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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Bloom considers his mission:
BLOOM: Wildgoose chase this. Disorderly houses. Lord knows where they are

gone. Drunks cover distance double quick. Nice mixup. Scene at Westland

row. Then jump in first class with third ticket. Then too far. Train with

engine behind. Might have taken me to Malahide or a siding for the night

or collision. Second drink does it. Once is a dose. What am I following

him for? Still, he's the best of that lot. If I hadn't heard about Mrs

Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met. Kismet. He'll

lose that cash. Relieving office here. Good biz for cheapjacks, organs.

What do ye lack? Soon got, soon gone. Might have lost my life too with

that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of mind.

Can't always save you, though. If I had passed Truelock's window that day

two minutes later would have been shot. Absence of body. Still if bullet

only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred pounds.

What was he? Kildare street club toff. God help his gamekeeper.
Seized by the Watch, Bloom defends himself saying that he is “doing good to others.” Asked for his name and address, he gives several false answers, prompting further hallucinations that elaborate upon Bloom’s sense of guilt. Martha Clifford confronts him as her betrayer; then Myles Crawford appears to praise Bloom, but Philip Beaufoy accuses him of plagiarism. A trial ensues, during which Bloom’s former maid, Mary Driscoll, accuses him of sexual misconduct. J.J. O’Molloy appears as Bloom’s lawyer who offers a defense based on Bloom’s utter incompetence, prompting a review of his faults. Mrs. Yelverton Barry, Mrs. Bellingham, and the Honorable Mrs. Mervyn Talboys all accuse Bloom of sexual wrongdoings. Bloom offers the alibi of attending the funeral of Paddy Dignam, who appears before the hallucination dissipates.
(HE GAZES AHEAD, READING ON THE WALL A SCRAWLED CHALK LEGEND Wet Dream

AND A PHALLIC DESIGN.) Odd! Molly drawing on the frosted carriagepane at

Kingstown. What's that like? (GAUDY DOLLWOMEN LOLL IN THE LIGHTED

DOORWAYS, IN WINDOW EMBRASURES, SMOKING BIRDSEYE CIGARETTES. THE ODOUR OF

THE SICKSWEET WEED FLOATS TOWARDS HIM IN SLOW ROUND OVALLING WREATHS.)
THE WREATHS: Sweet are the sweets. Sweets of sin.
BLOOM: My spine's a bit limp. Go or turn? And this food? Eat it and get

all pigsticky. Absurd I am. Waste of money. One and eightpence too much.

(THE RETRIEVER DRIVES A COLD SNIVELLING MUZZLE AGAINST HIS HAND, WAGGING

HIS TAIL.) Strange how they take to me. Even that brute today. Better

speak to him first. Like women they like RENCONTRES. Stinks like a

polecat. CHACUN SON GOUT. He might be mad. Dogdays. Uncertain in his

movements. Good fellow! Fido! Good fellow! Garryowen! (THE WOLFDOG

SPRAWLS ON HIS BACK, WRIGGLING OBSCENELY WITH BEGGING PAWS, HIS LONG

BLACK TONGUE LOLLING OUT.) Influence of his surroundings. Give and have

done with it. Provided nobody. (CALLING ENCOURAGING WORDS HE SHAMBLES

BACK WITH A FURTIVE POACHER'S TREAD, DOGGED BY THE SETTER INTO A DARK

STALESTUNK CORNER. HE UNROLLS ONE PARCEL AND GOES TO DUMP THE CRUBEEN

SOFTLY BUT HOLDS BACK AND FEELS THE TROTTER.) Sizeable for threepence.

But then I have it in my left hand. Calls for more effort. Why? Smaller

from want of use. O, let it slide. Two and six.
(WITH REGRET HE LETS THE UNROLLED CRUBEEN AND TROTTER SLIDE. THE MASTIFF

MAULS THE BUNDLE CLUMSILY AND GLUTS HIMSELF WITH GROWLING GREED,

CRUNCHING THE BONES. TWO RAINCAPED WATCH APPROACH, SILENT, VIGILANT. THEY

MURMUR TOGETHER.)
THE WATCH: Bloom. Of Bloom. For Bloom. Bloom.
(EACH LAYS HAND ON BLOOM'S SHOULDER.)
FIRST WATCH: Caught in the act. Commit no nuisance.
BLOOM: (STAMMERS) I am doing good to others.
(A COVEY OF GULLS, STORM PETRELS, RISES HUNGRILY FROM LIFFEY SLIME WITH

BANBURY CAKES IN THEIR BEAKS.)
THE GULLS: Kaw kave kankury kake.
BLOOM: The friend of man. Trained by kindness.
(HE POINTS. BOB DORAN, TOPPLING FROM A HIGH BARSTOOL, SWAYS OVER THE

MUNCHING SPANIEL.)
BOB DORAN: Towser. Give us the paw. Give the paw.
(THE BULLDOG GROWLS, HIS SCRUFF STANDING, A GOBBET OF PIG'S KNUCKLE

BETWEEN HIS MOLARS THROUGH WHICH RABID SCUMSPITTLE DRIBBLES. BOB DORAN

FILLS SILENTLY INTO AN AREA.)
SECOND WATCH: Prevention of cruelty to animals.
BLOOM: (ENTHUSIASTICALLY) A noble work! I scolded that tramdriver on

Harold's cross bridge for illusing the poor horse with his harness scab.

