The encryption of ''Finnegans wake'' resolved: W.T. Stead 9780761869191, 9780761869184, 0761869190

Table of contents :
List of FiguresList of AbbreviationsAcknowledgementsChapter One: The Stead Source and the Critical DilemmaChapter Two: The Predication of the Portrait's "Good Man Stead"Chapter Three: The Strategy of the Encrypted NameChapter Four: The Thunder of Stead's Scandalous Maiden TributeChapter Five: The Park Maid and the Sinister SirChapter Six: Who Was the Hen and Whose the LettersChapter Seven: Light and Science in the "Dark Night of the Soul"Chapter Eight: Maamtrasna Retrial Defends the Joyce Family NameChapter Nine: The Brunonian "Hiresiarch" and the Russian general (Sic)Chapter Ten: Timing and Terrain of the Snake and the WhaleChapter Eleven: The Encrypted Hero of Finnegans WakeReferences

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The Encryption of Finnegans Wake Resolved

W. T. Stead, 1907.

The Encryption of Finnegans Wake Resolved W. T. Stead Grace Eckley

Hamilton Books Lanham • Boulder • New York • Toronto • Plymouth, UK

Copyright © 2018 by Hamilton Books 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 Hamilton Books Acquisitions Department (301) 459-3366 Unit A, Whitacre Mews, 26-34 Stannary Street, London SE11 4AB, United Kingdom All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Control Number: 2017938244 ISBN: 978-0-7618-6919-1 (cloth : alk. paper)—ISBN: 978-0-7618-6918-4 (electronic) TM

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

To my husband, Wilton Eckley

Contents

List of Figures

ix

List of Abbreviations

xi

Prolegomenon

xiii

Acknowledgments 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

xv

The Stead Source and the Critical Dilemma The Predication of the Portrait’s “Good Man” W. T. Stead The Strategy of the Encrypted Name The Thunder of Stead’s Scandalous “Maiden Tribute” The Park Maid and the Sinister Sir Who Was the Hen and Whose the Letters Light and Science in the “Dark Night of the Soul” Maamtrasna Retrial Defends the Joyce Family Name The Brunonian “Hiresiarch” and the Russian general (Sic) Timing and Terrain of the Snake and the Whale The Encrypted Hero of Finnegans Wake

1 51 75 99 143 169 209 247 287 321 351

References

379

Index

387

vii

List of Figures

Frontispiece W.T. Stead 1.1. “Some Forestallings over that Studium of Sexophonologistic Schizophrenesis” 1.2. “He [Stead] sent out Christy Columb” 1.3. Gladstone’s umbrella 1.4. Gladstone wearing a barrel 1.5. Recruitment Poster 2.1. Joyce’s Essay: “Ibsen’s New Drama” 2.2. “One of the Victims” 3.1. H.C.E. Childers 4.1. Cardinal Manning: bishop regionary 4.2. Eliza’s letter, with “crosskisses” 4.3. The frothwhiskered pest of the park 4.4. His “broad and hairy face” 4.5. “his wee ftofty od room” 6.1. Children’s Nightletter 7.1. Joyce’s 293 Sketch 7.2. Actuary’s Analysis of 293 Sketch 8.1. Stead with Pope Leo XIII “on the brain” 8.2. Hiding from the Boer War in “Drinkbattle’s Dingy Dwellings” 10.1. “Jarley Jilke began to silke for he couldn’t get home to Jelsey: but ended with: He’s got the sack that helped him moult instench of his gladsome/Gladstone rags/bags” 10.2. “Detractors . . . conceive of him as a great white caterpillar” 11.1. Pears’ soap tramp

ix

List of Abbreviations

References to Finnegans Wake are identified by page and line numbers. The figure 60.30 designates page 60, line 30. The former system of designating chapters by Roman numerals, (II.iv for Book II, chapter iv) are now largely replaced by numbering the chapters 1 to 17 sequentially, as “the Wake’s chapter 12.” The letters L and R in chapter 10 designate Left and Right marginal notes with F for footnotes. Other abbreviations cited parenthetically or bracketed for Joyce’s works are as follows: AP: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, 1964. CLA: Criminal Law Amendment Act Co: County in Ireland C/S: Crispi/Slote, How Joyce Wrote “Finnegans Wake” CW: Collected Writings E MT: Eckley, Maiden Tribute: A Life of W. T. Stead FW: Finnegans Wake HSW: Harriet Shaw Weave JC: Jackson and Costello, John Stanislaus Joyce JJ2: Richard Ellmann. James Joyce, Revised 1982 MT: Maiden Tribute NS: NewsStead with volume and page numbers McHugh: Many authors and contributors to Annotations to “Finnegans Wake’” Ph: Common phrase PMG: Pall Mall Gazette R: Review of Reviews, London: volume number and page number SK: Skeleton Key xi

List of Abbreviations

xii

The extensive variety of languages and dialects, in parentheses or brackets, are identified within the text. Other abbreviations and symbols: c.: century cg.: children’s game nr: nursery rhyme qtd: quoted s.: song sl.: slang tr.: Translation

Prolegomenon

Presenting W. T. Stead and supplementary information for interpreting the entirety of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake would require perhaps four or five volumes and certainly more than one lifetime. In selecting eleven topical chapters to represent “the Wake” with W. T. Stead (1849–1912) as biographical original of the hero, I present the tools for interpreting the book. These “tools” are basically “how the book works,” beginning with the organizational Motifs that Clive Hart originally specified. Hart’s Concordance to “Finnegans Wake” is the indispensable necessity. This “Encryption of Finnegans Wake Resolved” advocates reading Joyce’s text and not rewriting it; Finnegans Wake, Joyce’s chief publication, can be understood as it is. The hypothetical “dreamer” of prior criticism is replaced by two “Overlook” narrators evident in the text: Asking and Telling. Their location is offplanet, where they can observe and comment on Earthbound matters. Amy Dawson Scott’s book From Four Who Are Dead presents “The Stead Script” in which Afterlife Stead on another planet relates the expanded interplanetary experiences and knowledge of the spiritualist, which includes observing the formation of the earth in the past. In Joyce’s view, no thought or knowledge from the past is ever lost. Joyce’s work itself offers a continuum from the early Stephen Hero and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man to the end of Finnegans Wake. Stead’s Letters from Julia provides a primer for spiritualism in support of an alternate universe, which prepares for Einstein. Joyce views all the thoughts and knowledge of the past as never lost and continuing today. Since language changes constantly, use of a slang and dialect dictionary for Joyce’s time is a necessity, for which I use Farmer and Henley, as well as a nineteenth century unabridged dictionary. Mental processes in Finnegans Wake take precedence over physical action, particularly in the unhampered mental ranging of the episode persona xiii

xiv

Prolegomenon

(frequently Shem). Propinquity or nearness to reality is best demonstrated in Kate’s “Willingdone” episode wherein the painted subjects in the Apsley House (London) gallery in her narration move and speak. “Multiplexity” identifies an unrelated fragment inserted in the major story line to maintain a subject that is developed elsewhere. The transfer from Euclid to Einstein is accomplished with much discussion of atomic science expolodotanating in Dublin streets by means of Stead’s bombastic Maiden Tribute, and all is independent of Joyce’s notebooks. Finnegans Wake is an historian’s unheralded Shangri La.

Acknowledgments

I owe special thanks to the research assistance of our government’s NEH grants, which guided me to the Lockwood Memorial Library at Buffalo where Karl C. Gay guarded the Joyce collection and Thomas E. Connolly informed me of Swinburne’s satiric poem “The Marquis of Stead.” Barbara Stoler Miller at Columbia urged me to apply for an NEH Fellowship to advance this work; at Drake University, Charles Smith tolerated my presence in his biblical Hebrew and Greek. All of the reference librarians at Drake deserve medals of honor. Danis Rose in Dublin caused me to retrieve a Joyce rarity from Salisbury House in Des Moines; in Dublin also my chief informants and hosts were author Benedict Kiely and Francis Kiely. Leslie Shepard often contributed to NewsStead, and Peter Costello has contributed much to this work. In England my hosts and language instructors at Hayling Island at the southern tip were Margaret and Victor Jones, and John Stephenson was in the north, in Wallsend. Neil Sharp in Embleton, England, has been both prompt and prolific while supplying anything and everything that may be useful. Defying the limits of copying and the stress of mailing unusual shapes in London have been achievements of Tony Stead, who found and forwarded numerous helpful documents. In London also was author and hostess Linda Williamson and, in Eastbourne the late Joseph O. Baylen, the American biographer of W. T. Stead. In the United States, Solomon Goodman in New York photographed the Stead Memorial in Central Park. Tom Staley and Harold Billings at the Ransom Center of the University of Texas both assisted with research efforts, supplemented by the work of the late John Squires in Cincinnati. Martha Vogeler in Fullerton, California, kept Stead and Joyce information flowing along with her own research of Austin Harrison. Among the Denver Joyceans, who contributed variously with much witticism and laughter, was xv

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Acknowledgments

Timothy Quinn, who changed the pace by fetching the Law Reports for the C.L.A. Act from the Law Library of the Colorado Supreme Court. Special thanks go to my editors Holly Buchanan and Beverly Shellem at Hamilton Books. None of this work could have been accomplished without the support of my husband, Wilton Earl Eckley, to whom this book is dedicated. Our three sons, Douglas the actuary and his computer-technical son Nevan Eckley contributed the title and general expertise, especially evident in the “293 sketch” and Doug’s indexing. Stephen Eckley has expedited numerous tasks, literary and nonliterary. Timothy Eckley and his wife Erika Eckley have been indispensable for their computer skills, survival skills, and moral support. Erika prepared the final text for Hamilton Books. Note on the cover sketch: W.T. Stead’s favorite caricaturist Phil May sketched a series of notable persons with their favorite topics “on the brain.” Tim commissioned the cover sketch of Joyce with Stead “on the brain” from Des Moines sidewalk artist “Teddy” in 1994. See Phil May’s sketch in NewsStead 8: (Spring 1996) 32

Chapter One

The Stead Source and the Critical Dilemma

“The fairest sin the sunsaw” (11.26) was committed by the London journalist W. T. Stead, whose distinctive initials he used invariably to distinguish himself from incremental numbers of worthies whose tombstones are inscribed similarly William Thomas Stead (NewsStead 16 and 25). “Municipal sin” defined Stead’s publication in London, 1885, a nineteenth-century criminal transgression against the city resulting from his researches into endemic child vice, brothels, white slavery—all collectively titled “The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon” (6 Jul 1885 PMG 1-8). “London,” railed Stead, is “the greatest market of human flesh in all the world”; young James Joyce compared “this municipal sin business” (5.13) with the Ka’abic whitest stone ever hurtled out of heaven (5.17). Stead resolved to bring light into London’s dark lair of the reinvigorated Minotaur, to rouse the conscience of the British race to rebel against the brothels’ practice of birching the fair skin of underage females to compel them to sexual submission. London did, in part, consent to enlightenment; on 14 July 1885, the House of Commons passed the Criminal Law Amendment bill (48 & 49. Vict c 69), so “singlehandedly achieved,” supporters said, by the knight-errant W. T. Stead that the public denoted the Criminal Law Amendment Act (61.10) “Stead’s law.” On the third day of the Maiden Tribute week, Stead gleefully responded to public acclamation of Monday’s issue: “We knew that we had forged a thunderbolt” (8 Jul 1885 PMG 1); by this boasting he prepared the course for much of Finnegans Wake. Nevertheless, select subjects of Queen Victoria who were dedicated to profit and perverted pleasure would not forgive the “filth,” which the judge called Stead’s exposition of evils. Judge Lopes lectured the new “convict” standing before him, “You deluged, some months ago, our streets and the 1

2

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whole country with an amount of filth . . . a disgrace to journalism” (Plowden 134) and thereby he reaffirmed both the storm and the filth that dominate Finnegans Wake. For trial at the Old Bailey, officials of the London Criminal Court had crafted charges of abduction and indecent assault and caused Stead to be conducted from Newgate jail to labor hard in criminal confines in Coldbath-in-the-Fields jail. In three days the sentence was commuted to enjoyable retention in Holloway, a “gentlemen’s prison,” which journey through three prisons made Stead a “recidivist” (107.10). Reviewing Kevin Birmingham’s The Most Dangerous Book, Terry Eagleton for TLS captured the essential affinity between novelist Joyce and criminal Stead: in Joyce’s day, “Men were free to visit brothels, but could go to prison for writing a story about it.” This fact is integral to the narrative plot. Stead was, literally, “haled up at the Old Bailey . . . under an incompatibly framed indictment of both the counts” (85.26-28). The technical charges against him were “abduction and indecent assault,” the former being the intended rescue of Eliza Armstrong of age thirteen from a “life of shame,” and the latter the midwife’s administration of chloroform to certify Eliza herself a maiden, plus the guise “Lily” that Stead created for her protection, making “two viragos intactas” (432.11). “The dawn of a new and brighter day” was Stead’s message summarizing the Maiden Tribute’s achievements for women as he prepared to go to jail, unjustly, at the same time he preached on the democratic age that must uphold the majesty of the law (9 Nov 1885 PMG 1) and brought himself in support of the Dublin city motto, which, translated from the Latin, reads “The obedience of the citizens produces a happy city.” Stead’s first name William and his trial at the London Central Criminal Court called “the Old Bailey’ and his incarceration made him suitable for “bait/beat the Bull Bailey” (448.19), who was the iconic John Bull caricature of the British empire; and the song “Bill Bailey, Won’t You Please Come Home?” indicative of his pending release from jail. The “new and brighter day” shone upon fledgling females of thirteen who were with his sacrifice legally protected by a “close time” to reach age sixteen before consenting to their own violation. Today, the age of “statutory rape” remains at Stead’s hard-fought “age of consent” at sixteen. It is no accident of Joyce’s lexicon that his Issy has reached the age “spunn of sisteen shimmers” (157.08) or that Joyce specifies the C.L.A. Act (61.10) that Stead passed, or that there are many exposures of W. T. Stead as the “staidy lavgiver” (545.32). Topics large and small that have baffled scholars for a century are clarified in the Stead publications; in addition a major plotline of Finnegans Wake is the arrival of British Stead-Earwicker in Ireland as a person who has committed a sin in Phoenix Park. For this effect, many of Stead-era activities are clarified by John Wyse Jackson and Peter Costello’s indispensable John Stanislaus Joyce (1997), a biography of Joyce’s father “Pappie” who is

The Stead Source and the Critical Dilemma

3

prominently accosted by “a cad” and impersonates, among other prominent or elusive figures, “Roderick O’Connor.” Costello notes that there were manuals for confessors in the Catholic Church relating to matrimonial matters; and that these give a “true insight into just what was the pre-Freud knowledge of sexual matters generally among priests.” A valuable linguistic source, for the patois, is Farmer & Henley’s Slang and Its Analogues for 1890 to 1904, reprinted 1970. A rarity, a last resort for deciphering Joyce’s “obscurities,” is a family heirloom, An American Dictionary of the English Language, unabridged, by Noah Webster and two colleagues at Yale, published 1879. Only in it could I find the word “cates” for “delicacies” and several other treasures. Short plain words distinguishing especially Anna Livia Plurabelle’s speech that are now obsolete were in vogue in Joyce’s time. “Encryption Resolved” depends upon these sources, which now make their debut in these pages. The pitfalls occurring to readers of Finnegans Wake are expressed in Joyce’s cryptic comment that “every word will be bound over to carry three score and ten toptypsical readings throughout the book of Doublends Jined” (20.14-16). It means the reader is likely to find a new meaning each time a passage is read. It means a single word can require an encyclopedic entry, and the conceptual circle will unite the whole. “Three score and ten” evokes the American president Abraham Lincoln, and then another phrase is quoted as follows in this text, in the “Maamtrasna” chapter: “In Sala’s Colonel Quagg story, Zephaniah Sockdolloger is a gracewalking brother and ex-prize fighter who defeats a giant scorching the area.” The text for “sockdologer” (91.15) in Our American Cousin is from Act iii, Scene 2: “Mrs. M: I am aware, Mr. Trenchard, you are not used to the manners of good society, and that, alone, will excuse the impertinence of which you have been guilty.” Asa: “Don't know the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal—you sockdologizing old man-trap.” Laughter was intended to cover the gunshot that killed Abraham Lincoln. “Doublends Jined” means, also, that motifs are carried out to completion. It is Joyce’s promise of reward to the faithful. “Sockdologer” (91.15) is a primary example of the “chrysalis factor” in Finnegans Wake, wherein each “obscurity,” often each single word, potentially encases a separate drama. Prior to Finnegans Wake, Joyce’s earlier books function as units of a “work in progress” that begins with Stephen Hero and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and continues to the end of Finnegans Wake. In this connection, an entertaining and enlightening new work is Dirk Van Hulle’s James Joyce’s “Work in Progress”: Pre-Book Publications of “Finnegans Wake” Fragments. From Stephen Hero onward, whereas formerly major thematic developments were permitted exegetically to end with Ulysses, a fiducial corollary to the Stead source is the extension of much critical exegesis into the vast “obscurity” of Finnegans Wake, Placing artificial endings to a con-

4

Chapter 1

tinued history is part of the “nightmare of history” from which, factually and not artistically, W. T. Stead messaged his desire to escape. This and the nightmarish ghost at Clongowes, where Peter Costello has found in the Clongownian that persons other than Stephen Dedalus saw the ghost, are topics that travel from the Portrait and Stephen Hero to reach berths in the pages of Finnegans Wake. The “figure” that “came up the staircase” at Clongowes (AP 19), having arrived through “the front entrance,” came from somewhere. From “Where?” asks the child. Now that scientists like Mark Tegman speak of parallel universes, and spiritualists like Stead could answer the question where the “spooks” were residing, the subject sharpens anticipation of answers in Finnegans Wake. Prior criticism, which both the plain text and the Steadfacts dispute, valuably direct attention to issues deserving investigation This “Introduction” first surveys the current critical dilemma concerning facts versus theories. Second, (b) it defends the organizing motifs that unify the novel and eliminate some of the charges of “obscurity.” This includes Joyce’s creation of “propinquity,” which is a particular skill, which can best be seen in the first hero tale, that of “Willingdone” famed by Dublin’s Wellington monument, demonstrating a new way of storytelling (8.09-10.23); it is here given close analysis under heading “The Wellington Paradigm.” Next this chapter offers new matters of (c) two “Overlook Narrators” and exposes a second “secret source” governing the “dark night of the soul.” A pause here is devoted further to the nature of “Obscurity.” Next is (d) Joyce’s “multiplexity” that renders extraneous information available in textual intrusions and layers that are for the purpose of this introduction called “Type A” and “Type B”; the second is spontaneous insights into a different time frame of spiritualism and a parallel universe. These factors produce (e), a consideration of the dominance of the mental structure, a “life of the mind; and, last (f), a historical review of the social conditions abiding in the bosoms of the synoptic “two maidens and three soldiers.” FACTS VERSUS THEORIES Danis Rose and John O’Hanlon’s Index Manuscript provides the source of three pages of Stead notes in the Buffalo Notebooks, specifically VI.B.28, pages 89, 90, 91, and provided for Rose and O’Hanlon their pages 121-24 on white slavery. Pages 89-91 derive from Sir Richard F. Burton’s vehement denunciation of W. T. Stead in his essay titled in large caps “The Pall Mall Gazette” in the Appendix to the “sixth and final” volume of Burton’s Supplemental Nights (1885). In Burton’s often inaccurate diatribe against W. T. Stead, “in durance vile” (Suppl 6: 319-24) pairs with Anna Livia’s “in durance vaal” (199.10). Burton excoriated Stead for “washing the city’s dirty linen in public,” the basis of the Wake’s chapter 8 (I.8). The Drake University

The Stead Source and the Critical Dilemma

5

Library holds, among other sources, Joseph O. Baylen’s pamphlet advancing Stead’s “interview with the Tsar” titled The Tsar’s “Lecturer-General,” a record of W. T. Stead’s first attempt to spur the 1905 Russian Revolution to emulate the British Parliament. Stead was, among London exiles and journalistic wits, “the Tsar’s ‘Lecturer-General,’” which Joyce transmuted to “Russian general.” From these humble beginnings arose the present devotion to W. T. Stead. When Bernard Benstock pronounced my dissertation on Anna Livia Plurabelle (1970) having the “true scholastic stink,” he meant the odor of facts and not speculation. A critical dilemma was developing between the theorists and the fact-finders who argue for discovering the facts before developing a theory about them and subsequently following the continuations of facts in Finnegans Wake. Recognition of facts shifts and readjusts a great many impressions. Several critics, however, believe the matrix dissolves adherence to the requirements of the traditional novel and accuse Joyce himself of copying “all their various styles of signature so as one day to utter an epical forged cheque on the public for his own private profit” (181.15-17). This is a source for Joyce, not an announcement of his modus operandi. This is an historical fact of Stead’s management of his chief serial publication, the monthly international journal called The Review of Reviews, which the editor labeled “a poor and busy man’s magazine” for which he summarized and excerpted lengthy articles from other magazines. After the “Maiden Tribute,” the greatest treasure trove for Joyce facts is the monthly international journal the Review of Reviews, of which Stead edited 45 half-yearly volumes averaging 600 pages per volume. Although Stead was careful to credit sources, critics complained of his “copying.” Stead’s boasted “copying” was a promotional scheme at the launching of the Review featuring “Autograph Introductions” by reprinting the facsimile signature endorsements of the Queen, the nobility, and the famous (Illus. R 1: 2-13; 166-68). Defying conjecture, Joyce follows Stead’s guidance by frequently inserting an imprimatur of his own origination, an undeniable marker for a source. Thus the Review of Reviews shares its space with unlikely cognates of the “Sexophonologistic” (123.18) variety to acknowledge that Stead was the only person known to have been photographed demonstrating a sexophone (Illus R 39: 222), to determine the sex of unhatched eggs. Possibly an anonymous demon of sacrilege juxtaposed in chapter 5 (I.5) the midden letter, unearthed from the filth of a Phoenix Park dump, with the sacred Book of Kells; but no, Stead achieved this mergence in 1885 on the first day of tracking the London Minotaur to its lair for Stead’s complacency-shattering one-week series the “Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon” (6 Jul 1885 PMG: 5). Joyce was a careful, precise, and discerning historiographer.

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Chapter 1

THE BOUNTY OF MOTIFS Most certainly, no one else has acquired the familiarity with the totality of Finnegans Wake that Clive Hart accomplished while compiling the Concordance; by contrast, the bits and pieces that the rest of us acquire are singularly underwhelming. The Stead research makes clear that motifs organize the book far more extensively than Hart claims, in fact, to the extent of tracing the progress of plot elements. In this text, I do not distinguish leitmotifs from motifs, a combination that Joyce himself blessed with the word “threads.” Two of the motifs that provide evidence of a book-length sustained narrative are controlled in the Concordance by the midden letter’s words “cakes” and synonym “cates” (delicacies). With these words, the kiss motif begins at

Figure 1.1. The Pendulum of the Sexophone is Gyrating over the Head of Sir Alfred Turner. The Sexophone (R 39:222) “(v. Some Forestallings over that Studium of Sexophonologistic Schizophrenesis, vol. xxiv, pp. 2-555)”

The Stead Source and the Critical Dilemma

7

11.27 and extends, with varying content, to the “pan of cakes” (619.02) and the “crossmess parzel” (619.05),” since Stead’s Eliza Armstrong signed the midden letter with x’s for kisses. The famed word “cad” begins at 35.11 and ends at 618.3. Joyce often enters the rhyming sounds of Cockney slang into his own invented similarity, to the effect that “the cad with the pipe” is the same person as “the cad with the pope’s wife.” Considering the sexual innuendoes of “the tea is wet,” “tea” begins at 50.18 and continues to “wet the tea” (585.31). Anyone can watch which plot elements accrue to each listing. The liberating kiss with which a prison key was transferred from visitor to inmate in Boucicault’s play needs to be distinguished from the kisses concluding the midden letter. “This is,” with which Kate identifies scenes in the Willingdone episode, also acquires a motif life. Motifs provide an entry into Joyce’s plan for the controlling organization of the novel and ultimately assist in answering the question “What is Finnegans Wake about? THE WELLINGTON/WILLINGDONE PARADIGM “Up and at ‘em” they said at Waterloo (18 June 1815), whether apocrypha or not. In a farce disguised as history, plus a war reduced to a foot soldier’s “Gallawghurs” (8.25) or “gallowglasses” (31.17) argument, a museum tour paced as a rout conducted by the chamber maid, Wellington’s crisp red and white uniform a motley assortment of battle trophies, the entirety creates doubt that any military strategy was willing done but only preoccupied or accidental. Meantime, Joyce incredibly maintains the additional multiplex level of facts and sentiments of Wellington’s career with those of Napoleon. The Old Guard was Napoleon’s Imperial Guard, his most prestigious formation. However, “Redismembers invalids of old guard find poussepousse pousseypram to sate the sort of their butt” (8.07), to seat the sore of their butt is sardonically accurate. One of their privileges was to express their discontent, and they became known as “the Grumblers.” The word “boyne” provides a clue to Irish induction into the British army. At the battle of the Boyne (1690) the Irish wore the French white cockade in their hats and fought under the Catholic James II against a composite army of Danes, English, Dutch and French Huguenots under the Protestant William of Orange. As late as 1811, Irish Catholics still vainly encouraged a rumor that Napoleon, as liberator if not Messiah, would invade Ireland to free it from Britain. Napoleon employed an Irish doctor, Barry O’Meara. Among Charles Lever’s novels of the Peninsular Wars was Tom Burke of “Ours” (1857) that provides Napoleon’s moving farewell to his troops; Lever wrote enthusiastically about both Wellington and Napoleon.

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Mischievous theft and brothels and drink fill the minds of Wellington’s fighters sympathetic to Napoleon and called “lipoleums” to mock Napoleon’s lipos. It is true that Napoleon dined from silver plate on the day of Waterloo, and “silvoor plate” (9.30) has fallen on the battlefield to be captured by the lipoleum Belchum. “Wellington punned on his own name in an October 15, 1807 dispatch (“a shade bitterly,” writes Elizabeth Longford) as “the willing horse.” Wellington’s horse Copenhagen is given the four-phase names Cokenhape, Capeinhope, Culpenhelp, and Copenhagen, the last commemorating the battle of Copenhagen in 1807. Marksmanship is not perfect, but in the vicinity of Viconian cycles the hits evolve through direct hits of Bullsfoot, then Bullsear, next Bullsrag, and finally Bullseye. Whereas Kate’s first behavioral admonition to the “museyroom” visitors is “Mind your hats goan in!” (8.09); she minds most intensely Willingdon himself. Wellington was a veritable patrician who expressed his scorn for the Reform Parliament (1832), and placement of a hat centralizes the drama in the final paragraph of the episode. While Gladstone’s top hat became a trademark for him, the top hat was subject to distortions of convenience. In the British Parliament, to signal speaking without engaging in debate, a member was required to wear a hat, for which collapsible top hats were kept in the Parliamentary Chamber. On a murky battlefield, Wellington said “the profile and shape of a man’s cap and his general appearance are what guide us”; and a “half hat,” generally worn by a woman, figures in several places in the Wake. In Irish slang “bad hat” was equivalent to “bad egg,” of which John P. Anderson contributes for the Prussian “Cap and Soracer” or cup and saucer (8.12) the meaning of a loose woman, which is analogous to “setting her cap for him.” Traditionally, the Prussian flag, with the arms of Prussia surmounted by a crown and surrounded by the collar of the Order of the Black eagle inspired the name “Cap and Soracer.” Kate’s warning for the visitors to mind their hats offers a clue for the climax of the “Willingdone” episode, while she disallows her entourage any possibility of a reverent pause before a famed portrait or battle scene. On the battlefield, while Joyce via Kate replaces Wellington with “Willingdone” throughout the brief episode (8.09-10.23), the presence of female camp followers reminds anyone willing to observe that later episodes of Finnegans Wake blame the other sex, happily, and link willing effort with that of imminently victimized maidens, unfortunately willing or not. Joyce scores his first complete satire and hero tale of Finnegans Wake in the name of an empty Dublin monument of unassuming height constructed with only a storage vault beneath; his Stead-Earwicker points to it on occasion passing by but the scene for this satire shifts from Dublin to London, to the chief monument to Wellington in Joyce’s time, at Apsley House, where Kate the charwoman and her clandestine visitors ostensibly view the “museyroom” gallery of paintings. A statue of Wellington holding a telescope and mounted on his chestnut charger Copenhagen guards the exterior while

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fenced in by a surround of iron railings that gave him the name “the Iron Duke” (“ironed dux” 8.19). Chapter eleven replays this scene in brief (335.16-336.08) and hints that a painting or illustration in Earwicker’s pub prompts Kate to narrate these events: “It was before when Aimee stood for Arthurduke for the figger in profane [posed nude] and fell from grace so madley for fill the flatter fellows [Grace O’Malley and ‘Phil the Fluter’ s.]” (335.30). The recurrent “Tip” makes probable Kate’s walking with a cane, which she uses to point out nine displays through four episodes. Wellington, moreover, was famous for having told how an army should be managed: “There is but one way; ―to do as I did―to have A hand of iron.” That a charwoman is a guide in a lavish display of wealth should signal something amiss, and Joyce may have concocted the word “museyroom” from the Old French musse for a little hole or corner in which to hide things. Once the war of twenty-five years between France and allies Great Britain, Austria, Prussia, and Russia ended at Waterloo in 1815, historical accuracy was not a priority nor expense an impediment for commemoration, nor participation in the war a necessity for glorifying associated people and events. The display in Apsley House at Hyde Park Corner was created by Wellington’s son Arthur to honor his father, who died in 1852; it was opened to the public in 1952. The second element in Kate’s deception forming her brilliant satire is the rapidity with which she points to and bypasses the displays; chiefly the works of artists of which any one of the pictures offering exceptional merit might detain an appreciative tourist for an hour; Kate passes all of them as fast as she can talk, lest she be discovered. Kate trespasses so fast that her running commentary “This is” is interspersed with “that was” for additional information as she skitters by. Kate’s direction “Now yiz are in the Willingdone Museyroom” (8.10) should serve as notice that “Willingdone” applies to the British and not the Irish Wellington monument. She begins with “This is a Prooshious gunn. This is a ffrinch” (8.10-11) that fires on the Bull, the John Bull icon of the British. The Irish in a hint of social denigration by their political superiors proudly carry their distinctive obsolete weapons, the pike and fork. W. T. Stead once held in his hand a pike manufactured as late as the Reform Agitation of 1831, folded to four feet for carrying but extended to eight feet for fighting (R 24: 255). The “triplewon hat of Lipoleum,” does not convey the Lipoleum’s wearing of a tricorn but may inspire a guessing game about which of Napoleon’s many achievements should be counted― perhaps defeating Austria in 1802, or originating the Napoleonic Code, or being crowned Emperor. The actual “Napoleon hat” (8.16), his famous bicorne, grew broader as Napoleon gained corpulence in later years. Kate amuses herself with the interchange of white horse and clothed white arse, seeing Wellington’s chestnut charger Copenhagen carrying his “big wide harse” (8.21). Willingdone’s conglomerate costume consists of

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trophies from seven of his prior battles; although he is “magentic” (8.18) in British red, on the morning of Waterloo the red tunics were soaked in the night’s rain so profusely that the white belts were dyed blood-red (Longford 9). The lipoleums are clearly Wellington’s men, three enlisted soldiers removed far from their native Irish river the Boyne who are “grouching down” [Napoleon’s Marshall Grouchy] in “the living detch” (8.22), death or ditch. Their three Irish divisions of “inimyskilling inglis” were the 27th Foot or Inishkilling Fusiliers, called the “Innishkilling Inglis” formed at Enniskillen in 1688 and loyal to the Protestant King William. The 2nd Dragoons were called “the Scots Greys”; and a “Davy” belonged to the 23rd Regiment of Royal Welsh Fusiliers. A brother battle occurs, apparently over food, showing “the bog lipoleum” or Innishkilling Protestant mordering the lipoleum (probably Catholic) beg, “a louse,” and the third man “nayther bag nor bug” (8.26), to the purpose of roughing out Vico’s four cycles that Joyce relies on to organize the progression of history and his novel. A “Gallawghurs argaumunt” (8.25) ensues with which the public was long acquainted, from the Irish gall-o-glach, heavily-armed soldiers who turned back the thirteenth century Norman conquest, when use of the pike was prominent. “Saloos the Crossgunn!” (8.14) updates the crossbow and “Up with your pike and fork!” (8.15) scores a bullsleye called a “Bullsfoot!” and rallies the warriors. Willingdone is resplendent in his seven articles of clothing that Joyce has ingeniously compressed into four lines of the sort showing Willingdone “grand and magentic in his goldtin spurs and his ironed dux and his quarterbrass woodyshoes and his magnate’s gharters and his bangkok’s best/vest and goliar’s goloshes and his pulluponeasyan wartrews” (8.18-21), employing settings of battles and facts of his career that briefly compress an assemblage resembling a souvenir shop of trophies. Willingdone’s “goldtin” spurs, “quasrterbrass woodyshoes,” and “ironed” fists place the Duke at the close of Ovid’s four mythological cycles: the Gold, Silver (reduced to tin), Bronze (reduced to brass), and Iron ages, his vaunted “hand of iron.” His “magnate’s gharters” bear witness to the Mahratta campaigns in the Ghats mountains along the coast of southern India. Having disposed of Scindiah, Wellington ascended Adjuntee Ghat on 25 October 1803 to press back the Rajah of Berar (Stocqueler 315). Wellington’s titles read at his funeral ended with “&c” after 67 titles and orders dignifying his encryption in St. Paul’s Cathedral; among them was Knight of the Garter, the highest order of British knighthood. Figured in his noble career are Bombay and Calcutta, of which Kate approximates the area by mentioning the Bangkok vest. The “goliar’s galoshes,” the shiny knee boots that became known as Wellingtons, combines with the capital city of Gwalior, which, Wellington ordered in an 1804 dispatch, could be sacrificed to General Scindiah to preserve Britain’s credit “for scrupulous good faith” (Longford 96). His “pulluponeasyan wartrews”

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(Scots, trousers) complete his costume, and no wonder Joyce considered himself writing a funny book. Even Pappie could not excel it. After Touchole Fitz Tuomush, named for the firing pin of a cannon, the two remaining lipoleums are Dirty MacDyke, and Hairy O’Hurry who justify Wellington’s elitist view that his soldiers were the scum of the earth. The lipoleum Belchum serves the jinnies as message carrier. He attempts theft justified by poor pay; caught and punished, he squeals like an Irish pig. All of them “arminus-varminus” of multiple possibilities probably designating Jacobus Arminius, theologian, who founded Arminianism. The best rascally “Dick” candidate is Wellington’s eldest brother Richard, the second Earl of Morning, a noted gambler who lived a life of “indiscreet sex,” and among other disgraces was dismissed as Governor General of India. At home the Cabinet refused to serve if Richard became Prime Minister, and another brother wished Richard had been castrated. Kate’s “Tuomush” may well be Thomas Creevy, leader of the Opposition, who frankly wrote that he hated Wellington and called Richard in 1812 “a broken down scamp and bankrupt.” “Harry O’Hurry” satirizes Sir Harry Burrard, famous for delays, whose “Wait for Moore” instead of advancing militarily Wellington recognized as a fatuity and turned away saying his army “might as well go and shoot red-legged partridges.” Some of this research utilizes parts of my earlier work, “The Wellington Career in Finnegans Wake,” which deals with historical facts and not with Kate’s tour of honorific art. In Kate’s geography, the major points serve a variety of purposes. One, the “Grand Mons Injun” (8.29) honors the Duke’s famed hooked nose, for which a peak above Khandalla in the Western Ghats was named the Duke’s Nose. A great many such gems are there to blush unseen among the “obscurities” of Finnegans Wake. The jinnies belong to the “bordel ambulant” that Wellington complained of regarding his army and, practicing their trade with loyalty to neither side, they try their unconvincing sexual strategies on both Wellington and the lipoleums. The dispatch that the jennies send to Wellington reflects an incident in London in which a madam threatened to expose the general’s patronage of brothels, to which he haughtily replied “Publish and be damned.” Among Wellington’s mistresses in London were two “Miss J’s”: the singer Miss Mary Ann Jervis and a religious crusader Miss Anna Maria Jenkins. The camp followers or jinnies wear seductive crinoline to seduce or sheltershock the three lipoleums. They wear Leghorn hats while “feinting to read in their handmade’s book of stralegy, favoring a preoccupation of Napoleon, while making their war “undisides [against] the Willingdone” (8.31). One of them is “a cooin her hand” and the other “ravin her hair,” multiplexing the raven and dove motif resulting in “the Willingdone git the band up” (8.34, 9.9). Wellington’s “mormorial tallowscoop Wounderworker” (8.35), a rectal nostrum, provides him the “Sexcaliber hrosspower” (8.36) that he focuses on

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the flanks of the jinnies. The Belchum sneaks his pay, a drink, out of his “phillippy [battle, 42 B.C.]” from his “most Awful Grimmest/Guinness Sunshat Cromwelly” (9.02) canister. Cromwell is not to be overlooked, since in this book there are two heroes who need to be rehabilitated. The jinnies write a “hastings dispatch for to irrigate the Willingdone” and work any side of the French, British, Prussian combatants. Their Dispatch is addressed to Wellington “in thin red lines” (9.04) from the Crimean War of 1854 at Balaklava when the “thin red line” of the 93rd Highlanders repelled the Russians. They write their dispatch to Wellington across the shirtfront of Belchum and sign it Napoleon. It reads “Leaper Orthor” [tr Dear Arthur]. “Fear siecken/wir siegen [tr We conquer!]. “Field gaze thy tiny frow [tr Wie geht’s deiner kleinen Frau?” [tr How’s your little wife?]. “Hugacting” [Dutch hoogachtend” tr Yours faithfully]. “Nap” [Napoleon]. “That was the tictacs of the jinnies to Fontannoy [battle 1745; George II faced Irish soldiers] the Willindone. Shee, shee, shee!” (9.05-07). G. F. Shee, in The Britain’s First Duty in 1902 made the case for conscription (9.07). The jinnies are managing the war in picnic style, zealously applying their Agincourting [battle 1415] against the lipoleums, who have “gonn boycottoncrezy” (9.08) for Edward Cotton, who wrote the popular Voice from Waterloo, one of many histories of the battle. In response, “the Willingdone git the band up” (9.09). Bode [messenger] Belchum places his bonnet [Scottish for any headgear] next to the Queen’s Own 7th regiment Hussars who wore busbies or tall fur hats at Waterloo, “breaking his sacred word” with “a ball up his ear [message]” to the Willingdone, who deploys his reply “on the regions rare of me Belchum,” threshing the lipoleum, who screams “Ayi, ayi, ayi!” (9.10-13). Willingdon also replies to the jinnies: “Cherry [chere] jinnies. Figtree you [tr fuck you]! Damn/Sam fairy Ann.” Ça ne fait rien was Anglicized in World War I slang to “Sam fairy Ann” tr “That doesn’t matter.” (Signed) “Voutre. Willingdone. That was the first joke/Duke of Willingdone, tic for tac. Hee, hee, hee!” (9.13-15). The second joke will be nearly inscrutable because of wordplay. Punished, Belchum hastens away “in his twelvemile cowchooks [caoutchouc India rubber; ten league boots], “weet, tweet and stampforth” (9.16) [Stamford battle 1470], footing the camp toward the jinnies and looking for comfort and a drink. Kate points to Rooshious balls and mistletropes with rifles and Canon Futter/Father, remembering that Irish mothers despaired of rearing sons and parting with husbands to die for the British army. The large “popynose” (9.20) distinguished Pius IX but it was Pope Pius VII whom Napoleon imprisoned; Wellington’s large nose is visible in all the portraits. After Napoleon’s hundred days’ [papal] indulgence [Napoleon between Elba and Waterloo], he is remembered by “Tarra’s widdars” (9.21), Tara’s [Irish] widows and the battle Torres Vedras in 1810.

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Kate points to an illustration of the jinnies accompanying the lipoleums toward brothels or “rowdy howses” (9.22). Next she recites a list of battlefields on which Willingdone has ordered fire or could imagine how he would have achieved victory; one of them, “Arthiz too loose” (9.26) for Orthez, 1814, offers success for Arthur, Duke of Wellington. “Tonnerre! (Bullsear! Play!) This is camelry [Camel 656], this is floodens [Flodden Field 1513], this is the solphereens [Solferino 1859] in action [Actium 31 B.C.], this is their mobbily [Thermopylae 480 B.C.], this is panickburns [Bannockburn 1313]. Almeidagad [1811]! Arthiz too loose [Othiz, Toulouse 1814]!” (9.23-26). Willindone turns Rabelaisian with “Brum! Brum! Cumbrum!” (9.27) from Sainéan in La Langue de Rabelais to General Cambronne’s having condensed the horrors of war into a shout of “Merde!” The jinnies retaliate by shouting “Underwetter [storm]! Goat strip Finnlambs [tr Gott strafe England]!” (9.28). Then he sees the jinnies “rinning away to their ousterlists [Austerlitz 1805] dowan a bunkersheels” [Bunker Hill 1775],” performing a “bissmark [Germany’s “Iron Chancellor” 1860s-1890] of the marathon merry of the jinnies they left behind them” (9.31). She points to the Belchum noisily lifting “tink you tankyou silvoor plate” [his loot; s’il vous plait] (9.30) for citchin the crapes and having been punished. Using canister shots, Belchum scotches [appears to wound] the British, then doubles to the type of canister for carrying supplies. Kate’s Willingdone trains his marmorial tallowscoop on the flanks of the jinnies (8.34, 9.33) and catches sight of Belchum sneaking his drink out of a canister of Guinness; canisters were commonly looted. “Poor the pay” [pour le pays/paix justifies theft] (9.31)! for a SophyKey-Po or “Sauve qui peut” (save yourself) expediency with which the lipoleums abandon the jinnies while Wellington studies their retreating flanks for his Royal Diversion (9.35). A Royal Divorce by W. G. Wills features Josephine following Napoleon to Waterloo. This departure is the last view of the jinnies. The pettiest of the lipoleums, Toffeethief spied (Spion Kop Battle 1900)] on the Willingdone mounted on his big white harse, the Capeinhope (10.01). Distinctions between Napoleon and Wellington as commanders were evident in Napoleon’s tactics; he cultivated the loyalty of his troops and memorized the names of hundreds of soldiers. Stonewall Willingdone, on the opposite side, is “an old maxy [big mistake] montrumeny [monstrous meany] (10.03). Lipoleums themselves have attractive genitalia; they are “nice hung bushellors” [young bachelors] (10.03). The puzzling conclusion is a separate matter paragraphed as an extension. THE SEPOY’S HAT-TINDER BOX REVENGE Several timely factors merge in the remarkably brief and tense Sepoy segment that Kate explains next, showing Joyce at the most difficult task of making horror humorous and staging new players. In Chicago, Finley Peter

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Dunne’s journalistic monologist Mr. Dooley and his listener Hennessy were consumed in the same type of difficulty, spoken with disarming sophistication that made Dunne’s essays featuring their Irish pub conversations the talk of U. S. presidents. Stead began his review of Mr. Dooley in Peace and in War with Martin Dooley describing himself as “th’ man behind the guns— four thousand miles behind thim and willin’ to be further” (R 19: 394-95). Joyce’s enthusiasm for Mr. Dooley extended to composing in 1917 or 1918 his “Dooleysprudence” song,” (Ellmann JJ 424-25.) Joyce and Dunne both experienced the misfortunes of association with Grant Richards, whom Joyce suffered long in the publication of Dubliners and who, Dunne learned when he visited England in 1899, pirated Dunne’s first book. After viewing Edmond Rostand’s play L’Aiglon about Napoleon II, Mr. Dooley declared himself “a vethran iv th’ Napolyonic Wars.” Hence Kate points to a painting of Mr. Dooley’s listener “hiena hinnessy” (10.04) laughing “alout” at the Willingdone. She says “This is lipsyg dooley krieging the funk [blasting the fear] from the hinnessy. This is the hinndoo [sepoy] Shimar Shin [Irish siomar sin trefoil] between the dooley boy [“Mr Dooley”] and the hinnessy.” (10.06). Dunne’s Hennessey in this example was thoroughly entitled to his funk. Nothing humorous could be found in the most scandalous reported treatment of sepoys—although the sepoys committed atrocities as well— that of British soldiers roping them to the cannon mouth, which figures in the background of Tomlinson in Ulysses (12: 671). Stead first mentioned the Russian painter of the “ghastly facts” of war Vasily Vereshchagin in 1894 in a discussion by Clarence Darrow of the necessity for realism in striving for peace and “other ideal aims” (R 9: 43); Stead visited the gallery showing of the “soldier artist” in London in 1899 and viewed his work later in St. Petersburg. The frontispiece of Stead’s character sketch is Vereshchagin’s “Pyramid of Skulls,” commemorating victory in a custom still noticeable, Stead said, in central Asia. Sepoys were native Indians serving in the British army under the East India Company who in February 1857 were issued new Enfield rifles with cartridges they believed were greased with beef tallow, forbidden in Hinduism, and pork lard, forbidden in Islam. They were required to bite into the paper and tear it with their teeth and thus pollute themselves. The Armenians would have said “God and the saints are dead” as additional strife like low pay and overseas service and unending violence and cruelty, contention against contention, presents a picture that would eventually, particularly after massacre at Cawnpore, force the British decision to dissolve the bureaucracy of the East India Company. Stead argued the depiction of ethnic horrors with his good friend the Russian, who provided photographs of his paintings for Stead’s frontispiece for volume 19. “An English Execution in India” depicts the “loaded cannon, the writhing victim, and the soldier in uniform, erect and solid as an automaton, waiting the word of command to blow his helpless captive into a thousand fragments.” Vereshchagin knew that some people

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doubted the facts of the execution, to which he replied “You did do it, and you will do it again.” Why? Vereshchagin: “not only to kill, but after death to follow with your punishment the soul of your rebel” (R 19: 26) who at the sudden and instantaneous moment could not dedicate his soul to his deity. The lengthy, careful and precise history in Wickipedia, district by district, climaxes at Cawnpore, where, after the massacre, surviving women and children were removed, held hostage, and subsequently all killed. Only four men escaped alive, one of them “Captain Mowbray Thomson, who wrote a firsthand account . . . entitled The Story of Cawnpore (London, 1859)” and provides Joyce’s Wakean-type choice of the name Tomlinson in Ulysses Wikipedia delivers the bald truth of the cannon executions twice, of which the first is more graphic: When the British retook Cawnpore, the soldiers took their sepoy prisoners in the Bibighar [Well] and forced them to lick the bloodstains from the walls and floor. They then hanged or “blew from the canon,” the traditional Mughal punishment for mutiny, the majority of the sepoy prisoners. Although some claimed the sepoys took no actual part in the killings themselves, they did not act to stop it and this was acknowledged by Captain Thompson after the British departed Cawnpore for a second time.”

It is commonly understood that Napoleon mocked Wellington for being a sepoy general, but Andrew Roberts, awarded “Book of the Year” status for his Napoleon and Wellington, provides a generality for the context and fails to assign Napoleon either the blame or the credit: “The remark Wellington made to [Baron Philip von] Muffling on the morning of Waterloo—that he would show Napoleon what a ‘sepoy general’ was capable of— demonstrates that the emperor’s dismissive description must have hit home.” But when or where the emperor spoke these words remains a mystery. Soldiers who had never served in India considered the experience “second rate,” that “it did not constitute real soldiering.” Short of dismissing the statement as apocrypha, Roberts judges it “a typical example of the ‘destiny-anecdote’ of a type well known to historians” (14), and repeats it as “showing Napoleon what a ‘sepoy general’ was capable of” (166). Perhaps less familiar is that the only personal confrontation between the two generals occurred at Waterloo. Joyce sets the scene of confrontation with contending factors of personal temperament, notions of the importance of the hat, and sexual prowess, as quoted previously: “Stonewall Willingdone is an old maxy montrumeny. Lipoleums is nice hung bushellors.” Hiena Hennessy laughs “alout” at the Willingdone, countered by “lipsyg dooley,” an intellectual heavyweight from the hallowed halls of Germany’s Leipzig University in a country famous for war or “krieging.” Lipsyg dooley is “krieging the funk (fear or cowardice) from the hinnessy” (10.05). Between the dooley boy and the hinnessy stands the sepoy, the “hinndoo Shimar Shin,” strategically named for the god Shiva

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and the Brahmin Sharma. Attributes of many sorts determine self-pride and public opinion. Wellington at Waterloo wore a simple knitted forage cap of the 33rd West Riding Regiment under his command, and this Joyce designates a “half hat,” while knowing full well that a “half hat” was frequently worn by women and has been issued as well to soldiers. Joyce could legitimately conceive of Wellington’s placing the forage cap, a common object, on the rump of his horse, but technically this is Kate’s Willingdone and not Wellington. Wellington’s faith in the shape of a man’s hat to advertise his character, friend or foe, compels Willingdone to “picket up the half of the threefoiled hat of lipoleums fromoud of the bluddle filth”(10.08), but the lipoleums have never worn a tricorn. It means that the lipoleums have been thrice foiled in this narrative for their attempts to gain advantage for themselves. Meanwhile, the “hinndoo” sepoy, often employed as a servant, is “waxing ranjymad” (10.09) like a rajah or king, a title for petty dignitaries during the British Raj, after the East India Company was dissolved. The sepoy objects to being treated like a “bombshoob” (like a dummkoph), projecting British scorn for the natives who fought for them. “Tip” (10.21) indicates Kate moving to the next picture. The revenge insult begins at the tail, a position of contempt, and “tail wagging” meant copulation. It is a drama of master and servant, of commanding general and unranked soldier. The lipoleums are a cross formation of friend and foe, and the sepoy of no rank at all. Kate says “This is the Willingdone hanking the half of the hat of lipoleums up the tail on the backside of his big white harse. Tip. That was the last joke [an insult] of Willingdone” (10.10-12) either because he intends to set an example for discipline or he is about to be defeated in an affair of honor; the lipoleums’ hat on the tail rather than the head is definitely an insult. Kate’s “Hit, hit, hit,” (10.12) begins the showdown. The mindful horse responds to his master’s unspoken bidding, as the next picture shows “the same white harse of the Willingdone, Culpenhelp, waggling his tailoscrupp [rump] with the half of a hat of lipoleums to insoult on the hinndoo seeboy. Hney, hney, hney! (Bullsrag! Foul!)” (10.12-15). The compliance of the horse has made the contest a triangle. Insulted, “the seeboy, madrashattaras [mad as a hatter] upjump and pumphim [up boys and at em] cry to the Willingdone: Ap Pukkaru! Pukka Yurap!” [Bugger yourself!]” (10.15-17). Wellington, when asked if he were Irish, replied if a gentleman [like himself] is born in a stable [Ireland] he is not called a horse. Willingdone, then, the “bornstable ghentleman” (10.17) shows he can act as if born in a stable. Willingdone tinders [tenders] his maxbotch to the cursigan [Corsican Napoleon] Shimar Shin [ordering him] “Basucker youstead!” (10.19) to blow himself up. The “dooforhim seeboy” proves defiant and disobedient to his commanding general and performs a one-man rebellion for which in the military he could be shot. Instead, in Kate’s farce, he shoots the “half of the hat of lipoleums [the forage cap] off of the top of the tail on the back of his big wide harse” or Willingdone’s arse (10.20-21), a symbolic gesture in place of

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shooting either Wellington or the Willingdone; this is not an accurate history but an entertaining satire. Many British of Wellington’s rank “basuckered” Stead and his Protestant faith because he had not acquired a university degree when the universities were not open to Dissenters from the Established Church. That Ireland was regarded as one huge British prison is the sense of the rhythm of “This is the house that Jack built,” slang for “prison.” The rhythm is apparent in the “shooting” of the “whole of the half of the hat of lipoleums off of the top of the tail on the back of his big wide harse.” Kate’s Willingdone parody ends, for the sepoy, with a burlesque of the final solution at Cawnpore. Depending upon the matter of extending the chrysalis factor, a possible parody of the myth of William Tell may occur to some thoughtful persons. Writing the introduction for The Napoleon Myth (1905) by Henry Ridgely Evans, Paul Carus asserts that “If a myth embodies a general truth, the myth will find verification in history whenever events of the same kind happen, not once but repeatedly, for the myth stands for the type and the type is realized in every concrete instance.” As to Tell, we have to state that no family of that name can be traced in Switzerland or before the time of the Swiss struggle for independence, and the story of Tell’s famous shot at the apple on the head of his child is mentioned for the first time in a chronicle written in 1470, i. e., about two centuries after the alleged occurrence. But while there is no foundation in Swiss history for the tale of Tell, we are familiar with similar stories among the Norse, the Danes, and the Saxons” (Evans 3).

A secondary corollary of the hero myth is preservation of artifacts associated with it that continued competition on both sides. Which hat Joyce envisioned placed on the Willingdone horse’s rump is diminished by irrelevance when, it seems, anything a hero may have touched or breathed upon would be treasured by aficionados. By 1904 “a specimen of a hat once donned by the Corsican” sold for seven times that of a hat once owned by the Duke (R 29: 485), and Joyce lived through exactly this period when Napoleon’s memory was being rehabilitated, a reversal analogous to that Thomas Carlyle achieved for Cromwell. Napoleon wore his bicorne sideways “to ensure he was instantly identifiable on the battlefield,” says Christie’s, who in 2015 sold one that Napoleon wore in 1807 for £386,500. Finnegans Wake repeatedly discloses an Irish preference for Napoleon over Wellington, probably because of those intricate ties in the past. Evans describes Napoleon’s career between 1803 and 1814 as “unparalleled despotism” when he set up “a brummagem Court, with all the trappings of royalty, but crowded with military adventurers, whose manières bourgeoisies were the laughing stock of the aristocracies of Europe.” Evans pictures eight hats representing eight epochs in the life of Napoleon but refrains from conferring upon him the “Man of

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Destiny” epithet, which Joyce partially effaced by naming Napoleon the “man of Delgany” (334.08). During the Russian campaign Napoleon travelled in a luxurious coach with sleeping compartment and wine and shared nothing of the hardships of his men who were burdened with carrying the loot from Moscow. Napoleon walked only a little to stir his blood (Evans 17, 44). Although Gladstone called Napoleon “a colossal intellect” (R 5: 360), Joyce, in gathering the heroes Browne, Nolan, Gladstone, Napoleon in a confusing jumble, imagines Gladstone adopting Napoleon’s sleeping carriage and indirectly attributes to him the “Man of Destiny” epithet: “This is time for my tubble, reflected Mr ‘Gladstone Browne’ in the toll hut (it was choractoristic from that ‘man of Delgany’)” (334.06-08). Evans explains that “Mankind will always interpret the facts of life in the light of their convictions and beliefs. Wherever a great personality rises into prominence stories will be told of him which may have happened to characters of the same type of bygone ages. . . When Napoleon rose into power his heroic dash and his quick success dazzled the minds of his countrymen and he was naturally compared now to Alexander the Great, now to Caesar, or even to the Gods. The fate of former conquerors became, as it were, a prophecy for his career” (Evans 4). PROPINQUITY AND ALTERNATIVE REALITY Kate has accomplished the miraculous in a fashion now known as artificial reality. She rapidly bypasses paintings of figures she describes that, for the viewer, move and speak. To any of the daytime visitors to the Apsley House gallery, these are nothing but paintings and certainly nothing in them is capable of movement. Simultaneously with her bidding the visitors to observe a scene, there occurs a rapid series of movements that not only mimic some aspects of history but also minimally represent a cultural anachronism, that of Wellington, rarely dismounted, to pick up the lipoleum’s hat. Only one painting at Apsley House, by Thomas Jones Barker titled “Wellington at Sorauren” in 1853, depicts the Duke standing by his horse. Earlier in Kate’s telling, Toffiethief spies on the Willingdone “from his big white harse” (10.02), whose mixed syntax should intend that “he spies on Willingdone [who is] on his big white harse,” from which vantage point Willingdone can spy on Toffiethief. Kate has invited the visitors into the scene she describes in which the sensory information that the brains of the visitors must swiftly accommodate varies slightly from “real” to exhibiting “near to real.” That the “seeboy’s” audacity results in faux-historic reality requires an instantaneous stepping out of the artificial environment and a return to the natural environment. For Joyce the reward of such construction is “creactive” freedom or proactive creativity that enables him to alter the environment swiftly, to meld details from one scene with those of another, in a different century if neces-

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sary; and this in turn accommodates much of the richness of the text. It is not necessarily the word that he has invented but the environment of the word that coexists with propinquity and engages an active intellect on the scene. In another part of this text, a swiftly-changing location invites participation. That “The mausoleum lies behind us” (81.05) directs the path away from Dublin’s Wellington monument, “and there are milestones in their cheadmilias” or hundred thousand welcomes. “But the past has made us this present of a rhedarhoad. So more boher O’Connell!” (81.08-09) from the Latin rheada for “traveling carriage,” and the Irish for “this is O’Connell street.” If such linguistics are not available, the sense of “road” and “O’Connell” can be derived without it. The road has been “resurfaced that now is” (81.13), and the next paragraph invites participation in another version of the encounter in Phoenix Park, a “reality” that Joyce’s Pappie altered many times in the retelling, but that taught Joyce it could be the basis of his book. Not a single narrative but alternatives to many narratives comprise the richnesses of Finnegans Wake. Joyce has invented a new, extremely condensed and intensely evocative, method of storytelling. THE BOUNTY OF TALE-TELLING MOTIFS That Joyce was purposely using motifs, and relied on the power of motifs, is apparent by his intention, at one time, to ask James Stephens to complete writing the book for him. Joyce’s associate and editor Frank Budgen had already noticed that Joyce “never failed to indicate the exact place into which they were to fall. He could promptly conjure up, it seemed, the long, intricate text in its entirety, the exact pagination of the draft typescript, and even the position on the page of individual lines” (Letters I: 29-30). Budgen suspected that Joyce possessed the mediumistic talent of “inner visualization,” and indeed there is much of psychic disport known as “spiritualism”—a disputed practice that gained publicity in Stead’s and Joyce’s time—in Finnegans Wake. Considering whether James Stephens could assume the arduous task, Joyce called these motifs “threads” that could be altered at will as fresh elaborations occurred to him. Budgen was one of the “anticollaborators” who assisted in merging the midden letter with Stead’s “Maiden Tribute,” although some of the mergences are rarities. When Joyce labeled Finnegans Wake humorously a “Soferim Bebel/suffering Babel” (118.18) his phrase passes for a variation upon the “Modern Babylon” but represents Stead’s finding in Jugend a sketch labeled “A Babel-Bible Avenue” resulting from Friedrich Delitzsch’s belief that Old Testament writings were Old-Babylonian in origin (Illus. R 27: 506). All meanings must be “deciphered out of it” vaunting “no idle dubiosity as to its genuine authorship and holusbolus [a favorite word of W. T. Stead] authoritativeness” (118.01-04). Any tale ac-

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quires new life with each retelling, and this chief “midden” tale of Finnegans Wake in total resembles a “gobblydumped turkery [that] was moving and changing every part of the time” (118.22-23). The “travelling inkhorn (possibly pot)” was comically Joyce himself, scribbling as others repeated the tale creatively in the position of “the continually more and less intermisunderstanding minds of the anticollaborators, the as time went on as it will variously inflected, differently pronounced, otherwise spelled, changeablymeaning vocable scriptsigns” (118.24-28) is a major testimony to confusion among present-day communicants who deal with languages that have progressed through numerous changes since Joyce’s time; the stabilizing force of motifs is a necessity, but their changeable parts in part explains why a “fact” of Finnegans Wake provides a new meaning each time it is read. Joyce intersperses a story line for each motif, some with entertaining or disturbing, though definitive, results, and some functioning as crossovers to additional motifs. Inescapably, a motif tells a story from beginning to end and in itself resembles a fictional unit, an episode of a short story. To discover or uncover a motif requires nothing more than observation of words and phrases that are frequently repeated with variation; after this, extracting the motif elements and all the discoverable variations from beginning to end often yields surprising results. A most unusual motif, depicted in the children’s Nightletter sketch (308.30) is that of the thumb and four fingers, which, demonstrating the chrysalis function, engages an anatomical debate both prior to and following the sketch, whether, for example, a “fivefinger span” (67.29) is either logical or physically possible. In place of Joyce’s astonishing memory, the present-day reader simply relies on a searching computer; the Bruno and Nolan motif is the longest traced in this work and broken off prior to its last vestiges. Following a motif or thread, healthily enabled by Clive Hart’s Concordance, reveals not only Joyce’s astonishing control, as Budgen recognized it, but also the course of the discussion. How Joyce felt about a particular issue, how it “pays out” in the totality is the fortunate result of the motif method. The “raven and dove” motif engages multilevel issues, which may be apprised as follows: “He [Stead] sent out Christy Columb and he came back with a jailbird’s [Stead’s] unbespokables in his beak” (496.30-31). “Christy” carries the onus of Stead’s “Be a Christ” doctrine; and Stead was a jailbird while serving time in three of London’s jails. A few years after leaving jail, he was a peace dove flying out of the British ark during the Boer War (Illus. caricature R 35: 130). “Christopher Columbus” was Stead’s explanation of the afterlife and spirit communication in How I Know That the Dead Return (1909). Because Stead’s permanent liability of criminal conviction depresses the jailbird/raven’s/crow’s return, “unbespokables” expresses the reason for his imprisonment plus the lasting underwear stain of the MT in detail and, in

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the large picture, the midden letter about the thirteen-years-old child he rescued, Eliza Armstrong. One may ask, is W. T. Stead himself a motif? Probably not. He is an injection of intellectual energy whose activism supports an uncountable number of motifs, whose name assures numerous synonyms like sted, a place, and steady or steadfast. He must be recognized by phrases signifying his knowledge that are often traceable to his publications, quite frequently the Review of Reviews, plus his personality and reform activities. The motif of W. T. Stead’s “fairest sin” dominates much of Books 1 and 2; yet Luca Crispi fortunately found a flaw that he explicates in his chapter “Storiella as She Was Wryt, Chapter II.2” in How Joyce Wrote “Finnegans Wake.” Crispi’s Footnote 66 helpfully advances that “More often than not the use of the note [Issy’s in chapter 10] has nothing to do with the material source,” and that this particular footnote “has a curious history in its original notebook (VI.B.6: 75) and illustrates once again the general pattern by which Joyce creatively appropriated his textual material” (248). Issy’s aberrant note that Luca Crispi noticed reads simply “One must sell it to some one, the sacred name of love” (268.F1) and derives from Stead’s researches into the question why mothers would sell their own daughters into prostitution. The

Figure 1.2. The peace dove Stead flies out of the ark of the Review of Reviews. Stead, a peace dove, “sent out Christy Columb [his heavenly messenger] and he came back a jailbird’s unbespokables [condemned for “filth”] in his beak” (496.30). (R 35:131)

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reply, as Stead delved further into London vice, became rather commonplace after having struck him at first with its “sapient” complacency: “If a girl is to be seduced it is better she should be seduced by a gentleman, and get something for it than let herself be seduced by a boy or a young fellow who gives her nothing for it” (7 Jul 1885 PMG 3). Joyce simply fuses the two parts: it was always “a gentleman” who bought the service, and the young fellow who vowed he loved her. The “sacred” seduction by Father Michael (111.15), as told in the “midden” letter engenders a religious conundrum for Issy to ponder; and Joyce deposits this nugget of plot development in a midden-like hoard of doctrinal interpretation. Nurturing the Stead information solves the puzzles and transplants the “unknown” from the encrypted to the unencrypted column that matures in a consuming respect for Joyce’s organizational powers. These endemic strengths prevailed almost to Joyce’s dying day, when he required last-minute emendations before sending the manuscript to the printer and he inserted a “letter” not at the conclusion but in the central chapter five (I.5). After a 1977 analysis of the Willingdone musyroom scene from chapter 1 (I.1), it is obvious that the allegory is replayed in a resolution in chapter 11 (II.3) preparatory to the Butt and Taff conclusion. From more than 111 key motifs that could be listed in brief, equaling the number of Anna Livia’s tributaries, the theorist fails to observe that the “gnarlybird” of Northcliff’s “debaccle” journalism (10.34-11.2) contrasts distinctly with that of the second bird, the Wake-effective finding bird of ancestral legitimacy and social consciousness, the “original” bird of the Dorans (111.5). This difference is basic to the scene; Joyce builded better than he knew and created more obfuscation than he anticipated. THE CRITICAL CONFLICT Granted that a seminal word like “collideroscape” can be “variously interpreted,” a simple word like “oasthouse” need not be subjected to “purposeful alteration,” as David Hayman phrased it in The “Wake” in Transit. Contrarily, the factfinder proudly wears the badge of “footnote hounds and citation grubbers” (Transit 3) if such is necessary for finding facts, without perpetuating the creation of Finnegans Wake now that Joyce is “duddandgunne.” Hayman defends his critical approach because the Wake is a “texte scriptable” (Transit 4) among those works that “invite the reader to perpetual creation.” Diversion to writing a new novel in the guise of interpreting this one no doubt contributes to overlooking the fact of Issy’s pregnancy as a worrisome concern expressed in the “midden” letter. Acquiring the present text before rewriting it establishes veracity for literary criticism. The serious fault of rewriting the text is that the errors and oversights discredit the gospel truth of Joyce’s new brain trust. For Crispi and Slote,

