To answer your questions, we have to look at Joyce’s love for puns, his Irish surroundings, and his deep roots in Homeric mythology.
1. Is “Dolores” synonymous with Molly?
Yes, in a very specific, “Joycean” way.
* The Name: Molly’s full name is Marion Tweedy Bloom. “Molly” is a common pet name for Mary or Marion.
* The Connection: “Dolores” comes from the Latin dolor, meaning sorrow or pain. (Think of the “Seven Sorrows of Mary” in Catholicism).
* The Pun: In this chapter, as the singer laments the “dolor” of the Croppy Boy, Bloom’s mind jumps to the Spanish/Moorish vibes of his wife (who was born in Gibraltar). He connects the musical “dolor” to the Spanish name Dolores. It’s a way of linking his personal sadness about Molly’s affair to the universal sadness of the music.
2. What is the “Guinness” reference?
The “Guinness” I referred to is the famous Irish Stout (beer).
* The Beerpull: When Lydia Douce is stroking the “white enamel baton,” she is literally pouring a pint of Guinness.
* The Family: As we discussed with the “Iveagh Home,” the Guinness family were the aristocrats of Dublin. They were “Bass” (a type of ale) and “Stout” brewers who became philanthropists.
* The “Number One Bass”: This refers to Bass & Co’s Pale Ale, which was the first trademarked brand in the UK (the red triangle). Ben Dollard was ruined by “Number one Bass”—meaning he likely drank his profits away.
3. Etymology: Lydia Douce & Calypso
| Name | Etymology & Origin | Significance in Ulysses |
|—|—|—|
| Lydia Douce | Lydia: Greek for “person from Lydia” (an ancient kingdom in Asia Minor). Douce: French for “sweet” or “soft.” | She is one of the “Sirens.” Her name suggests a “sweet” temptation that “softens” the men who hear her. |
| Calypso | From the Greek kalyptein (\kappa\alpha\lambda\acute{\upsilon}\pi\tau\omega), meaning “to conceal” or “to hide.” | This is the title of Chapter 4. In the Odyssey, Calypso is the nymph who keeps Odysseus “hidden” on her island for seven years. In Ulysses, it represents Bloom’s domestic “hiding” in his home at 7 Eccles Street. |
This passage marks the grand, emotional exit of Bloom from the Ormond Hotel. As Ben Dollard finishes the tragic ballad of The Croppy Boy, the atmosphere in the bar shifts from flirtation to a heavy, patriotic “dolor.”
Terminology & Key Concepts
* Embon: A shortened version of the French embonpoint, meaning “plumpness” or a well-filled figure. Bloom is watching the rise and fall of Lydia’s bosom as she listens to the music, noting the “satiny heaving.”
* Fernfoils of maidenhair: A double reference. Maidenhair is a type of delicate fern, but Bloom is also thinking of the fine, trembling hairs on a woman’s body or neck, reacting to the “vibrations” of the music.
* Lablache: Father Cowley compares Ben Dollard to Luigi Lablache, one of the most famous bass singers of the 19th century. It is high praise, suggesting Dollard’s “barreltone” has reached world-class levels of “trenchant” (sharp/powerful) rendition.
* Yrfmstbyes. Blmstup.: This is Joyce’s “shorthand” for the muffled sounds of a busy bar.
* Yrfmstbyes = “Your servant, must be yes.”
* Blmstup = “Bloom stood up.”
* It mimics the way words blur together when you are distracted or moving through a crowd.
The “Enamel Baton”
Lydia Douce is stroking the beerpull (the handle used to pour Guinness). Joyce describes it as a “cool firm white enamel baton.” This is a highly suggestive, “Sirens” moment. Lydia knows George Lidwell is watching her, and her rhythmic stroking of the handle mirrors the “sliding ring” of the music and the sexual tension in the room.
The Croppy Boy’s Fate
The song ends with the execution of the young rebel.
* “I hold this house. Amen.”: The “priest” (the soldier in disguise) reveals his true identity and condemns the boy.
* Geneva Barrack / Passage: Real locations associated with the 1798 Rebellion.
* Dolor! O, he dolores!: Bloom connects the “dolor” (sorrow) of the song back to the name Dolores (Molly) and his own loneliness.