Bad French I got for my pains. Of course it was frosty and the last tram.

All tales of circus life are highly demoralising.
(SIGNOR MAFFEI, PASSIONPALE, IN LIONTAMER'S COSTUME WITH DIAMOND STUDS IN

HIS SHIRTFRONT, STEPS FORWARD, HOLDING A CIRCUS PAPERHOOP, A CURLING

CARRIAGEWHIP AND A REVOLVER WITH WHICH HE COVERS THE GORGING BOARHOUND.)
SIGNOR MAFFEI: (WITH A SINISTER SMILE) Ladies and gentlemen, my educated

greyhound. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent

spiked saddle for carnivores. Lash under the belly with a knotted thong.

Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no

matter how fractious, even LEO FEROX there, the Libyan maneater. A redhot

crowbar and some liniment rubbing on the burning part produced Fritz of

Amsterdam, the thinking hyena. (HE GLARES) I possess the Indian sign. The

glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers. (WITH A BEWITCHING

SMILE) I now introduce Mademoiselle Ruby, the pride of the ring.
FIRST WATCH: Come. Name and address.
BLOOM: I have forgotten for the moment. Ah, yes! (HE TAKES OFF HIS HIGH

GRADE HAT, SALUTING) Dr Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. You have heard of

von Blum Pasha. Umpteen millions. DONNERWETTER! Owns half Austria. Egypt.

Cousin.
FIRST WATCH: Proof.
(A CARD FALLS FROM INSIDE THE LEATHER HEADBAND OF BLOOM'S HAT.)
BLOOM: (IN RED FEZ, CADI'S DRESS COAT WITH BROAD GREEN SASH, WEARING A

FALSE BADGE OF THE LEGION OF HONOUR, PICKS UP THE CARD HASTILY AND OFFERS

IT) Allow me. My club is the Junior Army and Navy. Solicitors: Messrs

John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.
FIRST WATCH: (READS) Henry Flower. No fixed abode. Unlawfully watching

and besetting.
SECOND WATCH: An alibi. You are cautioned.
BLOOM: (PRODUCES FROM HIS HEARTPOCKET A CRUMPLED YELLOW FLOWER) This is

the flower in question. It was given me by a man I don't know his name.

(PLAUSIBLY) You know that old joke, rose of Castile. Bloom. The change of

name. Virag. (HE MURMURS PRIVATELY AND CONFIDENTIALLY) We are engaged you

see, sergeant. Lady in the case. Love entanglement. (HE SHOULDERS THE

SECOND WATCH GENTLY) Dash it all. It's a way we gallants have in the

navy. Uniform that does it. (HE TURNS GRAVELY TO THE FIRST WATCH) Still,

of course, you do get your Waterloo sometimes. Drop in some evening and

have a glass of old Burgundy. (TO THE SECOND WATCH GAILY) I'll introduce

you, inspector. She's game. Do it in the shake of a lamb's tail.
(A DARK MERCURIALISED FACE APPEARS, LEADING A VEILED FIGURE.)
THE DARK MERCURY: The Castle is looking for him. He was drummed out of

the army.
MARTHA: (THICKVEILED, A CRIMSON HALTER ROUND HER NECK, A COPY OF THE

Irish Times IN HER HAND, IN TONE OF REPROACH, POINTING) Henry! Leopold!

Lionel, thou lost one! Clear my name.
FIRST WATCH: (STERNLY) Come to the station.
BLOOM: (SCARED, HATS HIMSELF, STEPS BACK, THEN, PLUCKING AT HIS HEART AND

LIFTING HIS RIGHT FOREARM ON THE SQUARE, HE GIVES THE SIGN AND DUEGUARD

OF FELLOWCRAFT) No, no, worshipful master, light of love. Mistaken

identity. The Lyons mail. Lesurques and Dubosc. You remember the Childs

fratricide case. We medical men. By striking him dead with a hatchet. I

am wrongfully accused. Better one guilty escape than ninetynine

wrongfully condemned.
MARTHA: (SOBBING BEHIND HER VEIL) Breach of promise. My real name is

Peggy Griffin. He wrote to me that he was miserable. I'll tell my

brother, the Bective rugger fullback, on you, heartless flirt.
BLOOM: (BEHIND HIS HAND) She's drunk. The woman is inebriated. (HE

MURMURS VAGUELY THE PASS OF EPHRAIM) Shitbroleeth.
SECOND WATCH: (TEARS IN HIS EYES, TO BLOOM) You ought to be thoroughly

well ashamed of yourself.
BLOOM: Gentlemen of the jury, let me explain. A pure mare's nest. I am a

man misunderstood. I am being made a scapegoat of. I am a respectable

married man, without a stain on my character. I live in Eccles street. My

wife, I am the daughter of a most distinguished commander, a gallant

upstanding gentleman, what do you call him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy,

one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. Got his

majority for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift.
FIRST WATCH: Regiment.
BLOOM: (TURNS TO THE GALLERY) The royal Dublins, boys, the salt of the

earth, known the world over. I think I see some old comrades in arms up

there among you. The R. D. F., with our own Metropolitan police,

guardians of our homes, the pluckiest lads and the finest body of men, as

physique, in the service of our sovereign.
A VOICE: Turncoat! Up the Boers! Who booed Joe Chamberlain?
BLOOM: (HIS HAND ON THE SHOULDER OF THE FIRST WATCH) My old dad too was a