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Hayman slightly amends: “The landlord or host of II.3 seems to have just returned from the toilet/outhouse” (C/S 281), but Joyce’s word is distinctly “oasthouse” (319.23, 319.30) for curing hops, and―most amazing of all― “outhouse” is not in the Clive Hart lexicon. Readers, Hayman learned, “to say nothing of critics, don’t always see what is spelled out for them” (Transit 59). Hayman reaffirms the rewriting in reviewing additional writers for In the Wake of the Wake, that the book “becomes an extraordinary lived experience, an encounter with language” (21)—and, for Stead and Joyce, an encounter with the author; hence the reader should be called the communicant. For the fact-finders, the Wake is such, “an extraordinary lived experience,” in its original without rewriting and deteriorates preponderantly in the hands of the revisionists. Analogically, Americans familiar with Supreme Court arguments have seen and heard much of the same battle waged concerning the U. S. Constitution, between the “strict construction” and the “living document.” The text itself relies on the experience of immediacy, of being placed as communicant directly in the scene of the author’s altered-time and collapsedtime activity. Such occurs notably in the “Willingdone” episode, the hero narrative of the first chapter. Kate, the household chambermaid, conducts two visitors on a nighttime romp through the Apsley House gallery of Waterloo paintings that brings the visitors into the presence of “Willingdone” and the mischief of the “lipoleums,” Willingdone’s soldiers who sympathize with Napoleon. It ends with a mockery of a sepoy mutiny that Willingdone invites. It has the aspect of history but rewrites history. Such never occurred on land or sea; it is similar to but distinguished from the “truth to reality” of fiction, purveying a double sense of hearing Kate’s interpretation while seeing the dramatic sequence of scenes she points to, which dramatize a narrative. This double sense of presence today constitutes a form of “virtual reality” without the electronics. It is essential to scenes in which more than one kind of time is present at once. It explains much of “obscurity” in those scenes. THE FATALITY OF OBSCURITY “Obscurity” by common consent expresses difficulty with reading Finnegans Wake and the instigation of critical bias against the book, chiefly due to Joyce’s extensive vocabulary and alteration of standard orthography, but more so due to lack of awareness of history and the language and mores of Joyce’s time. Obscurity is chief witness to Joyce’s fine ear for the variations in pronunciation that prove distracting to contemporary mortals, also annoying and often imponderable. Yet each principal speaker has a distinct voice; an obscure trial interrogator pronounces “vulcano”; an impersonator of Napoleon says “volcano.” Obscurity that is settled firmly in the framework of characterization is the chief means by which speakers and intentions and geographic regions are distinguished and

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preserved. Issy and the unnamed mother-impersonator at the traditional Finnegan’s wake speak differently from the “universal” mother Anna Livia; the Ulsterman different from the Dubliner. While each motif varies the content, yet each can be understood in its own vicinity, as Joyce comments in regard to a “Russky” accent, “look at me now means I once was otherwise” (253.04-05). The same could be said of words that are constantly in evolution, of which slang is particularly susceptible; Joyce’s obscurity accommodates inflections of the same word and rewards the broad goal of a universal history. Anna Livia’s speech is readily recognized because hers are common one-syllable words that look normal in the present day; however, consultation of a dialect dictionary, such as Farmer and Henley’s Slang and Its Analogues, exposes the meanings of former times. If these sources remain insufficient, motif variations assist the interpretation. There must be a reader-communicant accommodation to Joyce’s use of those sources. It appears that the fatal error Joyce made was his oblivion to the rapid losses of his era and innovations, even replacements, in linguistics and politics. One of the clearest, basic and integral statements setting forth the Stead source is disarmingly simple: “His Thing Mod have undone him and his madthing has done him man” (58.01-02). The “Thing Mod” in the Stead context, although borrowing from the Viking Parliament, is the Central Criminal Court in London and the equivalent of the “Old Bailey” in which Stead was convicted of abduction (of Eliza Armstrong) and indecent assault (the administration of chloroform). That he was convicted and sent to jail remained a lasting blight among patrician Englanders to whom he was always “a dirty ex-convict.” The “mad thing” was the Maiden Tribute. Joyce could not win the Nobel Prize for Literature because his metaphors were outmoded and forgotten. An excellent single example of obscurity (recognizable now) is perpetrated by one of Stead’s sincerest efforts at simplicity, at which he spoke in metaphors describing the Sultan of Turkey. Stead had already made an attempt to fathom the mind of the Turk in interviewing Abdul Hamid II, the 34th Sultan of Turkey (R 12 [1895] 488504), when Stead encountered incomprehensible language. Having succeeded to his position through a series of leadership catastrophes, the Sultan well understood his position of having been “born of the House of Othman . . . For five centuries it had been the will of Allah that there should never be lacking a member of the House of Othman to reign as the Shadow of God among men” (R 12: 491), meaning the “Shadow of God on earth.” While referring to this temporal power, Gladstone called the Sultan “the assassin.” Temporal power was noticeable in insensible assassinations. In 1895 Stead perceived that “Atrocities are as natural to the Turk as the General Elections to a Parliamentarian. They are the traditional Ottoman method of renewing the mandate of the ruler” (R 12: 489), Stead understood the necessity to quell rebellions; “For the Turk without atrocities is as the leopard

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without his spots, and a sudden qualm of conscience as to the existence of spots cannot be understood by the leopard” (R 12: 493). Arriving at the year 1901 Stead sought to maintain the principle on which the Review’s character sketches were founded, to represent the person “as he appears to himself at his best,” but because of atrocities committed and ongoing, Abdul Hamid II could not be judged as having a “best” side, and Stead yielded to truthfulness; he compared Abdul Hamid II with Nero and called him “Abdul the Damned” (R 24: 317). A view of the Afterlife distinctly antithetical to western thinking was being perpetrated on earth. Reports of Turkish atrocities, the forerunner of ISIL, were first brought to public attention by the American journalist from Ohio, Januarius MacGahan and were amplified by the polyglot Dr. E. J. Dillon and easily located in many articles in print. In Trebizond in 1896, the excruciating torture of a Christian was extended with infliction of screaming pain like “Then they cut off one of his hands, slapped his face with the bloody wrist, and placed it between his quivering lips” (R 13: 39-40). In Armenia, when women sought refuge in the only church, the Turks tore off the roof and, aiming downward, killed all of them. Still, under the leadership of Disraeli, “Lord Beaconsfield, of accursed memory,” Britain clung to a possibility of political resolution with Turkey that would be commercially advantageous to Britain; rather than the Russians, Disraeli aligned Britain on the side of the Turks. Stead’s brave attempt to explain the Eastern crisis of Turkish brutalities in Armenia and Britain’s political responsibility is titled “The Eastern Ogre; or, St. George to the Rescue” (R 14: 355-61). “St. George” is intended to be Britain on an errand of mercy to rescue the Armenians from Turkish determination to extinguish them, which was the political fault of “perfidious Albion” under Disraeli. Nonexistent in this article is the name of the chief Turk responsible, Abdul Hamid II who began as constitutional ruler in 1876, suspended it (quoting Wikipedia) and reverted to personal rule in1878; then was forced to restore the Second Constitutional Era on 3 July 1908 and was deposed again in 1909. Stead refers to his prior subject of a character sketch as “the Sultan,” “the Assassin,” “the Sick Man of Europe,” “the Sublime Porte,” “the Turk,” “the Sheikh-al-Islam”— as if naming him would dignify atrocities. Prior to the destruction of Aleppo in the twenty-first century, the great president Mustafa Kemal Ataturk (1881-1938) crafted a new constitution in 1924 that freed Turkey from the slaughter of innocents and provided for a degree of westernization and jurisprudence. Phrase-after-phrase, often word-after-word in Finnegans Wake functions on this same basis of history unexplained and only referred to obliquely or alluded to, as if the public knows it today as they would have in Joyce’s time. When Punch (10 Oct, 1885) offered “The Old Umbrella,” depicting Gladstone arriving at a political repair shop with “his stickup in his hand” while Chamberlain promises to “re-cover it while you wait,” the caricature featured

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exactly the details that Joyce acquired, probably without HCE: “Whatthough for all appentices it had a mushroom on it. While he faced them front to back, Then paraseuls round, quite taken atack, sclaiming, Howe cools Eavybrolly!” (315.16-20). A main feature of this text offering the Stead source to resolve Joyce’s “Encryption of Finnegans Wake” is the supplementation of quotations to explain the obscurity. Some of the audience for this book will be better sourced than I, but I sincerely doubt that any one source contemporary with Joyce can exceed that of W. T. Stead, in particular Stead’s forty-five volumes of the 600 pages of each Review of Reviews. DUAL ASKING AND TELLING NARRATORS After motifs, the first line of comprehension of Finnegans Wake is identification of the Telling and Listening speakers, to avoid congealing the dialogue and giving the text the appearance of monologue that either inhibits or fails utterly to apprehend the dramatic flow of the dialogue. There are two narrators for the entirety of the novel: a Listener/Exclaimer/Asker, and a Teller. These two narrators account for the presence of “us” of the first paragraph: “brings us by a commodious vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs” (3.02-03). Geert Lernout has determined for Crispi and Slote that Joyce (after time for reflection) added the second narrator on a second draft of the Wake’s first page, rendering “’brings us back to’ before ‘Howth Castle and Environs’” (C/S 55). There are scenes of Teller domination, there is the questions chapter (I.6), in which the Asker dominates; there is often a brisk exchange of Asker and Teller, which constitutes the dialogue of the washerwomen (I.8). Other than posing a question, the Asker’s second chief function is that of prompter, to urge the Teller to extend the information, perhaps by exclaiming “Continuarration” or “Garonne!” (205.14-15). The Asker-Listener as prompter can provide a situation or a setting relevant to the Teller’s proceeding. The Teller may speak to the conscience by addressing the Listener as “you,” or about the person by speaking of “he” or “him.” Preparatory to the Roderick O’Connor passage closing chapter 11 (II.3), the Teller lectures Earwicker, alone in his pub, after overseeing the departure homeward of the customers and the Four Old Men: “First you were Nomad, next you were Namar . . . soon you’ll be Nomon/dead” (374.22). They seal the fate of the Four as if they are being hanged from the yardarm: “Four ghools to nail! Cut it down, mates, look slippy!” This Victorian phrase for quick, alert (377.34) delighted Stead to position it as title of his essay contest in 1896 explaining topics critical to England’s welfare that he wanted an enterprising young woman to enter and address for employment in his office (see “Buck Up and Look Slippy!: A Note of the Nation’s Need To-Day” (R 14: 348-54). The pub empty, the vanished voices echo in Earwicker’s head. The “Bang!”

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Figure 1.3. Gladstone approaches Chamberlain’s shop for political repair. “He’d left his stickup in his hand . . . . Whatthough for all appentices it had a mushroom on it. While he faced them front to back. Then paraseuls round, quite taken attack, sclaiming, Howe cools Eavybrolly!” (315.16-20). “Heave, coves, emptybloddy!” (324.11)

and the “Bung” of copulation and the barrel stopper and the band on the rum barrel merge as they were seen previously in “Brown Bess’s bung’s gone bandy” (187.26); presently those enlightenments merge with the sound of the waves dashing against the pier and the ship “Benk Bank Bonk to sloop” (379.30). Everything speaks in its own way, said Stephen Dedalus. After the narrator addresses the plural vanished listeners with “So you were saying, boys? Anyhow he what?” (380.6), he turns abruptly to third person narration describing “Pappie” (380.01) and closes the chapter as Stead’s ship the Titanic executes the fate of “soon you’ll be Nomon.” A chief task of this book, therefore, is to authenticate the speakers and thereby to replace the hypothetical “dreamer.” With sufficient information, there are few reasons to hypothesize anything. In the “picture primitive”

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example, the Listener’s exclamation prompts the Teller to proceed. Joyce controls the text carefully enough that, even if it were a dream, he eradicates with one word a superficial violation of natural law like a talking ass. In the Afterlife of Book III, observing the subjunctive would for had eliminates the “talking ass” and purifies it from biblical analogy. [Listener] What a picture primitive! [Teller] Would/had I [Teller] had the concordant wisdom of Messrs Gregory and Lyons alongside Dr. Tarpey’s and I dorsay the reverend Mr MacDougall’s [FOM of Annals of Ireland], but I [Teller], poor ass, am but as their fourpart/forepart [brain] tinckler’s dunkey [waiting idly by]. Yet methought [it is] Shaun (holy messenger angels be uninterruptedly nudging him among and along the winding ways of random ever!). (405.03-07)

The Teller’s information stretches toward omniscience; hence, when the Teller hesitates or fears, the plight is serious. The Asker’s stage-prompts and exclamations have the same effect as questions. [Asker] “What have you therefore? Fear you the donkers [from Farmer and Henley “doncker,” cattle lifter]? Of roovers [cattle raiders across the borders]? [Teller] I fear lest we have lost ours (non grant it!/non gratis!) respecting these wildy parts” (566.30-32). The text of Finnegans Wake is precisely prepared with speaker identifications that need not be relegated to an anonymous dreamer. For one, whereas the stutter is confined to HCE, the discussion of “the cad,” and his phrase “the caca cad,” disrupts the ease of “dreamer” ascription. The most urgent question of the universe, “Is there life after death?” must be answered, being true to epistemology, by an unseen communicant in the limitless beyond whose identity, circumstances, and reliability are perhaps unknown. Spiritual transmissions were usually brief, voices and tappings and ghostly visitants were faded at times, often disrupted and broken off, with no explanation, and this is the purpose of the “Stead Script” noted under the Type B heading for “Multiplexity.” MULTIPLEXITY A passage of Finnegans Wake provides a new meaning each time it is read, which many persons can discover, but which scientists now validate as part of Joyce’s research in new teleological developments. For normal processes, without scientific input, questioning why a passage pondered over perhaps decades suddenly exposes a new type of reading, which was always present, results in an appreciation of “multiplexity.” Unlike the ideal reader “suffering from an ideal insomnia” (120.14), those of Finnegans Wake suffer because of multiplexity with or without the blessing of humor. (To Stead’s proposal of a preventive, General Ian Hamilton defused the insomnia debate

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curtly with five words: “Read the Review of Reviews” [R 38: 526-28]). Not so easily grasped is Joyce’s “multiplexity,” which, to distinguish it from “multiplicity,” is a “level” of interruption, not merely a plethora of bits of information. Multiplexity is an apparently displaced addition in the text that significantly alters a plot or extends a theme, or both. Moreover, there are two types of multiplexity. Type A maintains, in multiple sequences, several levels of discussion simultaneously with fragments of others permeating all. The peculiar, apparently isolated injection of a displaced fragment distinguished by its irrelevance in a particular phrase constitutes “multiplexity.” When least expected, it adds a level that significantly alters the plot and/or extends the theme; usually it serves the motif purpose evident in another location. An excellent example occurs where Joyce intrudes a bit of Victorian humor by the “chief cartoonist” Matt Morgan. A Brown Study, William E. Fredeman comments, achieved notoriety for Punch, with “its veiled allusions to the underground rumors of an affair . . . between [John] Brown and the Queen” (57). Yet Joyce placed “a cosy little brown study all to oneself” (114.31) in the context of a cheerful account of Stead’s prison cell at Holloway, where, among his “liveried retainers,” no Brown or brown could enter. Frequently a multiplexity may be protected by an associated supposition; “picking oakum,” actually coir fiber, at Coldbath was known to tear the fingernails and demand “brown study.” Distinct was Stead’s room at Holloway, filled with “papers, books, flowers, everything that heart could wish,” large enough for his visiting children to play “Blind-man’s bluff.” Although he labeled a sketch of himself “Picking Oakum” (114.32, Illus. My First 14; R 14: 273), Stead’s second sketch of “My Little Room” at Holloway, verifies Joyce’s “wee ftofty/cold od/odë room, the cheery/candle spluttered on the one karrig/chair, a darka/ supper disheen [little dish] of vows [letters] from Dalbania [Albanian words dominate here], any gotsquantity of racky/brandy, a portogal/orange and some buk setting out on the sofer/table” (114.24-26, Illus. My First 19; R 14: 274). The multiplex level of “A Brown Study” profits Joyce’s famed intention to write a humorous book, if the facts be known. Multiplexity does not mean that the aberrant passage cannot be appreciated; it means that much explanation may be required! At additional levels, Joyce’s frequent introduction of continuing matters of Finn MacCool from legendry makes a showcase of the multiplexity technique, supplemented by details of the author’s mainframe-time. The lifetime of the hypothetical professor’s critical devotion, not the Wake itself, becomes a “texte scriptable.” Multiplexity functions in Joseph Campbell’s acknowledgment of Joyce’s word “monomyth,” which, in The Hero with a Thousand Faces, appears to be sufficient attribution; however, Campbell himself overlooked Joyce’s construction of stages of the hero’s journey. A simpler example provides for a common oversight, the historical fact rendered as synonym. Originally, a

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“widowed mother” replying to Stead’s Maiden Tribute corresponded “We could not have warned our girls as this most horrible revelation must do” (11 Jul 1885 PMG 3). The druidic tree alphabet, expanding into scholastic ogham, supports Joyce’s equation of the tree, and even “wood” itself, with enabling literary authorship to the effect that the widowed mother warns the maiden “What are you doing your dirty minx and his big treeblock way up your path?” (80.30); she recites the “treeblock” exhortative of Stead’s “Maiden Tribute,” and this example is capable of further analysis. Stead’s concerns about the females requiring protection were necessary for the western salvation of its culture in 1885, but Stead was soon, in the 1890s, to expand his awareness of civilization’s horrors at the international level in a complex known as “the Eastern question.” HAUNTING HORRORS IN ARMENIA Followers of W. T. Stead were familiar with the heroism of the war correspondent from Ohio, Januarius A. MacGahan, who in 1876 succeeded in turning the tide of sentiment against the Turks by reporting for the Daily News in London the atrocities he witnessed as committed by the Turkish Bashi-Bazouks in Bulgaria. MacGahan described in detail the horrors that he witnessed. When Joyce makes jokes about “Ghazi power,” he has accomplished the miraculous of turning gut-wrenching atrocities into humor in part because of the risible nature of the Irish intellect. Upon first arriving at Batak, MacGahan saw “a heap of skulls, intermingled with bones from all parts of the human body, skeletons nearly entire and rotting, clothing, human hair and putrid flesh lying there in one foul heap.” About a hundred skulls had been severed from the bodies of women and girls. He estimated 900 houses of extended families, twenty to thirty people under one roof, an educated people supporting their schools. It appeared not a single Turk had been killed in Batak. Achmet Agha, who commanded the Basha-Bazouks, had demanded surrender of arms. The Bashi-Bazouks “would seize a woman, strip her carefully to her chemise, laying aside articles of clothing that were valuable . . . then as many of them as cared would violate her, and the last man would kill her or not as the humour took him.” Eye-witnesses “saw little babes carried about the streets on the points of bayonets. “When a Mohammedan has killed a certain number of infidels he is sure of Paradise. In order to swell the count, the Bashi-Bazouks “ripped open pregnant women, and killed the unborn infants.” A woman with head buried in her hands . . . gazed into her lap, where lay three little skulls with the hair still clinging to them.” The stench was deadly. “The harvests are rotting in the fields, and the reapers are rotting here in the churchyard.” Mothers drifted flowers over the little skulls. Achmed Agha was promoted to

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the rank of Yuz-bashi, and decorated. The prior Sultan had devastated the treasury, and Bulgarian survivors were required to pay their taxes: “the Government needs money badly, and the living must pay for the dead” (The Daily News, August 22, 1876: 5-6). What was being witnessed in Batak, and later in Armenia, was the forerunner of the destruction of Aleppo at the hands of ISIL. Ripping open a pregnant woman to kill the unborn infant, to swell the count, perhaps is the best image to explain the atrocities committed for honor in the Afterlife. MacGahan died in a typhus epidemic in 1878 before he could receive the thanks of the new Bulgarian National Assembly, which were delivered to Gladstone, Stead, and F.H. Hill of the Daily News. Turkish atrocities erupted again in Armenia in 1895 with the same purpose, and the same “ideals,” to obliterate opposition to an Islamic caliphate. Less than ten years after the Bulgarian horrors, Stead’s book The Haunting Horrors of Armenia carried a daunting subtitle: “or Who Will be Damned for This? In the Turkish ideology no one would be damned but only rewarded in heaven for achieving the Mohammedan “shadow of God on the throne.” The massacre at Sassoun, in Armenia, Stead announced, had transcended in horror the massacre at Batak in Bulgaria: “At least ten thousand men, women, and children had been exterminated like rats in a pit, and their exterminators had been decorated by the Sultan, and enriched with the loot of their victims.” The Sultan Abdul Hamid was acclaimed as if a God: “our Lord and Master the Sultan of the two Shores and the High King of the two Seas; the Crown of Ages and the Pride of all Countries, the greatest of all Khalifs; the Shadow of God on Earth; the successor of the Apostle of the lord of the Universe, the Victorious Conqueror.” At the time of Stead’s writing, “nearly a quarter of a million of the Armenians have perished. They are dying fast . . . naked and homeless in the snow and frost of the Armenian winter, while the Shadow of God laughs triumphant.” All of this, in the minds of the west, was waiting for a political solution. The Armenians, he understood, “leading a pastoral and agricultural life in the midst of the Kurds, fierce highlanders who have preserved for more than a thousand years the unbroken traditions of rapine” (Haunting 9-10). Today Armenians, most of them extinguished by Turkish assault, are “only a remnant” of their former number, living mostly in Istanbul, and Kurds are wooed for their fighting strength. Beyond anyone’s faith or politics or ethics, “by the will of Allah a member of the House of Othman” must reign “as the Shadow of God among men” and should deliver Islam from its enemies to make the world an Islamic state, a world rule achieved by Mohammed’s successor. True, a goal of world domination has occurred often enough for secular purposes: Cecil Rhodes, the gold and diamond “king” of Africa, had commented “I would annex the planets if I could.” But the Turks waged a veritable “battle for heaven” which Joyce could foresee recurring with “ostrygods gaggin fishygods” (4.01).

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Succeeding MacGahan, the polyglot journalist Dr. E. J. Dillon exceeded MacGahan’s intrepidity; Dr. Dillon participated in life-threatening daily and nightly endangerments in the fresh slaughter in Armenia. Forbidden to cross the border, he slipped into and resided in Armenia, “going out at night, disguised sometimes as a woman, sometimes as a Kurdish chief.” Stead’s character sketch of Dr. Dillon related how he dropped from rooftops into Armenian homes and obtained names of refugees, if necessary interviewing them, in disguise, in their homes. In one he was made ill by poisoned coffee. The “most damning” phrase in his subsequent article in the Contemporary Review was quotation of the anguished mother who advanced “the startling theory that God himself had gone mad, and that maniacs and demons were stalking about the world” (R 24: 21-26). But this is Finnegans Wake, and suddenly the name of another journalist, a hoaxer possessing no battle credentials, is thrust into the conversation. The Irish of turbulent history had seen God gone mad in sufficient situations that they became skilled at gallows humor of the type “The Night before Larry Was Stretched.” Annotations provides that while Ghazi was a Mohammedan fanatic practiced in beheadings, “Frank ‘Ghazi’ Power” was an “Irish journalist and hoaxer” who dared to display a “phony bullet wound,” a boil, for the edification of Parnell. In a scene laid in the Afterlife, Shaun-Jaun in trance is interrogated by Matthew of the FOM, who for humor in motif fashion contrives a pun on “the ghazi, power of his sword/word” (56.11). The FOM asks whether “yur right name now, [is] Ghazi Power . . . if yur not freckened [frightened] of frank comment?” Jaun is a “tristy minstrel” who claims to be “Not afrightened of Frank Annybody’s gaspower or illconditioned ulcers [the boil] neither” (521.21-25). By two words, “tristy minstrel,” Joyce has inserted Tristan and Christy Minstrels who are “multiplex” levels to investigate. The number of levels intensifies in the example of which Ellmann has commented on Joyce’s “easy and intimate relationship of this teacher to his pupils” in Trieste. Simultaneously with the continuing game of the Wake’s chapter 9 (II:1), Shem imagines romantic closeness while acting as Issy’s tutor. In this instance, Issy is growing impatient with his failure to make a guess, which reminds the tutor of his students’ frustration with languages that reduced them to tears: “her pupils swimmed too heavenlies” (251.30). He responds with the street slang of Norman Douglas’s London Games in which “letters be blowed” means “letters be damned.” Among varied “multiplex” topics, Frederick Bywaters, convicted of murder, incited responsive public opinions in the Daily Sketch of 14 December1922 that Joyce used for a source. He said “ass” where Joyce writes “oaf.” Galehoult brought together Lancelot and Guinevere; Paolo and Francesca fell in love while reading about it; hence “the book is pander.” Swedenberg’s spots on angel’s gar-

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ments represented “foul deed thoughts.” Eva Harte’s toucher” encrypts Eva Hart (1905-1996), who survived the Titanic, linked by the water of tears. As for she could shake him. An oaf/ass, no more [Bywaters]. Still he’d be good tutor two/too in his big armschair lerningstoel and she be waxen in his hands [Bywaters]. Turning up and fingering over the most dantellising peaches [pictures of maidens] in the lingerous longerous book of the dark. Look at this passage about Galilleotto/Galehoult]! I know it is difficult but when your goche/gauche I go dead. Turn now to this patch [specialist territory] upon Smacchiavelluti/Machiavelli [cunning and duplicity]! Soot allours [Fr No use], he’s sure to spot it! ‘Twas ever so in monitorology [assistants in school] since Headmaster Adam became Eva Harte’s toucher/teacher, in omnibus moribus et temporibus [tr in all customs and times], with man’s mischief in his mind whilst her pupils swimmed too heavenlies, let his be exaspirated, letters be blowed! [cg. Norman Douglas “damned”]. I is a femaline [female line] person. O, of provocative gender [I am yours]. U unisingular case [I.O.U.]. (251.21-32)

Multiplexity featuring “Eva Harte” transports the setting to a distant place and time and encourages examination of an unanticipated element of leitmotif. To summarize thus far, this “Encrypted” version offers explanations in text either by inserted brackets or in adjacent notes. Joyce contrived analogies that necessitate the customary consultation of dictionaries and encyclopedias for every deviation from the vocabulary of normal discourse, and he utilized common words of his lifetime, like “snigs” for “sniggers/snickers,” that are obsolete at present and, frequently, defined in Farmer and Henley’s Slang. On the plus side, Finnegans Wake preserves dialectic variations that otherwise might be lost. THE “STEAD SCRIPT” A second “secret source,” after the living W. T Stead and all his works, is contained in his “Afterlife” transmission in From Four Who Are Dead by Amy Dawson Scott (July,1926), founder of the international P.E.N. Club. Since Finnegans Wake throughout positions dual Asking and Telling narrators from their skyview position looking upon earth scenes, both specific to Joyce’s age and to universal time, Joyce invented this Overlook position in 1926 in connection with W. T. Stead and his “spiritualism” through the mediumship of Catherine Amy Dawson Scott, whose P.E.N. Club meeting in London Joyce addressed at that time. Joyce called this unique and long-sought point of view “the dark night of the soul” not in deference to St. John of the Cross but to provide a simplistic, recognizable, reply to his public who were baffled by the question “what is Finnegans Wake about?” The impenetrable mystery of the Afterlife designates it an archetypal “darkness,” which deceased-Stead countered by an-

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nouncing there is no darkness for “us” in the Afterlife, and thereby solved one of the critical questions of Joyce’s legitimacy. A reference to “the Pen dinner with its sequel,” which Joyce mentioned to Harriet Shaw Weaver in a lengthy 31 May 1927 letter (Letters I: 255), indicates missing information, simply because there is no sequel, no following correspondence about anything he may have learned or decided from the Amy Dawson Scott association and publication. Gordon Bowker agrees that the first use of “the dark night of the soul” is in Joyce’s letter to Miss Weaver dated 14 August 1927, a gap of two and a half months, in which Joyce complained of “hostility” to his experiment in interpreting it (Letters 1: 258; Sel. Letters 327). Dawson Scott’s book was published just prior to Joyce’s arrival in London to speak at the meeting of the P.E.N., and after he had established the two narrators; a copy would have been available for him to look at. “We seem to us (the real Us!)” Joyce protests, “to be reading our Amenti [afterdeath instructions] in the sixth sealed chapter of the going forth by black/back,” which could well intend black print (62.26-27). We are always in a mental darkness searching for purposes of existence and answers to questions like the condition of the living soul in the Hereafter, or whether this life was worth it. A second Type B of multiplexity derives from “The ‘Stead’ Script” and unites the present world with worlds beyond. Stead’s book Letters from Julia that gave the public “homely imagery and simple word painting of life on the ‘other side,’” as his staff assistant Edith K. Harper appraised it, when Stead and staff were busy collecting library books devoted to life beyond death, which he called “Borderland.” Letters from Julia preached that “the next state of consciousness is in many ways so like the present life (forgetting, too, that the word ‘next’ means ‘nearest’) and that Love and Pity, Sympathy and Joy, are as necessary to people there as they are here” (Light 3 Jan 1914: 8). The deceased Julia acted as Stead’s spirit guide and directed the installation of “Julia”s Bureau” at his Cambridge House home in Wimbledon, conducting, for its Inner Sanctuary, a “kind of Temple or sacred fane.” At this time the Borderland library was housed at his office in Mowbray House. In relating “W. T. Stead as a Seer,” Edith Harper specified the details of Stead’s three prominent premonitions that he received from an inner voice (Occult Review 17: May 1913); yet a fourth and most powerful prediction was his narrative of a sinking ocean liner very like that of the Titanic. The information had to come from somewhere, but where? Type B functions like a time warp or the lifting of the fabric of the universe momentarily to access another world of the “supernatural” through a talent called “second sight.” It resembles the departed Stead’s account in From Four Who Are Dead of his study of remote scenes from the past of earth’s history and the present method of communication. It resembles the “Druidic powers” that fascinated Joyce during his visit to Galway. Addition-

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ally, the Irish were thoroughly familiar with the alternate “fairy” universe of the sidhe, to adopt the preferred spelling of W. B. Yeats for the trooping fairies, to which James Mackillop devotes space in his Dictionary of Celtic Mythology. The living Stead accepted the work of his Christian deity who provided him with unlikely and impossible premonitions, the facts of which proved verifiable and applicable to all structures of the cosmos throughout the living and the dead. In Phoenix Park, the trepanned skull of Sturk from The House by the Churchyard revives an ancient mystery and thereby speaks in its own way, and the voice of the mother at the wake offers forewarning of a fully-living universe in that “the Tory’s clay will scare the varmints” (24.31). The object of Stead’s Afterlife existence detailed in The Stead Script section of From Four Who Are Dead was not limited to telling the world where “a poor soul is between shift and shift” (293.02-03) but intended to expand awareness of the cosmos and perhaps universes beyond this one, and to reassure the living of the development of the soul after death. First quoted here is an exemplifying portion of Wake text, and second a selection of text accompanied by supporting passages from The Stead Script. The scene, a paragraph (81.01-11) prefaces the third version of Pappie’s “encounter” in the park, and the language changes following this paragraph to Pappie’s style of Wakease speech. In the view of Teller-Shem, scenes from the past converge in this one location as if imminent and vital today, or, as Evans-Wentz summarized the issue, “Nature has a memory,” and Joyce strives to expand upon the Evans-Wentz epistemology in that thought also has a memory. Earth protects and preserves its mysteries. For the sake of brevity, citation of the conclusion will perhaps suffice, with caution that the speaker (Shem) cannot be concerned about rain obscuring the history-laden view when he urgently requires food. “No more boher” dismisses O’Connell as unimportant while eating one’s hat would be tempting! Per omnibus [carrier of all information] secular seekalarum. Amain. But the past has made us this present of a rhedarhoad [carriage road]. So more boher O’Connell [no more the road of O’Connell]! Though rainyhidden [rain obscures visibility], you’re rhinohide [Br. slang for “cashless”]. And if he’s not a Romeo you may scallop your hat. Wereupunder in the fane [temple] of Saint Fiacre! Halte! [the sentry calls out] (81.07-11).

The last is ironic; the purpose of a road is to facilitate moving forward. Ireland is not yet emancipated from British rule, and information encrypted and compressed therein would in itself legitimize a critical chapter centralized in the movement of peoples and attached to Irish linguistics, politics, religion, history—all beginning with the prayerful cosmographic identifier “Per omnia,” everywhere forever and ever, amen. In such brief words the Irish seo mōrbhothar O’Connell for “This is O’Connell street” honors the great “Liberator” Daniel O’Connor [deceased 1847 in Genoa, Italy] who led

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the Catholic Emancpation Act of 1829 that allowed Irish Catholics membership in the British House of Commons. Surely his carriage passed this way, although this is not O’Connell street, not in this location! And this brief vision of former custom constitutes a glimpse of the micro-macrocosmic trope, a comparison of small humanity with the large universe. Who else passed this way? Phoenix Park is no longer the center of Joyce’s universe. The “Romeos” or Catholic-doctrine-lovers visiting the shrine of St. James in Spain wore on their hats the Saint’s symbol, a cockle shell; wearing or carrying a cockle shell permitted the pilgrim to scoop a charitable bit of scarce food for the journey. In general practice, Irish veneration of the saints assured the continuing activity of former living persons in the present time of Viconian cycles some centuries later. A fiacre in Paris was a taxi for persons staying at the Hotel de Saint Fiacre, which hired out carriages. Saint Fiacre of Breuil (d. 670) lived in a hermitage in County Kilkenny―and certainly his faithful flocks passed this way―seeking his healing powers and drove him to Spain for solitude. Among Saint Fiacre’s medicinal gardenings, he was reputed to heal hemorrhoids, for which the great Cardinal Richelieu, among others, visited the Saint’s relics in Meaux Cathedral. All persons and places are focal points for permutations on the particular international surd at which occurred significant events and subsequent associations that altered the course of history; think if you can how many persons and objects through the ages have reached this particular location on the road in Phoenix Park. It resembles the theosophical Akashic Record, called “a central filing system” for all events and thoughts recorded somewhere on the astral plane, which gifted persons could visit. The information in Stead’s famed incredible life-changing three premonitions—in 1880, that he would leave the Northern Echo; in 1883, that he would have full control of the Pall Mall Gazette; in 1885, that his prison sentence would be two months (Harper noted that he served seven days more)—must have come from somewhere; and Stuart Gilbert thought Joyce likewise had the talent for “inner visualization” or second sight. BUY A BOOK FROM FABER AND FABER A “Humpty” hunchback, as Stead was because of his kyphosis, often appears oval, or egg-shaped. In HCE’s famed encounter while crossing Phoenix Park, a glance at the physical deformity endows it with a threatening purpose: the viewer assumes the stranger “had opened his bully bowl to beg” (82.5) in an unflattering comparison with the legless robber “Billy in the Bowl.” In Joyce’s adaptation, the egg or oval becomes part of HCE’s destiny and his immortal soul. Among the generations of human history, the ova in Stead’s example are the origins of his great schemes to improve humanity, the “eggs” the products of Stead’s brain. As Anna Livia phrases it, those ideas come

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“piping hot” fresh, “as sure as herself pits hen to paper and there’s scribings scrawled on eggs” (615.9-10). Joyce famously gave considerable space to the topic of motivation: “Where did thots come from?” (597.25) and the doubtful forms that “scribings” bear on arrival. The famed “scribbledehobble” (275.22) implies that an idea arrives “hobbled” in the mind of Cain, already planning to kill Abel. Stead-Earwicker’s hunched back instantly on first sight provides evidence of a character flaw. Joyce’s “alp on earwig” (17.34) epitomizes the weight of eons that have molded Stead’s Humpty shape into a mountain on the back of an almostinvisible earwig crushed beneath him, and this earwig is the hero hce himself. Humpty was still much invisible, his nature inexplicable for most of Joyce’s public, when in 1924 Joyce composed rhymes for the dust jacket of Anna Livia Plurabelle and Haveth Childers Everywhere. The first began Buy a book in brown paper From Faber & Faber. The second rhyme began “Humptydump Dublin squeaks through his norse” and ended “Humptydump Dublin’s grandada of all rogues.” Richard Ellmann (JJ2 616-17) learned that Joyce was “a little annoyed” when Faber & Faber used his verses only “on a mimeographed publicity release” with a note that conveyed the publisher’s bafflement. Almost a hundred years later, the still thriving publisher of this “Encryption of Finnegans Wake: W. T. Stead” achieves atonement. HOW THE “’STEAD’ SCRIPT” WORKS The purpose of “The Stead Script” is exactly this: to explain the alternate universe in which the Afterlife Stead was living, and cosmologists may appreciate that Afterlife Stead possessed knowledge of additional universes. Amy Dawson Scott quoted “The Stead Script” as part of From Four Who Are Dead. Afterlife Stead is communicating: The world is to-day advancing from the condition of slaves to a comparative freedom. A slow advance, but perceptible. Slavish thought, slavish beliefs, are giving place to scientific knowledge. This knowledge is a leaven working in the people, and gives opportunity for the development of a greater morality, a morality of nations and government. Scientific knowledge brings understanding. Matters that bulk largely in the minds of the ignorant are reduced to their actual size and importance. The individual is inestimably precious, for his spark of life would appear to be indestructible. That spark may be an atom of what I term—God. (Four 150).

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Was Stead aware of the new “atomic” theories of Einstein? He was aware of much pseudo-scientific activity, such as John Worrell Keely’s promotion of etheric or vaporic force that could power a motor car and Mrs. Besant’s theosophical “clairvoyance in chemistry” with sketches of hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen atoms enclosed in circles or ovums and a volaltile sketch of “The Ultimate Atom” (B 3: 90-92); these connect with Shem’s explaining the 293 diagram in progress with drawing a circle “As round as the calf of an egg!” (294.11). Most rewarding is Sir Oliver Lodge’s lecture notes on “Radium and Its Meaning” summarizing the efforts of Madame Curie in measuring the radio-activity of uranium and concluding that “Nothing material is permanent. Millions and billions, ay trillions of years it may last, but it is slowly changing. Not merely the groupings, but the foundation stones themselves . . . The atoms are crumbling and decaying . . . Decay only, without birth and culmination, cannot be the last word” (R 29: 30-32). Such he understood prior to the discovery of black holes in remote galaxies. To embody this science in a work of fiction would be an immense challenge for Joyce. Afterlife-Stead asked regarding the great abundance of many forms of life, “Can you imagine it passing through its first stage on the planets of innumerable solar systems and then being poured into this non-physical world in incalculable numbers?” (Four 159). Afterlife-Stead possessed additional wisdom to impart concerning the remote universe he was living in, all of which indeed stretches traditional concepts. He considered the soul after death to be primitive: “Our life on earth was a stage, the first stage of our evolution. This is the next. We are still imperfect. We have still personal hopes and wishes. We are not ready for a nearer approach to God” (Four 143). Affection does not die when we pass over: “Sensation has gone, but in its place we have intensified emotion. Jealousy and the desire of possession have disappeared, disappeared with the physical aspect of life, and it is no longer the woman who attracts us, but the individual” (Four 167). “The affection of opposites, which on earth was supposed to be due to people being male and female, is also to be seen here” (Four 168). Do angels exist? “The earth laughs at the old ideas of heaven, the crudities of white robes and wings and harps, but these crudities were the rough material of reality—the white mists that hang between their life and this, the movement, swifter than that wings could have given, the harmony greater than musical sound” (Four 168-69). Are “out of body” experiences valid? The personality that inhabits the body can move freely. “You leave the body when asleep. You can leave it when awake. People do it unconsciously also, they often do it in a poor, haphazard fashion—half-heartedly. Not believing they have the power, they use it uncertainly. But if you decide to be in a certain place and set your mind—i.e. concentrate —on being there, you will find that you are there. The body hampers the spirit, but not to the extent of holding it in any place against its will. Certainly, you have to return to it. Be

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thankful that a day will come when you will not have to return, when you will be ever freed from it” (Four 169-70). The image, in critical exegesis now oft repeated, of working from opposite ends toward a common goal follows a complaint that scientific minds should investigate these matters, “whereas it is left to the credulous, the sentimental and those whose opinions are inherited. We [in this world] are willing to meet investigators half-way. It is a case of tunneling through darkness from opposite sides” (Four 173). When asked how he could communicate with the sensitive, he gave an answer that perhaps guides all of Finnegans Wake with its layers and cycles. He could see through objects: I can see through the globe. It is no thicker to me than falling rain. In the same way I perceive a thought, I see through it to the elements from which it sprang. I see not only where it began in the mind which formulated it, but I can see back along the chain of minds to the ultimate germ. I can then turn and observe its influences, its development, mark its growth in different minds. My perception pierces to what has been, has a full understanding of what is and can launch out into the future. A thousand years are truly as one day when you can look back and can look forward. Each of our trains of thought is enough to occupy a whole earth life—and we have many trains of thought. (Four 175-76)

The biblical advice of Matthew 7:7 found a lodgment in Stead’s experience— knock and it shall be opened: Intervening space does not exist. We may be roving the universe, as far from you as the farthest star, and your thought comes, and however far from you we may be we are just outside the door. W push it open in answer . . . . there is no doubt of your thought reaching us. Thoughts are more real than table and chairs, they are, in fact, the chief realities of the world” (Four 152-53).

Finnegans Wake frequently verifies the last concept. That such thinking opened pathways for Joyce in constructing his book should be frequently obvious. The concept that “the scrolls of the earth’s history are unrolled for us to read” (Four 177) surely applies to the beginning of Joyce’s last chapter featuring “A hand from the cloud emerges, holding a chart expanded” (593.19). Catherine Amy Dawson Scott recorded these pivotal messages forming the basis of a revolutionary literary advancement, which is Joyce’s Finnegans Wake. This “Type B” of the multiplex function accounting for the distant universe that Afterlife-Stead occupied plus additional universes “next door” may be found in text once the inquirer is alerted to it. The more common Type A multiplexity is demonstrated in the foregoing Christy Columb episode; Type B addresses the question of the “centering everywhere” of Joyce’s universe and the micro-macrocosmic trope. Similar to synec-

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doche, the novel requires sensitivity toward, if not a comprehension of the entirety sufficient to recognize Joyce’s techniques in that new information is thrust into the continuum of the Wake and requires appreciation of supporting elements from additional parts of the novel. A knowledge of the whole is necessary for judging the parts. Multiplexity assists with three prominent conversions from fact to fiction, each enabling an increased wealth of association otherwise denied in truthful biography, history, or literature. One is Joyce’s alteration of his own biographical base for his surrogate “Shem.” Instead of confining Shem to the National University, Dublin, Joyce relocates Shem’s academic credentials to Oxford in Britain, which avails “Stephen Hero” of additional associations. Decisively, the setting of Joyce’s “gowndabout” (57.25) university graduation picture relocates to Oxford among prominent literary persons and campus settings. Second, Stead’s suburban Wimbledon home and church fuse with urban Dick Whittington, for example “in a quiet English garden . . . known as Whiddington Wild” (52.10). The third substitution is repeatedly obvious: Goldsmith’s Auburn, fairest village of the plain, becomes, simply, Dublin’s Lucan and Chapelizod, the “two quitewhite villagettes” (8.03) or “Sweetsome auburn” with “fraisey beds” (265.06-08). Approaching one of the motifs from a singular perspective generally provides a unique reading, which should be true of all literature. In Finnegans Wake the fresh perspective does not castigate the former as “wrong,” but only provides further insight and engages the reader more energetically than previous literature. THE MENTAL PROCESSES Throughout, the mental process––the life of the mind or “the soul”—prevails over the physical world of omniscience gained through the senses, through improbable links basic to the Celtic riddle games. Alwyn Rees and Brinley Rees’s Celtic Heritage offers an “Epilogue” concerned with “the diverse ways myth and ritual loosen the grip of the temporal world upon the human spirit.” A type of riddle “requires finding a degree beyond the superlative,” of which a portentous question and answer frames the quintessence of Finnegans Wake: “What is swifter than the wind?” The answer is “Thought” or “your thoughts, turffers!” (342-350). Shem is “a poor acheseyeld from Ailing” of the Irish “vision” tales (148.33), and Joyce is the author of whose writing “every splurge on the vellum he blundered over was an aisling vision more gorgeous than the one before” (179.31). Spaced out in communicative words, thought rather than direct speech and action controls much of Finnegans Wake. During Shem’s testimony in the Festy King trial, Shem is precisely asked whether the world of the senses exists for him. Shem‘s reply

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epitomizes the sequential process of thought resulting in solid creativity: “he was only too cognitively conatively cogitabundantly sure of it because, living, loving, breathing and sleeping morphomelosophopancreates, as he most significantly did, whenever he thought [insert comma instead of “that”] he heard he saw he felt he made a bell clipperclipperclipperclipper” (88.07-11): a new idea has arrived. Joyce’s “Veni, vidi, vici,” weighted by his poor eyesight, is “he thought, he heard, he saw.” Afterlife-Stead proved, as well he could, that all existence was thought in his parallel universe. Mental dominance that disguises itself in speech and action takes place notably in the last chapter of the Portrait. It sustains for the author free movement in space and time; it is basic to Finn MacCool’s likeness throughout many generations; it underlies words like Issy’s “Blotsbloshblothe” (280.33) that unites time with invisible and inaudible space: a “blot” is visible that, if it “blothe” or wobbles, moves in time. A “set piece” demonstration occurs in chapter 9 (II.1), the chapter in which the children play the game called heliotrope. The “devil” Shem is set to guess the color of Issy’s “brideness,” for, naturally, guessing games require attempts to imagine the contents of an opposing player’s mind. To Harriet Shaw Weaver on 22 November 1930, Joyce wrote that “When first baffled vindictively he [Shem] thinks of publishing blackmail stuff about his father [240.5-242.24], mother [242.25-243.36] etc etc etc” (Letters I: 295). The essence of this “mental dominance” argument is that the small father-mother part of the phrase “he thinks” requires four pages, wherein thought flies as Rees and Rees knew it would. Immediately thereafter, elements of the physical world intrude on Shem’s discursive meditations (for one mental excursion, he visits the Phoenix Park zoo) until his mind resumes its present game-narrational clench with “Postreintroducing Jeremy” (246.36). Even so, Shem does not contrive a heliotrope question until after he mentally contrives a “heliotrope” answer to the riddle: “Clap your lingua to your pallet, drop your jowl with a jolt, tambourine until your breath slides, pet a pout and it’s out. Have you got me, Allysloper?” (248.08.-10). I once saw a caricature of Queen Victoria actually depicting a “tambourine slide” of the upper lip. Immediately he mentally adjoins a second riddle (248.11-14) while disregarding the game. Shem’s ego does not demand that he verbalize all of his insights for the rainbow girls. Michael Rabaté asks “Is Joyce’s method ‘sound’ or is it ‘crazy?’” (C/S 395). To answer positively, examples of Stead allusions and references may be given ad infinitum. Visitant Stead at Cambridge House séances typically announced himself “Stead here,” which Joyce adapts with clarification in Stead/HCE’s “Hello there, [I am] Bill of Old Bailey” (480.18) announcement. The British Navy’s First Sea Lord Jackie Fisher is easily overlooked as “Futtfishy the First” (480.16). A devoted confidant who was ever grateful for Stead’s The Truth about the Navy (1884), Fisher staged his “navel manuvres” (480.17) where Stead enjoyed observing them off the coast of his Hayling

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Island home; Fisher in this instance precedes and announces the ghost of Stead. Without Stead facts, Derek Attridge in “Finnegans Wake: The Dream of Interpretation” (JJQ 27; [1981]: 11-29) examines the validity of “the dream” that I have consistently opposed; however, it behooves all to keep the options open. Late in Joyce’s life, Issy’s comment on “the draym” and going into the “dreemplace” (507.06) implied discussion of the book’s success. The “dream” in this sense may be measured by Wim Van Mierlo’s view in Genetic Joyce Studies 12 (Spring 2012) that all aspects of endeavors like Rose and O’Hanlon’s The Restored Finnegans Wake have made the book “the most immense repository of history and human culture”; he concludes that “there is no such thing as the text of Finnegans Wake.” My objections are that Joyce was content that he had completed the book, and the 1939 edition remains unexplored. In the late nineteenth century there was much blustering about the grandiose “British race” that set the stage for Stephen Dedalus to create the conscience of his race. My Stead biography, titled Maiden Tribute (2007), notices in Preface that “He [Stead] was a dominant influence on Joyce, whose ‘History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake’ is universally recognized. Stead’s precedent in 1912 in Afterlife communication was “My dear friends, I know I have passed over. The past has been like a nightmare, with a sudden awakening” (E MT iii; Coates 3), awakening from life on earth after his death on the Titanic. Such should have prompted further inquiries long ago. In his “Fourfold Root” essay in Crispi and Slote, Michael Rabaté comments that the excess of references “might lead to the contention put forward by Danis Rose in his 1978 Index Manuscript and taken up again in UFW [Understanding “Finnegans Wake”] that “all the words in the Wake derive from some written source meditated by the notebooks . . . When all the sources are provided, then and only then can the text’s meaning be revealed. This might take a few centuries” (C/S 399). Naturally, Joyce did not embed all his Wakean musings in Notebooks but secluded many of them in his own mind, and the notebooks preserve no notes of his visit to England the year of his marriage (1931), a visit intended for six months. The text of the Wake and the books of Whyte and Robertson Scott encourage certainty that in Newcastle Joyce visited J. W. Robertson Scott (1866-1962), who would have been proud to share his information of W. T. Stead that he published in The Life and Death of a Newspaper and additional books. Rabaté is correct: the Stead source alone “might take a few centuries” because of the bulk, and the extent, of Stead’s prolific publications, and the obstinacy of researchers. Example after example of Steadfacts decry the confidence of “we have retrieved almost all the sources.” Stead-Earwicker’s boasting about the British race takes the form of “I am known throughout the world wherever my good Allenglisches Angleslachsen is spoken” (532.10), a conflation of two types of Stead history. Its origin was

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a reassuring note that Bramwell Booth passed to Stead across a crowded courtroom. Stead was ill and depressed when his trial at the Old Bailey in 1885 was nearing its inevitable conclusion. Bramwell Booth sent reassurances: “Wherever the English tongue is spoken the ‘Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon’ has strengthened public sentiment in favour of protecting young girls” (5 Nov 1885 PMG 12), which Joyce adapted. Booth predicted “a great new movement amongst the whole English-speaking population of the earth” (Echoes 153). In 1890 Stead targeted for his Review of Reviews “all of the English-speaking world.” A union of the English-speaking peoples was one goal of Stead’s friend Cecil Rhodes of the F.E.R.T. slogan as well. At moments one can see why the sleeping “dreamer” as narrator developed on the slim basis that Fargnoli and Gillespie quote from a letter of 24 November 1926 to Harriet Shaw Weaver, which is Joyce’s thought that a “great part of every human experience is passed in a state which cannot be rendered sensible by the use of wideawake language, cut and dry grammar and goahead plot” (Letters III, 146; Fargnoli 90) but does not exclude the language of thought. An impediment appears to be the first page of chapter 14 (III.2) in which seated Jaunty Jaun (change of name indicates change of status) fell asleep “propped up” by Constable Sackerson (429.01-24). Previously, Shaun had careened over “by the mightyfine weight of his barrel” (426.31) and rolled backward in a stream of water. In Stead’s time, containment in a barrel was prominent in caricatures of famous people, among them Prime Minister Gladstone. Why? Barrel scenes equal barrel dreams, the “dream” being the height of personal ambition that holds the subject in thrall. Gladstone in his barrel crawls toward a solution to the Irish problem, of which Stead predicted “Clause 9 will be excised holus bolus from the [Financial] bill” (Illus. R 8: 5). For Jaunty Jaun, the barrel acts as psychopomp, transporting his soul into eternity. Book III is the Afterlife book that charts the progress of Shaun’s soul. HISTORICAL REVIEW OF SOCIAL CONDITIONS This book was conceived of bilaterally on the verge of two startling revelations: (1) the prominence of W. T. Stead (1849-1912), a London journalist and reformer, and (2) the distinct, unique point of view. Uniting them is a wall of two sides, the artist-observer-interpreter’s and the builder’s, and derived from them is a corollary: the hero with a thousand faces has become an enduring but faceless hero, a Finn MacCool paradigm, his rebirth throughout the creative ages symbolized by a fragile fertilized egg. A crimped Humpty Dumpty (“Cwympty dwympty” at 314.16) falls with the ponderous social reform message, that the popular notion is inverted. The hero’s life-purpose is not a “fall,” a predictable learning-curve failure, but a reconstruction: the

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Figure 1.4. Gladstone crawls toward Home Rule as “Clause 9 will be excised holus bolus from the Financial Bill.” Shaun: “over he careened . . . by the mightyfine weight of his barrel” (426.30-31)

fragility of the social order perpetually demands urgent repair by a building supervisor and synchronizer named Earwicker. It has been maintained on a trembling divide between social stability and criminal chaos, moderated by the observer’s reforming zeal, and Stead is in the scene as a “puritysnooper” (254.21). The protective structure of laws and faith (“umbrella history”) must rebuild the wall that supports the fragile and wobbling egg of the world. The wall, in historical civilization after historical civilization, is always in process of being rebuilt: Balbus was building a wall (AP 43), from the translation book of Stephen Dedalus, or in a Stead-Joyce concoction, “Blabus was razing his wall and eltering the suzannes of his nighboors” (552.20), the latter a reference to the cartoon “Susannah and the Elders,” dedicated to a prior time

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when the Queen was caricatured riding for amusement between Lord Melbourne and Sir Robert Peel (Illus. R 15: 220). Combined with Balbus, the Stead part of “Blabus” patently cites Joseph Chamberlain who, as Secretary for the Colonies, Stead renamed Blastus from the biblical chamberlain and held him responsible for the Boer War, particularly in his second book of two books; the second in 1896 named for Chamberlain: The History in the Mystery, or the Skeleton in Blastus’s Cupboard (R 14: 374). “Blabus” survives from Lucius Cornelius Balbus in early first century BC, succeeded in 122 AD by another wallbuilder. The Emperor Hadrian began in 122 AD to build a wall across northern England “to stop aall the Picts and the Scots getting in,” which Joyce sees comprising “the united states of Scotia Picta” (43.30). Consistently a wall, like the magical caul found at birth attached to the cranium of rare individuals, was considered evidence of prior existence; a phenomenon alerts an unseen artist looking on and reaching further into the greater mystery of this life and the soul’s migration. “Only the caul knows his [god’s or hero’s] thousandfirst name” (254.19), which made great sense to W. T. Stead who recorded a bit of bibliomancy about “being called before birth to be a prophet to the nations” (R. Scott 152). Such could be met rarely, “in cycloannalism” (254.26) and signaling a new phase. Humpty’s fall was engulfed in mystery to which Joyce assigns the transitional and pivotal four-dimensional building date 1132, for which he specified sections of the Criminal Law Amendment Act that W. T. Stead almost single-handedly passed in 1885. Something uncomprehendible —criminal vice in London’s fair city, British imposition in Ireland—moved Stead to action, having shaken the social structure to its very foundation. All the statutes like the C.L.A. Act contrived by king’s men (or the hero) cannot restore the ideal kingdom, and all of them cycle in return with variations of success and failure in episodes of the unknown hero’s actions. An anonymous Englishman invading Ireland would be tainted from the outset because he arrives with the pestilent name British. It is time to put Finnegans Wake back together again. Supported in Joyce’s universe by a complex motif structure, the protagonist of the present-time is contemporarily Stead-Earwicker. Finn MacCool is the hero of legendary time, attached to the concept that his successes are reborn in persons like Stead-Earwicker. Multiplexity rules the universe. “The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon,” Stead calculated, a churchattentive and bible-reading nation would not misinterpret; children of his public recited a rhyme in which “London” had replaced “Babylon,” and the venerable “sage of Chelsea,” Thomas Carlyle, spoke of the biblical designation as commonplace for “this big Babylon of ours” (Wilson 307). “Where are you going, my pretty maid?” implied she was going into “outrage” meaning overpowering rape and a career in prostitution. He knew that the sleeping giant of moral structure demands both thunderous awakening and sustained

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legal protection. Stead aspired, and appraised it sequentially, that his newspaper “letter,” exposing pervasive socially-protected child and “maiden” criminal vice would be powerful enough to wreck the British throne, which Joyce metastasized into a Jovian clash of “ostrygods gaggin fishygods” (4.01). For this task Joyce’s Irish legendary hero Finn MacCool has absorbed the Maiden Tribute history: MacCool “had the best bunbaked bricks [Joyce had “all the words”] in bould Babylon for his pitching plays, [and] he’d be lost [of purpose] for the want of his wan wubblin [Dublin] wall” (139.12). Stead would be Joyce’s Earwicker, and the mountain of a man Earwicker would resurrect Finn MacCool. Earwicker in his own ancient mental construct, however, exhibits no conscience for doing so; he lives. One of Joyce’s initial concepts is social geography, how the environment determines character; the “humptyhillhead of humself promptly sends an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumptytumtoes” (3.20). The quest, Joseph Campbell would make known, is the essence of living. The formation of the earth and its relationship with destiny and destination contribute to arrivals in Ireland, where the story-time invader is Earwicker, whose British nature is compromised thereby. However, where there’s a will or Will [Stead], there’s a wall of opposition; that’s why he’s a hero, though only the river Liffey, on his arrival, rills his song. Sexual diseases raged rampant in Victorian London, and “maidens”— certified or certifiable virgins—promised assurance against infection. One of Stead’s articles told about a mother who allowed her diseased paramour to “cleanse himself” on the body of her ten-year-old daughter. The mistaken notion of a cure made “fresh girls” scarce for meeting the demand. Upon learning of systematically seduced maidens—destitute, frequently sold by their mothers, captured and forcibly held for sexual exploitation— pious and puritan Stead exclaimed “I’ll turn my paper into a tub” (the Dissenters’ pulpit) “and I’ll damn and damn and damn!” Joyce’s method of uniting Stead’s experience in London with his own in Dublin was to present Shem prowling Dublin’s Nighttown in search of information. While Joyce was writing the concept “Honi soit qui mal y pense,” he knew that Stead had spent a lifetime fighting such platitudes. While Stead desired most that his “Maiden Tribute” would demolish the reign of wealthy and dissolute “gentlemen” (the perpetrators of sexual crime) were startled and incredulous to be informed of anything indecent or “improper” about their “appetite for the immature.” Many gentlemen Londoners shared the sentiments of the poet Ernest Dowson who complained of the new C.L.A. law that “This beastly thing has left a sort of slimy trail over my holy places” (NS 19: 6-11). Dowson and other prominent persons like the novelist M. P. Shiel (Billings 286-87) blamed Stead personally and the Salvation Army secondly for passage of the C.L.A. law, which was called “Stead’s law.” Lord Snell of the Union of Ethical Societies witnessed demands that Stead be punished for

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benefitting the empire: “England was stripped naked and shamed before the world and she did not like it.” When Stead proved that “girl children could be bought from their parents in London and sold to rich men for seduction . . . there was a savage cry of resentment against the man who had exposed the loathsome traffic. Everybody was moved to wrath on one side or the other, and the ‘music halls,’ ever ready to collect malodorous profits, inflamed the tempers of their patrons with patriotic guff, accompanied with as much lubricity as could safely be introduced into rhyme and gesture” (Lord Snell 178-79). Stead was willing to martyr himself and gladly accepted a jail sentence and the honor of upholding “the majesty of the law.” His declaration brought him into compliance with the Dublin city motto (tr) “The Obedience of Citizens is the Happiness of the City.” Accused of abduction and “indecent assault” (the midwife’s examination of Eliza), Stead was not permitted to read his defense speech at trial. In his publication, he emphasized and reiterated that “never in word or deed was the purity of the child [Eliza Armstrong] assailed.” This was a “pious and pure” sexual war that Stead was waging, for which purpose Joyce captured Vico’s phrase “pia et pura belle.” Joyce brilliantly disguised the Stead source while peppering his text with Stead’s adjectival common name “steady,” repeated steadily at “studiavimus” (306.11), his biography, acquaintances, locations, and publications. By “taking the king’s shilling”—compensation for enlistment—the Irish soldier swore to serve the enemy British cause. “Poor the/le pay!” (9.32) writes Joyce: Poor Nation! Dublin Castle was headquarters for the armed Royal Irish Constabulary operating a depot in Phoenix Park and serving in conjunction with the Dublin Metropolitan Police. These were combined with “thousands of troops living in Dublin in at least eight barracks across the city,” of which Richmond Barracks in Inchicore maintained 1600 soldiers plus a hospital; sources other than the National Archives list as many as fifteen British Military barracks (often rented houses) plus recruiting stations. A Royal Irish Artillery was quartered in Chapelizod from 1755 to 1777, when it embarked for the seminal revolution in North America. In Joyce’s time, the troops in Dublin and environs did not “disappoint” the thousands of prostitutes “seeking business” with soldiers and policemen and exchanging diseases. Among the soldiers, Joyce places at Waterloo the English Coldstream Guards, Scots Highlanders, Welsh Davys, and made the lascivious three spying soldiers a “Tommix” (British mix) of three regiments illustrated in a recruitment poster that caught the eye of editor Stead (Illus. R 12: 173). The poster of a Highlander in kilt, an English Lifeguard in Wellington boots, and a Connaught Ranger posed in front of a “Union for Ever” banner may have inspired Joyce to cast the otherwise singular “unlikelihood” of three soldiers companionably representing three distinct regiments. An

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“ex-officer” assured Stead that “policemen and soldiers between them ruin more girls than any other class of men in London” (10 Jul 1885 PMG 2). Surveying prostitutes, the National Archives does not estimate the vast numbers in Dublin but declaims “For all the condemnation of their occupation, the women were generally considered to be decent, unfortunate, and kind, forced into a life in the streets through circumstances.” Stead’s researches numbered prostitutes in London at “probably not much below 50,000 strong” (6 Jul PMG 2). Stead’s fearless eagerness to honor the prostitutes with whom he sympathized led to his most self-condemnatory passage of the Maiden Tribute authenticating the accuracy and the extent of his evidence. Stead’s “sin in the park,” literally committed in the minds of naysayers who believed he could not humanly “investigate” without advantaging

Figure 1.5. A Recruitment poster’s three divisions of soldiers range through Phoenix Park “Three tommix soldiers, free” (58.24) (R 12:173)

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himself of the ready “maidens,” was authentic in London locations that he specified, and its pallid detective nature an attempt to elicit information. He recited the geographic range of his research in London: most of the favorite rendezvous of harlots, the Ratcliff-highway, the Quadrant and St. James’s Park, the Serpentine pond, Leicester-square and the Strand, Mile-end-road and the Tower, and Hyde Park (10 Jul PMG: 3). With his keen eye for telltale incongruities, Joyce coveted specific reasons for recalling these and additional London facts. A very perceptive criticism of Finnegans Wake is that of the American Celtic scholar John V. Kelleher, who found himself at the end of his patience after spending many hours on the book. He objects that Joyce uses only the “lesser elements” of a high tragedy like that of Cú Chulainn’s duel with Fer Diad, because tragedy does not “fit the method of the Wake” and we are given the tragic elements “in parody and mocking comedy, a sort of immensely clever pop art depiction of the themes of tragedy, all very funny but in the long run curiously dissatisfying” (70). Kelleher labels Joyce’s technique exactly as many readers experience it. Had Kelleher possessed a computer and maneuverability through the text, I feel that the motifs would have rescued him from despair; a person so well informed as himself would have discovered satisfying traces and perhaps the “history of the world” as Joyce intended. How to exploit a tragedy for purposes of humor is a particular phase of Joyce’s talent for appropriating historic incidents for comedy, although as a comedy it has lost much its asperity today. Often startling applications of Joyce’s seriocomic history occupy spaces in this “Encryption” book and with the guidance of the Stead source inspire a taste for the challenging facts of Finnegans Wake still to be resolved.