The Sticky Soap
As Bloom stands up, he feels the lemon soap he bought earlier in the day (“Calypso” episode) sticking to his skin. He realizes he has sweated from the emotional intensity of the music. This “high grade” soap is a recurring motif—a physical reminder of his domestic life and his attempt to stay “clean” amidst the “slops” and “empties” of the bar.
Bloom is engaging in a bit of “retro-listening.” As he hears the piano and the voices in the bar, he remembers a night at the theater with Molly. He’s comparing the mechanics of an orchestra to the mechanics of philosophy.
The Shah and the Tuning Up
* The Shah of Persia: This is a popular 19th-century anecdote. When the Shah visited London and heard an orchestra, he supposedly preferred the “tuning up” (the cacophony of instruments finding their pitch) to the actual concert.
* The Custom: Bloom’s thought about him wiping his nose in the curtain highlights his view of cultural relativity—what seems like “noise” or “bad manners” to one person is “home sweet home” to another.
The Orchestra as an Animal Kingdom
Bloom’s “Musemathematics” turns biological here. He sees the instruments not as art, but as animals:
* Brasses: “Braying asses” (the harsh sound of trumpets/trombones).
* Doublebasses: “Helpless, gashes in their sides” (the f-holes of the bass look like wounds).
* Woodwinds: “Mooing cows.”
* The Piano: A “crocodile” with “jaws” (the open lid and the white teeth of the keys).
Met him pike hoses (Metempsychosis)
You caught the return of the “big word” from earlier in the morning!
* The Context: In the “Calypso” episode, Molly asked Bloom what “metempsychosis” meant (the transmigration of souls). She couldn’t pronounce it and called it “met him pike hoses.”
* The Philosophy: Bloom is remembering how he tried to explain Spinoza’s philosophy to her while a man in the “dress circle” was busy staring down her low-cut “crocus dress” with an opera glass.
* O rocks!: This is Molly’s famous response to any philosophy that gets too complicated. To her, “metempsychosis” is just “rocks”—useless, heavy, and confusing.
“God made the country man the tune”
A play on the proverb “God made the country, and man made the town.” Bloom is suggesting that while nature is raw and divine, music (the tune) is a human construction—a way of trying to organize the chaos of the world.
In the context of the Iveagh Home mentioned in the passage, the name carries a deep history rooted in Irish geography and nobility:
Etymology and Meaning
* Uíbh Eachach: The name Iveagh derives from the Irish Uíbh Eachach, meaning “Descendants of Echu.”
* Ancient Territory: It refers to an ancient Irish túath (district) in what is now County Down. Historically, it was ruled by the Uí Echach Cobo tribe.
* The Guinness Link: The title “Earl of Iveagh” was granted to Edward Cecil Guinness in the late 19th/early 20th century. He chose this name because of a traditional belief that the Guinness family was descended from the ancient Magennis clan of Iveagh.
The “Iveagh Home” Context
In the passage, Bloom notes that Ben Dollard—who has “failed” in business—now lives in the Iveagh Home.
* The Irony: Bloom points out a circular bit of social history: the Guinness family, who built their fortune on alcohol (“Number one Bass”), later used that wealth to build philanthropic housing (the Iveagh Trust and Iveagh Home) for the men who had been ruined or impoverished.
* Cubicle number so and so: This refers to the specific, small living quarters provided to the residents of these hostels.
In this somber turn, Bloom watches Ben Dollard—a man who was once a wealthy ship’s chandler but is now living in the Iveagh Home (a hostel for the poor)—singing a song of confession. The music moves from the “barreltone” rumble to a “tremulous” plea for forgiveness.
Etymology & Key Terms
* Corpusnomine: This is a classic “Bloom-amalgam.”
* Etymology: Corpus (Latin: “body”) + nomine (Latin: “name”).
* Context: Bloom is merging the religious “Body of Christ” (Corpus Christi) with the administrative “name of the deceased” he saw at the funeral earlier (In nomine Domini). He’s also punning on “Coffey,” the name of the real-life Dublin mortician. To Bloom, whether it’s a priest giving communion or an undertaker handling a corpse, it’s all just “body-naming” business.
