ... wait awhile ... We're
on the right lay, Bob, believe you me.</dollard>

<cowley> <stage>anxiously</stage> For a few days tell him.</cowley>

<n14>Ben Dollard halted and stared, his loud orifice open, a dangling
button of his coat wagging brightbacked from its thread as he wiped
away the heavy shraums that clogged his eyes to hear aright.</n14>

<dollard> <stage>booming</stage> What few days? Hasn't your landlord distrained
for rent?</dollard>

<cowley>He has.</cowley>

<dollard>Then our friend's writ is not worth the paper it's printed on.
The landlord has the prior claim. I gave him all the
particulars. 29 Windsor avenue. Love is the name?</dollard>

<cowley>That's right. The reverend Mr Love. He's
a minister in the country somewhere. But are you sure of that?</cowley>

<dollard>You can tell Barabbas from me, that he can
put that writ where Jacko put the nuts.</dollard>

<n14>He led Father Cowley boldly forward linked to his bulk.</n14>

<simon>Filberts I believe they were.</simon>
<n14>Mr Dedalus said, as he dropped
his glasses on his coatfront, following them.</n14>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="15">

<cast>
    <role>N15</role>                <actor>Don Berg</actor>
    <role>Martin Cunningham</role>  <actor>Joe Martin</actor>
    <role>Mr Power</role>           <actor>Conor Byrne</actor>
    <role>John Wyse Nolan</role>    <actor>George Reilly</actor>
    <role>Jimmy Henry</role>        <actor>Michael Green</actor>
    <role>Long John Fanning</role>  <actor>Ray Crerand</actor>
</cast>

<cunningham>The youngster will be all right.</cunningham>
<n15>Martin Cunningham said, as
they passed out of the Castleyard gate.</n15>

<n15>The policeman touched his forehead.</n15>

<cunningham>God bless you.</cunningham>

<n15>He signed to the waiting jarvey who chucked at the reins and set
on towards Lord Edward street.</n15>

<!-- page 236 -->
<interject>
    <nstar>Bronze by gold, Miss Kennedy's head by Miss Douce's head,
    appeared above the crossblind of the Ormond hotel.</nstar>
</interject>

<cunningham>Yes. I wrote to
Father Conmee and laid the whole case before him.</cunningham>

<power>You could try our friend.</power>
<n15>Mr Power suggested backward.</n15>

<cunningham>Boyd? Touch me not.</cunningham>

<n15>John Wyse Nolan, lagging behind, reading the list, came after
them quickly down Cork hill.</n15>

<n15>On the steps of the City hall Councillor Nannetti, descending,
hailed Alderman Cowley and Councillor Abraham Lyon ascending.</n15>

<n15>The castle car wheeled empty into upper Exchange street.</n15>

<nolan>Look here Martin.</nolan>
<n15>John Wyse Nolan said, overtaking them at
the <title>Mail</title> office.</n15>
<nolan>I see Bloom put his name down for five shillings.</nolan>

<cunningham>Quite right. And put
down the five shillings too.</cunningham>

<power>Without a second word either.</power>

<cunningham>Strange but true.</cunningham>

<n15>John Wyse Nolan opened wide eyes.</n15>

<nolan><stage>quoting</stage>
I'll say there is much kindness in the jew.</nolan>

<n15>They went down Parliament street.</n15>

<power>There's Jimmy Henry, just heading out of
Kavanagh's.</power>

<cunningham>Righto. Here goes.</cunningham>

<interject>
    <n5>Outside <french>la Maison Claire</french>
    Blazes Boylan waylaid Jack Mooney's
    brother-in-law, humpy, tight, making for the liberties.</n5>
</interject>

<n15>John Wyse Nolan fell back with Mr Power, while Martin
Cunningham took the elbow of a dapper little man in a shower of hail suit
who walked uncertainly, with hasty steps past Micky Anderson's
watches.</n15>

<nolan>The assistant town clerk's corns are giving him some trouble.</nolan>

<n15>They followed round the corner towards James Kavanagh's
winerooms. The empty castle car fronted them at rest in Essex gate. Martin
Cunningham, speaking always, showed often the list at which Jimmy
Henry did not glance.</n15>

<nolan>And long John Fanning is here too, as large as life.</nolan>

<n15>The tall form of long John Fanning filled the doorway where
he stood.</n15>

<cunningham>Good day, Mr Subsheriff.</cunningham>
<n15>Martin Cunningham said, as all
halted and greeted.</n15>