Chapter Two

The Predication of the Portrait’s “Good Man” W. T. Stead

James Joyce was a locksafe of secrets personal and private that he stored in the pages of Finnegans Wake. An ostensible, confided, fact would content family members and friends who believed they held thereby the key to empowerment; and comprehending the novel was too implausible for them to forage further among the thousands of fragments in notebooks and, eventually, the published pieces. His wife Nora was the only person to whom he confided the title of Work in Progress. His daughter Lucia believed she was the subject of Finnegans Wake. His son Georgio played no active part that gained notice until the final years when his nearly blind father engaged Giorgio’s assistance in proofreading. His patron Harriet Shaw Weaver was appeased by the thousands of pages he sent to her with brief explanations, the bulk of which now form the trove in the British Library. Privileged sharers like Samuel Beckett composed the jury of twelve intellectuals surrounding Joyce‒‒Marcel Brion, Frank Budgen, Stuart Gilbert, Eugene Jolas, Victor Llona, Robert McAlmon, Thomas McGreevy, Elliot Paul, John Rodker, Robert Sage, the “American” William Carlos Williams‒‒all of whom achieved several breakthrough explanations with the collective Our Exagmination round His Factification for Incamination of Work in Progress (1929). Beckett condensed the thesis of Giambattista Vico and Stuart Gilbert initiated the present system of anchoring an explanation in a single quoted word or phrase. Gilbert absorbed from Joyce himself the view that the entirety is a unified document to which Joyce’s affixing of “cabalistic signs (which at the time I knew by rote) indicating their referents” planted evidence of his faith in the work as a unified whole (Letters I, 29-30), the signs that Roland McHugh assayed in The Sigla of Finnegans Wake. While Joyce was striving for a 51

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synthesis of universal knowledge, and guarding his secrets, he kept rigid control of Herbert Gorman’s “authorized” biography, first withdrawing authorization for it in 1933 because of delays, then, in 1939, when Paul Leon arbitrated for the publisher, as Ellmann quotes him, Joyce “could not authorise the publication of your [Gorman’s] biography of him without having in his possession for perusal and comparison the entire set of the typescript and of course the subsequent proofs and requesting the immediate dispatch of the other chapters” (JJ 724). Two topics urgently in question were Joyce’s marriage and his father. A topic that thoroughly escaped notice, probably because it was accustomed at this stage in Joyce’s professional life, was a finalword fetish, a word that Joyce chose as carefully for the Portrait as he did for Ulysses. Joyce’s father, “Pappie,” for reasons set forth here, was at an early date an obstacle in the way of the final word. The chief purpose of this chapter is the significance of the heretoforeneglected ending of the Portrait, “Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead.” A clear tribute to W. T. Stead, its origin is somewhat ambiguous but engages a discussion of “Pappie’s” faith in Jesuit education and W. T. Stead’s alternative experience in education at home. Popular faith in Thomas Carlyle’s origination of the phrase “Tell that good man Stead to get on with his work” is not borne out by either record or circumstances. Attendant issues are Stead’s views of family propagation and the influence of spiritualism. Logically, in the total perspective there is more than one good man, and Finnegan’s Wake consistently pushes the boundaries outward. Old Fox Goodman tolls the bells in the speckled church in Chapelizod and a “goodmantrue” (403.22) follows the nighttime steps of Shaun. There is a spirit abroad that Stead sensed by the Alban Lake that linked all of Jove’s creation while the light Joyce sees is being carried beside Lough Neagh. Richard Ellmann has detailed the assistance of Benoist-Méchin, the translator of “Penelope” in Ulysses, in “testing out” the final word Yes and Joyce’s concession that the book “must end with the most positive word in the human language.” Joyce noticed that “Nobody seems inclined to present me to the world in my unadorned prosaicness” (JJ 522); he is famous for inserting “enigmas and puzzles” to keep “the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that’s the only way of assuring one’s immortality” (JJ 521). Fourteen or fifteen years later, he answered Max Eastman “with a disarming smile, ‘To keep the professors busy for three hundred years’” (JJ 703). Still, with so much prescience, the professors forgot to look at the ending of the Portrait, wherein Joyce excelled in his “prosaicness,” which was inaugurated within the straightjacket of Stephen Hero. Among several types of Stead’s position in Stephen Hero, McCann is a steadfast reader of Stead’s Review of Reviews (SH 39) and previews the Portrait’s scene honoring the Tsar of Russia (SH 112-15). Emma asks Stead’s question to elicit his central purpose: “Are you a believer in the

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emancipation of women too?” (SH 153). Stephen’s anger and frustration with Pappie surges to denouncing Pappie: “We cannot educate our fathers” and he begins to avoid his father’s “presumptions [that are] the most deadly part of a tyranny” (SH 209). Upon learning of the tyranny waged by the President (of the University) in forbidding the reading of Stephen’s paper to McCann’s debating society, Daedalus accosts the President and learns to his surprise that Ibsen and Maeterlinck “profess their atheistic doctrines and fill the minds of their readers with all the garbage of modern society” (SH 91). That the President alludes to Stead among “the half-educated journalism of the present day” is clarified with Stephen’s impulse to boast, “Excuse me for five minutes while I send a telegram to Christiania” (94). Stead was the only journalist attending the interparliamentary meeting in Christiania in 1899 to signify the Peace Conference, which Ibsen attended “copiously decorated” (R 20: 257-64). Stead followed with enthusiasm the careers of Emile Zola and Henrik Ibsen, of whom Ibsen was the “most radical living apostle of the emancipation of women” (R 2: 363). Reviewing the Fortnightly Review each month, Stead fathered the first brief and possibly only review of the young Joyce’s essay “Ibsen’s New Drama” (Illus. R 21: 372). Still, his goal of social reform and his original approaches, including his “Be a Christ” doctrine, which Joyce shortens to “christlikeness” (33.29), lent a whiff of suspicion and in-

Figure 2.1. Stead’s “review” of Joyce’s essay “Ibsen’s New Drama”

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credulity to lesser mortals. That is, his chain of positive reviews of Zola’s work embroiled him post mortem in controversy concerning the publisher Henry Vizetelly, as presented in Madder Music, Stronger Wine: The Life of Ernest Dowson by Jad Adams, relating a poison of Stead unfacts promoted by Vizetelly’s son Ernest (NS 19: 6-11). By the time Joyce was writing the paper that became Stephen Hero in 1904 (Ellmann JJ 147) he was well familiar with Stead’s controversial positions. That Stead is often vilified in current productions in which his name appears only briefly is the world’s strongest evidence that the subjects he attacked, such as abuse of women, could paint him with the same brush, the assumption that he committed abuse of women or other nefarious deeds. Stead accepted vilification of himself as a necessary component of destroying favorite postures of his public while he was seeking to improve their citizenship, and such has been accomplished recently in a popular book of “literary criticism.” Smut sells to an eager cadre of reviewers, and they become party to disinformation. As Estelle Stead phrased it, Stead’s faith was “spiritual rather than devotional” (E. Stead 4), of which Joyce of the Portrait finalized his crossover by refusing his Easter duty. Blindly advocating Jesuit education may have been Pappie’s greatest failing. THE STEAD FAMILY ALTERNATIVE TO PAPPIE’S JESUIT FAITH Insisting upon the Jesuits for the best education possible, Pappie, unfortunately, lacked a sensible appraisal of education. That the Jesuits could not be trusted to educate a son in matters of the world’s great competing minds was made painfully clear to the young Stephen Daedalus of Stephen Hero. The opposite was Stead’s view: “Culture, according to Matthew Arnold, consists in knowing the best thoughts of the best men upon the subjects that come before us.” The “best thoughts of the best men” became a slogan for Stead’s Review of Reviews (R 1: 14). His initial address “To All English-Speaking Folk” rather extinguishes the logic of Pappie’s singular pride; Stead compared his goals with “what the Catholic Church in its prime was to the intelligence of Christendom.” Enlisting “the co-operation” of his faithful readers, Stead established a “common centre for the inter-communication of ideas” (R 1: 15) and relied on his subscribers to report news and to conduct surveys; one survey was Hymns That Have Helped (1895). With readers’ resources and his own, Stead would bring all of the world’s knowledge within reach while making accessible a large number of selections from the best magazines of the world. In 1908 Brown and Nolan in Dublin brought out a new edition, the Rev. Timothy Hurley’s A Commentary on the Present Index Legislation; it discusses terms but offers no list of forbidden books.

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Only five short years lapsed between Stead’s audacious, salacious “Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon” in 1885 and commencement of the Review of Reviews in 1890. In those years the Pall Mall Gazette was instilling Stead’s liberal notions within the confines of the owner’s judgments; in the Review of Reviews Stead was master. Under heading “Reminiscences,” Estelle presents five chapters of Stead’s Autobiography and then composes the remainder from sources that match the Autobiography in intent and style. Formally educated for only two years at age fourteen to sixteen, Stead was almost from birth tutored by his Congregationalist minister father and was reading in the Old Testament before the age of five, learned the Latin grammar before the English, and learned to read French. (E. Stead 18). He was as thoroughly indoctrinated in the Congregational faith as was Joyce in the Irish Catholic faith, with the difference that “The Congregationalists [were] the heirs of Cromwell and Milton and the Pilgrim Fathers, and the representatives of extreme Democracy which knows neither male nor female, and makes the votes of the whole Church the supreme and only authority in the [local] Church” (E. Stead 24). No book was ever forbidden. Unlike Stephen of the Portrait being set upon by colleagues with a cane and a cabbage stump to extract admission that “Byron was no good” (AP 82), the child Stead was early “devoted to Scott and Byron, which were amongst the reading books from which I learned to read” (E. Stead 9). He attended for two years at age twelve to fourteen Silcoates school, a modest Congregationalist structure less presumptive of gentleman-status than Joyce’s Clongowes but graduating famous and distinguished alumni. Although Stead first wrote the eulogy titled “My Father” in 1884, probably Joyce would not profit from a full disclosure of the father merits until 1908. By this time Joyce would have seen much of the elder Stead’s principles and methods being lived daily and publicly in print by the father’s son W. T. Stead; this provided a stark contrast with the parenting tactics of Pappie, who spoke of his children as “niggers” as companions to a dog named Nigger, lending a personal element to Shem’s designating himself a “hambone dogpoet” (177.21). Joyce’s Shem retreats from Pappie into his “Haunted Inkbottle,” dejected with “jesuit bark and bitter bite” (182.36). His “pawdry’s [“Pappie’s] purgatory was more than a nigger bloke could bear” (177.04). In Stead’s childhood home, each child was deemed a gift from God. Stead and his wife Emma prayed that she might conceive a daughter for the sixth child. Anna Livia remembers her spouse ”blowing off to me . . . what wouldn’t you give to have a girl! Your wish was mewill. And, lo out of a sky!” (620.26-27) the prayer was answered. Upon the sudden death of his son Willie at age thirty-five in December, 1907, W. T. Stead brought out “My Father, My Son” in January 1908, utilizing his “My Father” eulogy from the Jarrow Guardian in 1884, telling how he modeled his family after his father. In the tiny home, in the town blackened by industrial fumes, the father’s crowded study was playroom, school-

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room, and bedroom for the young Stead possessing a tiny cot: “Every moment he could spare from his study [for his sermons] was ours. We were always with him.” His father began the day with hearing their spelling as he lit the fire while they lay in bed. His sister was educated equally with himself, brother and sister contending for the highest of awards, a position on the father’s knee; he taught the children Latin “almost as soon as we could read, and we were reading in the Old Testament before we were five. I learned the Latin grammar before the English, and well I remember my disgust when I first discovered that in English the substantive had only three cases, as against the six of Latin.” Eventually religious discussion divided the children’s opinions; the sister represented Arminianism‒‒ “the gospel and the miraculous; I led the party in favour of Calvinism, natural law and rationalism.” Stead remembered that “No question was too absurd to be disregarded; no theory too wild not to be treated with kindness. Our father could not sneer, least of all at the blunders of a child.” Each child was taught that his or her opinion was worth having: “the only unpardonable thing was not to have an opinion at all.” To train the mind and stimulate thought, to inculcate the “practice of debate, and training the intellect to detect flaws in argument, at the Sunday morning breakfast each child was required to recite and interpret a memorized verse of Scripture, which often occasioned debate that “became a miniature bear garden.” The children were required to listen to their father’s sermon, remember the “leading points” to recite at home, and later to take notes. Stead’s brother Herbert taught himself shorthand in this way. Memorization of leading points accounted for Stead’s career success in interviews; he did not take notes but wrote or dictated the contents later. Here, it appears, Stead constructed the ending of the Portrait: “the habit of taking a condensed précis of a speech or sermon stood me in good stead in after life.” Under the table on which the Minister was writing his sermons, the child constructed stables for his toy horses using “Hume and Smollett’s calfbound History of England.” The father had served his pastoral apprenticeship “as a cutler in a Sheffield forge” and was “never at a loss to make what he could not buy”: he made their swing and first kites, carved their first bat and taught them how to play cricket and how to fish; he built a rocking horse, taught them archery and drawing, eventually enhanced by a gift box of paints. He sketched the first illustration for the newspaper and his jail sketches for My First Imprisonment (Illus), one of which is his cell, “the wee ftofty [the candle sputters] od/odd room” to which Joyce attached Punch’s “A Brown Study.” The children learned the manufacture of gunpowder “and making squibs” or sparklers and firing toy cannons. Once a leaden bullet Stead had made from an old key and fired from the toy “perforated a hole as round as a pea” through a pane of glass. His father’s sense of humor often exploded in “Homeric laughter”; yet he taught Stead to walk humbly, never to think too much of himself (R 37: 18-33). Without anticipating becoming a convict

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himself, Stead first learned of the convict system from his father. During his two years at Silcoates School, he was “radicalized” in favor of the United States by the headmaster, a far cry from the Portrait’s “Mr Tait.” The brilliant Dr. Bewglass, a fellow student wrote, “traced the course of Sherman, Sheridan, and Grant across the map of the United States . . . How his eyes flashed and his face glowed as he taught us to hate the wrong, to love the right, and defend it at all cost . . . and how greatly through Stead and many others, he influences the world to-day!” (Whyte I: 17). By 1891 the novelist Grant Allen had declared Stead “an apostle of Celtism in England” (Whyte II: 34). In addition to the unverified “sin in the park” attributed to Earwicker, Stead-Earwicker abides unwelcome in Ireland as an Irish “stepashore” visitor and sustains himself by operating a grocery store selling cheap goods at high prices (see Persse O’Reilly [46.1-4]); his social status never improves, and he remains the “unnamed nonirishblooder that becomes a Greenislender overnight!” (378.11) which acknowledges Stead’s numerous overnight visits to Ireland from England to interview activists concerning Irish politics and conditions. In 1898 he and Mrs. Stead toured the extent of Ireland commemorating their wedding anniversary for his writing an 80-page polemical “century of wrong” titled The Century of 1798 and Its Bearing on the Practical Politics of To-Day. He was particularly inflamed against the quartering of British soldiers in tiny Irish cabins. It was well for Stead that Silcoates strengthened the faith of the home and the guidance of Lowell: “The idea that everything wrong in the world was a divine call, to use your life in righting it, sank deep into my soul” (E. Stead 49) and guided policies at the Review of Reviews, where one of the slogans changed only the tense: “Everything wrong in the world is a divine call to use your life in righting it.” While the “soul” of Stephen Dedalus is wordfully present over thirty times in the Portrait’s last chapter, directed toward Joyce’s lust for escape through literary fame, Stead’s prayer for his own soul was diverted to serving the suffering public. The father made the children feel that to neglect duty was “flying in the face of the law of the universe, as to neglect to breathe” (E. Stead 18). In easy stages Stead’s experiences, which were being transferred to Joyce’s illumination, began during a teenage bout with blindness that fostered serious questioning how bands of love and service could promote brotherhood (E. Stead 30-31). Upon winning a prize of books that brought him James Russell Lowell’s “Pious Editor’s Creed,” he discovered his vocation. Lowell’s editor mounted a pulpit daily “with a congregation of fifty thousand within reach of his voice,” and the Bible “the open volume of the world.” The editor “would be the Moses of our nineteenth century,” finding his “tables of the new law here among factories and cities in this wilderness of Sin (Exodus 16: 1) called the Progress of Civilisation.” He would be “the

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captain of our Exodus into the Canaan of a truer social order” (E. Stead 6263). The editorial “Progress of the World” began each month’s issue of the Review of Reviews. The “Maiden Tribute” exposed Stead’s intimate acquaintance with Earwicker-type sins in the park and the abuse of “maidens” in the sex trade. Part of the Victorian public, shamed and dismayed and titillated, immediately judged Stead a perpetrator instead of investigator. Some said he had a “passion for abuse,” which he expressed in favoring Cromwell above the divine figure of Jesus of Nazareth: “Cromwell was so near, so human, and so real. And above all, he was still the mark for hatred, scoffing and abuse. You never really love anyone to the uttermost until you feel that other people hate him and misjudge him” (Whyte I: 18). THE “GOOD MAN STEAD” IN THE PORTRAIT Exactly what artifice Stead imparted to win “the good man Stead” acclamation may be traced in the sudden intellectual maturity of Stephen Dedalus, expressed in Stephen Hero and the Portrait. In 1898 Stead prowled the Vatican environs for three weeks seeking answers to his “Threefold Question” concerning the English language, Socialism, and Woman. Stead faulted the Roman Church for having “carried the worship of celibacy so far as to seem to cast a slur upon the sacrament of marriage” (Letters Vatican 30-31). Without awareness of Cardinal Manning’s marriage, Stephen’s fellow student Temple demands of Stephen concerning the prefect of the college sodality, “Do you know that he is a married man? He was a married man before they converted him . . . By hell, I think that’s the queerest notion I ever heard!” (199). Letters from the Vatican ran in thirteen segments, syndicated in Dublin in the Freeman’s Journal (Pope 18) and reprinted under title The Pope and the New Era (1889, 1890). The work was certain to release a burden from Stephen’s mind. A Protestant could rightfully investigate Catholicism, for “The key to all right understanding is true sympathy,” even though “one’s forefathers have died in battle, and perished at the stake, in protest against a system which, by the inexorable logic of the law of its existence, would, if it ever again had the chance, drive you into armed revolt, if it did not stifle you by irresistible force” (Pope 8). Stephen reminds Cranly that Giordano Bruno was “terribly burned” (AP 249) and answers Cranly’s question “do you fear the God of the Roman catholics would strike you dead and damn you” for a sacrilegious communion? Stephen replies “The God of the Roman catholics could do that now” (AP 243). Stephen, filled with Stead’s teaching, has found an outlet in lecturing his friends, and accepts that the present promises a new approach: “A new Catholicity has dawned upon the world. All religions are now recog-

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nized as essentially Divine. They represent the different angles at which Man looks at God” (Pope 13). Cranly responds to Stephen’s desire to close the discussion: “The church is not the stone building nor even the clergy and their dogmas. It is the whole mass of those born into it” (AP 245). Under the Church’s colors “march two hundred millions of our brothers and sisters” (Pope 9), Stead preached. Stephen fears “the chemical action [of] . . . a false homage to a symbol behind which are massed twenty centuries of authority and veneration” (AP 243). Among examples of “christlikeness,” Robertson Scott cites Stead’s refusal of a libel action saying “I would not take legal proceedings if it were stated that I had killed my grandmother and eaten her,” to which the biographer reacts: “Stead was big. He would have welcomed to his sanctum, with equal vivacity and the office cup of tea, Gabriel and Judas” and then dictate an accurate account of the interview (R. Scott 82). Following Stead’s campaign to reverse the British government’s policies opposing Russia and assisting the blood-ravenous Turks who were slaughtering the helpless Bulgarians in 1876, he felt “the clear call of God’s voice. ‘Arouse the nation or be damned’” and “felt that like Jacob I had met the angel of God and I did not know but that I might have a lifelong limp in consequence.” He wrote “dozens of letters a day, appealing, exhorting, entreating and at last I roused the North.” Eventually Gladstone’s pamphlet, Bulgarian Horrors and the Question of the East (1876), which mentioned the Pall Mall Gazette, helped to persuade the government to reverse its position and blessed Stead with a feeling his work was “crowned and assumed by other hands” (R. Scott 104). As if conforming to Stead’s “Be a Christ” doctrine, analogists saw something of the thunder of Christ’s turning the money changers out of the temple when Stead reacted to the “Dogger Bank” incident in 1904; all but two editors in London advocated war. Stead attacked the dominant remaining twenty-one all at once and denounced their unthinking “Gramophone voice.” Stead’s synopsis of each of the 126 articles that the Gramophone network published during the Dogger week rather proved his thesis. Years later, in 1909 when Harmsworth printed an apology for another false threat, Stead pardoned him: “We should never allow the sin of yesterday to stand in the way of accepting the service of to-day” (R 39: 497). The Review of Reviews lived its motto “The union of all who love in the service of all who suffer.” The Methodist Times during the Tribute week advanced that Stead “has done what we believe Jesus Christ would have done in his place” (11 Jul PMG 12). The Rev. Hugh Price Hughes assented that Stead was “one man who was both able and willing to do what Christ would have done if He had been in his place (13 Jul PMG 12). Alert always for the divine afflatus that he called the “Senior Partner,” Stead at Holloway prison was attempting guidance of a poor girl who wrote to him, when his mind was impressed with the message “Why are you telling

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that girl to be a Christian? Never tell anyone any more to be a Christian. Always tell them to be a Christ” because “The word Christian has become a mere label covering much of self, little of Christ.” Christ Himself would be “mortal sick at the way people, who call themselves by His name, go bowing and scraping and singing to a dead idol which they call Christ, and giving all the glory to Christ . . . Jesus would stand up some day in the middle of the church and just say two words, ‘Damn Christ!’ And then He would go out and go down some slum and put His arms round the neck of some poor lost orphan girl, who was having a bitter cry, and say ‘Come unto Me, all ye that are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.’” Joyce applies Stead’s objection to Christian hypocrisy: “an Anglican ordinal, not reading his own dunsky tunga [Danish tongue], may ever behold the brand of scarlet on the brow of her of Babylon and feel not the pink one [the Sporting Times] in his own damned cheek” (185.10-13). Or the sentiment of Sylvia Silence: “It would be a skarlot shame to jailhim in lockup” (60.04-05). Not devotions but spirituality would accomplish Christ’s work. The transference from Stead to Joyce occurs as well in small increments. Made in Germany (AP 226) was a book by E. E. Williams (1896) that Stead viewed with growing alarm for Britain’s industrial supremacy. Near to direct quotation is Stead’s comment on the possibility of the Church restoring the Caesars: “Let the dead past bury its dead” (Pope 28). With this thought, Stephen resolves a personal issue: “21 March, night: Let the dead bury the dead. Ay. And let the dead marry the dead” (AP 248). The Daedalian purpose of the Portrait’s closing words resourced Stead’s aspiration for the Maiden Tribute, made conspicuous in the second paragraph of the first issue: “These revelations . . . cannot fail to rouse the conscience of the English people” (6 Jul 1885 PMG 1). Joyce as author set his personal goal: “I go . . . to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race” (AP 253). Structurally, Stead’s “christlike” mentality absorbs the pubkeeping duties of the hero Earwicker. Book I of Finnegans Wake could well be titled “The Hero’s Servus Servorum,” based on Stead’s definition of a publican as “a man who serves the public. It is the modern equivalent of the servus servorum of the old Popes. Unlike all the other names, it suggests no authority. It is a term of contumely rather than a title of honour. That is as it should be. I am a publican—yes, a sinner also, God knows! And why should I not be called by my proper name?” (Stead, Here 23). Joyce created a publican, an innkeeper named Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker, accused of sexual sin, to be his Everyman hero (595.34-596.33), a person desiring to serve but maligned and misunderstood.

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TRACKING THE THOMAS CARLYLE CREDITS Much energy has been diverted to the notion that Thomas Carlyle originated “Tell that good man Stead to get on with his work.” An intrepid online British scholar has boldly footnoted Hansard and the Gladstone papers in the British Library, neither of which expresses this Stead compliment. During the week following the Maiden Tribute, Stead summarized the Parliamentary debates about the Criminal Law Amendment Bill, particularly in their most outrageous forms by the most vocal opponents of reform Cavendish Bentinck and W. H. Smith; the latter was a member of the Cabinet as Minister of War, for which Raymond Shultz correctly footnoted “Hansard’s Parliamentary Debates, 3d ser., vol. 298 (1885): pp. 1827-28)” (Crusader 137). Additional authors cite Carlyle for the “good man” sentence without attribution, although “the sage of Chelsea” would have been particularly aggrieved by the implication that he chose Gladstone for messenger boy. While Stead viewed Carlyle as “one of the Gods of a shadowy Olympus,” Carlyle viewed Gladstone as “one of the contemptiblest men I ever looked on” (Froude 452). Meantime, Carlyle lost the writing function of his right hand in 1871 and scorned dictation, though he attempted both minimally thereafter de rigueur. Particularly Carlyle was incensed by Gladstone’s Irish Education Bill, which from the beginning seemed “the consummation of contemptibilities and petty trickeries on his part, one of the most transparent bits of thimblerigging to secure the support of his sixty Irish votes, [which are] the Pope’s brass band, and to smuggle the education violin into the hands of [Archbishop] Cullen and the sacred sons of Belial and the scarlet woman, I had ever seen from him before” (Froude 452). Stead’s personal acquaintance with Carlyle began with impetuous getthe-facts Stead promptly calling upon Carlyle at Cheyne Row when he read that in Shooting Niagara Carlyle seemed to imagine penny editors resenting his concept of “local kingship.” A “half-penny” (the price of Stead’s paper) editor himself, Stead visited for clarification and soon investigated further Carlyle’s idea that once was called “noblesse oblige.” There were two more of those “interviews” and an impressive social engagement at Madame Novikoff’s hotel at which Stead met Gladstone, A. W. Kinglake, James Anthony Froude, James Stansfeld, Lord Courtney, Count Beust, Matthew Arnold “and a host of other notables” (E. Stead 72). Carlyle denounced the Turks in a fashion that led directly into Stead’s campaign against the Bulgarian atrocities; he continued to quote Carlyle frequently as the years advanced. Carlyle’s idea of unclassed majesty inspired Stead’s Fifty Years of the House of Lords” (1894), plus “The Wasted Wealth of King Demos” (R 8: 190-99) to show how the Lords should apply themselves and their wealth to social reform. Hence Joyce defends Earwicker after a summary of “his detractors” with “To anyone who knew and loved the christlikeness of the big clean-

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minded giant H. C. Earwicker throughout his excellency [in the ranks of King Demos] long vicefreegal existence the mere suggestion of him as a lustsleuth nosing for trouble in a boobytrap rings particularly preposterous” (33.28-32). “Lustsleuth” leads to “Sherlook is lorking for him” (534.31). Supporting “puritas of doctrina,” (31.23) Stead analyzed himself “I am fortunately dowered with a temperament which is almost absurdly optimistic. To see a great evil or a terrible peril clearly is a sure prophecy that the time has come to strike a great blow against the evil or to ward off the threatened danger” (Whyte I: 148). Whyte interprets this: “he never spared either his time or his purse in his efforts to help . . . the less fortunate of his fellowmen” (Whyte I: 105). Several people observed that Stead at the Pall Mall Gazette did the work of two or three men: “There were three men in him” (113.14), the midden hen conveys. His son Henry described an inexhaustible energy: “I have seen him absolutely done up after forty-eight hours, without a chance of a moment’s rest, lie down for an hour and get up refreshed and ready to start again” (356). It was possible but not plausible that Carlyle could have commented to someone “Tell that good man Stead to get on with his work.” Carlyle was deceased in 1881, and the “good” defending Stead’s Maiden Tribute “filth” swirled among letters to the editor the month of July in 1885, at the time part of the public’s certainty of inoculation against morality was counterbalanced by others acclaiming its inculcation of morality. Commonly, the letters adopted Stead’s phrasing, with strong emphasis on letting in the light. On Thursday of the week, while Stead was waiting for additional evidence before bringing out the last and fourth installment on the fifth day, he grouped approvals and disapprovals under “Public Feeling.” A “Liberal peer” saw “the cause of Christ,” after which came similar acclamations: the “grand good work,” “Go on, Sir, in the good work,” “Go on till good comes of this,” “You are doing a good work,” and from this stimulus to evil, “a subsequent good will come.” Among disclaimers were “from this vilest of vile brothel literature, a pecuniary success,” there is “no good purpose polluting [your] pages” (9 Jul 1885 PMG 3-6). The “good man” obviously expressed the Zeitgeist, there was such a need for it. The nearest Carlyle came to the famous phrasing appears to have been the words of Froude on the death of Carlyle’s wife Jane: “Carlyle knew at last how it was with her, and had to go on with his work as he could” (Froude 294). In Finnegans Wake, simple words like “bedst”‒‒in phrases “like my good bedst friend” (356.26), “he warrs the best” (531.05) by advocating arbitration, and “booty [souvenirs] with the bedst” (560.20)‒‒reflect the common sentiment. Unconquered W. E. Henley, author of “Invictus,” needed a victim for his painful sacrifice and nicknamed Stead “Bedstead.” Earwicker escapes from “this country of exile, sloughed off, sidleshomed via the subterranean [submarine] shored with bedboards, stowed away and ankered in a dutch

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bottom tank the Arsa, hod S.S. Finlandia/Holland” (98.05-07 Illus. R 22: 72 and Daily Paper 7 Jan. 1904: 3). A good “heartfelt” gesture occurred on the Wednesday that Stead and his staff were barricaded in the office by “The Siege of Northumberland Street” (Illus. Schults 140, 144), spontaneously formed by eager mobs attempting to buy cheap and sell dear. The crowd was “obscene,” said some, a charge Stead refuted by an example: “A well-known clergyman [Benjamin Waugh] was forcing his way manfully down the street. He reached the door in safety. Whilst craving admission one of the crowd came up to him with ‘’Ere’s y’re wipe, Guvnor. If you’ve been in this business, you ain’t a bad sort.’ Therewith he made over the parson’s handkerchief which had been extracted during his passage through the crowd” (9 Jul PMG 6). The parson was Benjamin Waugh, Honorary Secretary of the London Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and a close friend of Stead; and therewith, because of the injustice of Stead’s trial and conviction, he contributed the phrase ending the Portrait. The cover of Waugh’s pamphlet of 49 pages features “William T. Stead; A Life for the People and in large caps “That Good Man Stead” concluded with a dash and “Thomas Carlyle” in small caps. Two-thirds down the page Waugh printed his grievance for Stead: “Sent to Prison, November 10th, 1885.” No doubt Waugh truthfully believed Carlyle had spoken those words, but he knew not where or when. The Bow Street hearings convened on 7 September; Stead was released from Holloway jail on 18 January 1886. Waugh, who edited Sunday Magazine, begins his pamphlet with familiar attitudes and events of Stead’s childhood and advances rapidly to the “hubbub,” which Joyce places in “Edenborough” (29.35), a bit of satire in that true patriots proclaimed it such. Waugh quotes the phrase attributed to Carlyle and adds “That name of Carlyle’s was the explanation of it all.” Waugh reviews Stead’s initial discussions with Howard Vincent, “an ex-head of the Criminal Investigation Department,” that ended with Stead’s vehemence to “raise hell,” and his conversation with Waugh who led him immediately to the little girl of four suffering nightmares of rape whose perpetrators except one escaped because of a legality: she could not understand “the nature of an oath” [Illus. “One of the Victims” 8 Jul 1885 PMG 2]. The visit climaxed with Stead’s vow to turn his paper into a tub, which Joyce appropriated Swiftly and Sternely in “one yeastyday he sternely struxk his tete in a tub” (4.22). Of this Charles Terrot renders a firsthand account in a chapter headed “That Good Man, Stead.” Upon Stead’s hearing of child molestation for the first time he burst out: “Mr. Waugh, I will turn my paper into a tub! I’ll turn stump-orator, I will! I’ll damn and damn! I’ll cease to be a Christian! I’ll be a prophet, and damn and damn!” (Terrot 151). During “the siege of Northumberland Street,” when crowds besieged the printing office of the Pall Mall Gazette to buy bundles of Maiden Tribute newspapers “cheap, to sell dear” and Scotland Yard was summoned to re-

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Figure 2.2. Illustration of a child victim in “The Maiden Tribute,” 8 July 1885

store order, the child-advocate Benjamin Waugh as he approached through the crowd noticed the young men “with their new-bought horse-whip in hand.” Joyce’s “treeblock way up your path” (80.30) is insinuated; those men who declaim and denounce and buy horsewhips “have suddenly seen an attempt to block up a delightful path they have gone along all their lives, and who are not going to stand being told that henceforth ‘Trespassers will be prosecuted.’” Stead frequently directed attention to Waugh’s activities and placed his comely portrait among “The Angels of the Little Ones” (R 24: 679-82). A second pamphlet of fourteen pages is that of John Kensit, a publisher who prepared The Life of W. T. Stead with the Carlyle accreditation on the cover page and a “Striking & Life-like Portrait of ‘That Good Man’” on the title page. He drafts the assistance of Mark Fooks, “the doyen of Northcountry journalists” who encouraged Stead’s psychic interests (E. Stead 9597), and the pamphlet concludes with a paragraph by John Kensit, an antiritualist who addressed crowds concerning the “High Church” controversy over “incense and lights.” Kensit was “struck down by an opposing mob” in 1902 and died of the wound inflicted (R 29: 636-37). Waugh and Kensit are jointly authors of the famous phrase that was born of their good faith and

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given rebirth in the ending of Joyce’s Portrait, though they attributed it to Carlyle. THE SINAI OF SEX AND RELIGION In concert with his attempt to understand the great sexual energy that pours from an unknown cosmic force into the universe, Stead burdened himself with Stephen Dedalus’s discomfort with “seventeen in family” engendering crises of sexual morality for religious advocates of idealistic unlimited propagation of souls. Conversely, Stead accepted that God intended the facts of God-created physical existence be confronted; he defended Annie Besant and the atheist Charles Bradlaugh in their attempt to vindicate Charles Knowlton for his Fruits of Philosophy (1832) on “checking the over multiplication of the population.” Stead saw “elements of the Christian saint” in this Annie Besant, this “fiery assailant of the Christian creed” (R 4: 348-67; NS 19: 4-5). Uniquely corresponding for the first International Peace Conference at The Hague in 1898, Stead brought out The United States of Europe (AP 177), plus a biography in French of the delegates, and provided the “Application for Enrolment” in “The International Crusade of Peace,” and the announcement that MacCann coaxes students to sign to be returned to his office‒‒ “Volunteers Wanted . . . Signatures Wanted for the International Memorial to the Tsar!” (Illus. R 20: 29-44). At The Hague Stead gladly accepted an invitation to “Lecture on ‘the Conference and After.’” Joyce inserts a comical paragraph of mixed, misapplied, and misunderstood languages at the same “Casaconcordia” (54.07-19). Stead spoke on familial sex, which he called “the Sinai of all religions”: [From sex] all our religions have sprung. All altruism begins in the love of man for woman, and develops by love of mother for child. But the corruption of the best is the worst, so the fundamental revelation of God to man has in no way so foul, so hideous a distortion as in the vice which flourishes itself in all our cities. Conjugality, maternity‒‒these are the great words by which God has taught man something of Himself. . . Selfishness is first combated by the love of wife and the love of child; but the consciousness of human fraternity, of love between individual men, has been attained, strange though it may seem, by the operation of the love of war. . . At the time of the French Revolution it was said that the great message of the French Revolution was, “Be my brother or I will slay you.” (R 20: 39)

Whereas Gladstone found the management of his “internal excitement” problematic, Stead expected the male to adhere to principles in spite of it, working also through the “war” that prevailed amid his own critical financial structures and would have been alleviated by accepting a gift from the man Chandon. His new-found love of a lifetime for Madame Olga Novikoff, a

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Russian journalist and socialite, caused him agonies of remorse until he imposed a three-year moratorium, excepting correspondence, on their companionship. He spent freely and often foolishly on charity, having over time lent a Russian princess £15,000 on the strength of Russian “estates.” He was always urgently in need of funds to fulfill his ambition to found a great, innovative daily newspaper. In his Journal entry dated 15 Apr 1889 in the Churchill archives at Cambridge University, he confided the details of his “dreams of the future paper” that were dashed on the matter of his friend’s violation of marital felicity. Chandon promised two million in funds from a wealthy woman until Stead discovered him to be living both in “sex relations” with his wife and a teenage mistress who had borne him a child. Stead could not be a “financial team” with him and informed him “the dream paper is dead.” Catholic mandates for the “indefinite multiplication of human souls” caused miscarriages and failing-to-thrive births, and desperate disciplinary tactics. Joyce’s fear of thunderstorms may be traced to one of these. May Joyce “is said sometimes to have pushed Jim’s head down the lavatory and flushed” (JC 143). This could incite fear of thunder and sensitivity to excrement, which before the advent of the horseless carriage was commonly visible and adhesive to the point of desperation, making “the Boots” (the servant who cleaned them) a person of necessity. Jackson and Costello analyze the “Cabra” poem in its setting near the Joyce residence at St. Peter’s Terrace at the corner of the red-brick North Circular Road bringing cattle through North Dublin to reach “the junction with Prussia Street and the Dublin Cattle Market on Prussia Street” (JC 266-67). The Willingdone museyroom scene ends “Mind your boots [tip the man who cleans them] goan out” and a paragraph exclamation “Phew!” (10.24). The spawning powers of Anna Livia are balanced with necrology: [Teller] “Some say she had three figures to fill and confined herself to a hundred eleven.” [Listener] “all that pack? We won’t have room in the kirkeyaard” (201.28-31), the one at Glasnevin with Joyce family burials (see Vivien Igoe, Dublin Burial Grounds). Joyce’s intense immersion in Catholicism, recorded in the Portrait and in extension of “Mr Tait” in the Giordano Bruno applications, denotes a quality of personality not likely to be relinquished upon disavowal: “I neither believe nor disbelieve,” says Stephen Dedalus. Spiritualism gained enthusiastic practitioners and sympathizers sustaining positions on the fringes and out of sight, a condition Stead sought to alleviate through his psychic quarterly Borderland (1892-94). Spiritualism engaged some of the best scientific minds of the day, discredited no established faiths, and welcomed all persons curious about the possibility of “life after death” or “survival of personality.” Methods most frequently legitimized were automatic writing, clairvoyance, clairaudience, and trance mediumship. For verification of spirit communication to distinguish it from “thought transference,” the popular test of accura-

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cy and legitimacy was “cross correspondences,” requiring two or more mediums separated by distance to record the same message. Spiritualism’s chief practitioners were called “sensitives” or “mediums” possessing varieties of evidence of “the sixth sense.” Among several methods, Stead’s preference was automatic writing. In Dublin, James Joyce’s house-visiting friends Gretta Cousins and her husband, James H. Cousins, with whom Joyce resided during his last night in Ireland, were engaged in theosophical activities and the Society for Psychical Research. Affirming Stuart Gilbert’s suspicion of Joyce’s possession of “second sight,” Estelle Stead narrated significant major premonitions experienced by her father (E. Stead 88-121) and his seeking out persons who were blessed with “second sight.” Richard Ellmann remembers a gathering in January, 1928, at which Adrien Monniere “began to tell of table-tapping and a long story of messages she and her friends received from the spirits” (JJ 599). Robert McAlmon sang a negro blues on the sinking of the Titanic, saying “I will leave out the ribald verses” (JJ 599), which perhaps varied with each singer. Eugene Jolas preserved the script for “Titanic blues” in his Le Nẻgre qui Chante (1928). The song has been translated by the French scholar Maurice Labelle with interpretation of the innuendoes of “negro blues” and the racism of reference to Jack Johnson (1878-1946). Johnson was a battle royal fighter at age sixteen who won his heavyweight title, despite white objections, in Reno in 1910. Legend grew in black folklore that he had been denied passage on the Titanic (NS 5 [Fall 1994] 5-7.) Numerous references and allusions to the Titanic appear in Finnegans Wake, including variations of the refrain “It’s your last voyage, Titanic, adieu” (379.31, 480.20-21). Dr. Labelle noted that the song’s author honors the last voyage, not the Titanic. Spiritualists of Stead’s time persistently battled the errors and hesitancies of otherworld communication among the most talented of the transcribers; they also believed in verified communication, especially because an experienced communicator like W. T. Stead, when vanished to the Afterlife (they knew from his having communicated his passing), would seek to avoid misrepresentation. The specific nightmare of history that Joyce enshrined in Ulysses was the prolonged sinking of the Titanic, of which Stead spoke with authority; he had watched naval maneuvers and complained of insufficient lifeboats. His narrative “How the Mail Steamer Went Down in Mid Atlantic, By a Survivor” in the 22 March 1886 issue of the Pall Mall Gazette (reprint NS 5 [Fall 1994] 1-3) eerily predicted such a sinking, and detailed excessive speed, a bright moon, sinking on the fifth day of the voyage, a row with a famed boxer in steerage, beautiful ladies strolling the upper deck, wearing nightdresses at the time of the collision, the captain discharging a Derringer to control unruly passengers, the bulkhead gone, unfamiliarity with davits suspending too few lifeboats, the order “Women first” when one boat was launched, others left adrift. The tale-teller struggling in the water is taken

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onto a boat, from which he survives to append a warning Note: “This is exactly what might take place and what will take place if the liners are sent to sea short of boats‒‒ED.” This narrative from 1886 was not discussed as a prediction; it simply existed, astonishing for its resemblance to the Titanic’s future sinking. Spiritualists, particularly among Stead’s friends, made numerous jokes about their contentious subject or subjects, whom Stead fondly designated “spooks,” from the German word spuk for ghost. In his office Stead was “the spooker chief” (Illus R 5: 368). Sensitive Shem at one point in his “lowness” vows to “wipe alley English spooker, multaphoniaksically speaking, off the face of the erse” (178.06-07). Spook-hunting Stead was proudest of his Letters from Julia, a journalist whose life and death in Boston and her spirit communications account for the “boaston nightgarters” (11.22). An Afterlife letter drifting to the midden is trance-shipped, that is, “originating by transhipt from Boston (Mass.)” (111.09). Under Julia’s guidance, Stead boldly broke onto the London ghosthunting scene with his Real Ghost Stories (1891) and his More Ghost Stories (1892), supplemented by his psychic quarterly Borderland for four years (1893-1897). No topic was too bizarre for Borderland speculation. “Leonie” who is thrust into the Wake’s chapter 9 (II.1) in “Et la pau’ [pauvre] Leonie has the choice of her lives” (246.16-17) derives from Stead’s Real Ghost Stories providing photos of Leonie I and Leonie II, a single personality under the care of hypnotist Professor Charles Richet. Leonie I was the normal waking state, and Leonie II her hypnotic state. Morris Beja has traced Leonie and further “case histories” in his “Dividual Chaoses” (JJQ 14). A third unconscious personality of the lowest depth was Leonie III, knowledgeable of the other two and superior to both, somewhat like Issy with her mirror image and her judgment of herself and both. Stead’s essay in the Fortnightly Review, which had published a notice of Joyce’s “Ibsen’s New Drama,” has gained motif status for solving a unity problem. Stead’s “How I Know That the Dead Return” (Fortnightly, Feb 1909) was reprinted several times singly and, for Joyce’s purposes, helped to unite Stead’s analogous Christopher Columbus‒‒marooned in America, unable to communicate with Europeans searching for him, until they find him alive and well in the great beyond‒‒and the multiple goals of the novel expressed in the “raven and dove” motif: “He [Stead] sent out Christy Columb and he came back with a jailbird’s [Stead’s incarceration] unbespokables [the midden “teastain”] in his beak and then he sent out Le Caron Crow and the peacies [peaches] are still looking for him” (496.30-32). Stead labored long to found by journalism “Julia’s Bureau,” which would provide a clearing house for members of the public seeking earnestly to consult with mediums who might be able to certify the Afterlife existence of their loved ones. Funds to remunerate the mediums and transcribers, and to

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catalog the records, were borne entirely by W. T. Stead in person. To authenticate their serious intent, the applicants were required to complete several bona fide printed forms. Shaun’s enigmatic “letter” addressed “To the Very Honourable The Memory of Disgrace,” on behalf of “The just defunct Mrs Sanders,” mocks the forms and information required of applicants to “Julia’s Bureau” (413.03-26). The Portrait’s “Old Artificer” is wrapped in spiritualism and encrypts the enlarged message of Finnegans Wake in the “Ten-Ton Toller Stroke” of Big Ben echoing in Chapelizod. FINDING THE PORTRAIT’S “ABBA, FATHER” James Joyce may have fetched from medieval French the unusual word “artificer” for the Portrait’s synoptic last-sentence tribute to W. T. Stead. Clive Hart, writing his Structure and Motif in “Finnegans Wake” (1962), found in the Proceedings of the Psychological Research Society the medium Mrs. Holland writing automatically the key word: “Nodding he superposed with great labour and not without the help of the artificer” (156). As recorded in the Encyclopedia of Occultism and Parapsychology, and Stead knew in person, Mrs. Holland was a pseudonym of Alice Kipling Fleming, another, like Stead’s and Joyce’s Catherine Amy Dawson Scott, of those unwilling or unconvinced agents of the spiritual plane who were extremely valuable in recording messages they personally at times did not understand or fully appreciate. Clive Hart found the word artificer in the same issue of the Proceedings that Stead reviewed as a Book of the Month in September 1908 (R 38: 284-88), a review of the Proceedings for June, 1908, On the Automatic Writing of Mrs. Holland by Alice Johnson. Baffled automatists frequently depended upon the “departed” for a reason to respect incomprehensible compulsive scrawlings, as well as instructions how to proceed with receiving the information. The June, 1908, issue brought forth three of earth’s most earnest and honored psychic researchers: F. H. W. Myers, famed author of Human Personality and its Survival of Bodily Death (1903), who “crossed over” in 1901; second, the devoted investigator Edmund Gurney, deceased in 1888; and third, Dr. Richard Hodgson, who passed in 1905. Stead focused on the tunneling “sensation” of Sir Oliver Lodge: “As working parties tunneling from the opposite sides of a mountain approach each other near enough to exchange signals before the last few yards of rock are pierced, so the members of the S.P.R. excarnate and incarnate, working together from both sides of the grave, had been able to get into touch with each other,” Joyce’s “tunnel” example that Ellmann cited (JJ 543). Dr. Hodgson directed the medium to decipher numbers arranged in two vertical columns headed “Sjdibse Ipehtpo‒‒Only one letter further on‒‒,” from which, upon being unencrypted by substituting the alphabet letter following in the

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alphabet for each number, the name Richard Hodgson emerged. This was a triumph for Stead who had been frustrated and beleaguered for years by skepticism in the ranks of the Society for Psychical Research; on a previous proof of communication with “the other side,” they climaxed sustained indifference by sending to his office an investigator who refused to investigate. Stead was convinced that the SPR is “no working party.” Their two theories were “telepathy” from an unknown living person’s knowledge and “subliminal consciousness” from a participant’s own unconscious. In 1908, transported to separate parts of the great beyond, the three prior and prominent investigators had united to instruct “Mrs. Holland” how to record their urgent information; her fingers were “moved to write, sometimes with a pen when Myers controlled, sometimes with a pencil when the control was Gurney.” Stead was vindicated. Here was encryption indeed, in its doing and its undoing, that required human intelligence both on this side and “the other.” The mountain had been tunneled and pierced; the workers on this side had met those (three of them) on the other side. Importantly, this meeting and Mrs. Holland’s “automatic writing” allowed Myers to correct an error in Human Personality, to the effect that “the Subliminal Self” does not play a great part in “reception of messages by mediums.” Stead had maintained this position throughout. Stead’s Book Review does not offer the sentence that Clive Hart found containing the word “artificer”; it offers instead a more inaccessible topic, the meaning of Joyce’s and Stephen’s “Old Father” address to the deity. Myers dictated “as long as your earth lasts, so long will the cry of Abba, Father, demand an answer . . . Your gospel to mankind‒‒’Life is no idle dream, but a solemn reality; it is all thou hast to front Eternity with.’” This doctrine, he is confident, holds true in spite of “creeds [that] have had their day,” a reinforcement of Stead’s “new Catholicity” and the new faith of Stephen Dedalus, that “All religions are now recognized as essentially Divine. They represent the different angles from which Man looks at God” (Pope 13). Stead’s Book Review quotes the spirit of Myers conveying that “the soul survives all change, and preserves inviolate its own separate individuality, an everlasting Ego, of infinite capacity for union with the Spirit of all things, becoming more perfect by greater extension and diversity of sympathies, until no part of it remains unblended with its complement” (R 38: 284-88). “Sympathies” looks forward to Finnegans Wake and Giordano Bruno’s union of opposites that Joyce improves upon with entities “polarised for reunion by the symphysis of their antipathies” (92.11). The parts of Joyce’s Portrait finale that he derives from Stead’s philosophy, therefore, position him savoring this “Abba, Father” to utilize Stead’s intention that the Maiden Tribute would “rouse the conscience of the English people” (6 Jul 1885 PMG 1) for a fulsome Dedalian purpose, to “forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race” (AP 253).

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Whereas an unknown intelligence hovers in the mysterious “old sexton, red-Fox Good-man” (511.09) who tolls the bell in the “speckled” Protestant Church in Chapelizod, Joyce accommodates Stead’s divine afflatus with the Puritan’s responsibility to make urgent use of time. The Puritan life was lived “as ever in the Taskmaster’s eye.” To kill time “was to commit suicide by instalments” (R 30: 29). Earwicker, crossing Phoenix Park‒‒ “the basis of my book” ‒‒ experienced a crossing of time and eternity. Stopped by a “cad” [short for cadger] asking the time, Earwicker, unwishful “of being hurled into eternity right then,” compliantly produces his watch from his pocket. On the same stroke he hears the answer “above the skirling of harsh Mother East” (35.29-30), an attribution to the Great Mother creatrix of the universe in Freemasonry that, to establish patriarchal religions, the East India Company discredited by association with bad luck: a precious day is gone. Since dawn follows “twelve of em sidereal,” he hears “old Fox Goodman, the bellmaster, over the wastes to the south, at work upon the ten ton tonuant thunderous tenor toller in the speckled church” (35.30-32) in Chapelizod. The bell of London’s Big Ben by comparison weighs thirteen and a half tons, and the bell in the speckled church is “fellow to his gage” (36.19) Joyce has structured a sentence fragment that collapses an encyclopedia. The “skirling” of bagpipes instead of a bugle plus drum sounded reveille for the British Army’s Highlanders regiment, and Daniel Webster of dictionary fame in one of his speeches famously spoke of the Army’s “morning drumbeats, following the sun, and keeping company with the hours,” which Stead quoted (R 16: 84); the wise man “Noah Webster” soon gets credit (36.11) for the image that the journalist Cyril Waters applied to the Review of Reviews, “which, like the sun and the drum-tap of the British army, travels round the earth and carries the name and fame of Stead into the remotest corners of the globe” (R 5: 571). Earwicker hears above the skirling “old Fox Goodman’s” work like Couhounin’s call to duty (35.32), a hero’s response deferring to politics. Thom’s Directory, scholars have noted, assigns John Fox Goodman, a solicitor, the task of swearing in the jury in the (Protestant) Parnell conspiracy case in 1880. The “good man Stead” is encrypted in Fox Goodman and spaced out for authentication where the old sexton is “red-Fox-Good-man” (511.09). “The Red Fox” was the “noble air” that Thomas Moore adopted for “Let Erin Remember the Days of Old.” Creation of the “uncreated conscience of my race” amalgamates the divine and the human, which and whom Joyce names “stead,” and in this forges the denouement addressing two entities and mutely honoring W. T. Stead: “Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead.”

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A FITTING CLOSURE Adolescent Stephen Dedalus defends to the point of courageous honor his literary and spiritual guide Cardinal Newman. Stead’s spiritual guide was Cardinal Manning who acted as a father to Stead after his own father died, who corrected his literary assault on the Vatican in Letters from the Vatican (1890), who wore the clerical cape that would cover the hump of the Norwegian captain‒‒ all compressed in a single sentence. “Manning to sayle [sell, sail] of clothse for his lady [that would be tailored] for [to disguise] her master [who is, like Stead with Eliza, rescuing her under guise of seducing a female in the white slave traffic] whose to be précised [who is to be fitted with] of a peer [with a pair] of trouders under the pattern of a cassack” (311.27-29). The master and the lady will both travel in disguise in selected parts of the priestly pattern well illustrated in portraits of Cardinal Manning. What Joyce could admire in choosing Stead for one of the “masters”— rather an accomplice in Finnegans Wake‒‒was Stead’s metaphoric prose that fairly matched in originality Joyce’s father’s grandiose speech and consistently glowed with spontaneous enlightenment. The following example of Stead’s synthesis backgrounds correspondence with Cardinal Manning, when Stead was visiting Rome in 1889, observing and participating. Cardinal Manning chided Stead as if he were an errant child: “You must not write like a dare-devil.” Stead responded that many of the Church dogmas seem utterly incredible: “its exaggeration of the virtues of celibacy is simply lamentable; and if it were strong enough it would probably deem it necessary to burn me at the stake as it burned Giordano Bruno. But it is necessary to be charitable even to those who would roast you, and tolerant of those who are intolerant of you” (Whyte I: 285). Shem swears “if he was to parish by the market steak [like Bruno]” (91.23). “The following very Stead-like sentences,” Whyte concludes, “bring the series of [Manning] letters to an end,” and they demonstrate the pantheistic view that would stretch far beyond forbidden books into the cosmos itself. Incidentally, Joyce apparently approved of Stead’s vocabulary; twice in the Portrait he employed Stead’s “lambent flame.” When I left Rome night had fallen over the Campagna, but the summer lightning was playing in splendor over the summits of the Alban Hills. It was brilliantly beautiful. The whole western sky was lit up with the lambent flame, which leaped from peak to peak of the silent hills, as if the ghosts of the old volcanoes were revisiting the craters from which the fiery lava had long ages since rolled hissing towards the sea.

Surely, Joyce would divert from the Alban Lake to Lough Neagh, which was an imagined underground prison for Stead-Earwicker likened both to Coldbath and to Holloway prisons. The criminal forces lent Stead a new suit of clothes, his prison uniform, and made him “their present of a protem grave

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in Moyelta of the best Lough Neagh pattern, then as much in demand among misonesans [island haters; prisons on islands] as the Isle of Man today among limniphobes [lake fearers]” (76.21-23). Finn MacCool scooped up a handful of earth and threw it at his retreating foe, a Scottish giant, where it fell to earth and formed the Isle of Man. Likewise, “And how long was he under loch and neagh?” (196.20) asks the Listening washerwoman. What lies beneath the Alban Lake is a smoldering culture of the type oceanographers attribute to the rising of the oceans that flooded significant parts of the world and buried former cities, in some of which “submersion mythology” permits the people a continued existence. Stead considers the Alban Lake’s proximity to the Holy City preserving Christian love that yet dated back to Jove’s creation of the world and the Church’s anathemas faint tremblings. And here is why Stead himself deserves to be addressed as “Abba,” and the Portrait’s ending doubles back on itself, providing a famous but largely ignored encryption, the meaning of Joyce’s and Stephen’s “Old Father” address to the deity. To repeat, Myers dictated “as long as your earth lasts, so long will the cry of Abba, Father, demand an answer . . . Your gospel to mankind‒‒’Life is no idle dream, but a solemn reality; it is all thou hast to front Eternity with.’” And here is Stead’s confrontation with eternity, to show whether he qualifies: But no thunder followed the lightning; it was but a splendid display of celestial pyrotechny, which enabled me to gain another glimpse of the wooded hill behind whose precipitous slope slept the cool and limpid waters of the Alban Lake. It seemed no inapt vision writ in fiery characters across the darkening sky of the present condition of the Catholic Church. Her anathemas are but summer lightning compared with those dread bolts which hissed and flamed from the Pontiffs who climbed in Peter’s chair to wield Jove’s thunder. But, although the volcano has long been extinct, deep in the heart of the mighty crater there lies, like the waters of the Alban Lake, a great store of Christian love and human sympathy, which may yet be available for quenching the thirst of the world. The old aqueducts are almost as badly broken as those which once brought water to Rome; but the water is there, and the aqueducts may be repaired. Is it not worth while to try? (Whyte I: 286)

For ecumenical Stead, the continuous working of “whatever gods there be” overweighed the theology of a given passing age, and Joyce has achieved similar lyric and pantheistic passages that have gone unacclaimed. After the lights of the Titanic have been extinguished, Joyce closes the Wake’s chapter 12 (II.4) with a faint glimmer of a mysterious light, “that moves along the river” of Anna Liffey where “the mermen ply their keg” (399.31). Whose light is this? Finnegans Wake teaches patience in waiting for answers. One supposes the mermen are warmed by the Thomas Moore melody immortalizing their trade:

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Nothing ever finally ends, and Joyce’s lyricism emerges as shadows gleam and echoes linger. Joyce continues his story when the “ten ton toller stroke” heard in Phoenix Park from Fox Goodman in Chapelizod reaches the Afterlife. Chapter 13 (III.1) opens at the same stroke of midnight on which Chapter 12 closes. It begins at the “zero hour as ‘twere the peal of vixen’s laughter,” the triumph of the former “harsh Mother East” viewing the coming day: among midnight’s chimes from out the belfry of the cute old speckled church tolling so faint a goodmantrue as nighthood’s unseen violet rendered all animated greatbritish and Irish objects nonviewable to human watchers save ‘twere perchance anon some glistery gleam darkling adown surface of affluvial flowandflow as again might seem garments of laundry reposing a leasward close at hand in full expectation . . . methought broadtone was heard and the creepers and the gliders and flivvers of the earth breath and the dancetongues of the woodfires and the hummers in their ground all vociferated echoating: Shaun! Shaun! Post the post! (403.20-404.07).

Shaun dominates the Afterlife with memories of the vanished Shem, whose concepts float into his mind. The former Danish “dunsky tunga” (185.11) flickers as “dancetongues” (404.06). All the sounds of nature, the Teller observes, are “vociferated echoating: Shaun! Shaun! Post the post!” (404.07). Soon it’s revealed that the flickering light is Shaun’s: “When look, was light and now’twas as flasher, now moren as the glaow . . . bless me, ‘twas his belted lamp!” (404.13). The sounds of nature are like a call to sainthood and soothe his tortured ego. The literary impact would have lost its power if this had been experienced by Shem, who has always understood. For Shaun it’s a fulfillment and a transformation. Joyce’s literary task was to express the means by which the reverential, the “Abba, Father,” would continue to exist for all humanity, and to prevail. He found what he needed in the influential person he chose for the enduring last word, not a person’s name capitalized but a principle: “the good man stead.”

Chapter Three

The Strategy of the Encrypted Name

The name of the hero must be an artistic construction of unprecedented dimensions weighted with his genealogy and circumscribing his successes and his failures through the ages of rumored, reputed, and recorded history. His generic initials hce must be carved in every tree. Every syllable of his tripartite name must make a political statement, and, as a deserving human being, contemporary science should validate it. If “Chimp” is a monkey, so be it; such is part of the “zoological zoo,” along with the earwig made famous by his Earwicker name. If everyone has forgotten him, so be it; they will remember when the next generation encounters himself, anonymous, in a “holiday crowd.” If one hero merges into another, that is an institution called marriage, or perhaps in the abstract the formulaic Self and the Other, or perhaps the cycle evolves or devolves. When he claims his name, his DNA will place him on the face of this earth. Ultimately, his comical aspect of “Everybody” will surpass the mystical dimensions of “Everyman,” and his sterling character will be an example for generations; his ideals expressed in his self-determined activities and authorship leave indelible tracings of the significance of his name. Joyce’s multiplexity assures that topics overlap and render impossible an author’s resistance to sprawl. Considering obstacles to the hero, Thomas Carlyle transformed Cromwell from villain to savior; and part of Stead’s “name” is his glorification of both. The name of the hero undergoes transformations, and at times the hero operates incognito. Present generations enjoying community centers have no knowledge that Stead instituted those. Joyce’s task was to manage an encyclopedia of information that vitalizes Finnegans Wake. Joyce could confidently make light of keeping the professors busy; he well understood and reverenced the “eternal imagination” that lies beyond the grasp of competitive intellectualism. Yet the meager facts of Stead-Ear75

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wicker’s early heritage do not ever approximate artistic and critical results. As an unseen force, at times he is absent, rather like a letter delivered to a vacant residence: “no such person, no such place.” Still, he exists in hce qualities of nature everywhere and participates in historic events, evidenced by thousands of authentic historic names embedded in his textual history. To be “universal,” the “everybody hero” must contain opposites and validate contradictions, and must be everlasting to accommodate updating. Unless he is attached to a mythology like Finn MacCool, or to thousands of embedded names, his illusive identity is perpetuated again in another commonplace, that of variations on the word “stead.” First, this chapter considers aspects of the name in the sequence of popular caricatures, the British-Irish political contention, the Childers Commission and Haveth Childers Everywhere, the earwig analogy, and the Stead DNA officially serving the Prankquean episode. Second, “a chapter in a busy life” introduces the concept of the hero that views Stead at the World’s Peace Conference at The Hague, in the personal library of Cecil Rhodes in South Africa, and entering the portals of a new career in the theater. Stead’s introduction of the hero to Joseph Campbell for his Hero with a Thousand Faces will be a topic of Encrypt 11. ELABORATIONS OF HCE To place the original namesame in his book M.P.s in Session (1899), the supremely talented caricaturist Harry Furniss merely sketched for authenticity, as any graphic artist may, the photographed profile of the deceased Hugh Culling Eardley Childers, or “H. C. E. Childers” whose portly stance asserted his sense of self-preponderance. To a frame adjacent to the living Victorian leaders “H. J. Wilson” and “C. Newnes” ―Stead’s partner at the inception of the Review of Reviews―Furniss added a quip, legitimized by parentheses, while mocking a common strategy to escape libel that typographical accessories of spaces and parentheses could assure. For Childers (1827–1896) the result was “H(ere) C(omes) E(verybody) Ch-ld-rs).” The caricaturist rendered a photograph of Childers into a sketch that was given prominence in M.P.s in Session, The full name would have been superfluous for someone so prominent since 1860 when Childers entered Commons until 1892 when he retired from the cabinet. During this time, serving under Gladstone, he occupied sequentially the positions of Secretary for War, State, and Home; in light of this record, Furniss accomplished the brilliant stroke of epitomizing the everybody hero. Stead reviewed Furniss’s The Confessions of a Caricaturist (1902) as a Book of the Month (R 25: 80–83). Furniss’s caricature achieves recognition in the “Dook Umphrey” section (32.14–21) and ends multiple copies of Stead’s publications, the latter be-

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Figure 3.1. “H(ere) C(omes) E(verybody) Ch-ld-rs)” from M.Ps in Session: “it was certainly a pleasant turn of the populace which gave him a sense of those normative letters the nickname Here Comes Everybody” (32.18)

cause the editor contrived a prominent means of honoring his favorite by reproducing for a back page of the paperback Books for the Bairns an even more famous sketch, that of the dirt-encrusted tramp writing a letter to Pears’ Soap (R 24: 436–45). Joyce renders it in early morning cold-sniffing parody of its prominent slogan: “Guld modning, have yous viewsed Piers’ aube? Thane yaars agon we have used yoors up since when we have fused now orther” (593.9–11), At the time, Stead was scolding sluggish Britain for allowing German industry to outpace it and published in 1901 an account of Pears Soap as, for one example, “Where Britons Are Holding Their Own” that illustrates the brilliance of their aggressive world-wide entrepreneurship, which more than once aroused Parliament. The Pears company chairman Thomas J. Barratt found a way to resolve the Shakespeare-Bacon controversy in that Shakespeare “never mentions soap” but Pears displayed a portrait of the monumental poet inscribed “Shakespeare saves his Bacon.” The quotation ran “For Soap pears this fleet majestical.” From many examples, Stead concluded, “there is no such nonconductor of human sympathy as dirt.”