* Birdlime:
* Etymology: From the Old English bird + lim (sticky substance/glue).
* Context: Historically, birdlime was a sticky adhesive (often made from holly bark or mistletoe) spread on branches to trap small birds. Bloom uses it as a metaphor for Latin. He thinks the “sticky” mystery of the Latin language traps the congregation’s minds, keeping them stuck to the Church just like birds on a lime-coated branch.
* Womoonless: A “bass” version of “womanless.” The deep “oo” sound mimics the low resonance of Dollard’s voice.
* Iveagh Home: A real Dublin institution founded by the Guinness family (the Earls of Iveagh) to provide clean, cheap housing for working men. Bloom notes the irony: the same wealthy families that “wreck” lives through the “Number one Bass” (ale/beer) then “build them cubicles” to die in.
The “Answers” Puzzle
Bloom thinks of Dollard as a “decent soul” but “addled.” Dollard is trying to win a contest in Answers magazine (a popular weekly).
* The Puzzle: “See blank tee” (C_T) is obviously “Cat,” and “Tee dash ar” (T_R) is “Tar” (a slang term for a sailor/mariner).
* The Joke: Dollard is so intellectually “shipwrecked” that he struggles with these simple word games, even though his voice remains a powerful, “manly” instrument (“No eunuch yet”).
In this final movement of the “Sirens” episode, Bloom is making his exit, but the language is becoming increasingly “thick” and subterranean. Joyce is shifting the musical tone from the airy, soaring tenor of Simon Dedalus to the deep, heavy bass of Ben Dollard.
Key Terminology & Wordplay
* Seehears Lipspeech: This is a classic Joycean “compound” word. Because the waiter, Pat, is “bothered” (deaf), he doesn’t just hear; he has to watch Bloom’s lips to understand the order. Bloom is observing the sensory compensation—the sight of speech becoming the sound of speech.
* Lugugugubrious: This is a playful extension of lugubrious (meaning mournful, dismal, or gloomy). By adding the extra “gu-gu,” Joyce mimics the vibrating, low-frequency “rumble” of a deep bass voice. It sounds like the singer is warming up their lowest notes.
* Lumpmusic / Embedded Ore: Bloom imagines the deep bass voice as something physical and heavy, like minerals buried deep in the ground. While the tenor voice “soared” like a bird, the bass voice “drags” like stone. It is the “voice of dark age.”
* One and Nine: This is the bill—one shilling and ninepence. Bloom, ever-calculating, decides to give a “twopence tip.” He feels a flicker of empathy for “Deaf Patty,” imagining him going home to a family that is also “waiting, waiting.”
The Song: The Croppy Boy
The “priest he sought” refers to the lyrics of the ballad “The Croppy Boy.” It tells the story of a young Irish rebel during the 1798 Rising who goes to confession before a battle, only to realize the “priest” is actually a British soldier in disguise.
The music here is “grave” and “painful,” contrasting sharply with the flirtatious “tinkling” of the barmaids earlier. The atmosphere has shifted from lighthearted seduction to national tragedy and “earth’s fatigue.”
This passage brings the “Sirens” episode to its peak of polyphonic noise. The music of the piano, the “jingle” of Boylan’s arrival, and Bloom’s own internal “chamber music” are all clashing as he prepares to flee the bar.
Key References & Wordplay
* “Chamber music. Could make a kind of pun on that”: This is one of Joyce’s most famous (and bawdy) jokes. While “chamber music” usually refers to small orchestral ensembles, Bloom is thinking of the sound of a woman using a chamber pot. This connects back to his “Musemathematics”—the “tinkling” sound changing resonance as the vessel fills up (“weight of the water”).
* Paul de Kock: A real French novelist known for his spicy, popular romances. Bloom, being Bloom, can’t help but turn the name into a rhythmic, percussive sound: “Paul de Kock… with a cock carracarracarra cock.” This mimics both the knocking on a door and the sexual tension underlying the whole chapter.
* Qui Sdegno: Refers to the aria “Qui sdegno non s’accende” from Mozart’s The Magic Flute.
* The Croppy Boy: A famous Irish patriotic ballad about the 1798 Rebellion. Tom Kernan calls it “Our native Doric,” referring to a plain, sturdy, “native” style of art compared to the “Italian florid music” Bloom was thinking about earlier.
