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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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: 3.38-4.40 pm. Place: Ormond Hotel.
Opening lines rehearse a number of aural motifs, comparable to orchestra warming up and to an introductory overture or prelude. Fugue proper begins with “Begin,” and ends with “Done.” Tap of the cane throughout can be compared with the conductor’s baton. Joyce suggested that Bloom may be considered the novel’s tuning fork. Dublin’s vocal tradition of opera and ballad on display. “Martha”/”Croppy Boy.” Martha=Bloom’s betrayal by Molly; Croppy Boy=Stephen. Bloom, who is without a male heir, is linked to the boy who is the last of his race, linked to Stephen in that “in his mother’s grave he forgot to pray. Joyce wrote the chapter in five months. Its technical difficulties left him exhausted.
Note difference here: neither Lydia Douce nor Mina Kennedy tempts Bloom in any way. Neither do they sing. Molly more likely Siren who tempts men by her carnality and under the pretext of singing rehearsal.
Structurally, Sirens=useful nodal point to which to gather together and then quickly abandon a number of minor characters—Simon D., Tom Kernan, Ben Dollard, Richie Goulding—who are never seen again in the flesh on Bloomsday. Great many converge on the Ormond Hotel, lured by their various sirens: from the east, Simon; across Essex Bridge, Lenehan; Boylan in his jauntingcar; and Bloom; from the west, Richie Goulding, who has been at the Four Courts, while Tom K. crosses Bloody Bridge (Rory O’More).
Bloom’s Progress
Bloom progresses along Wellington Quay following his emergence from the bookshop passing or mentioning:
Wine’s (35 Wellington Quay)

D. Moulang’s (31 Wellington Quay)=inversion

J. Carroll’s (29 Wellington Quay)

A. Bassi’s (14 Wellington Quay)

P. Ceppi and sons (8-9 Wellington Quay)

Clarence Hotel (6-7 Wellington Quay)

Crosses Grattan Bridge

Teresa Daly (1 Upper Ormond Quay)

Ormond Hotel

Bronze by gold heard the hoofirons, steelyringing (Barmaids: Miss Douce (bronze) and Miss Kennedy (gold) who hear the viceregal procession) Imperthnthn thnthnthn. (The boots mimics Miss Douce’s threat to report his “impertinent insolence”)
Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips. (Simon Dedalus enters the bar)
Horrid! And gold flushed more. (Miss Kennedy protests Miss Douce’s “crude” remark)
A husky fifenote blew. (Simon D. prepares his pipe for tobacco)
Blew. Blue bloom is on the. (Bloom decides to buy notepaper to write Martha Clifford)
Goldpinnacled hair. (Miss Kennedy’s hair)
A jumping rose on satiny breast of satin, rose of Castile. (Lenehan and his pun merge with descriptions of the barmaids)
Trilling, trilling: Idolores. (Miss Douce sings a line from the light opera Floradora)
Peep! Who's in the ... peepofgold? (Lenehan’s attempt to flirt with Miss Kennedy)
Tink cried to bronze in pity. (Diners summons a waiter by ringing a small bell; Miss D’s pity for the blind stripling)
And a call, pure, long and throbbing. Longindying call. (Sound of the tuning fork that blind stripling has left behind)
Decoy. Soft word. But look: the bright stars fade. Notes chirruping

answer. (Lenehan chats with the barmaids and allusion to song “Goodbye, Sweetheart, Goodbye)
O rose! Castile. The morn is breaking. (Combines allusions to The Rose of Castile and “Goodbye, Sweetheart”)
Jingle jingle jaunted jingling. (Boylan approaches in his two-wheeled horsedrawn carriage)
Coin rang. Clock clacked. (Clock strikes four as Boylan pays for his sloe gin)
Avowal. SONNEZ. I could. Rebound of garter. Not leave thee. Smack. LA

