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Ulysses 

835 

of

 1305 

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! 

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(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 

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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! 

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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. 

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