* F Sharp Major: Ben Dollard asks for this key. In the world of musical theory, F# major is often considered a “bright” or “sharp” key (it has six sharps, as Bloom notes). It’s a difficult key to play, fitting for the climactic, “deep-sounding” end of the scene.
Men vs. Women: The “Gap” in the Voice
Bloom has a theory that women “can’t manage men’s intervals.” He thinks there is a “gap” in their voices. This is his way of rationalizing the differences between himself and Molly. He remembers her singing Mercadante’s Seven Last Words (Quis est homo), highlighting how music is the primary way they communicate emotion.
In this snippet, Joyce is weaving real Dublin history with his fictional characters. Bloom is half-listening to a bit of “bar talk” gossip while the music continues.
The Cast of Characters
* Bob Cowley: He is a recurring character in Ulysses—a talented but “down-on-his-luck” musician and a spoiled priest (someone who studied for the priesthood but didn’t finish). In this scene, he’s the “accompanist” at the piano, providing the soundtrack to the gossip.
* Walter Bapty: This is a reference to a real-life figure. Walter Bapty was a well-known tenor and a vicar-choral at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin.
* The Gossip (The “Authentic Fact”): Tom Kernan is telling a scandalous story about how Bapty “lost his voice” because a jealous husband caught him with his wife and literally throttled him (“took him by the throat”).
* The Bloom connection: Bloom’s mind immediately shortens the thought to “Tenors get wom” (Tenors get women). This reinforces his anxiety about Molly and Boylan—if even a cathedral singer like Bapty is getting caught in affairs, what hope does Bloom have?
The “Ginhot” Words
Joyce uses the wonderful adjective “ginhot” to describe Tom Kernan’s speech. It perfectly captures the breath of a man who has been drinking gin all afternoon—warm, smelling of spirits, and a bit over-eager to tell a juicy story.
Bob Cowley “Wove”
Notice how Cowley is described as “weaving” the music. This ties back to the Sirens theme—the music isn’t just a background noise; it’s a net or a web being spun around the listeners in the bar, trapping them in a state of nostalgia and emotion.
In this movement, Bloom shifts from “Musemathematics” to a broader philosophy of sound. He begins to distinguish between nature, noise, and music, all while the barmaids continue their flirtatious “gentleman friend” banter in the background.
The Symphony of the Everyday
* “There’s music everywhere”: Bloom lists natural sounds—wind, thunder, cows lowing—and tries to categorize them. He is a proto-environmentalist of sound. He even includes “Ruttledge’s door” creaking, but corrects himself: “No, that’s noise.” He is wrestling with the boundary where a physical vibration becomes an aesthetic experience.
* The “One: one, one…” and “Look: look, look…”: These repetitions mimic the Minuet from Mozart’s Don Giovanni that Bob Cowley is playing. The “One, two, three, four” is the time signature (3/4 or 4/4 time), showing Bloom’s brain keeping pace with the rhythm.
Social Contrast: The Minuet vs. Dockleaves
As Cowley plays the elegant, aristocratic music of Mozart, Bloom’s social conscience kicks in.
* The Castle Chambers: He imagines the high-society “court dresses” dancing in luxury.
* The Peasants: He immediately contrasts this with “green starving faces eating dockleaves.” (Dockleaves were often eaten by the poor during the Great Famine when nothing else was available).
* The Irony: To Bloom, there is something “misery”-inducing about beautiful music that ignores the suffering of the people outside the door.
“My joy is other joy”
This is a deeply personal admission. Bloom recognizes that he could never have written such joyful music because his internal state is different. However, he acknowledges that music is the ultimate proof of life: “Mere fact of music shows you are.” He uses Molly’s “lilting” (singing without words) as his barometer for her happiness—a rare moment where he trusts his ears more than his eyes.
This scene brings us back to the “Sirens” themselves—the barmaids—and a beautiful, scientific observation from Bloom. While George Lidwell and Lydia Douce flirt over a seashell, Bloom provides the rational, biological reality of what they are experiencing.