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Moreover, prominent among Victorian caricaturists was John Tenniel, famous for illustrating the Alice books and particularly for the figure of Humpty Dumpty whose falling off a wall marks the fate of Joyce’s builder hero and supports a thoroughgoing theme. Earwicker’s archetypal fall can constitute any of W. T. Stead’s failures but the wall itself is important for Stead’s reform constitution: he would be lost without a cause to motivate his reform efforts. For Stead, improving the feminine condition was a lifelong goal: “he had the best bunbaked bricks in bould babylon for his pitching plays [cricket] he’d be lost for the want of his wan wubblin wall” (139.11–13). Fargnoli and Gillespie have defined “Hump” as “a truncated variation of Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker’s name. Resonating with literary and geographical overtones” (113). Such wide range allows sufficient leeway for notating the numerous possibilities of the Alice books, of which James Atherton in the Books at the Wake extended the factotum to inscribing Lewis Carroll “The Unforeseen Precursor.” However, following the nursery rhyme, W. T. Stead as original of Joyce’s hero deserved the name Humpty Dumpty for having been born with a spinal deformity called Kyphosis, which imposes an egg-shape on the human body―a factor that Joyce employed variously. The Norwegian captain enters the pub “With the old sit in his shoulders” (324.02). The dust jacket tale is told in this work’s first chapter under heading “Buy a Book from Faber and Faber.” In brief, Ellmann preserves Joyce’s original phrasing for a dust jacket for two editions published by Faber and Faber which conveys that a deformed person engenders suspicion and revulsion. Joyce’s last line addresses the prejudice; it reads “Humpty Dump Dublin’s grandada of all rogues” (JJ2 617). Humpty Dumpty’s name means egg-shape, but W. T. Stead endured his deformity as if no one would notice and remarked only upon his sister’s “weak spine.” The hero of all phases and histories must incarnate a political statement, for which purpose Joyce spaced out the three parts of “Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker.” The first name draws its power from the British phrase “dining with good Duke Humphrey,” denoting Shem’s chronic hunger and the poorIrish condition of going dinnerless while their country was being ravaged by Britain in the form of the iconic, plump, John Bull; and throughout the Victorian time persons like Joyce, born in Ireland, held dual British and Irish patrimony. An aisle in London’s Old St Paul’s Cathedral known as “Duke Humphrey’s Walk” was believed near his tomb, in an area “frequented by thieves and beggars,” and hence “poor people who had no money for a meal,” Wikipedia’s clever researchers have noticed. Saki’s story “The Feast of Nemesis” plays a Duke Humphrey picnic “one without food.” Since much of the contemporary time of Finnegans Wake is focused in Dublin in the summer of 1904 prior to Joyce’s escape with Nora and his self-imposed exile

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in Europe, a hint of Duke Humphrey frequently marks the most uncomfortable aspect of the Joyce children’s existence after their mother died and Pappie spent most of his income in pubs. Joyce uses the names “Humphrey” and “Chimpden” to argue the British and Irish conditions respectively to the effect that Humphrey is essential to the anti-British theme. Earwicker’s attendance in the theater in chapter 2 is an early textual example of Irish destitution coexistent with British plenty: holographs so far exhumed initialled by Haromphrey bear the sigla H.C.E. and while he was only and long and always good Dook Umphrey [dinnerless] for the hungerlean spalpeens [landless workers] of Lucalizod [Lukan and Chapelizod] and Chimbers/Childers to his cronies, it was equally certainly a pleasant turn of the populace which gave him as sense of those normative letters the nickname Here Comes Everybody. An imposing everybody he always indeed looked, constantly the same as and equal to himself and magnificently well worthy of any and all such universalisation (32.13–21)

Stay-at-home Shaun exhibits the polaric opposite of the British not Irish empire, constantly gorging himself upon an endless supply of exquisite food as consumed by iconic John Bull. The narrator of the Wake’s chapter 13 beholds Shaun: looking grand, so fired smart, in much more than his usual health. No mistaking that beamish brow! There was one for you that ne’er would nunch with good Duke Humphrey but would aight/eat through the months without a sign of an err/R in hem/them [four months of May, June, July, August when vegetables are grown at home] and then, otherwise rounding, fourale [four months; ale at four pence] to the lees of Traroe . . . He was immense, topping swell . . . (405.15–21)

There is some mystery whether the Good Duke, as Joyce’s Shem-Self, is sustained on the counterpart question whether Shaun, the Other, is the vital living personality “the Nolan” or a mental construct; but Shaun still carries his letterman’s lamp in the Afterlife. Issy voices this mystery from the opposite position, deriving its authenticity from the fact that the Good Duke himself was simply imagined. While considering Shem who was “wont to nibbleh ravenostonnoriously ihs [his religious nature] mum [secrets] to me in bewonderment of his chipper chuthor,” Shem should be the Self who “by the halp of his creactive mind offered to deleberate the mass from the booty of fight [but] our Same with the holp of the bounty of food sought to delubberate the mess from his corructive mund” (300.20–24), which represents Shaun’s habit of thinking that he can correct Shem’s creative errors. Such could keep the professors busy through many lifetimes. Aligned with “Chimpden” the middle name, and often inseparable from Humphrey, the good Duke saves his public soul by claiming his opposite, the

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eternal provider, the British storekeeper known as Earwicker, “our grocerest churcher” (619.04), who keeps a grocery store and a renowned creamery. Upon Earwicker’s desire, like the Mookse, to go “a walking” (152.20), he sets out on his hero’s journey from rural parts of England, which Napoleon had agnominated “a nation of shopkeepers,” by hailing from his cabbage patch the king who was passing by. Cabbage was so essential to Ireland’s impoverished husbandry that the Irish themselves were called cabbagers. The “genesis of Harold or Humphrey Chimpden’s occupational agnomen” (30.02–03) guarantees this. That “stead” or “W. T. Stead” is British also conveniently enhances the verifiable parts of “Stead-Earwicker” characterization. Earwicker acquires an alterego introduced in the telltale “Ballad of Persse O’Reilly,” who makes the same assertion about British food and supplies that are Universally provided by this soffsoaping salesman [Earwicker]. Small wonder He’ll Cheat E’erawan our local lads nicknamed him When Chimpden first took the floor (Chorus) With his bucketshop store Down Bargainweg, Lower. (45.31–46.04) Almost overlooked is Shakespeare’s status as a convenient storehouse of English wordcraft in which Dante and Goethe share the stagelight in “Daunty, Gouty and Shopkeeper, A.G.” (539.06) for a joint stock company (Ellmann JJ 2: 393). Earwicker’s Afterlife funeral oration celebrating his achievements praises himself in particular for his advanced attitudes on “the woman question.” The three-page “catalogue, passim” begins with “And after these things, I fed her . . .” (550.08). Throughout, Chimpden, implying that Britain has made a Chump of Ireland, stands for British plenty, in stark contrast with Irish poverty. Apparently Napoleon meant the British are famous for husbandry, not for low-cost goods or benevolent distribution, to which fault the Childers Commission subscribed. Joyce’s creation of Earwicker as an English invader is famously interpreted sinful-in-the-Phoenix Park, which Joyce rendered into doggerel for the dust jacket of his Anna Livia Plurabelle in 1925 (Atherton 126) and again for Haveth Childers Everywhere in 1930 summarizing the hero’s dual nationalities displayed by “his kinks English” and “irismanx brogues” and his sinful Park nature asserting “Humptydump Dublin’s grandada of all rogues” whose circumstances Ellmann traced (JJ 617). In Ireland, Earwicker cannot overcome the opposition engendered by his British origin and the reputed “filth” of newspaper columns. Otherwise, Earwicker-Stead is the “unnamed nonirishblooder that becomes a Greenislender overnight” (378.11) by means of his compassion for the Irish and his frequent stepping ashore the Isle of

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Saints. Contained in the name “Humphrey Chimpden” is one side of an historic Irish-English strife that pervades much of the novel in paired opposition: Humphrey

Chimpden

Irish poverty

British produce/product

Shem abstemious

Shaun gluttonous.

However, those “normative letters” HCE convey “Chimbers to his cronies” (32.16), only to hint of Childers, and “Here Comes Everybody”— epitomizing the saving grace of being like us—to the hungry populace who can picture in their “mind’s eye” the rotund form of an M.P. named Childers, whom Harry Furniss’s skill with caricature blessed with endurance in the public mind. And, yes, Stead was likened to a monkey, or so said the American correspondent for the New York Times Harold Frederic, living in London and heatedly opposing Stead’s stance on the adulterous Sir Charles Dilke. Frederic composed a list of abusive names for Stead that triumphed with a literary allusion; Stead was “a veritable Mokanna, a satyr with a monkey face” (R 5: 46). The Mokanna in Thomas Moore’s Lalla Rookh was a closely veiled prophet and diabolically ugly (R 35: 34). Although “Everybody” would appear to bundle British and Irish under one purpose, it was often true that the British and Irish were receiving conflicting information about a shared topic. Such was editor Stead’s excitement about the importance of a document produced by the late Childers, which Stead treated in 1897 as a “topic of the month” in his Review of Reviews under title “Ireland’s Little Account with Her Predominant Partner” (R 15: 134–39). The composite name Humphrey Chimden Earwicker, in part inspired by Childers, transfers the caricature from humor to a poignant political-financial crisis that, from its origin, should have been illegal. “Pity poor Haveth Childers Everywhere with Mudder!” (535.34–35) denotes a British horse racing with an Irish horse, one that prefers to run in (miserable) Irish rain. Childers held the powerful position of Chairman of the Financial Relations Committee, and—mindful that Finnegans Wake exposes Shem’s animus against Gladstone—one of Stead’s crossheads reads “Mr Gladstone’s Injustice to Ireland.” Among a host of complex factors, outstanding is Stead’s revelation in “Ireland’s Little Account with Its Predominant Partner” (R 15: 134–39) that “The British conscience admits that, whatever may be the case to-day, in 1860 the predominant partner was lifting or plundering Ireland of a cool three millions a year in excess of what was honestly due as her share of the Imperial bill.” Although it began with the Act of Union (1800) and “recognition of Ireland as a separate financial entity,” which Wales was not, the burden on Ireland more than doubled between 1850 and 1860, powered by

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Gladstone’s “equalising of the spirit duties.” The case today [1887] is that “Ireland pays in taxes between one-eleventh and one-twelfth of the sum paid by Great Britain,” but, “according to Mr Childers and the majority of the Commission,” Ireland’s taxable capacity “is certainly not more than onetwentieth,” to the effect that Ireland had been overtaxed on a per capita basis by some £2 or £3 million annually. Irish nationalists saw this “imperial over-taxation” of household necessities prolonging Irish poverty. Their greedy opponents noted that “the surplus tax received had come from an unduly high consumption of tea, stout, whiskey and tobacco [luxuries], and not from income tax.” Meanwhile, the cost of judiciary and police in Ireland “are purely local charges,” exhibited by the cooperation of the judge in the Maamtrasna trial. The Times dismissed the issue because “All impoverished areas” are overtaxed. In tardy British recognition of the financial injustice, the “first sop” was creation of a Catholic University in Dublin, of which Joyce was a beneficiary; the second, creation of a Board of Agriculture. The British Empire retained its high moral position because the Irish persistently committed sins of gluttony for which they deserved the punishment of high taxes. This is the political dilemma that Joyce replicates in Finnegans Wake and poses the question why he published Haveth Childers Everywhere in 1930 as a literary triumph conveying important matters for the total novel. The archaic biblical form “Haveth” carries assurance of despair and perpetuity. Its selection, in brief, calls attention to placement of the Haveth text in the novel. HCE or Earwicker boasts about his achievements and those of the empire, including his spouse, that he controls. Book 3 is the “Afterlife” book and the Wake’s chapter 15 (III.3) that in which Yawn in trance acts as medium for the spirits who visit him. If HCE will ever tell the truth as he prefers to record it for perpetuity, it must occur here. The sense of himself that he has carried into the Afterlife with him is his self-acclaimed success, much as Childers would have done. This is not the topside of the Viconian cycle but the topside that Earwicker chooses to remember. The cycle’s downward spin in Book IV, the nadir of existence, occurs in the Porter household, from which the river Anna Livia, refreshed by rain (“Soft morning”) escapes its sewer status and flows toward renewal. In his closing monologue Earwicker speaks of Anna Livia: “I thumbed [wrote about] her with iern [Ierne another name for Ireland] of Erin and tradesmanmarked [copyrighted] her lieflang mine” (547.33–34). Although W. T. Stead famously avoided copyrighting his work and definitely never placed such a burden on his spouse, Earwicker renders a catalog of his supplies that makes lovable woman a satisfying stock in trade: fortiffed by my right as man of capitol, I did umgyrdle her about my vermincelly vinagerette [vermicelli vinaigrette], with all loving kindness as far as in

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man’s might it lay and enfranchised her to liberties of fringes; and I gave until my lilienyounger turkeythighs soft goods and hardware (catalogue, passim) and ladderproof hosiery lines (see stockinger’s raiment). (548.16–22)

The “catalogue, passim” begins with “And after these things, I fed her . . .” (550.8) and continues approximately a full three pages. Throughout, Chimpden stands for British plenty, in stark contrast with Irish poverty. Orthographic resemblance to Old English ear-wicga or ear-beetle, Brewer notes, is “so-called from the erroneous notion that these insects are apt to get into ears, and so penetrate the brain.” At the Stead family’s Hayling Island summer home, the children wrote, “the earwigs crawl” (NS 5:4). Brewer’s Phrase and Fable accounts an earwig “one who whispers all the news and scandal going, in order to curry favour”; Earwicker manages his store in Ireland a victim of such gossip. Mutt and Jute at Clontarf in the first mention of “earwig” survey the landscape changed since earlier times by comparing large (alp) and small (earwig). Llarge by the smal an’ everynight life olso th’estrange/visitor, babylone/Babylon [in Paris] the greatgrandhotelled [Grand Hotels at Trafalgar and Paddington Station; Grand Babylon Hotel by A. Bennett] with tit tit tittlehouse [nr], alp [mountain] on earwig/Earwicker [mental burden from MT gossip] drukn on ild [drowned on fire]; likeas equal to anequal in this sound seemetery [all quiet] which is leebez luv [Liebestod love-death].” (17.32–36)

“Alp on earwig” is a mountain (a hump) on Stead-Earwicker’s overstrained back. It was frequently remarked of Stead that he was hunched a little in the shoulders, probably from kyphosis; it characterizes the Norwegian captain with “the old sit in his shoulders” (324.02). Further, John Bishop in Joyce’s Book of the Dark quotes Marx on the mental impact, “the traditions of all dead generations weighing like an Alp on the brains of the living” (183). The hero’s task is to step forward, to redeem his current, not his genealogical reputation or inherited anatomical condition. Nevertheless, the physical appearance inevitably engenders inescapable fate, like “drunk on ild” or “drowned on fire” describing the sinking of a burning ship. W. T. Stead was still working, still fired with evangelical journalism, when he drowned with the Titanic’s sinking. Throughout the novel, the two evils whispered about him both derive from his exposé of London vice titled “The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon” about rescuing maidens and profiting from sales of the newspaper. Overworking of this ever-recurring Earwickerguilt theme foreshadows Kersse’s failure to tailor the requested garment to hide the hump. The anatomy acquires an egg-shape. Earwicker as gatekeeper in the Wake’s chapter 2 accosts the King who has heard of Stead and his Old Bailey trial and puns on its history; the gatekeeper stands for guardian of the public welfare: “we have for surtrusty

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bailiwick a turnpiker who is by turns a pikebailer no seldomer than an earwigger!” (31.26–28). Next, the comprehensive “Ballad of Persse O’Reilly” challenges “wigs on the green” (U 13: 247) with “Big earwigs on the green” (47.19), the commonplace without the insects a favorite expression of W. T, Stead, anticipating an argument, because wigs were removed preparatory to or frequently knocked off in a fight. Aside from word battles, the persons recognizing the name Earwicker, and its simultaneous implication of earwig, must nourish a subsurface suspicion of him from nefarious gossip. In the first instance of Earwicker’s meeting the king, he initiates the dialogue by explaining his occupation, “cotchin on thon bluggy [Stead’s invented word] earwuggers” (31.10–11), like St. Patrick scotching the Irish snakes. He needs to quell the rumors that are damaging his reputation. The unlikelihood of stopping a rumor is well demonstrated in transmission following the “encounter with a cad,” which Joyce named a tramp, in Phoenix Park and his ensuing bragging to his wife of the incident by which he wrested a few “guilders” (37.05) from the Park victim. A Cockney “bit of strife” (38.09), his wife, brags to 111 others, folds her housekey into her hennish claw and departs from home, leveling first on her priest to keep an “Annie Laurie” secret [“to lay me doon and dee”] and second “Mr Browne, disguised as a Vincentian,” has already broken his vows. The tale spreads to the race course and a running national event. Earwigs bequeath an unexpected attribute, burying (like Cain) their dead; the female lays its eggs in “burrows” and certainly appears guilty: “Ladies did not disdain those pagan ironed times . . . when a frond was a friend inneed to carry, as earwigs do their dead, their soil to the earthball where indeeth we shall calm decline, our legacy unknown” (79.14–17). This analogy predicts that Earwicker will not succeed in clearing his name but will carry it fast-stuck to his grave, reducing his legacy to a blur in the misty past. Surely in Joyce’s time World War II had nearly obliterated Stead’s chief legacy of his Criminal Law Amendment Act, which “raised the consent age” of girls from thirteen to sixteen, where it stands defining statutory rape today. In 1925, when Frederic Whyte’s two-volume biography The Life of W. T. Stead reached the bookstalls, Joyce could derive that the world was too busily engaged in reconstructing itself after the war to remember W. T. Stead except for the Titanic, Humanity needs an afterlife, which is the subject of the Wake’s Book 3, in which, Humphrey closes chapter 15 eulogizing himself as a city builder and a progressive devoted to improving the condition of women. Further, Stead objected to caricatures of the Irish as pigs (especially in Punch), accompanied by “culotte” or locked in division, and advocated sensible bifurcated women’s wear. On Stead’s staff, Miss Bacon cycled 1200 miles in knickerbockers (Illus. R 10: 403–06). The Petit Palais occupies the setting of Notre Dame, whereas Dublin’s St. Patrick’s Cathedral is no longer Catholic but Church of Ireland. Earwicker boasts of his reforms: “for ewigs, I

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did reform and restore for my smuggy [smukke: beautiful] piggiesknees [endeared girl], my sweet coolocked, my auburn [Goldsmith’s village, Joyce’s Chapelizod] coyqualing [Quaill lord mayor] one, her paddypalace [Petit Palais: Paris] on the crossknoll with massgo bell . . . to tellforth’s glory” (552.21–26). Earwicker’s “fall” out of a cabbage patch and into His Majesty’s elegant theater renders an archetypal fall of the hero from rural innocence into world knowledge. Yet Joyce assumed another task: to demonstrate convincingly the prevalence, not the distinction, of the “everybody” hero. First, there is the matter of the name; “wick” of Earwicker and “stead” both equal “place,” so prevalent that there are near misses: Stansted and Stanwick. Stead is allied in Swedish with stad, in German and Danish with stede and steed, while synonymously sted denotes the pronunciation for orthographic stead. Etymologically Stead is allied with the Latin vicus meaning way; in specifics, wick means a street, but also a castle, a village, a place of work. Obviously, Joyce drew double delight from Dublin’s circular Vico Road, which transformed the Italian philosopher Giambattista Vico into a native son. If wick could be submerged in Earwicker and could render “everybody” sameness to Stead and Earwicker, Stead would suffice for riches to the point of excess, with suspicion of overweighting: “he seemed to proffer the steadiest interest towards her” (575.31), a Maiden Tribute-type interest. This is “small beer,” a triviality, in comparison with the possibilities of unburdening the text with forms of “stead,” of which Clive Hart’s Concordance lists stead, steaded, steadiest, steadily, steady, Steady, Steadyon, all of which provide a beginning for the motif searcher. The children’s study chapter opens upon two Overlook narrators approaching Earwicker’s pub/home, advancing toward “the clarience of the childlight in the studiorium upsturts (266.12–13). W. T. Stead’s presence is felt to the end of the chapter. The children, having come in from their playacting for food and study, begin doodling the chapter’s closing sketches with Latin conjugation/declension: “But while the dial/devil are they doodling dawdling over the mugs and the grubs [Mookse and Gripes]? Oikey [Issy replies], Impostolopulos? Steady steady steady steady steady studiavimus [steadily, we shall have studied]. Many many many many many manducabimus [we shall chew]” (306.8–12). They have chewed and digested much of Stead’s spiritualism for composing a “Nightletter” to the deceased parents, “the old folkers below and beyant,” and they add a footnote reading “Kish is for anticheirst, and the free of my hand to him!” (308.29) to accompany their mischievous thumb-to-nose sketch of contempt. These are Stead adaptations. Appraising his prospective voyage on the Titanic, Stead said he felt like the biblical Kish who set out in search of his father’s ass and founded a kingdom. The famed palmist who called himself Cheiro claimed that he had warned Stead to fear death by water and advised him not to sail during the month of April.

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Not only are synonyms for stead required for a motif search, but all of his life and works, for he is indeed an “unnamed” understudy for Finnegans Wake. Whereas Stead’s concoction “bluggy” (31.11) announces his inspiration; in the Butt and Taff incident the single word “mephiticism” (349.17) signals Stead’s presence as a “Russian general”; several times he objected to incidents of social failures by labeling them odorous and mephitic of swamp gas: A gospel truce/truth [Stead’s gospel] leaks out over the caeseine coatings. Amid a fluorescence of spectracular mephiticism there coaculates through the iconoscope stealdily a still, the figure of a fellowchap in the wohly ghast, Popey [Stead nickname] O’Donoshough/O’Donoghue [Irish subservience to Rome], the jesuneral of the russuates. [Russian general]. (349.16–20)

Plainly, television steadily projects “a still” image of “a fellowchap in the Holy Ghost,” typical of Stead’s “christlikeness,” watching over the entire operation, as if Stead as author or director is standing silent in the projection area. It would seem that Earwicker would be the hero’s name throughout his various incarnations, and Stead the contemporary spokesman for “historic mutability,” to separate eternal laws from external or accidental aspects of existence. Regarding Stephen Dedalus, Robert Spoo analyzes the “double discourse” of Joyce’s history, a subject approached by several scholars (58–59); however, such analysis would profit by extension into Finnegans Wake, which teaches repeatedly that fiction —a valid expression of human thought — is fact, in which information is presented by units so small as diacritical marks. Without those, the unpredictable extent of Joyce’s arsenal of information can never be completely fathomed; it has only recently been amplified by Stead-Steed genealogical research in the stunning matter of a topic so well known as the Prankquean episode. GENETIC RESEARCH The “Stead/Steed One Name Study,” founded by Shelagh Mason in England in 1996, has now expanded into DNA investigation. At the same time, editor Michael Steede has investigated pronunciations in a fashion that would make James Joyce proud. Contributing “Etymologies of Surnames Stead and Steed” to the March 2014 Newsletter, he reported finding that in the North Country “the name is pronounced ‘Stēd’ as in ‘homestead’ or ‘bedstead’” with two exceptions: “in the western North Country we found a ‘stood’ as in ‘he stood up,’ and in the far north-east one example of ‘stad’ with the ‘a’ pronounced as in ‘stānd.’” Joyce is said to have visited train stations to listen to accents and provides excellent examples: “he studd and stoddard” (583.36–584.01) and “stooderin about the maul” (437.31).

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The Domesday Book, Michael Steede continues, “was instituted by William the Conqueror and completed in 1086, 20 years after the Conquest and its commissioning. As most will know, the Domesday Book comprises the first full census of England to that date, at which time within England last names needed to be instituted so as to allow for an ‘accurate’ census.” Further, prior to 1066, Alfred the Great “allowed Danes to settle the North Country north-east of the ‘Danelaw.’ However, in the late 900s and later during the time of the Plantagenet dynasty, “Ǣthelred the Unready (meaning at the time ‘ill-advised’), slaughtered all adult ethnic Danish men in England. No mention however is made of Danish women or children being murdered, and the record indicates this was conducted due to Ǣthelred’s fear or even paranoia of treachery within his own ranks. This would indicate already an ethnic Danish noble connection by way of ‘Jarls’ or Earls within the ranks, with these positions most likely later taken by the slain Earls’ sons . . . Here’s the etymology of each as they stand today, in the Cambridge Dictionary of English Place-Names.” stead (n.): Old English stede “place, position, standing, delay,” related to “standan “to stand,” from Proto-Germanic “stadiz (cf. Old Saxon stedi, Old Norse stadr, Swedish stad, Dutch stede “place,” Old High German stat, German Stadt “town,” Gothic staþs “place”), from PIE *stetis-, from root *sta- “to stand” (see stet). Now chiefly in compounds or phrases. “The sense ‘town, city’ for G. Stadt is a late development from c.1200 when the term began to replace Burg.” steed (n.): Old English stead “stallion, stud horse,” from Proto-Germanic *stodjon (cf. Old Norse stoð), from the root of Old English stod (see stud (2)). In Middle English, “a great horse” (as distinguished from a palfrey), “a spirited war horse.” Obsolete from 16c. except in poetic, rhetorical, or jocular language.

In the Stead/Steed One-Name Study Newsletter (vol.7 No. 4, December 2014: 4), Philip Stead, DNA Project Coordinator, offers a “basic R1b haplotree that shows the major SNP markers within the R1b haplogroup.” Michael Steede’s ongoing “Etymologies of Surnames Stead and Steed” with information pertinent to Joyce’s Jarl is quoted above with his permission from the Newsletter vol. 7 No. 1, March 2014: 9–10. Somewhere Joyce must have seen an inscription or researched surnames in books, perhaps in Marsh’s Library, to authenticate the Prankquean’s “Jarl van Hoother” (21.10, 21.22, 21.32). The name changes to “Jarl von Hoother” (21.34) when he retires to his “cellarmalt” and persists when he returns and resumes scolding the Prankquean (22.9, 22.19, 22,22). His patience appears to be exhausted with the Prankquean’s third visit, whereupon his honest scribe unmasks our hero as “Jarl von Hoother Boanerges himself, the old

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terror of the dames” (22.32). He looks the part only once more in chapter 11 bartending in his (Earwicker’s) pub in his professional rank, which is Earwicker’s persistent vocation of pub keeper. The “pilsner had the baar, Recknar Jarl” (313.15) they called him as he reckons the totals and scoops the “change-a-pennies” into the till. The hero wears the comical aspects of “Here Comes Everybody,” and he bears an “everybody” assortment of names that Joyce holds uppermost in those myriad collections of hce phrases, while he fulfills, as ultimately revealed, the mystical role of the journeying “Everyman,” which carries the hero onward. Michael Steede has uncovered the use of diacritical marks to account for some of Joyce’s altered orthography. The mark for e pronounced as a (in prey) produces “staidylavgiver” (545.32) which sums up W. T. Stead’s crusade to bestow upon Britain the Criminal Law Amendment Act. In Anna Livia’s recollections, a consonant alteration of law to lav witnesses that the Maiden Tribute was called washable “filth,” and “Steadyon, Cooloosus!” (625.21) replaces with Stead himself his support for Cecil Rhodes. Anna Livia confers knighthood upon Stead, an award that many averred: “Arise, sir ghostus! As long as you’ve lived there’ll be no other” (532.04). STEAD SETS THE WORLD AGRIN To find what the cities and towns of England needed to improve people’s lives, Stead toured Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Newcastle in 1891 and conceived of civic or community centers; his earliest methods of implementing the concept is told in NewsStead (NS 23: 23). Occasionally, when seeing their town’s Civic Center, people remember that it exists because of W. T. Stead. This community endeavor was rapidly implemented and widely disseminated at home and abroad. In 1897 his topic was world peace and once again he began with a factfinding and sharing tour of the major capitals of Europe, specifically to promote the objectives of the second world Peace Congress at The Hague. Willingness to “set the world agrin” was termed Stead’s “Barnum faculty” and was demonstrated in Philadelphia and additional stops. Traveling to America to advance a pilgrimage of world peace sponsored by Andrew Carnegie in preparation for the second Peace Congress at The Hague in 1907, Stead was awarded a doctorate in Carnegie’s Pittsburgh. In Philadelphia a witness spied Mrs. Stead handing a piece of cardboard to the editor who hung it about his neck: “W. T. Stead, London, England.” Journalists, who otherwise would not have found him, flocked to interview him; he knew they would want to see him and would not, otherwise, know how to find him. In New York, a Peace Congress, presided over by Andrew Carnegie, established Stead’s reputation for non-stop speaking engagements. A

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humorist for the New York Times noted that Stead “has traveled on his present peaceful mission a distance of something like sixty thousand miles. He is reputed to have delivered two speeches per mile, each half a mile in length” (5 May 1907). Stead agreeably published a synopsis, of which the following is itself a synopsis. In Toronto he began at the 3000th word, spoke 7000 words, then said “due in San Francisco now,” started a gramophone and fled for the depot, where he said “If you want to hear the rest of this speech, you will have to run beside my automobile.” In Chicago he said “This talk of a Third Turmoil for Roosevelt fills me with misgivings . . . Good gracious! I’m due in Jamaica to fill two dates left open by the earthquake.” In Jamaica, “Two severe shocks of Stead were felt here to-day” (R 35: 595–600). If not working “with the last pound of steam on,” Stead felt he was shirking his duties. Arrived at The Hague for a stint of four months‒‒during which he would produce a daily paper in English, have it translated into French as Le Courier de la Conference, and set by Dutch compositors‒‒he was on the point of a breakdown that, as his son Henry appraised it, required intervention. Henry and Stead’s secretary got his father to bed and returned to face the chaos of the composing room. Henry found it necessary to acquire Dutch while being entertained by the Committee’s secrecy requirements and the turmoil in his father’s bedroom, the center of Delegate activities. They feared the chair or bed would collapse under the great weight of Baron Marshal von Beiberstein. To keep Committee proceedings secret, they were required to go to an unnamed delegate’s hotel in the morning and extract papers from under the sofa cushions while he bathed; hence he could truthfully say he had never given any confidential papers to anyone. Stead financed the paper by sending contributions to American papers, and to the Tribune in London, while he continued writing the “Progress” and proceedings reports for the Review of Reviews. Knowing everyone, he produced a Who’s Who at the Conference, which reminded Henry that journalists meeting Stead spoke of a “strange ‘cobwebby’ feeling” that came over them until they could take a second breath. Henry could not lay a trouble before him: “In his presence it had got into another focus, and I saw it through the other end of the telescope. Difficulty, doubt, despair and despondency were impossible in his presence, and the Weltratsel had ceased to be.” This is the same “bonhomie” which, Henry said, “broke down all reserve.” Joyce would have been enchanted with the opportunity to listen to the many languages spoken and garbled. As Teller, Joyce inserts his oversight at the first Hague Peace Conference in 1899, of which Stead printed an illustration of the “bleak and bronze portal of your Casaconcordia” (54.09–10; R 19: 440), held at the Huis ten Bosch Palace, the Little House in the Wood (Illus. R 19: 334). The Teller overhears an assembly of urgent and amusing queries for help, among which one is “O thaw bron orm, A’Cothraige, thinkinthou

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gaily?” (54.14), which translates “I am sorry, St. Patrick, do you understand Irish?” Climbing the crags of social improvement often ended in Stead’s suffering the pitfalls thereof, whether his own fault or those of circumstances beyond him. After the second Hague Peace Conference, the gods seemed to have turned against him in December 1907. His eldest son “Willie,” expected to carry on management of the Review and set Stead free for international activities, died suddenly at age thirty-five after an illness of only three days. Willie was the “forever” child that Anna Livia envisions: “The child we all place our hope in for ever” (621.31). Although nothing can compensate for the death of one’s child, spiritualism offered the consolation of communication. Soon Stead was confusing his hearers by speaking of “my boy Willie.” One who inquired was joyously informed “My boy Willie is more alive than ever!” Joyce encrypted this in “way boy wally” (333.09), which commonly passes for the housewifery song “My Boy Willie.” Joyce installs the phrase contextually with the charwoman Kate, an “aged crafty nummifeed confusionary” who has “clopped, clopped, clopped” through many scenes of death in Europe and elsewhere (333.06–07). “HIS STRENGTH HAS HELD RHODES” AND THE WAKE’S F.E.R.T. So successful was Stead in promoting Cecil Rhodes (1853–1902), the gold and diamonds “king” of Africa, to whom the “Colossus” phrase was geographically attached, it was commonly said that Stead’s enthusiasm prescribed a new character for Rhodes. A man who “thinks in continents,” Rhodes potentially empowered Stead’s own ideals of using ennobling wealth to serve the British empire. Stead devoted three major “character sketches” to him (R 3: 352–46; R 13: 116–36; R 20: 450–62), all lavishly supplemented with additional articles. After a heart attack at age nineteen, Rhodes was naturally concerned with his will and, at first in 1891 charged Stead, whose identity was X, “with the distribution of the whole of his fortune.” This document was revoked in 1893 when B. F. Hawksley was made joint heir. Coincident with formally maintaining friendship, Rhodes and Stead disagreed about Lord Milner who supported Britain in the Boer War in defiance of Stead’s defense of the Boers. Stead’s The Last Will and Testament of Cecil Rhodes (1902) detailed the provisions of all versions from 1891 to 1899, by which time the heroic Stead’s name had been withdrawn entirely, ostensibly to avoid embarrassment “by his [Stead’s] views.” Stead summarized repeated criticisms of Rhodes in his War against War newspaper (6 April 1900: 392); the Last Will adds Rhodes’s conversations, his correspondence, his speeches, and a very moving “closing scene.” Rhodes in Stead’s office overlooking the Thames in 1896 had succinctly expressed the Quinet motif that

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Clive Hart analyzed (Structure 182–200). Rhodes had come to London to face trial for his part in the Jameson Raid and spoke of prior crises when he had been likely “to lose everything I had in the world.” He remembered the old Roman Emperors in similar crises “And yet,” he said, “the world has jogged along fairly well after all. And that river,” pointing to the Thames, “has gone on flowing between its banks as if nothing had happened, and in spite of whatever happens to us, the race moves on” (R 13: 108). The concept was repeated in the Last Will (181). Clive Hart may have absorbed some of this; he comments concerning “aux temps de Pline et de Columelle” (281.04–05) that “western Rome was on the way toward its destruction” (185). Initially in their acquaintance, Rhodes offered Stead a total of £20,000 pounds of which Stead accepted a loan of £2,000 that settled a lowering libel case against the Pall Mall Gazette. Biographers of Rhodes have not been grateful to Stead, have failed totally to assess the Colossus of Stead, and have overlooked the “christlikeness” that Joyce perceived. One biographer wrote that Stead responded to Rhodes “in the language of an infatuated schoolgirl.” Faulting Rhodes, and anyone who defended him, however, quickly became an old game among persons blaming Rhodes for the war between Britain and the Transvaal. Stead served the owner of gold and diamond mines in sundry ways, notably the scheme of the famed Rhodes scholarships that are still coveted by college graduates today (R 26: 382), although the committee at the time rejected scholarships for women. Stead fathered the notion of “hands across the sea” to unite the “English speaking race” and proudly displayed a flag made up for illustration (R 13: 486). Rhodes expressed the ultimate dream of imperialism when he said “I would annex the planets if I could” (Last 190). Stead selected books for Rhodes’ personal library at his home Groote Schuur and shepherded Rhodes through the Jameson Raid trial. Joyce could not overlook the motto of Italy’s House of Savoy F.E.R.T. (127.10) for “Fortitudo Eius Rhodum Tenuit,” which, translated broadly, reads “his strength has held [the state of] Rhodes” and encapsulated Stead’s efforts. Joyce causes lower case “fert” (258.04, 596.15) to recur with Ragnarok and Götterdämmerung anchoring the end of the children’s world of playacting in chapter nine (II.1) on the occasion of exhaustion of words: “The timid hearts of words [are] all exeomnosunt” (258.02), and a brave face of comedy must be placed on it in the accents of Huck and Jim: [Asker] “how do that come?” [Teller] “By Dad, youd not heed that fert? Fulgitudes ejist rowdownan tonuout” (258.04). After “monomyth,” the word “fert” recurs in the summary of the qualities of the hero, who is a “big brucer, fert in fort” (596.15). As events proved, Stead was heedful of “fert” and preserved his integrity, but only his confidant Jean Finot, editor of La Revue in Paris, was privy to the fact.

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On 15 April 1915, commemorating the Titanic, the Committee of Dutch Admirers of Mr. Stead unveiled a bust of him (Illus. R 49: 342) with great ceremony in the Peace Palace at The Hague to honor Stead’s considerable contributions to its building. Jean Finot, editor of La Revue in Paris, spoke to factors of the Rhodes relationship that current biographers of Rhodes have overlooked. By letter, Stead confided to Jean Finot that “Cecil Rhodes only requires a year’s hard labor [in prison] to make him perfect,” and sometime afterwards, “these expressive words were printed . . . and the two friends fell out.” The good man Stead “would not realize the paradise of his great dream [founding an international newspaper] at the price of renunciation of the accomplishment of a writer’s duty.” Further, Some good men, knowing the splendid use Stead could have made of this money, intervened to bring about a reconciliation of these two great souls; but they ran against an unwavering opposition on Stead’s part. For nothing on earth would he have abandoned the just cause of the Boers . . . Cecil Rhodes had to make a new will. Stead was disinherited, but he retained a wealth greater than all the millions of all the millionaires, he remained at peace with his conscience. I assisted in this drama of broken friendships, of two bruised souls, for Stead had never lost his deep affection for Rhodes (R 49: 364–67).

Having called Stead “a good man” whose memory should be preserved, Finot summed the whole: “When England, his well-beloved, seemed to be in the wrong, during the war against the Boers, he had the sublime courage to declare in public meetings, ‘let England perish rather than continue to live on the fruits of injustice.’ Stead was really not only the glory of England and the English race, but the glory of humanity and of all mankind. In him shone forth the great treasure of moral courage, of sincerity, of loyalty, of love of your neighbour, and of some disinterestedness of which man is capable . . . Men like Stead furnish us with a reason for living” (R 49: 366). Joyce’s father “Pappie,” whose colorful displacements and portmanteau words suffuse the Wake, ingeniously mixes his referents. He glibly recites the “bad blood” history that existed “on the ground of the boer’s trespass on the bull [iconic Britain]” (87.20–21), by which he intends Majuba Hill, site of the devastating British loss to the Boers in the “first Boer War” (1881) that inspired patriotic avowals to regain the empire’s lost honor in the “second Boer War” (May 1901 to May 1902). Issy derides them: “Bigbawl [Britain] and his boosers’ eleven makes twelve territorials” (147.05), a home defense force called the Territorials waiting to mobilize when called upon. On the veldt, British soldiers numbered 204,000 versus 30,000 Boers, who were invisible in trenches from which they picked off the proud Gordon Highlanders one by one. “Matt Emeritus,” one of the Four Old Men, speaks of their “waiting for the end to come. Gordon Heighland, when you think of it!” (392.33–34). The Highlanders were then extinct.

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Concurrently, the rises and falls of the hero’s fate led to Stead’s suppression of his nomination for the Nobel Prize in 1903, a secret he kept so securely that apparently neither of the biographers Frederick Whyte nor Robertson Scott knew of it. Stead was required to write a preliminary Autobiography in 1901, which his staff located after his death along with a dictated supplement updating events to the year 1911 (R 45: 609–620). In 1912, supporters circulated a petition for awarding Stead the Nobel Prize for his work in promoting peace, and a correspondent in Berne briefly announced “Nobel Peace Prize for Mr. Stead: Would Have Been Awarded Him This Year” (NS 7: 19), alas too late for “the late Mr. Stead.” So much anxiety and uncertainty finds lugubrious expression in the children’s perspective on a “Heavysciusgardaddy, parent who offers sweetmeats, will gift uns his Noblett’s surprize” (306.03–04). It could have been James Joyce as well. Rhodes’s percipience in matching Stead with Bouchier Hawksley became evident in rescuing the defeated hero from two disastrous falls in 1904: first, the failure of the Daily Paper and, second, his visit to South Africa, when he was “run out of the country,” although Rhodes was largely responsible for supporting the British policy that Stead sought to defeat. The futuristic Daily Paper, Stead’s second attempt to achieve a lifelong dream, floated on combined majestic editorial schemes and distribution methods, that employed many of the otherwise unemployable: hundreds of sandwichmen advertisers, a boat bearing ads (“when papa papared the harbour” (170.15), a Girl’s Messenger Brigade. Preparations climaxed with a block party for all participants at the Great Queen’s Hall (E. MT 283–84–87). Stead was prostrated from overwork and collapsed with the first issue; his son Henry carried on for five weeks, during which Stead’s doctor feared permanent damage lest he take immediate rest. Whyte determined that the financial losses amounted to £35,000 (2: 233), eventually dissolved by Hawksley and Alfred Beit of South Africa (Whyte 2: 233). For recuperation Stead and his daughter Estelle embarked for South Africa, where Stead anticipated welcome for his defense of the Boers but was loudly opposed at the outset for “reopening old wounds”; and his former assistant Lord Milner refused to meet him. Still unwell, he returned to London to compose thanks to the Review’s readers “from one who is pretty hard hit.” He had supported Alfred Milner for the position of High Commissioner in Capetown optimistic of preventing war, but after a year Milner had “changed front” and combined with Rhodes and Chamberlain to support policies that made war certain, In 1901 a member of the Nobel Committee asked Stead to submit a statement on the Peace Question, which he updated by dictation “only a few days before he left on the Titanic” to sketch the last ten years in the cause of International Peace. After the Titanic his staff found the only copy, the second half unread after dictation. They printed it under heading “The Great Pacifist” (R 45: 609–20), its paragraphs stacked in order with topic headings

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but all of it missing his former soaring rhetoric. The total testifies to Carlyle’s perception that the hero can least measure himself. Definitely, Stead as Doer and Teller could not lobby for himself, especially in those waning years; however, the document provides Stead’s formal resolution of the disturbing relationship with Cecil Rhodes tainted with regret that, although his doctrine of “Responsibility for Jingoism” had intended “to present the moral aspect of imperialism [it] was used by the Jingoes as a kind of virtuous cloak behind which they could carry out their designs.” This last testament, too, the recent biographers of Cecil Rhodes have overlooked. Under the brave heading “Responsibility for Mr. Rhodes,” he explains: Because I knew and appreciated Mr. Rhodes’ devotion to a highly ideal conception of the Empire, and also because I believed in his devotion to the Dutch of South Africa, I supplied him with a certain moral status in public estimation which he would otherwise have lacked, and thereby enormously increased his influence in London; and from the effects of this the cause of peace is still suffering. My only consolation in meditating upon this disastrous misapplication of my teaching when it had been stripped of its moral ingredients is that this has been the fate of nearly all those who have labored for the moral improvement of their kind. Of this the most conspicuous illustration is supplied by the way in which Christianity has been used to defeat the objects of its founder. (R 45: 613).

And the cause of Stead, and Joyce’s esteemed “christlikeness” quality of it was still suffering. In response to the Nobel Committee’s request, the fire that was in his belly, as the Victorians were fond of saying, was shown to be much diminished. He could not write about himself with the fervor of enthusiasm that glowed for others but only at this time as if foreboding the imminent disaster of Titanic to carry brooding the words of Cecil Rhodes, the “despairing cry” from his deathbed: “So much to do, so little done.” Writing must not be “dull,” Stead had warned neophyte journalists, but this writing for the Nobel committee is in the most part a flat, dull recounting of sincere self-motivated labor that speaks resignation in each paragraph. “The timid hearts of words all exeomnosunt” (258.02), from the Latin exuent omnes: “they all go out” or exit the stage, which Joyce, it appears, wrote with Rhodes in mind; Issy’s comment follows the “fert” and “Fulgitudes ejist rowdownan tonuout” (258.04) . Issy was correct about “the noblett’s surprise.” In retrospect the hero who acts as both Doer and Teller is his own judge and jury, and Joyce ultimately refuses to attach Stead’s compunction to HCE’s self-evaluation (536.28–554.09). Certainly, the Puritan conscience reminded Stead that he should have accomplished more; and herein his bouts of depression and those of Cromwell plummeted to their origins, in trying to read the inscrutable mind of God.

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CROMWELL: THE HERO OF CARLYLE AND JOYCE Rises and falls were not always perceived by the public; although Stead was correctly praised for being “the good man Stead,” no one heeded his warnings about ocean liners sailing with insufficient lifeboats. His staff remembered that “In after years he used to say that the greatest compliment he ever received was when Cardinal Manning said to him, ‘When I read the Pall Mall Gazette every night, it seems to me as if Oliver Cromwell has come to life again,” and remembered that his father said “You would do much better, William, if you would occasionally leave God to manage His universe in His own way” (repeated R 45: 473–94). Despair at finding what God intended plagued both Stead and Cromwell, who began his mission at age forty. Anyone could analogize with Christ the hanging of Cromwell’s dead body in chains, and Jean Finot said that Stead’s soul “was one of the most beautiful reflections of the divine upon earth” (EH 91). Gruesome facts of Irish history choke the remembrances of IrishAmericans today. Cromwell’s soldiers, they say, tossed babies back and forth on the points of their bayonets; they slaughtered Irish women who sought refuge on the altars of the churches. Others accepted this with “they were all like that in those days.” The truth has emerged in a discussion of Disraeli by Roumen L. Genov who reveals not only the source but also the method by which the populace was impressed with it: In communist Bulgaria, for decades after World War II, the respective units on the international repercussions of the national rising of April 1876 in the secondary school history textbook were invariably illustrated with the cartoon by the famous caricaturist of Punch, John Tenniel, “The Neutrality in Difficulty” (with Disraeli telling to indignant allegorical Britannia pointing to him the horrible scenes in the background, with maidens dragged by Turkish soldiery, babies spiked on bayonets, etc., that he did not see in the Blue Books. (2)

Only by a sweep of history could Thomas Carlyle achieve the task of rehabilitating Cromwell for having created, as John Morley phrased it, “the most barbarous and inhuman chapter that stains the domestic history of the kingdom” (R 20: 586–887); therefore, Stead and Cromwell are inseparable from Carlyle. Stead was reexamining fighting-mad divergences of British and Irish loyalty at the time the British in 1895 were preparing to erect a statue of Cromwell, of whom Stead, explaining the rancor in some quarters, said the statue was certain to “irritate” the Irish (R 12: 8). Completed by Hamo (Sir William) Thornycroft in 1899, it was rumored to have been placed opposite a bust of beheaded Charles I above a doorwy, but this placement did not occur until 1956. The hero is often called by his own urgencies to an indefensible position, and, said Carlyle, Cromwell knew he had “no Notary’s parchment but only God’s voice from the battle-whirlwind for being Presi-

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dent among you.” King and Parliaments having failed, “there remained nothing but the way of Despotism.” He would have military dictators “to coerce the Royalist and other gainsayers, to govern them, if not by act of Parliament, then by the sword. . . to make England a Christian England” (Heroes 234–36). Considering the Eddic “Hero as Divinity,” and unaware, because of the time lapse, that Joyce holds St. Patrick responsible for bringing repressive Catholicism into Ireland, Carlyle observes that the last appearance of the god-hero Thor is “a sorrowing protest against the advance of Christianity, set forth reproachfully by some Conservative Pagan. King Olaf has been harshly blamed for his over-zeal in introducing Christianity” (Heroes 39). At last, Thor appears briefly for bringing magical admonition, a deific materialization on the Norwegian shore, “a stranger [nameless], of grave eyes and aspect, red beard, of stately robust figure, [who] has stept in”—the very “stranger stepashore” also enacted by Earwicker. Anonymous Thor is brought to talk with the King as they sail along appreciating the beautiful scenery. “Yes, King Olaf, it is all beautiful, with the sun shining on it there; green, fruitful, a right fair home for you; and many a sore day had Thor, many a wild fight with the rock Jötuns, before he could make it so. And now you seem minded to put away Thor. King Olaf, have a care!” said the stranger, drawingdown his brows; —and when they looked again he was nowhere to be found. —This is the last appearance of Thor on the stage of the world! (Heroes 40).

For Joyce and Stead, the gods of a former time coexist in the present. THE CABBAGING HERO Thomas Carlyle’s Heroes and Hero Worship obviously provided information for Joyce’s favorable treatment of both defeated heroes Cromwell and Napoleon, both topics of Carlyle’s lecture titled “The Hero as King.” Cromwell was another cabbaging plowman, of whom Carlyle remembers that Diocletian preferred planting cabbages to being pestered with bundles of red tape; Cromwell’s three Parliaments failed, his corpse was hung in chains. In Stead’s view, killing King Charles the First achieved the establishment of a republic, of which Stead confessed in 1899 “I feel a thrill of gratitude and pride whenever I pass the banqueting house [place of execution] at Whitehall” (R 19: 426). The young man Stead felt himself blessed among mortals, even immortals, when he met the old man Carlyle in 1877 and could, in a rapture of admiration, figuratively, worship at his feet (R 3: 133). Skeptical of the Divine Right of kings, so easily betrayed as a “Diabolical Wrong,” Carlyle declared: “There is no act more moral between men than that of rule

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and obedience” and “Find me the true Könning, King or Able-man, and he has a divine right over me” and conceded to Cromwell the importance of the spiritual element, having “something of the Pontiff in him” (Heroes 199). Carlyle would, one suspects, be amused to learn that, after a trip to the Vatican, Stead brazenly anointed himself by displaying “Vatican, London” on his letterhead for his cable address. The story of the hero is only half told in tales of Finn MacCool, confined to a prior century and glowing through the fog of a misty past. The other half is the bloke you may in holiday crowd encounter (596.15–16), who has not accessed legendary status, who is so ordinary he may be overlooked entirely or, at next worst, live out his life as an object of condescension. Parnell himself was “a Cincinnatus compelled to relinquish his cabbages” (Lyons 143); hence the Wake’s chapter 2 opens with “We are told how in the beginning it came to pass that like cabbaging Cincinnatus the grand old gardener was saving daylight . . . one sultry Sabbath afternoon” (30.11–14), for the rustic Irish were called “cabbages.” Seeing Royalty announced by a runner approaching, Earwicker stumbles to the highway acting ignorant and peasant-like, much to the amusement of the king and his retainers, who are well-trained “cocker spaniels.” The hero’s fate is coming to meet him. Next Earwicker, a puritan, is seen wearing stiffened night attire violating the Puritan embargo on the theatre (32.07–12). Testing his conscience to challenge his future, Stead attended his first theatrical performance in 1904 at the age of fifty-six under pressure from Sir Henry Irving and Elizabeth Robins. Sir Henry branded Stead a “tyro” and was looking for such an amateur to review plays from new angles. Prior to the event, in his best Barnum and Bailey fashion, Stead succeeded in creating suspense to the extent that the Bystander complained “All the Press of the United Kingdom” was awaiting Stead’s first visit to the theater, “as though it were a matter of national importance.” Whereas Stead had remarked in his series of articles “Impressions of the Theater” in 1904 that “half the best plays turn upon the committal or the avoidance of adultery,” Joyce selects for Earwicker’s attention a trio of companion pieces: A Royal Divorce, The Bo[hemian] Girl and The Lily (32.33). Carlyle’s perception that the hero can least measure himself is tested in Joyce’s construction of a scene for Stead-Earwicker for the first time in his life wearing formal dress and attending His Majesty’s Theatre. After Stead’s return from South Africa, defeated and discouraged, the “rescue from without” that Joseph Campbell specified for the hero’s journey took the form of a new enthusiasm; Stead accepted the challenge of Sir Henry Irving to convert himself from “tyro” to aficionado of the theater, and began a new career reviewing plays. Having emerged from his cabbage patch to greet the king passing by on the high road, Stead-Earwicker enters His Majesty’s Theatre. Aware of “everybody,” he forgot that he was “somebody” for whose searing articles criti-

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cally appraising the theater the audience greets him with “Take off that white hat.” He steps into a setting in which the poor of the city have, like Joyce’s family, gone without food to buy theater tickets and surveys his surroundings “continually” to estimate how much Irish wealth the British can plunder from this “sinful” pleasure. The audience practices on him the old custom of throwing a few (not to waste more) nuts at him, and he gains a new identity: the sigla H.C.E. The poseur of theatrics is part of the stock entertainment, and the subject returns the compliment, The King Street House was the Gaiety in Dublin; it was His Majesty’s theater Haymarket, in London, where Stead-Earwicker surveys the house, [A]mid vociferatings from in front of Accept these few nutties! and Take off that white hat! . . . from good start to happy finish the truly catholic assemblage gathered together in that king’s treat house [King Street] of satin/Satan [Puritan condemnation], alustrelike above floats and footlights from their assbawlveldts [asphalt fields contrast; “Fields of Athenry” s.] and oxgangs [primitive farming; 10 to 18 acres] unanimously to clapplaud (the inspiration of his lifetime and the hits of their careers). (32.22–28)

Stead’s wearing of the white sombrero-style hat was well authenticated in photographs on Hayling Island and in South Africa. Puritanism taught Stead to expect a shameless display of female nudity in the bared high-bosomed fashion of the day. Instead, at His Majesty’s Theatre, he witnesses only decorum while he retains the kerchief of his cabbaging garment and looks like a hodge even while dressed in a tuxedo and “outstarching” the other “clawhammers” dressed stiff like furniture and displaying High Society status: “The piece was this: look at the lamps [puritan illumination]. The cast was thus: see under the clock [Puritan sin of wasting time]. Ladies circle: cloaks may be left [indecent exposure]. Pit, prommer and parterre [pit under the gallery], standing room only. Habituels [regulars] conspicuously emergent [HCE] (33.10–13). Beginning his new career as drama critic in 1904, Stead saw that the performance of The Tempest resembled nothing like the old pit he used to read about for the honor of Shakespeare, Garrick, and Kean: “Row after row of smooth, decorous, reserved, well-dressed, conventional creatures, in conventional dress, doing the conventional thing in the conventional way—that was the audience that I saw at His Majesty’s” (R 30: 361). Stead overnight was converted from demoralizer to avid enthusiast; thereafter he promoted theatre wherever possible, advocated reviving the old historical pageants; assisted with founding the English Players—and reviewed over forty plays.

Chapter Four

The Thunder of Stead’s Scandalous “Maiden Tribute”

“These revelations cannot fail to rouse the conscience of the English people,” Stead predicted. Expressions of stunned, astonished horror, alarm and indignation, and doubtless thrills of vicarious participation, with which alert Londoners reacted to the Pall Mall Gazette of Monday, 6 July 1885, conveyed the success of Stead’s intention and rapidly reached into the far outposts of the kingdom. The editor, W. T. Stead, had thought wise the previous Saturday to prepare his public by explaining his purpose. The front-page follower in the weekend Pall Mall Gazette warned the squeamish and prudish they (underlined) “will do well not to read the Pall Mall Gazette of Monday and the three following days” (4 Jul 1885 PMG 1). Punch retaliated with a “Steady, Sir, Steady!” warning a week later. By Wednesday of the proclaimed week, the editor bragged deifically with a modicum of modesty: “We knew that we had forged a thunderbolt; but even we were hardly prepared for the overwhelming impression which it has produced on the public mind” (8 Jul PMG 1). Stead’s series of four articles, carefully researched and planned out before the first was printed, were an unparalleled journalistic sensation that changed the face of journalism and resulted in the Criminal Law Amendment Act, which established the “age of consent” and the age of “statutory rape” at sixteen. The series was titled “The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon” and quickly became known throughout the world. Stead had gone, in disguise when necessary, into the underworld of London and searched out the facts of criminal vice and white slavery. Good citizens had no prior knowledge of its existence. Choosing a slogan from Carlyle’s message from Goethe, “We bid you be of hope,” Stead proffered six pages for two days each and five the third day 99

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of four “chapters” dictated from notes, and produced closely-printed articles broken by alarming crossheads like “The Violation of Virgins,” “Strapping Girls Down,” and “I Order Five Virgins,” all totaling almost 34,000 words. He maintained the plan despite ongoing investigations and supplements of “Letters to the Editor” and “Progress of the Bill in Commons.” Thursday was an interruption while he awaited information updated to the minute and told how his barricaded office had on Wednesday withstood a siege by the London poor demanding copies to sell at inflated prices. He ended Friday’s issue with asserting pride in the privilege of having turned on the conspiracy of silence “a little of the wholesome light of day” (10 Jul PMG 10: 6). The impression produced on the mind of James Joyce is the basis of prominent Wakean designs both centralized and variously-dispersed, a Bayeux Tapestry of forward-rushing narration crossed with currents colored as “motifs.” Some “threads,” as Joyce called them, have been underwoven to the extent that they may not be recognized by researchers who have spent decades on the book. In the progress of those four days, Stead provided much vocabulary of Finnegans Wake: “Nolens volens” or “willing and unwilling”; the “man in shirt,” the “muddest thick,” “hesitancy,” the “municipal sin.” Joyce represented Stead’s “thunderbolt,” launched in Ireland, as the explosion of an atomic bomb: The abnihilisation of the etym/atom by the grisning of the grosning of the grinder of the grunder of the first lord of Hurtreford [Dublin] expolodotonates through Parsuralia [Lucan] with an ivanmorinthorrorumble [Ivan the Terrible] fragoromboassity amidwhiches general uttermosts confussion are perceivable moletons skaping with mulicules [atom-smashing] while coventry plumpkins [normally localized] fairlygosmotherthemselves in the Landaunelegants of Pinkadindy [Piccadilly]” (353.22–28).

Time is stopped precisely at twelve o’clock “none minutes, none seconds.” Those particles of words are propelled by the force of the blast to the very outposts, the canvas of the world: “Similar scenatas are projectilised from Hullululla, Bawlawayo, empyreal Raum and mordern Atems [Edinburgh]” (353.28–29). That Joyce attaches the explosion to the “shooting of the Russian general” by way of Ivan the Terrible records an essential, almost insurmountable, divide between Joyce and his audience, similar to Stead’s predicament, that the public damned his alarming message for purveying “filth” that fastidious Victorians deemed “improper” and damaging to the eardrums. For a segment of the public, Stead’s warnings fell on deaf ears and dull understanding, requiring the distant rumble to reverberate before being understood. Investigative journalism was in its infancy, its civic purposes an affront to many of monarchical society and the slavery question that was kept shrouded by the perpetrators. Only one prior instance of reform journalism

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existed, that of Stead’s predecessor Frederick Greenwood, who had produced the “Amateur Casual” in 1866 relating an overnight stay in a men’s homeless shelter, from which the two volunteers emerged frozen and unrecognizable. In 1883, Stead’s fiery recasting of the work of Andrew Mearns and others, alarmingly entitled “The Bitter Cry of Outcast London,” served as precursor of further reforms to be accomplished by Stead’s journalism. Joyce was age three in 1885 when children and foreigners all wakened to the cry that London, which they often called Babylon, was truly the modern Babylon. The city’s maidens and children were threatened by criminal vice—Stead’s hortatory delivery informed them—and England was made the butt of filthy jokes by the first stroke of Stead’s new weeklong series: “The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon” (herein shortened to MT). Once they learned it existed, concerned citizens possessed no idea how to solve the problem of criminal vice and preferred to ignore or deny it. They could only thrill to and gossip about its horrors while they awaited further titillation, and naturally faulted the editor for participating in the crime he investigated. Indeed, many blamed him for reaping huge profits from inflated sales of the newspaper, a secret wealth held against him that Joyce repeats throughout. Sir Richard F. Burton of the famed Thousand Nights denounced Stead for destroying public morals and teaching little gutter-girls that their pucelages were vendible at £3 or £5. Since Stead began his “spring offensive” (78.15) in June and his printed exposé the day after his 5 July birthday, Joyce allows himself the satirist’s privilege of archetypal approximation: “one happygogusty Ides-of-April morning (the anniversary . . . of his first assumption of his mirthday suit” (35.3-4). At age three, overhearing conversations in Dublin, Joyce could marvel at the nursery rhyme and game converted into something called “The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon.” The first task, to establish that London was Babylon, had already been accomplished by the vernacular; the folk had inserted into the unknown “Babylon” of antiquity the equally rhythmic, immediately present and visible city of “London-town” for their rhyme and game: “How many miles to Babylon [of biblical disrepute] . . . Shall I get there by candlelight?” (nr) or, in Joyce’s version, “the park’s so dark by kindlelight” (20.20). Adults could yearn for the freedoms of luxury, sensuality, vice and corruption conveyed by “Babylon” and for their own reasons had long called London “Babylon.” British Babylon is thoroughly ensconced in merged, migrant and immigrant languages: The Babylon/babbelers with their thangas/tongues vain have been (confusium hold them!) they were and went; thigging/begging thugs were and houhnhymn songtoms/songtimes were and comely norgels [fair Norsemen; Stead’s ancestry] were and pollyfool fiansees [parlez-vous français]. (15.12–15)

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The “pink one,” the Sporting Times, had published a hostile review of Joyce’s Ulysses in 1922; in 1885 Stead was forced by short supply to borrow tinted “pink” paper from the Globe to continue printing thousands of copies of the MT. Moreover, Stead accused the churches and the courts of permitting child vice and white slavery to flourish. A “maiden” who could still blush enhanced the assailant’s pleasures, and the “porporates” or cardinals of the faith were among them denying or disguising their faults. Hard-hearted Puritans applied the “Mother of Harlots” (from Rev. 17:18 meaning Rome) to their Roman Catholic rivals. Let manner and matter of this for these our sporting times [the “sport” was ruining maidens] be cloaked up in the language of blushfed porporates [cardinals] that an Anglican ordinal [Established Church], not reading his own rude dunsky tunga [Danish tongue], may ever behold the brand of scarlet [Rev 17: 4–5] on the brow of her of Babylon [Catholic Church] and feel not the pink one [guilt] in his own damned cheek. (185.08–12).

“Blushfed” stands for the appalling ignorance, both familial and external, imposed on young girls who were reared on the unforgiving religion and hypocrisy of Mary Sherwood’s Fairchild Family, in which a girl was burned to death, deserving hell, for disobeying her parents. Victorian complacency was imminently to be threatened by Stead’s revelations. Published in 1824, the Fairchild Family, Charles Terrot discovered, “had a larger sale than any novels of Charles Dickens” and makes credible that “a Victorian middleclass daughter, who had been seduced by a white slave agent, was far too terrified to return home and unprotestingly allowed herself to be shipped abroad.” To marry well, a girl was taught to be “sweet . . . a sunbeam in the house” and to continue thus with her spouse. A French police officer in 1859 explicated the exogenous circumstances by which white slavers were successful: “The education of English girls is usually of such a strictly prudish character that, in their simplicity and ignorance of the world, they offer themselves the easiest prey imaginable.” The code of the Fairchild Family, Terrot continues, “epitomizes the Victorians’ hypocrisy and underlying sadism which were the effective catalysts for the growth of the white slave traffic” (22–30). Stead assailed the incredible, soul-numbing nescience of “these girls,” Protestants worse than Catholics: “Even more than the scandalous state of the law, the culpable refusal of mothers to explain to their daughters the realities and the dangers of their existence contributes to fill the brothels of London” (7 Jul 1885 PMG 2). Dublin’s “Nighttown” provided one of those havens for foreign victims whose languages Joyce could interpret while exploring there. The clusters of Lithuanian and German spoken by the “maidens” disclose their national origins: “Swikey” (Lithuanian hello]; “balltossic” (Baltic); “stummung”

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(German family, race); “sake” (German Sache tr case); “at the caledosian” (Lithuanian Kaledos tr Christmas and Scots Caledonian)” (187.2–7). Veteran editor W. T. Stead was in 1885 at first stunned by the information that the Reverend Benjamin Waugh brought him and that initiated the Maiden Tribute. Terrot, who authored his exceptional account of prostitution and white slavery when people were still alive who knew Stead, recorded Stead’s balancing on his fatherly knee the four-year-old child who had been raped by twelve men, only one of whom had been convicted because she could not understand the nature of an oath. Upon Waugh’s reproving him for swearing, Stead vowed to evoke the power of God to destroy this evil. He initiated a series of inquiries with officials, knowledgeable reformers, and rescue agencies. Joyce’s Finnegan improved the phrasing when he “sternely struxk his tete in a tub for to watsch the future of his fates but . . . the very water [for predicting the future] was eviparated” (4.21–24), boiled dry, burned-in-hell dry by Stead’s scorching prose. THE FIRST DAY: MONDAY, 6 JULY 1885 Phrases Joyce could borrow repeatedly from Stead’s leader begin with his purpose “to touch the heart and rouse the conscience of the English people.” Stead drew upon the nation’s bedrock classical and biblical sources. “’Am I my sister’s keeper’? that paraphrase of the excuse of Cain, will not dull the fierce smart of pain . . . of every decent man who learns the kind of atrocities which are being perpetrated in cool blood in the very shadow of our churches and within a stone’s throw of our courts.” Having indicted church officials, judges and magistrates, Stead accused them of waging a “conspiracy of silence by which, after every inquiry, the door was each time quickly closed upon the question, as the stone lid used to be shut down, in the Campo Santo of Naples [like dumping the dead into a vast sewer], upon the mass of human corpses that lay festering beneath.” The Naples example occurred in Gladstone’s “Bulgarian Horrors” pamphlet, but this bow to the great Prime Minister failed to arouse Gladstone. By ignoring the plight of homegrown and imported maidens, Gladstone proved himself part of the “conspiracy of silence” with which the slave trade flourished. Joyce correctly assessed the implication by causing his “Sylvia Silence” to lisp about Stead’s law (61.07–11). Those guardians the Home, the School, the Church were all guilty of negligence in informing the public, but the greatest failure was that of the Churches: “The Child Prostitute of our day is the image into which, with the tacit acquiescence of those who call themselves by His name, men have moulded the form once fashioned in the likeness of GOD.” However, “If Chivalry is extinct and Christianity is effete,” there was still hope in Democracy and Socialism:

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Chapter 4 Wealth is power, Poverty is weakness . . . in all the annals of crime can there be found a more shameful abuse of the power of wealth than that by which in this nineteenth century of Christian civilizations princes and dukes, and ministers and judges and the rich of all classes, are purchasing for damnation, temporal if not eternal, the as yet uncorrupted daughters of the poor? It will be said they assent to their corruption. So did the female serfs from whom the seigneur exacted the jus primænoctis [the infamous bride-right]. (6 Jul 1885 PMG 1).

