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


Parody 8: In the style of a Theosophist’s account of a spiritualist séance



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Parody 8: In the style of a Theosophist’s account of a spiritualist séance.
In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when prayer by

tantras had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasing

luminosity of ruby light became gradually visible, the apparition of the

etheric double being particularly lifelike owing to the discharge of jivic

rays from the crown of the head and face. Communication was effected

through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and

scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus. Questioned

by his earthname as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld he stated that

he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to

trial at the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral

levels. In reply to a question as to his first sensations in the great

divide beyond he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly

but that those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic

development opened up to them. Interrogated as to whether life there

resembled our experience in the flesh he stated that he had heard from

more favoured beings now in the spirit that their abodes were equipped

with every modern home comfort such as talafana, alavatar, hatakalda,

wataklasat and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy

of the very purest nature. Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was

brought and evidently afforded relief. Asked if he had any message

for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya

to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that

Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the

ram has power. It was then queried whether there were any special

desires on the part of the defunct and the reply was: WE GREET YOU,

FRIENDS OF EARTH, WHO ARE STILL IN THE BODY. MIND C. K. DOESN'T PILE IT

ON. It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher,

manager of Messrs H. J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a

personal friend of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying

out of the interment arrangements. Before departing he requested that it

should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had been

looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that

the pair should be sent to Cullen's to be soled only as the heels were

still good. He stated that this had greatly perturbed his peace of mind in

the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made

known.
Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was

intimated that this had given satisfaction.
Parody 9: In the style of the lament for the death of a hero.
He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. Fleet

was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. Wail, Banba, with

your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind.
Bloom is noticed outside pacing, waiting for the arrival of Cunningham and Power. Inside, they continue to discuss Dignam’s death.
--There he is again, says the citizen, staring out.
--Who? says I.
--Bloom, says he. He's on point duty up and down there for the last ten

minutes.
And, begob, I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again.
Little Alf was knocked bawways. Faith, he was.
--Good Christ! says he. I could have sworn it was him.
And says Bob Doran, with the hat on the back of his poll, lowest

blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence:
--Who said Christ is good?
--I beg your parsnips, says Alf.
--Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, to take away poor little Willy

Dignam?
--Ah, well, says Alf, trying to pass it off. He's over all his troubles.
But Bob Doran shouts out of him.
--He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam.
Terry came down and tipped him the wink to keep quiet, that they

didn't want that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises. And Bob

Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you're there.
--The finest man, says he, snivelling, the finest purest character.
The tear is bloody near your eye. Talking through his bloody hat.

Fitter for him go home to the little sleepwalking bitch he married,

Mooney, the bumbailiff's daughter, mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street,

that used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that

was stopping there at two in the morning without a stitch on her, exposing

her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour.
--The noblest, the truest, says he. And he's gone, poor little Willy, poor

little Paddy Dignam.
Parody 10: Continues the previous.
And mournful and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that

beam of heaven.
Bloom enters to inquire whether Cunningham has been in. Hynes reads one of the Hangman letters Alf Bergan has acquired. The hangman, H. Rumbold is named for Sir Horace Rumbold, the British minister to Switzerland who annoyed Joyce. Bloom declines Hynes offer of a drink and asks for a cigar instead.
Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing

round the door.
--Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says the citizen.
So Bloom slopes in with his cod's eye on the dog and he asks Terry

was Martin Cunningham there.
--O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe, reading one of the letters. Listen to this,

will you?
And he starts reading out one.

7 HUNTER STREET, LIVERPOOL.

TO THE HIGH SHERIFF OF DUBLIN, DUBLIN.
HONOURED SIR I BEG TO OFFER MY SERVICES IN THE ABOVEMENTIONED PAINFUL

CASE I HANGED JOE GANN IN BOOTLE JAIL ON THE 12 OF FEBUARY 1900 AND I

HANGED ...
--Show us, Joe, says I.
-- ... PRIVATE ARTHUR CHACE FOR FOWL MURDER OF JESSIE TILSIT IN

PENTONVILLE PRISON AND I WAS ASSISTANT WHEN ...
--Jesus, says I.
-- ... BILLINGTON EXECUTED THE AWFUL MURDERER TOAD SMITH ...
The citizen made a grab at the letter.
--Hold hard, says Joe, I HAVE A SPECIAL NACK OF PUTTING THE NOOSE ONCE IN

HE CAN'T GET OUT HOPING TO BE FAVOURED I REMAIN, HONOURED SIR, MY TERMS IS

FIVE GINNEES.
H. RUMBOLD,

MASTER BARBER.