The Seahorn and the “Silent Roar”
* The Shell as a Siren’s Tool: Lydia brings the “spiked and winding seahorn” to George Lidwell’s ear. It is a classic romantic trope—listening to the ocean inside a shell. To the flirtatious lawyer, it’s “wonderful” and magical.
* Bloom’s Reality (The Blood): Bloom, the amateur scientist, knows better. He thinks: “The sea they think they hear… The blood it is.” He understands that the “roar” isn’t the ocean, but the sound of the listener’s own blood rushing through the vessels in their ear, amplified by the shell’s shape.
* Corpuscle Islands: This is a fantastic bit of “Bloom-poetry.” He imagines the red and white blood cells (corpuscles) as little islands floating in the “sea” of the human body.
The “Yashmak” and the Hidden Ear
Bloom wonders why women hide their ears with their hair (“seaweed hair”). He compares it to a Yashmak (a Turkish veil that covers the face but leaves the eyes visible).
* The Cave: He views the ear as a “cave” or an entrance—”No admittance except on business.” It’s a slightly voyeuristic, slightly clinical thought that connects the physical body back to the idea of a hidden, secret space.
The Tap
Notice the recurring word: Tap. This is the “blind piano tuner” returning to the hotel to retrieve his tuning fork. Just as the music and the sea-imagery reach a peak, the mechanical “Tap” of the blind man’s cane reminds us of a world without sight or color—only sound and rhythm.
This passage is the peak of Sirens’ “musicalization” of prose. Joyce is no longer just telling a story; he is using the words to mimic a musical fugue or a repetitive staccato rhythm.
The Anatomy of the Absurdity
* The “Wait” Loop: The repetition of “Wait while you wait… if you wait he will wait” mimics a “canon” in music (like “Row, Row, Row Your Boat”), where the same melody overlaps itself. It also mocks the boring, circular reality of poor Bald Pat’s life. He is a waiter; his entire existence is defined by the verb “to wait.”
* The “Hee Hee” Percussion: These aren’t just laughs; they are rhythmic markers. In music, these would be grace notes or short, sharp beats (staccato). They give the paragraph a manic, mechanical energy.
* “Bothered”: In Hiberno-English (Dublin slang of the time), “bothered” actually means deaf. So when Joyce says “Pat who is bothered,” he’s not saying Pat is annoyed—he’s reminding us why the communication in the bar is so disjointed.
* “Mitred the napkins”: This is a specific way of folding napkins into a point, like a Bishop’s hat (a mitre).
Why the Absurdity?
Bloom is watching Pat, and his mind is beginning to “glitch” because of the emotional stress of the day. The repetitive language shows how Bloom is zoning out. The word “wait” starts to lose its meaning (a phenomenon called semantic satiation) because he has been waiting all day for the 4:00 PM tryst between Molly and Boylan.
He is essentially mocking the very concept of “waiting” because it has become his entire world.
In this final maneuver of the “Sirens” episode, Bloom completes his clandestine task with the precision of a spy, even as the “jingle” of Boylan’s carriage provides a mocking rhythm to his movements.
The “Postal” Conclusion
Bloom manages to fold the letter into his newspaper, the Freeman’s Journal, and seals it. He pays his bill—calculating the “numbers” yet again—and slips out. The tension between his “naughty” secret and his status as a “mourner” (for Dignam) creates a strange moral friction.
* The “Greek ees” and the Mask: By changing his handwriting, Bloom is literally trying to “un-Bloom” himself. He wants to be “Henry Flower,” a romantic, misunderstood figure, rather than Leopold Bloom, the man whose wife is currently receiving a visitor.
* The Exit: He leaves the Ormond Hotel just as the music and the drinks have reached a peak of camaraderie. He is, as always, the outsider—the man who “sings dumb” while everyone else is in chorus.
Key Terminology
* Harmony Avenue: A real street in Dublin, but Joyce chooses it here to contrast with the “disharmony” in Bloom’s heart as he thinks of Boylan.
* Agendath: This refers to the Agendath Netaim (a Zionist planter’s colony). Bloom is obsessed with this “bright tube” of a dream, using it as a mental escape from the “jingle” of reality.
* George Robert Mesias: Boylan’s tailor. Bloom is hyper-aware of Boylan’s superior “style,” noting the specific cut of his indigo-blue serge suit. It’s a moment of deep insecurity masked by observational detail.