<!-- page 237 -->
<n15>Long John Fanning made no way for them. He removed his large
Henry Clay decisively and his large fierce eyes scowled intelligently
over all their faces.</n15>

<fanning>Are the conscript fathers pursuing their peaceful
deliberations?</fanning>
<n15>He said with rich acrid utterance to the assistant
town clerk.</n15>

<henry> <stage>pettishly</stage> Hell open to christians they were having
about their damned Irish language. Where was the marshal,
I want to know, to keep order in the council chamber? And old
Barlow the macebearer laid up with asthma, no mace on the table,
nothing in order, no quorum even, and Hutchinson, the lord mayor,
in Llandudno <stage>Chlan-did-no</stage> and little Lorcan Sherlock doing
<latin>locum tenens</latin> for him.
Damned Irish language, language of our forefathers.</henry>

<n15>Long John Fanning blew a plume of smoke from his lips.</n15>

<n15>Martin Cunningham spoke by turns, twirling the peak of his
beard, to the assistant town clerk and the subsheriff, while John Wyse
Nolan held his peace.</n15>

<fanning>What Dignam was that?</fanning>

<n15>Jimmy Henry made a grimace and lifted his left foot.</n15>

<henry> <stage>plaintively</stage> O, my corns! Come upstairs for goodness'
sake till I sit down somewhere. Uff! Ooo! Mind!</henry>

<n15>Testily he made room for himself beside long John Fanning's
flank and passed in and up the stairs.</n15>

<cunningham>Come on up. I
don't think you knew him or perhaps you did, though.</cunningham>

<n15>With John Wyse Nolan Mr Power followed them in.</n15>

<power>Decent little soul he was.</power>
<n15>Mr Power said to the stalwart
back of long John Fanning ascending towards long John Fanning
in the mirror.</n15>

<cunningham>Rather lowsized, Dignam of Menton's office that was.</cunningham>

<n15>Long John Fanning could not remember him.</n15>

<n15>Clatter of horsehoofs sounded from the air.</n15>

<cunningham>What's that?</cunningham>

<n15>All turned <stage>all turn</stage> where they stood.
John Wyse Nolan came down
again. From the cool shadow of the doorway he saw the horses pass
Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering.
Gaily they went past before his cool unfriendly eyes, not quickly. In
saddles of the leaders, leaping leaders, rode outriders.</n15>

<cunningham>What was it?</cunningham>
<n15>Martin Cunningham asked, as they went on up the staircase.</n15>

<!-- page 238 -->
<nolan><stage>steps forward</stage>
The lord lieutenantgeneral and general governor of Ireland.</nolan>

<n15>John Wyse Nolan answered from the stairfoot.</n15>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="16">

<cast>
    <role>N16</role>            <actor>Helen Brew</actor>
    <role>Buck Mulligan</role>  <actor>Andrew Anderson</actor>
    <role>Haines</role>         <actor>Scott McKinstry</actor>
</cast>

<n16>As they trod across the thick carpet Buck Mulligan whispered
behind his panama to Haines.</n16>

<mulligan>Parnell's brother. There in the corner.</mulligan>

<n16>They chose a small table near the window, opposite a longfaced
man whose beard and gaze hung intently down on a chessboard.</n16>

<haines>Is that he?</haines>
<n16>Haines asked, twisting round in his seat.</n16>

<mulligan>Yes. That's John Howard, his brother, our
city marshal.</mulligan>

<n16>John Howard Parnell translated a white bishop quietly and his
grey claw went up again to his forehead whereat it rested.</n16>

<n16>An instant after, under its screen, his eyes looked quickly,
ghostbright, at his foe and fell once more upon a working corner.</n16>

<haines>I'll take a <french>mélange</french>.</haines>
<n16>Haines said to the waitress.</n16>

<mulligan>Two <french>mélanges</french>. And bring us some scones
and butter and some cakes as well.</mulligan>

<n16>When she had gone he said, laughing:</n16>

<mulligan>We call it D. B. C. because they have damn bad cakes. O, but
you missed Dedalus on <title>Hamlet</title>.</mulligan>

<n16>Haines opened his newbought book.</n16>

<haines>I'm sorry. Shakespeare is the happy huntingground
of all minds that have lost their balance.</haines>