J. P. I'm as staunch a Britisher as you are, sir. I fought with the

colours for king and country in the absentminded war under general Gough

in the park and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was mentioned

in dispatches. I did all a white man could. (WITH QUIET FEELING) Jim

Bludso. Hold her nozzle again the bank.
FIRST WATCH: Profession or trade.
BLOOM: Well, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. In fact

we are just bringing out a collection of prize stories of which I am the

inventor, something that is an entirely new departure. I am connected

with the British and Irish press. If you ring up ...
(MYLES CRAWFORD STRIDES OUT JERKILY, A QUILL BETWEEN HIS TEETH. HIS

SCARLET BEAK BLAZES WITHIN THE AUREOLE OF HIS STRAW HAT. HE DANGLES A

HANK OF SPANISH ONIONS IN ONE HAND AND HOLDS WITH THE OTHER HAND A

TELEPHONE RECEIVER NOZZLE TO HIS EAR.)
MYLES CRAWFORD: (HIS COCK'S WATTLES WAGGING) Hello, seventyseven

eightfour. Hello. FREEMAN'S URINAL and WEEKLY ARSEWIPE here. Paralyse

Europe. You which? Bluebags? Who writes? Is it Bloom?
(MR PHILIP BEAUFOY, PALEFACED, STANDS IN THE WITNESSBOX, IN ACCURATE

MORNING DRESS, OUTBREAST POCKET WITH PEAK OF HANDKERCHIEF SHOWING,

CREASED LAVENDER TROUSERS AND PATENT BOOTS. HE CARRIES A LARGE PORTFOLIO

LABELLED Matcham's Masterstrokes.)
BEAUFOY: (DRAWLS) No, you aren't. Not by a long shot if I know it. I

don't see it that's all. No born gentleman, no-one with the most

rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly

loathsome conduct. One of those, my lord. A plagiarist. A soapy sneak

masquerading as a litterateur. It's perfectly obvious that with the most

inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my bestselling copy, really

gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneath

suspicion. The Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with which

your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the

kingdom.
BLOOM: (MURMURS WITH HANGDOG MEEKNESS GLUM) That bit about the laughing

witch hand in hand I take exception to, if I may ...
BEAUFOY: (HIS LIP UPCURLED, SMILES SUPERCILIOUSLY ON THE COURT) You funny

ass, you! You're too beastly awfully weird for words! I don't think you

need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard. My literary

agent Mr J. B. Pinker is in attendance. I presume, my lord, we shall

receive the usual witnesses' fees, shan't we? We are considerably out of

pocket over this bally pressman johnny, this jackdaw of Rheims, who has

not even been to a university.
BLOOM: (INDISTINCTLY) University of life. Bad art.
BEAUFOY: (SHOUTS) It's a damnably foul lie, showing the moral rottenness

of the man! (HE EXTENDS HIS PORTFOLIO) We have here damning evidence, the

CORPUS DELICTI, my lord, a specimen of my maturer work disfigured by the

hallmark of the beast.
A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY:
Moses, Moses, king of the jews,

Wiped his arse in the Daily News.
BLOOM: (BRAVELY) Overdrawn.
BEAUFOY: You low cad! You ought to be ducked in the horsepond, you

rotter! (TO THE COURT) Why, look at the man's private life! Leading a

quadruple existence! Street angel and house devil. Not fit to be

mentioned in mixed society! The archconspirator of the age!
BLOOM: (TO THE COURT) And he, a bachelor, how ...
FIRST WATCH: The King versus Bloom. Call the woman Driscoll.
THE CRIER: Mary Driscoll, scullerymaid!
(MARY DRISCOLL, A SLIPSHOD SERVANT GIRL, APPROACHES. SHE HAS A BUCKET ON

THE CROOK OF HER ARM AND A SCOURINGBRUSH IN HER HAND.)
SECOND WATCH: Another! Are you of the unfortunate class?
MARY DRISCOLL: (INDIGNANTLY) I'm not a bad one. I bear a respectable

character and was four months in my last place. I was in a situation, six

pounds a year and my chances with Fridays out and I had to leave owing to

his carryings on.
FIRST WATCH: What do you tax him with?
MARY DRISCOLL: He made a certain suggestion but I thought more of myself

as poor as I am.
BLOOM: (IN HOUSEJACKET OF RIPPLECLOTH, FLANNEL TROUSERS, HEELLESS

SLIPPERS, UNSHAVEN, HIS HAIR RUMPLED: SOFTLY) I treated you white. I gave

you mementos, smart emerald garters far above your station. Incautiously

I took your part when you were accused of pilfering. There's a medium in

all things. Play cricket.
MARY DRISCOLL: (EXCITEDLY) As God is looking down on me this night if

ever I laid a hand to them oysters!
FIRST WATCH: The offence complained of? Did something happen?
MARY DRISCOLL: He surprised me in the rere of the premises, Your honour,

when the missus was out shopping one morning with a request for a safety

pin. He held me and I was discoloured in four places as a result. And he

interfered twict with my clothing.
BLOOM: She counterassaulted.
MARY DRISCOLL: (SCORNFULLY) I had more respect for the scouringbrush, so