This passage is a brilliant display of Bloom’s “double life.” While the “Sirens” (the music and the barmaids) continue their performance in the background, Bloom is performing a manual “edit” of his own identity.
The “Greek ees” and the Deception
Bloom is terrified of being caught. He decides to “write Greek ees” (using the Greek letter epsilon ε instead of a standard e) to disguise his handwriting. It’s a classic Bloom move: overly cautious, slightly intellectual, and ultimately a bit fussy.
* The Letter’s Content: The letter to Martha is intentionally vapid—”Dear Henry wrote: dear Mady.” He is projecting a persona of a lonely, misunderstood man (“Do you despise?”), which contrasts sharply with the “stylish” reality of Blazes Boylan outside.
* “P. O. two and six”: Bloom is doing his “Musemathematics” again. He’s calculating the cost of a Postal Order for two shillings and sixpence (half a crown) to send as a “poor little present.”
The Jingle and the “Gallantbuttocked” Mare
The narrative suddenly shifts from Bloom’s messy internal thoughts to a hyper-precise, almost legalistic description of Blazes Boylan passing by.
* The Contrast: While Bloom is “bored” and “tambouring” his fingers on a pad, Boylan is described by his external trappings: his car number (324), his tailor (Mesias), and his hatter (Plasto).
* The Agendath Connection: The mention of “Dlugacz’ porkshop” and “Agendath” recalls the advertisement for a Zionist colony Bloom saw earlier in the day. It highlights his wandering mind—even as his wife’s lover jingles past toward his home, Bloom’s brain is connecting the rhythm of the horse to a porkshop in a distant land.
Literary Terms & Context
* Freeman Baton: The Freeman’s Journal (the newspaper Bloom works for) rolled up like a conductor’s baton. He uses it as a physical shield to hide his letter-writing from Richie Goulding (“cute as a rat”).
* Sauce for the gander: A reference to the proverb “What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.” Bloom is justifying his own “naughty” correspondence by acknowledging Molly’s affair. If she is doing it, why shouldn’t he?
You have a sharp eye for Joyce’s recurring structural motifs! The “Symmetry/Cemetery” connection isn’t just a spelling mnemonic; it’s a thematic anchor for Bloom. It links the mathematical order he craves with the physical decay he can’t stop thinking about.
The Musemathematics of Mortality
* Symmetry: Represents the “Musemathematics”—the ratios, the “two multiplied by two,” the balanced chords, and the clean lines of a letter.
* Cemetery: Represents the “Callous… own gut,” the “rat’s tail,” and the “poisoned pup.”
By placing “Symmetry under a cemetery wall,” Joyce suggests that even the most beautiful, balanced human achievements (like music or math) are ultimately built on top of the grave. Bloom is the only one in the bar wearing black (“He doesn’t see my mourning”), making him a walking “cemetery” in a room full of “symmetry” and song.
The Math as a “Vibration”
Bloom’s argument that music is just “sounds” rather than meaning is his defense mechanism. If he can convince himself that Simon’s singing is just “figures juggling,” then the heartbreak in the lyrics can’t hurt him. He’s trying to turn emotion into an equation to make it manageable.
In the silence of the bar, Bloom begins to write his secret letter to Martha Clifford. This isn’t his wife, but a woman he’s been having a clandestine, mostly “postal” flirtation with. He uses a pseudonym (Henry Flower) to hide his identity.
While he writes, his mind remains a jumble of the music he just heard, the math of the vibrations, and the physical act of deception.
The Secret Letter
> Dear M. P. S. So glad you wrote. I am so lonely. No-one to love me. I am a Henry Flower. I send you a flower. It’s a bit pressed but it’s a flower. I am so sorry you are not happy. I wish I could help you. I am a bit sad myself. I am so lonely.
>
Of course, in the actual text, the writing of the letter is interrupted by his thoughts and the activity in the bar. He’s careful to hide the paper from Richie Goulding’s sight, leaning his elbow over the pad—a “tactful” deception.
The Coda: Music vs. Body
As Bloom finishes, he reflects on the nature of the music. He realizes that while the singers were soaring, the listener is left with a “vibration” that eventually fades.