--And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen.
--And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. Here, says he, take them

to hell out of my sight, Alf. Hello, Bloom, says he, what will you have?
So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't

and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said

well he'd just take a cigar. Gob, he's a prudent member and no mistake.
--Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe.
And Alf was telling us there was one chap sent in a mourning card

with a black border round it.
--They're all barbers, says he, from the black country that would hang

their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses.
And he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his

heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they

chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob a skull.
Parody 11: In the style of medieval romance.
In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. Their

deadly coil they grasp: yea, and therein they lead to Erebus whatsoever

wight hath done a deed of blood for I will on nowise suffer it even so

saith the Lord.
They discuss capital punishment and the phenomenon of the hanged man’s erection.
So they started talking about capital punishment and of course Bloom

comes out with the why and the wherefore and all the codology of the

business and the old dog smelling him all the time I'm told those jewies

does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't

know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on.
--There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf.
--What's that? says Joe.
--The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf.
--That so? says Joe.
--God's truth, says Alf. I heard that from the head warder that was in
Kilmainham when they hanged Joe Brady, the invincible. He told me when

they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a

poker.
--Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe, as someone said.
--That can be explained by science, says Bloom. It's only a natural

phenomenon, don't you see, because on account of the ...
And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and

science and this phenomenon and the other phenomenon.
Parody 12: In the style of a medical journal’s report of a medical society meeting.
The distinguished scientist Herr Professor Luitpold Blumenduft

tendered medical evidence to the effect that the instantaneous fracture of

the cervical vertebrae and consequent scission of the spinal cord would,

according to the best approved tradition of medical science, be calculated

to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus

of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby causing the elastic

pores of the CORPORA CAVERNOSA to rapidly dilate in such a way as to

instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the human

anatomy known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which

has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards

philoprogenitive erection IN ARTICULO MORTIS PER DIMINUTIONEM CAPITIS.
Reference to Joe Brady and the Invincibles gets the citizen going about Irish heroes of the past.
So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word and

he starts gassing out of him about the invincibles and the old guard and

the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with

him about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the

cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and

the other. Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and get a new dog so

he ought. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place

and scratching his scabs. And round he goes to Bob Doran that was

standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get. So of course Bob

Doran starts doing the bloody fool with him:
--Give us the paw! Give the paw, doggy! Good old doggy! Give the paw

here! Give us the paw!
Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him

from tumbling off the bloody stool atop of the bloody old dog and he

talking all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred

dog and intelligent dog: give you the bloody pip. Then he starts scraping

a few bits of old biscuit out of the bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry

to bring. Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging

out of him a yard long for more. Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody

mongrel.
And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, the

brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert

Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara

Curran and she's far from the land. And Bloom, of course, with his

knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. Phenomenon!

The fat heap he married is a nice old phenomenon with a back on her like a

ballalley. Time they were stopping up in the CITY ARMS pisser Burke told

me there was an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and

Bloom trying to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing

bezique to come in for a bit of the wampum in her will and not eating meat

of a Friday because the old one was always thumping her craw and taking

the lout out for a walk. And one time he led him the rounds of Dublin and,

by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk

as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol

and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer

story, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.

Jesus, I had to laugh at pisser Burke taking them off chewing the fat.

And Bloom with his BUT DON'T YOU SEE? and BUT ON THE OTHER HAND. And sure,

more be token, the lout I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's,

round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week

after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody

establishment. Phenomenon!
--The memory of the dead, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and

glaring at Bloom.
--Ay, ay, says Joe.
--You don't grasp my point, says Bloom. What I mean is ...
--SINN FEIN! says the citizen. SINN FEIN AMHAIN! The friends we love are

by our side and the foes we hate before us.
Parody 13: In the style of a newspaper’s feature-story covering a large-scale public and social event: the execution of Robert Emmet.
The last farewell was affecting in the extreme. From the belfries far

and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the

gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drums

punctuated by the hollow booming of pieces of ordnance. The deafening

claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the

ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its

supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle. A torrential rain

poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads

of the assembled multitude which numbered at the lowest computation five

hundred thousand persons. A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police

superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in

the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away

the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped

instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by

Speranza's plaintive muse. Special quick excursion trains and upholstered

charabancs had been provided for the comfort of our country cousins of

whom there were large contingents. Considerable amusement was caused

by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang THE

NIGHT BEFORE LARRY WAS STRETCHED in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among

lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for

real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned

pennies. The children of the Male and Female Foundling Hospital who

thronged the windows overlooking the scene were delighted with this

unexpected addition to the day's entertainment and a word of praise is due

to the Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording

the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat.

The viceregal houseparty which included many wellknown ladies was

chaperoned by Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the

grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the Friends

of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite.

The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore

Bacibaci Beninobenone (the semiparalysed DOYEN of the party who had

to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane),

Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitepatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire

Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von

Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Viraga Kisaszony Putrapesthi,

Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh

Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y

Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri,

Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps,

Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch,

Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli,

Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-

generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein.