I had. I remonstrated with him, Your lord, and he remarked: keep it

quiet.
(GENERAL LAUGHTER.)
GEORGE FOTTRELL: (CLERK OF THE CROWN AND PEACE, RESONANTLY) Order in

court! The accused will now make a bogus statement.
(BLOOM, PLEADING NOT GUILTY AND HOLDING A FULLBLOWN WATERLILY, BEGINS A

LONG UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH. THEY WOULD HEAR WHAT COUNSEL HAD TO SAY IN

HIS STIRRING ADDRESS TO THE GRAND JURY. HE WAS DOWN AND OUT BUT, THOUGH

BRANDED AS A BLACK SHEEP, IF HE MIGHT SAY SO, HE MEANT TO REFORM, TO

RETRIEVE THE MEMORY OF THE PAST IN A PURELY SISTERLY WAY AND RETURN TO

NATURE AS A PURELY DOMESTIC ANIMAL. A SEVENMONTHS' CHILD, HE HAD BEEN

CAREFULLY BROUGHT UP AND NURTURED BY AN AGED BEDRIDDEN PARENT. THERE

MIGHT HAVE BEEN LAPSES OF AN ERRING FATHER BUT HE WANTED TO TURN OVER A

NEW LEAF AND NOW, WHEN AT LONG LAST IN SIGHT OF THE WHIPPING POST, TO

LEAD A HOMELY LIFE IN THE EVENING OF HIS DAYS, PERMEATED BY THE

AFFECTIONATE SURROUNDINGS OF THE HEAVING BOSOM OF THE FAMILY. AN

ACCLIMATISED BRITISHER, HE HAD SEEN THAT SUMMER EVE FROM THE FOOTPLATE OF

AN ENGINE CAB OF THE LOOP LINE RAILWAY COMPANY WHILE THE RAIN REFRAINED

FROM FALLING GLIMPSES, AS IT WERE, THROUGH THE WINDOWS OF LOVEFUL

HOUSEHOLDS IN DUBLIN CITY AND URBAN DISTRICT OF SCENES TRULY RURAL OF

HAPPINESS OF THE BETTER LAND WITH DOCKRELL'S WALLPAPER AT ONE AND

NINEPENCE A DOZEN, INNOCENT BRITISHBORN BAIRNS LISPING PRAYERS TO THE

SACRED INFANT, YOUTHFUL SCHOLARS GRAPPLING WITH THEIR PENSUMS OR MODEL

YOUNG LADIES PLAYING ON THE PIANOFORTE OR ANON ALL WITH FERVOUR RECITING

THE FAMILY ROSARY ROUND THE CRACKLING YULELOG WHILE IN THE BOREENS AND

GREEN LANES THE COLLEENS WITH THEIR SWAINS STROLLED WHAT TIMES THE

STRAINS OF THE ORGANTONED MELODEON BRITANNIA METALBOUND WITH FOUR ACTING

STOPS AND TWELVEFOLD BELLOWS, A SACRIFICE, GREATEST BARGAIN EVER...)
(RENEWED LAUGHTER. HE MUMBLES INCOHERENTLY. REPORTERS COMPLAIN THAT THEY

CANNOT HEAR.)
LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (WITHOUT LOOKING UP FROM THEIR NOTEBOOKS) Loosen

his boots.
PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (FROM THE PRESSTABLE, COUGHS AND CALLS) Cough it up,

man. Get it out in bits.
(THE CROSSEXAMINATION PROCEEDS RE BLOOM AND THE BUCKET. A LARGE BUCKET.

BLOOM HIMSELF. BOWEL TROUBLE. IN BEAVER STREET GRIPE, YES. QUITE BAD. A

PLASTERER'S BUCKET. BY WALKING STIFFLEGGED. SUFFERED UNTOLD MISERY.

DEADLY AGONY. ABOUT NOON. LOVE OR BURGUNDY. YES, SOME SPINACH. CRUCIAL

MOMENT. HE DID NOT LOOK IN THE BUCKET NOBODY. RATHER A MESS. NOT

COMPLETELY. A Titbits BACK NUMBER.)
(UPROAR AND CATCALLS. BLOOM IN A TORN FROCKCOAT STAINED WITH WHITEWASH,

DINGED SILK HAT SIDEWAYS ON HIS HEAD, A STRIP OF STICKINGPLASTER ACROSS

HIS NOSE, TALKS INAUDIBLY.)
J. J. O'MOLLOY: (IN BARRISTER'S GREY WIG AND STUFFGOWN, SPEAKING WITH A

VOICE OF PAINED PROTEST) This is no place for indecent levity at the

expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor. We are not in a

beargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice. My

client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a

stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. The trumped up

misdemeanour was due to a momentary aberration of heredity, brought on by

hallucination, such familiarities as the alleged guilty occurrence being

quite permitted in my client's native place, the land of the Pharaoh.

