Episode 11: Sirens (Literary technique: Fuga per canonem (fugue or polyphony by rule: weaving of various voices and motifs in counterpoint to one another). Art: Music. Time: 38 40 pm. Place: Ormond Hotel



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The company Bloom finds gathered round the table includes Dixon, Lynch, Madden, Lenehan, Crotthers (a Scotsman), Costello, and Dedalus. They will be joined later by Mulligan and Bannon, who has just arrived from Mullingar, and is the “young student” mentioned in Milly Bloom’s letter to her father.
Style 7: In the style of Elizabethan prose chronicles.
About that present time young Stephen filled all cups that stood empty so

as there remained but little mo if the prudenter had not shadowed their

approach from him that still plied it very busily who, praying for the

intentions of the sovereign pontiff, he gave them for a pledge the vicar

of Christ which also as he said is vicar of Bray. Now drink we, quod he,

of this mazer and quaff ye this mead which is not indeed parcel of my

body but my soul's bodiment. Leave ye fraction of bread to them that live

by bread alone. Be not afeard neither for any want for this will comfort

more than the other will dismay. See ye here. And he showed them

glistering coins of the tribute and goldsmith notes the worth of two

pound nineteen shilling that he had, he said, for a song which he writ.

They all admired to see the foresaid riches in such dearth of money as

was herebefore. His words were then these as followeth: Know all men, he

said, time's ruins build eternity's mansions. What means this? Desire's

wind blasts the thorntree but after it becomes from a bramblebush to be a

rose upon the rood of time. Mark me now. In woman's womb word is made

flesh but in the spirit of the maker all flesh that passes becomes the

word that shall not pass away. This is the postcreation. OMNIS CARO AD TE

VENIET. No question but her name is puissant who aventried the dear corse

of our Agenbuyer, Healer and Herd, our mighty mother and mother most

venerable and Bernardus saith aptly that She hath an OMNIPOTENTIAM

DEIPARAE SUPPLICEM, that is to wit, an almightiness of petition because

she is the second Eve and she won us, saith Augustine too, whereas that

other, our grandam, which we are linked up with by successive anastomosis

of navelcords sold us all, seed, breed and generation, for a penny

pippin. But here is the matter now. Or she knew him, that second I say,

and was but creature of her creature, VERGINE MADRE, FIGLIA DI TUO

FIGLIO [Virgin mother, daughter of the son], or she knew him not and then stands she in the one denial or

ignorancy with Peter Piscator who lives in the house that Jack built and

with Joseph the joiner patron of the happy demise of all unhappy

marriages, PARCEQUE M. LEO TAXIL NOUS A DIT QUE QUI L'AVAIT MISE DANS

CETTE FICHUE POSITION C'ETAIT LE SACRE PIGEON, VENTRE DE DIEU! ENTWEDER [Because Mr. Leo Taxil has told us that one who put her in this wretched position was the sacred pigeon, bowels of God]

transubstantiality ODER consubstantiality but in no case

subsubstantiality. And all cried out upon it for a very scurvy word. A

pregnancy without joy, he said, a birth without pangs, a body without

blemish, a belly without bigness. Let the lewd with faith and fervour

worship. With will will we withstand, withsay.
Hereupon Punch Costello dinged with his fist upon the board and would

sing a bawdy catch STABOO STABELLA about a wench that was put in pod of a

jolly swashbuckler in Almany which he did straightways now attack: THE

FIRST THREE MONTHS SHE WAS NOT WELL, STABOO, when here nurse Quigley from

the door angerly bid them hist ye should shame you nor was it not meet as

she remembered them being her mind was to have all orderly against lord

Andrew came for because she was jealous that no gasteful turmoil might

shorten the honour of her guard. It was an ancient and a sad matron of a

sedate look and christian walking, in habit dun beseeming her megrims and

wrinkled visage, nor did her hortative want of it effect for

incontinently Punch Costello was of them all embraided and they reclaimed

the churl with civil rudeness some and shaked him with menace of

blandishments others whiles they all chode with him, a murrain seize the

dolt, what a devil he would be at, thou chuff, thou puny, thou got in

peasestraw, thou losel, thou chitterling, thou spawn of a rebel, thou

dykedropt, thou abortion thou, to shut up his drunken drool out of that

like a curse of God ape, the good sir Leopold that had for his cognisance

the flower of quiet, margerain gentle, advising also the time's occasion

as most sacred and most worthy to be most sacred. In Horne's house rest

should reign.
Style 8: Imitation of late-16th and 17-th-century Latinate prose styles, including those of Milton, Richard Hooker, Sir Thomas Browne, and Jeremy Taylor.
To be short this passage was scarce by when Master Dixon of Mary in