<interject>
    <n3>The onelegged sailor growled at the area of 14 Nelson Street:</n3>

    <sailor><song>England expects ...</song></sailor>
</interject>

<n16>Buck Mulligan's primrose waistcoat shook gaily to his laughter.</n16>

<mulligan>You should see him, when his body loses its balance.
Wandering Ængus I call him.</mulligan>

<haines>I am sure he has an <french>idée fixe</french>.</haines>
<n16>Haines said, pinching his chin
thoughtfully with thumb and forefinger.</n16>
<haines>Now I am speculating what
it would be likely to be. Such persons always have.</haines>

<n16>Buck Mulligan bent across the table gravely.</n16>

<mulligan>They drove his wits astray, by visions of hell. He will
never capture the Attic note. The note of Swinburne, of all poets, the
white death and the ruddy birth. That is his tragedy. He can never be
a poet. The joy of creation ...</mulligan>

<haines>Eternal punishment. <stage>nodding curtly</stage> I see. I
tackled him this morning on belief. There was something on his mind, I
<!-- page 239 -->
saw. It's rather interesting because professor Pokorny of Vienna
makes an interesting point out of that.</haines>

<n16>Buck Mulligan's watchful eyes saw the waitress come. He helped
her to unload her tray.</n16>

<haines>He can find no trace of hell in ancient Irish myth<omit>,
amid the cheerful cups</omit>. The moral idea seems lacking, the sense of
destiny, of retribution. Rather strange he should have just that fixed
idea. Does he write anything for your movement?</haines>

<n16>He sank two lumps of sugar deftly longwise through the whipped
cream. Buck Mulligan slit a steaming scone in two and plastered butter
over its smoking pith. He bit off a soft piece hungrily.</n16>

<mulligan> <stage>chewing and laughing</stage> Ten years. He is going to write
something in ten years.</mulligan>

<haines>Seems a long way off.</haines>
<n16>Haines said, thoughtfully lifting his spoon.</n16>
<haines>Still, I shouldn't wonder if he did after all.</haines>

<n16>He tasted a spoonful from the creamy cone of his cup.</n16>

<haines>This is real Irish cream I take it.</haines>
<n16>He said with forbearance.</n16>
<haines>I don't want to be imposed on.</haines>

<stage>Exit Buck Mulligan and Haines</stage>

<interject>
    <nstar>Elijah, skiff, light crumpled throwaway, sailed eastward by flanks
    of ships and trawlers, amid an archipelago of corks, beyond new
    Wapping street past Benson's ferry, and by the threemasted schooner
    <title>Rosevean</title> from Bridgwater with bricks.</nstar>
</interject>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="17">

<cast>
    <role>N17</role>            <actor>Emma Bartholomew</actor>
    <role>Farrell</role>        <actor>George Reilly</actor>
    <role>Stripling</role>      <actor>Niall McDonnell</actor>
</cast>

<n17>Almidano Artifoni walked past Holles street, past Sewell's yard.
Behind him Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell with
stickumbrelladustcoat dangling, shunned the lamp before Mr Law
Smith's house and, crossing, walked along Merrion square. Distantly
behind him a blind stripling tapped his way by the wall of College
Park.</n17>

<n17>Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell walked as far
as Mr Lewis Werner's cheerful windows, then turned and strode back
along Merrion square, his stickumbrelladustcoat dangling.</n17>

<n17>At the corner of Wilde's he halted, frowned at Elijah's name
announced on the Metropolitan Hall, frowned at the distant pleasance
of duke's lawn. His eyeglass flashed frowning in the sun. With
ratsteeth bared he muttered:</n17>

<farrell><latin>Coactus volui.</latin></farrell>

<n17>He strode on for Clare street, grinding his fierce word.</n17>

<farrell><latin>Coactus volui.</latin></farrell>

<n17>As he strode past Mr Bloom's dental windows the sway of his
<!-- page 240 -->
dustcoat brushed rudely from its angle a slender tapping cane and
swept onwards, having buffeted a thewless body. The blind stripling
turned his sickly face after the striding form.</n17>

<stripling>God's curse on you, whoever you are! You're
blinder nor I am, you bitch's bastard!</stripling>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="18">

<cast>
    <role>N18</role>            <actor>Ray Crerand</actor>
    <role>Master Dignam</role>  <actor>Michael Green</actor>
</cast>