PRIMA FACIE, I put it to you that there was no attempt at carnally

knowing. Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained of by

Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not repeated. I would deal

in especial with atavism. There have been cases of shipwreck and

somnambulism in my client's family. If the accused could speak he could a

tale unfold--one of the strangest that have ever been narrated between

the covers of a book. He himself, my lord, is a physical wreck from

cobbler's weak chest. His submission is that he is of Mongolian

extraction and irresponsible for his actions. Not all there, in fact.
BLOOM: (BAREFOOT, PIGEONBREASTED, IN LASCAR'S VEST AND TROUSERS,

APOLOGETIC TOES TURNED IN, OPENS HIS TINY MOLE'S EYES AND LOOKS ABOUT HIM

DAZEDLY, PASSING A SLOW HAND ACROSS HIS FOREHEAD. THEN HE HITCHES HIS

BELT SAILOR FASHION AND WITH A SHRUG OF ORIENTAL OBEISANCE SALUTES THE

COURT, POINTING ONE THUMB HEAVENWARD.) Him makee velly muchee fine night.

(HE BEGINS TO LILT SIMPLY)
Li li poo lil chile

Blingee pigfoot evly night

Payee two shilly ...
(HE IS HOWLED DOWN.)
J. J. O'MOLLOY: (HOTLY TO THE POPULACE) This is a lonehand fight. By

Hades, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this

fashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. The Mosaic code has

superseded the law of the jungle. I say it and I say it emphatically,

without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice, accused was

not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with.

The young person was treated by defendant as if she were his very own

daughter. (BLOOM TAKES J. J. O'MOLLOY'S HAND AND RAISES IT TO HIS LIPS.)

I shall call rebutting evidence to prove up to the hilt that the hidden

hand is again at its old game. When in doubt persecute Bloom. My client,

an innately bashful man, would be the last man in the world to do

anything ungentlemanly which injured modesty could object to or cast a

stone at a girl who took the wrong turning when some dastard, responsible

for her condition, had worked his own sweet will on her. He wants to go

straight. I regard him as the whitest man I know. He is down on his luck

at present owing to the mortgaging of his extensive property at Agendath

Netaim in faraway Asia Minor, slides of which will now be shown. (TO

BLOOM) I suggest that you will do the handsome thing.
BLOOM: A penny in the pound.
(THE IMAGE OF THE LAKE OF KINNERETH WITH BLURRED CATTLE CROPPING IN

SILVER HAZE IS PROJECTED ON THE WALL. MOSES DLUGACZ, FERRETEYED ALBINO,

IN BLUE DUNGAREES, STANDS UP IN THE GALLERY, HOLDING IN EACH HAND AN

ORANGE CITRON AND A PORK KIDNEY.)
DLUGACZ: (HOARSELY) Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W.13.
(J. J. O'MOLLOY STEPS ON TO A LOW PLINTH AND HOLDS THE LAPEL OF HIS COAT

WITH SOLEMNITY. HIS FACE LENGTHENS, GROWS PALE AND BEARDED, WITH SUNKEN

EYES, THE BLOTCHES OF PHTHISIS AND HECTIC CHEEKBONES OF JOHN F. TAYLOR.

HE APPLIES HIS HANDKERCHIEF TO HIS MOUTH AND SCRUTINISES THE GALLOPING

TIDE OF ROSEPINK BLOOD.)
J.J.O'MOLLOY: (ALMOST VOICELESSLY) Excuse me. I am suffering from a

severe chill, have recently come from a sickbed. A few wellchosen words.

(HE ASSUMES THE AVINE HEAD, FOXY MOUSTACHE AND PROBOSCIDAL ELOQUENCE OF

SEYMOUR BUSHE.) When the angel's book comes to be opened if aught that

the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of

soultransfiguring deserves to live I say accord the prisoner at the bar

the sacred benefit of the doubt. (A PAPER WITH SOMETHING WRITTEN ON IT IS

HANDED INTO COURT.)
BLOOM: (IN COURT DRESS) Can give best references. Messrs Callan, Coleman.

Mr Wisdom Hely J. P. My old chief Joe Cuffe. Mr V. B. Dillon, ex lord

mayor of Dublin. I have moved in the charmed circle of the highest ...