On the field of Clontarf, Mutt and Jute picture the “droit of signory” as an “icefloe” of hardened hearts from “Inn the Byggning” (17.22); male abuse of the female has stained the Irish soil for centuries, an ongoing pia e purabella. Joyce snatched up the phrase in Latin Nolens Volens to specify the plight of captured “flowers” or maidens: “From the butts of Heber and Heremon [founders of Ireland], nolens volens, brood our pansies [maidens], brune in brume/fog” [brown in white: Dane and Norse] (271.19–21). The time for Stead-Earwicker’s conviction to jail is “Nolans Volans at six o’clock shark” (558.18). Stead’s follower heralded the now-famed title in large caps and the subject “The Report of our Secret Commission” in small caps for authorship of the piece, Stead himself and his office staff and public assistants. He detailed events in Crete by which seven youths and seven maidens were each ninth year carried under black sails to “the famous labyrinth of Daedalus” to wander about blindly until devoured by the Minotaur, a frightful monster, half man, half bull, “the foul product of an unnatural lust.” Those who entered could not find their way out again and the air was rent with lamentation until “the hero Theseus volunteered to be offered up.” The Latin that W. T. Stead had learned at his father’s knee now “stood him in good stead” as he “turned over” to the second page. Confident that he could comply with the requirement for authors to display credentials of classical knowledge, editor Stead attacked their indifference to the poor and the victimized by quoting the original Latin of Ovid’s tale of children sacrificed to the Minotaur. The “paltry maiden tribute” that the Athenians paid once in nine years, however, had paled beside the present horrors of human sacrifice: “This very night in London, and every night, year in and year out, not seven maidens only, but many times seven . . . will be offered up as the Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon.” The number of those lost souls are “not much below 50,000 strong [other estimates were 70,000 and 80,000] and most of those ensnared to-night will perish, some of them in horrible torture.” The legend accompanying a sculpture on the wall of the porch of the cathedral at Lucca read, Hic quem credicus edit Dedalus est laberinthus De quo nullus vadere quivit fuit intus.

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For four weeks Stead and his two or three coadjutors, fearless and selfsacrificing, explored “the London inferno.” Having assumed the role of Theseus, Stead found Ovid’s mythical dragon in London, an insatiable Minotaur, “and none that go into the secret recesses of his lair return again.” Especially wanted were child virgins―sought, bought, and captured―to serve the purpose of a prophylactic on the basis of a lurid superstition that a gentleman could “cleanse himself” on the body of the child. London was a resurrected City of the Plain, “with all the vices of Gomorrah, peopled by the same persons heard and seen “in the house of ill-fame as those in caucuses, in law courts, and on ‘Change.” He heard judges and members of the Queen’s Counsel praised or blamed “for their addiction to unnatural crimes or their familiarity with obscene literature” (end of p. 2). At the best a visitor wanders in Circe’s isle except these having the “likeness of the beast” retain their own form “while within there is only the heart of a beast―bestial, ferocious, and filthy beyond the imagination of decent men.” Stead related his adventures: “For days and nights it is as if I had suffered the penalties inflicted upon the lost souls in the Moslem hell, for I seemed to have to drink of the purulent matter that flows from the bodies of the damned.” He intended to provide for proof the names, dates, localities in confidence to the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster, Samuel Morley, M.P., the Earl of Shaftesbury, the Earl of Dalhousie, and Howard Vincent, ex-Director of the Criminal Investigation Department. Later, when he was preparing for a trial, he expected these persons to testify for him, but the Judge permitted none of his support witnesses to speak. Among the highest authorities and titled supporters that Stead sought for advice before proceeding was “the Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster,” who had become a father to Stead since his own father died. Joyce sketched Manning’s distinct portrait, “our private chaplain of Lambeyth [residence] and Dolekey/Dalkey, bishop-regionary, an always sadfaced man, in his lutestring pewcape with tabinet band, who has visited our various hard hearts” (533.08–10; Illus. R 2: 675). The pew shoulder cape would successfully disguise HCE’s hump if worn by the Norwegian captain, who, having ordered a “suit” from Kersse the Tailor, ostensibly to effect his escape, goes “voyaging after maidens” (323.7) in the white slave traffic, or “Manning to sayle of clothse for his lady her master whose [who is] to be précised of [fitted with] a peer of trouders under the pattern of a cassack” (311.27–29). In the shadow of the churches, Cardinal Manning told him, were decoy women, who dressed as Sisters of Mercy and stood in the pathway of Irish girls arriving in London seeking employment; also, legitimate clerics sought maidens for sex or sale, and procurers dressed themselves as clergymen. Joyce’s Kersse is naturally suspicious of a purchaser of his skills.

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Figure 4.1. Cardinal Manning: “bishop regionary . . . in his lutestring pewcape with tabinet band” (553.8-10)

The next crosshead (a journalistic technique that Stead invented) was Section I, “The Violation of Virgins,” divided by several alarming crossheads. Whether willing or unwilling was debatable, since many virgins who were violated were children “too young to understand the nature of the crime of which they are the unwilling victims.” These were victims of violence “as were the Bulgarian maidens with whose wrongs Mr Gladstone made the world ring some eight years ago,” but, again, the Prime Minister kept his silence. Many victims suffered a prolonged struggle in a locked room; others were bought, but none were allowed to emerge “until they have lost what woman ought to value more than life.” Stead was dedicated to this troublesome topic; he and James Joyce made the question of “price” an urgent topic for Parnell as well as maidens.

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An ex-officer offered to deliver a maiden for £20, of which Stead demanded “are these maids willing or unwilling . . . not merely in being a virgo intacta in the physical sense,” but chaste. The man replied they were willing but “they do not know what they are coming for.” Stead questioned actual rapes being “perpetrated in London on unwilling virgins.” The conversation became so familiar that many could quote it. Upon the officer’s reply “Certainly,” Stead exclaimed “Why, the very thought of it is enough to raise hell.” The officer countered “it does not even raise the neighbours.” Certainly the girls cry out, but “Remember, the utmost limit of howling or excessively violent screaming . . . is only two minutes, and the limit of screaming of any kind is only five.” Can she not prosecute? “She does not know her assailant’s name. . . A woman who has lost her chastity is always a discredited witness.” This was one reason, as Stead insisted, a woman ought to value chastity more than life. After an “eminent authority” in Lambeth, the official residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury, provided the initiatory information, Stead turned to a member of Parliament who bragged that he could provide “100 maids at £25 pounds each, but these would know that virginity is a realizable asset, with which they are taught they should never part except for value received.” Stead subsequently communicated with brothel-keepers in the West and East of London and in the provinces [end of p. 3]. A brothel-keeper confided that “Drunken parents” often sell their children to brothel keepers. Moreover, brothel keepers searched for “fresh girls” who were called “marks.” Once captured the unwilling girls were subdued by a mixture of laudanum and “something else”; and sometimes chloroformed. Next Stead verified the existence of a London slave market, of which a madam told how she recruited girls by giving them a dram of gin and then the girl would not know she was raped until she woke up from a deep sleep. [end of p. 4]. An ex-procuress told him about the use of “a doctor or an experienced midwife” to certify a girl’s virginity. Stead found a West End house kept by “a highly respectable midwife, where children were taken by procurers to be certified as virgins before violation, and where, after violation, they were taken “to be patched up,” and abortion could be procured. “Yet there stood the house, imperturbably respectable, its proprietress maintaining confidential relations with the ‘best houses’ in the West-end.” Joyce’s houses on North Richmond Street “gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces.” When a procurer promised a girl “a little excursion to the West,” she was on track to a career in prostitution. The “Nolens Volens” question that Stead was pursuing was a key to the “age of consent,” since it determined whether the girl was raped or had consented to violation. The crosshead “Why the Cries of the Victims Are Not Heard” glared information about padded underground rooms, where no one but the seducer could enjoy the agony of the girl’s screams, where “Flogging,

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both of men and women, goes on regularly.” For some men “the shriek of torture is the essence of their delight.” “No Room for Repentance” headed a keeper’s assertion “They are willing enough to come to my house to be seduced, but when the man comes they are never willing [end of p. 5]. She claimed that girls who had implored her to be seduced had “fought tooth and nail, when too late, for the protection of their chastity,” although children of twelve and thirteen “cannot offer any serious resistance.” Moreover, “Their mothers sometimes consent to their seduction for the sake of the price paid by their seducer.” The keeper said “The gentleman has paid for her, and he can do with her what he likes.” Stead said “Neither Rhadamanthus [Lord of Hell] nor Lord Bramwell could more sternly exact the rigorous fulfillment of the stipulation of the contract.” The next heading was “Strapping Girls Down,” head and foot, to the four posts of the bedstead. A lady of the house had volunteered to hold the virgin down “while her wealthy patron effected his purpose. That was too much even for him, and the alternative of fastening with straps padded on the underside was then agreed upon. Recruiting agents wooed their victims at Magdalene homes, workhouses, gaols when girls were released. The next heading was “How the Law Abets the Criminal” and concludes there is no protection, according to “Stephen’s Digest of the Criminal Law”: “If permission is given, the fact that it was obtained by fraud, or that the woman did not understand the nature of the act is immaterial.” The following report is basic to Joyce’s child-vice theme. Stead had no part in the transaction until he appeared at Eliza Armtrong’s room. A CHILD OF THIRTEEN BOUGHT FOR £5 Let me conclude the chapter of horrors by one incident, and only one of those which are constantly occurring in those dread regions of subterranean vice in which sexual crime flourishes almost unchecked. I can personally vouch for the absolute accuracy of every fact in the narrative. At the beginning of this Derby week [2 June], a woman [Rebecca Jarrett], an old hand in the work of procuration, entered [at Stead’s urging] a brothel [Mrs. Nancy Broughton] and opened negotiations for the purchase of a maid for rescue and his test case. One of the women who lodged in the house had a sister as yet untouched. Her mother was far away, her father was dead. The child was living in the house, and in all probability would be seduced and follow the profession of her elder sister. The child was between thirteen and fourteen, and after some bargaining it was agreed that she should be handed over to the procuress for the sum of £5. The maid was wanted, it was said, to start a house [brothel] with, and there was no disguise on either side that the sale was to be effected for immoral purposes. While the negotiations were going on, a drunken neighbor [Mrs. Armstrong] came into the house . . . So far from being horrified at the proposed sale of the girl [her daughter], she whis-

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pered eagerly to the seller [Mrs. Broughton], “Don’t you think she would take our Lily? I think she would suit.” Lily was her own daughter, a bright, freshlooking little girl, who was thirteen years old last Christmas. The bargain, however, was made for the other child, and Lily’s mother felt she had lost her market. The next day, Derby Day as it happened, was fixed for delivery of this human chattel. But as luck would have it, another sister of the child who was to be made over to the procuress heard of the proposed sale. She was living respectably in a situation [employment], and on hearing of the fate reserved for the little one she lost no time in persuading her dissolute sister to break off the bargain . . . Then came the chance of Lily’s mother. The brothel-keeper [Mrs. Broughton] sent for her, and offered her a sovereign for her daughter [in court Mrs. Armstrong admitted only to a shilling received from Mrs. Broughton]. The woman was poor, dissolute, and indifferent to everything but drink. The father, who was also a drunken man [Charles Armstrong] was told his daughter was going to a situation. He received the news with indifference, without even inquiring where she was going to. The brothel-keeper having thus secured possession of the child, then sold her to the procuress in place of the child whose sister had rescued her from her destined doom for £5—£3 paid down and the remaining £2 after her virginity had been professionally certified [Stead’s “assistant” Jarrett said she mailed this £2 from Paris]. The little girl, all unsuspecting the purpose for which she was destined, was told that she must go with this strange woman [Jarrett] to a situation. The procuress [Jarrett], who was well up to her work, took her away, washed her, dressed her up neatly [the new clothes signaled prostitution, not housework], and sent her to bid her parents good-bye. The mother was so drunk she hardly recognized her daughter [Eliza could not find her mother to say goodbye]. The father was hardly less indifferent [Charles Armstrong asked no questions]. The child left her home, and was taken to the woman’s lodging in A—— street.

Although Stead accepted the “facts” reported to him, he was misinformed by Jarrett, and there are confusing synonymous identities for the perpetrators. The people arraigned at Stead’s trial were Stead, Jarrett, Sampson Jacques, Bramwell Booth, Elizabeth Combe (who accompanied Eliza to France), and Louise Mourez, the old abortionist who sold the chloroform. Joyce treats variations of “Lily” combined with “lilith.” The first step had thus been taken. But it was necessary to procure the certificate of her virginity‒‒a somewhat difficult task, as the child was absolutely ignorant of the nature of the transaction which had transferred her from home to the keeping of this strange, but apparently kind-hearted woman. Lily [Eliza Armstrong] was a little cockney child, one of those who by the thousand annually develop into the servants of the poorer middle-class. She had been to school, could read and write, and although her spelling was extraordinary, she was able to express herself with much force and decision. Her experience of the world was limited to the London quarter in which she had been born. With the exception of two school trips to Richmond [Anna Livia’s “richmond and rare” (207.06)] and one to Epping Forest, she had never been in the country in

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voice was heard crying, in accents of terror, “There’s a man in the room! Take me home; oh, take me home!” *

*

*

*

*

*

And then all once more was still. That was but one case among many, and by no means the worst. It only differs from the rest because I have been able to verify the facts. Many a similar cry will be raised this very night in the brothels of London, unheeded by man, but not unheard by the pitying ear of Heaven [quoting Elizabeth Barrett Browning]‒‒ For the child’s sob in the darkness curseth deeper Than the strong man in his wrath. [end of p. 6]

REPERCUSSIONS Good-hearted Stead could not be called “innocent”; the editor must always be informed. The child had heard him enter, and he left immediately when she cried out. But he never anticipated that the six asterisks he used for emphasis would titillate anyone. In the violent court of readers-listeners, the six asterisks fired the imagination. Was the child raped or released? Persons supporting Stead would read “released”; others would imagine themselves and their acquaintances acting otherwise in this sexually-charged scene. At the Old Bailey, “every word,” against time restraints and legal procedures, would be “bound over to carry three score and ten toptypsical readings” (20.14–15). Phrases borrowed from it for the “midden” letter are distinguished hereafter in comments on “the letter.” Stead quoted Eliza’s letter from a copy received in his office; another copy bearing the distinctive “cross kisses” (Illus, “crosskisses” [111.17]) was printed in his Defense Speech. He had dictated the information from memory an unspecified time after the event, and parts of it were corrected in court. In the pornocracy that the city of London began to resemble, he was assailed on two sides. The profiteers of the sex trade determined to punish him for interference, and celebrated when he was convicted and jailed. Average, righteous citizens began to suspect him of abducting rather than rescuing the child, and all imagined that he was profiting from the excessive sales of his newspaper. The latter are the two “charges” that Joyce attaches to SteadEarwicker throughout Finnegans Wake. The only positive element that Stead could be certain of was that this child had not been obtained by fraud but only good intentions, although he had been misinformed in many respects. Following his journalistic creed “to get the facts,” and to prove that he was not misled by his informants, Stead had decided to enter the sex traffic himself, and to rescue a child who would otherwise be walking the streets as

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Figure 4.2. Eliza Armstrong’s letter, signed with Cross Kisses “The stain, and that a teastain” (111.20) “With Kiss. Kiss Criss. Cross Criss. Kiss Cross” (11.27–28)

a thirteen-year-old prostitute. To find such a child and to bring her to him, he had employed his “agent,” Rebecca Jarrett, a reformed prostitute presently assisting Mrs. Josephine Butler in her battle against sexual crimes. Jarrett was unwilling to enter her old haunts but eventually agreed to call on her former associate Mrs. Nancy Broughton for assistance in finding a child, who proved to be the daughter of a neighbor, Mrs. Armstrong. The plan was to put Eliza Armstrong through the paces of certification of her virginity and to deport her the next morning in the company of a Salvation Army matron, Mrs. Combe―all of this to prove that there would be no interference at any stage by the indifferent police. To protect Eliza’s identity, in writing his account, Stead changed her name to Lily; this decision engendered several of Joyce’s phrases like “If she’s a lilyth, pull early!” (34.33). Eventually, every word of the “Child of Thirteen” document was pored over and scrutinized in a fashion that Joyce attaches to the scrap of newspaper uncovered in the midden. Stead learned that he had in part been misled by Jarrett, and both of them were tried at the Old Bailey for “abduction and indecent assault,” the latter being the administration of chloroform. The political crisis driving Stead’s haste was that he had begun his investigations into child vice and white slavery in June when the Criminal Law Amendment bill had been defeated twice in Commons and, if defeated again, would be officially, legally, dead, not to be resurrected in a new Parliament in July. Gladstone’s cabinet “fell” on 6 June 1885. Meantime, Stead’s infor-

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mation made Eliza a likely prospect for rescue; her elder sister was already “on the streets.” He met Eliza at tea before her planned embarkation for France, which was intended to prove there would be no police interruption of an illegal activity and, confident of his own virtue, Stead saw her embarked thinking his rescue mission was successfully accomplished. Eliza thus became her caretaker’s “niece” in the jargon of the white slave traffic, which Joyce moderates slightly for the Prankquean, who is the Jarl’s “niece-of-hisin-law” (21.15). Stead’s substitution of the name Lily for Eliza provides “but to think of him foundling a nelliza the second” (291.14). “His seaarm strongsround her” (275.18) may be the Wake’s only use of her Armstrong surname. The pleasure men could derive from the immature is in the advice “Eat early earthapples” (271.24), and these horrific events are cited several times when he is the “besieged” who “bedreamt him stil and solely of those lililiths undeveiled which had undone him” (75.05–06). I have detailed all of these trying days of Stead’s life in Maiden Tribute: A Life of W. T. Stead. Controversy among skeptics still rages today whether Stead was a Saint or Sensationalist, which is the subtitle of Victor Jones’s book whose question Joyce sought to answer with the words “christlikeness” and his “vicefreegal existence” (33.29–30). That virgins could be purchased “at so much a head” analogized victims that were “sheep led to slaughter,” and inspired Joyce to quote Mary Had a Little Lamb, and authenticated the “beef to the heel” phrase from Ulysses. Stead’s trial case, his “abducted” Eliza (called Lily) “bleated like a lamb.” Shaun wears a “butcher blue” shirt to disguise blood stains. What Stead withheld from his public because too umbrageous for the “delicate ears” of the populace was that one of his brave young assistants, who planted herself in a brothel to inform him of procedures, found that children were being shipped in coffins into the white slave traffic (Terrot 155). Hence Stuart Cloete’s novel The Abductors (1966) appears more credible to persons aware of the Stead and Terrot information. Joyce presents his detective, thematically resembling Constable Sackerson but historically resembling Inspector Minahan, who was demoted for indicting the powerful brothel matron Mrs. Jeffries. Joyce shows that quality brothels entertained elite customers with fake marriage ceremonies purposed for the “flash bride” to attract one of the “upright grooms,” when the sadistic purpose was a prone position for the bride. She would be forced to “game with” a Snow-white “Nivynubies’ [marriageable] finery ball” (67.1), a beauty parade of eligible “maidens.” Retired to a private padded room, the “bride” might be strapped down for flagellation, for which “thumbs down to their orses and their hashes” conveys “horses and their lashes” (67.06).

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THE SECOND DAY: TUESDAY, 7 JULY 1885 Monday’s issue (6 July) detonated concepts; Tuesday’s issue exposed methods: how Stead and his staff heard rumors, followed slim leads, attempted and cancelled a project, learned about and acquired midwife’s and doctor’s certificates. Stead still held his directorship secret, but the knowledgeable public could discern without doubt the lineaments of W. T. Stead. Joyce gleaned from this section a plenitude of phrases adaptable to his novel. “The Report of our Secret Commission” hinted that Stead’s small staff with himself as Chief predictably stimulated suspense about future revelations. When private anatomical processes were not discussed in public, no one else would contend publicly as Stead did that a maiden’s virtue, her virginity, “is the most precious thing a woman ever has, but while the law forbids her absolutely to dispose of any other valuables until she is sixteen, it insists upon investing her with unfettered freedom to sell her person at thirteen” [end of p. 1]. No one ordinarily objected that a woman was demeaned as a piece of property until Stead under heading “The Responsibility of Mothers” scolded them for the daughter’s’ “total ignorance” of her anatomy because of the “culpable refusal of mothers” to explain. Under “Recruiting for the House of Evil Fame,” Stead reported that it is “a reservoir of vice fed by a multitude of tributary rills,” a realization of a vast public liability that Joyce would render poetically in “we have taken our sheet upon her stones [to wash out the dirt] where we have hanged our hearts in her trees [hope for the future] and we list, as she [mother of the universe] bibs us, by the waters of babalong [London]” (103.09–11). The “reservoir of vice” was a ruthless full-time business conducted by brothel-keepers who combed the city diligently in search of “a good mark” and followed established procedures to secure her. Not to overstate sensationalism, Stead relinquished space to admit, broadly, that “’Gentlemen’ who seduce girls under promise of marriage and then desert them are probably not responsible for more than 5 to 10 per cent. of our prostitutes, but so long as it is thought honourable and gentlemanly to ruin a girl’s life in order to enjoy half an hour’s excitement, it is no use saying anything about that mode of recruiting ‘the Black Army’ of our streets.” The section “Unwilling Recruits” told how girls were lured with promises of a “smart dress” and a “kind mistress” and “plenty of money.” Given a strong drink, the child awakened to knowledge that her “character” was gone and that she was destitute. “The Story of an Escape” was a case history that told of a girl’s resistance to capture and all threats and inducements in a lengthy process of fighting for her virtue until she barricaded herself in the kitchen where she found a Salvation Army hymnal with the address of General Booth. She waited until the small quiet hour of morning and escaped, found a policeman who gave her directions, and desperately waited outside headquarters, wearing her con-

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spicuous red dress, until the office opened. This became known as the Shoreham case, news of which brought Stead to this work. Her rescue did not end her victimization. He found that her original keepers pursued her to her home in Shoreham and even to the Brighton races while with bribes and threats they attempted to recapture her [end of p. 2] “Two Stories from Life” told how ‘Annie” was betrayed by a friend into being dazed with drink and “ruined” for half the price paid, the “friend” retaining her commission. The second was somewhat similar with the friend threatening “Do as I tell you, you little fool, or I will knock your head off you.” Both girls had learned to supplement their present scanty earnings in the brothels: “It is the first step which costs.” “Procuration in the West-End” discouraged the notion of vice predominantly flourishing in the East End. The procuress was a motherly charwoman motivated by the philosophy “If a girl is to be seduced it is better she should be seduced by a gentleman, and get something for it than let herself be seduced by a young fellow who gives her nothing.” This is the source of Issy’s enigmatic footnote “One must sell it to some one, the sacred name of love” (268.F1). Stead was “sickened” by the madam encouraging a girl to show off her points for him when there occurred only a moment’s opportunity for him to ask the child an urgent question. “Would you rather have £5 and not be seduced, or the £10 and be seduced?” The expected, idiomatic answer would be positive for the larger sum with the usual excuse “We [herself and her mother] are so poor.” Instead, she replied instantly, “Oh, £5 by all means, and not be seduced.” Joyce disrupts idiomatic “yes, more” and “no, less” to direct attention to her reply as one of his encrypted word games, wherein it requires an attuned ear: “our great ascendant was properly speaking three syllables less than his own surname (yes, yes, less! [she said]), that the ear of Fionn [MacCool] Earwicker aforetime was the trademark of a broadcaster [protector/journalist] with wicker [earwig] local jargon” (108.20–22). She would learn to her dismay that “a trip to the west” meant going to a brothel. Stead was startled to come upon a respectable pair of women who maintained a very comfortable lifestyle whose only “work” was ambulating the parks in search of “marks.” [end of p. 3]. They were the “firm of procuresses” that Stead called Mesdames X and Z, who supplied Mrs. Jeffries and other brothel owners and, for the sake of appearances, managed a “respectable” sewing room. One of their victims was recruited by going “with the perambulator and the baby to St. James’s Park every day.” They told initiates that the gentleman “will only have a game with you.” The word “game” deserves suspicion wherever it appears. In its first use the female speaker at Finnegan’s wake inserts female victimization into her doubletalk for the deceased, plus Stead’s type of retaliation. She says “when you were undone in every point [“undone” is female victim] fore the laps of goddesses [as a

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male in the brothels] you showed our laborlasses [opposite of fighting “gallowglasses”] how to free was easy.” Such was Stead’s purpose, providing the protection of education and, ultimately, invoking the new provisions of the C.L.A. Act. “The game old Gunne [gone]” (25.20–26.08). Repeated, Stead learned, was the false assurance that a pregnancy would not result from “the first time.” This same victim recruited with the perambulator in “How Annie Was Procured” originated Joyce’s “man in shirt” motif. The “very kind gentleman, who lived in a fine house and played on the piano” on a second meeting with Annie faced her opposition: “I screamed, ‘Let me go, let me go’ I shouted, all in a tremble, ‘and I’ll go and work for my living,’ and I struggled to get free. ‘Child,’ said he, angrily, don’t dirty my shirtsleeves. Don’t dirty my shirtsleeves whatever you do,’ for I was tearing to get free. It was of no use, and I was done for.’” Stead was to have further dealings with this very public “gentleman,” whose identity will become clear. Miss Z of the firm of procuresses responded to Stead’s query with “Oh, you want a maid, do you? I will bring one tomorrow.” A very poor child, with no concept of being seduced, was brought to him. Her mother had died on Saturday and was to be buried on Monday, and “the idea of the mother lying dead at home while the daughter was being brought out for seduction struck me as so peculiarly ghastly that I could not resist mentioning it to the procuress,” who responded that stopping would not bring her mother to life again. Stead requested one of his assistants to take the child to a midwife and in conversation learned that she thought the midwife’s examination was the seduction accomplished, yet “in the eye of the law [she] had been for nearly two years fully competent to give legal assent to her own ruin.” All of these cases strengthened his resolve to change the law. He further interviewed “the Firm” concerning the demand for maidenheads [end of p. 4]. He was being promoted rapidly from amateur to professional in this business. “Our business is in maidenheads, not in maids,” they said. As a rule, the gentlemen see the maids only once; the girl is driven in a cab through street after street and taken back to her situation after the seduction. She does not know the assailant’s name and never sees him again. The payment was generally £5 out of which they gave the girl a present. Regarding “Nance,” half or a quarter would have “turned her head,” so the good ladies “have to save them from themselves by keeping most of the money out of their reach.” Maids were mostly nurse girls and shop girls, of whom the procuresses found Hyde Park and Green Park best in the morning and Regent’s Park in the afternoon. They always had a “crop of maids ripening,” which explains Joyce’s use of “apple harlottes’ (113.16) and variations thereof. When Stead placed his order for five virgins to be delivered immediately, one of them said “It will look like a boarding-school going to the midwife,” and this is the treatment Joyce gives the girls of St. Bride’s.

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Stead printed the blank forms of the doctor’s certificates, of which two girls failed to be technically certified virgo intacta, [end of p. 5] and the agreement signed by the girls: “I hereby agree to let you have me for £5. I will come to any address if you give me two days’ notice.” The wily Mesdames X and Z, however, had instructed the girls to give false addresses; confronted, the Mesdames explained it was not to alarm parents or employers. Six girls obtained with only forty-eight hours’ notice were delivered to Mdme Tussaud’s at seven o’clock, where they were to be returned at nine o’clock. Miss X told girls that they would not have a baby the first time. Yet Stead was astonished to learn that the wily procuresses, for a year past, had been paying a girl’s mother “a shilling here and a shilling there” to secure the child’s loyalty, and in this they succeeded far past normal expectations. Here a strange duplication occurs. This is the second time Stead asked the vital question that secured the obstinacy of these “Maiden Tribute” circumstances. Stead summed the facts and made an offer: “Now, if you are seduced you will get £2 for yourself; but you will lose your maidenhood; you will do wrong, your character will be gone, and you may have a baby which it will cost all your wages to keep. Now I will give you £1 if you will not be seduced; which will you have?” “Please sir, she said, “I will be seduced.” Again, “Yes, sir, and she burst into tears, we are so poor.” Stead emphasized “the absolute inability of this girl of sixteen to form an estimate of the value of the only commodity with which the law considers her amply able to deal the day after she is thirteen.” [end of p. 6] THE THIRD DAY: WEDNESDAY, 8 JULY 1885 Exultant Stead provided in Wednesday’s (8 July) leader the controlling “thunder” metaphor for Joyce’s Finnegans Wake under title “A Flame Which Shall Never Be Extinguished,” beginning, The report of our Secret Commission, it is now evident, has produced an effect unparalleled in the history of journalism. The excitement yesterday in London was intense. The ministerial statements [which often occupied this space] were comparatively overlooked in the fierce dispute that went on everywhere over the revelations of our Commission. We knew that we had forged a thunderbolt; but even we were hardly prepared for the overwhelming impression which it has produced on the public mind.

This is the thunderbolt of which Joyce constructed ten variants composed of 100 letters each, except the last, which totals 101 letters to signal the ongoing pattern. “Meantime,” Stead prayed, “let the light in without stint.” Knowing his public had been afraid to face the facts, Stead editorialized “we feel tempted to exclaim with the martyr Ridley, ‘Be of good cheer, for

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we have this day lighted up such a flame in England as I trust in God shall never be extinguished.” Letting light into the labyrinth of London brotheldom became one of the controlling ideals, and certainly the evil was uniting “with the good” because he had energized both the enemy (the brothel hierarchy) and the friends (advocates of reform). At times they were indistinguishable. The prominent Parliamentarian W. H. Smith, an influential member of the Administration, declared in favor of the new law and simultaneously closed his railway book stalls to the sale of the newspaper that exposed the necessity for the law. Stead sorrowed “We might subpoena almost half the Legislature in order to prove the accuracy of our revelations,” but the strength of the political powers ranged against him was made clear at his trial. Not one of his defense witnesses was permitted to testify. Meantime, Mrs. Jeffries continued sending pamphlets to the Peers and Commons announcing her “new attractions,” thereby proving that the members of the powerful Upper Ten opposition were prominently placed. A keeper of a fashionable villa showed Stead a room where “in days gone by a prince of the blood is said to have kept for some months one of his innumerable sultanas.” While Joyce creates combinations like “seralcellars” (545.27) for underground rooms and printed stories, the persistence of this rumor occasioned Stead some difficulty; he was persuaded eventually to deny that the Prince of Wales was implicated. Only ostentatious Wealth could own this property. But Stead was reinvigorated by the complicity of the Peers and Members with the serial brothel owner Mrs. Jeffries and paradoxically kept in mind his former Darlington homestead that he called “Eden plus the children” (E. Stead 86). He announced “We have put our hand to the plough and we are not going to draw back.” [(8 Jul PMG 1) Illus. Stead at Darlington, 1871]. Hence Earwicker is a “cabbaging [poor Irish] Cincinnatus” at the opening of the Wake’s chapter 2, and Joyce’s “grand old gardener was saving daylight under his [British] redwoodtree [papermaking] one sultry sabbath afternoon, Hag Chivychas Eve [Feast of Chevy Chase] in prefall paradise peace [pre MT] by following his plow for rootles” (30.13–15). Stead kept the “good man” purpose in mind, which the Reverend Spurgeon applauded because “even sewers must be cleansed” and “I really believe that many are unaware of the dunghills which reek under their nostrils” (8 Jul 1885 PMG 1). He saw the need for setting up a “Committee of Vigilance, a morals police, to put down this infamy” and added “Meantime, let the light in without stint.” The dunghill Joyce could elaborate as necessary. Stead reiterated “If we had only committed these crimes instead of exposing them not one word would have been said.” He felt as if “our Commissioners ‘had stirred up Hell To heave its lowest dreg-fiends uppermost, In fiery whirls of slime’” [Elizabeth Barrett Browning Aurora Leigh] but “not even the Minotaur himself‒‒that portentous incarnation of lust and wealth‒‒[can] fill us with such sorrow and shame” as do the decent people

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who would have these horrors “continue for ever rather than that their ears should be shocked by hearing of the horrors which others have to endure.” He maintained that “The supreme criminal is the wealthy and dissolute man,” not the pimps and panderers. Perhaps with Lincoln in mind, “No society that is based on such rottenness . . . can long endure.” The third segment (Wednesday’s) follower acknowledged that many children are ruined before they are thirteen; “but the crime is one phase of the incest which, as the Report of the Dwellings Commission shows, is inseparable from overcrowding. But the number who are on the streets is small” and they are “very difficult to find as the boys of the same age who pursue the same dreadful calling.” [end of p. 1] Having introduced a number of salient topics in the leader, and especially the “lighting the flame” in England, Stead in the follower abandoned the thunderbolt and left the powerful thunder for Joyce to explode. Incidents and brief narratives focused on the hunting of immature human prey, on crimes “virtually encouraged by the law,” all knitted together with “fair game,” luring the victim into traps, using decoys to ruin children, exposing the necessity for a “close time” for birds before the “peepers” learn to fly, or before puberty when hunting children should be forbidden, the “easy prey” of the inexperienced girl, and clearing “the field” for her ruin. Last, the Minotaur was chief among the hunters. The dramatic sketch of the child―a first illustration in a newspaper―raped at age four and sustaining physical injuries and nightmares, in company with a protective officer, was in itself an emboldened theme (Illus. “One of the victims”). Lured by a “penny cake,” she provided much inspiration for Joyce; he adopted this incident for the midden letter by utilizing the added incentive of enticement committed by the priest, Joyce’s “lugly parson of cates” (11.23). The child had been “outraged by two men and “received internal injuries from which it is doubtful whether she will ever entirely recover.” In another example, a sister age five was raped while her older sister, eighteen, left the room for a few minutes. Incest in overcrowded slums was often the initiation. Continuing the controlling analogy, “There are children of five in homes now,” who are little better than animals possessed by an unclean spirit. A man who was actually imprisoned entered into backyards for his purpose. Yet some misguided men would fix the age of consent at ten or even lower. The report of a Hampshire Home was that “there are no less than 10,000 little girls living in sin in Christian England.” A brothel keeper advised Stead to “wait a bit” to see a great change in a new recruit, in becoming an expert prostitute. Stead’s desperate response: “Would to God she died before that!” Meanwhile, the Rev. J. Horsley informed him of a person resembling “the Minotaur.”

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Stead’s task was growing more onerous and more self-defining. [end of p. 2] Redirecting the discourse, Stead emphasized that all girls over thirteen were “fair game” to these monsters. There were restricted hunting seasons for several animals and Stead recommended a similar “close time for girls.” Moreover, the “close time ought to be extended until they have reached maturity.” And here he borrowed an analogy from the current news. A man had bought a fish that had “gone over” and comically, angrily carried it about town demanding redress as it grew more fetid. This prompted Stead’s “Fish out of season are not fit to be eaten. Girls who have not reached the age of puberty are not fit even to be seduced. The law ought at least to be as strict about a live child as about a dead salmon.” This prompted questions about the age of puberty. A doctor asserted that “few girls are really aptӕ viro . . . till long after thirteen years of age.” It seemed to the doctor that “carnal knowledge of any female under puberty is a cruel outrage.” In the areas of the Quadrant and Regent-street, Stead came upon roving girls that he sent to houses of accommodation. Usually “they go in couples,” with which Joyce complies with the two spying maidens in Phoenix Park, and the younger ones are “patronized by old men, and early initiated into the worst forms of vice,” for which Joyce represents his “old grum” with “peaches” one and two (65.26). The international reaches of this sex trade, and its circulation of victims back into London, was exactly the point of white slavery, so naturally it was found being expressed in its common vocabulary in New York city, where critic Robert M. Polhemus observed it functioning for “Dantellising Peaches and Miching Daddy, the Gushy Old Goof: The Browning Case and Finnegans Wake” (Joyce Studies Annual 5). Stead’s effort was rescue to prevent the damage caused the female; he told the story of the “demon child” whose mind was afflicted after abuse, among those “who seemed to suffer a lasting blight of the moral sense.” She ran to bury her face in mignonette to become calm. “Alternate imbecility and wild screaming are too common among the child victims of vice.” Boys were more difficult to find; and either male or female, once imprisoned in a brothel customarily could not be released. Counsel was actually consulted by the abductor of a boy about how to prevent a father from claiming his child. Both captured boys and girls were subject to analogy with stolen objects, for which search warrants could be obtained, but not for people. An Irish girl arriving in the Thames and seeking employment was

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preyed upon by a brothel keeper and, once confined, was “as helpless as a sparrow when caught by the falling brick of the schoolboy’s trap.” Stead had accumulated many case studies. [end of p. 3] An English girl was often victimized by a female dressed as a deaconess or a sister of mercy. Or, approached and offered food by a helpful male; a country girl arriving in town would be dazed with drink and wakened later “very sore and scratched about the thighs” and finding her box of clothing stolen. A girl could be lost in the labyrinth of London and never found by searching parents. [end of p. 4] Among the most devastating was the tale of a music hall singer, who was allowed to perform one night, then seduced and abandoned with a communicable disease. She was found “literally rotting” on some straw in an outhouse where she had been left, “although her beauty and her eyesight were both gone.” Joyce compresses several images: “Sold in her heyday, laid in the straw, bought for one puny petunia” (434.17–18). Such stories and incidents enlivened four pages of Wednesday’s issue, but an evil, intolerable social condition, it seems, never improves until it has developed into worse, and the worst was ahead of Stead. By comparison, Stead could excuse Ovid’s Minotaur for devouring only seven maids and as many boys a year. As in the labyrinth of Crete . . . so in London is at least one monster who may be said to be an absolute incarnation of brutal lust . . . Here in London moving about clad as respectably in broad cloth and fine linen as any bishop, with no foal shape or semblance of brute beast . . . is Dr. ________, now retired from his profession and free to devote his semblance fortune and his leisure to the ruin of maids . . . This is the “gentleman” whose quantum of virgins from his procuresses is three per fortnight—all girls who have not previously been seduced.” (8 Jul 1885 PMG 5)

However, there was a worse, “another wealthy man, whose whole life is dedicated to the gratification of lust.” Stead was “constantly coming across his name” and began to make inquiries “in the upper world of this redoubtable personage” and soon obtained confirmation of the evidence he had gathered in the haunts of prostitution of “this modern Minotaur, this English Tiberius, whose Capreæ is in London.” This Minotaur boasted of ruining two thousand women by “paying liberally for actresses, shop-girls, and the like.” He never gave a girl less than £5 but “The blindest unbelief must admit that in this ‘English gentleman’ we have a far more hideous Minotaur than that which Ovid fabled and which Theseus slew.” [end of p. 5] The second contemporary Minotaur re-supplied himself with little girls by watching them coming out “of shops and factories for lunch or at the end of the day.” Marking a girl who pleased him, he won her confidence and one day “proposes a little excursion to the West.” Joyce shows that the type of Tiberius fabled by Taciturn continued through the ages as the classical Mino-

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taur. Jute surveys the damage to Clontarf, maintained by the “misers moony” (17.01–02) of the story “The Boarding House,” and interprets the scene: “Simply because as Taciturn pretells, our wrongstoryshortener, he dumptied the wholeborrow of rubbages [the MT crimes] on to soil here” (17.03–05). The London Tiberius left his exemplar mark on Stead’s “conspiracy of silence”: “We were lowquacks/loquacious did we not tacit turn” (99.02). THE FOURTH DAY: THURSDAY, 9 JULY 1885 Incidental was the prevalence of dung, both physical and figurative, of which the Reverend Spurgeon believed the people were unaware, when he complained they could not see the civil blight of “dunghills which reek under their nostrils,” messaging that no one but Stead was taking up the call to remove them. After the “thunderbolt,” the prevalence of “filth” to designate Stead’s work was the second abandoned image from the first-day leader. Typical of a reaction to sight of royalty, as Joyce phrased it, was Earwicker’s view of the privilege of wealth that sustains social evils. Earwicker, on Stead’s side of the responsibility argument, watches a passing entourage of royalty with one question: “No dung on the road?” (31.36–32.01). Halting, the King ridicules cabbaging Earwicker for his unrefined speech, which shows which side royalty takes and how pride of position sustains it. The entourage that “a leisureloving dogfax had cast followed” (30.18) satirizes the complaint of the retiring Governor-General of Australia that he could not support his dignity on his present salary, caricatured in the Sydney Bulletin imagining “a future plain, brown Governor-General, with dog outrider” (R 26: 153 Illus). Pretensions, based on political power, of “His Most Pushful Majesty” Joseph Chamberlain, riding in a “Gold car,” were satirized by another downgraded royal entourage in the Lustige Blätter (R 26: 577). Not strictly between the “haves and the have-nots,” the contest was supported by those who strove to climb to the position of the “haves.” Here was indeed a clash of social structures, of fomenting social revolution. Frank Harris of the Evening News slandered the PMG as “some filthy sheet” appearing “in the gutter of London streets,” where it can “maintain just a brief existence as a vile insect reared on the putrid garbage of the dunghill” (Schults 140). Filth, dung, and excrement were the chief metaphors by which the brave Maiden Tribute was known to a powerful segment of the aloof public. Stead had exposed his subject, the abuse of women and children, to be a national practice not only of slave traders and brothel madams but also the sanction of a dominant elite with little sympathy for outsiders. In one of his severest social-criticism lectures, Joyce commands “Luke/Look at all the memmer manning [Cardinal Manning] he’s dung for the pray of birds, our priest-mayor-king-merchant, strewing the Castleknock Road and draw-

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ing manure upon it” (447.14–16), again visible on the public thoroughfares named for the great. The setting, not far from “Henrietta’s” (447.08), the Dublin slum said to be the worst in Europe, takes place on roads honoring the great: a “drawadust jubilee along Henry, Moore, Earl and Talbot Streets” (447.13). Henry Moore, the Earl of Drogheda, lent his name to Henry Street, Moore Street, Earl Street; and Drogheda Street bears the name of the second Earl Talbot and Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. THURSDAY’S HIATUS: 9 JULY 1885 Stead found space to urge a parallel reform, a postcard (9 Jul PMG 2) and, later, its subsequent improvements (27.32, 388.31). “The Siege of Northumberland Street” lasted for three days during which assorted Londoners of all stages of poverty of dress and manners fought for newspapers, “buying in a cheap market to sell in a dear one,” brought their food, and waited. All doors of the Pall Mall Gazette offices were barricaded and under guard and “men shot headlong through the windows.” The windows of the machine room and publishing office fell. Stead sent a letter, today still retained in the London archives, requesting protection; Scotland Yard responded with sufficient men to bring the chaos under control, and the presses, suspended for three hours, resumed. Always defending the poor, Stead objected that someone labeled the crowd “obscene” and told about the “well-known clergyman forcing his way manfully down the street. He reached the door in safety. Whilst craving admission one of the crowd came up to him with ’Ere’s yre wipe, Guv’nor. If you’ve been in this business, you aint a bad sort.’ Therewith he made over the parson’s handkerchief which had been extracted during his passage through the crowd” (Jul 9 PMG 6). Benjamin Waugh, the “well-known clergyman” was so impressed that he wrote his own account of the experience in his William T. Stead: A Life for the People (36), and this incident, proving honor and heart among thieves, brightened the discourse when repeated many times over. For the 9 July issue of the newspaper, the intended fourth installment of the Maiden Tribute was postponed for a day to complete “two very damning pieces of evidence of guilt which, as much as anything yet brought to light, will astound the world.” In addition to Cavendish Bentinck in Parliament, who was known to the public as one-among-several of “the old fornicator” type (Terrot 171) and a fierce opponent to any restriction on male lust, Stead had now acquired a new enemy in the form of the City Solicitor; hence Stead addressed his leader “To Our Friends the Enemy.” Along with Cavendish Bentinck was the City Solicitor, who “has [for our benefit] probably contributed the most to break down the conspiracy of silence which our contemporaries are maintaining . . . until they have been fairly shamed into facing the

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truth.” Staggered by the unheard-of-success thus far and the crushing workload, Stead forgot that those people could not be shamed. First came a rumor on Wednesday that the city police “were seizing the paper in all directions and running in [arresting] the boys who sold it,” an outrage against Freedom of the Press, since Stead’s view of government was considerably Americanized. Eleven of the newsboys had been “had up before the Lord Mayor” and “dismissed on undertaking not to sell any more copies in the City.” They promptly “arrived at Northumberland-street for a fresh supply.” Stead scolded the City Solicitor for arresting children instead of himself and argued this was another example of “this perpetual harrying of the poor, and leaving the well-to-do alone.” “Some who used the cant cry of decency as a cloak for immorality” was the subject that Joyce treated humorously. The paper was so indecent that decent citizens (ladies) could not be seen buying or reading it: “Well, after it was put in the Mericy Cordial Mendicants’ Sitterdag-Zindeh-Munaday Wakeschrift [Europeans were eager to read it] (for once they sullied their white kidloves, chewing cuds after their dinners of cheeckin and beggin [chicken and bacon], with their show us it here and their mind out of that and their when you’re quite finished with the reading matarial), even the snee that snowdon [highest peak in England and Wales] his hoaring hair had a skunner against him” (205.16–22). So certain was Stead of his journalistic credence that he stood sedulously ready “to subpœna as witnesses all those who are alluded to in our inquiries,” including Mrs. Jefferies, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Prince of Wales down to the Minotaur himself. He interviewed his chief opponent, Cavendish Bentinck. Stead had begun the Inquiry six weeks earlier and managed it at a cost of £300. “The Truth about Our Secret Commission” named the people on the staff who served as fellow-investigators, chiefly a reporter who had survived Plevna, Jacques Mussabini also known as Sampson Jacques, and two lasses, one totally anonymous on Stead’s staff and the other a Salvation Army lass named Jenny Turner whose secrecy was also closely guarded for safety concerns; investigators since then have failed to find her. Fortifying his “shadow of our churches” from the first issue, he continued the theme in Friday’s issue because a high-ranking clergyman “dwelling in archiepiscopal shade kindly undertook to dispose of a mistress of whom it was supposed that I wished to rid myself before my approaching marriage by depositing her without any ado in a house of ill-fame in Brussels.” For this, the churchman would charge only £10; and another clergyman made the same offer. On the “good” side, “With a heroism and self-sacrifice worthy of the sainted martyrs a pure and noble girl, believing that God would take care of her, volunteered to face the frightful risks of being placed in the Belgian brothel if it was thought necessary to complete the exposure.” Stead refused to sanction the experiment, but

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women capable of such sublimity were like a ray of Heaven’s light in the “darkness of this awful hell” (10 Jul PMG 5). After his success, the sequence of persons consulted became important for some of them for bragging rights of those claiming a share of the fame. Not typical, Josephine Butler was an author prominent in women’s issues and rescue, and the unnamed warrior W. N. Willis was an author-investigator of the white slave traffic with Mrs Mackirdy in Singapore. Stead had consulted everyone he could find related to the topic, plus a long list of agencies and public service groups. Names and works can be expected in Finnegans Wake, partly because when Stead left the Pall Mall Gazette and originated his monthly Review of Reviews, he continued to keep in touch. Among the clergy, the Archbishop of Canterbury, for fear of Stead’s being killed in a brothel, tried to dissuade him. Dr. Temple, the Bishop of London, promised support; and Cardinal Manning, the Catholic Archbishop of Westminster, never wavered. The police for an hour on Wednesday, Stead announced on Thursday, had given no protection to the newspaper. THE FIFTH AND LAST DAY: FRIDAY, 10 JULY 1885 To tangle the woof of Finnegans Wake, the fulminous last segment (10 July) would have been sufficient in itself, without the prior three [plus the irregular fourth] issues. Stead began with confidence-building: “The storm which began to rage when we published the first of the series of articles which conclude this afternoon is extending far beyond” expectations (10 Jul PMG 1). The storm, empowered by rumors of a “fortune” that Stead was thought to derive from thousands of copies sold, are the two most frequent “facts,” storm and wealth, repeated against “Earwicker,” throughout Finnegans Wake. A third is variations of “hesitancy.” The storm elaborates with umbrella, raincoat, thunder, lightning, rain, showers, in strange vocal disguises, so extensively that I simply bracket them “MT storm.” In British slang, “raincoat” meant pervert. Joyce connects with the storm of Pappie’s unique existence. He pictures Pappie (described “ages and ages after the alleged misdemeanor,” his “flashing”) wearing the oddities of his interests like a signboard for current events: the tried friend of all creation [accurate at least for Stead, assumed by Pappie] with tigerwood roadstaff [shillelagh] to his stay was billowing across the wide expanse of our greatest park in his caoutchouc kepi [raincoat, MT storm] and great belt [Denmark] and hideinsacks [hide and seek] and his blaufunx fustian [blue cotton] and ironsides [Cromwell] jackboots [high cavalry boot covers knee to protect from sword blows] and Bhagafat gaiters [Bhagavad Gita] his rubberised inverness [raincoat, slang for pervert]” (35.06–10).

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Further knowledge of Pappie will make this credible. It exists as a condition of Irish failure-to-thrive: “They were on that sea by the plain of Ir/Ur ninehundred and ninety-nine years [biblical proportions] and they never cried crack or ceased from regular paddlewicking [raging] till that they landed their two and a trifling selves, amidst camel and ass, greybeard and suckling, priest and pauper, matrmatron and merrymeg, into the meddle of the mudstorm” (86.15–20). Then comes “the muddest thick [thickest mud] that was ever heard dump” (296.20). Stead sympathized profoundly with the righteous plaint of one of his child-rescuing associates Miss Ellice Hopkins: “I am sick of people who shuffle nervously into a pair of lavender kid gloves, when it is a matter of pulling a child out of an open drain into which it has fallen through our carelessness in leaving it unfenced, exclaiming ‘Oh, it is such a very delicate question that I cannot be mixed up in it.’ God knows that if I could save these unhappy children I would be ‘mixed up’ with the mud in which they are being suffocated, until no one could know which was me and which was it’” (Armstrong 6). It recalls the Portrait “mud” scene of the Dedalus children viewing in the evening newspaper a photograph of the beautiful Mabel Hunter. “What is she in, mud?” (AP 67), asks a child gazing at the pantomime actress, of a profession notorious for sexual exploitation. Issy in chapter 10 is sadly mixed up in “The Muddest Thick That Was Ever Heard Dumped.” For Joyce, varieties of mud and storm appear to be endless: “the young reine came down desperate and the old liffopotamus started ploring all over the plains as mud/mad as she cud be, ruinating all the bouchers’ [butcher Shaun] schurts and the backers’ [baker Shem] wischandtugs/underwear [MT laundry] so that be/by the chandeleure [enlightenment] of the Rejaneyjailey [jail in Rome/Stead’s incarceration] they were all night wasching the walters of, the weltering walters off. Whyte” [Stead’s biography] (64.16–21). She assumes the knocking is intended to rouse the owners to sell a prostitute’s service. Even Trinity’s [University] “kink had mudded his dome” [s. “At Trinity Church I Met My Doom”] (240.10–11). In the same company is the muddied C.L.A. Act itself. Stead’s Friday heading was “Of Good Cheer Indeed” because “The storm which began to rage when we published the first of the series of articles” has extended far beyond expectations. The C.L.A. bill passed its second reading in Parliament, and the Queen heard of Stead’s disclosures; before the law could be passed by Parliament, she gave her royal assent, as required, over objection to the Labouchere amendment on homosexuality to which Stead had not assented; and this, the one blackmark on Stead’s escutcheon, convicted Oscar Wilde. It was pressed into law before Stead could stop it. Facing this crisis, Stead needed to summon the utmost of his rhetorical reserves. Sir William Harcourt had drafted the original C.L.A. bill with po-

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lice powers to resemble those of the police des mœurs in France, and this Stead knew he must stop. The duties of the ancient knight errant, he said, were now imposed on the constable, who was tempted into corruption when assigned to brothels, which generally paid large fees in cash or services for “protection.” (Constable Sackerson assumes a position protecting Shem in Dublin’s brothels [186.19–187.14].) One famous house in the East End paid the police £500 a year. A rescuer of a girl from “a bad house” was forced to keep her intentions secret lest the girl be “spirited off to some other house.” Women, with their livelihood in the policeman’s hands, knew if they quarreled with the police “they are done for” and could be harassed out of town. Yet, to say that the policeman was corrupt, Stead asserted, would be equivalent to saying that he is “only human” and “that he is poor” (10 Jul 1885 PMG 1–2). The police for hours on Wednesday had given no protection to the newspaper office, while Lord Aberdeen and the Hon. Auberon Herbert stood with Stead looking down on the seething crowd; however, the police proved themselves capable in response to Stead’s appeal to the Home Office and quickly restored order. Some of the brothels had avoided hazards by converting the house into a shebeen. With this summary, Stead began to rewrite the Criminal Law Amendment bill; its final version would reflect his information and contain two references to the Eliza Armstrong case. Among the best models for Joyce’s Constable Sackerson was London’s Colonel Henderson who directed “the roughs” not to maltreat the processions of the Salvation Army; but among “the black sheep of the flock” were those that the rescue worker Frederick Charrington encountered who protected the scoundrel who tried to murder him. An ex-officer assured Stead that “policemen and soldiers between them ruin more girls than any other class of men in London.” A suspicion of this accompanies the “three soldiers” and “two ‘temptresses” in Phoenix Park. Dunlop was the superintendent of police, a fact that bears investigation with several Wakean mentions of Dunlop in which tires are intended. Along with “storm” and various forms of “wealth,” one of the repeated topics is the “hesitant” passage that Joyce partially detached from Richard Pigott and reattached securely to Earwicker and less securely to Shem. THE SPELL OF HESITANCY Pigott’s writing “hesitatency” (the spelling in the PMG 22 Feb 1889: 10 may have been an error) during the Parnell forgery trial and thereby convicting himself necessitates the question why Earwicker bears the guilt of hesitancy. On July 9 Stead had promised a case study that would “astound the world.” Perhaps Stead’s incurable optimism was misleading him? Here it was, the

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article titled “A Startling Statement”— filled with incest, beatings, forced letter-writing, and police corruption within the family and the profession— was so horrible and incredible in Stead’s view that for some time he “hesitated to publish it.” It was a “municipal sin business” in itself that revealed an innate lack of ethics and morality in the police force while personal pension greed was the chief motivation for a policeman to maltreat his daughter; he completely defied Stead’s notion that there was an English conscience that investigation could arouse. Stead extracted the following “declaration” from a written document “sworn yesterday before the mayor of Winchester.” A.B., an officer of high standing in the force, fifteen years ago violently seduced his daughter, who was then sixteen years old. After this intercourse had continued some time she left home, but afterwards falling into distress appealed to her father for help, saying that unless she got relief she would be compelled to apply to the magistrate. He sent a married sister to threaten her with imprisonment if she did anything of the kind. I [Stead] continue the story in the words of the daughter, who is now a woman of thirty-one years of age, and engaged to be married to a man named Gibbons. [The daughter wrote] “On receiving my statement that I would apply to the magistrate, he, having influence in Scotland-yard, sent two detectives in plain clothes to my lodgings, 1, Caledonian street, King’s-cross. I was alone. One of the men set his back against the door, and they began to intimidate me. They said I was to write a letter to my father and sign it, declaring that my accusation of him was untrue. I refused to write and sign any such letter, as it would be a falsehood. I asked if I could call in Mr. Gibbons, a young man to whom I was engaged to be married, that he might be present as a witness. They then threatened me with ten years’ imprisonment and Gibbons with five if I did not write the letter. They had no warrant, but had merely been directed to intimidate me. They brought some note-paper. I had fainted with fear and distress. One of the policemen held me up to the table and composed the letter he wished me to write, and under the threat that they would take me up to prison there and then he held my hand, and forced me to write the letter. I told them, when written, that it was every bit false. I fainted again, and they left me in that condition and went away. I wrote again to my father telling him that although he had sent these detectives to my room to force me to write the letter I’d rather suffer imprisonment to let the truth be known. On the same day that my father received this letter he applied for his pension, and in a short time afterwards he retired from the force on a good pension. We applied to a magistrate in Clerkenwell. He told us he must consult a brother magistrate, and later he informed us that, considering the position of the gentleman [her father] who was accused, he would rather not have anything to do with the case. Through the influence of the police, reports against Mr. Gibbons were set afloat, and in consequence he lost his situation as a carpenter. Mr. Gibbons has made his statement before a public prosecutor. (10 Jul 1885 PMG 2)

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Separate from the Parnell forgery trial, this establishes Earwicker’s guilt for hesitancy, one of omission rather than commission. The evidence, Stead interpreted it, showed that men “are not fit to be trusted with what is practically absolute power over women who are even weaker and less protected than the rest of their sex” (10 Jul PMG 2–3). Stead’s spelling “hesitatency” opens the issue that the word could be spelled and applied variously. Joyce writes “But the spoil of hesitants, the spell of hesitency. His atake is it ashe, tittery taw tatterytail, hasitense humponadimply, heyheyheyhey a wincey wencky” (97.25–27). His attack is a taking of a “wincey wencky,” female. Quizzed by the Four Old Men, Shaun is “requested” to answer “have you not . . . used up slanguage tun times as words as the penmarks used out in sinscript with such hesitancy by your cerebrated brother?” (421.15–19). Again, they pressure him: “Now, have you reasonable hesitancy in your mind about him after fourpriest redmass [four priests read mass] or are you in your post [deaf]?” (483.12). Stead’s question “What about the state of the streets,” whether they were safe for passage, put him in his best confessional mode but fueled the suspicions of his guilt, the very factor he sought to allay: I have been a night prowler for weeks. I have gone in different guises to most of the favourite rendezvous of harlots. I have strolled along Ratcliffhighway, and sauntered round and round the Quadrant [housing district] at midnight. I have haunted St. James’s Park, and twice enjoyed the strange sweetness of summer night by the sides of the Serpentine [pond]. I have been at all hours in Leicester-square and the Strand and have spent the midnight in Mile-end-road and the vicinity of the Tower. Sometimes I was alone; sometimes accompanied by a friend; and the deep and strong impression which I have brought back is one of respect and admiration for the extraordinarily good behavior of the English girls who pursue this dreadful calling. In the whole of my wanderings I have not been accosted half-a-dozen times, and then I was more to blame than the woman. I was turned out of Hyde Park at midnight in company with a drunken prostitute, but she did not begin the conversation. I have been much more offensively accosted in Parisian boulevards than I have ever been in English park or English street, and on the whole I have brought back from the infernal labyrinth a very deep conviction that if there is one truth in the Bible that is truer than another it is this, that the publicans and harlots are nearer the kingdom of heaven than the scribes and Pharisees who are always trying to qualify for a passport to bliss hereafter by driving their unfortunate sisters here to the very real hell of a police despotism. (10 Jul 1885 PMG 3).

Stead might be intrepid but Joyce sought humor and enigmas. In the Questions chapter (I.6) detailing the attributes of Finn MacCool, there occurs a mixture of references that appear to reflect the complications of plot and Stead’s midnight researches: “once was he [Finn MacCool] inundered [mis-

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understood/from inunderstanding/void of understanding] and she [the Maiden Tribute] hung him out billbailey [sent him to jail]; has a quadrant [London housing district] in his tile [tail; London’s Serpentine pond; also tall hat] to tell Toler [“the hanging judge” interrupted Robert Emmet during his speech] cad a’clog it is” (127.05–07), time for a new era. “To know what’s o’clock,” in the years of Slang 1890–1904, was a popular verb phrase for being alert. The Serpentine is more snake than pond in the Book of Kells when “that strange exotic serpentine, since so properly banished from our scripture, about as freakwing/frightening a wetterhand [Witwatersrand or The Rand] now as to see a rightheaded ladywhite don a cockhorse [nr and masturbation], which in its invincible insolence ever longer more and of more morosity, seems to uncoil spirally and swell lacertinelazily [lizardlike] before our eyes” (121.20–25). Further, the serpent abides in England in “their dolightful Sexsex [Essex] home, Somehow-at-Sea (O little oily head, sloper’s brow [Aly Sloper, a gossip monger, sloped around alleys] and prickled ears! [snake’s ‘pickled ears” inside their heads]) as though he, a notoriety, a foist edition [Stead’s MT], were a wrigular writher neonovene babe!” (291.26–29). Stead preferred that police powers would be strengthened in one respect only: “Why should not the male analogue of a prostitute—the man who habitually and persistently annoys women by solicitation [of sexual favors]—be subject to the same punishment . . . as are women?” (10 Jul PMG 3). This type of man was euphemized a “pest” and assimilated to Earwicker with Stead’s enthusiasm for cycling, his luxuriant white beard, his jail sentence, and continuation of MT projects for some years after. Photographs of Stead justify Joyce’s placement of Stead in the park, punished by jail: “so three months for Gubbs [journalist Sir Philip Gibbs] Jeroboam [tried to take Solomon’s place; sl. “park pest”], the frothwhiskered pest [euphemism for predator] of the park” (Illus.) (558.13–15). Stead’s well-publicized enthusiasm for cycling made him a park pest: “But only the ruining of the rain [MT storm] was heard. Estout pourporteral! [tr Be perpetual; Grattan’s establishment of the Irish Parliament]. Cracklings [lightning] cricked. A human pest cycling (pist!) and recycling (past!) [bicycle track] about the sledgy/ sloggy streets, here he was (pust!) again! (99.03–06). In fact, Stead both cycled and scolded pests. His article “The Male Pest of the Streets” (27 July 1887 PMG: 1–2) aired the women’s view and “What the ‘Male Pests’ Have to Say for Themselves” was that it’s all woman’s fault (30 Jul 1887 PMG 2). Under heading “The Police and the Secret Commission” (10 Jul 1885 PMG 3), Stead’s experience of an attempted procurement, mixed the nationalities redolent of “Nighttown” in one small female plus a rescue worker. The girl’s “bully” turned in Stead and his staff assistant for police arrest, whereupon they served in double capacity of witnesses to and participants in a corrupt investigation of themselves. A little German girl of sixteen, speaking

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Figure 4.3. W.T. Stead “the frothwhiskered pest of the park” (558.15) “Take off that white hat!” (32.23)

only German, was marked by a French procuress, was alone in London, penniless, and suffering consumption. Stead called upon a Swiss lady to assist her and provided a sovereign for her to retrieve her box and pay her rent. On returning home, the girl handed over the sovereign, “and the bully who lived upon her gains,” went to the police and informed against the rescuers for attempting the virtue, liberty, and life of “an innocent little English girl” who was and is to this day, a German prostitute walking the Strand. The next night, Stead and helper were confronted by a detective who read from a roll of foolscap that “an old gentleman” (Stead) agreed to purchase a little English girl, whom Stead knew to be the German prostitute now walking the Strand. The old gentleman took her to Gatti’s (Stead’s favorite restaurant) and then to this present house where he and another man tried to persuade her to take a situation (employment as a prostitute), offered her

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drugged coffee and sweets, which she refused. A woman entered in the habit of a Sister of Mercy and gave the girl a Bible, which, recognizing the ploy, the girl “tore to pieces.” This much the sergeant read and then began crossexamining Stead’s companion. Stead intervened, and the two agreed to give only his name and address. Upon their refusal of anything further, the sergeant departed. Stead followed him to ask what he would do and offered a ten-pound note but the sergeant was wise enough to refuse “that game.” So, Stead concluded, the conduct of the Detective, having let the investigator escape entrapment, was perfect throughout (p. 3). Theatres and Emporiums openly demonstrated that the wealthy idlers of the Upper Ten were not alone in corrupting young girls. The “great drapery and millinery establishments” ruined hundreds if not thousands every year.” Further, “It is said that at a certain notorious theatre no girl ever kept her virtue more than three months; and that at an equally notorious business establishment in West London it is rare to find a girl who has not lost her virtue in less than six months. . . Some theatrical managers are . . . accused of insisting upon a claim to ruin actresses whom they allow to appear on his boards. . . The head of a great London emporium regards the women in his employ in much the same aspect as the Sultan of Turkey regards the inmates of his seraglio” (10 Jul 1885 PMG 4). Employment agencies and servants’ registries often lured female waifs into prostitution, whereupon, considering the foreign trade, Stead thundered: “London, say those who are engaged in the white slave trade, is the greatest market of human flesh in the whole world” (10 Jul PMG 4). Earwicker in this way legitimately commits a “municipal sin” by shaming the city before the entire world. In a 1904 endeavor, while searching for righteousness, Stead announced he had found it in the contribution that the theater made to the general mirth of mankind. By attending a well-publicized “first night,” Stead cancelled the Puritan embargo of the theatre: righteousness he defined as a contribution “to the innocent recreation and general mirth of mankind” (R 30: 32). In his independent Review of Reviews, successor to the Pall Mall Gazette, he found his power and proclaimed his establishment a Muezzin, calling the faithful reformers to action. Joyce’s rendition deserves a second scrutiny: What then agentlike [agents for prostitution; Stead’s “agent” in the Armstrong case was Rebecca Jarrett] brought about that tragoady thundersday this municipal sin business? [Stead: London “is the greatest market of human flesh in the whole world” (10 Jul PMG 6]? Our cubehouse [earth’s four directions; Ka’aba of Islam] still rocks as earwitness to the thunder [Vico, MT] of his arafatas [hill near Mecca/ curtain call] but we hear also through successive ages that shebby choruysh [Koreish Mecca tribe] of unkalified muzzlenimissilehims [Muslims; gunners; Stead’s Review a muezzin] that would blackguardise [Black Stone of Ka’aba] the whiteststone ever hurtleturtled [blackened by sin

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came down white] out of heaven. Stay us wherefore in our search for tighteousness, O Sustainer . . . (5.13–19).