All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the

strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless

barbarity which they had been called upon to witness. An animated

altercation (in which all took part) ensued among the F. O. T. E. I.

as to whether the eighth or the ninth of March was the correct

date of the birth of Ireland's patron saint. In the course of the

argument cannonballs, scimitars, boomerangs, blunderbusses, stinkpots,

meatchoppers, umbrellas, catapults, knuckledusters, sandbags, lumps of pig

iron were resorted to and blows were freely exchanged. The baby

policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from

Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude

proposed the seventeenth of the month as a solution equally honourable for

both contending parties. The readywitted ninefooter's suggestion at once

appealed to all and was unanimously accepted. Constable MacFadden was

heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were

bleeding profusely. Commendatore Beninobenone having been extricated

from underneath the presidential armchair, it was explained by his legal

adviser Avvocato Pagamimi that the various articles secreted in his

thirtytwo pockets had been abstracted by him during the affray from the

pockets of his junior colleagues in the hope of bringing them to their

senses. The objects (which included several hundred ladies' and

gentlemen's gold and silver watches) were promptly restored to their

rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme.
Quietly, unassumingly Rumbold stepped on to the scaffold in faultless

morning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the GLADIOLUS CRUENTUS.

He announced his presence by that gentle Rumboldian cough which so

many have tried (unsuccessfully) to imitate--short, painstaking yet withal

so characteristic of the man. The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman

was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the

viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the

even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of

cries, HOCH, BANZAI, ELJEN, ZIVIO, CHINCHIN, POLLA KRONIA, HIPHIP, VIVE,

ALLAH, amid which the ringing EVVIVA of the delegate of the land of song

(a high double F recalling those piercingly lovely notes with which the

eunuch Catalani beglamoured our greatgreatgrandmothers) was easily

distinguishable. It was exactly seventeen o'clock. The signal for prayer

was then promptly given by megaphone and in an instant all heads were

bared, the commendatore's patriarchal sombrero, which has been in the

possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by

his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi. The learned prelate who

administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when

about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool

of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the

throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. Hand by the block stood

the grim figure of the executioner, his visage being concealed in a

tengallon pot with two circular perforated apertures through which

his eyes glowered furiously. As he awaited the fatal signal he

tested the edge of his horrible weapon by honing it upon his

brawny forearm or decapitated in rapid succession a flock of

sheep which had been provided by the admirers of his fell but necessary

office. On a handsome mahogany table near him were neatly arranged the

quartering knife, the various finely tempered disembowelling appliances

(specially supplied by the worldfamous firm of cutlers, Messrs John Round

and Sons, Sheffield), a terra cotta saucepan for the reception of the

duodenum, colon, blind intestine and appendix etc when successfully

extracted and two commodious milkjugs destined to receive the most

precious blood of the most precious victim. The housesteward of the

amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these

vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution. Quite an

excellent repast consisting of rashers and eggs, fried steak and onions,

done to a nicety, delicious hot breakfast rolls and invigorating tea had

been considerately provided by the authorities for the consumption

of the central figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits

when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the

proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare

in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the

dying wish (immediately acceded to) that the meal should be

divided in aliquot parts among the members of the sick and indigent

roomkeepers' association as a token of his regard and esteem. The NEC and

NON PLUS ULTRA of emotion were reached when the blushing bride elect burst

her way through the serried ranks of the bystanders and flung herself upon

the muscular bosom of him who was about to be launched into eternity for

her sake. The hero folded her willowy form in a loving embrace murmuring

fondly SHEILA, MY OWN. Encouraged by this use of her christian name she

kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the

decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach. She swore to him

as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would ever

cherish his memory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to

his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling

match in Clonturk park. She brought back to his recollection the happy

days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they

had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the

dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the spectators,

including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment. That

monster audience simply rocked with delight. But anon they were overcome

with grief and clasped their hands for the last time. A fresh torrent of

tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast concourse of people,

touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending sobs, not the least

affected being the aged prebendary himself. Big strong men, officers of

the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary,

were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say

that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. A most

romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate,

noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex, stepped forward and,

presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree,

solicited the hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to

name the day, and was accepted on the spot. Every lady in the

audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the occasion

in the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a timely and generous

act which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the gallant

young Oxonian (the bearer, by the way, of one of the most timehonoured

names in Albion's history) placed on the finger of his blushing FIANCEE

an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of a

fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds. Nay, even the ster

provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson,

who presided on the sad occasion, he who had blown a considerable number

of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain

his natural emotion. With his mailed gauntlet he brushed away a furtive

tear and was overheard, by those privileged burghers who happened to be

in his immediate ENTOURAGE, to murmur to himself in a faltering undertone:
--God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. Blimey it

makes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it does, when I sees her cause I

thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way.


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