Eccles, goodly grinning, asked young Stephen what was the reason why he

had not cided to take friar's vows and he answered him obedience in the

womb, chastity in the tomb but involuntary poverty all his days. Master

Lenehan at this made return that he had heard of those nefarious deeds

and how, as he heard hereof counted, he had besmirched the lily virtue of

a confiding female which was corruption of minors and they all

intershowed it too, waxing merry and toasting to his fathership. But he

said very entirely it was clean contrary to their suppose for he was the

eternal son and ever virgin. Thereat mirth grew in them the more and they

rehearsed to him his curious rite of wedlock for the disrobing and

deflowering of spouses, as the priests use in Madagascar island, she to

be in guise of white and saffron, her groom in white and grain, with

burning of nard and tapers, on a bridebed while clerks sung kyries and

the anthem UT NOVETUR SEXUS OMNIS CORPORIS MYSTERIUM till she was there

unmaided. He gave them then a much admirable hymen minim by those

delicate poets Master John Fletcher and Master Francis Beaumont that is

in their MAID'S TRAGEDY that was writ for a like twining of lovers: TO

BED, TO BED was the burden of it to be played with accompanable concent

upon the virginals. An exquisite dulcet epithalame of most mollificative

suadency for juveniles amatory whom the odoriferous flambeaus of the

paranymphs have escorted to the quadrupedal proscenium of connubial

communion. Well met they were, said Master Dixon, joyed, but, harkee,

young sir, better were they named Beau Mount and Lecher for, by my troth,

of such a mingling much might come. Young Stephen said indeed to his best

remembrance they had but the one doxy between them and she of the stews

to make shift with in delights amorous for life ran very high in those

days and the custom of the country approved with it. Greater love than

this, he said, no man hath that a man lay down his wife for his friend.

Go thou and do likewise. Thus, or words to that effect, saith

Zarathustra, sometime regius professor of French letters to the

university of Oxtail nor breathed there ever that man to whom mankind was

more beholden. Bring a stranger within thy tower it will go hard but thou

wilt have the secondbest bed. ORATE, FRATRES, PRO MEMETIPSO. And all the

people shall say, Amen. Remember, Erin, thy generations and thy days of

old, how thou settedst little by me and by my word and broughtedst in a

stranger to my gates to commit fornication in my sight and to wax fat and

kick like Jeshurum. Therefore hast thou sinned against my light and hast

made me, thy lord, to be the slave of servants. Return, return, Clan

Milly: forget me not, O Milesian. Why hast thou done this abomination

before me that thou didst spurn me for a merchant of jalaps and didst

deny me to the Roman and to the Indian of dark speech with whom thy

daughters did lie luxuriously? Look forth now, my people, upon the land

of behest, even from Horeb and from Nebo and from Pisgah and from the

Horns of Hatten unto a land flowing with milk and money. But thou hast

suckled me with a bitter milk: my moon and my sun thou hast quenched for

ever. And thou hast left me alone for ever in the dark ways of my

bitterness: and with a kiss of ashes hast thou kissed my mouth. This

tenebrosity of the interior, he proceeded to say, hath not been illumined

by the wit of the septuagint nor so much as mentioned for the Orient from

on high Which brake hell's gates visited a darkness that was foraneous.

