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STEPHEN: _(Cracking his fingers impatiently)_ Quick! Quick! Where's my augur's rod? _(He runs to the piano and takes his ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium)_
ZOE: _(Turns the drumhandle)_ There.
_(She drops two pennies in the slot. Gold, pink and violet lights start forth. The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz. Professor Goodwin, in a bowknotted periwig, in court dress, wearing a stained inverness cape, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room, his hands fluttering. He sits tinily on the 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 Yorks.h.i.+re 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 b.u.t.tonhole 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 b.u.t.tons.)_
MAGINNI: The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Fancy dress b.a.l.l.s arranged.
Deportment. The Katty Lanner step. So. Watch me! My terpsich.o.r.ean abilities. _(He minuets forward three paces on tripping bee's feet) Tout le monde en avant! Reverence! Tout le monde en place!_
_(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 flas.h.i.+ng, they catch the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting their arms.)_
MAGINNI: _(Clipclaps glovesilent hands) Carre! 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.)_
HOURS: You may touch my.
CAVALIERS: May I touch your?
HOURS: O, but lightly!
CAVALIERS: O, so lightly!
THE PIANOLA:
My little shy little la.s.s 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! Traverse! Salut! Cours de mains! Croise!_
_(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! Chaine de dames! La corbeille! Dos a dos!_
_(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: Boulangere! 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 c.u.mbrously.)_
MAGINNI: _Dansez avec vos dames! Changez de dames! Donnez le pet.i.t bouquet a votre dame! Remerciez!_
THE PIANOLA:
Best, best of all, Baraab.u.m!
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 c.u.mbersome whirligig turns slowly the room right roundabout the room.)_
THE PIANOLA:
My girl's a Yorks.h.i.+re girl.
ZOE:
Yorks.h.i.+re through and through.
Come on all!
_(She seizes Florry and waltzes her.)_
STEPHEN: _Pas seul!_
_(He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, s.n.a.t.c.hes up his ashplant from the table and takes the floor. All wheel whirl waltz twirl. Bloombella Kittylynch Florryzoe jujuby women. Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh. With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's c.u.mbersome turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again.)_
THE PIANOLA:
Though she's a factory la.s.s And wears no fancy clothes.
_(Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by. Baraab.u.m!)_
TUTTI: Encore! Bis! Bravo! Encore!
SIMON: Think of your mother's people!
STEPHEN: Dance of death.