<n18>Opposite Ruggy O'Donohoe's Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam,
pawing the pound and half of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, porksteaks
he had been sent for, went along warm Wicklow street dawdling. It
was too blooming dull sitting in the parlour with Mrs Stoer and Mrs
Quigley and Mrs MacDowell and the blind down and they all at their
sniffles and sipping sups of the superior tawny sherry uncle Barney
brought from Tunney's. And they eating crumbs of the cottage
fruitcake, jawing the whole blooming time and sighing.</n18>

<n18>After Wicklow lane the window of Madame Doyle, court dress
milliner, stopped him. He stood looking in at the two puckers stripped
to their pelts and putting up their props. From the sidemirrors two
mourning Masters Dignam gaped silently. Myler Keogh, Dublin's pet
lamb, will meet sergeantmajor Bennett, the Portobello bruiser, for
a purse of fifty sovereigns.</n18>

<dignam>God, that'd be a good pucking match to see.
Myler Keogh, that's the chap sparring out to him with the green sash.
Two bar entrance, soldiers half price. I could easy do a bunk on ma.</dignam>

<n18>Master Dignam on his left turned as he turned.</n18>

<dignam>That's me in
mourning. When is it? May the twentysecond. Sure, the blooming thing is
all over.</dignam>

<n18>He turned to the right and on his right Master Dignam
turned, his cap awry, his collar sticking up. Buttoning it down, his chin
lifted, he saw the image of Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, beside
the two puckers.</n18>

<dignam>One of them mots that do be in the packets of fags
Stoer smokes that his old fellow welted hell out of him for one time
he found out.</dignam>

<n18>Master Dignam got his collar down and dawdled on.</n18>

<dignam>The best
pucker going for strength was Fitzsimons. One puck in the wind from
that fellow would knock you into the middle of next week, man. But
the best pucker for science was Jem Corbet before Fitzsimons knocked
the stuffings out of him, dodging and all.</dignam>

<n18>In Grafton street Master Dignam saw a red flower in a toff's
mouth and a swell pair of kicks on him and he listening to what the
drunk was telling him and grinning all the time.</n18>

<drunk>No Sandymount tram.</drunk>

<!-- page 241 -->
<n18>Master Dignam walked across Nassau street, shifted the
porksteaks to his other hand. His collar sprang up again and he tugged it
down. The blooming stud was too small for the buttonhole of the
shirt, blooming end to it. He met schoolboys with satchels.</n18>

<dignam>I'm not
going tomorrow either, stay away till Monday.</dignam>

<n18>He met other schoolboys.</n18>

<dignam>Do they notice I'm in mourning? Uncle Barney said he'd get
it into the paper tonight. Then they'll all see it in the paper and read
my name printed and pa's name.</dignam>

<dignam>His face got all grey instead of being red like it was and there
was a fly walking over it up to his eye. The scrunch that was when they
were screwing the screws into the coffin: and the bumps when
they were bringing it downstairs.</dignam>

<dignam>Pa was inside it and ma crying in the parlour and uncle Barney
telling the men how to get it round the bend. A big coffin it was, and
high and heavylooking. How was that? The last night pa was boosed
he was standing on the landing there bawling out for his boots to go
out to Tunney's for to boose more and he looked butty and short
in his shirt. Never see him again. Death, that is. Pa is dead. My
father is dead. He told me to be a good son to ma. I couldn't hear
the other things he said but I saw his tongue and his teeth trying to
say it better. Poor pa. That was Mr Dignam, my father. I hope he is
in purgatory now because he went to confession to father Conroy on
Saturday night.</dignam>

</rock>


<!-- ============================================================== -->


<rock id="19">

<cast>
    <role>N19-A</role>          <actor>Mary Kelly</actor>
    <role>N19-B</role>          <actor>Olivia Bermingham-McDonogh (Wed)</actor>
    <role>N19-B</role>          <actor>Meg Savlov (Sat)</actor>
    <role>Earl of Dudley</role> <actor>?</actor>
    <role>Lady Dudley</role> 	<actor>Bernadette Noonan</actor>
</cast>

<n19-a>William Humble, earl of Dudley,
and lady Dudley, accompanied
by lieutenantcolonel Hesseltine, drove out after luncheon from the
viceregal lodge. In the following carriage were the honourable Mrs
Paget, Miss de Courcy and the honourable Gerald Ward, A. D. C.
in attendance.</n19-a>