CLOCHE! Thigh smack. Avowal. Warm. Sweetheart, goodbye! (Miss D. snaps garter for Lenehan and Boylan; “Sound the Bell”)
Jingle. Bloo. (Boylan’s and Bloom’s notes are juxtaposed as Boylan leaves for 7 Eccles St.)
Boomed crashing chords. When love absorbs. War! War! The tympanum. (Simon D. Ben D., and “Father” Cowley gather round the piano in the Ormond Hotel saloon. Song=”Love and War”)
A sail! A veil awave upon the waves. (Cowley sings to picture “A Last Farewell” on the wall)
Lost. Throstle fluted. All is lost now. (Richie Goulding whistles “Tutto e sciolto” (All is Lost) from Bellini’s La sonnambula)
Horn. Hawhorn. (Combines Lenehan’s question “Got the horn or what?” with Boylan’s departure)
When first he saw. Alas! (Simon D. is encouraged to sing “m’appari” from Martha)
Full tup. Full throb. (Bloom responds to “M’appari”)
Warbling. Ah, lure! Alluring. (Bloom recalls Molly singing)
Martha! Come! (From “M’appari”)
Clapclap. Clipclap. Clappyclap. (Applause for Simon’s performance)
Goodgod henev erheard inall. (Richie recalls occasion when Simon sang particularly well)
Deaf bald Pat brought pad knife took up. (Bloom asks Pat, the waiter, for a pen, ink, and blotter)
A moonlit nightcall: far, far. (Simon imitates the sounds of an Italian barcarole he once heard in Cork)
I feel so sad. P. S. So lonely blooming. (Bloom adds postscript to his letter to Martha)
Listen! (Miss D. holds a seashell to George Lidwell’s ear)
The spiked and winding cold seahorn. Have you the? Each, and for other,

plash and silent roar. (Shell has various sounds, including an echo of Lenehan’s question “Got the hor or what?”)
Pearls: when she. Liszt's rhapsodies. Hissss. (Bloom meditates on Molly and “chamber music”)
You don't? (Miss D. withdraws her arm from George Lidwell to the accompaniment of banter about believing and not-believing)
Did not: no, no: believe: Lidlyd. With a cock with a carra. (Byplay between Lidwell and Lydia counterpoints Boylan’s rapping at the door of 7 Eccles St.)
Black. Deepsounding. Do, Ben, do. (Ben Dollard is encouraged to sing)
Wait while you wait. Hee hee. Wait while you hee. (Bloom improvises on Bald Pat counterpointing line seven of “The Croppy Boy”—But you must wait, till I go and see.)
But wait! (Bloom decides not to leave the Ormond before the singing of “The Croppy Boy”)
Low in dark middle earth. Embedded ore. (Opening chords of the song)
Naminedamine. Preacher is he: (Croppy boy prepares for his confession)
All gone. All fallen. (Croppy boy recounts the destruction of his family)
Tiny, her tremulous fernfoils of maidenhair.(Singing of the song affects Miss D.)
Amen! He gnashed in fury. (Song reaches its climax)
Fro. To, fro. A baton cool protruding. (Miss D. fondles the beerpull as she listens)
Bronzelydia by Minagold. (Miss D. and Miss K. are juxtaposed)
By bronze, by gold, in oceangreen of shadow. Bloom. Old Bloom. (Bloom is leaving the hotel)
One rapped, one tapped, with a carra, with a cock.(Sound of the blind piano tuner’s cane blending with Boylan’s knocking and crowing)
Pray for him! Pray, good people! (Closing lines of “The Croppy Boy”)
His gouty fingers nakkering. (Ben Dollard makes his way to the bar after his song. “Nakker” is to sound like a kettledrum)
Big Benaben. Big Benben. (Ben is applauded)
Last rose Castile of summer left bloom I feel so sad alone. (Combines The Rose of Castile with “The Last Rose of Summer” as Bloom’s meeting with the whore of the lane overlaps the continuing scene in the Ormond)
Pwee! Little wind piped wee. (Bloom’s digestive processes)
True men. Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. Ay, ay. Like you men. Will lift your

tschink with tschunk. (Lidwell, Kernan, Cowley, Dedalus, and Dollard clink glasses)
Fff! Oo! (Bloom farts)
Where bronze from anear? Where gold from afar? Where hoofs? (The sounds of the sirens and viceregal procession fading)
Rrrpr. Kraa. Kraandl. (Sound of Bloom’s fart is masked by the sound of a passing tram)
Then not till then. My eppripfftaph. Be pfrwritt. (Bloom reads Robert Emmet’s last words in the window of an antique shop)
Done. (Last of Emmet’s last words)
Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy, the two barmaids in the Ormond Hotel watch the Viceregal cavalcade pass. Bloom, having purchased “Sweets of Sin” walks west along Wellington Quay.
Bronze by gold, miss Douce's head by miss Kennedy's head, over the

crossblind of the Ormond bar heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringing

--Is that her? asked miss Kennedy.
Miss Douce said yes, sitting with his ex, pearl grey and EAU DE NIL.
--Exquisite contrast, miss Kennedy said.

When all agog miss Douce said eagerly:
--Look at the fellow in the tall silk.
--Who? Where? gold asked more eagerly.
--In the second carriage, miss Douce's wet lips said, laughing in the sun.
He's looking. Mind till I see.
She darted, bronze, to the backmost corner, flattening her face

against the pane in a halo of hurried breath.
Her wet lips tittered:
--He's killed looking back.
She laughed:
--O wept! Aren't men frightful idiots?
With sadness.
Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, twining a loose hair

behind an ear. Sauntering sadly, gold no more, she twisted twined a hair.
Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind a curving ear.
--It's them has the fine times, sadly then she said.
A man.
Bloowho went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his breast the sweets

of sin, by Wine's antiques, in memory bearing sweet sinful words, by

Carroll's dusky battered plate, for Raoul.
In the Ormond the boots brings the tea and asks if Miss K. is looking out at her beau.
The boots to them, them in the bar, them barmaids came. For them

unheeding him he banged on the counter his tray of chattering china. And
--There's your teas, he said.
Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to an

upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, low.
--What is it? loud boots unmannerly asked.
--Find out, miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint.
--Your BEAU, is it?
A haughty bronze replied:
--I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I hear any more of your

impertinent insolence.
--Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as he retreated as she

threatened as he had come.
The barmaids discuss Lydia’s sunburn and her date with “the old fogey from Boyd’s”(46 Mary St.)
On her flower frowning miss Douce said:
--Most aggravating that young brat is. If he doesn't conduct himself I'll

wring his ear for him a yard long.
Ladylike in exquisite contrast.
--Take no notice, miss Kennedy rejoined.
She poured in a teacup tea, then back in the teapot tea. They cowered

under their reef of counter, waiting on footstools, crates upturned,

waiting for their teas to draw. They pawed their blouses, both of black

satin, two and nine a yard, waiting for their teas to draw, and two and

Yes, bronze from anear, by gold from afar, heard steel from anear,

hoofs ring from afar, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel.
--Am I awfully sunburnt?
Miss bronze unbloused her neck.
--No, said miss Kennedy. It gets brown after. Did you try the borax with

the cherry laurel water?
Miss Douce halfstood to see her skin askance in the barmirror

gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in their midst

a shell.
--And leave it to my hands, she said.
--Try it with the glycerine, miss Kennedy advised.
Bidding her neck and hands adieu miss Douce
--Those things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated. I asked that old

fogey in Boyd's for something for my skin.
Miss Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, grimaced and prayed:
--O, don't remind me of him for mercy' sake!
--But wait till I tell you, miss Douce entreated.
Sweet tea miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two

ears with little fingers.
--No, don't, she cried.
--I won't listen, she cried.
But Bloom?
Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone:
--For your what? says he.
Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear, to speak: but said, but

prayed again:
--Don't let me think of him or I'll expire. The hideous old wretch! That

night in the Antient Concert Rooms.
She sipped distastefully her brew, hot tea, a sip, sipped, sweet tea.
--Here he was, miss Douce said, cocking her bronze head three quarters,

ruffling her nosewings. Hufa! Hufa!
Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's throat. Miss

Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like

a snout in quest.
--O! shrieking, miss Kennedy cried. Will you ever forget his goggle eye?
Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, shouting:
--And your other eye!
Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner's name. Why do I always

think Figather? Gathering figs, I think. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name.