* “Time makes the tune”: This is a profound Bloom-ism. He understands that music doesn’t exist in space, but in time. Once the time is gone, the tune is gone.
* “All music when you come to think”: He brings it back to the math. He’s trying to convince himself that his emotional reaction to Simon Dedalus’s singing was just a biological response to “two multiplied by two.”
The Departure
Bloom finally leaves the Ormond, and as he walks away, he hears the “jingle” of Blazes Boylan’s carriage. The “Sirens” (the barmaids and the music) have done their work—they’ve distracted him, but they haven’t changed the reality that Boylan is on his way to see Molly.
It sounds a bit grizzly, doesn’t it? But yes, catgut is one of the oldest materials used for musical strings, surgical sutures, and even tennis rackets. Despite the name, it has almost never been made from cats—the term likely comes from “kitgut” (a kit being a small fiddle).
Here is how it works and why it’s used:
1. Why don’t they decompose?
The intestines don’t decompose because they undergo a rigorous chemical and mechanical preservation process.
* Cleaning: The inner and outer layers of the intestine (usually from sheep or cows) are scraped away until only the muscular serosa or submucosa remains.
* Treatment: The fibers are soaked in alkaline solutions (like lye) to strip away fats and proteins that would rot.
* Drying: They are twisted together while wet and then dried under tension. This process changes the cellular structure, turning a soft organ into a high-tensile, translucent, and incredibly durable “wire.” Once dried and polished, they are no longer “flesh” in the way we think of it; they are essentially pure collagen.
2. Why use them for strings?
Before the invention of nylon or high-quality steel, catgut was the gold standard for music.
* The “Warm” Sound: As Bloom notes in your passage, there is a “mercy of beauty” in the sound. Gut strings have a complex, rich, and “human” tone that synthetic strings struggle to replicate.
* Tension: They are incredibly strong. In the “Sirens” episode, Bloom is playing with a “catgut line” (likely an elastic or a piece of twine he’s calling catgut), and Joyce uses the tension of that string to mirror Bloom’s own nerves.
3. The Joyce Connection
In the passage you shared, Bloom is thinking about “Corpus paradisum” (bodies in paradise) and the “rat’s tail wriggling” in a grave. He is obsessed with the transition from living tissue to dead matter. The fact that the beautiful music in the bar is produced by vibrating dead intestines (the piano’s internal parts or the violins in the room) is exactly the kind of irony Bloom would chew on. It’s the “Musemathematics” of life: turning a “poisoned pup’s belly” into a “soaring silver orb” of sound.
Bloom is engaging in what he calls “Musemathematics”—the intersection of music and math. To him, the “ethereal” beauty of the aria is really just a series of vibrations and ratios. However, his “strange math” is a bit of a playful puzzle that reflects his distracted state of mind.
The Math Breakdown
Let’s look at his equation: “Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one.”
If we follow standard mathematical operations (the order of operations), we get:
However, “Twice one” is 2. Bloom’s math is “wrong” in a literal sense, but it reveals how he is thinking:
* The Error: Bloom likely thinks “divided by half” means “divided by two” (which would yield 2 \times 2 = 4, then 4 \div 2 = 2).
* The Point: He is trying to strip the “magic” out of the music. He argues that if you replaced the romantic lyrics of the opera with a math problem (“Martha, seven times nine minus x…”), the emotional “vibrations” would disappear.
Key Terms & Context
* Musemathematics: A portmanteau of “Muse” (the goddesses of the arts) and “Mathematics.” Bloom is a rationalist; even when he is moved by music, he tries to explain it through physics and frequency.
* Blumenlied: German for “Flower Song.” It was a popular, sentimental piano piece by Gustav Lange. Bloom bought it for his daughter, Milly, and its name ironically echoes his own name (Blumen = Flowers / Bloom).
* Catgut: This is what the elastic band/string is made of (traditionally sheep or goat intestines used for instrument strings). When it “snaps,” it signals the end of his musical reverie and his return to the mundane task of writing a letter.
* Symmetry under a cemetery wall: A grim pun. Bloom is wearing “mourning” clothes (black) for Dignam’s funeral, but the others are too busy with their drinks and music to notice. He sees the “symmetry” of life and death as just another calculation.
