"A white yashmak, violet in the night, covers her face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and raven hair.)




Welly? Mrs Marion from this out, my dear man, when you speak to me. (satirically) Has poor little hubby cold feet waiting so long?


(shifts from foot to foot) No, no. Not the least little bit.

(He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her supper, things to tell her, excuse, desire, spellbound. A coin gleams on her forehead. On her feet are jewelled toerings. Her ankles are linked by a slender fetterchain."

"Beside her a camel, hooded with a turreting turban, waits. A silk ladder of innumerable rungs climbs to his bobbing howdah. He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in Moorish.)


Nebrakada! Femininum!

(The camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a tree a large mango fruit, offers it to his mistress, blinking, in his cloven hoof, then droops his head and, grunting, with uplifted neck, fumbles to kneel."

"Bloom stoops his back for leapfrog.)


I can give you... I mean as your business menagerer... Mrs Marion... if you..."


So you notice some change? (Her hands passing slowly over her trinketed stomacher, a slow friendly mockery in her eyes.) O Poldy, Poldy, you are a poor old stick in the mud! Go and see life. See the wide world.


I was just going back for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. Shop closes early on Thursday. But the first thing in the morning. (He pats divers pockets.) This moving kidney. Ah!
(He points to the south, then to the east. A cake of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume.)"


We're a capital couple are Bloom and I.
He brightens the earth. I polish the sky.

(The freckled face of Sweny, the druggist, appears in the disc of the soapsun.)


Three and a penny, please.


Yes. For my wife. Mrs Marion. Special recipe.


(softly) Poldy!


Yes, ma'am?


Ti trema un poco il cuore?" (U15.337)
"(In disdain she saunters away, plump as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni.)


Are you sure about that Voglio? I mean the pronunciati...

(He follows, followed by the sniffing terrier. The elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, the bristles of her chinmole glittering.)"


Ten shillings a maidenhead. Fresh thing was never touched. Fifteen. There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk.
(She points. In the gap of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled Bridie Kelly stands.)


Hatch street. Any good in your mind?"

"(With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. A burly rough pursues with booted strides. He stumbles on the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. Weak squeaks of laughter are heard, weaker.)


(Her wolfeyes shining.) He's getting his pleasure. You won't get a virgin in the flash houses. Ten shillings. Don't be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. Sixtyseven is a bitch."

"(Leering, Gerty MacDowell limps forward. She draws from behind, ogling, and shows coyly her bloodied clout.)


With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. (She murmurs.)"

"(She murmurs.) You did that. I hate you.


I? When? You're dreaming. I never saw you.


Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat. Writing the gentleman false letters. Streetwalking and soliciting. Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you."


(To Bloom.) When you saw all the secrets of my bottom drawer. (She paws his sleeve, slobbering.)"

"Dirty married man! I love you for doing that to me.

(She glides away crookedly."

"Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets stands in the causeway, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling in all her herbivorous buckteeth.)




(coughs gravely) Madam, when we last had this pleasure by letter dated the sixteenth instant ....


Mr Bloom! You down here in the haunts of sin! I caught you nicely!Scamp!"


(hurriedly) Not so loud my name. Whatever do you think of me? Don't give me away. Walls have ears. How do you do? It's ages since I. You're looking splendid. Absolutely it. Seasonable weather we are having this time of year. Black refracts heat. Short cut home here. Interesting quarter."

"Rescue of fallen women. Magdalen asylum. I am the secretary..."


Magdalen asylums, named for Mary Magdalene, the Biblical prostitute who repented and became one of Jesus' closest followers, were homes for 'fallen women.' Magdalen asylums grew out of the 'rescue movement' in Britain and Ireland in the 19c. which had as its formal goal the rehabilitation of prostitutes. In Ireland, the movement was quickly appropriated by the Church, and most asylums were operated by various orders of the Roman Catholic Church. It is estimated that 30,000 women were admitted during the 150-year history of these institutions. The last Magdalen asylum in Ireland closed on September 25th 1996.