As the funeral carriages start to move at the beginning of Hades,
they pass "number nine with its craped knocker, door ajar.
At walking pace." Houses of mourning were conventionally
decorated with crepe––black in most cases, but white when the
deceased was a child. Ribbons of the fabric were hung from
doorknobs, knockers, or wreaths, and larger swaths were
sometimes draped around windows and door frames. According to
a 2021 blog by Cathy Wallace on the Billion Graves website
(blog.billiongraves.com/preparing-the-victorian-home-for-a-funeral/),
knockers were often covered with the cloth to keep visitors
from disturbing the family with loud noises. "Visitors were
expected to just knock softly. Sometimes the door was even
left ajar so they could just walk in." Joyce's narrative notes
this practice of leaving the door ajar, and adds the further
detail of starting the procession at a walking pace to
preserve the air of quiet solemnity.
Later, as he looks out the window of the carriage moving down
Great Brunswick Street, Bloom sees "A man in a buff
suit with a crape armlet. Not much grief there. Quarter
mourning. People in law perhaps." Wearing a black crepe
ribbon around a sleeve was another conventional expression of
mourning. Bloom notes the minimal nature of this gesture (at
the other extreme, Victorian widows were expected to dress
entirely in black crape for one year), suggesting either that
this mourner was not very close to the deceased ("People in
law perhaps") or that a considerable amount of time has
elapsed since the death (Victorian conventions prescribed a
period of full mourning, usually for one year, followed by
half-mourning and then "Quarter mourning").
In the cemetery's mortuary chapel Bloom notices "Crape
weepers." These are probably not paid mutes, as
Gifford supposes, but decorative ribbons on people's clothes,
like the armband that Bloom has spotted on the sidewalk of
Great Brunswick Street. Slote cites a definition in the OED:
"Weeper: a badge of mourning, usually on a man's sleeve, but
also around his hat." Just after this, Bloom goes on to take
note of "Blackedged notepaper." Mourners were expected
to write their letters on stationery that was surrounded by a
black border.
Although the narrative does not say so, black crepe may very
well figure also in the two "wreaths" that are loaded
into the hearse at the Dignam house, unloaded at the gates of
the cemetery, and carried into the mortuary chapel. Some
Victorian and Edwardian funeral wreaths were woven from
greenery like yew or laurel and tied with black ribbons, but
others were constructed entirely of folds of crape.
These various codified expressions of grief constituted a
visual language for Victorians and Edwardians, not only
alerting them to the presence of recent deaths in their
communities but also giving them information about when the
death had occurred, what kind of relation the mourner had to
the deceased, and thus how others should regard that person.
In this respect crape functioned in a manner similar to the language of
flowers, which had its own conventional symbols for
grief and mourning. As Bloom walks about Dublin on June 16,
his black suit signifies the possibility of personal loss to
people who do not know him well, prompting solicitous
inquiries like M'Coy's in Lotus Eaters:
His eyes on the black tie
and clothes he asked with low respect:
— Is there any... no trouble I
hope? I see you're...
— O, no, Mr Bloom said. Poor
Dignam, you know. The funeral is today.
The same thing happens when Bloom crosses paths with Josie Breen
in
Lestrygonians, but this time he is content to
encourage her solicitous concern:
— You're in black, I
see. You have no...
— No, Mr Bloom said. I
have just come from a funeral.
Going to crop up all day, I
foresee. Who's dead, when and what did he die of? Turn up like
a bad penny.
— O, dear me, Mrs Breen
said. I hope it wasn't any near relation.
May as well get her sympathy.
— Dignam, Mr Bloom said.
An old friend of mine. He died quite suddenly, poor fellow.
Heart trouble, I believe. Funeral was this morning.
Later in the same chapter, a considerate pub owner waits until
Bloom has gone outside to ask an obtuse customer what kind of
mourning Bloom's clothes may signify:
— I know him
well to see, Davy Byrne said. Is he in trouble?
— Trouble? Nosey Flynn
said. Not that I heard of. Why?
— I noticed he was in
mourning.
— Was he? Nosey Flynn
said. So he was, faith. I asked him how was all at home.
You're right, by God. So he was.
— I never broach the
subject, Davy Byrne said humanely, if I see a gentleman is in
trouble that way. It only brings it up fresh in their minds.
Bloom will wear black clothes only on the day of the funeral,
as he had no close ties to Dignam. Stephen, however, has been
wearing them for nearly a year, as the old strict Victorian
conventions demanded of a grieving son.