Queens of Dublin society. (CARELESSLY) I was just chatting this afternoon

at the viceregal lodge to my old pals, sir Robert and lady Ball,

astronomer royal at the levee. Sir Bob, I said ...
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (IN LOWCORSAGED OPAL BALLDRESS AND ELBOWLENGTH IVORY

GLOVES, WEARING A SABLETRIMMED BRICKQUILTED DOLMAN, A COMB OF BRILLIANTS

AND PANACHE OF OSPREY IN HER HAIR) Arrest him, constable. He wrote me an

anonymous letter in prentice backhand when my husband was in the North

Riding of Tipperary on the Munster circuit, signed James Lovebirch. He

said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box

of the THEATRE ROYAL at a command performance of LA CIGALE. I deeply

inflamed him, he said. He made improper overtures to me to misconduct

myself at half past four p.m. on the following Thursday, Dunsink time. He

offered to send me through the post a work of fiction by Monsieur Paul de

Kock, entitled THE GIRL WITH THE THREE PAIRS OF STAYS.
MRS BELLINGHAM: (IN CAP AND SEAL CONEY MANTLE, WRAPPED UP TO THE NOSE,

STEPS OUT OF HER BROUGHAM AND SCANS THROUGH TORTOISESHELL QUIZZING-

GLASSES WHICH SHE TAKES FROM INSIDE HER HUGE OPOSSUM MUFF) Also to me.

Yes, I believe it is the same objectionable person. Because he closed my

carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety day during the

cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of the wastepipe and

the ballstop in my bath cistern were frozen. Subsequently he enclosed a

bloom of edelweiss culled on the heights, as he said, in my honour. I had

it examined by a botanical expert and elicited the information that it

was ablossom of the homegrown potato plant purloined from a forcingcase

of the model farm.
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Shame on him!
(A CROWD OF SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS SURGES FORWARD)
THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (SCREAMING) Stop thief! Hurrah there,

Bluebeard! Three cheers for Ikey Mo!
SECOND WATCH: (PRODUCES HANDCUFFS) Here are the darbies.
MRS BELLINGHAM: He addressed me in several handwritings with fulsome

compliments as a Venus in furs and alleged profound pity for my

frostbound coachman Palmer while in the same breath he expressed himself

as envious of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his fortunate

proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery

and the armorial bearings of the Bellingham escutcheon garnished sable, a

buck's head couped or. He lauded almost extravagantly my nether

extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, and

eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he

said, he could conjure up. He urged me (stating that he felt it his

mission in life to urge me) to defile the marriage bed, to commit

adultery at the earliest possible opportunity.
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (IN AMAZON COSTUME, HARD HAT,

JACKBOOTS COCKSPURRED, VERMILION WAISTCOAT, FAWN MUSKETEER GAUNTLETS WITH

BRAIDED DRUMS, LONG TRAIN HELD UP AND HUNTING CROP WITH WHICH SHE STRIKES

HER WELT CONSTANTLY) Also me. Because he saw me on the polo ground of the

Phoenix park at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland. My

eyes, I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the

Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob CENTAUR. This

plebeian Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney car and sent me in

double envelopes an obscene photograph, such as are sold after dark on

Paris boulevards, insulting to any lady. I have it still. It represents a

partially nude senorita, frail and lovely (his wife, as he solemnly

assured me, taken by him from nature), practising illicit intercourse

with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. He urged me to do

likewise, to misbehave, to sin with officers of the garrison. He implored

me to soil his letter in an unspeakable manner, to chastise him as he

richly deserves, to bestride and ride him, to give him a most vicious

horsewhipping.
MRS BELLINGHAM: Me too.
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Me too.
(SEVERAL HIGHLY RESPECTABLE DUBLIN LADIES HOLD UP IMPROPER LETTERS

RECEIVED FROM BLOOM.)
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (STAMPS HER JINGLING SPURS IN A SUDDEN

PAROXYSM OF FURY) I will, by the God above me. I'll scourge the

pigeonlivered cur as long as I can stand over him. I'll flay him alive.
BLOOM: (HIS EYES CLOSING, QUAILS EXPECTANTLY) Here? (HE SQUIRMS) Again!

(HE PANTS CRINGING) I love the danger.
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: Very much so! I'll make it hot for

you. I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that.
MRS BELLINGHAM: Tan his breech well, the upstart! Write the stars and

stripes on it!
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Disgraceful! There's no excuse for him! A married

man!
BLOOM: All these people. I meant only the spanking idea. A warm tingling

glow without effusion. Refined birching to stimulate the circulation.
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (LAUGHS DERISIVELY) O, did you, my

fine fellow? Well, by the living God, you'll get the surprise of your

life now, believe me, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained

for. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury.
MRS BELLINGHAM: (SHAKES HER MUFF AND QUIZZING-GLASSES VINDICTIVELY) Make

him smart, Hanna dear. Give him ginger. Thrash the mongrel within an inch

of his life. The cat-o'-nine-tails. Geld him. Vivisect him.
BLOOM: (SHUDDERING, SHRINKING, JOINS HIS HANDS: WITH HANGDOG MIEN) O

cold! O shivery! It was your ambrosial beauty. Forget, forgive. Kismet.

Let me off this once. (HE OFFERS THE OTHER CHEEK)
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (SEVERELY) Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys!