Investigator Stead heard of uncounted cases of girls struggling for weeks and having to choose between prostitution and starvation. A German girl guarded by the best intentions vanished into the Babylonian maze and was never found. “How Marguerite Was Ruined” was the tale of a French girl who answered an advertisement for a nursery governess, gradually exhausted her meager supply of money, found that the people assisting her had exchanged her “box” at Victoria Station for one filled with newspapers, among other deeds of calumny and intricate wiles to destroy her. When totally destitute, she was informed by the male helper that she must “see gentlemen,” and after a severe beating for refusal, she “fell.” Some months later, after working the streets, she was rescued. The shortest shorthand in Finnegans Wake is to substitute “maiden” for any type of flower. The marguerite was a daisy common in several tales, and, in Joyce’s tales, its spelling varies. The French “Quinet motif” places “la marguerite sur les ruines de Numance” (281.06) and shows that maidens, like flowers, survive the world’s battles. Flowers produce a rejuvenating effect on those who view them; when the body and mind are destroyed, flowers speak to the soul. A “demon child” prostitute that Stead described in Wednesday’s issue at the age of eleven “had for two years been earning her living by vice.” The matron at the Lock Hospital told Stead that the outraged child “seemed to suffer a lasting blight of the moral sense.” At times Emily erupted in screaming and ran to the garden to bury her face in mignonette until her screams subsided. She said “It’s the devil makes me so bad, and I think the nice smell sends him away” (8 Jul PMG 3). Mrs. Mackirdy of Mackirdy and Willis The White Slave (1912) wailed, “They [maidens] die off as the flowers of the field, and no real effort is made to save them or bring their destroyers to justice” (278). Homophonically, the convolvulus could be adapted to mockery of Wyndham Lewis: An/if you could peep inside the cerebralised saucepan of this eer illwinded goodfornobody, you would see in his house of thoughtsam [flotsam] (was you, that is, decontaminated enough to look discarnate) what a jetsam litterage of convolvuli [in Andersen’s “The Snow Queen”; destroyed blossoms in Quinet motif (281.04–13)] of times lost or strayed, of lands derelict and of tongues laggin too, longa yamsayore, not only that but, search lighting, beached, bashed and beaushelled à la Mer pharahead into futurity, your own convolvulis [morning glory flower] pickninnig capman would real to jazztfancy the novo takin place of what stale words whilom were woven with and fitted fairly featly for, so; and equally so, the crame of the whole faustian fustian/fashion . . . (292.12–22).

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Although Stead would see the beauty in the small face of the child destroyed by rape or incest, Joyce would hear it in their singing. Children dancing their singing games, as Joyce explained to Stuart Gilbert, exemplify the synesthesia with which Joyce excelled: “In this case the wild flowers are the lilts of children” (Letters 1: 295). Brooks and Lyons were Irish politicians, who, assisted by Joyce’s father, ousted Sir Guinness and James Stirling, 1880, as Pappie was fond of telling (JC 86–87). Since the days of Roamaloose and Rehmoose [survived to found Rome] the pavanos/dancers have been strident through their struts of Chapelldiseut, the vaulsies have meed and youdled through the purly ooze/purlieus of Ballybough [Dublin, on river Tolka], many a mismy cloudy [misty McCloud reel: s.] has tripped taintily along that hercourt strayed/street reelway [Dublin] and the rigadoons [dancers] have held ragtimed revels on the platauplain Grangegorman [site of lunatic asylum]; and, though since then sterlings and guineas have been replaced by brooks and lions/Lyons and some progress has been made on stilts and the races have come and gone and Thyme, that chef of seasoners, has made his usual astewte use of endadjustables [stew] and whatnot willbe isnor was, those danceadeils [daffodils/maidens] and cancanzanies have come stimmering down for our begayment through the bedeafdom [deaf and dumb] of po’s taeorns [past aeons], the obcecity [blindness] of pa’s teapucs [epochs], as lithe and limbfree limber as when momie [Dryden: Momus to Mars] mummed at ma. (236 19–32)

Beyond the lilts of children, Stead condemned the export of British girls to foreign brothels as the climax and “prolongation of the labyrinth of modern Babylon with absolute and utter hopelessness of any redemption.” The slave trader collects his “parcels” in London “for transmission to the uttermost ends of the earth. They move from stage to stage, from town to town . . . driven on and ever on like the restless ghosts of the damned, until at last they too sleep ‘where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest.’” The Kersse tale in the Norwegian captain chapter begins with this concept: “It was long after once there was a lealand [poet Leland tr. Heine’s “Flying Dutchman]” (311.05), and “the bugganeering wanderducken” [Van der Decken is Dutch for Flying Dutchman] (323.01). Again, flowers expose the Flying Dutchman and the girl on the beach yearning for romance, which Joyce’s genius for exploiting character makes “Mr. Right” the scandalous Whitaker Wright “who for some years played a leading part as the King of the Stock Exchange”; in 1904 he was found guilty of twenty-six counts of fraud and sentenced to seven years’ penal servitude. In custody he swallowed cyanide (R 29: 113, 268). Built on childhood sex games of Tower of Ivory, Miss Bulkeley’s avarice ends with prostitution in the throes of white slavery: titting/peeping out through her dormer window for the flyend of a touchman/ Dutchman over the wishtas of English Strand [deportation], when Kilbarrack

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bell pings saksalaisance/Sechseläuten that Concessas with Sinbads may (pong!) [spring renewal] where our dollimonde/Dollymount sees the phantom shape of Mr Fortunatus Wright [“Mr. Right”] since winksome Miss Bulkeley made loe/love to her wrecker [seducer] and he took her to be a rover [prostitute/white slave traffic; s,], O, and playing house of ivary dower of gould/Gold and gift you soil me [take virginity] peepat [Swift Ppt] my prize, which its a blue loogoont for her in a bleakeyed seusan [Blackeyed Susan: flower] if she can’t work her mireiclls [earn money for the pimp] and give Norgeyborgey [Georgie Porgie] [Britisher] good airish/Irish timers. (327.22–31)

The ex-trader numbered the brothels in Brussels, Antwerp, Lille, Boulogne, and Ostend and calculated that English girls were being placed in those locations at the rate of twenty per month. The girls in shipment were dehumanized immediately by the designation “parcels” or French colis. An “ex-slave trader” introduced Stead to the language of the trade: gudgeon, Kate, the cigar shop, parcels, and colis. He said “You get the girl to listen to you, and you can persuade her to anything. If they were not as silly as they are, they would never believe you. . . . But they are not sharp girls; they swallow the bait like gudgeons, and off they go.” The music hall song “At Trinity Church I Met My Doom,” parodied at the close of the Wake’s chapter 4, recapitulates the MT. Sold him her lease of ninenineninetee” (102.31). A procuress told Stead “in nine cases out of ten or ninety-nine out of a hundred, the child, who is usually under fifteen, frightened and friendless, her head aching with the effect of the drowse [laudanum and “something else” (6 Jul 1885: 4)], and full of pain and horror, gives up all hope.” Tresses undresses [she submits] so dyedyedaintee, Goo, the groot gudgeon, gulped it all. (102.32–33) As the procurer commented: “they are not sharp girls” [10 Jul 1885 PMG 6]; gudgeons were a fish commonly caught in the Thames. With “Hoo?” the girl remains nameless and lost. Hoo was the C.O.D.? Bum! (102.35)

She ended, like the Liffey at Island Bridge, where “met her tide” stands for “loss of maid” and shipment overseas. The “attabom” soldiers’ drums announce their presence; soldiers accounted for a very large percentage of the “ruinations.” The language is brutal: the flux of sperm and her “ride” away from respectability. The second drum roll means “abandoned.” “Up to the years” is the famed Irish lifetime arrears of rent; society still owes reparation for ruined maidens. The “hues and cribies” are creditors and crying babies. “That’s what she’s done” again blames the female for bringing disaster and enlightenment. At Island Bridge she met her tide.

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Chapter 4 Attabom, attabom, attabombomboom! The Fin [male] had a flux and his Ebba [outgoing Tide], a ride. Attabom, attabom, attabombomboom! We’re all up to the years in hues and cribies. That’s what she’s done for wee [pregnancy]! Woe! (103.01–07)

The ex-trader told Stead “The export of little girls of thirteen or fourteen for Continental brothels is chiefly in the hands of a woman named Kate.” Stead had already found that charwomen make excellent procuresses (7 Jul 1885 PMG 3); Joyce gives Kate the charwoman of the Earwicker household a Russian antecedence with Catherine the Great and a stage entrance in the Norwegian captain chapter where the discussion, not restrained in the presence of children, is all about sex. Shem is bothered by a tinge of Russian in the family ancestry: “He dares not think why the grandmother of the grandmother of his grandmother’s grandmother coughed Russky with suchky husky accent since in the mouthart of the slove/Slav lookat me now means I once was otherwise” (253.02–05). Charles Terrot set the stage for reporting Stead’s Maiden Tribute by detailing prior actual white slave auctions, where a “cigar” stood for a small child: “Dear X, I have just been to see the cigars. They are fine, young and good-looking. He has four of them, but it seems he is in debt—that is for their passage money and other expenses” (Terrot 48). The ex-trader told Stead about a prostitute formerly in Bordeaux who had been placed there by “a scoundrelly Greek who once kept a cigar shop . . . off Regent street,” and who took her and three others over from London. Joyce: how manfully he says, pluk [cheek] to pluk and lekan [Sligo] for lukan [traders often spoke foreign languages], he was to just pluggy well suck that brown boyo, my son, and spend a whole half hour in Havana. (53.23–26)

Still ahead at this point is Joyce’s Norwegian captain in chapter 11, who is engaged in “voyaging after maidens” (323.07); whether for rescue or pleasure churns the plot. At the end, even Kersse has to accept that the captain is innocent. Yet Joyce could not resist mischievous analogies with his own elopement with Nora in 1904. Three years after the elopement, his biographer notes, Joyce, like the Norwegian captain, was “already regarded as suspicious and morally tainted by many conventional Dubliners” (Bowker 176). Jackson and Costello substantiate this; for many reasons, Joyce’s sisters Eva and Florrie “were actively denying that they were related to that James Joyce” (JC 395). In the text, Joyce was still chuckling over religious conservativism when writing Finnegans Wake. The Captain’s repudiation of Catholic morality meant “some family fewd felt a nick in their name” (330.13), and the “Burke-Lees [Burke’s Peerage] and Coyle-Finns [ancient

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Irish surnames] paid full feines for their sinns when the Cap and Miss Coolie/ colis [Nora Barnacle] were roped” (330.17–19). CONCLUSION OF THE MT The last segment of the thunderous Maiden Tribute enwraps the prior accounts and summary facets of the completed Tribute to the effect that lists of those results must be selective. The universal condemnation of the Maiden Tribute focused on the word “filth,” and this is the aspect of it that Joyce adopted to explain Earwicker’s “sin” in Phoenix Park and Pappie’s fictional self-exposure in the Temple gardens and incidents like the defecation of the Russian general. Other than “filth,” the focus of criticism was “A Child of Thirteen Bought for £5,” which was the part of the Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon that sent Stead to jail. Stead’s conclusion, titled “An Interview with ‘A Parcel’ Shipped to Bordeaux” revealed that Stead knew too much. Those powerful brothel organizations and their privileged clients would not allow him to emerge from this adventure unscathed, having tainted their profits and stolen their pleasures. His opposition to the French system of police des mœurs, which meant legal enforcement of prostitution, became clear; girls abused in a French brothel were restrained from communicating with the outside by letter or telephone; they were imprisoned until a sympathetic patron could pay the amount the girls owed. By this means Stead’s informant made her escape, but of necessity left her companion still in service. Stead concluded “Someone should try to do something for poor Rosina if she be still alive.” He feared she was dead. He commented briefly on boys in the system, that boys “do not disappear in that way.” They could not be thrown into the streets because of pregnancy. He and his staff were still receiving reports; but he consoled himself that the silence protecting the system had been broken and that he and his staff had turned on it “a little of the wholesome light of day” (10 Jul 1885 PMG 6). The person to do something was certainly himself, and an unfinished task, by its very existence, necessitated his continuance as a threat to the powerful status quo. He had told of girls being flogged in a process that was blandly called “breaking in”; similarly, “girls ripening” indicated the process was in place. He had exposed the language of the profession so that the most naïve should understand it, plus the vastness of the system and the inevitable fate of girls trapped in it. Innocent phrases like Joyce’s “Apple by her blossom window [looking for a client] and Charlotte [looking for a suitor] at her toss panomancy [fortune telling]” (51.34) could reveal this nefarious world in a few words, the entire system based on female unfortunates who longed for a romance or a bit of excitement or escape from poverty. The “gentleman” on

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the prowl for sex was not to be blamed for dealing with a forgivable physical necessity. Richard Deacon, extremely partial to his biographical subject Prime Minister Gladstone, concludes that the Grand Old Man “was drawn to the courtesan as a moth is to a candle, but without being scorched.” Gladstone wrote to his sister, far back in 1832, “The only thing I dread is the fierceness of internal excitement, and that from experience as well as anticipation. I do dread. . . It is very painful to feel myself mastered by turbulent emotions which one can condemn, but not control” (Deacon 179). In the aftermath, knowing more than anyone else what should go into the law, Stead assisted, as told in the pages of the Pall Mall Gazette, in rewriting the Criminal Law Amendment bill, which was blessed by the Queen and passed into law on 14 August, its title “48 and 49 Victoria, Chapter 69.” To assure passage, sympathizers and social reformers subscribed to a “Director’s Fund” that enabled Stead to mail 400,000 copies of the Maiden Tribute to clergymen. He organized a Mansion House Committee of Four church and civic leaders to investigate his findings and was gratified that they returned a verdict of “TRUE” (30 Jul 1885 PMG 1). Before closing for the night in chapter 11, Earwicker’s pub customers comically claim they are their own Mansion House Committee; there will be another opportunity for the Liffey Patrol “to wind up and to tells of all befells after that to Mocked Majesty in the Malincurred/Mullingar [Inn] Mansion” (380.05). Experienced sympathizers were certain that the law could not be enforced without a community of vigilantes. Stead and prominent clergymen travelled to several cities, speaking to crowds for this purpose; he organized a vast gathering of over 200,000 people, pledged to support the law, in Hyde Park on 22 August. Thoroughly exhausted after, and scarcely able to speak, he traveled immediately to Grindelwald for much-needed rest and relaxation. He had barely arrived there when he received a telegram informing him of the arrest of his “agent,” Rebecca Jarrett. His reply telegraph sounded a note that he repeated: “I alone am responsible” and associated himself unknowingly with the Sinn Fein motto: “ourselves alone.” He returned home immediately to face trial at the Old Bailey, a place and an event mentioned often in Finnegans Wake. A popular belief that no man, wrestling with his own “internal excitement,” could engage in this work of investigating females without being guilty of committing sexual sin fuels the earwigged notion of Earwicker’s “sin” in Phoenix Park. On his touring the country to speak for implementation of the law, one of Stead’s secretaries found him “sobbing as only a man can. His wife had stood nobly by him, but in his absence from home some ‘friend’ had suggested to her that no man who was faithful to his wife could engage in the work he was doing. She had written to him indicating that at least he had not been fair to her” (R. Scott 133). And where was Eliza Armstrong? As soon as Stead learned on 22 August that her mother wanted

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her back home from France, he requested her brought to his home in Wimbledon for a reunion with her mother. Most devastating, those powerful enemies, the protectors of the brothel system and their sympathizers on the bench, contrived to formulate a new charge, one not protected by law, and never employed before or since even farcically under any law: the charge that he had not obtained the consent of Eliza Armstrong’s father. After the trial, he learned that Charles Armstrong was not her father, a fact that would have dismissed the case before it began. His counsel Lord Russell had raised the question at trial, but Stead refused to compromise the mother’s dignity by requesting the records. The trial was a farce of injustice and conflicting testimony, the prosecution witnesses well coached, and Stead not permitted to call the witnesses he had relied on to defend him. Upon his conviction and sentence of three months at hard labor (commuted on the third day to a gentleman’s prison), “there was jubilation among the brothel-keepers at Stead’s conviction, and select peers even celebrated it with a party at Mrs Jeffries’s most fashionable West End establishment” (Deacon 166). During his trial, the famous madam was credited with bringing the rotten eggs that were thrown at him and Bramwell Booth as they were transferred from Newgate to the Old Bailey. Henry Stead reflects that “It is significant that those who brought the charge of unlawful abduction never did anything for the girl who was technically ‘abducted.’ She married, and after the death of her husband a few years ago it was to father that she turned for help, not to those who had used her in a futile attempt to muzzle the man who was exposing the infamous White Slave traffic in the city” (459). Many are Joyce’s derivations, especially the tangy bit that the judge offered, scolding Stead for “deluging the streets with a quantity of filth.” Having been held at Newgate for trial, sentenced to Coldbath, transferred to Holloway— an old castle with its towers similar to those on the Dublin crest—makes Earwicker the famed “recidivist” (107.10). Stead said he had had a fair trial, though the trumped-up charges, the suppression of witnesses, the refusal to let him speak (he was advised to print his defense)—all proved he had not had a fair trial. As if consciously applying the Dublin city motto— “The obedience of the citizens produces a happy city” —Stead’s noble pronouncement on the “majesty” of his unfair sentence was calculated to inspire and sustain troubled humanity: In a Democratic age we must most jealously uphold the majesty of the law, and defend most energetically the judicial authority from the clamour of the market-place. Better even that one man should suffer unjustly . . . than that public meetings should demand the overruling of the sentence of a court in deference to the sentiment of the crowd (9 Nov 1885 PMG 1).

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Or, as Joyce phrases it: “upholding a lampthorne of lawstift as wand of welcome to all men in bonafay” (321.04–05). At Holloway, a gentleman’s prison, Stead received visitors, enjoyed meals sent in from a quality restaurant nearby, and resumed editing his newspaper, chuckling when reporting some of the scurrilous statements, some of which he had written to keep things lively. The title of his book My First Imprisonment conveyed his optimism that another great cause would emerge for which he could martyr himself again; he illustrated it with his own sketches, one of which Joyce transported into the Wake’s chapter 5 of his “wee ftofty od room” (114.23; Illus. “My Little Room,” First 19). His

Figure 4.4. W.T. Stead wore his prison uniform each year, on the anniversary of its issuance. Pictured here in 1910. “With his broad and hairy face, to Ireland a disgrace” (260.L1)

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Figure 4.5. A wee ftofty od room . . . a cozy little brown study all to oneself . . . . You have your cup of scalding Souchong, your taper’s waxen drop (114.23 . . . 115.4). (Review 14: 274)

time at trial reduced the actual imprisonment to two months and seven-toeighteen days, depending on when one started counting. He wore his prison uniform only at Coldbath, for three days, but wore it thereafter each year, striding through town and taking trains, for one day only on the 11 November anniversary of his conviction. It was not flattering in the year 1910, “With his broad and hairy face, to Ireland a disgrace” (260.L1). Joyce derived and deployed a great deal of minutia from all of this. Benjamin Waugh admonished Stead regarding Stead’s slovenly appearance. A trial witness objected that Stead was “shabbily dressed and did not look like an editor . . . it may determine a juryman for or against you. It is a question of character, and the world judges mostly by outside show. Let me . . . advise you to go to a first-class tailor for a morning suit and to Truefitt’s [Truefitt & Hill, London haberdashers] for a West End cut of hair” (Whyte I: 183). The prisoner’s [Earwicker’s] motley assemblage of clothes accumulated from his varied life is “all out of the true” (85.35). Otherwise, one could legitimately ask, true what? Stead continued to make further advances in the public cause, one of which was the origination of civic centers.

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The admirable E. S. Hole, on the staff of the Review of Reviews 19101912, offers a concise summation of the contradictory nature of Stead’s hundreds of adherences and diametric positions, and reliance only upon the faith that guided him: “If you publish that you will sacrifice fifty thousand readers of the Review!” “So much the worse for the fifty thousand readers” would be his steady, calm and unaffected response. “Do the public edit me, or do I edit for the public?” (Whyte 2:308). He redirected publishing currents and consulted his readers for news, opinions, and surveys, one of which resulted in Hymns That Have Helped. His highly successful and influential Penny Popular Poems and Novels was a project copied by others as fast as profitable to the effect that, with this and many of his endeavors, others claimed the credit of origination. He authored articles and volumes every day until his death on the Titanic in 1912. Admirers reluctantly smiled through their tears; having maintained center stage for many years, he managed to stage a memorable death.

Chapter Five

The Park Maid and the Sinister Sir

Mutt and Jute were clear enough about the sin that Earwicker committed: “he dumptied the wholeborrow of rubbages onto soil here” (17.04), the field of the Battle of Clontarf won by Brian Boru on 23 April 1014. By this observation Mutt and Jute charged Earwicker with the burden of Stead’s Maiden Tribute in 1885 that insulted London’s fair city and challenged its courts and its churches to come to the aid of distressed maidens. Jute knows, however, that Taciturn, the historian of the Minotaur, who “pretells” the “wrongstory,” is prejudiced. Knowledge that the public considered Earwicker himself a “sinning hero” launches him on the Irish “road of trials,” although “Guiltless of much laid to him he was clearly for once at least” (34.34). He has arrived as a stranger within the gates of Dublin and has not resided long enough to commit a vague sexual crime from the rumored, nebulous past of fully active, eventful Phoenix Park. The “Guiltless” phrase introduces the “encounter with the cad,” who is almost immediately vaporized out of the scene (35.11), of which any encounter noticeably violates the reputed customs of Irish hospitality that Joyce remembers on a Unity Sunday celebration [combined Anglican and Catholic Lenten service] when “Irish eyes of welcome were smiling daggers down their backs” (176.22–23). Nevertheless, the pursuit of the female, rightly or wrongly, is undercurrent to civility or violation thereof and a major theme of Joyce’s “universal” history. Credited as an incidental truth of Earwicker’s arrival (35.01), the rumor of sexual crime leaks out incidentally in foreign phrases that the citizens vaguely interpret by their homophonic resemblances to English, from a time when English and French vied for legitimacy on Irish soil. The field of Clontarf, as the Narrator understands it, was overrun with foreigners approaching not as warriors but as bargain-seeking lovers: “the blond [Norse] has sought of the brune [Danes]: Elsekiss thou may, mean Kerry piggy?” 143

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(15.16)—Danish for “do you love me, my dear girl?”); or the “dear girl” seeking a customer may ask. Amid this exchange, Asking and Telling narrators remember those babblers who were and went, the light and dark soldiers contending for the female displaying her attractions: the dark dames [Danes] have countered with the light [Norse] fellows, speaking French: “Who ails tongue coddeau, aspace of dumbillsilly?” (15.18) is French “Ou est ton cadeau, espece d’imbecile/ tr Where is your present, fool?” The historian Alfred Nutt comments on the exchanges of spoken and written French and English from the Norman Conquest in 1066, fought by Norman, Breton, and French soldiers, that “left the Duke of Normandy vassal to the King of France whilst it gave him a position of equal power and influence . . . The new race of kings must needs have its own heroic legend, its Matière de Bretagne [medieval legends], to rival the Matière de France” (15). Joyce’s new history will offer for this location French, Esperanto, Russian, Danish, English, Irish, Latin, Greek, and German. The Overlook narrators, who scrutinize the “quhare soort of a mahan” (16.01) they assume to prefigure Constable Sackerson, address him: “Come on, fool porterfull [full of porter], hosiered women blown monk sewer?” which transliterates the French “Comment vous portez-vous aujourd’hui, mon blond monsieur? tr How are you today, my fair sir? (16.04). A “dark sir” or Dane will soon overwhelm the “fair sir” almost to the extent of exclusion of the “fair sir” from those polyglot passages through sequential chapters, up to and including the Phoenix Park encounters. Whether “dark” is simply archetypal fear of the unknown, and in this wise augments or replaces “fair,” is not specified. Joyce informed his friend Frank Budgen in 1937, “The encounter between my father and a tramp (the basis of my book) actually took place at that part of the park” (Letters 1: 396) that LeFanu had cited for murder in his House by the Churchyard (1863). Joyce retells the story in rhyme making “murder of a maid” equivalent to loss of maidenhood, a “Battle of Waterloo” (176.10), in which “the general” lost for her as an individual “her maidenloo” (46.29). Joyce’s father, who “told him the story” of his crossing Phoenix Park, withheld a salient bit of news as Joyce rewrites the story: “maidens,” virgins or not, were those threatened for sex and possibly a dowry, and not men crossing the park (except for “Pappie” who was carrying a small encrypted treasure). While Joyce tells the tale twice (and a partial third time) of Earwicker’s “encounter,” the first with a “cad” who vanishes, the two reputed temptresses and three soldiers are not during these encounters lurking in the shrubbery. Nevertheless, any man’s meeting with a virgin potentially brands him a predatory “dark sir” whose reply must be hushed and veiled for his lack of an ethical purpose. The origin of the conversation is a nursery rhyme that voices an adjuration against such danger: the seventy maids of the Moslem male’s ideal heaven are transformed in an instant into a sultana. The

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equivalent of sex slaves that Stead heard of was located in London’s Babylon; the distance is apathetic to measurement in miles. The dark deed of rape requires only an instant, and the absence of candlelight assures there are no witnesses. “Cry not yet! There’s many a [luring] smile to Nondum/London, with sytty/seventy maids [Moslem brides] per man, sir, and the park’s so dark by kindlelight” (20.19–20) of the tin-can type of contained candle called a “pierced paraflamme” (84.34). Two nursery rhymes/games are combined Where are you going, my pretty maid?

How many miles to Babylon?

I’m going a milking, sir, she said.

Three score miles and ten.

May I go with you, my pretty maid?

Can I get there by candle-light?

You’re kindly welcome, sir, she said. Yes, and back again. What is your father, my pretty maid? If your heels are nimble and light, My father’s a farmer, sir, she said.

You may get there by candle-light.

What is your fortune, my pretty maid? My face is my fortune, sir, she said. Then I won’t marry you, my pretty maid. Nobody asked you, sir, she said. The rhymes the children were chanting were simultaneously games being played. In the nineteenth century the biblical sin city of “Babylon” was faded out of favor and replaced by more accessible “London town.” Stead’s title “The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon” relies on his readers’ familiarity with those chants and games to which he adds a common suspicion that the Moslem heaven is equivalent to a harem of sex slavery. “Where are you going?” assumes either she was innocently walking toward “outrage,” or, already outraged, she has turned professional. Unsophisticated and educated only by children’s lore, she could ask for payment in advance, or a present; or he could interrogate her about her dowry to estimate how much protection she had at home. The rhymes perhaps are most convincing on the matter of appearance. A reformed brothel-keeper told Stead that “Pretty girls who are poor, and who have either no parents or who are away from home, are easiest picked up” (7 Jul 1885 PMG 4). Knowing that her good looks attracts money, the maiden vows “I must commit my lips to make misface for misfortune, often, as far as I can chance to recollect from the some/sum farnights ago” (357.23). Nursery rhymes, by their familiarity and distinct rhythms, from one viewpoint, can varnish the criminality; on the other hand they admit a civic

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dilemma to common parlance. Issy’s footnote in chapter 10 has adapted the refrain rhythm: “My six/sex is no secret, sir, she said” (273.F7). Earwicker begins his tale of the Grand Old Gardener with “his place is his poster, sure, they said and we’re going to mark it, sore, they said” (336.22). The maiden’s “misface for misfortune” acquires editorial confirmation: The envelope containing the midden letter is an “outer husk: its face, in all its featureful perfection of imperfection, is its fortune” (109.08–09). Her sense of danger is imminently verifiable: “The park is gracer than the hole, says she, but shekleton’s my fortune?” (512.28–29). Bearing a distinct anticipation of danger, “skeleton” taints the eagerness of Shackleton-like exploration. Throughout, the question of crossing the park demands an answer: how to enjoy the night of lovemaking. There is no shortage of texts on the subject and folklore is plentiful in the air. “When otter leaps in outer parts then Yul remembers Mei” (245.06). Baalfe’s tune was a favorite of John McCormack. The maiden’s “hung maid mohns are bluming, look, to greet those loes on coast of amethyst; arcglow’s seafire siemens lure and wextward warnerforth’s hookercrookers” (245.06–09), willing to take their chances. To over-simplify a very sophisticated section, in which loves thrive in a mixture of entertaining doubletalk, “robby brerfox’s fishy fable” (245.09) extends Aesop to Uncle Remus’s fox that failed to reach the grapes, listened out; there is time for translation. The threads are somewhat torn and there are knots in the anti-arguments, the fish in Liffey’s bowl have stopped squiggling about Juno/Jonah and the whale and fifth Thursdays and papal infallibility and the possession of the Holy Cross/Ghost. And if “Lubbernabohore” or Love Your Neighbor, a tramp, laid his ear to the river, save (except for) the din going on in his Mount of Knowledge (Mount of Venus at base of thumb) he would not hear the answer to “Witchman, watch of your night?” (245.11–16). The explanation mixes Basque in a garbled reply of children playing a floral divination game. As the maiden plucks a daisy petal she foretells the future while reciting alternatively “He loves me, he loves me not”: “Es voes, ez noes, nott voes, ges, noun. It goes. It does not go. Dark park’s acoo with sucking loves” (245.17–18). Love is an international preoccupation with sophistication and a battle of sex-laden witticisms. Later, Earwicker in his boasting of his achievements speaks similarly of Hyde Park: “Thuggeries are reere as glovar’s metins [Dublins Annals Cantata] . . . “Me ludd in her hide park seek Minuinette” (540.31–34). The text returns to the two maidens and three soldiers in Phoenix Park. It’s an international gambit. Sexual imaginings dominate the thinking of the male protagonist in almost any location in which the male mind roams, not consistently or surely marked but frequently reengaging the “dark sir.” Sexual thoughts emerge, submerge, and reemerge in cathedral, battlefield, Stead’s church and home in Wimbledon, in the minds of the scribes of the Book of

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Kells, at the routine Sunday breakfast-reading/listening quiz with the children and guests. A PARK FOR PRAYER, NOT PREY A nefarious rumor, actually printed in the Daily News, that Stead’s church in Wimbledon had sided against him, because of the scandalous Tribute, was countered by the pastor who said Stead had delivered a persuasive address to them and the congregation had voted confidence in him. Thus, “in a quiet English garden . . . known as Whiddington Wild, his simple intensive curolent vocality [his Wimbledon locality] my dearbraithers, my most dearbraithairs, as he . . . spake of the One and told of the Compassionate, called up before the triad of precoxious scaremakers (scoretaking: Spegulo ne helpas al malbellulo [tr A mirror doesn’t help an ugly person], Mi Kredas ke vi estas prava, Via dote la vizago rispondas fraulino” in Esperanto “I believe you’re right. Your fortune is your face, replies a young lady” (52.09–16). In other words, while “puritan” Stead, an enthusiast of Esperanto, is preaching about the importance of God in his life, his overburdened mind goes to the endangered maiden, typified by Eliza Armstrong, called “Lily,” whose rescue the public interpreted as abduction and caused him to be brought to trial and sentenced to jail. The progress of the maiden and the “dark sir” may be traced as part of a major theme through much of Finnegans Wake; the variety assures the internationalism of the theme, both furtive and humorous, and its enlightenment. Its extensions provide a grand opportunity to test complications of the “motif” theory and observe it to its final, surprising, result. But any motif in Finnegans Wake is overburdened with supplementation and often can be discussed several times under several headings. Here there is a diversion to Oliver Wendell Holmes, the Professor at the Breakfast Table, a work that Stead reviewed for the Pall Mall Gazette (13 June 1889: 7). To the Stead children, consistently urged to read and knowing of Oliver Wendell Holmes, this person was none other than their father, who quizzed them at the breakfast table, (the R.Q.). After, on Sunday mornings, the family were required to run downhill “full pelt” to the Wimbledon Commons and the Congregational Church, not to arrive late in this refuge of meditation, where W. T. Stead hatched “many of his most brilliant schemes” without missing a word of the sermon. His son Henry remembered, “Nor were we [children] permitted to lose any either, for when we got home everyone had to fix upon some person or thing, action or event mentioned in the discourse. This took place at dinner, and starting with the youngest, each was bombarded with questions as to what he or she had fixed on. Visitors were never exempted.” Watching their father accommodate his “weak spine” to a church pew, the journalist Edmund Garrett remarked that W. T. Stead liked to “sit on

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his shoulders,” which transfers to the Norwegian captain, who enters the pub “with the old sit in his shoulders” (324.2). The children were in total subjected to two types of quizzes. They must “get the ‘facts’ out of the newspapers every morning to tell him at breakfast” (Henry Stead, 355–56); for this requirement Henry in later years called his father the journalist at the breakfast table. Stead’s “wordwounder” habit of bibliomancy achieved with puncturing a bible with scissors or a pin to find direction in a random quotation was a matter of faith, as he would refer casually to the verse his pin pricked through. Robertson Scott said “his godlier following would have been aghast had they had a sight of the mutilated Scriptures” (81). Stead, nevertheless, was a realist who wrote it into his novel Here Am I: Send Me! Nurse Brown uses a hairpin (33), believes the message, and takes mistaken action against the hero, which ultimately assures the ongoing plot. Surely, the Lord or W. T. Stead works in mysterious ways. Suspicious persons seeing the family dash to church might assume Stead ran to watch the maidens; but Stead is unique and Joyce does not let this happen. Stead’s “Lifelong Tribute to Maidens” is the last chapter of Maiden Tribute: A Life of W. T. Stead. The possible deception of “common as the apple in his eye” is subtly corrected: Stead called his wife “Mother” (E. MT 397) and venerated her, although, Joyce perceives, “plain English for a married lady misled heaps by the way”: Deeply religious by nature and position, and warmly attached to Thee, and smearbread and better/butter [Joyce family diet] and Him/Ham [19th c. actors’ make-up remover] and newlaidills [newlaid eggs; news articles], it was rightly suspected that such ire could not have been visited by him Brotfressor Prenderguest [his tailor cut up valuable ms] even underwittingly, upon the ancestral pneuma of one whom, with rheuma, he venerated shamelessly [Sunday worship] at least once a week at Cockspur [a flower, a London street] Common [Stead’s Wimbledon Commons] as the apple in his eye and her first boys’ best friend [Stead’s wife] . . .

Joyce manages to merge several themes under this topic, and this “Deeply religious by nature” leads into the conclusion of this chapter, for love of life and religious faith extended to the time of Stead’s death. [And], though plain English for a married lady misled heaps by the way, yet when some peerer or peeress detected that the fourleaved shamrock or quadrifoil jab [Sullivan on stops in Book of Kells] was more recurrent wherever the script was clear and the term terse/verse and that these two were the selfsame spots naturally selected [Darwin] for her perforations by Dame Partlet [“hen” in Chaucer] on her [midden] dungheap, thinkers all put/inscribe [a trademark] grown in waterung-spillfull Pratiland [Irish shamrock] only and a playful fowl [the midden hen] and musical me and not you in any case, two and two

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together, and, with a swarm of bisses [Eliza’s Xs on letter] honeyhunting after, a sigh for shyme (O, the petty-bonny rouge [devil]!) separated modest mouths. So be it. And it was. (124.12–28)

Such is a summary of factors contributing to the midden letter. Otherwise, plain English “mother” for a married lady “misled heaps by the way,” and there were several tales of beautiful women attempting to seduce W. T. Stead (E. MT 25). Joyce has thoroughly understood Stead’s devotion to his wife and made certain that any aspersions deserve vindication; moreover, this narration about Dame Partlet conveys a reverence mindful of the opening of Genesis with the “the Spirit of God” moving like a dove “upon the face of the waters” and all creation pouring forth at the tip of Stead’s pen, a family “culture” in which, as Adaline Glasheen divined long ago, “everybody is somebody else” and all sustained by a printing press devoted to current events and international history in which Stead’s “Senior Partner” directs those eggs laid and discovered by the midden hen bearing Eliza Armstrong’s “kissing her exits.” The spirit is elsewhere known as Belinda of the Dorans. GUSPODIN AND THE DARK SIR The sailor in the Cabman’s shelter of Ulysses confides to Bloom and Stephen: “Gospodi pomilyou. That’s how the Russians prays” (U 16: 463). Hence, the Cabman’s shelter and its anonymous sailor form the entry point for the strong Russian element in the Wakean saga. Travelling to Russia for the first time in 1886, Stead stood in St. Isaac’s Cathedral in St. Petersburgh on Easter eve, making out in the “maze of melodious sound” only the words “Gospodi pomilioui (Lord have mercy upon us)” and was mentally transported not to Ireland’s Clontarf but to an easterly battlefield where “greycoated Russians knelt in prayer before they stood up to die for Russia and their Tzar . . . I seemed to hear the simple, earnest cry of the Russian peasant as he flung himself that day of doom across the path of the great Napoleon. “Gospodi pomilioui, Gospodi pomilioui”—‘Lord have mercy on us!’” (Truth 46). Shem the Penman ends chapter 5 as a potential writer, a “notesnatcher” marked with transliterated Russian “much earny, Gus poteen” which in English conveys “you can earn much by writing, potentially, Gus,” a personal message for Joyce whose middle name was Augusta, misspelled on the registry. Since Gospodin the salutation equals sir or literally lord, the appeal to the deity easily transfers to or exchanges with the male lust for fame or sex for which Madame Novikoff was Stead’s anima. “Much earny, Gus poteen” is Russian “moy chërny Gospodin” for “how are you my black sir?” (125.22) and signals a dangerous error, which, signing off “Shem the Penman,” transfers to Shem the fracturing element in his career. It hints for Shem that his

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great work is to be threatened by the forgery skills of James Townsend Savard, who was sentenced to “transportation” for fourteen years in Australia. The attribution has caused significant grief and repeated errors among literary critics when in fact Stead was plainly proud of copying signatures of the famous to attract subscriptions to his startlingly new Review of Reviews, proud of the faith they placed in him. The implication is exhausted eventually when it is recognized for having been a “psourdonome sheath, Sdrats ye, Gus Paudheen!” (332.31) in scenes later at the “Inverleffy,” the Liffey Estuary. “Kenny’s thought ye, Dinny Oozle!” (332.33) resembles in Russian zdravstye gospodin for “how do you do, sir?” or in Irish conas tá tu, a dhuine uasal for “how are you, gentle sir?” The Gospodin phrase speaks of Joyce’s method of interweaving multiple associations in his customary multiplex fashion. Further, a scribe layering paint for the Book of Kells (viewable in Sir Edward Sullivan’s copy) replaces the Russian soldier, and the scribe Stead wields scissors, or a pin, to place on record his habit of punching pages of the bible for bibliomancy. Robertson Scott, one of Stead’s biographers, derived an example from Stead’s journal in which he recorded using an alternative and referred to “The verse my pin pricked through” (R. Scott 152), just as the threat of the “dark sir” makes of the maiden’s ambulation in Phoenix Park a chance form of divination. The maiden knows not where she is casting her net―at times a mere “how are you“ greeting requires close attention to the speaker. All of this is encrypted in nine languages adapted to victim or perpetrator and dark as an allegory, and all of these examples join the arsenal of portentous parallels: These paper wounds [none in Kells], four in type, were gradually and correctly understood to mean stop [Book of Kells has four types of full stop], and O do please stop [as spoken by a sex crime victim; no uniformity in Kells (Sullivan 49)] respectively, and following up their one true clue, the circumflexuous wall of a singleminded men’s asylum [Stead’s private cell at Holloway], accentuated by bi tso fb rok engl a ssan dspl itch ina [“bits of broken glass and split china,” which Stead saw at Holloway],—[Scotland] Yard inquiries [for Eliza Armstrong] pointed out—that they ad bin “provoked” ay ˄ fork [by the fork of Stead’s opened scissors], of à grave Brofèsor; àth é’s Brèak—fast— table; acùtely profèššionally piquéd, to = introdùce a notion of time [ùpon à plane (?) sù ’ ’ fàç’e’] by pùnct! ingh oles [punching holes] (sic) in iSpace?! Deeply religious by nature and position [Stead’s father a Congregational minister], and warmly attached to Thee. (124.3–13)

Henry Stead, cited previously, reported that the children did actually call their father “the Professor at the Breakfast Table.” Joyce makes him the “Dr. Holmes” who made the paper wounds. While Stead spoke of God as the “Senior Partner” and regularly consulted Him, with or without a particular

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need, he frequently hastened the search for the bon mot. His impatient bibliomancy to find horoscopic guidance was, for Stead, a form of prayer: “that’s how the Russian prays,” and Stead since his teen years had been an advocate of Russia. It is logical to theorize, from Wakean evidence, that Joyce visited Newcastle in 1931, at which time elderly Robertson Scott would have been glad to share his memories with Joyce, an informed and appreciative visitor. Robertson Scott said “I have the Bible” that Stead mutilated and subsequently explained that Stead’s godlier followers would have revolted at the sight of the damaged scriptures, but Stead “revolted at the sanctimonious . . . and cared as little for the convenances as Ezekial” (R. Scott 81). Stead was well pleased with the advice the pin “pricked through on July 5” (his birthday) “that joyous 103 Psalm that consoled Cromwell, ‘He suffered no man to do them wrong; yea, he reproved kings for their sakes.’ That was like my Jan. 1 text, about being called before birth to be a prophet to the nations” (R. Scott 152). At this place in the text Joyce is winding down chapter 5 and will resume the narrative in chapter 7, after the Questions chapter delineates the characters. Closing, chapter 5 also presents a uniquely Wakean series of associations. The stabwounds in the bible resemble the chicken scratches punctuating the midden letter stating the results of Stead’s articles that are designated eggs. The system can be deduced as originating with the hen and is recovered as lost information in the midden where the hen is seen to scratch at those “scribings,” as if trying to recover her property, as if obeying a vague preternatural instinct inherited from socially-responsible Biddy of the Dorans, who intends to propagate the message further; “as sure as herself pits hen to paper and there’s scribings scrawled on eggs” or newspaper articles (615.10). Stead-Earwicker is comprehended in the familiar idioms of the past: Finn MacCool, Diarmaid, and the Book of Kells. Jackson and Costello tell how the younger Joyce sisters went searching for Pappie, harried to extract from him money for food before he spent it on drink, or on the verbal blandishments of a daughter of Diarmaid. This mixture of Earwicker with Stead with Finn MacCool radiates to Stead’s weekend custom of entertaining dignitaries and poor children from London at his country home on Hayling Island where all participated at Sunday breakfast in the obligatory Reading Quiz formulated for discussion of a memorized bible verse. The children attach revealing nicknames to stuffy guests and, in retrospect question why they never received any inkling of the Titanic; others have suffered similarly: Small need after that, old Jeromesolem, old Huffsnuff [takes offense: Stead’s visits to Rome], old Andycox [Antioch], Old Olecasandrum [St Cummian claimed compliance with four cities], for quizzing your weekenders come to

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Chapter 5 the R.Q. with: shoots off in a hiss, muddles up in a mussmass and his whole’s a dismantled noondrunkard’s son [riddle for Noah]. Howbeit we heard not a son of sons [Stead a best son] to leave by him to oceanic society [Titanic] in his old man [old age] without a thing [forewarning] in his ignorance [of fate], [like]Tulko MacHooley [Finn’s brother]. And it was thus he was at every time, that son, and the other time, the day was in it [that day was fated] and after the morrow Diremood is the name is on the writing chap of the psalter [Columba borrowed the psalter of St. Finnan and copied it (Sullivan 19–20)], the juxtajunctor of a dearmate [Dermot] and he passing out of one desire into its fellow. The daughters are after going and loojing for him [Joyce’s sisters searching for Joyce’s father to beg funds for dinner], Torba’s [wife of Finn’s father] nicelookers of the fair neck [wide neckline exposes bosom]. (124.35–125.10)

The search was often futile; they pass through streets filled with British soldiers, congested enough to allow John Stanislaus Joyce an escape, perhaps with a bit of disguise. The Dawson Irish pub in Dublin vaunts street access with stairs to its basement location. Wanted for millinary servance to olderly’s person by the Totty Askinses [British soldiers]. Formelly confounded with another. Maybe growing a moustache [illegal under British rule], did you say, with an adorable look of amuzement [Pappie’s acting]? And uses noclass billiardhalls with an upandown ladder? Not Hans the Curier though had he had have only had some little laughings [some Latin] and some less of cheeks/Greek [Joyce and Ben Jonson on Shakespeare] and were he not so warried by his bulb of persecussion [ideas] he could have, ay, and would have, as true as Essex bridge [common phrase]. And not Gopheph/Joseph go gossip, I declare to man! Noe! (125.10–18)

At this point, in his meditations Joyce releases Shem from his constrained Dublin environment. To see the world from the other end of the telescope, escaping family pressures, Shem mentally becomes an “Oxonian.” Formerly, the family’s complaint against Stephen Dedalus was that his education failed to impress upon him the necessity for a paying job. He destroyed their dreams of avarice by becoming an unpopular, or unsuccessful, writer and, one suspects, failed purposely to achieve high academic honors. Guspodin has become a secret empowerment, a future status symbol for the hoard of private knowledge. To all’s much [everybody’s] relief one’s half hypothesis of that jabberjaw ape amok the showering jestnuts of Bruisanose [Brasenose College, Oxford] was hotly dropped and his room taken up by that odious and still today insufficiently malestimated notesnatcher (kak [shit], pfooi [for shame!], bosh and fiety [for shame!], much earny, Gus, poteen” Sez you!) Shem the Penman. (125.18–23)

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GUSPODIN AND THE NORWEGIAN CAPTAIN The English folk, respecting marriage (124.19), find only the devil’s unmarried shame in the midden letter’s revelations. The brand-marking, following the “all put” inscription, claims for the letter a distinctly Irish origin and dates such conduct, and such a product, back to the Irish hero Finn MacCool, of whom brief Ogham inscriptions were known: “The [above is the] lettermaking of the explots of Fjorgn Camhelsson [Finn MacCool] when he was in the Kvinnes [women’s] country [Queen’s County] with Soldru’s/soldiers men.” The French solder des troupes indicates that he was there on duty, to pay troops. Fox and Geese is a Dublin neighborhood. The letter resumes “With acknowledgement of our fervour/favor of the first instant [month] he remains years most fainfully. For postscrapt [P.S.] see spoils. Though not yet had the sailor sipped that sup nor the humphar foamed to the fill [Stevenson’s hunter is home from the hill]. And [mortal enemies] Fox and Geese still kept the peace around L’Auberge du Pere Adam [tr Father Adam’s Pub] (124.29–34). The parenthetical “kak, pfooi, bosh and fiety, much earny, Gus, poteen?” represents in Russian kak vy pozhivaete, moy chërny Gospodin, an urgent question for dower. By choosing his vocation, Shem has become the “black sir,” with a plain “how are you?” His future is uncertain unless he can learn to copy family histories. He could become as successful as “Shem the Penman [James Townsend Savard, forger]” (125.23). He could, but he will not. Joyce is reaching toward a faith in a common goal of humanity that is unaware of the means by which disparate forces are united in human consciousness, as if there is a Directing Hand and Controlling Mind that the churches have been unable to articulate, and only the aesthetician can. GUSPODIN AND KATE Prolonged chapter 11 (II: 3) presents two tales. The first, the Norwegian captain, is randomly told in Earwicker’s pub (309.1–330.19) and interrupted with the children’s interlude (330.30–334.31) during which Kate brings Anna Livia’s message that Earwicker should come to bed; this ends with a pause marked “Silents” (334.31). Kate’s entrance redirects the plot to validate the gospodin message on the basis of Stead’s experience. As a spiritualist Stead had publicly declared himself in communication with Catherine the Great of Russia (E. Harper 103–118), and Joyce goes one step further; Joyce makes Kate the charwoman a descendant to validate the Russian connection with Stead’s “Guspodin” experience. Could a ghost appear in the pub? “this being becoming n z doer? K? An o” (333.03). Amid Czech vocabulary there comes softly Katerina, bringing with her ancient scenes of battle: “The aged crafty nummifeed confusionary overinsured everlapsing accentuated katekat-

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tershin clopped, clopped, clopped, darsey dobrey [daring and good], back and along the danzing/Danzig corridor . . . between the two deathdealing allied divisions and the lines of readypresent fire of the corkedagains upstored [Corsican Upstart Napoleon]” (333.06–12). Shem has had a prior leaning toward this, in meditation during the children’s games: “He dares not think why the grandmother of the grandmother of his grandmother’s grandmother coughed Rusky with suchky husky accent since in the mouthart of the slove [speech of the Slav] look at me now means I once was otherwise” (253.02–05). The motif can become increasingly dispersed. The second tale “How Buckley Shot the Russian general” consumes most of the remainder of chapter 11. At present, the children overhear the narration of sexual episodes, after which the thunder sounds (332.05–06). The context that follows presents Stead at the Pall Mall Gazette, where he was “the Goth” mated absurdly with his superior editor Morley of Oxford who was the epitome of “classical restraint” (Whyte I:80). An elusive classical education in public school was actually forbidden Stead in British culture, for which situation Stead during all his life was branded “barbaric” for having been born too early, in a time when “Dissenters,” until 1870, were not admitted to the universities and still were denied prizes. When the text is thoroughly encrypted, Joyce intervenes occasionally with a note that may be further encrypted. For “cavern hair,” Joyce noted “woman is dragged by the hair (VI.C.6.263),” just as Kate the nummifeed confusionary is “not without her complement of cavarnan men” (333.10). These evoke Stead’s “Act of God,” which was the C.L.A. Act teaching protection of and respect for women. The Café Kavarna in Prague serves as an example of “coffeehouse babble” wherein men may still learn to rise above caveman tactics regarding women. The “Act of Goth/God” features Stead in double capacity of barbarian and savior. The poor “begged the favor” of their social superiors to accept their gifts. Such was the act of goth/God stepping the tolk of Doolin, drain and plantage, wattle and daub [Irish huts], with you’ll peel as I’ll pale [Stead’s favorite Tyneside rowing song “Weel May the Keel Row”] and we’ll pull the boath toground togutter [s.], testies [witnesses] touchwood [for luck] and shenstone unto pop and puma [Pappie and British lion], calf [not a bull] and condor [British eagle, together the Four evangelists] under all the gaauspices (incorporated), the chal [Joyce’s father] and his chi/child [Joyce], their roammerin over, gribgrobgrab reining trippetytrappety [march forward] (so fore shalt thou flow, else thy cavern hair!) [women dragged] to whom she (anit likenand pleasethee!) [serving the British]). Till sealump [ship] becamedump to bumpslump [ship arrives at dock, waves bumping] a lifflebed, (altola, [tr Who goes there? the Soldier’s challenge], alla marsch! O gué, O gué) [a ford]. Kaemper Daemper [giant steamship] to Jetty de Waarft [male to female], all the weight

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of that mons [huge Adamic ocean] on his little ribbeunuch [Eve, the river Liffey]!” (332.10–19).

The size analogy admits also the vaunted British world empire against one small Irish island. The guarded Liffey Estuary is both the point of entry and the line of defense. Joyce bears an emphatic prejudice against Prime Minister Gladstone, whose half-hearted efforts for Ireland were as pretentious as prowling the streets of London at night looking for prostitutes to take home to his good wife for a nourishing meal; at the same time he refused to acknowledge London’s “ruined” maidens of “The Maiden Tribute.” Joyce analogizes Gladstone’s deafness with wearing a “psourdonome sheath.” Here is the young prostitute’s trained greeting for two customers, Russian and English, neither branded “dark.” The children have entered the pub (330.30), and Kate is approaching (333.06). Asking and Telling Narrators debate the national situation. [Telling Narrator] Him that gronde old mand [Grand Old Man] to be that haard of heaering (afore said) and her the petty tondur [Napoleon’s nickname] with the fix [Home Rule] in her changeable eye (which see), [Asking Narrator] Lord, me lad, he goes with blowbierd/Bluebeard [the ocean], leedy,lady, plasheous stream [Hsiung play Lady Precious Stream, the tiny Liffey]. [Telling] But before that his Lordship was converted to a landshop . . . (332.20–24)

The Dutch Landschap is scenery; spying the lush landscape, the British sought to keep hold of Ireland. The “bridge of the piers” is Ireland seeking Parliamentary representation. [Telling Narrator] “there was a little theogamyjig incidence that hoppy-gojumpy Junuary morn when he [Earwicker/Pappie] colluded with the cad out on the beg/bog [disclose a secret; “cat in a bag” for sale of a “pig in a poke”] amudst the fiounaregal gaames [174.22–175.29] of those oathmassed fenians for whome he’s forcecaused a bridge of the piers [breach of the peace] as Inverleffy [Liffy Estuary], mating pontine of their engagement, synnbildising graters/garters [Irish attractions] and things, eke ysendt [isn’t that true]? [Asking Narrator] O nilly/Nile, not all, here’s the first cataraction [objection to the unlikely story]! [Telling] As if ever she [Britain] cared an assuan damm about her harpoons sticking all out of him whet between phoenix his calipers [Irish rising] and that psourdonome sheath [deaf Gladstone indifference]. (332.25–32)

The language has become sardonic, and there are two trends: [Asking/Exclaiming] Sdrats ye [R. zdravstye], Gus Paudheen! [R. tr how do you do, sir?] Kenny’s thought ye, Dinny Oozle [Irish conas tá tú, a dhuine uasal [tr] How are you, gentle sir!] [Telling] While the cit/city was leaking

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Chapter 5 asphalt [holes in the streets] like a suburbiaurealis in his rure was tucking to him [soliciting him] like old booths, booths, booths, booths [s.; presence of British military; marching of the Salvation Army under General William Booth]. (332.32–35).

In Dublin as in Russia, in the language of love and war, zdravstye gospodin translates “How do you do, sir?” A variation of gospodin—“Gospodi pomilyou. That’s how the Russians prays”— travels from the cabman’s shelter to the end of Stead’s eventful life with numerous “links unto chains” along the way. The climax of Gospodi pomilui from chapter 5 reverberates in chapter 11 when Butt almost shoots the Russian general. Butt confesses he felt sorry for the “Saur of all the Haurousians [official title: Tsar of all the Russians] with the weight of his age fullin upon him” (344.33) and he remembers an ancient Irish code of honor dating from the arrival of Nuada, king of the Tuatha Dé Danann when they came to Ireland and tried to win half the country. Chivalry required, for a fair battle, equal numbers for both sides, equally armed. Nuad had lost an arm and, having had it replaced, was known as “Nuadha of the silver hand.” Butt continues “there was fear on me [I was afraid] the sons of Nuad for him [the Russian general is not armed] and it was heavy he was [obligates him to affect a superior position] for me” (344.35–36). Therefore, Butt bethinks himself of the comparison of the Russian general’s ethics: a bit of prayer, blended with his own. It makes Butt and the potential victim appear equal: he “immingled my Irmenial hairmaierians [my Armenian Hail Maries/Lord’s Prayer] ammongled/among his Gospolis fomiliours till . . . I adn’t the arts to” (345.01–03). Since Butt is demonstrably high-minded, the question is recessed: what will make him change his mind and shoot the Russian general? Perhaps it devolves upon the question of the sacred sod? In a script saturated with pursuit of the maiden, the worshipful cathedral has replaced the sexual battlefield. The expansion of a single motif proves that Joyce’s “obscurity” is not a matter of a puzzle but a matter of expansion and development. PROFESSOR JONES FORGETS THE DIME CASH Professor Jones presents himself as too dry and harried for sexual thoughts. He famously poses a dime-cash problem, a charitable dilemma for the stingy; the dime which is in my pocket cannot possibly be donated and transferred to the church’s pocket or retained in your pocket. Nor could the maiden I’m seducing be seduced by you at the same time. Before transitioning to the church battle depicted in his parable of the Mookse and the Gripes in chapter 6 (I.6), the pompous Professor expands the field of inquiry by shrinking the four fields of Ireland to the furniture in his home (this is also a memory

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device employed by Giordano Bruno). Jones exposes his weakness as well as his vanity, and admits to “feeling a bit husky/Russky in my truths.” He addresses his audience of three or so “muddlecrass pupils,” intending that everyone is “muddled” except himself: Will you please come over and let us mooremoore murgessly to each’s other down below our vices.” [Fearing the objects of furniture in all directions are listening, he speaks his best Esperanto]: I am underheerd by old billfaust [north]. Wilsh is full of curks [south]. The coalskittle is philip deblinite [east]. Mr Wist is thereover beyeind the wantnot. Wilsh and wist are as thick of thins udder [sick of each other] as faust on the deblinite. Sgunoshooto estas preter la tapizo malgranda. Lilegas al si en sia chambro. Kelkefoje funcktas, kelkefoje srumpas Shultroj. Houdian Kiel vi fartas, mia nigra sinjoro? [tr Esperanto “S [south] is beyond the small carpet. He reads to himself in his room. Sometimes expands [writes], sometimes shrinks [shrugs shoulders]. Today how are you doing, my black sir?”]. (160.25–32)

The maiden’s phrase splits in intention. For Jones, it proves his virility; for the maiden it once again conveys the danger of unknown territory. Now a confessed “one of the boys,” Jones is almost secure in gratifying self-exposure (also reported but not proven of Joyce’s father); the animated furniture, his imagined listeners of All Ireland, are “as foibleminded as you can feel they are fablebodied” (160.34). SHEM THE LINGUIST AND HIS FESTY FATHER IN COURT Chapter 4’s farcical trial of the three victims of the “encounter in Phoenix Park”—Shaun the Wet Pinter is “Show’m the Posed” whom, except for Issy, the leap year girls adore; Pegger Festy is Shem, son of Festy King and Earwicker is Festy King—all render the greeting certain to muddle rather than clarify. The sex-seeking “dark sir” motif changes its shadings here, where it entangles another motif, that of Bruno’s “identity of undiscernibles,” and Joyce makes two of those identities, father and son, “undiscernible,” demonstrated as well in Holmes’ Elsie Venner. Joyce’s WP for Wet Pinter continues the “wetter is pest” (39.14). The hilariohoot [Bruno’s “Hilaris” motto] of Pegger's Windup [PW] cumjustled as neatly with the tristitone of the Wet Pinter's [WP] as were they isce et ille [tr this and that] equals of opposites [PW vs WP], evolved by a onesame power of nature or of spirit, iste [tr that of yours], as the sole condition and means of its himundher manifestation, and polarised for reunion by the symphysis of their antipathies. Distinctly different were their duasdestinies” (92.05–11).

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The synthesis will soon be observed; the separate identities of father and son will be lost in the action of the drama. The clue is in double use of the family name “Festy” from Australian slang for dirty, malodorous, very bad. Stead/Earwicker certainly has acquired the nickname from the “filth” of the Maiden Tribute; and Shem has been ingloriously nicknamed Pegger: a female wearing a strap to perform sodomy. Shem’s Brythonic requires an interpreter for his language arts, which he has been showing off to assist the general confusion, and Stead-Earwicker has visited the Vatican. The Nolan is the peripatetic name of Bruno. The implication (from characterization elsewhere in the Wake) is that Pappie in pure mischief would gladly paste on an eyepatch to enhance the general confusion. Pappie has been summoned to court to defend himself on a charge of exposure. Father and son, well sympathized from birth, are now well synthesized to confuse he court. And whereas distracted (for was not just this in effect which had just caused that the effect of that which it had caused to occur?) the four justicers laid their wigs together, Untius, Muncius, Punchus and Pylax [Pontius Pilate] but could do no worse than promulgate their standing verdict of Nolans Brumans [Nolan is Bruno] whereoneafter King [Pappie or Shem], having murdered all the English he knew, picked out his pockets and left the tribunal scotfree, trailing his Tommeylommey’s [empty pockets] tunic in his hurry, thereinunder proudly showing off the blink pitch to his britgits [girls] to prove himself (an’t plase yous!) a rael genteel. To the Switz bobbyguard's curial [Vatican papal court] but courtlike: Commodore valley O hairy, Arthre jennyrosy? [Latin tr How fares your health today, noble gentleman? [the question comes from a maiden]: the firewaterloover returted with such a vinesmelling fortytudor ages [motto of House of Savoy acronym FART] rawdownhams tanyouhide as would turn the latten/Latin stomach even of a tumass equinous [Thomas Aquinas/equine horse] (we were prepared for the chap’s clap cap, the accent, but [the odor] took us as, by surprise and now we're geshing it like gush gash from a burner!) [Joyce’s poem]. (92.33–93.11)

Picking out his pockets was required of Stead entering, not leaving Coldbath jail and here apparently signifies Pappie’s freedom. So rudely treated in response, like Joyce’s ungrateful poem, when the maidens offered their most polite form of the greeting, they turn away for better prospects. Among them is one or two at least of Shem-Joyce’s sisters: “You and your gift of your gaft of your garbage abaht our Farvver!” (93.19–20) and they shout “Shame!” in extended multilingual vocabulary after the departing defendants. Confusion of father and son is supported by the Jackson/Costello biography, which finds that the book’s “primary disguised presence was to be the spirit of John Stanislaus Joyce. . . The new book [Finnegans Wake] would develop and shift over the years, but its driving constant was the history of the Joyce family, their triumphs and their many reversals” (JC 381).

