Bloom: On this day twenty years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith. Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect. Half a league onward! They charge! All is lost now! Do we yield? No! We drive them headlong! Lo! We charge! Deploying to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, uttering their warcry BONAFIDE Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a man.
The chapel of Freeman typesetters: Hear! Hear!
John Wyse Nolan: There’s the man that got away James Stephens.
A bluecoat schoolboy: Bravo!
An old resident: You’re a credit to your country, sir, that’s what you are.
An applewoman: He’s a man like Ireland wants.
Bloom: My beloved subjects, a new era is about to dawn. I, Bloom, tell you verily it is even now at hand. Yea, on the word of a Bloom, ye shall ere long enter into the golden city which is to be, the new Bloomusalem in the Nova Hibernia of the future.
(Thirtytwo workmen, wearing rosettes,
from all the counties of Ireland,
under the guidance of DERWAN the builder, construct the new Bloomusalem.
It is A colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the shape of A huge
pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms. In the course of its
extension several buildings and monuments are demolished. Government
offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. Numerous houses are
razed to the ground. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all
marked in red with the letters: L. B. Several PAUPERS fill from A ladder.
A part of the walls of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, collapses.)
THE SIGHTSEERS: (DYING) MORITURI TE SALUTANT. (THEY DIE)
(A man in A brown macintosh springs
up through A trapdoor. He
elongated finger at bloom.)
The man in the macintosh:
Don’t you believe a word he says. That man
Leopold M’Intosh, the notorious fireraiser. His real name is Higgins.