By Bassi's blessed virgins Bloom's dark eyes went by. Bluerobed, white

under, come to me. God they believe she is: or goddess. Those today. I

could not see. That fellow spoke. A student. After with Dedalus' son. He

might be Mulligan. All comely virgins. That brings those rakes of fellows

in: her white.
By went his eyes. The sweets of sin. Sweet are the sweets.
Of sin.
In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with

Kennedy your other eye. They threw young heads back, bronze gigglegold,

to let freefly their laughter, screaming, your other, signals to each

other, high piercing notes.
Ah, panting, sighing, sighing, ah, fordone, their mirth died down.
Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, raised, drank a sip and

gigglegiggled. Miss Douce, bending over the teatray, ruffled again her

nose and rolled droll fattened eyes. Again Kennygiggles, stooping, her

fair pinnacles of hair, stooping, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered

out of her mouth her tea, choking in tea and laughter, coughing with

choking, crying:
--O greasy eyes! Imagine being married to a man like that! she cried. With

his bit of beard!
Douce gave full vent to a splendid yell, a full yell of full woman,

delight, joy, indignation.
--Married to the greasy nose! she yelled.
Shrill, with deep laughter, after, gold after bronze, they urged each

each to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze,

shrilldeep, to laughter after laughter. And then laughed more. Greasy I

knows. Exhausted, breathless, their shaken heads they laid, braided and

pinnacled by glossycombed, against the counterledge. All flushed (O!),

panting, sweating (O!), all breathless.
Married to Bloom, to greaseabloom.
--O saints above! miss Douce said, sighed above her jumping rose. I wished
I hadn't laughed so much. I feel all wet.
--O, miss Douce! miss Kennedy protested. You horrid thing!
And flushed yet more (you horrid!), more goldenly.
Figatner’s, diamond setter and jeweler (26 Wellington Quay), Prosper Lore’s, wholesale hat manufacturer (22 Wellington Quay), Aurelio Bassi, statue and picture-frame maker (14 Wellington Quay).
By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by Ceppi's virgins, bright

of their oils. Nannetti's father hawked those things about, wheedling at

doors as I. Religion pays. Must see him for that par. Eat first. I want.

Not yet. At four, she said. Time ever passing. Clockhands turning. On.

Where eat? The Clarence, Dolphin. On. For Raoul. Eat. If I net five

guineas with those ads. The violet silk petticoats. Not yet. The sweets

of sin.
Flushed less, still less, goldenly paled.
Cantwell’s offices, wholesale wine and whiskey merchants (12 Wellington Quay), Peter Ceppi & Sons, picture-frame and looking-glass factory and statuary manufacturers (8-9 Wellington Quay). Bloom considers eating at the Clarence Hotel (6-7 Wellington Quay) or the Dolphin (46-48 Essex St.). Meanwhile, in the Ormond, Simon Dedalus arrives, chats up Miss Douce and orders a whiskey. Rostrevor is a town in the Mourne Mountains on the shore of Carlingford Lough, 45 miles north of Dublin.
Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus. Chips, picking chips off one of his

rocky thumbnails. Chips. He strolled.
--O, welcome back, miss Douce.
He held her hand. Enjoyed her holidays?
He hoped she had nice weather in Rostrevor.
--Gorgeous, she said. Look at the holy show I am. Lying out on the strand

all day.
Bronze whiteness.
--That was exceedingly naughty of you, Mr Dedalus told her and pressed

her hand indulgently. Tempting poor simple males.
Miss Douce of satin douced her arm away.
--O go away! she said. You're very simple, I don't think.
He was.
--Well now I am, he mused. I looked so simple in the cradle they christened

me simple Simon.
--You must have been a doaty, miss Douce made answer. And what did the

doctor order today?
--Well now, he mused, whatever you say yourself. I think I'll trouble you

for some fresh water and a half glass of whisky.
--With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce agreed.
With grace of alacrity towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and

