Ulysses - Gabler Edition [255]
STEPHEN
Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti. Queens lay with prize bulls. Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the first confessionbox. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the house of Lambert. And Noah was drunk with wine. And his ark was open.
BELLA
None of that here. Come to the wrong shop.
LYNCH
Let him alone. He’s back from Paris.
ZOE
(runs to Stephen and links him) O go on! Give us some parleyvoo.
(Stephen claps hat on head and leaps over to the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a painted smile on his face.)
LYNCH
(pommelling on the sofa) Rmm Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.
STEPHEN
(gabbles with marionette jerks) Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous. Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night. Perfectly shocking terrific of religion’s things mockery seen in universal world. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants. (he clacks his tongue loudly) Ho, là là! Ce pif qu’il a!
LYNCH
Vive le vampire!
THE WHORES
Bravo! Parleyvoo!
STEPHEN
(with head back, laughs loudly, clapping himself grimacing) Great success of laughing. Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians. Demimondaines nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed. Or do you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans? (he points about him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and the whores reply to) Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times. Enter, gentleman, to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher’s boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the belly pièce de Shakespeare.
BELLA
(clapping her belly sinks back on the sofa, with a shout of laughter) An omelette on the .... Ho! ho! ho! ho! ... omelette on the ....
STEPHEN
(mincingly) I love you, sir darling. Speak you englishman tongue for double entente cordiale. O yes, mon loup. How much cost? Waterloo. Watercloset. (he ceases suddenly and holds up a forefinger)
BELLA
(laughing) Omelette ....
THE WHORES
(laughing) Encore! Encore!
STEPHEN
Mark me. I dreamt of a watermelon.
ZOE
Go abroad and love a foreign lady.
LYNCH
Across the world for a wife.
FLORRY
Dreams goes by contraries.
STEPHEN
(extends his arms) It was here. Street of harlots. In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a fubsy widow. Where’s the red carpet spread?
BLOOM
(approaching Stephen) Look ....
STEPHEN
No, I flew. My foes beneath me. And ever shall be. World without end. (he cries) Pater! Free!
BLOOM
I say, look ...
STEPHEN
Break my spirit, will he? O merde alors! (he cries, his vulture talons sharpened) Holà! Hillyho!
(Simon Dedalus’ voice hilloes in answer, somewhat sleepy but ready.)
SIMON
That’s all right. (he swoops uncertainly through the air, wheeling, uttering cries of heartening, on strong ponderous buzzard wings) Ho, boy! Are you going to win? Hoop! Pschatt! Stable with those halfcastes. Wouldn’t let them within the bawl of an ass. Head up! Keep our flag flying! An eagle gules volant in a field argent displayed. Ulster king at arms! Haihoop! (he makes the beagle’s call, giving tongue) Bulbul! Burblblburblbl! Hai, boy!
(The fronds and spaces of the wallpaper file rapidly crosscountry. A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs swift for the open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, under the leaves. The pack of staghounds follows, nose to the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be blooded. Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them, hot for a kill. From Six Mile Point, Flathouse, Nine Mile Stone follow the footpeople with knotty sticks, hayforks, salmongaffs, lassos, flockmasters with stockwhips, bearbaiters with tomtoms, toreadors with bullswords, grey negroes waving torches. The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.)