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SHEM WITH THE PROTOPROSTITUTE The “dark sir” adaptable greeting and its fluctuations clearly could become more interesting. In Dublin’s Nighttown, Shem in chapter 7 is a newcomer accompanied by Constable Sackerson sent by his family “to save him.” Sackerson “wrongcounters” the tenderfoot, somewhat drunk, “on his way from a protoprostitute” (186.27). Already drunk, Shem staggers past competing brothels where the “ladies” looking for customers call out greetings as usual, wherewith Shem is the “dark sir” or unknown as a potential customer: “Where ladies have they that a dog meansort herring?” Such appears almost English where the Danish Hvorledes har De det i dag. min sorte herre? looks as if “dog” and “Harry” are the subjects but translates “How are you today, my dark sir?” (186.30). The episode offers multiplex specimens (1) the Earwicker household, (2) Dubliners stories, of which all are cited, (3) Shem’s introduction to Nighttown, (4) evidence of the MT theme of white slave trafficking. Among an additional fine pleasure, that Shem carries “the christmas under his clutcharm” (186.35) hearkens back to “my dear thank you Chriesty” (111.14) of the midden letter and indicates a celebratory bottle rather than holly and mistletoe. The Kraal part of “Kruis-Kroon-Kraal” is not outlandish ever since the “Irish International Exhibition (complete with Kaffir kraal) display that the Earl of Aberdeen as Lord-Lieutenant opened in Herbert Park” in May of 1907 (JC 294). Petty Constable Sistersen/Sackerson [story “The Sisters”] of the Kruis-KroonKraal [cross, crown, kraal] it was, the parochial watch . . . who had been detailed from pollute stoties [police duties] to save him/Shem, this the quemquem [whoever], that the quum [whenever], from the ligatureliablous effects of foul clay [story “Clay”] in little clots [story “A Little Cloud”] and mobmauling on looks, that wrongcountered [“An Encounter” story] the tenderfoot an eveling [“Eveline” story] near the livingsmeansuniumgetherum [omnium gatherum; story “Ivy Day in the Committee Room], Knockmaree, County Mea/Mayo [where the Virgin appeared 1879], reeling more to the right than he lurched to the left, on his way from a protoprostitute (he would always have a (stp! [hiccup]) little pigeoness somewhure with his arch girl, Arcoiris [Malaysia, center of sex trafficking; Terrot 48–56], smockname of Mergyt [little girl]) just as he was butting in rand [S. Africa gold-bearing territory] the coyner of bad times under a hideful [drunk] between the rival doors of warm bethels of worship [brothels] through his boardelhouse [story “The Boarding House”: Shem is nearing the white slave traffic] fongster [G. fenster, window] greeting for grazious oras [beautiful weather] as usual; Where ladies have they that a dog meansort herring [tr Danish How are you today, my dark sir]? (186.19–32)

She speaks to an unknown prospective customer.

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Sergo [policeman], search me, the incapable reparteed with a selfevitant subtlety so obviously spurious and, raising his hair [Am. slang from “to scalp” means to defeat], after the grace [stories ”Grace” and “After the Race”], with the christmas [story “The Dead”] under his clutcharm, for Portsymasser and Purtsymessus and Pertsymiss and Partsymasters [whores greet patrons] like a prance of findingos, with a shillto shallto slipny stripny, in he skittled. Swikey [Li tr hello]! The allwhite poors guardiant [Guardians of the Poor], pulpably of balltossic [Baltic] stummung [white slave traffic], was literally astundished over the painful sake [story “A Painful Case”], how he burstteself, which he was gone to, where he intent to did he . . . (186.33–187.5)

The whores make small talk . . . whether you think will, wherend the whole current of the afternoon whats the souch of a surch [“never heard the word in my life” in Portrait] hads of hits of hims, urged and staggered thereto in his countryports [story “Counterparts”] at the caledosian [Scots: Christmas] capacity for Lieutuvisky [Lithuanian] of the caftan’s wineskin and even more so, during, looking his bigmost astonishments, it was said of him, aschu, [thanks], fun the concerned outgift [expense] of the dead [story “The Dead”] med dirt, how that, arrahbejibbers [story “Araby”] conspuent [detesting] to the dominical order [Bruno belonged to] and exking noblish permish, he was namely coon at bringer at home two gallonts [story “Two Gallants”], as per royal, full poultry till his murder [story “A Mother”]. Nip up and nab it [Up guards and at them]! (187.05–14)

SHEM’S INVADED PERSONALITY The game of “Colours” in chapter 9 places Shem-Glugg-Jeremy in the position of invoking spiritualism to guess the color of Issy’s underwear. “Invaded personality” (247.08) originated with F. W. H. Myers (1843–1901), cofounder of the Society for Psychical Research, who invented the words telepathy, subliminal consciousness, secondary personality. In 1896, Myers produced a glossary of psychic definitions (B 3: 310–12) and post mortem published Human Personality and its Survival of Bodily Death (1903). Shem playfully needs all the powers he can summon to outwit the designs and players of the game of “Colours,” wherein his objective is not winning the game but acting the part of playing the game while protecting his sister Issy. Playing “It,” he is standing in the game’s midsection called “Hell.” The “running brook” was a nickname for Countess Warwick, who was Lady Brooke, who connected with Stead’s enthusiasm for cycling and assisted with his social reforms. Post-reintroducing Jeremy [Shem-Glugg], the chastenot/unchastened coulter [knife: “Kinch” of U ] the flowing taal [language] that brooks no brooking runs on to say how, as it was mutualiter foretold of him by a timekiller to his

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spacemaker [joker] velos ambos [L. both swift ( bicycles)] and arubyat knychts [Araabian/Rubaiyat Nights], with their tales within wheels and stucks between spokes, on the hike from Elmstree to Stene and back, how, running awage with the use of reason (sics) and ramming amok at the brake of his voice (secs), his lasterhalft was set for getting the besterwhole of his yougentougend [youth], for control number thrice was operating the subliminal of his invaded personality [Italian slang creeps in]. He nobit smorfi [rejects the invading personality] and go poltri [to bed] and let all the tondo gang bola del ruffo [world go to hell (the game’s midsection)]. Barto [house] no know him mor. Eat larto altruis [let the others eat bread] with the most perfect stranger. Boo, you’re through! Hoo, I’m true! (246.36–247.13)

The “dark sir” phrase recurs in similitude. “Hoo, I’m true!” is followed with “Men, teacan a tea simmering, homo mavrone Kerry O?” a transliteration of the Greek ti kanete semeron, ho emou Mauro kyrio? tr “Well, how do you do today, my dark gentleman?” (247.14). HOMESICK JOYCE Joyce interwove his personal life into numerous passages, to the effect that one answer to the question “What is Finnegans Wake about?” is that, along with additional themes, it is about James Joyce, particularly in his last summer in Dublin in 1904. There is a fetching fantasy in chapter 9 while Shem watches the dancing rainbow girls and Joyce adapts the “Where are you going” to his birthday, of which he may “get there by candlelight” or Candlemas. Further, “among Burke’s mobility at La Roseraie” carries the dividedbut-paired English-Irish threnody. “Rose Cottage” was one of Mrs Jeffreys’ London brothels, and “Rose Cottage” outside Fermoy the birthplace of John Stanislaus’s grandfather James (photo JC 142) in east County Cork. —Xanthos/Sanctos [Holy]! We thank to thine, mighty innocent, that diddest bring it off fuitefuite/quickly [Shaun has not contributed to the game]. Should in ofter years it became about you will after desk jobduty becoming a bank midland mansioner/manager we and I shall reside with our obeisant servants [fellow clerks] among Burke’s mobility at La Roseraie, Ailesbury Road [embassies, diplomatic residences, Dublin]. Red bricks are all hellishly good values if you trust to the roster of ads but we’ll save up ourselves and nab what’s nicest and boskiest [bushiest; drunkest] of timber/foreign trees in the [treelined] nebohood. Oncaill’s/uncle’s [burial] plot. Luccombe oaks, Turkish hazels, Greek firs, incense palm edcedras [foreign embassies]. The hypsometers/ cedars of Mount Anville [Dublin Convent of the Sacred Heart] is held to be dying out of arthataxis [Tasmanian cedars; heart attacks] but, praise send Larix U’ Thule [praises to St. Laurence O’Toole], the wych elm of Manelagh/Ranelagh [Dublin] is still flourishing in the open, because it’s native of our nature and its seeds [produce no suckers] was sent by Fortune. (235.09–21)

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A scintillating mixture of observation of opulence and personal preferences ensues at this point, in a sense the futility of behaving like the “quality” and perversely maintaining individuality: an essay on how to make personal preferences gain popular recognition. We’ll have our private palypeachum [Polly Peachum, tempting maiden; Beggar’s Opera] pillarposterns for lovesick letterines [designed by Lucia Joyce] fondly affianxed to our front railings and swings, hammocks, tighttaught balletlines [clotheslines], accomodationnooks and prismic bathboites [outdoor structures] to make Envyeyes mouth water and wonder when they binocular us from their embrassured [beveled] windows in our garden rare/rear. Fyat-Fyat [cars] shall be our number on the autokinaton [roadway] and Chubby in his Chuffs oursforownly chauffeur. T will be waiting for uns as I sold U [Isolde] at the first antries. Our cousin gourmand [cousin-german plus greedy] Percy [Parsifal, sexually pure] the pup, will denounce the sniffnomers of all callers where among our Seemyease Sister, Tabitha, the ninelived will extend to all her hearthy welcome. (235.21–31)

The rewards of the “gentle sir” occur to Shem in his imagination of opulence, intensified by his lack of food, inspired by the scene on a decorative tin of shortbread, and possibly Nora’s purchase of marmalade (Sel. Letters 174). Lady Marmela Shortbred may have been inspired by Compton Reade’s novel Who Was Then the Gentleman? reviewed in Stead’s Pall Mall Gazette of 15 July 1885, featuring Lady Marmyon, A delightful fantasy is reminiscent of the Joyce family camaraderie, combining their superbly creative imaginations. Tintin tintin [telephone]. Lady Marmela [from marmelo, a quince] Shortbred will walk in for supper with her marchpane/marzipan [sweetbread] switch [false hair] on, her necklace of almonds and her poirette [female Mime character] Sundae [ice cream] dress with bracelets of honey and her cochineal hose/ clothes with the caramel dancings, the briskly best from Bootiestown [Dublin], and her suckingstaff [sugarstick] of ivorymint. You mustn’t miss it or you’ll be sorry. Charmeuses chloes, glycering juwells, lydialight [girl in Horace’s Odes] fans [fanlights] and puffumed cynarettes. And the Prince Le Monade has been graciously pleased [Leibnitz’s Monadology intended for Prince Eugene of Savoy]. His six chocolate pages will run bugling before him and Cococream toddle after with his sticksword in a pink cushion [cushion cg]. (235.32–236.05)

How many miles to Babylon, the great sin city of unexcelled pleasure, would make a wonderful birthday present; likewise a glorious Easter, or any holiday. The following merges into a party with friends and an “expat’s” nostalgia for the old Dublin Christmas:

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We think His Sparkling Headiness ought to know Lady Marmela. Luisome his for lissome hers. He’s not going to Cork [“How many miles to Babylon” cg] till Cantalamesse [2 Feb, Joyce’s birthday] or mayhope till Rose Easter [Christ] or Saint Tibble’s Day [Tibb’s Eve phrases/never]. So Niomon knows. The Fomor’s/Fomorians in his Fin [cg. Farmer’s in His Den], the Momor’s [French villa] her and hin [hither and thither]. A paaralone [big words]! A paaralone! And Dublin’s all adin. We’ll sing a song of Singlemonth [Yule/ sixpence nr] and you’ll too and you’ll. Here are notes. There’s the key. One two three. Chours/Chorus! So come on, ye wealthy gentrymen [s] wib frufrocksfull of fun! Thin thin! Thin thin [zinzin telephone rings]! Thej olly and thel ively [s.], thou billy with thee coo [billet doux; “Cooee” imported from Australia for “Hide and Seek”], for to jog a jig of a crispness nice and sing a missal too. Hip champouree! Hiphip champouree! O you longtailed [kangaroo] blackman, polk it up behind me [s.]! Hip champouree [s.]! And jessies, push the pumkik [plumcake] round [s.]. Anneliuia! (236.05–18)

Such is the farewell to the former dream of Babylon; however, the topic of the mysterious “Dinny Oozle” greeting has not been exhausted. After the encounter in the park, a second story that Joyce acquired in his childhood puzzled him until Samuel Beckett interpreted “How Buckley shot the Russian general” with the inspiration “another insult to the old sod,” which Joyce applies in chapter 11. A “television skit” augments the pub scene, in which part of the sex talk is the tempting “Kenny’s thought ye, Dinny Oozle [Irish conas tá tú, a dhuine uasal [tr] How are you, gentle sir? (332.33). The Butt and Taff television skit is legitimized by researches that Stead reported in his Review of Reviews 1901–1904: discussions of sending pictures, anticipations of “luminous frames,” electrograph, electroscope, Sir Oliver Lodge’s “Radium and Its Meaning” (R 29: 30–32). The skit begins with the preferred subject, sex, that assures, like Stead-Earwicker speaking at his church in Wimbledon, the topic of thought on the battlefield will be not only the Guspodin prayer but also sex. The skit begins with “And oodlum hoodlum doodlum to yes, Donn, Teague and Hurleg [Tom, Tim, and Harry], who the bullocks/ballocks brought you here and how the hillocks are ye? (337.29–31). What brought you here is partly an extension of “Where are you Going?” that stretches all the way to the Afterlife and notions of the continuation of personality. SHAUN IN THE AFTERLIFE Possibly the most perplexing character is the “good” brother Shaun who spends much of his time denouncing Shem as a fraud and a plagiarist of Shaun’s own works, though Shaun produces no evidence of his own authored publications. He best represents “repressed sexuality” while lecturing Issy

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lasciviously. Although Stead’s spiritual communicant Julia commented that she, on entering heaven, was “not prepared for such oneness of life on both sides” (After 7), intending to include before and after death, there is a corresponding notion of continuation of personality after death and the growth of the soul in heaven. Thus, when Shaun “passes” in Book 3, he sheds only with difficulty his former character, reaches a turning point, and thereafter presents a reformed self. The phrase of seduction/victimization is familiar to him; in chapter 13: “Comb his tar odd gee sing your mower O meeow [come sta oggi, signor moro mio? tr Italian How are you today, my black sir]?” (409.14). Some pages after, his greeting in hearty German is darkly tinged with the phrase of sexual-proposition: “Fee gate has Heenan hoity, mind uncle Hare” (466.30) for German “wie geht es Ihnen heute, mein dunkler Herr?” tr how are you today, my dark sir? Joyce designed the four chapters of Book 3 to resemble the “watches of the night” and arranged the traditional Roman watches for his own novelistic purposes; “night” in this text means the Afterlife. Chapter 13 at midnight, the hour of changeover, stages a preparatory quizzing of Shaun for entrance into heaven; at this time he retains his earthlife lasciviousness and enters by way of a via crucis of fourteen questions. Shaun has no reason to live, recites his postman walks as a journey to nowhere, sends his “letter” to Stead’s office (Julia’s Bureau) of communication with the dead. Chapter 14 plunges Shaun into earth matter for a last justification of himself climaxed with his graphic incestuous dream-lecture to his sister. The established “dreamer” detected by Wake critics has been the unrecognized Telling narrator of the higher atmosphere, distinguished from the Asking narrator who queries, prompts, and encourages; the word “dream” itself euphemizes the night of the immediate Afterlife or the soul between reincarnations. In chapter 13, Shem has vanished in the decline of the second Viconian phase; in chapter 15 Shaun remembers him as his “sad late brother” (488.31) but powerfully contends with and disputes Shem’s fame and success. Shem’s protection of the art and practice of writing has vanished also, except that memory of him lingers with Shaun, formerly a vain and competitive force. The passing bell that begins Chapter 13 sounds for Shaun, the public man and postman whose changing name merging sequentially into Jaun and Yawn signals his soul’s progress. The first question of the fourteen (enumerated similar to stations of the cross) was “who gave you the permit” (409.10) for “your government job”? The unknown condition of the “black” sir perseveres and prevails: But have we until now ever besought you, dear Shaun, we remembered, who it was, good boy, to begin with, who out of symphony gave you the permit [your job]?

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—Goodbye now, Shaun replied, with a voice pure/poor as a churchmode, in echo rightdainty, with a good catlick tug [cat’s lick: light housekeeping] at his cocomoss candylock [hair extension], a foretaste in time of his cabbageous brain’s curlyflower. Athiacaro! [A te o cara: s. Bellini opera]! Comb his tar odd gee sing your mower O meeow [It. come sta oggi, signor moro mio? [tr] How are you today, my black sir]?” (409.11–15)

Shaun remembers with pleasure the prostitute’s greeting and expresses concern for the “columbuses,” a columbine flower maiden, which at this place in progress touches the raven and dove motif. This recapitulates Stead’s explanation of the Afterlife utilizing Columbus stranded in America with Shaun’s desires for soiled doves. Stead’s imagined telegram from the dead represented “Discovered new world filled with descendants of Christopher Columbus and his men,” which he reprinted in After Death (xii-xvi), and which Joyce connects with St. Columba, the “church dove.” Corvus is Latin for the crow, representing the “raven and dove” motif. [Asking] Greet thee Good [G. Gruss dich Gott: Bavarian greeting]? How are them columbuses [soiled doves/ prostitutes]! [Teller] Lard have mustard/mercy on them! Fatiguing, very fatiguing. Hobos/Habes hornknees and the curveeture/corvus [F. corvée [tr] drudgery] of my spine.” (409.15–17)

This represents “I have horny knees and curvature of the spine,” the very image of the charwoman, or the narrow-shouldered crow, or W. T. Stead with his hunch. Shaun ends this passage, after feeling sorry for himself, with revitalizing Stead’s Columbus-Columcille telegram, and, at last, Shaun has triumphantly found salvation in his heavy-foot walking. I have the highest gratification by anuncing how I have it from whowho but Hagios [Saint] Colleenkiller’s prophecies [dream of moon and forgery]. After suns and moons [Sun. Mon.], dews and wettings [Tue. Wed.], thunders and fires [Thurs. Fri], comes sabotag [Saturday; Titanic investigation of bulkheads and scantlings]. Solvitur palumballando [tr Latin] It is solved by walking]! Tilvido [au revoir]! Adie!!” (409.26–30)

Simply, the third watch of Shaun/Yawn intends to solve the mysteries of the novel, make the connections, and flesh out the plot and characters, in which Joyce names fifty-six Lord Mayors of Dublin abiding in this heavenly city (534.07–554.10). This, an intensely creative and informative chapter, features the FOM as séance “sitters,” who strive to identify spirits communicating through Yawn, of whom, beginning with the passing of the soul into eternity, the Four Old Men ask multiple questions both of Yawn and the attending spirits. Joyce has extended the complexity of the soul’s existence into previously uncharted territories: “did it ever occur to you, qua you, prior to this, by a stretch of

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your iberborealic imagination, when it’s quicker than this quacking that you might, barring accidens, be very largely substituted in potential secession from your next life by a complementary character, voices apart?” (486.36–487.04). Yes, it has been proposed. It was the substance of ideals of Stead’s spirit guide Julia that the soul is comprised of personality spokes, which she explained in answer to Stead’s question whether he had been previously incarnated: If you could imagine a wheel with many spokes, and each spoke capable of being detached and heated to white heat, and hammered on an anvil until it was fit to take its place in the perfect wheel, you can form some idea of reincarnation. There is not any total plunge into matter again, or ever. The Ego always has its vital principle on this side. The hub of the wheel is here, but the spoke is incarnate . . . A spoke may be reincarnated again and again. Sometimes it is never again passed through the gateway of birth . . . Sometimes the spokes are rejoined to the hub for a season, sometimes there is more than one spoke incarnate at the same time . . . As for your spoke, now incarnated, it has been incarnate before, many times. And there are other spokes. (After 149–50)

Joyce was perhaps inspired to conceive of his book as a wheel that is all square. If lives have reincarnated with new personalities while possibly bearing identical names, each life, not only the one known to contemporaries in a given lifespan, is entitled to independent spiritual existence in the hereafter; a viable soul might not recognize itself in immediate or successive reincarnations. Becoming intellectually engaged in the discussion, and revealing aspects of himself not suspected in his earthlife, Yawn asks questions that in quality rival those of the Four Old Men. The discussion, having beached its craft on imponderables, pauses with a stunned SILENCE (501.06); thereafter HCE controls the outcome. The “dark sir” recurs with “childbearer’s” laughter hard enough to split the sides, but implying the public have missed the point. ‒‒You are a suckersome! [pun on detective Sackerson]. But this all, as airs said to oska [Oscar], was only that childbearer might blogas [bloody] well sidesplit? Where letties/ladies hereditate a dark mien swart hairy” [testicles] similar to “Where ladies have they that a dog meansort herring?” (186.32), Danish for How are you today, my dark sir?

All the seriousness has obscured private knowledge of a slightly obscene public joke. The slang of “split” is “to copulate,” or better yet, “sidesplit” (511.20–22). The truly international greeting for an international sexual pursuit has roamed through French, Esperanto, Russian, Danish, English, Irish, Latin, Greek, and German. It conveys more.

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In this type of thinking lurks the threat of unknown heredity; a mother who gives birth knows not what defining characteristics of ages past she is bringing into the world; hence the surprise at the grandmother’s coughing Russky (253.03). Joyce has bequeathed a large burden on this smashing denouement. Looking back, the “dark sir” motif has gradually evolved. It began farther back than Phoenix Park, in the cabman’s shelter with Guspodin and with a threat to a pretty maiden on the field of Clontarf (15.16); and, blended into a cheerful greeting spoken by either male or female, its interpretation has shifted with the nature of the speaker. The greeting ends in the threat of undesirable genetics, and leaves a stain in English of a dark mean sort (511.22). The “sir” is legitimately, superficially, dark because of the endemic fear of the environmental unknown; and only subsequent events can solve the riddle whether friendly or ominous. No one knows what strangeness may be brought forth from “the dark night” of the genetic soul, being brought out of the Afterlife into our future.

Chapter Six

Who Was the Hen and Whose the Letters

“Lead, kindly fowl! They always did: ask the ages” (112.09). Or “Bethicket me for a stump of a beech if I have the poultriest notions what the farest he all means” (112.06). Dating from the founding days of Heber and Heremon when The Dorans were the chief clan, the methods by which Biddy the Hen or Belinda of The Dorans became a journalist relies for articulation on a W. T. Stead resource that redounds in “The Letter” of Finnegans Wake. It began in a journalistic kerfuffle as an insult Stead suffered in 1887 upon his return from his unique interview of the Tsar of all the Russians, Alexander III, who had never before nor after granted an interview. Exercising his customary locomotion under full steam, Stead thought he could empower the curve of history once again, after the Maiden Tribute, by journalistic dispatches dispelling British prejudice against Russia. “I achieved a greater personal success in higher spheres than ever before,” he inscribed in his journal, and felt that he was being used and led by God; such leading was the mark and ultimate goal of his messianic zeal. Nevertheless, instead of arriving home in the full panoply of diplomatic achievement, he learned that his acting editor had set his articles in small type at the bottoms of three pages as if used for fill in the “discarded feuilleton form” (Schults 240–45). A hero as exuberant as Stead could recognize a serious “fall.” He scolded himself in his journal: “In June my head exalted almost unto the stars, now abased to the depths. . . From the very pinnacle of success, I have been hurled into the abyss of failure.” Monday’s editorial placed the future of journalism at stake, its voice the cackle of a hen. “We have not yet sunk so low that the journalist must exchange the scepter of power in an educated democracy for the baton of chief conductor in that orchestra whose only music is ‘the rustic cackle of your bourg,’” 169

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Stead thundered. Formerly, Geraint in Tennyson’s Idylls of the King had railed against a town’s devotion to the sparrow hawk, to the exclusion of common courtesy for a stranger: “Ye think the rustic cackle of your bourg/ The murmur of the world!” The narrators exiting the Wellington Memorial spy a “gnarlybird” scratching futilely on a barren Irish landscape, “A verytableland of bleakbardfields” (10.34): afraid of thunder, afraid of confrontation, rolling vacant eyes at “all the deed in the woe,” hoping trouble will pass by, collecting oddities of no value and little import, “too moochy afreet” (11.06) to go scavenging in bad political weather or any corruption approaching the magnitude of the MT storm. The hen’s borrowing the brightest light she can find, the coacher’s headlight, discloses little of value among the trash in the midden, like cast off buttons, “nappy goods” or bloodsoaked menstrual rags, and similar revolting undesirables. In all the trash, the common journalist naturally overlooks something of importance, the “boaston nightgarters” (11.22) of Massachusetts that appear to be “masses of shoesets and nickelly [Old Nick] nacks” (11.23). Belinda of The Dorans, an inspiriting genius of the Celtic race, a bird of a different color, is magically summoned to find the midden letter and resurrect the Maiden Tribute. This chapter surveys the contributions of Belinda of the Dorans; Issy’s first letter (the midden letter); Stead’s letters from Julia; Issy’s second, the “Suicide” letter; the children’s Nightletter; Shaun’s “Trial by Julias” letter; Joyce’s review of the hazards of delivery to a constantly moving household; Issy’s last, the “dissociated” letter; and a critical review of the process titled “Who’s the Hen of the Midden,” containing Eliza Armstrong’s letter from which Joyce received much inspiration. The identification of the “midden” letter with its most urgent component is provided by Mrs. Combe, the Salvation Army matron who accompanied Eliza to France, and thereby unwittingly placed her in the “niece of my inlaw” category of girls being transported in the white slave traffic. Enclosed in the review is Anna Livia’s farewell letter. The gnarlybird also finds Father Michael trashed as “foder [Portuguese for “fuck”] allmichael” (11.23) and a cast-off Wedding Present of cake. In Maiden Tribute context, it was to bribe and to lure a four-year-old child; for nubile girls, such sounded as a promise of a wedding date. Even the Howitzer force of the Maiden Tribute has been cast off, for Stead defined the daily paper as a revolver; the weekly a rifle, and the monthly a cannon. The judgment of history will be that Eliza’s abduction—and Stead’s reporting of it—is tantamount to “the fairest sin the sunsaw” (11.26) resulting in the Criminal Law Amendment act; but the sun shines in the future. At present, outstanding in all the trash is Eliza’s letter signed with cross kisses, bearing a farewell of Slainte, a torn off “Slain” in the remnant for wedding hopes killed (11.28). Belinda of the Dorans is the gnarlybird’s counterforce.

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BELINDA OF THE DORANS It was the editor’s responsibility to avail himself of better light than that of the “coacher’s headlight” to shine in the darkness of ignorance while preserving values like Geraint’s preferences for hospitality, to uncover and convey issues of urgent import to the world; and Stead’s sights were set above and beyond the coacher’s headlight, rather like the light of Big Ben that burns all night high in the Clock Tower of Journalists watching over the world. Some papers, like the gnarlybird, thrived on gossip and “missing word” competitions. Birds had long taken prizes (evidence the Greek play The Birds) for such leadership and now the world could witness an example in Chapelizod, at Cheepalizzy’s Hane/Hen Exposition (111.06). At the hour of destiny, “klokking twelve” (111.08), Belinda of The Dorans, a journalistic diametric opposite of the gnarlybird, carries the authority of centuries of chiefs of septs, authorized by the Brehon code legitimizing lawgivers and judges. When Belinda (diminutive Biddy), an inspiring genius, looks at literature, whatever she finds can be expected to be archived. Hers is a deserving aristocracy of hens. The fifth thunderword (God speaking) belongs to her. At Coldbath, the prison chaplain spoke to Stead, certain that Stead and Sampson Jacques (his assistant) deserved prison because they liked to chase after women. Hence the Thunderword roars that the “Thing” or document is “crooklyex in every pastures” (113.09) representing Eliza’s crosskisses and potential readers of the newspaper that was delivered in the provinces. Stead’s journalism was a shepherd’s crook, a daily preaching to his congregation, the readers or the lambs of whom Eliza was one. The thunder word records sexual dalliance in the “sixdixlikence [or liken-zie] himaroundhersthemagger [or majesty] by kinkinkankan with downmind” licentiousness” [looking through the locked gate or looking glass]. “He had to see life foully,” she writes (113.13), to find a purpose for living (for social reform). The motto of the Garter [tr “Shame to him who thinks evil of this”] recalls the garter incident of Stead’s youth (Whyte 1: 21) and was recreated by the Prince of Wales when he tripped in dancing (R 23: 142). Hyphens are inserted for clarity: Thingcrooklyexineverypasturesixdixlikence-[sixdays license] himaroundhers-the-magger-by-kinkin-kankan-with-downmind-lookingated [all written as one word]. Mesdaims, Marmouselles, Mescerfs! Silvapais [Woodland quiet]! All schwants (shwrites) ischt tell the cock’s trootabout him. Kapak kapuk [she clucks]. No minzies [trifling] matter. He [the editor] had to see life foully the plak [old] and the smut [sick], (schwrites). There were three men in him (schwrites) [Stead a revivalist, journalist, preacher; Prince of Wales a statesman, philanderer, socialite]. Dancings (schwrites) was his only ttoo feebles. With apple harlottes. And a little mollvogels. Spissally (schwrites) when they [maidens] peaches. Honeys wore camelia paints [flower pants]. (113.09–17)

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Maidens were customarily flowers. Kankan’s/cancan’s displayed underwear justifies applying the “parody’s bird” interwoven with headlines from the New York papers in 1892 concerning an incident reported of the Prince of Wales. (This is detailed in the “Park Maid” chapter.] The Prince at the Grand Ball given by the City.

[the parody]

He danced twenty-two times, tripped Dancings [she writes] was his only and fell. ttoo His beautiful partner rolled over him. feebles. Honi soi qui mal y pense*.

With apple harlottes.

The Prince immediately picked himself

And a little mollvogels [small apples]

and partner up.

Spissally (schwrites) when they peaches.

And continued the dance.

Honeys wore camelia paints.

Terrible flutter of crinoline.

*[tr Shame to him who thinks evil of this.]

Yours very truthful. Add dapple inn [Apple Ann]. Yet is it but an old story, the tale of a Treestone [Tristan; Shem and Shaun] with one Ysold [Issy], of a Mons/mountain held by tentpegs [Arabic belief/ Swift Lilliputians] and his pal whatholoosed [Waterloo, Wellington] on the run, what Cadman [Shaun; Cad a conductor] could but Badman [Shem; see devil in Chapter 10] wouldn’t, any Genoaman [rivalry with Venice: defeat of Genoa] against any Venis, and why Kate takes charge of the waxworks [Willingdone museum]. (113.17–22) On closer inspection, Belinda introduces a new generational element in the saga of the hero. The older generation has been seeking to control and to protect the beloved younger; the younger generation is seeking to burst the bounds of childhood and attain the freedoms and pleasures of its elders. Stead’s Maiden Tribute, fulminating against procurers and white slave traders, performs a rite of passage for the younger generation in the form of Eliza Armstrong’s actual letter to one of her handlers, her beloved Salvation Army “matron” Madame Coombe, which is Joyce’s primary source for “the midden” letter. Now the scraps of midden letter reveal this youngster to be an associate of the Earwicker daughter, and the letter encrypted with personal details becomes Issy’s letter. Beyond the parents’ hesitant eyes, she has already entered adulthood. In France, where Stead’s Eliza Armstrong was in residence when writing to her Salvation Army companion Mrs. Coombe in

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London, Issy wishes all well, following the example of Eliza who had dutifully written “I am a good girl. does all what Fanny tells me to my coton dress is finished and I keeps it very nice and clean. And I saw my buttons on my cloake and I have washed the stains out of my dress.” Suspicious adult minds will transform the teastain into what they suspect, a whispered “tache of tch” (111.20), the “tch” being the click (or cluck) of disapproving matrons. They are correct; Issy is already pregnant and keeps the father secret. No one can hold him responsible, however; and Issy does not; she never disrespects the father of her child. A priest would know what a sin is and would not commit such a sin, the child Stephen Dedalus of the Portrait believed; besides Father Michael is beyond reproach for having already passed into heaven. SHOULDN’T ISSY KNOW BETTER? Under heading “The Responsibility of Mothers,” Stead protested girls’ ignorance of physiology and sexual morality: “Owing to the soul and body destroying taciturnity of Protestant mothers, girls often arrive at the age of legal womanhood in total ignorance, and are turned loose to contend with all the wiles of the procuress and the temptations of the seducer without the most elementary acquaintance with the laws of their own existence. Experientia docet; but in this case the first experience is too often that of violation” (7 Jul 1885 PMG 2). (Catholic girls, no doubt, have been mystified by revealing phrases like “immaculate conception” at an early age.) Later chapters reveal Issy’s struggle with her secret. “Boston” marks the death of Julia Ames and automatic messages for Stead’s Letters from Julia (see 148.13). The van Houtens were Dutch invaders (now wealthy) and proffer cocoa for bribes of maidens. The “general” is both Gladstone and the General Elections that occurred at the time of the MT and hastened Stead’s MT investigation; primarily it is Stead’s title as “Russian general.” A “lovely face of some born gentleman” recalls that MT maidens were ruined by “gentlemen” amid confidence that “My face is my fortune” (nr). After a cake lured a child to “ruin” in the MT, Joyce made the seduction-violation a combined “wedding” and Christmas present. ISSY’S FIRST, THE MIDDEN LETTER The bird in the case was Belinda of The Dorans [chiefs and judges from the time of Heber and Heremon], a more than quinquegintarian [500 years] (Terziis [third] prize with Serni medal, Cheepalizzy’s Hane/henpapers Exposition) and what she was scratching at the hour of klokking twelve [change over] looked for all this zogzag world like a goodishsized sheet of letterpaper [newspaper] originating by transhipt from Boston (Mass.) of the last of the first [31

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Chapter 6 January] to Dear whom it proceded [sic] to mention Maggy well & allathome’s health well only the hate turned the mild on the van Houtens and the general’s elections [Gladstone] with a lovely face of some born gentleman with a beautiful present of wedding cakes for dear thankyou Chriesty [Auctions] (111.05–14).

Charles Terrot describes public auctions of “maidens” in the past; these were continued in the present for entertainment of brothel clients. Wealthy madams like Mrs. Jeffries paraded her new acquisitions in private for her “gentlemen”; these in-house parades were London’s modernistic beauty pageants in the heart of sex trafficking. St Paul’s cathedral was the fourth church dedicated to St. Paul and built on the “holey corner” site in London, where open-air preaching took place. Further notes: Charlotte Brook published Reliques of Irish Pottery. Lydia Languish in Sheridan’s The Rivals wrote letters to herself, and one commentator during the MT furor said Stead resembled Lydia Languish. Father Michael, it is noted, had the face of a “born gentleman.” and with grand funferall of poor Father Michael [priest, seducer], don’t forget unto life’s [seduction same as marriage] & Muggy well how are you Maggy & hopes soon to hear well & must now close it with fondest to the twoinns [Shem and Shaun] with four crosskisses [closing of Eliza Armstrong’s letter] for holy paul holey corner holipoli whollyisland [Holy Ireland] pee ess from (locust may eat all but this sign shall they never) affectionate largelooking tache [stain] of tch [disapproving cluck]. The stain, and that a teastain [semen; Eliza’s innocent stain on her dress] (the overcautelousness [acid caution] of the masterbilker [Stead-Earwicker] here, as usual, signing the page away) [editorial responsibility] marked it off on the spout of the moment as a genuine relique of ancient Irish pleasant pottery of that lydialike languishing class known as a hurry-me-o’er-the hazy [smoking and drinking]. Why then how? (111.14–26)

The origin of the letter, coming from the Other World of Boston, hints that the secret is already “in God’s hands.” The midden letter arrives “by transhipt” or “trancescript” from Boston (Mass.) where Stead’s psychic friend Julia Ames lived and died as a journalist; her greatest time-shattering “letter” of spiritual dimensions was titled Letters from Julia in Stead’s hand and reprinted After Death. In Dublin, replicating the finding circumstances of a letter in LeFanu’s House by the Churchyard, a “multiplex” possibility, the hen scratches up “a goodishsized sheet of letterpaper” (111.09), or letterpress, which, in the example of Stead’s newspaper, measures 14 and a half by 10 inches. Issy’s parent Earwicker began chapter 2 addressing the passing king as “maggers” (31.10) and thereby secured for all Wakean history a confusion of maggers and majesty.

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It seemed to be inbred; Joyce’s daughter Lucia sent a letter to the king addressed to “Majesty,” as if commanding him, and the famous two temptresses of Phoenix Park are two maggies. For a child, a taste of chocolate could turn intense “hate” mild for the van Houtens of Dutch invasion and the Power of Wealth; a simple treat like chocolate lured many a child to “ruin.” The “general’s elections” point to the quality persons who frequented brothels, although Stead considered a General Election the world’s greatest outpouring of democracy in action, and Gladstone’s failed attempt to continue in office hastened the publication of the MT. The “lovely face of some born gentleman” unites the “pretty maiden” with her seducer, always an anonymous “gentleman,” frequently a “born gentleman” like Wellington. Issy’s sympathy enfolds the prospects of a “grand funferall [a wake] of poor Father Michael” (111.15). Instead, his leaving her a “wedding gift” of pregnancy serves as the collateral damage of a seduction. A rarity among newspapers in 1885 was Stead’s sketch of a child of four, “one of the victims,” who had been lured to her destruction with a penny cake and irrevocably damaged internally (Illus. 8 Jul 1885 PMG 2). The gift of cakes for which the writer thanks “Chriesty” will be mentally stamped emphatically with the failure of practice of Christian faith, which dereliction of duty Stead deplored for being committed “in the shadow of our churches.” The midden letter expresses fond wishes for the “twoinns,” which at the place appear to be Issy’s brothers Shem and Shaun but elsewhere were his Joyce’s sisters; and four of those crosskisses that decorated the closing of Eliza’s letter are naughtily framed in this corner of our “holipoli” Holy Catholic island, the fourth corner. Certainly, it’s a holy Ireland, where a sinful priest could not be publicly suspected or blamed. Holy Ireland, as Stead warned of churches in general, colludes in the present system of corruption of its youth. Pee in “pee ess” generally marks titillation or revenge and reeks of recycled wastewater. In Chapter 8, the washerwomen speculate that Anna Livia may have been first seduced while “poing her pee” (204.12). A love of tea and sex demands no explanation when hinted as Eliza’s stain as if an “affectionate largelooking tache of tch” (111.20). Stead/Earwicker brands the stain signifying the “masterbilker” as “ancient Irish,” one Irish product for which the invader cannot claim sole ownership. Of the “lydialike languishing class,” the hero Captain Absolute arrives to pay court to the heroine Lydia Languish of Sheridan’s The Rivals. Issy’s authorship is undisputed, but there are competing letters. STEAD’S LETTERS FROM JULIA The letter “transhipt” (111.9), “transcripped” (617.23) or ghost-ported (trance-shipped) across the ocean from its origin in the Boston Transcript is a

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Joycean creation welded onto Steadfacts. Regarding the “transcripped” letter, Joyce assumed there would be an obituary for Julia Ames on 11 December 1891 and posted for his novel her new position as a spirit guide of W. T. Stead and the reward of Stead’s first successful experimentation with automatic writing. Stead’s American journalist friend Julia Ames, who visited him in Wimbledon in 1890, died of typhoid fever in Boston (Mass) in 1891. The trance-scripted letter introduces the eventual publication of Stead’s Letters from Julia. Printed first in Borderland and in book form, both, in 1894, and reprinted under title After Death in 1898, her letters were suitably translated into uncounted foreign languages; the book gained favor as a reliable guide to the Afterlife. Among people who feared that psychic messages were sent by the devil, it dispelled some prejudices, spoke authoritatively of unverifiable heavenly matters, and uttered soothing reassurances. As Stead advanced in his commitment to communication with the “dearly departed,” Julia urged him to create a Bureau, a clearing house for the public who sought to communicate with their deceased loved ones. Insisting that the public pay nothing for the services, Stead experienced intensive financial anxiety about compensation due for the services of mediums and stenographers who recorded, interpreted, and relayed the conversations; this was coextensive with his making plans, on Julia’s assurances, that the money would be available. Consequently his “How I Know That the Dead Return” reached the editor of the New York American, who contracted Stead to be their correspondent at a salary of £1000 per year. The living Stead bore the entirety of the mediums’ and overhead expenses himself. The Bureau when first established met once each week in his office at Mowbray House, London, and, upon the loss of the lease, was moved to his home in Cambridge House, Wimbledon, where the poet W. B. Yeats visited during Stead’s life and after; hence Yeats’s participation in the Bureau explains the passage in A Vision mentioning Stead’s daughter Estelle’s provision of a Christmas tree and gifts for spirit children. After Stead’s death, W. B. Yeats was one of the visitors who signed a document for Light testifying to his witness of the spirit presence of the deceased Stead (Illus. Two Worlds 25 (13 Sept 1912: 1). Stead’s home provided the Inner Sanctuary of the Bureau, where mediums could manifest their talents in the best of conditions; it surrounded them with a “kind of Temple or sacred fane, apart from the world” (Light 9). Thrice Joyce utilizes the almost-archaic word fane: first, in an extension of Stead’s “muezzin” that was his Review of Reviews calling his “Helpers,” the Readers, to the service of humanity; his “fane” would be “Saint Muezzin’s calling” (56.08); second, “in the fane of Saint Fiacre” (81.11); and third in the Questions chapter in which ALP is squared away opposite her spouse: “if he’s fane, she’s flirty” (139.23). While striving for the sacred, Stead found it necessary to screen undesirables from the free service, for which Estelle’s

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My Father recounts the complicated procedure. “Shaun’s letter” (413.03–26) exhibits a humorous attempt at completing the applicant’s required form to obtain the services of a medium at Julia’s Bureau. The popularity of Julia’s Letters resulted in part from the sane practical advice she gave. From her heavenly location, fearless of opposing any orthodox faith, daring the devil himself, Julia pronounced the clear essence of the search for a sexual partner: “even a guilty love, so far as it takes you out of yourself, and makes you toil and pray and live and perhaps die for the man or woman whom you should never have loved, brings you nearer Heaven than selfish, loveless marriage” (After 13). Instead of Father Michael, who seduced her, Issy remains devoted to an absent, nonexistent, young man: “You mean those conversation lozenges? How awful! The bold shame of me [giving away sex secrets]! I wouldn’t, chickens, not for all the juliettes in the twinkly way [Stead’s Julia]! I could snap them [dismiss the spirits] when I see them winking at me in bed” (148.11–14). Julia dictated “If you cannot control your sixth sense you had better not acquire it” (After 85); in capable minds, the spirits can be dismissed at will. Issy is sufficiently punished for her “sin” with Father Michael, and leaves traces in the midden letter; she is forced to spend long hours contemplating a course of action to manage the pregnancy. Chapter 10 is formatted as was Stead’s Letters from Julia with left and right margin paragraph headings and footnotes [Illus. Letters passim]. Issy’s letter in Footnote 1 (279.10–46) offers a few select words identical with those in the “midden letter.” Stead had inquired of one of those “maidens” he interviewed what she would do if she had a child. The “maiden’s” reply could be anticipated: she would drown herself. Issy’s suicide letter, a lengthy footnote to the classbook, clarifies her letter to “My intended, Jr, who I’m throne away on” (279.20). In this she supports the irrecoverable aspect of loss of virginity, which Stead had defined as “the most precious thing a girl ever has; once lost, it cannot be recovered.” ISSY’S SECOND (SUICIDE) LETTER Stead’s Eliza Armstrong during the Maiden Tribute lovingly closed her letter with rows of x’s (kisses), but Issy’s letter uses x’s to convey the bitterness of betrayal. Issy’s suicide letter consumes a lengthy footnote (279) devoted to her greatest care of the moment, her pregnancy. For psychological depth in a short space, this footnote perhaps excels all other passages in Finnegans Wake. [Footnote 1] Come, smooth of my slate, to the beat of my blosh/blush! With all these gelded ewes jilting about and the thrills and ills of laylock [lilac] blossoms three’s so much more plants than chants for cecilies [songs] that I was

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Chapter 6 thinking fairly killing times of putting an end to myself and my malody, when I remembered all your pupilteacher’s erringnesses in perfection class [Joyce’s teaching of girls like Lucia]. You sh’undn’t write you can’t if you w’udn’t pass for undevelopmented. This is the proper way to say that, Sir. If it’s me chews to swallow all you saidn’t you can eat my words for it as sure as there’s a key in my kiss [Boucicault play]. Quick erit faciofacey [Latin: which was to be done]. When we will conjugate together toloseher tomaster to miss while morrow fans amare hour [amorous hour], verbe de vie and verve to vie, with love ay loved have I on my back spine and does for ever. (279.10–20)

Issy imagines herself keeping the upper hand in this relationship and has no intention of letting “ruin” interfere with her continuing, chiefly exploratory and imagined, sex life. She has lost the “throne” of virginity but shifts her life purpose to a new, expansive, educational dream, accompanied by but not impeded by the unborn child. Her possibly taking “seidens” is a fantastical speculation “to take silk,” to achieve the position of King’s or Queen’s Counsel; another pregnancy would obviously doom this daytime dream. As a child bride, untamed by domestic chores and unaware that her body has betrayed her, she fondly imagines sexual alliances and a charmed life with elevated social positions without marital commitment to the male partner who still awaits her. Issy’s intention to slip through Pettigo (279.21) implies an intention to escape from Ireland into the Republic of Northern Ireland, where the town occupied the border. Your are me severe? Then rue. My intended, Jr, who I’m throne away on, (here he inst [now], my lifstack, a newfolly/fellow likon/icon) when I slip through my pettigo [border town] I’ll get my decree [degree] and take seidens when I’m not ploughed first by some Rolando the Lasso, and flaunt on the flimsyfilmsies [newspapers] for to grig my collage juniorees who, though they flush fuchsia, are they octette and viginity [eight and twenty] in my shade but always my figurants [husbands]. They may be yea of my year but they’re nary nay of my day [birthday]. (279.20–26)

Only a child’s vast optimistic precocity could carry the burden of imagining she knows everything because she has read widely. For example, Stead’s international reporting gave much information about the “Mad Mullah,” who was the Mahdi, Mohammed Ahmed Ibn el-Sayyid Abdullah, often in the news in bridging the outgoing and incoming centuries; Stead described him in 1904 as a religious teacher of the wild desert tribes and one who conquered the Egyptian city of Khartoum (R 29: 552). Apparently only the alliteration of the letter M enables Issy to connect the Mullah with Maud Miller of Tennyson’s poem. Her fondness for rhyme bridges several unlikely sequences.

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Wait till spring has sprung in spickness and prigs/pigs beg in to pry [fly] they’ll be plentyprime of housepets [boys] to pimp and pamper my. Impending marriage. Nature tells everybody about [pregnancy] but I learned all the runes [written in stone] of the gamest game ever from my old nourse/Norse Asa [Peer Gynt’s mother]. A most adventuring trot [whore] is her and she vicking well knowed them all heartswise/arsewise and fourwords/forewards. How Olive d’Oyly [Popeye] and Winnie Carr/vinegar, bejupers, they reized the dressing of a salandmon/salmon and how a peeper/pepper coster and a salt sailor/seller med a mustied poet [mustard pot, cunt] atwaimen. It most have been Mad Mullans planted him. Bina de Bisse [snake] and Trestrine von Terrefin/Tristan/turtle. Sago sound, rite go round [cg], kill kackle, kook kettle and (remember all should I forget to) bolt the Thor/door. Auden/Odin. (279.26–35)

At last among her ruminations appears the midden letter’s “poor fother”/ Father Michael [111.15]) whom she likens to the dog Cerberus at the gates of hell and, bitterly, disallows the saintly “allmichael good.” Meanwhile, addressing her fantasy lover, her imagination goes to unpleasantries. The “dog of the day” should inspire quality communication, but the Druid’s altar possibly invokes Stonehenge and the tragedy of Tess of the D’Urbervilles, particularly with police standing by; these allusions, like “Isabella,” support multiple associations. Wasn’t it just divining that dog of a dag/day in Skokholme [South Wales] as I sat astrid uppum their Drewitt’s/Druid’s altar, as cooledas as a culcumbre, slapping my straights [honestly acquired] till the sloping ruins, postillion, postallion, a swinge a swank, with you offering me clouts/clouds of illscents and them horners [police] stagstruck on the leasward! Don’t be of red/afraid, you blanching mench! This isabella [several famous] I’m on knows the ruelles of the rut and she don’t fear andy mandy [novel Handy Andy, the military]. So sing loud, sweet cheeriot [s.], like anegreon/Anacreon in heaven [s.]! The good fother [Father Michael] with the twingling in his eye will always have cakes [Cerberus; lures maiden to ruin] in his pocket to bethroat us with for our allmichael [saintly] good. Amum. Amum [chewing]. And Amum again. For tough troth is stronger than fortuitous fiction and it’s the surplice/surplus money, oh my young friend and ah me sweet creature [mimics Father Michael’s wooing her], what buys the bed while wits borrows the clothes [seducer wearing priest’s garments]. (279.35–46)

She travels a long mental road to reach an expression of her betrayer and her betrayal. The “suicide” footnote is followed immediately by her next, an intertextual letter.

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ISSY’S INTERTEXTUAL LETTER Issy’s Second Letter gains credence by repetition of phrases from the midden letter, italicized below and distinguished by Eliza Armstrong’s closing with rows of x’s (kisses). Issy’s version adds a bitter note of betrayal with “kissists my exits” (280.27). Her price (a topic much evident in the MT), is total loss expressed in her “tomrrows gone” (280.06); and, while her fantasized Prince Charming remains the ideal, the “pious and pure fair one” is now neither pious nor pure. Looking ahead, the closing “field of faery blithe” (281.03) is Issy’s view of evil overcome; winter is death, washed away by the washerwomen and succeeded by springtime beauty. The closing introduces the “Quinet Motif” (Hart Structure 182–200) that approximates her predicament: no matter how many battles occur, or how many maidenhoods are destroyed, the flowers of spring survive and enhearten people with their blossoms; and maidens succumb to the sexual lure again. Initially she speaks of herself in third person concerning her handwriting, and Mippa [Browning’s Pippa] is famous for passing; however, Stead’s message concerning Mippa is italicized “God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world” in Estelle Stead’s Spirit Return (51). Presumably God will compensate some time for the fact that many a child was bought with a small trinket, a flower, a small cake, or perfume. Heliotrope is the flower of seduction in chapter 9, the children’s game. Dear (name of desired subject, A.N. [Amati Nomen]), well, and I go on to. Shlicksher [she licks her pencil]. I and we (tender condolences for happy funeral, one “if”) so sorry to (mention person suppressed for the moment, F.M. [Father Michael]). Well (enquiries after all healths) how are you (question maggy) [Eliza Armstrong writing to one of the Maggies]. A lovely (introduce to domestic circles) pershan/parson of [“wedding”] cates [delicacies]. Shrubsher [She rubs her mistake]. Those pothooks mostly she hawks from Poppa Vere Foster [handwriting books] but these curly mequeues are of Mippa’s/ Pippa’s moulding/passing. Shrubsheruthr [She rubs her other]. (Wave gently in the ere turning ptover [it over].) Well, mabby (consolation of shopes) to soon air/hear. With best from cinder Christinette if prints chumming [Prince Charming], can be when desires Soldi [Isolde], for asamples, backfronted or, if all, peethrolio/heliotrope or Get my Prize/Price, using her flower or perfume or, if veryveryvery chumming, in otherwards, who she supposed adeal, kissists my exits/Xs. Schlicksheruthr [She licks her other]. (280.09–27)

In comparison with the prior suicide letter, this one is more normal and straight-forward, with less reliance on fantasy. The language in this letter, considering the total of Finnegans Wake, is almost common and certainly less “Wakean.” At the same time, Joyce holds tight to the theme of Vico’s pia et purabella. The unusual “concomitated” for the Church’s concomitance doctrine may owe inspiration to Stead’s novel Here Am I; Send Me! which

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features a commination church service to express God’s anger against a sweatshop industrialist. From Auburn chenlemagne/Charlemagne. Pious and pure fair one [Vico], all has concomitated to this, that she shall tread them lifetrees leaves whose silence hitherto has shone as sphere of silver fastalbarnstone [fatal brimstone], that fount Bandusian [a spring in Horace’s Ode 3] shall play liquik music and after odours sigh of musk. Blotsbloshblothe, one dear that was. Sleep in the water, drug at the fire [suicide], shake the dust off [Matt 19:14] and dream your one who would give her sidecurls to. Till later. Lammas [autumn holiday] is led in by baith our washwives, a weird of wonder tenebrous as that evil thorngarth [place of seduction, which seems to be a thorny garden], a field of faery blithe as this flowing wild. (280.27–281.03)

The left-margin footnotes deal with those “libels” on the good purposes of the bible, libels that pertain to social injustice. Pope Adrian was Nicholas Breakspear, the only English pope, who opposed the good-intentioned Barbarossa, Frederick I of Germany. Adrian’s Laudabiliter furthered the conquest of Ireland. Archdeacon Coppinger gained the attention of Clive Hart, who noticed a “pippa pointing” bowing to “the late archdeacon F. X. Preserved Coppinger (a hot fellow in his night)” with “a pullwoman of our first transhibernian” railway (Structure 41). Completion of the Trans-Siberian railway was eagerly awaited, to be the longest in the world, an exciting new achievement in Stead’s time (R 17: 569). The hero alone offsets competing forces. L1: Bibelous [Bible libelous] hicstory and Barbarassa [G. Emperor opposed Pope Adrian IV] harestary. L2: A shieling/shilling in coppingers and porrish soup all days/always. L3: How matches metroosers/much is my trousers? L4: Le hélos/heroes tombaut soul/falling alone sur la jambe de marche/Champs de Mars. (280 L).

The two distinct types of letters in chapter 10—her footnoted suicide letter (279) and her normal intertextual “classbook” reflections (280.01–281.03)— are supplemented by the children’s night letter, in which the children sketch comical figures to illustrate their spiritual communication with the deceased parents, concerned with the fate of the daughter. Brewer traces thumb gestures to ancient Roman combat, when viewers signaled their vote that a vanquished gladiator should be slain by turning out the thumb from the fist; if they wished him to live, they enclosed the thumb in the fist. The mark of W. T. Stead is seen throughout the Nightletter (308.16), founded on universal assumptions of spiritual communication and further incarnations. Preposterous are those assumptions, but practical is the wish for future prosperity. The first footnote of the Nightletter ascribed to Kish refers to Stead’s last continental departure, when he inscribed “I am

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Figure 6.1. The Children’s Nightletter and “Kish is for Anticheirst”

going to America to deliver one speech. But I feel as if that were but the Asses which Saul went forth to seek when he was crowned King of Israel” (E. Stead 342); in 1911 Stead explained Kish as the “classical” example of the promise for the future. Saul was “the son of Kish, who was merely seeking a clairvoyant who might tell him where to find the straying asses of his father” when he founded a kingdom. He “suddenly found himself anointed King of Israel by the prophet of Jehovah” (R 44: 28). The outstanding feature of the “Kish” footnote is the thumb-to-nose gesture in that the thumb is distinctly separated from the fingers, of which four are precisely illustrated. Whether “thumb and five fingers” would be correct represents a philosophic-linguistic historical debate of the type that attracted Joyce who sought conscientiously to dissolve the riddles of the universe. It begins immediately following the Butt and Taff dialogue when packed juries could result from miscounting: The pump and pipe pingers are ideally reconstituted. The putther/potter and bowls are peterpacked up [Peter the Packer packed juries against the Irish]. All the presents are determining as regards for the future the howabouts of their past absences which they might see on at hearing [the process of denying the Irish their right to serve] could they once smell of tastes from touch. To ought find a values for. The must overlistingness. When ex what is ungiven. As ad where. (355.01–06)

A figure of prejudice and corruption, Peter the Packer was Peter O’Brien (1889–1913), Lord Kilfenora, who was Lord Chief Justice of Ireland, in office 1889–1913. He opposed Catholics and effectively packed juries against them by disallowing their defense in a series of outrages and injus-

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tices related by Edward Alfred Dalton, in vol. 6 of The Coercion Struggle in Ireland. Educated at Clongowes, O’Brien should have been highly honored there, where his father sent him because it was cheapest. The result, Peter Costello writes, “In later years this ‘political judge’ was deemed unworthy of esteem and dropped from the Clongowes pantheon” (History of Clongowes 84). “Kish is for anticheirst” also reads as “anti palm-reading” to anyone who recognizes the name Cheiro, the penname of Count Louis Hamon who possessed a talent for predicting deaths of important people; the attempted assassination of the Shah of Persia was fortunately averted (R 22: 301). Psychic James Coates gathered most of the information on this topic in his last chapter of Has W. T. Stead Returned? Coates remarks that Cheiro wrote to Stead that “travel would be dangerous to him in the month of April, 1912” (174–75). The children wish “the free of my hand to him” would deliver a slap at Cheiro for this self-fulfilling message. Hot cross buns for Good Friday were said not to grow mouldy; and schoolchildren who have been taught to color within the lines think their parents should appreciate their keeping themselves within limits. The “pranklings” of Anna Livia encourage the opposite, to “burst bounds agin” (139.26). SHAUN’S “TRIAL BY JULIAS” LETTER Shaun writes a distinctive fourth type of letter in unusual circumstances under the instigation of Julia, of whom “a trial by Julias” (242.14) who is in heaven (“in celestial sunhat”) for spiritual communication was proposed by herself. At Julia’s command Stead established in 1910 “Julia’s Bureau” or “Julia’s Circle” to assist people searching for reassurances that a deceased loved one was safe in heaven. As proof of the Bureau’s communication merits, after his death in 1912, Stead made frequent ghostly appearances, such as this one: “To wit: Breath and bother and whatarcurss [bread and butter and watercress].” A cherished watercress salad was served each week at Julia’s Circle dinners; Joyce’s “whatarcurss” (225.12–13) would be typical of Stead’s sense of humor, and possibly Joyce saw an article by Edith Harper (“Narrative” 31). Additionally, Farmer and Henley’s Slang provides the entirety of a poem published in Punch in 1856 (xxxi: 201) titled “What’s a Cure” explaining seven meanings of the slang phrase “You’re a cure.” A tribute to Joyce’s orthographic precision, the slang phrase “not worth a curse” is explained to be a corruption of Anglo-Saxon “cerse, watercress.” Outstanding evidence of Julia’s influence is Shaun’s letter completing instructions for an application to Julia’s Bureau. Required information would determine whether the Circle should admit a serious applicant or dismiss him or her as frivolous or fraudulent. Although noted persons like W. B. Yeats

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attended Julia’s sessions at Stead’s Cambridge House home in Wimbledon, there were mischievous frauds and skeptics to be detected and fended off. The required documents for applicants stipulated a five-step process to assure that information would not be unconsciously telepathed but would originate only with the “spooks.” First requirement was the applicant’s name and the name and date of death of the deceased person. “Form H” required any of seven types of evidence: personal particulars; personal appearance of the deceased; incidents of the death; confirmatory incidents in the life of the deceased; the pen name of the deceased or of the applicant; messages of which the sensitive could not possibly have had prior knowledge, which would be submitted to circle members; and characteristic unusual words that the deceased might employ (E Stead, 298–99). Here is Shaun’s humorous mockery of Form H, submitted in its first part not as a business form but in Shaun’s parodic comedy, a mischievous letter that turns deadly serious halfway through. Stead and his associates would welcome deserved laughter, but in most sessions the ominous issues of the day were too ponderous for sustained entertainment. The clients intensely desired communication with the departed loved one. McHugh traces several phrases to Swift’s On the Death of Mrs. Johnson. To the Very Honourable The Memory of Disgrace [Earwicker’s fall], the Most Noble, Sometime Sweepyard at the Service of the Writer. Salutem dicint [greeting]. The just defunct Mrs Sanders [complying with required forms: name and date of death] who (the Loyd [Lord/Lloyd] insure her!) I was shift and shuft too [required: his relationship to her], with her shesterr Mrs Shunders, both mudical dauctors [required: personal particulars] from highschoolhorse and aslyke as Easther’s leggs. She was the niceliest person of a wellteached nonparty woman that I ever acquired her letters, only too fat, [required: details of appearance] used to babies and tottydean verbish [Latin: in so many words] this is her entertermentdags fort she shuk the bottle [required: personal characteristics] and tuk the medascene all times a day. She was well under ninety [required: her age], poor late Mrs, and had tastes of the poetics [Aristotle; required: deceased characteristic], me having stood the pilgarlic [poor creature] a fresh [day] at sea when the moon also was standing in a corner of sweet Standerson my ski [s.]. (413.3–14)

Julia provided sufficient ammunition to inspire Shaun’s satire. She declared this type of communication “the most important thing in the whole range of the possible achievements of mortal man” but Form H was necessary to prevent admittance of undesirables who would be fatal to its serious spiritual purposes (E. Stead 297–300). Instead, Shaun in the second half of the letter shows how futile were Julia’s concerns in the face of significant social criticism. “Tuft hunters” parodied by Miss Muffett were Victorian social climbers who wasted their time on self-aggrandizement. In this, one of Joyce’s most significant social documents, Swift’s “ptpt” for the “little lan-

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guage” of his Journal to Stella is unfortunately linked to “coolies” for “colis,” who were maidens shipped in the white slave traffic (10 Jul 1885 PMG 5); and in this matter Shaun’s humor has turned morbid. Issy in her sophomoric wisdom has already properly dismissed “all the juliettes in the twinkly way” (148.13). Julia had no remembrance that reformers considered most urgent the dignifying of the body to preserve the soul. For idle entertainment, “Roger” suffices for the sexual innuendos of the little letters, and Swift’s “Dearly beloved Roger” was his clerk; but these are as child’s play. Swift’s “Modest Proposal” would be better suited to the last half of Shaun’s letter. P.L.M. Mevrouw [Mrs] von Andersen was her whogave me a muttonbrooch, stakkers [the poor or wretched] for her begfirst [breakfast] party [required: personal incident to test the truth of the communication]. Honour thy farmer and my litters. This, my tears, is my last will intesticle [Julia’s Bureau, Form D] wrote off in the strutforit [street for it] about their absent female assauciations which I, or perhaps any other person what squaton a toffette [nr], have the honour to had upon their polite sophykussens in the real presence [Christ] of devouted Mrs Grumby when her skin was exposed to the air. O what must the grief of my mund be for two little ptpt coolis/colis [maiden in sex trafficking] worth twenty thousand quad herewitdnessed with both’s maddlemass [Michaelmas] wishes to Pepette [Swift] for next match from their dearly beloved Roggers/Roger, M.D.D.O.D. [Swift’s “My dears” and required date of death]. May doubling [May Oblong: Dublin whore] drop of drooght [need a drink]! Writing (413.14–26).