The “Sirens” episode reaches a bittersweet plateau here. The grand aria is over, the applause (“Clapclopclap”) is fading, and the reality of the characters’ lives—and their physical bodies—is creeping back in.
Joyce uses this moment to contrast the divine beauty of the voice with the decay of the human body.
Etymology & Difficult Terms
* Corpus Paradisum: This is a “Bloom-ism”—a slight muddled memory of the Latin burial service.
* Etymology: Corpus (Latin for “body”) and Paradisum (Latin for “Paradise”).
* Context: It likely refers to the In Paradisum, an antiphon from the traditional Latin Office for the Dead: “In paradisum deducant te Angeli” (“May the angels lead you into paradise”). Bloom is thinking of Paddy Dignam’s funeral (from the “Hades” episode) and how the solemnity of the music masks the reality of a “poisoned” or decaying body.
* Corncrake: A bird known for its harsh, rasping, repetitive cry.
* Etymology: From Old Norse krāka (crow) + the “corn” where it hides.
* Context: Bloom uses this to describe the opposite of Simon’s beautiful voice. To Bloom, a bad singer or a dying man sounds like a “croaker”—unmusical and mechanical.
* Descanted: To talk at great length or to comment.
* Etymology: From Latin dis- (apart) + cantus (song). Originally a musical term for a counter-melody sung above a basic tune.
* Context: Richie isn’t just talking; he is “singing” his praise of Simon’s voice, adding his own emotional layer to the memory.
* Ungyved: The opposite of what we discussed earlier.
* Etymology: The prefix un- (reversal) + gyve (shackle/fetter).
* Context: Bloom finally unwinds the elastic band from his fingers. The music has ended, the tension has snapped, and he is “free” but feels the “slack” and the emptiness of the silence that follows.
The “Wavyavyeavy” Hair
That strange string of letters (“wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair”) is Joyce’s way of showing Bloom’s mind drifting into a trance. He is thinking of Molly’s thick, uncombed hair. The repetition of “heavy” and “wavy” creates a rhythmic, hypnotic sound—it’s the mental “echo” of the music he just heard, now applied to his memory of his wife.
I’m glad you caught that! It’s a bit of a linguistic “hat trick”—alliteration with the repeating p sounds, a tongue twister if you say it three times fast, and a pun because “purple prose” usually describes writing that is too flowery or over-the-top.
In this chapter, Joyce is basically a literary conductor. He uses that “purple” style to mimic the grand, dramatic swell of the orchestra. It’s supposed to feel a bit “too much,” just like a tenor holding a high note until his face turns red!
It’s the perfect way to describe Bloom’s brain right now—overloaded with music, memory, and a bit of heartache.
It can definitely feel like a linguistic soup! In this part of “Sirens,” Joyce is using Musical Form rather than standard narrative. He is trying to make the prose become the aria “M’appari” from the opera Martha.
Here’s why it feels nonsensical and what is actually happening:
The “Siopold” Fusion
The word “Siopold” is a famous Joycean “portmanteau.” It combines:
* Si (Simon Dedalus, the singer)
* Leopold (Bloom, the listener)
At the climax of the song, their identities merge. Simon is singing of his lost love, and Bloom is feeling the loss of his own wife’s affection. For a moment, the performer and the audience are the same soul.
Breaking Down the Chaos
* “Endlessnessnessness”: Joyce adds suffixes to the word to mimic a tenor holding a “high C” note. The word physically stretches out on the page just as the singer’s breath stretches the note in the room.
* “Dolores shedolores”: This is Bloom’s mind wandering. The song is about “Martha,” but Bloom’s thoughts drift to Spanish imagery (referencing Molly’s background in Gibraltar). “Dolores” means “sorrows” in Spanish; he is playing with the sound of the word to match the “mournful” tone of the music.
* “High in the effulgence symbolistic”: This is “purple prose” on purpose. Joyce is mocking how dramatic opera can be, while also capturing the genuine “high” people feel when a singer hits a perfect, soaring note.
The “Come” and “To Me”
The repetition of “Come! To me!” reflects the lyrics of the aria, but also Bloom’s desperate internal plea for Molly to return to him instead of going to Boylan.
Dancing light of grace 