He should be soundly trounced!
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (UNBUTTONING HER GAUNTLET VIOLENTLY)

I'll do no such thing. Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! To

dare address me! I'll flog him black and blue in the public streets. I'll

dig my spurs in him up to the rowel. He is a wellknown cuckold. (SHE

SWISHES HER HUNTINGCROP SAVAGELY IN THE AIR) Take down his trousers

without loss of time. Come here, sir! Quick! Ready?
BLOOM: (TREMBLING, BEGINNING TO OBEY) The weather has been so warm.
(DAVY STEPHENS, RINGLETTED, PASSES WITH A BEVY OF BAREFOOT NEWSBOYS.)
DAVY STEPHENS: MESSENGER OF THE SACRED HEART and EVENING TELEGRAPH with

Saint Patrick's Day supplement. Containing the new addresses of all the

cuckolds in Dublin.
(THE VERY REVEREND CANON O'HANLON IN CLOTH OF GOLD COPE ELEVATES AND

EXPOSES A MARBLE TIMEPIECE. BEFORE HIM FATHER CONROY AND THE REVEREND

JOHN HUGHES S.J. BEND LOW.)
THE TIMEPIECE: (UNPORTALLING)

Cuckoo.

Cuckoo.

Cuckoo.

(THE BRASS QUOITS OF A BED ARE HEARD TO JINGLE.)
THE QUOITS: Jigjag. Jigajiga. Jigjag.
(A PANEL OF FOG ROLLS BACK RAPIDLY, REVEALING RAPIDLY IN THE JURYBOX THE

FACES OF MARTIN CUNNINGHAM, FOREMAN, SILKHATTED, JACK POWER, SIMON

DEDALUS, TOM KERNAN, NED LAMBERT, JOHN HENRY MENTON MYLES CRAWFORD,

LENEHAN, PADDY LEONARD, NOSEY FLYNN, M'COY AND THE FEATURELESS FACE OF A

NAMELESS ONE.)
THE NAMELESS ONE: Bareback riding. Weight for age. Gob, he organised her.
THE JURORS: (ALL THEIR HEADS TURNED TO HIS VOICE) Really?
THE NAMELESS ONE: (SNARLS) Arse over tip. Hundred shillings to five.
THE JURORS: (ALL THEIR HEADS LOWERED IN ASSENT) Most of us thought as

much.
FIRST WATCH: He is a marked man. Another girl's plait cut. Wanted: Jack

the Ripper. A thousand pounds reward.
SECOND WATCH: (AWED, WHISPERS) And in black. A mormon. Anarchist.
THE CRIER: (LOUDLY) Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a

wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a public

nuisance to the citizens of Dublin and whereas at this commission of

assizes the most honourable ...
(HIS HONOUR, SIR FREDERICK FALKINER, RECORDER OF DUBLIN, IN JUDICIAL GARB

OF GREY STONE RISES FROM THE BENCH, STONEBEARDED. HE BEARS IN HIS ARMS AN

UMBRELLA SCEPTRE. FROM HIS FOREHEAD ARISE STARKLY THE MOSAIC RAMSHORNS.)
THE RECORDER: I will put an end to this white slave traffic and rid

Dublin of this odious pest. Scandalous! (HE DONS THE BLACK CAP) Let him

be taken, Mr Subsheriff, from the dock where he now stands and detained

in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there be

hanged by the neck until he is dead and therein fail not at your peril or

may the Lord have mercy on your soul. Remove him. (A BLACK SKULLCAP

DESCENDS UPON HIS HEAD.)
(THE SUBSHERIFF LONG JOHN FANNING APPEARS, SMOKING A PUNGENT HENRY CLAY.)
LONG JOHN FANNING: (SCOWLS AND CALLS WITH RICH ROLLING UTTERANCE) Who'll

hang Judas Iscariot?
(H. RUMBOLD, MASTER BARBER, IN A BLOODCOLOURED JERKIN AND TANNER'S APRON,

A ROPE COILED OVER HIS SHOULDER, MOUNTS THE BLOCK. A LIFE PRESERVER AND A

NAILSTUDDED BLUDGEON ARE STUCK IN HIS BELT. HE RUBS GRIMLY HIS GRAPPLING

HANDS, KNOBBED WITH KNUCKLEDUSTERS.)
RUMBOLD: (TO THE RECORDER WITH SINISTER FAMILIARITY) Hanging Harry, your

Majesty, the Mersey terror. Five guineas a jugular. Neck or nothing.
(THE BELLS OF GEORGE'S CHURCH TOLL SLOWLY, LOUD DARK IRON.)
THE BELLS: Heigho! Heigho!
BLOOM: (DESPERATELY) Wait. Stop. Gulls. Good heart. I saw. Innocence.

Girl in the monkeyhouse. Zoo. Lewd chimpanzee. (BREATHLESSLY) Pelvic

basin. Her artless blush unmanned me. (OVERCOME WITH EMOTION) I left the

precincts. (HE TURNS TO A FIGURE IN THE CROWD, APPEALING) Hynes, may I

speak to you? You know me. That three shillings you can keep. If you want

a little more ...
HYNES: (COLDLY) You are a perfect stranger.
SECOND WATCH: (POINTS TO THE CORNER) The bomb is here.
FIRST WATCH: Infernal machine with a time fuse.
BLOOM: No, no. Pig's feet. I was at a funeral.
FIRST WATCH: (DRAWS HIS TRUNCHEON) Liar!
(THE BEAGLE LIFTS HIS SNOUT, SHOWING THE GREY SCORBUTIC FACE OF PADDY

