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Ulysses 

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pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the 

keyboard, nodding with damsel’s grace, his bowknot bobbing) 

ZOE: (Twirls round herself, heeltapping) Dance. Anybody 

here for there? Who’ll dance? Clear the table. 

(The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the 

prelude of My Girl’s a Yorkshire Girl. Stephen throws his 

ashplant on the table and seizes Zoe round the waist. Florry and 

Bella push the table towards the fireplace. Stephen, arming Zoe 

with exaggerated grace, begins to waltz her round the room. 

Bloom stands aside. Her sleeve filling from gracing arms reveals a 

white fleshflower of vaccination. Between the curtains Professor 

Maginni inserts a leg on the toepoint of which spins a silk hat. 

With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his crown and 

jauntyhatted skates in. He wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk 

lapels, a gorget of cream tulle, a green lowcut waistcoat, stock 

collar with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers, patent pumps 

and canary gloves. In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia. He 

twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then wedges it tight in 

his oxter. He places a hand lightly on his breastbone, bows, and 

fondles his flower and buttons.) 

MAGINNI: The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. 

No connection with Madam Legget Byrne’s or 

Levenston’s. Fancy dress balls arranged. Deportment. The 

Katty Lanner step. So. Watch me! My terpsichorean 

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abilities. (He minuets forward three paces on tripping bee’s feet) 

Tout le monde en avant! Révérence! Tout le monde en 

place!</p> 

(The prelude ceases. Professor Goodwin, beating vague arms 

shrivels, sinks, his live cape filling about the stool. The air in 

firmer waltz time sounds. Stephen and Zoe circle freely. The 

lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet.) 

THE PIANOLA: 

Two young fellows were talking about 

their girls, girls, girls, 

Sweethearts they’d left behind ...  

(From a corner the morning hours run out, goldhaired, 

slimsandalled, in girlish blue, waspwaisted, with innocent hands. 

Nimbly they dance, twirling their skipping ropes. The hours of 

noon follow in amber gold. Laughing, linked, high haircombs 

flashing, they catch the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting their 

arms.) 

MAGINNI:  (Clipclaps glovesilent hands) Carré! Avant 

deux! Breathe evenly! Balance! 

(The morning and noon hours waltz in their places, turning, 

advancing to each other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis. 

Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, with hands 

descending to, touching, rising from their shoulders.) 

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HOURS: You may touch my. 

CAVALIERS: May I touch your? 

HOURS: O, but lightly! 

CAVALIERS: O, so lightly! 

THE PIANOLA: 

My little shy little lass has a waist.  

(Zoe and Stephen turn boldly with looser swing. The twilight 

hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, 

languideyed, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint 

bloom. They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter 

in the land breeze.) 

MAGINNI: Avant huit! Traversé! Salut! Cours de mains! 

Croisé! 

(The night hours, one by one, steal to the last place. Morning, 

noon and twilight hours retreat before them. They are masked, 

with daggered hair and bracelets of dull bells. Weary they 

curchycurchy under veils.) 

THE BRACELETS: Heigho! Heigho! 

ZOE: (Twirling, her hand to her brow) O! 

MAGINNI: Les tiroirs! Chaîne de dames! La corbeille! Dos 

à dos! 

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(Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the floor, 

weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling, simply swirling.) 

ZOE: I’m giddy! 

(She frees herself, droops on a chair. Stephen seizes Florry and 

turns with her.) 

MAGINNI: Boulangère! Les ronds! Les ponts! 

Chevaux de bois! Escargots! 

(Twining, receding, with interchanging hands the night hours 

link each each with arching arms in a mosaic of movements. 

Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.) 

MAGINNI:  Dansez avec vos dames! Changez de dames! 

Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame! Remerciez! 

THE PIANOLA: 

Best, best of all, 

Baraabum!  

KITTY: (JUMPS UP) O, they played that on the 

hobbyhorses at the Mirus bazaar! 

(She runs to Stephen. He leaves florry brusquely and seizes 

Kitty. A screaming bittern’s harsh high whistle shrieks. 

Groangrousegurgling Toft’s cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the 

room right roundabout the room.) 

THE PIANOLA: 

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