Cochrane's she turned herself. With grace she tapped a measure of gold

whisky from her crystal keg. Forth from the skirt of his coat Mr Dedalus

brought pouch and pipe. Alacrity she served. He blew through the flue two

husky fifenotes.
--By Jove, he mused, I often wanted to see the Mourne mountains. Must be

a great tonic in the air down there. But a long threatening comes at last,

they say. Yes. Yes.
Yes. He fingered shreds of hair, her maidenhair, her mermaid's, into

the bowl. Chips. Shreds. Musing. Mute.
None nought said nothing. Yes.
Gaily miss Douce polished a tumbler, trilling:
--Was Mr Lidwell in today?
Lenehan enters. Bloom crosses Essex (Grattan) Bridge and decides to buy notepaper to write to Martha Clifford at Daly’s, tobacconist, 1 Ormond Quay.
In came Lenehan. Round him peered Lenehan. Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge.

Yes, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. To Martha I must write. Buy paper.

Daly's. Girl there civil. Bloom. Old Bloom. Blue bloom is on the rye.
--He was in at lunchtime, miss Douce said.
Lenehan came forward.
--Was Mr Boylan looking for me?
He asked. She answered:
--Miss Kennedy, was Mr Boylan in while I was upstairs?
She asked. Miss voice of Kennedy answered, a second teacup poised,

her gaze upon a page:
--No. He was not.
Miss gaze of Kennedy, heard, not seen, read on. Lenehan round the

sandwichbell wound his round body round.
--Peep! Who's in the corner?
No glance of Kennedy rewarding him he yet made overtures. To mind

her stops. To read only the black ones: round o and crooked ess.
Jingle jaunty jingle.
Girlgold she read and did not glance. Take no notice. She took no

notice while he read by rote a solfa fable for her, plappering flatly:
--Ah fox met ah stork. Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you put your

bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone?
He droned in vain. Miss Douce turned to her tea aside.
He sighed aside:
--Ah me! O my!
He greeted Mr Dedalus and got a nod.
Lenehan flirts with the barmaid and greets Simon Dedalus, telling him that he has been with Stephen at both Mooney’s (en ville, on the north quayside of the Liffey, and sur mer, at 3 Eden Quay).
--Greetings from the famous son of a famous father.
--Who may he be? Mr Dedalus asked.
Lenehan opened most genial arms. Who?
--Who may he be? he asked. Can you ask? Stephen, the youthful bard.
Mr Dedalus, famous father, laid by his dry filled pipe.
--I see, he said. I didn't recognise him for the moment. I hear he is

keeping very select company. Have you seen him lately?
He had.
--I quaffed the nectarbowl with him this very day, said Lenehan. In

Mooney's EN VILLE and in Mooney's SUR MER. He had received the rhino for

the labour of his muse.
He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at listening lips and eyes:
--The ELITE of Erin hung upon his lips. The ponderous pundit, Hugh
MacHugh, Dublin's most brilliant scribe and editor and that minstrel boy

of the wild wet west who is known by the euphonious appellation of the

O'Madden Burke.
After an interval Mr Dedalus raised his grog and
--That must have been highly diverting, said he. I see.
He see. He drank. With faraway mourning mountain eye. Set down

his glass.
He looked towards the saloon door.
--I see you have moved the piano.
--The tuner was in today, miss Douce replied, tuning it for the smoking

concert and I never heard such an exquisite player.
--Is that a fact?
--Didn't he, miss Kennedy? The real classical, you know. And blind too,

poor fellow. Not twenty I'm sure he was.
--Is that a fact? Mr Dedalus said.
He drank and strayed away.
--So sad to look at his face, miss Douce condoled.
God's curse on bitch's bastard.
Tink to her pity cried a diner's bell. To the door of the bar and

diningroom came bald Pat, came bothered Pat, came Pat, waiter of

Ormond. Lager for diner. Lager without alacrity she served.
With patience Lenehan waited for Boylan with impatience, for

jinglejaunty blazes boy.
Upholding the lid he (who?) gazed in the coffin (coffin?) at the

oblique triple (piano!) wires. He pressed (the same who pressed

indulgently her hand), soft pedalling, a triple of keys to see the

thicknesses of felt advancing, to hear the muffled hammerfall in action.

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