<n19-a>The cavalcade passed out by the lower gate of Phoenix park
saluted by obsequious policemen and proceeded past Kingsbridge
along the northern quays. The viceroy was most cordially greeted on
his way through the metropolis. At Bloody bridge <walk>Mr Thomas Kernan</walk>
beyond the river greeted him vainly from afar.</n19-a>

<n19-b>Between Queen's and
Whitworth bridges lord Dudley's viceregal carriages passed and were
unsaluted by <walk>Mr Dudley White</walk>, B. L., M. A., who stood on Arran
Quay outside Mrs M. E. White's, the pawnbroker's, at the corner of
Arran street west stroking his nose with his forefinger, undecided
whether he should arrive at Phibsborough more quickly by a triple 
<!-- page 242 -->
change of tram or by hailing a car or on foot through Smithfield,
Constitution hill and Broadstone terminus.</n19-b>

<n19-a>In the porch of Four
Courts <walk>Richie Goulding</walk> with the costsbag of Goulding, Collis and
Ward saw him with surprise. Past Richmond bridge at the doorstep
of the office of Reuben J. Dodd, solicitor, agent for the Patriotic
Insurance Company, <walk>an elderly female</walk> about to enter changed her
plan and retracing her steps by King's windows smiled credulously on
the representative of His Majesty.</n19-a>

<n19-b>From its sluice in Wood quay wall
under Tom Devan's office Poddle river hung out in fealty a tongue
of liquid sewage. Above the crossblind of the Ormond Hotel, gold
by bronze, Miss Kennedy's head by Miss Douce's head watched and
admired. On Ormond quay <walk>Mr Simon Dedalus</walk>, steering his way from
the greenhouse for the subsheriff's office, stood still in midstreet and
brought his hat low. His Excellency graciously returned Mr Dedalus'
greeting.</n19-b>

<n19-a>From Cahill's corner the <walk>reverend Hugh C. Love</walk>, M. A.,
made obeisance unperceived, mindful of lords deputies whose hands
benignant had held of yore rich advowsons. On Grattan bridge
<walk>Lenehan</walk> and <walk>M'Coy</walk>,
taking leave of each other, watched the carriages go
by.</n19-a>

<n19-a>Passing by Roger Greene's office and Dollard's big red
printinghouse <walk>Gerty MacDowell</walk>,
carrying the Catesby's cork lino letters for
her father who was laid up, knew by the style it was the lord and lady
lieutenant but she couldn't see what Her Excellency had on because
the tram and Spring's big yellow furniture van had to stop in front of
her on account of its being the lord lieutenant.</n19-a>

<n19-b>Beyond Lundy Foot's
from the shaded door of Kavanagh's winerooms <walk>John Wyse Nolan</walk>
smiled with unseen coldness towards the lord lieutenantgeneral and
general governor of Ireland. The Right Honourable William Humble,
earl of Dudley, G. C. V. O., passed Micky Anderson's all times
ticking watches and Henry and James's wax smartsuited freshcheeked models,
the gentleman Henry, <french>dernier cri</french> James.</n19-b>

<n19-a>Over against Dame
gate <walk>Tom Rochford</walk> and <walk>Nosey Flynn</walk>
watched the approach of the
cavalcade. Tom Rochford, seeing the eyes of lady Dudley on him,
took his thumbs quickly out of the pockets of his claret waistcoat and
doffed his cap to her.</n19-a>

<n19-a>A charming <french>soubrette</french>,
great Marie Kendall, with
dauby cheeks and lifted skirt, smiled daubily from her poster upon
William Humble, earl of Dudley, and upon lieutenantcolonel H. G.
Hesseltine and also upon the honourable Gerald Ward A. D. C.</n19-a>

<n19-b>From
the window of the D. B. C. <walk>Buck Mulligan</walk> gaily,
and <walk>Haines</walk> gravely,
gazed down on the viceregal equipage over the shoulders of eager
guests, whose mass of forms darkened the chessboard whereon John
Howard Parnell looked intently.</n19-b>

<n19-b>In Fownes's street, <walk>Dilly Dedalus</walk>,
<!-- page 243 -->
straining her sight upward from Chardenal's first French primer, saw
sunshades spanned and wheelspokes spinning in the glare. John
Henry Menton, filling the doorway of Commercial Buildings, stared
from winebig oyster eyes, holding a fat gold hunter watch not looked
at in his fat left hand not feeling it.</n19-b>

