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overcoats and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many. A 

chasm opens with a noiseless yawn. Tom Rochford, winner, in 

athlete’s singlet and breeches, arrives at the head of the national 

hurdle handicap and leaps into the void. He is followed by a race 

of runners and leapers. In wild attitudes they spring from the 

brink. Their bodies plunge. Factory lasses with fancy clothes toss 

redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. Society ladies lift their skirts above 

their heads to protect themselves. Laughing witches in red cutty 

sarks ride through the air on broomsticks. Quakerlyster plasters 

blisters. It rains dragons’ teeth. Armed heroes spring up from 

furrows. They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the red 

cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against 

Henry Grattan, Smith O’Brien against Daniel O’Connell, 

Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M’Carthy against 

Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John O’Leary 

against Lear O’Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord 

Gerald Fitzedward, The O’Donoghue of the Glens against The 

Glens of The O’Donoghue. On an eminence, the centre of the 

earth, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara. Black candles rise from 

its gospel and epistle horns. From the high barbacans of the tower 

two shafts of light fall on the smokepalled altarstone. On the 

altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, naked, 

fettered, a chalice resting on her swollen belly. Father Malachi 

O’Flynn in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his two left feet 

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back to the front, celebrates camp mass. The Reverend Mr Hugh 

C Haines Love M. A. in a plain cassock and mortarboard, his 

head and collar back to the front, holds over the celebrant’s head 

an open umbrella.) 

FATHER MALACHI O’FLYNN: Introibo ad altare 

diaboli. 

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: To the 

devil which hath made glad my young days. 

FATHER MALACHI O’FLYNN: (Takes from the 

chalice and elevates a blooddripping host) Corpus meum. 

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (Raises high 

behind the celebrant’s petticoat, revealing his grey bare hairy 

buttocks between which a carrot is stuck) My body. 

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Htengier 

Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella! 

(From on high the voice of Adonai calls.) 

ADONAI: Dooooooooooog! 

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Alleluia, for 

the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! 

(From on high the voice of Adonai calls.) 

ADONAI: Goooooooooood! 

(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and 

Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to 

Mary.) 

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PRIVATE CARR: (With ferocious articulation) I’ll do 

him in, so help me fucking Christ! I’ll wring the bastard 

fucker’s bleeding blasted fucking windpipe! 

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (Thrusts a dagger towards 

Stephen’s hand) Remove him, acushla. At 8.35 a.m. you 

will be in heaven and Ireland will be free. (She prays) O 

good God, take him! 

(THE RETRIEVER, NOSING ON THE FRINGE 

OF THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY.) 

BLOOM: (Runs to lynch) Can’t you get him away? 

LYNCH: He likes dialectic, the universal language. 

Kitty!  (To Bloom) Get him away, you. He won’t listen to 

me. 

(He drags Kitty away.) 

STEPHEN: (Points) exit Judas. Et laqueo se suspendit. 

BLOOM: (Runs to Stephen) Come along with me now 

before worse happens. Here’s your stick. 

STEPHEN: Stick, no. Reason. This feast of pure 

reason. 

CISSY CAFFREY: (Pulling Private Carr) Come on, 

you’re boosed. He insulted me but I forgive him. (Shouting 

in his ear) I forgive him for insulting me. 

BLOOM:  (Over Stephen’s shoulder) Yes, go. You see 

he’s incapable. 

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PRIVATE CARR: (Breaks loose) I’ll insult him. 

(He rushes towards Stephen, fist outstretched, and strikes him 

in the face. Stephen totters, collapses, falls, stunned. He lies 

prone, his face to the sky, his hat rolling to the wall. Bloom 

follows and picks it up.) 

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Loudly) Carbine in bucket! Cease 

fire! Salute! 

THE RETRIEVER: (Barking furiously) Ute ute ute ute 

ute ute ute ute. 

THE CROWD: Let him up! Don’t strike him when 

he’s down! Air! Who? The soldier hit him. He’s a 

professor. Is he hurted? Don’t manhandle him! He’s 

fainted! 

A HAG: What call had the redcoat to strike the 

gentleman and he under the influence. Let them go and 

fight the Boers! 

THE BAWD: Listen to who’s talking! Hasn’t the 

soldier a right to go with his girl? He gave him the 

coward’s blow. 

(They grab at each other’s hair, claw at each other and spit) 

THE RETRIEVER: (Barking) Wow wow wow. 

BLOOM:  (Shoves them back, loudly) Get back, stand 

back! 

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