Assuefaction minorates atrocities (as Tully saith of his darling Stoics)

and Hamlet his father showeth the prince no blister of combustion. The

adiaphane in the noon of life is an Egypt's plague which in the nights of

prenativity and postmortemity is their most proper UBI and QUOMODO. And

as the ends and ultimates of all things accord in some mean and measure

with their inceptions and originals, that same multiplicit concordance

which leads forth growth from birth accomplishing by a retrogressive

metamorphosis that minishing and ablation towards the final which is

agreeable unto nature so is it with our subsolar being. The aged sisters

draw us into life: we wail, batten, sport, clip, clasp, sunder, dwindle,

die: over us dead they bend. First, saved from waters of old Nile, among

bulrushes, a bed of fasciated wattles: at last the cavity of a mountain,

an occulted sepulchre amid the conclamation of the hillcat and the

ossifrage. And as no man knows the ubicity of his tumulus nor to what

processes we shall thereby be ushered nor whether to Tophet or to

Edenville in the like way is all hidden when we would backward see from

what region of remoteness the whatness of our whoness hath fetched his

whenceness.
Thereto Punch Costello roared out mainly ETIENNE CHANSON but he loudly

bid them, lo, wisdom hath built herself a house, this vast majestic

longstablished vault, the crystal palace of the Creator, all in applepie

order, a penny for him who finds the pea.

BEHOLD THE MANSION REARED BY DEDAL JACK

SEE THE MALT STORED IN MANY A REFLUENT SACK,

IN THE PROUD CIRQUE OF JACKJOHN'S BIVOUAC.

A black crack of noise in the street here, alack, bawled back. Loud on

left Thor thundered: in anger awful the hammerhurler. Came now the storm

that hist his heart. And Master Lynch bade him have a care to flout and

witwanton as the god self was angered for his hellprate and paganry. And

he that had erst challenged to be so doughty waxed wan as they might all

mark and shrank together and his pitch that was before so haught uplift

was now of a sudden quite plucked down and his heart shook within the

cage of his breast as he tasted the rumour of that storm. Then did some

mock and some jeer and Punch Costello fell hard again to his yale which

Master Lenehan vowed he would do after and he was indeed but a word and a

blow on any the least colour. But the braggart boaster cried that an old

Nobodaddy was in his cups it was muchwhat indifferent and he would not

lag behind his lead. But this was only to dye his desperation as cowed he

crouched in Horne's hall. He drank indeed at one draught to pluck up a

heart of any grace for it thundered long rumblingly over all the heavens

so that Master Madden, being godly certain whiles, knocked him on his

ribs upon that crack of doom and Master Bloom, at the braggart's side,

spoke to him calming words to slumber his great fear, advertising how it

was no other thing but a hubbub noise that he heard, the discharge of

fluid from the thunderhead, look you, having taken place, and all of the

order of a natural phenomenon.
Thunder sounds.
Style 9: In the allegorical style of John Bunyan.
But was young Boasthard's fear vanquished by Calmer's words? No, for he

had in his bosom a spike named Bitterness which could not by words be

done away. And was he then neither calm like the one nor godly like the

other? He was neither as much as he would have liked to be either. But

could he not have endeavoured to have found again as in his youth the

bottle Holiness that then he lived withal? Indeed no for Grace was not

there to find that bottle. Heard he then in that clap the voice of the

god Bringforth or, what Calmer said, a hubbub of Phenomenon? Heard? Why,

he could not but hear unless he had plugged him up the tube Understanding

(which he had not done). For through that tube he saw that he was in the

land of Phenomenon where he must for a certain one day die as he was like

the rest too a passing show. And would he not accept to die like the rest

and pass away? By no means would he though he must nor would he make more

shows according as men do with wives which Phenomenon has commanded them

to do by the book Law. Then wotted he nought of that other land which is

called Believe-on-Me, that is the land of promise which behoves to the

king Delightful and shall be for ever where there is no death and no

birth neither wiving nor mothering at which all shall come as many as

believe on it? Yes, Pious had told him of that land and Chaste had

pointed him to the way but the reason was that in the way he fell in with

a certain whore of an eyepleasing exterior whose name, she said, is Bird-

in-the-Hand and she beguiled him wrongways from the true path by her

flatteries that she said to him as, Ho, you pretty man, turn aside hither

and I will show you a brave place, and she lay at him so flatteringly

that she had him in her grot which is named Two-in-the-Bush or, by some

learned, Carnal Concupiscence.
This was it what all that company that sat there at commons in Manse of