DIGNAM. HE HAS GNAWED ALL. HE EXHALES A PUTRID CARCASEFED BREATH. HE

GROWS TO HUMAN SIZE AND SHAPE. HIS DACHSHUND COAT BECOMES A BROWN

MORTUARY HABIT. HIS GREEN EYE FLASHES BLOODSHOT. HALF OF ONE EAR, ALL THE

NOSE AND BOTH THUMBS ARE GHOULEATEN.)
PADDY DIGNAM: (IN A HOLLOW VOICE) It is true. It was my funeral. Doctor

Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from

natural causes.
(HE LIFTS HIS MUTILATED ASHEN FACE MOONWARDS AND BAYS LUGUBRIOUSLY.)
BLOOM: (IN TRIUMPH) You hear?
PADDY DIGNAM: Bloom, I am Paddy Dignam's spirit. List, list, O list!
BLOOM: The voice is the voice of Esau.
SECOND WATCH: (BLESSES HIMSELF) How is that possible?
FIRST WATCH: It is not in the penny catechism.
PADDY DIGNAM: By metempsychosis. Spooks.
A VOICE: O rocks.
PADDY DIGNAM: (EARNESTLY) Once I was in the employ of Mr J. H. Menton,

solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk.

Now I am defunct, the wall of the heart hypertrophied. Hard lines. The

poor wife was awfully cut up. How is she bearing it? Keep her off that

bottle of sherry. (HE LOOKS ROUND HIM) A lamp. I must satisfy an animal

need. That buttermilk didn't agree with me.
(THE PORTLY FIGURE OF JOHN O'CONNELL, CARETAKER, STANDS FORTH, HOLDING A

BUNCH OF KEYS TIED WITH CRAPE. BESIDE HIM STANDS FATHER COFFEY, CHAPLAIN,

TOADBELLIED, WRYNECKED, IN A SURPLICE AND BANDANNA NIGHTCAP, HOLDING

SLEEPILY A STAFF TWISTED POPPIES.)
FATHER COFFEY: (YAWNS, THEN CHANTS WITH A HOARSE CROAK) Namine. Jacobs.

Vobiscuits. Amen.
JOHN O'CONNELL: (FOGHORNS STORMILY THROUGH HIS MEGAPHONE) Dignam, Patrick

T, deceased.
PADDY DIGNAM: (WITH PRICKED UP EARS, WINCES) Overtones. (HE WRIGGLES

FORWARD AND PLACES AN EAR TO THE GROUND) My master's voice!
JOHN O'CONNELL: Burial docket letter number U. P. eightyfive thousand.

Field seventeen. House of Keys. Plot, one hundred and one.
(PADDY DIGNAM LISTENS WITH VISIBLE EFFORT, THINKING, HIS TAIL

STIFFPOINTCD, HIS EARS COCKED.)
PADDY DIGNAM: Pray for the repose of his soul.
(HE WORMS DOWN THROUGH A COALHOLE, HIS BROWN HABIT TRAILING ITS TETHER

OVER RATTLING PEBBLES. AFTER HIM TODDLES AN OBESE GRANDFATHER RAT ON

FUNGUS TURTLE PAWS UNDER A GREY CARAPACE. DIGNAM'S VOICE, MUFFLED, IS

HEARD BAYING UNDER GROUND: Dignam's dead and gone below. TOM ROCHFORD,

ROBINREDBREASTED, IN CAP AND BREECHES, JUMPS FROM HIS TWOCOLUMNED

MACHINE.)
TOM ROCHFORD: (A HAND TO HIS BREASTBONE, BOWS) Reuben J. A florin I find

him. (HE FIXES THE MANHOLE WITH A RESOLUTE STARE) My turn now on. Follow

me up to Carlow.
(HE EXECUTES A DAREDEVIL SALMON LEAP IN THE AIR AND IS ENGULFED IN THE

COALHOLE. TWO DISCS ON THE COLUMNS WOBBLE, EYES OF NOUGHT. ALL RECEDES.

BLOOM PLODGES FORWARD AGAIN THROUGH THE SUMP. KISSES CHIRP AMID THE RIFTS

OF FOG A PIANO SOUNDS. HE STANDS BEFORE A LIGHTED HOUSE, LISTENING. THE

KISSES, WINGING FROM THEIR BOWERS FLY ABOUT HIM, TWITTERING, WARBLING,

COOING.)
THE KISSES: (WARBLING) Leo! (TWITTERING) Icky licky micky sticky for Leo!

(COOING) Coo coocoo! Yummyyum, Womwom! (WARBLING) Big comebig! Pirouette!

Leopopold! (TWITTERING) Leeolee! (WARBLING) O Leo!
(THEY RUSTLE, FLUTTER UPON HIS GARMENTS, ALIGHT, BRIGHT GIDDY FLECKS,

SILVERY SEQUINS.)
BLOOM: A man's touch. Sad music. Church music. Perhaps here.
(ZOE HIGGINS, A YOUNG WHORE IN A SAPPHIRE SLIP, CLOSED WITH THREE BRONZE

BUCKLES, A SLIM BLACK VELVET FILLET ROUND HER THROAT, NODS, TRIPS DOWN

THE STEPS AND ACCOSTS HIM.)


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