<n19-a>Where the foreleg of King Billy's
horse pawed the air Mrs Breen plucked her hastening husband back
from under the hoofs of the outriders. She shouted in his ear the
tidings. Understanding, he shifted his tomes to his left breast and
saluted the second carriage. The honourable Gerald Ward A. D. C.,
agreeably surprised, made haste to reply.</n19-a>

<n19-a>At Ponsonby's corner a
jaded white flagon <walk>Haitch <stage>H.</stage></walk>
halted and four tallhatted white flagons halted
behind him, <walk>Ee Ell Wye Apostrophe Ess <stage>E.L.Y.'S.</stage></walk>,
while outriders pranced past and carriages.
Opposite Pigott's music warerooms <walk>Mr Denis J. Maginni</walk> professor of
dancing etc, gaily apparelled, gravely walked, outpassed by a viceroy
and unobserved.</n19-a>

<n19-b>By the provost's wall came jauntily <walk>Blazes Boylan</walk>,
stepping in tan shoes and socks with skyblue clocks to the refrain of</n19-b>

<blazes><song>My girl's a Yorkshire girl.</song></blazes>

<n19-b>Blazes Boylan presented to the leaders' skyblue frontlets and
high action a skyblue tie, a widebrimmed straw hat at a rakish angle
and a suit of indigo serge. His hands in his jacket pockets forgot to
salute but he offered to the three ladies the bold admiration of his eyes
and the red flower between his lips.</n19-b>

<n19-a>As they drove along Nassau street
His Excellency drew the attention of his bowing consort to the
programme of music which was being discoursed in College park. Unseen
brazen highland laddies blared and drumthumped after the
<french>cortège</french>.</n19-a>

<blazes>
<song>
            But though she's a factory lass<br/>
            And wears no fancy clothes.<br/>
            Baraabum.<br/>
            Yet I've a sort of a<br/>
            Yorkshire relish for<br/>
            My little Yorkshire rose.<br/>
            Baraabum.
</song>
</blazes>

<n19-b>Thither of the wall the quartermile flat handicappers, M. C.
Green, H. Thrift, T. M. Patey, C. Scaife, J. B. Jeffs, G. N. Morphy,
F. Stevenson, C. Adderly, and W. C. Huggard started in pursuit.</n19-b>

<n19-a>Striding past Finn's hotel,
<walk>Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell</walk>
stared through a fierce eyeglass across the carriages at the head
of Mr M. E. Solomons in the window of the Austro-Hungarian
viceconsulate. Deep in Leinster street, by Trinity's postern, a loyal king's
man, Hornblower, touched his tallyho cap.</n19-a>

<n19-a>As the glossy horses
<!-- page 244 -->
pranced by Merrion square <walk>Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam</walk>, waiting,
saw salutes being given to the gent with the topper and raised also his
new black cap with fingers greased by porksteak paper. His collar too
sprang up.</n19-a>

<n19-b>The viceroy, on his way to inaugurate the Mirus bazaar in
aid of funds for Mercer's hospital, drove with his following towards
Lower Mount street. He passed a <walk>blind stripling</walk> opposite
Broadbent's. In Lower Mount street a pedestrian in a brown macintosh,
eating dry bread, passed swiftly and unscathed across the viceroy's
path.</n19-b>

<n19-a>At the Royal Canal bridge, from his hoarding, Mr Eugene
Stratton, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome to Pembroke
township. At Haddington road corner <walk>two sanded women</walk> halted
themselves, an umbrella and a bag in which eleven cockles rolled to
view with wonder the lord mayor and lady mayoress without his
golden chain.</n19-a>

<n19-b>On Northumberland and Landsdowne roads His
Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from
<walk>rare male walkers</walk>,</n19-b>

<n19-a>the salute of two small schoolboys at
the garden gate of the house said to
have been admired by the late queen when visiting the Irish capital
with her husband, the prince consort, in eighteen hundred and forty-nine
<stage>1849</stage>,</n19-a>

<n19-b>and the salute of
<walk>Almidano Artifoni's</walk> sturdy trousers
swallowed by a closing door.</n19-b>

</rock>

<!-- ============================================================== -->

</xml>