Mothers the most lusted after and if they met with this whore Bird-in-

the-Hand (which was within all foul plagues, monsters and a wicked devil)

they would strain the last but they would make at her and know her. For

regarding Believe-on-Me they said it was nought else but notion and they

could conceive no thought of it for, first, Two-in-the-Bush whither she

ticed them was the very goodliest grot and in it were four pillows on

which were four tickets with these words printed on them, Pickaback and

Topsyturvy and Shameface and Cheek by Jowl and, second, for that foul

plague Allpox and the monsters they cared not for them for Preservative

had given them a stout shield of oxengut and, third, that they might take

no hurt neither from Offspring that was that wicked devil by virtue of

this same shield which was named Killchild. So were they all in their

blind fancy, Mr Cavil and Mr Sometimes Godly, Mr Ape Swillale, Mr False

Franklin, Mr Dainty Dixon, Young Boasthard and Mr Cautious Calmer.

Wherein, O wretched company, were ye all deceived for that was the voice

of the god that was in a very grievous rage that he would presently lift

his arm up and spill their souls for their abuses and their spillings

done by them contrariwise to his word which forth to bring brenningly

biddeth.
Style 10: In the style of the 17th-century diarists, such as John Evelyn and Samuel Pepys.
So Thursday sixteenth June Patk. Dignam laid in clay of an apoplexy and

after hard drought, please God, rained, a bargeman coming in by water a

fifty mile or thereabout with turf saying the seed won't sprout, fields

athirst, very sadcoloured and stunk mightily, the quags and tofts too.

Hard to breathe and all the young quicks clean consumed without sprinkle

this long while back as no man remembered to be without. The rosy buds

all gone brown and spread out blobs and on the hills nought but dry flag

and faggots that would catch at first fire. All the world saying, for

aught they knew, the big wind of last February a year that did havoc the

land so pitifully a small thing beside this barrenness. But by and by, as

said, this evening after sundown, the wind sitting in the west, biggish

swollen clouds to be seen as the night increased and the weatherwise

poring up at them and some sheet lightnings at first and after, past ten

of the clock, one great stroke with a long thunder and in a brace of

shakes all scamper pellmell within door for the smoking shower, the men

making shelter for their straws with a clout or kerchief, womenfolk

skipping off with kirtles catched up soon as the pour came. In Ely place,

Baggot street, Duke's lawn, thence through Merrion green up to Holles

street a swash of water flowing that was before bonedry and not one chair

or coach or fiacre seen about but no more crack after that first. Over

against the Rt. Hon. Mr Justice Fitzgibbon's door (that is to sit with Mr

Healy the lawyer upon the college lands) Mal. Mulligan a gentleman's

gentleman that had but come from Mr Moore's the writer's (that was a

papish but is now, folk say, a good Williamite) chanced against Alec.

Bannon in a cut bob (which are now in with dance cloaks of Kendal green)

that was new got to town from Mullingar with the stage where his coz and

Mal M's brother will stay a month yet till Saint Swithin and asks what in

the earth he does there, he bound home and he to Andrew Horne's being

stayed for to crush a cup of wine, so he said, but would tell him of a

skittish heifer, big of her age and beef to the heel, and all this while

poured with rain and so both together on to Horne's. There Leop. Bloom of

Crawford's journal sitting snug with a covey of wags, likely brangling

fellows, Dixon jun., scholar of my lady of Mercy's, Vin. Lynch, a Scots

fellow, Will. Madden, T. Lenehan, very sad about a racer he fancied and

Stephen D. Leop. Bloom there for a languor he had but was now better, be

having dreamed tonight a strange fancy of his dame Mrs Moll with red

slippers on in a pair of Turkey trunks which is thought by those in ken

to be for a change and Mistress Purefoy there, that got in through

pleading her belly, and now on the stools, poor body, two days past her

term, the midwives sore put to it and can't deliver, she queasy for a

bowl of riceslop that is a shrewd drier up of the insides and her breath

very heavy more than good and should be a bullyboy from the knocks, they

say, but God give her soon issue. 'Tis her ninth chick to live, I hear,

and Lady day bit off her last chick's nails that was then a twelvemonth

and with other three all breastfed that died written out in a fair hand

in the king's bible. Her hub fifty odd and a methodist but takes the

sacrament and is to be seen any fair sabbath with a pair of his boys off

Bullock harbour dapping on the sound with a heavybraked reel or in a punt

he has trailing for flounder and pollock and catches a fine bag, I hear.

In sum an infinite great fall of rain and all refreshed and will much

increase the harvest yet those in ken say after wind and water fire shall

come for a prognostication of Malachi's almanac (and I hear that Mr

Russell has done a prophetical charm of the same gist out of the

Hindustanish for his farmer's gazette) to have three things in all but

this a mere fetch without bottom of reason for old crones and bairns yet

sometimes they are found in the right guess with their queerities no

telling how.
Outside 10 Merrion Square North (the home of Mr. Justice Fitzgibbon, commissioner of national education) Mulligan, coming from Moore’s soiree at Ely Place, runs into Alec Bannon, just up from Mulingar where he has been seeing Milly Bloom. The pair walk toward the hospital to join the revelers.
Style 11: In the manner of Daniel Defoe.
With this came up Lenehan to the feet of the table to say how the letter

was in that night's gazette and he made a show to find it about him (for

he swore with an oath that he had been at pains about it) but on

Stephen's persuasion he gave over the search and was bidden to sit near

by which he did mighty brisk. He was a kind of sport gentleman that went

for a merryandrew or honest pickle and what belonged of women, horseflesh

or hot scandal he had it pat. To tell the truth he was mean in fortunes

and for the most part hankered about the coffeehouses and low taverns

with crimps, ostlers, bookies, Paul's men, runners, flatcaps,

waistcoateers, ladies of the bagnio and other rogues of the game or with

a chanceable catchpole or a tipstaff often at nights till broad day of

whom he picked up between his sackpossets much loose gossip. He took his

ordinary at a boilingcook's and if he had but gotten into him a mess of

broken victuals or a platter of tripes with a bare tester in his purse he

could always bring himself off with his tongue, some randy quip he had

from a punk or whatnot that every mother's son of them would burst their

sides. The other, Costello that is, hearing this talk asked was it poetry

or a tale. Faith, no, he says, Frank (that was his name), 'tis all about

Kerry cows that are to be butchered along of the plague. But they can go

hang, says he with a wink, for me with their bully beef, a pox on it.

There's as good fish in this tin as ever came out of it and very friendly

he offered to take of some salty sprats that stood by which he had eyed

wishly in the meantime and found the place which was indeed the chief

design of his embassy as he was sharpset. MORT AUX VACHES, says Frank

then in the French language that had been indentured to a brandyshipper

that has a winelodge in Bordeaux and he spoke French like a gentleman

too. From a child this Frank had been a donought that his father, a

headborough, who could ill keep him to school to learn his letters and

the use of the globes, matriculated at the university to study the

mechanics but he took the bit between his teeth like a raw colt and was

more familiar with the justiciary and the parish beadle than with his

volumes. One time he would be a playactor, then a sutler or a welsher,

then nought would keep him from the bearpit and the cocking main, then he

was for the ocean sea or to hoof it on the roads with the romany folk,

kidnapping a squire's heir by favour of moonlight or fecking maids' linen

or choking chicken behind a hedge. He had been off as many times as a cat

has lives and back again with naked pockets as many more to his father

the headborough who shed a pint of tears as often as he saw him. What,

says Mr Leopold with his hands across, that was earnest to know the drift

of it, will they slaughter all? I protest I saw them but this day morning

going to the Liverpool boats, says he. I can scarce believe 'tis so bad,

says he. And he had experience of the like brood beasts and of springers,

greasy hoggets and wether wool, having been some years before actuary for

Mr Joseph Cuffe, a worthy salesmaster that drove his trade for live stock

and meadow auctions hard by Mr Gavin Low's yard in Prussia street. I

question with you there, says he. More like 'tis the hoose or the timber

tongue. Mr Stephen, a little moved but very handsomely told him no such

matter and that he had dispatches from the emperor's chief tailtickler

thanking him for the hospitality, that was sending over Doctor

Rinderpest, the bestquoted cowcatcher in all Muscovy, with a bolus or two

of physic to take the bull by the horns. Come, come, says Mr Vincent,

plain dealing. He'll find himself on the horns of a dilemma if he meddles

with a bull that's Irish, says he. Irish by name and irish by nature,

says Mr Stephen, and he sent the ale purling about,


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