Inquirers who desire to access the original letter that Joyce/Shaun parodies can find it in the journal Light in the article on Stead and spiritualism by his staff assistant Edith K. Harper (10 Jan. 1914: 10). Meantime, the delivery location of this and other “letters” integral to Finnegans Wake are the concern of Joyce’s detailed, partially-fictionalized but sentiment-prone list of his former residences (420.12–421.14). THE ENIGMATIC HAZARDS OF DELIVERY Those many Dublin residences of the Joyce family provide an ostensible excuse for failure of postal delivery; Jackson and Costello note that the family’s moving to 8 Royal Terrace was the fourth move in two years. On the larger scene, Shem’s “letter,” his destiny, was seeking a reader and failing to find one, and, should a positive response go astray, he hazards missing an important stage in his literary achievement. Pappie seeks free rent and the ego-gratification of outwitting the authorities. The mother seeks the nearest Catholic church for singing and moral stability, the sisters search for food necessary for survival. The letters in Joyce’s summary are concerned with social issues: (1) the instability of the family’s shifting locations, (2) interpo-

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lation of Stead events, (3) Joyce’s autobiography, and (4) Irish history. Joyce’s imperturbable “Araby” house was Stead’s discovery in London’s West End, used for repair of lacerations caused by “outrage” of the maiden (6 Jul 1885 PMG 5). The date for the midden letter sent from Boston, Mass (111.09) is now given as “Boston (Mass). 31 June,” just prior to Stead’s MT commencing 6 July (421.11); it combines the June date of the Maiden Tribute investigation with the communications of the departed spirit Julia Ames who died in Boston and with the 31 January date of the letter’s discovery in the midden. Elllmann analyzes the family’s pathetic but Pappie-dominated history of temporary residences and predictable evictions from their homes in Dublin, while they barely escaped homelessness; and in the chaos some of the addresses may be incorrect. Ellmann industriously attempted to detail the relocations for a Special James Joyce Number of the American Book Collector for Summer, 1965, headed “though some of the dates and places cannot be proved, and a few are conjectural” (25–29). Vivien Igoe’s end pages “Chronology” in James Joyce’s Dublin Houses reprints Elllmann’s original list (171–74); accompanying this process, the dates have moved out of apocrypha into history. In creating addresses laden with puns and artistic purposes, Joyce advances the bravest possible face for the series of family relocations that for many people would have been filled with humiliation, futility, and despair. Here is Joyce’s “joking Jesus” role at its best, and Atherton’s most astute observation: “Jesus” is nailed to the cross. “Hek” is the pronounceable HCE of which orthography from the Egyptian Book of the Dead implies the intended recipient has “passed over.” Its beginning “Letter, carried by Shaun, son of Hek written of/by Shem, brother of Shaun” distributes Stead origins among three personae: Earwicker to whom events occur, Shem who writes about them, and Shaun who fantasizes them borrowed from himself. Regarding “Loco” (420.21) Jackson and Costello comment that the Joyces moved “around the corner”; hence, the mad nuns screeched from two locations. The date that Joyce provides at this point, “31 Jn. 1132 A.D.,” completes the information for “that weird weekday in bleak Janiveer . . . when Biddy Doran looked at literature” (112.26–27), to which Joyce ascribes the year 1132, his date of the “perpetual” fall into Joycean affairs. Letter, carried of Shaun, son of Hek, written of Shem, brother of Shaun, uttered for Alp, mother of Shem, for Hek, father of Shaun. Initialled. Gee. Gone [the letter Gee is short for Gone, among its varied uses]. 29 Hardware Saint [his mother a saint for tolerance; 29 Hardwicke Street (1893)]. Lendet till Laonum [payday]. Baile-Atha-Cliath [Dublin]. 31 Jan. 1132 A.D. [year of the perpetual fall (112.26–27); day of the midden]. Here Commerces/commences Enville/Endville Tried Apposite House. 13 Fitzgibbets [14 Fitzgibbon Street (1885)]. Loco. Dangerous. Tax [rent] 9d. B.L.Guineys/Guinness, esqueer/Es-

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quire. L.B. [Leopold Bloom]. Not known at 1132 a. 12 Norse Richmond [Joyce at 17, North Richmond Street [(1895) “imperturbable” house of “Araby”]. Nave [middle of house] unlodgeable. Loved noa’s dress [roof leaking rain; Nora working at Finn’s hotel]. Sinned/signed, Jetty Pierrse.[French poet St. John Persse]. Noon sick parson [no such person]. (420.19–24)

Subterfuge to avoid bill collectors emerges in notes attached to the mailbox upon departure; the “9 pence” rent marked “Tax” satirizes nonpayment of rent. Decisions in the family imbroglio could resemble the opposed combatants of the battle of Clontarf. The two words, “Pull down” (420.25) represented slang for thievery as well as bedtime furniture; the Joyces required all of Pappie’s ingenuity to avoid paying rent by a variety of means. 92 Windsewer Ave. [29 Windsor Ave., Fairview (1896–9)]. No such no. Vale. Finn’s Hot/Hotel [where Joyce met Nora]. Exbelled from 1014 d. [Clontarf; invader vs native/owner]. Pulldown. Fearview [8 Royal Terrace Fairview (1900)]. Opened by Miss Take [letters left at doorway were often unanswered]. 965 nighumpledan sextiffits [ninehundred sixtyfive]. Shout at Site [Shoot on Sight]. Roofloss/Roofless. Fit Dunlop [Tires] and Be Satisfied [advertisement]. Mr. Domnall O’Domnally. Q.V. [qui vixit: who lived] 8 Royal Terrors/Terrace. None so strait [No such street]. Shutter up. Dining with the Danes [Dean Swift]. Removed to Philip’s Burke [pub; Joyce family in Phibsborough]. At sea. D.E.D. Place scent on [Please send on]. Clontalk [Clonturk Park, Dublin]. Father Jacob, Rice Factor [merchant]. 3 Castlewoos [Joyces at 23 Castlewood Ave Rathmines (1884–7)]. P.V. [peace be with you] Arrusted/ Arrested. (420.24–31)

“Arrusted” is complicated by Joyce’s notes retrieved by genetic textual researchers; it may be the most ponderous word in the list of residences. Jackson and Costello have determined that it is fictitious; they could find no confirmation of it. Joyce’s purpose in so demeaning Pappie is potentially and immediately clear. Joyce needed to establish a misdemeanor of some sort, some incident to bring Pappie into court, to found his updating of the Maamtrasna murder trial (chapter 8 herein). Also, after Florence Nightingale’s Notes on Hospitals (1859), Hospitalism (420.31) emerged as “a general condition of the building, or of its atmosphere, productive of disease.” Health adherents associated it with large, multistory, old urban buildings and they “contrasted surgical mortality there with small country hospitals or new ones built with attention to cleanliness and fresh air.” Probably Joyce’s enrollment in medical school is contributing to motivating this; he begins with a personal issue and elaborates it into social criticism. J. P. [Justice of the Peace] Converted to Hospitalism. Ere the March past of Civilisation [Parnell’s march of nation; implies Dublin not yet civilized]. Once Bank of Ireland’s. Return to City Arms [Dublin Hotel where Blooms once lived]. 2 Milchbroke [Zurich]. Wrongly spilled/spelled. Traumcondraws/

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Jackson and Costello relate that “’Drowned in the Dodder’ generated much attention as “The Dodder Mystery” and ‘intrigued the Joyces, who may thus have discovered matters that never became general knowledge’” (JC 230). The Reverest Adam Foundlitter/Findlater [grocer, politician]. Shown geshotten [Already shot; run down/Aldershot]. 7 Streetpetres [7 St. Peter’s Terrace, Cabra (1902–04)]. Since Cabranke/Cabra. Siezed of the Crownd. Well, Sir Arthur [Guinness]. Buy Patersen’s Matches [Dublin manufacturers]. Unto his promisk hands [promised land]. Blown up last Lemmas [1 Aug] by Orchid/ Orange Lodge. Search Unclaimed Male/mail [SUM]. House condamned by Ediles/Edict. Back in Few Minutes. “Closet for Repeers.” (420.35–421.03)

“Closet in need of Repairs” was nationalized by Charles Booth and W. T. Stead, both of whom reported on unsanitary toilets, and Kate the Cleaner is a popular Wakean fictional character. Joyce makes “holly and ivy” a motif of the old and New Year, plus the fact that Stead’s home on Hayling Island was called “Holly Bush” and was covered with ivy. Poisoned beef tea is mentioned in Ulysses (18: 240) and was a probable cause of death in 1889 in the famous murder case of the American Mrs. Florence Maybrick, suspected of poisoning her husband (421.9). Stead attempted her release from jail in 1892 (R 6: 390–96) but she served fourteen years before her release in January, 1904. House Condamned by Ediles [L. aedile, Roman magistrate]. Back in Few Minutes. Closet for Repeers/Repairs. 60 Shellburn [1904]. Key at Kate’s [the Cleaner]. Kiss. Isaac’s Butt [National leader ousted by Parnell], Poor Man. Dalicious arson. Caught. Missing. Justiciated [justice and jactitation]. Kainly forewarred [Kindly forward]. Abraham Badly’s King [Bradley King, Mayor], Park Bogey [Stead researching prostitution]. Salved/Salve [Be well]! All reddy berried [Already buried; red berries of holly]. Hollow and eavy [holly and ivy; Stead’s “burial” in jail at new year]. Desert it [Deserted]. Overwayed/ Overweight [letter]. Understrumped/Understamped. Back to the P.O. Kaer of [Bre kaer beautiful/Care of]. Ownes owe M.O. [money order]. Too Let/Late [money order “Encore deux minutes” (U 3: 87)]. To be Soiled/sold [“filthy” midden letter and females sold; “he implored me to soil his letter” (U 15: 1070)]. Cohabited by Unfortunates [prostitutes]. Lost all Licence. His Beuf Toe/Tea is Frozen/Fizzin’ Over [see 308.R1 poisoning from beef tea]. (421.02–09)

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Joyce makes the Letter an index to several Wake themes, becoming murkier as it progresses. X, Y and Z, Ltd [Stead’s “firm of procurers” 7 Jul 1885 PMG 3]. Destinied Tears [result of procuration]. A.B, [German absender], ab, Sender. Boston (Mass) [source of midden letter]. 31 Jun [midden letter]. 13, 12. P.D. Razed. Lawyered/lowered. Vacant. Mined [vacant mind]. Here’s the Bayleaffs/bailiffs. Step out to Hall/Hell out of that, Ereweaker, with your Bloody Big Bristol [visiting card/pistol.] Bung. Stop. Bung. Stop. Cumm Bumm [Cambronne; “Merde”]. Stop [Atherton eleventh station: Jesus is nailed to the cross. See also 411.15]. Came baked to Auld Aireen [Come Back to Erin s.]. Stop. (421.10–14)

COPING IN ISSY’S LAST “DISSOCIATED” LETTER Adaline Glasheen impacted Joyce studies with her Census identification of Morton Prince, the “Boston neurologist who studied the personalities of Miss Christine Beauchamp,” a “pseudonym of the young New England girl . . . in [Prince’s] The Dissociation of a Personality” (1905). Joyce’s treatment of the subject is his narration, in fine detail, of the gradual disintegration of his own daughter’s personality. Laboratory treatment of the subject was not new to followers of Stead’s Real Ghost Stories (1902) featuring the three “souls” of “Madame B” whose names were “Léonie I” in the normal waking state, “Léonie II” in the hypnotic state, and “Léonie III,” which was “the third occult Unconscious Personality of the lowest depth” (Ghost 45). Joyce wrote “Leonie” into his text with adequate identification: “Et la pau’ Leonie has the choice of her lives” (246.16–27). Joyce’s excursion further into the matters of “The Ghost That Dwells in Each of Us” (Stead Ghost, Part I) taught him the means of doing this. Joyce protected himself somewhat by choosing to cause Issy to record her own thoughts, progressively more disturbed, in a letter she’s writing; the next stage of the plot is that of Shaun reading Issy’s letter in heaven. Creating such drama, like a painful diary, is the way the conscientious artist works. Issy commences with a brave resolve to attempt a clinical exoneration of herself and Father Michael by detailing the circumstances by which she became a victim of a sexual sin committed by herself and him, who has abandoned her by going to heaven. Facing a hopeless future, she must decide whether to kill herself at the same time she decides not to abort the child. She has “plenty of woom [babytalk] in the smallclothes” (465.08–09) she’s been sewing to carry with her while traveling during her escape to the Bosforus. Her psyche badly wounded with the new burden of a child, she unknowingly suffers a challenge to the matter of truth expressed in the Quinet concept. Comparing those flowers of the field who return after the soldiers have quit,

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the question is whether she will survive? In chapter 14 (III.2), Jaun, in the world beyond, preaches a sermon contrasting the Afterlife with earth life and reads Issy’s last letter. He pauses after saying “A tear or two in time is all there’s toot. And then in a click of the clock, toot toot, and doff doff we pop with sinnerettes in silkettes lining longroutes for His Diligence [stagecoach] Majesty, our long distance laird [God] that likes creation. To whoosh!” (457.21–24). Shaun reads Issy’s letter as follows. Phrases from the midden letter are italicized. —Meesh, meesh [from me], yes, pet. We were too happy. I knew something would happen. I understand but listen, drawher [brother] nearest, Tizzy intercepted, flushing but flashing from her dove and dart eyes as she tactilifully grapbed her male corrispondee to flusther/whisper sweet nunsongs in his quickturned ear, I know, benjamin [biblical favorite son] brother, but listen, I want, girls palmassing [soft talking; flattery], to whisper my whish. (She like them like us, me and you, had thoud he ne’r it would haltin so lithe when leased is tacitempust tongue). Of course, engine dear, I’m ashamed for my life (I must clear my throttle) over this lost moment’s gift of memento nosepaper which I’m sorry, my precious, is allathome [midden letter (111.11)] I with grief can call my own [s.] but all the same, listen, Jaunick [little Jaun], accept this witwee’s mite [Mark XII: 41–44], though a jennyteeny witween piece torn in one place [Slain (11.28)] from my hands in second place of a linen hall [Linen Hall, Dublin congested tenement] valentino with my fondest and much left to tutor. (457.25–458.03)

Like the Irish legend told in Griffin’s poem “The Bridal of Malahide,” Issy deems herself instantly wife and widow because the father of her child is anonymous to the public. The Linen Hall, a dreadfully overcrowded tenement, was destroyed by fire in 1916. She continues: X.X.X.X. [four crosskisses of midden letter (111.17). It was heavily bulledicted for young Fr M,l [Michael in midden letter (111.15)], my pettest parriage priest, and you know who between us by your friend the pope [Stead’s nickname], forty ways in forty nights, that’s the beauty of it, look scene it, ratty [Pope Pius XI]. Too perfectly priceless for words. And, listen, now do enhance me, oblige/indulge my fiancy and bear it with you morn till life’s e’en and, of course, when never you make usage of it, listen, please kindly think galways [Nora Joyce’s childhood home] again or again, never forget, of one absendee not sester Maggy [midden letter (111.16)]. Ahim. That’s the stupidest little cough. Only be sure you don’t catch your cold and pass it on to us [herself and child]. And, since levret bounds and larks is soaring [s.], don’t be all the night. And this, Joke [Jack], a sprig of blue speedwell [herb Veronica, which Lucia preserved in her hospital room] just a spell of floralora [opera] so you’ll mind your voronique [Veronica, sixth station of the cross]. Of course, Jer [Shem], I know you know who sends it, presents that please [merchant’s slogan], mercy, on the face of the waters [Gen. 1:2 and “the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface” (3.14)] like that film obote/about, awfly charmig of

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course, but it doesn’t do her justice, apart from her cattiness, in the magginbottle [Maginn: poet, died of drink]. (458.03–18)

The particular tug at the heart is Lucia Joyce’s speedwell (shamrock) in her hospital room. Stead began his MT saying he would lift the lid off Victorian crime, like the raising of the Campo Stone of Naples, that covered festering corpses beneath (6 Jul 1885 PMG: 1). Issy promises her love forever (and gently ridicules it) in those extreme opposites of tree and stone, until “the ulmost of all elmoes shall stele our harts asthone!” (460.17). In the psychic jargon of the time, Issy has absorbed popular subjects: Jung, Freud, dreams, telepathy, and “my hearz’waves”—all to carry her love “to thee, Jack” (460.19–27), her fancied prospectful mate. She appears not street-wise but boudoir-wise, and her baby talk reflects awareness that the smaller the child the greater the appeal; her talk also mocks the innocence she is expected to retain: “we are going to thay one little player before doing to deed” (461.29), mentally picturing the popular, idealistic Victorian paintings of a small nightgowned child kneeling in prayer beside her bed. The “pigeon’s pneu” (458.21) and “pity bleu” (458.24) introduce the pneumatic tube, which merited Stead’s expansive enthusiasm and a prominent position in the “Topic of the Month” in 1900 (R 21: 222–29) picturing its inventors and the tube’s major working parts. Her “pigeon’s pneu” also refers to the Holy Ghost, Father Michael, and “pigeons” or defiled maidens of the MT. Issy studies the newspapers to keep up with extravagant fashions and appreciates Joyce’s extension of his characters into the insect realm. Of course, please too/do write, won’t you, and leave your little bag of doubts, inquisitive, behind you unto your “utterly thine” [closing] and, thank you, forward it back by return pigeon’s pneu to the loving in case I couldn’t think who it was or any funforall [funferall 111.15] happens I’ll be so curiose to see in the Homesworth [Northcliffe newspapers] breakfast tablotts as I’ll know etherways [Hertz waves] by pity bleu [F. petit bleu] if it’s good for my system, what exquisite buttons, gorgiose, in case I don’t hope to soon hear from you [hopes soon to hear (111.16)]. And thanks ever so many for the ten and the one [fashionable gown using ten and one yards of fabric] with nothing at all on. I will tie a knot in my stringamejip [menstrual harness] to letter you with my silky [tissue/newspaper] paper, as I am given now to understand it will be worth my price in money one day [MT as collector’s trophy] so don’t trouble to ans/answer unless sentby special [post] as I am getting his pay [widow’s benefits] and wants for nothing so I can live simply and solely for my wonderful kinkless [hair] and its loops of loveliness. When I throw away my rollers there’s rings for all. Flee a-girl [Floh], says it is her colour. So does B [Bienie/ bee] and L [Luse/louse] and as for V! [Vespatilla/wasp (414.25)]. And listen to it! Cheveluir [Cheveril pliable]! So distant you’re always. (458.18–34).

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Always concerned for her appearance, Issy talks to her mirror and explains her nurse Madges Tighe [maid to majesty] who was a gossipaceous “postulate auditressee” (369.30), “always on the who goes where,” in her imagination. Father Michael had expired by the time of the midden letter, but Issy is still “hoping to Michal for the latter/letter to turn up with a cupital tea [alluding to the tea cakes (wedding cakes (111.14)] . . . without any much father which is parting parcel of the same goumeral’s [general’s] postoppage” cakes (369.34). At the point of “betrue/betray” she switches from Nurse Madge to her imaginary lover. The “other” personality in Morton Prince painted on the “mudstuskers.” (459.06). Bow your boche [rosebud mouth U 13: 88]! Absolutely perfect! I will pack my comb and mirror to praxis oval owes and artless awes [A. O (94.21–22)] and it will follow you pulpicly as far as come back under all my eyes like my sapphire chaplets of ringarosary [cg] I will say for you to the Allmichael [Michael] and solve-qui-pu while the dovedoves pick my mouthbuds (msch! msch!) with nurse Madge [see 369.30], my linkingclass girl, she’s a fright, poor old dutch [s.], in her sleeptalking when I paint the measles on her and mudstuskers to make her a man. We/Oui. We. Issy done that, I confesh! But you’ll love her for her hessians [boots] and sickly black stockies, cleryng’s [Clery’s] jumbles [sales], salvadged from the wash, isn’t it the cat’s tonsils! Simply killing, how she tidies her hair! I call her Sosy [double] because she’s sosiety for me and she says sossy/saucy [“sosie” the Other on the Wake’s first page (3.12)] while I say sassy and she says will you have some more scorns/ scones while I say won’t you take a few more schools and she talks about ithel/ Ethel dear while I simply never talk about athel darling; she’s but nice for enticing my friends and she loves your style considering she breaksin my shoes for me when I’ve arch trouble and she would kiss my white arms for me so gratefully but apart from that she’s terribly nice really, my sister [Issy has no birth sister], round the elbow of Erne street Lower [Dublin] and I’ll be strictly forbidden always and true in my own way and private where I will long long to betrue [betray] you along with one who will so betrue [care for] you that not once while I betreu him [her lover] not once well he be betray himself [Father Michael’s death assures that he will keep the secret]. Can’t you understand? O bother, I must tell the trouth! (458.34–459.23)

Issy continues to display gradual mental disintegration. A cordon (459.26) of troops guards a particular place. With “obey all my orders” (459.27) she imagines herself Wellington (460.1) marshalling his troops. “The Master Thief” (459.33) was a Norwegian fairy tale published in short version by the Brothers Grimm. The passionflower was named for Christ on the Cross. My latest lad’s loveliletter I am sore [sexual fantasy] I done something with. I like him lots coss/cosset/cause [care for and protect over-indulgently] he never cusses. Pity bonhomme [phallus]. Pip pet [Swift]. I shouldn’t say he’s pretty

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but I’m cocksure he’s shy. Why I love taking him out when I unlatched his cordon [see above note] gate. Ope, Jack, and atem [Wellington]! Obealbe myodorers [Obey all my adorers/orders] and he dote so. He fell for my lips, for my lisp, for my lewd speaker [fart]. I felt for his strength, his manhood, his do you mind? There can be no candle [phallus] to hold to it [“holding candle to the devil” equals mischief], can there? And, of course, dear professor [Morton Prince], I understand. You can trust me that though I change thy name though not the letter never while I become engaged with my first horsepower, masterthief [folk tale] of hearts, I will give your lovely face of mine away, my boyish bob, not for tons of donkeys [the poor man’s horsepower], to my second mate, with the twirlers the engineer of the passioflower (O the wicked untruth! [the Crucifiction] whot a tell! that he [Christ] has bought me in his [Suffering] wellingtons [boots] what you haven’t got!), in one of those pure clean lupstucks of yours thankfully, Arrah of the passkeys [Boucicault: message passed to prisoner in a kiss], no matter what. You may be certain of that, fluff [female pubic hair], now I know how to tackle. (459.23–460.04)

Mischievously, she imagines how to break the ten commandments. Her “sweet pig” is a variety of “pretty,” “fair,” or “fine” pig, all meaning a good bargain. “At the Sign of the Ship” was the folklorist Andrew Lang’s column in Longman’s Magazine (B 3: 352) as well as Dublin’s Ship Hotel. Mountjoy in Dublin is both a Square and a Prison. Lock my mearest/nearest next myself [Love thy neighbor]. So don’t keep me now for [you are] a good boy for the love of my fragrant [patron] saint, you villain, peppering with fear, my goodless graceless, or I’ll first murder you but, hvisper, meet me after by/my next appointment near you know Ships just there beside the Ship at the future poor fool’s [Ship of Fools] circuits of lovemountjoy square to show my disrespects now, let me adjust your caroline [tall hat] for you, I must really so late. (460.4–10)

At this point, her love is refocused between “you” and “him.” For “libans” (460.22), McHugh marks the hymn “like a cedar exalted in Libanus” (470.15) and her references more remote. Carol Shloss comments that Freud and Jung agreed upon “the intensity and tenacity to the bond with their [the young women’s] fathers” (292). For “telepath posts” (460.21), Stead’s associates, in particular Edith Harper, telepathed messages to him, both intentionally and unintentionally. He did not believe that telepathy accounts for all inexplicable phenomena. For “isinglass stream,” thin see-through pieces of mica made peepholes in carriages. For “Margrate von Hungaria” there were Margate Beach in Natal and stigmata of St. Margaret of Hungary; and “Jack, ahoy” references the phrase: “Every man Jack of them” without exception a sailor. Sweet pig, he’ll be furious! How he stalks to simself louther and lover, immutating aperybally/everybody. My prince of the courts [courtship/tennis] who’ll

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Another fantasy lover has escaped her. The reliance of desire and intentions on a single syllable shows how “disassociated” her thinking is. “Hitch water on the wagon” (461.01) intends “going on the wagon” for abstention from alcohol, which mates with hitching the wagon to a star. “Sarter” in “Sarterday” (460.29) reaches far toward Carlyle’s Sartor Resurtus but otherwise there are few candidates. She builds toward a crescendo of familiar motifs. The Maiden Tribute-midden returns with a former romance: teacakes, a password to seduction (460.32) and born gentleman (460.34), plus the Pretty Maid going to Babylon by way of “kindlelight” and Phoenix Park (20.20). Meanings for “joey” (460.36) ranged from the four-penny piece (from Hume) to anything young and small, like a baby kangaroo; plus a marine mariner and a theatrical clown. Issy’s “old evernew” (460.36) twice echoes the “evergreen old gentleman” that Stead encountered during the Maiden Tribute. On extending Issy’s/Lucia’s personality to “the latents” (461.04), Stead reviewed as “book of the month” Multiple Personality by Boris Sidis and Simon P. Goodhart (R 31: 195–202) offering Morton Prince’s case of “Miss B” or Beauchamp. The authors, Stead protested, put forward Multiple Personality “as the one and all-sufficient explanation of crystal gazing, shell hearing, automatic writing, and trance mediumship”; however multiple, ‘the mind can only contain the content of its own moment-consciousness” and cannot “get out of the sub-consciousness what never went into it.” Whoever or whatever stole their memories and put in place another person remained unanswered. In the following passages, Issy/Lucia presents a mind that has been wounded, and her “disassociations” are an attempt to heal it, perhaps with a new costume. The midden teacakes again provide the incident that must be healed. She combines the four-in-hand carriage with the salmon

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leap; at age four months, salmon return for spawning, and Catholics attended a mass one month after a beloved’s death. Splesh of hiss [snake] splash [flesh of my flesh] springs your salmon. Twick twick, twinkle twings [Tristan messages on twigs] my twilight [s. Twinkle twinkle, little star] as Sarterday afternoon lex leap [Leixlip] will smile on my fourinhanced twelvemonthsmind. And what’s this I was going to say, dean [Swift]? O, I understand. Listen, here I’ll wait on thee till Thingavalla/Valhalla /Thingvellir [Icelandic Parliament] with beautiful do be careful [D.B.C. bakery] teacakes [password to seduction, an invitation], more stuesser [sweeter] flavoured than Vanilla and black currant there’s a cure in [currants reduce muscle stiffening], like a born gentleman [midden (111.13)] till you’ll remember me [Balfe s.], all the time you’re awhile way I swear to you, I will, by Candlemas [Joyce’s birthday and “Pretty Maid” candlelight ]! And listen, joey, don’t be ennoyed with me, my old evernew [nephew Tristan; Issy becomes Isolde], when, by the end of your chapter, you citch water on the wagon for me being turned a star. (460.28–461.02)

She drifts away from Maiden/midden references and revisits her personal vanity of appearance and the strange new idea of a glamorous costume of raincoat concealing the pest of the park, and insists she is now a widow. Heliotrope is the color of maidenhood and spiritual understanding and the basis of the sexual game in chapter 9. For Issy’s latents, Stead appealed to logic: “If there be . . . a latent capacity in the human mind to communicate with other minds, entirely regardless of the conditions of time and space, it is undeniable that this would be a fact of the very first magnitude” (Ghost Preface 4). I’ll dubeurry [cosmetics] my two fesces [feces/faces] under Pouts/Ponds’s Vanisha [Swift’s Vanessa/Vanishing] Creme, their way for spilling cream, and, accent, wmto extend my personnalitey to the latents, I’ll boy/buy me for myself only of expensive rainproof [for men, a flasher] of pinked elephant’s [from Elvery’s Elephant House] breath grey of the loveliest sheerest dearest widowshood over airforce blue I am so wild for, my precious once, Hope Bros. [London], Faith Street, Charity [faith, hope, charity] Corner, as the bee loves her skyhighdeed [copulation], for I always had a crush on heliotrope since the dusess of yore [Duchess of York] cycled round the Finest/[Phoeni1x] Park [1897], and listen. (461.02–10)

The “ducess of yore” is more accurate than “Duchess of York” (461.09) and is particularly beguiling. Princess Mary of Teck (1869–1953), known as “May” and the wife of George V was fleetingly Duchess of York 1893–1901. That she cycled around Phoenix Park may be confused with Queen Victoria’s visit of three weeks in 1900 when Her Majesty toured Phoenix Park daily in an open carriage, a “donkey cart drawn by a royal white Abyssinian donkey” (Illus. R 21: 416). There was more athletic action among devotees of Stead’s

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favorite sport. Defying doctors’ warnings that cycling would injure women’s health, Stead’s staff member the intrepid Miss Bacon had already in August 1894 made history by riding solitary for twenty-seven days, daring to wear her new tweed knickerbockers through Ireland, Scotland, and Wales for a total of 1200 miles (R 12: 403–06 Illus.). For “gamings for Bruin and Noselong” (461.12), Browne and Nolan published their new commentary in 1929, but “Noselong” generally alluded to the “born gentleman” the Duke of Wellington. Stead was both amicable with and revolting against Konstantin Pobedonostsev (1827–1907), Procurator of the Holy Synod, who opposed reforms (R 35: 341, 521). And never mind me laughing at what’s at ever! I was in the nerves [menstruation] but it’s my last day. Always about this hour, I’m sorry, when our gamings for Bruin and Noselong is all oh you tease, and afterdoon my lickle pussiness I stheal heimlich [G. secretly] in my russians [boots] from the attraction part with my terriblitall boots [extended above the knee] calvescatcher Pinchapoppapoff who is going to be a [Russian] jennyroll [general], at my nape, drenched, love, with dripping to affectionate slapmamma [mixed dish] but last at night, look, after my golden violents wetting in my upperstairs splendidly well illuminated with such lydlylac [Lydia Languish] curtains wallpaperd to match the cat and a fireplease keep looking of priceless pearlogs I just want to see will he or are all [Father] Michales like that, I’ll strip straight after devotions before his fond stare—and I mean it too, (thy gape to my gazing I’ll bind and makeleash [his breast to my bosom: s.]) and poke stiff under my isonbound with my soiedisante chineknees cheekchubby chambermate for the night’s foreign males and your name of Shane will come forth between my shamefaced whesen with other lipth [s.] I nakest open my thight when just woken by his toccatootletoo [cock crow (473.22)] my first morning. (461.10–28)

Issy’s double consciousness enables her to view herself from a distance while thinking out loud, a brook that knows no brooking, unless misfortune interrupts. So now, to thalk thildish, thome/come, theated with Mag at the oilthan/organ we are doing to thay one little player before doing to deed [going to bed]. An a tiss to the tassie [Looby Lu game] for lu and for tu [him and you]! Coach me how to tumble, Jaime [j’aime], and listen, with supreme regards, Juan, in haste, warn me which to ah ah ah ah . . . [End of Issy’s letter]. (461.28–32)

As Stead triumphed with concluding the success of his appeal to the British conscience [“the British conscience has had time to reassert itself”] Issy similarly keeps her grasp of her imagined facts although interrupted by an imminent sneeze, while Jaun supplies the ending to “ah” with exclaiming “MEN!” Joyce editorializes that Shaun is “imitating himself capitally” and explains Shem’s innovations parenthetically: “A spilt, see, for a split, see

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see!” Shaun characteristically praises himself for being “Ever gloriously kind!” (461.36), which must include kindness to Issy. Eager to resume talking, Shaun likes to display his brilliance by finishing other people’s sentences, but would he understand the seriousness of Issy’s mental condition to hint at a “split personality?” Such would be a frightful assessment of Shaun, and Shaun has his own redemption ahead of him in the Afterlife. The final passage for Issy’s last letter is one of Joyce’s best constructions and particularly incisive for Issy/Lucia’s child-adult mind, at once naïve and sophisticated by somewhat distracted absorption of events and references that swirl around her. That “Jaun” is Shaun, a character in Lucia’s father’s novel, is particularly adept on Joyce’s part, a minor touch with a large message for Lucia, that justifies Lucia’s faith that Finnegans Wake is about her. WHO’S THE HEN OF THE MIDDEN? Gradually it becomes clear that “letters,” written on pressed wood pulp, stand for the mass of the written word, and, for the mass, license is granted newspapers of wide world scope; the Maiden Tribute was rapidly circulated abroad. At home, Stead expected revelations like his to improve the national morality, but the bluntest speech could be variously interpreted. If Mr. Whitlock gave him a piece of wood, was it a newspaper or a chip of wood for recording hours worked? If guilty lovers are halted by a treeblock, is it Stead’s message of endangerment colored with Irish scolding? This discussion has reverted more than once to the question “What are you doing your dirty minx and his big treeblock way up your path?” (80.30). Present history dates from that week in July, 1885, when the Maiden Tribute was published, and indeed no one previous had accomplished the undercover sleuthing that Stead did and exposed abuse of women in a new readable format as he did. Hence, “gloompourers . . . grouse that letters have never been quite their old selves again since that weird weekday . . . when to the shock of both [gloompourers and the mysterios hen] Biddy Doran looked at literature” (112.24–27). Letters lost their innocence and now tell all. Like holding a straw in the wind, the journalist-hen measures every tremor, forward and backward, buffeted by the airs of change: “As a strow will shaw she does the wind blague [F. humbug], recting to show the rudess [F. roughness] of a robur [F. strong] curling and shewing the fansaties of a frizette” [curled feather] (112.35). But how many of her readers, asks our author (112.36), will take her meaning at its contemporary persuasiveness, not setting it aside in favor of past literature nor refurbishing it to the detriment of comprehension?

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Denied the opportunity in his newspaper to inform the world of the “Truth about Russia” in 1888, Stead unleashed an indignant tirade at the state of modern journalism: “If the journalist has no higher function than the vigilant chronicling of parochial small beer and the smart writing of party, then we admit that a discussion of the length of a ballet girl’s skirt and the record of the slang of the lobby” must exclude serious attempts to chronicle world-governing events (25 June 1888 PMG). Joyce would not forget the ballet girl’s skirt and scolded similarly about “tutus [ L. secure] milking fores and the rereres on the outerrand asikin the tutus to be forrarder” (113.08–09). This is an indignant outcry at which the thunder should roll, as it does (113.09–11). The clucking hen “Kapak kapuk” [Alb. little by little] wants to tell the truth about him (Stead-Earwicker) and the truth includes negative gossip concerning his insistence on ferreting the truth, seeing life foully “the plak and the smut,” and dancing with apple harlottes when they peaches (113.13–17), when they are captured maidens. It is the tale of tree and stone, uniting opposing life principles and pursuing a maiden, “A Treestone with one Ysold” (113.19), an old story that Finnegans Wake retells with distinct elaborations, even verifiably accessing the contents of the dustbin, which is “why Kate takes charge of the waxworks,” those replicas of past achievers (113.17–22) consigned to the dust heap of history. Progressively, throughout the book, the text provides the midden letter (111.5) waiting to be deciphered, Issy’s two letters (the recast midden (280.10) and her suicide letter (279.17), the children’s letter (308), Shaun’s séance letter (413.26), and in chapter 17 Anna Livia’s letter that critics have called “the Revered Letter.” Anna Livia claims there are two postal letters: her husband’s and hers, and she’s still watching and wishing “would the letter you’re wanting be coming may be. And cast ashore” (623.29–30). Separated from the hen, and acknowledging the hen-journalist’s letter (616.20), the mundane midden letter remains integral to the plot. History and Joyce’s art have provided for it three components. By way of preamble, the letter comes from Boston, Massachusetts (distinct from Boston, England), and engages the sequences of “Julia” in Stead’s life: his acquaintance with the journalist Julia Ames of Boston, Mass; his communication with her marking his first success with automatic writing, her publication Letters from Julia or After Death with himself as amanuensis. The midden letter that follows settles the location in Ireland, its compelling history, and Joyce’s bitterness about his native land. Into the written confession of Issy, vocalized in her several letters, Joyce compresses, first, prominent features of Stead’s “Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon.” Issy’s condition is that of the innocent, trusting female, no doubt seeking a bit of adventure, carrying the weight of the thirteen-years “age of consent” that prevailed legally, and proving that the new law’s proposed age

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of consent at sixteen is an urgent necessity for females. Elsewhere Issy has matured to the overseeing cloud Nuvoletta that is “spunn of sisteen shimmers” (157.8). Stead’s question what the seduced “maiden” would do about a baby is her dominant concern. Issy is a victim of the Power of Wealth that Stead railed against in two forms, that of the native “born gentleman” and its importation as one of “the van Houtens.” An imminent General Election contributed to Stead’s haste to end the MT investigation in six weeks. The “General” in politics was William Ewart Gladstone (1809–1898); hence the precise orthography of “the general’s elections”; Gladstone served as Prime Minister through four elections from 1868 to 1894, serving almost until his death at age eighty-nine. Joyce does not view him favorably; he did nothing to ameliorate the condition of half the population, who were women. Unwillingly, Joyce euphemizes a seduction or “bride right” as a wedding; and Issy, like the outraged “child of four” who was lured to her ruin with a penny cake, was bribed with a gift of a “wedding cake” from a “born gentleman” priest, an ironic comment on Stead’s finding that many procurers promised marriage; Issy finds that Father Michael’s wedding present is a pregnancy. Hence the procurer in Issy’s experience is a priest who becomes the “gay betrayer,” one of Ireland’s own sons, as in the song “Let Erin Remember the Days of Old/ Ere her faithless sons betrayed her.” Part of Joyce’s theme is an angry denunciation of the preponderant, historic Catholic morality. Whereas Stead believed that Catholic mothers bettered the Protestants in informing their daughters of biological facts, Terrot saw no distinction: the “rigid principles of Victorian upbringing tended to put a girl’s mind in splints” (29), and Issy has not been prepared. Christie’s Auction House of King Street, London, founded in 1766, further invites Terrot’s analysis; broadsheets had formerly advertised females for sale; current catalogs advertised sales and auctions of girls conducted in the large brothels (Terrot 48–56). Thus, Issy’s “dear thank you Chriesty” carries the weight of white slave auctions and an ironic Christmas present of a pregnancy. Issy’s uncertainty whether her letter should be addressed to Maggie or Muggy would carry no weight in the MT context; the “ruined” maiden of the Tribute had no knowledge of her assailant’s name, and if Issy’s seducer had not been a priest, she would have no knowledge either. As the culture dictates, she must keep the secret. The second and most significant component is provided by Eliza Armstrong’s letter to Mrs. Combe, the Salvation Army matron who accompanied her to France. Noticeably, she was not communicating with her neglectful mother back home in London but with the matron who befriended her; communication with her mother was established by Stead and associates after, arranging for her to meet her mother at their Cambridge House home in Wimbledon. At the conclusion of “A Child of Thirteen Bought for £5” Stead

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had commented only that Eliza spelled write “right” and that the letter was “plentifully garlanded with kisses.” Some of Eliza’s correspondence, considering that she could consult her guardians for assistance, exhibited improved spelling; the letter that Stead published had already corrected “forths” for “thoughts.” My dear Mrs Combe I right these few lines hoping you are quite well. I am a good girl. does all what Fanny tells me to my coton dress is finished and I keeps it very nice and clean and I saw my butons on my cloak and I have washed the stains out of my dress. the captain is very good to me indeed. all the girls gives their love to you and Captain gives her love to you and the Major as well I hope you are soon coming home again. And the Captain give me the paper to right with. She is very kind to me and I love her very much and I love you to it is raining very much at home two of the girls are going away soon I liked your letter very much well that all I got to say at pleasant good by, and god bless you for my sake and God bless you every night. As I am laying in bed some little thoughts came in my head I thought of one I thought of two first of all I thought of you God bless everyone in the world.

Stead published Eliza’s “Interesting Facsimile” at the conclusion of the Pall Mall Gazette “Extra” Nos. 14 to 22. The three rows of crosskisses followed, in place of her signature, in graduated sizes, the thirteen smallest in the first row; fourteen middle-size in the second row ending with an indistinguishable small one; and ten largest in the last row. Probably Eliza was not counting (Illus.). The stain that Eliza washed out of her dress, by the time of residence in the mudmound and its climactic finding, had already been slanderously misinterpreted as an “affectionate largelooking tache [a clasp or buckle]” of secret sinful “tch.” Joyce conveys doubt of Stead’s integrity by reference: “the overcautelousness of the masterbilker [Ibsen’s Master Builder] here, as usual, signing the page away” (111.20–21). Third, the midden letter belongs in the scope of Irish history and in the context of Finnegans Wake, wherein Joyce squares or foursides as much as possible, and the invitation “the tea is wet” is always suspiciously an invitation to sex. Hence Eliza’s rows of crosskisses become “four crosskisses” representing four designations of “holy paul, holey corner, holipoli (holy city Dublin) whollyisland pee ess” (111.18) representing holy Ireland, the island of saints and sages. Irish peasant pottery diminishes the finding previously compared to that of the Ardagh chalice by sleepy little Kevin searching, like the hen, for scraps of food (110.32). “Hazy” was Irish vernacular for “stupid with drink.” Richard Sheridan and his wife were in debt when he wrote the successful comedy The Rivals whose heroine Lydia

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Languish wrote letters to herself, and “Mrs. Malaprop” became a household word. Writing to clear away debts was an Irish way of life. ANNA LIVIA’S, THE LAST LETTER (615.12–619.19) It remains for Anna Livia to provide the resolution for this plot, and for her final speech to conclude the book and to continue the cycle. After an address and compliments, the most urgent issue at hand is slanderous attacks on her husband. Her speech is distinguished by one-syllable words and slang favored by the late Victorians. Lucia was presented or “presainted maid to majesty” (304.22); Ellmann JJ 556). Dear. And we go on to Dirtdump [slander]. Reverend. May we add majesty? Well, we have frankly enjoyed more than anything these secret workings of natures (thanks ever for it, we humbly pray) and, well, was really so denighted of this lights time. Mucksrats [Magrath/muckrakes] which bring up about uhrweckers they will come to know good. Yon clouds will soon disappear looking forwards at a fine day. (615.12–18)

The Victorian vernacular of the “Sir Reverend” type preceded an apology for anything likely to offend: i.e. “Dirtdump.” As Dirk Van Hulle noted for Crispi and Slote, the interjection ‘well,’ inserted at least five places” is one of her idiosyncracies (C/S 451). Beginning with the second, the quintessential five “well” pauses space out the direction of the content. Following, Joyce’s talent for unique constructions produces “Sarmon” implying Finn’s salmon. McHugh credits Sir Amory Tristan in Howth with a two-handed sword. Among many applications of “swags,” it still refers to stolen goods, and milk was frequently watered. The honourable Master Sarmon [salmon eaten by Finn] they should be first born like he was with a twohangled warpon and it was between Williamstown [Dublin] and the Mairrion and the Ailesbury [Roads] on the top of the longcar, as merrily we rolled along [title of a play, 1934], we think of him looking at us yet as if to pass away in a cloud [Job 30:15]. When he woke up in a sweat besidus it was to pardon him, goldylocks, me having an airth [s. heaven on earth], but he daydreamsed we had a lovelyt face for a pulltomime [Stephen’s mother in U]. Back we were by the jerk of a beamstark [Jack in pantomime], backed in paladays [Paradise Lost] last, on the brinks of the wobblish/Wabash [s.], the man what never put a dram in the swags but milk from a national cowse/cause [defends Stead-HCE’s reforms]. That was the prick of the spindle to me that gave me the keys to dreamland [Sleeping Beauty awakens]. (615.12–28)

Despite the absence of Ophidians, the Irish dreamscape is never free of snakes, of which the storekeeper McGrath has been a snakelike persistent

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pursuer. Anna Livia lists the many commandments he violates. “Huggermugger” applied to Huckleberry Finn represents a “slipshod way of life.” A caricature of Stead made his Review of Reviews a snake with himself its head being speared by “Undaunted” Dilke in armor “In the Forest of Dean” (Illus. R 3: 341). “Thinthin” is a variation of the telephone ringing “zinzin.” Sneakers in the grass [Magrath/McGrath], keep off! If we were to tick off all that cafflers [low fellows] head, whisperers for his accommodation, the me craws [Daniel McGrath grocer], namely, and their bacon [Danish imports] what harmed butter! It’s margarseen oil. Thinthin thinthin. Stringstly is it forbidden by the honorary tenth commendmant [not covet neighbor’s goods] to shall not bare full sweetness [8th commandment] against a nighboor’s wiles [“wife” in 9th commandment]. What those slimes up the cavern door around you, keenin, (the lies is coming out on them frecklefully) had the shames to suggest can we ever? Never! So may the low forget [Lord forgive] him their trespasses against Molloyd [Milord Persse] O’Reilly, that hugglebeddy fann [Huckleberry Finn], now about to get up, the hartiest that Coolock [Dublin] ever! A nought in nought [zeroed couplet] Eirinishmhan, called Ervigsen [Earwicker] by his first [ship] mate. (615.28–616.03)

Anna Livia has consistently battled slander of her husband. Brewer relates that “Nine tailors make a man” was “an old expression signifying that a tailor is so much more feeble than anyone else; the occupation and cramped position are not conducive to good physique.” That a tailor was also slandered as only part of a man has been linked to sewing’s traditional association with women, plus an old expression suggests a transformation of teller, being a stroke on the bell at a funeral, three being given for a child, six for a woman, and nine for a man. May all similar douters of our oldhame [Oldham, Lancashire, home of Harriet Shaw Weaver] story have that fancied widming [dedication]! For a pipe of twist or a slug of Hibernia metal we could let out and, by jings, someone would make a carpus/corpse of somebody with the greatest of pleasure by private shootings. And in contravention to the constancy of chemical combinations not enough of all the slatters [spillings] of him left for Peter the Picker [Painter: anarchist] to make their threi sevelty-filfths of a man out of [tailor: ninth part of man]. Good wheat! (616.03–616.10)

Anna Livia intends “good ‘clean wheat,’” a phrase for the best of its kind, and transitions from complaint against the enemies to praise of her spouse. He possessed from childhood a “highest valency [intelligence] for our privileged beholdings” but was also completely manly, “hairy of chest, hamps and eyebags/eyebrows [HCE] in pursuance to salesladies’ affectionate company.” Such pleasures of voyeurism made those females mounting a

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stairs “His real devotes” (616.13–15). “Snigs” in Farmer and Henley is short for “Sniggers or Snickers” for suppressed laughter. Wriggling reptiles [Magraths], take notice! Whereas we exgust all such sprinkling [christening] snigs. They are pestituting the whole time never with standing [notwithstanding] we simply agree upon the committee of amusance [Nuisance Committee a public office]! Or could above bring under same notice for it to be able to be seen. (616.17–19)

Most of her references are clear or briefly explained by reference to slang. If you are “balladproof” anyone can sing anything about you without disturbing you. About that coerogenal/erogenous hun/hen and his knowing the size of an eggcup [HCE; Stead’s newsworthy acumen]. First he was a skulksman [hiding himself to avoid labor or duty] at one time and then Cloon’s [Wicklow townland] fired him through guff [humbug; Joe Cuffe fired Bloom]. Be sage about sausages [phallus]! Stuttutistics shows with he’s heacups [his hiccups] of teatables the old firm’s fatspitters [gossipers] are most eatenly appreciated by metropolonians [polony: Polish sausage]. While we should like to drag attentions to our Wolkmans Cumsensation Act [1897]. The magnets [female pudendum] of our midst being foisted upon by a plethorace of parachutes/parasites. Did speece permit the bad example of setting before the military to the best of our belief in the earliest wish of the one in mind was the mitigation of the king’s evils [originally scrofula/at present, British laws]. And how he staired/ stared up the step after [Pappie watching female] it’s the power of the gait. His giantstand [erection] of manunknown [Mananaan MacLir]. No brad [small pence] wishy washy wathy [erection] wanted neither! Once you are balladproof [Ballad of Persse O’Reilly] you are unperceable [Thomas Percy; ballad collector] to haily, icy and missilethroes. Order now before we reach Ruggers’ Rush [Beggar’s Bush rugby stadium, Dublin]! (616.20–33)

Thus far, the only sexual indiscretions attributed to Pappie-Earwicker are extremely mild: the “affectionate company” of salesladies, who are his “real devotes” (616.15) and the mild voyeurism of watching the flanks of a female ascending the stairs ahead of him; it’s the “power of the gait” (616.29–30). The “domestic service” crisis occasioned numerous essays and crossed the ocean to gain the attention of Finley Peter Dunne. May Joyce dismissed a servant for flirtation with son James. Unable to pay their salaries, she employed no servants after that. Anna Livia has passed to her daughter the trait of continuing a letter after the closing. The midden letter’s “must now close” (111.16) was followed by important information of the “teastain . . . signing the page away” (111.21), referring to Eliza Armstrong’s letter, while the message slips from her grasp.

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“Well” (617.05) marks another beginning. The snake McGrath reappears. Joyce pairs the two heroes Vercingetorix (82 BC – 46 BC) and Caractacus of the first century who fought against Caesar. The first was chieftain of the Averni tribe and united the Gauls in revolt against Roman forces but was too late; the Romans defeated him and held him prisoner for five years. In 46 BC he was strangled on Caesar’s orders. Caractacus, “a king of the Britons,” fought the Romans for almost a decade, was captured and sentenced to death. His speech “before the Emperor Claudius at Rome” persuaded the Emperor to spare him. McHugh marks for “Danis” Dennis Finn at Fintona in Thom’s Directory. We are all at home in old Fintona [Co Tyrone], thank Danis, for ourselfsake, that direst of housebonds/husbands, whool wheel be true unto lovesend [dearest of husbands, who will be true to life’s end] so long as we has a pocket full of brass [impudence; effrontery]. Impossible to remember persons in improbable to forget position places. Who would peillow his head off to conjure up a, well, particularly mean stinker like funn make called Foon MacCrawl brothers, mystery man of the pork martyrs [Phoenix Park murders]? Force in gidderish [Vercingetorix]! Tomothy and Lorcan [St. Thomas a becket/ St. Laurence O’Toole], the bucket Toolers, both are Timsons [Irish] now they’ve changed their characticuls/Caractacus during their blackout [death, sleep between lives]. Conan Boyles will pudge the daylives out through him, if they are correctly informed. Music, me ouldstrow/maestro [s.], please! We’ll have a brand rehearsal. Fing! One must simply laugh. Fing him aging [Finnegan]! (617.06–17)

Farmer and Henley’s Slang defines in Colloq. Irish “I have to finish finging these” in the sense of manipulate. Among many uses of “licks,” the first is a threshing; and among entries for “pudding” the first is “Drugged liver, used by burglars to silence dogs.” Phrases reviving the midden letter are italicized in this next quotation. Father Michael, who impregnated Issy, is not a creature of Issy’s imagination; his funeral is scheduled. In the following excerpt, passages from former text related to the midden letter are italicized.

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Good licks! Well, this ought to weke him to make up. He’ll want all his fury [Irish slang “furry”] gutmurdherers [godmothers] to redress him. Gilly in the gap [sturdy defender; Gaping Ghyl [(36.35) a vertical shaft in Yorkshire]. The big bad old sprowly [N. Irish surname] all uttering foon! Has now stuffed last podding. His fooneral will sneak pleace by creeps o’clock toosday. Kingen will commen [willkommen]. Allso brewbeer/Allsop’s Ale-Bluebeard]. Pens [sketches] picture at Manchem House [Dublin, London] Horsegardens shown in Morning Post [London] as from Boston transcripped [(11.22; 111.9) Stead, Letters from Julia]. Femelles will be preadaminant as from twentyeight to twelve [11.32]. To hear that lovlade parson, of case [parcel of cakes (11.23; 111.14)], of a bawl gentlemale (111.13), pour forther moracles [poor Father Michael (11.23; 111.15)]. Don’t forget (111.15)! The grand fooneral [111.14] will now shortly occur. Remember. The remains must be removed [Irish funeral custom] before eaght hours shorp. With earnestly conceived hopes [ECH; HCE]. So help us to witness to this day to hand in sleep. From of Mayasdaysed [Maya/May Day] most duteoused [Bridges hymn “the duteous day now closeth”]. (617.17–29)

“Well” signals an expansion of topics. Joyce repeats the adaptation of Goldsmith’s “Sweet Auburn” to Chapelizod, uniting the two pleasant villages in one. Well, here’s lettering you erronymously anent [concerning] other clerical fands [devils] allieged herewith. I wisht I wast be that dumb tyke [dog; s. “I wish I was by that dim lake”] and he’d wish it was me yonther heel. How about it? The sweetest song in the world [s.; submission to an admired person]! Our shape as a juvenile being much admired from the first with native [unrefined] copper locks. Referring to the Married Woman’s Improperty Act [1883] a [newspaper] correspondent points out that the Swees Aubumn [Auburn, Goldsmith: Chapelizod] vogue is [hair] hanging down strait fitting to her innocenth eyes. O, felicious coolpose! If all the MacCrawls would only handle virgils like Armsworks, Limited [Harmsworth newspapers]! That’s handsel for gertles [Hansel and Gretel]! Never mind Micklemans! Chat us [Nick] instead! The cad with the pope’s wife [cad with the pipe], Lily/Lilith Kinsella [see 205.11], who became the wife of Mr Sneakers for her good name in the hands of the kissing solicitor, will now engage in attentions. Just a prinche for tonight [pantomime motif]! Pale bellies [bacon] our mild cure, back and streaky ninepace [Irish Times ad; also 206.36]. The thicks/thugs off Bully’s Acre [Dublin cemetery] was got up by Sully. The Boot lane [old Dublin] brigade. And she had a certain medicine brought her in a licenced victualler’s bottle [suggests abortion]. Shame! Thrice shame! We are advised the waxy [cobbler] is at the present in the Sweeps [St Patrick’s] hospital and that he may never come out! (617.30–618.12)

“Lily [Kinsella] “pulling a low” implies a combination of terms from Farmer and Henley. “Lowlands” and “Low countries” designated the female pudendum, and “pulling” to “pull about.”

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The First Draft reads “Ask him what about his wife and Mr John Brophy & Son, the kissing solicitor which is enjoying the attention of private detectives . . . He wd be surprised to see her and Mr Brophy quite affectionate together kissing & looking into a mirror” (82). Further, Stead tried to unite the British and the Americans by promotion of a British celebration of the Americans’ Independence Day. Many British, one suspects, would appreciate Joyce’s “Yankskilling.” Only look through your leatherbox one day with P.C.Q. [P.D.Q. is “pretty damn quick”] about 4.32 or at 8 and 22.5 [4.32; St. Patrick’s arrival] with the quart/court of scissions masters and clerk and the bevyhum [BVM] of Marie Reparatrices [Mary the Restoress] for a good allround sympowdhericks purge [St. Patrick’s Purgatory, entrance Lough Derg], full view, to be surprised to see under the grand piano Lily on the sofa (and a lady! [s. “Lily is a Lady”]) pulling a low [masturbation; s. “Lilliburlero, bullen a law”] and then he’d begin to jump [slang: to copulate] a little bit [s. “What Ho! She Bumps”] to find out what goes on when love walks in [s.] besides the solicitious bussness [solicitor’s business] by kissing and looking into a mirror. (618.12–19)

Anna Livia’s “when we go out in all directions” reverts to her overflowing water-self. Independence Day, 4 July 1885, carried Stead’s warning to his readers concerning Monday’s issue of the forthcoming MT. That we were treated not very grand when the police and everybody is all bowing to us when we go out in all directions on Wonterlond [Waterloo] Road with my cubarola glide [s.]? And, personably speaking, they can make their beaux [bows] to my alce [arse/Alice], as Hillary Allen [Hill of Allen; Finn’s headquarters] sang to the opening knighters/ [first nighters]. Item, we never were chained to a chair, and, bitem, no widower whother soever followed us about with a fork [crotch symbol] on Yankskilling Day. (618.20–26)

Anna Livia returns to the topic of praising and defending her spouse. Farmer and Henley describe the elaborate profession of bookmaking that requires two parties, the “layers” and the “backers,” the backer taking odds which the bookmaker lays against the horse, one betting success and the other defeat. Meet a great civilian (proud lives to him!) who is gentle as a mushroom and a very affectable when he always sits forenenst [opposite] us for his wet [tea poured] while to all whom it may concern Sully is a thug from all he drunk though he is a rattling fine bootmaker [bookmaker] in his profession. Would we were herearther to lodge our complaint on sergeant Laraseny [U 586] in consequence of which in such steps taken his health would be constably [constantly] broken into potter’s pance [pots and pans/Peter’s pence] which would be the change of his life by a Nollwelshian/Norwegian which has been ox-

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beled/expelled out of crispianity [saints Crispin and Crispinian, protect shoemakers]. (618.26–34)

“Well” (618.35), as she says, resumes the narrative. Details from the midden letter are italicized in this section. Issy’s great betrayal by Father Michael has been absorbed in the flow of time, and all concerned are remembered to have enjoyed the parcel of cates, sparingly spaced out “one apiece.” Anna Livia commends the source: the grocer. Let bygones be bygones. Well, our talks are coming to be resumed by more polite conversation [Swift] with a huntered persent human over the natural bestness of pleasure [business and pleasure] after his good few mugs of humbedumb [ale boiled with brandy] and shag [tobacco]. While for whoever likes that urogynal [original sin] pan of cakes [present of wedding cakes in midden letter] one apiece it is thanks, beloved, to Adam, our former first Finnlatter and our grocerest churcher, as per Grippiths/Griffiths’ varuations/Valuations [fixed rent 1868], for his beautiful crossmess/Christmas parzel [wedding cakes; muddy kissmans (11.14)/ crossword puzzle]. (618.35–619.05)

“Well” (619.6) signals her last topic. A meaning for getting or having the hump is to be despondent, to be down and out. Aside from Samuel Roth, Two Worlds was a small, spiritualistic monthly publication that once featured a sketch of the Titanic on the front cover bearing the name W. T. Stead. A ‘wee one” who woos means a baby brings changes; for which refer to the Norwegian Captain “stork dyrby” (325.06). Anna Livia’s last sentence presents a double view: She has been speaking an interior monologue; at the close she is a different Anna Livia looking on her own self as river and commenting on the color of her hair. Well, we simply like their demb [damn] cheeks [insolence], the Rathgarries [Rathgar Dublinites] wagging here about around the rhythms in me amphybed [amphibious] and he being as bothered [deaf] that he pausably could by the fallth of hampty damp. Certified [insane] reformed peoples, we may add to this stage, are proptably saying to quite agreeable deef [others of their kind; or HCE’s deafness]. Here gives your answer, pigs and scuts [Picts and Scots]! Hence we’ve lived in two worlds. He is another he what stays under the himp of holth. The herewaker of our hamefame is his real namesame who will get himself up and erect, confident and heroic when but, young as of old, for my daily comfreshenall, a wee one woos. (619.06–15) Alma Luvia, Pollabella. P.S. Soldier Rollo’s sweetheart [social progress; marriage commitment of one of three prowling soldiers]. And she’s about fetted up now with nonsery reams [nursery rhymes]. And rigs out in regal rooms with the ritzies [Cinderella; Ireland]. Rags! Worns out. But she’s still her deckhuman [Document No. 2; large wave] amber [river color of “hair”] too. (619.16–19)

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The letter is followed by Anna Livia’s closing monologue, and the end of the book

Chapter Seven

Light and Science in the “Dark Night of the Soul”

That the “dark night of the soul” is not dark was well comprehended by the child Stephen at Clongowes Wood College. In W. T. Stead’s maturity, most of the spiritualists acceded to the script that spirits were bathed in light, although some spiritualists could not divorce themselves from the habit of conducting séances in the dark. At Stead’s “Julia’s Bureau,” séances always proceeded in the fully-lighted room. From Grimaldi’s discovery of light split into colors in 1665 to Sir Isaac Newton’s “spectrum” in 1666, Joyce could build up a scientific text by following “grimaldism” (55.35) with which “the ghost of resignation diffused a spectral appealingness . . . a beam of sunshine” (56.16–19). Deep in scientific studies, Joyce progressed to Einstein’s fourth dimensional timespace from 1905 onward and proceeded with writing his discursive novel in the 1920s and adapted his text in surprising manners accordingly. All of his work prior to 1905 could not be discarded or discredited; there must be types of unity perceivable between the old and the new. At the same explosive time of the 1920s, Amy Dawson Scott, founder of the P.E.N. club, invited Joyce to speak to the group in London. Her book From Four Who Are Dead in its “Stead Script” chapter provides Stead’s Afterlife reflections on additional planets that are addressed herein in Section (a), marked Four. In Section (b) the significance of the geographic genderdistinguished stage set in the Wake’s chapters 1 and 3 foreshadows the central diagram of the Wake’s 293; Section (c) examines Joyce’s scheme to employ James Stephens to finish his work, utilizing the “other world” tales of The Crock of Gold (1912) by Stephens and W. E. Evans-Wentz’s book Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries (1911). Section (d) examines further Einstein’s theories of relativity and quantum physics with supporting analyses of the 293 diagram, concluded with George Berkeley’s theories of color for the 209

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“Archdruid” and St. Patrick debate. By this circumnavigation, the text in Section (e) seeks validation of the surviving “electromagnetic” energy of ghosts at Clongowes. AFTERLIFE-PERCEIVED UNIVERSES IN FROM FOUR WHO ARE DEAD Stead’s “faithfully departed” journalistic American confrere Julia Ames of Letters from Julia “transhipt from Boston (Mass.)” —which was, through automatic writing, also trance-shipped (111.9), and, in endview “traumscrapt” (623.36) ‒‒ explained similarities of identities in separate places as “personality spokes” of the hub Ego (soul) “always with its vital principle” on “this side” in the afterlife, of which “A spoke may be reincarnated again and again” (Stead After Death 149). But Julia does not specify the exact location of “this side,” and the text From Four Who Are Dead alters the location significantly. Julia rather naively ceased the discussion with the general impression that her position in “heaven” was all that was necessary; but Stead, after his “passing” exceeded her speculations by communicating “The Stead Script” from the potent and expandable “universe.” Much that is applicable to the process of inspiration and exegesis concerning Finnegans Wake is specified in her document of the year 1926, which converged in the same decade with much discussion of Einstein’s ideas of light as “quanta” or packets of energy. What Joyce elected for his own “moodmoulded cyclewheeling history” is curiously similar to Stead’s in that both prevail in the present tense. Joyce’s is “transaccidentated through the slow fires” of his own consciousness, although “common to allflesh, human only, mortal” but “with each word that would not pass away” and will continue through alterations waxing “doriangrayer [more distant] in its dudhud” (186.02–08). Had Joyce not specified a caution in the changing perspectives, the persistent present tense may have escaped observation in spite of its clarity on the first and last pages. Although weary of the looming seventeen years of composition, he expects his book to last through the ages, like the cosmic processes that Stead and Einstein explained on separate bases. While Stead conveyed his advanced perceptive powers in the “dark night,” he contributed several observations recognized as established content in Finnegans Wake, and two Joyce critics, Andrzej Duszenko and Alexis Sypek, have addressed Joyce’s advances in science. The Wake promotes a lineal forward direction simultaneously with a cycle of recurrence. Stead understood both: “The mind of mankind is ground ploughed for sowing. It is ready for the knowledge that life is not a single span of years spent on earth and then judged, but a slow evolution from that tiny span through long periods of development‒‒and they end, I believe, in

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One-ness with God” (Four 149–50). As if anticipating progress toward a new universe, he added that “Slavish thought, slavish beliefs, are giving place to scientific knowledge” (Four 150). As Stephen of the Portrait spoke of beauty “being a light from some other world” (AP 213), Afterlife-Stead maintained “Mankind . . . eternally disappointed because it aims at a star . . . knows that this is not all” (Four 151). Enumerating the differences from earth life, he said “We [spirits] think of a place and we are there. Intervening space does not exist. We may be roving the universe, as far from you as the farthest star, and your thought comes, and however far from you we may be we are also just outside the door. We push it open in answer . . . there is no doubt as to your thoughts reaching us. Thoughts are more real than tables and chairs, they are, in fact, the chief realities of this world” (Four 152–53). “Where did thots come from?” asks James Joyce (597.25) and answers adjoining the universe participating, awakening the sleeper, “in the smalls of one’s back presentiment,” coming from the future of “mayhamayability” (597.25–28). With much distinction of Stead’s “here,” a book known on earth as a “heavy form” in Stead’s distant universe “is here a brilliancy that we here perceive . . . the creative type of mind finds here a possibility of development withheld hitherto by cramping conditions. You can imagine . . . a literature without books or even words‒‒purely thought, emotion and experience; . . . Man invented colour because the colour was already in his mind, and that mental colour is what we use here for art” (Four 156–57). George Berkeley and Einstein would accede. Science does not persuade either Stead or Joyce to abandon the deity; for the “habitation” of the children Joyce contrives new names for the protecting deity. People may call to the deity “Allprohome” and Allprohome “make answer” (74.07). The deity “Clearer of the Air from on high has spoken” to the children who are the “unhappitents of the earth” (258.22). Stead spoke of the “various inhabited planets” and Life “passing through its first stage on the planets of innumerable solar systems and then being poured into this non-physical world in incalculable numbers . . . This is the world of thought, and I see reason to believe in . . . a life in which thought is less important than it is here. I see no evidence that we pass through death to reach it” (Four 159–160). Yet man has psychic claims upon him as well as physical claims; the washerwoman who urges “Die eve, little eve, die!” (215.04) is yearning for “escape from harassing cares” to be “borne on the wings of thought in a youth that is renewed, a vigour and freshness that cannot be tarnished or impaired.” Agreeing with the thought-laden language of Finnegans Wake, Stead conveyed “Thought is beyond language, and therefore all beings here can understand each other” (Four 161–62). Mankind is aware of his possibilities, but they are “asleep, and it is for him [man] to arouse them,” of which the Wake’s last day dawns with “sleeper awakening” (597.26). Some urge is implanted in mankind “to work joyously and

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continuously at self-development” (Four 163). Joyce grants residence to this Priapean urge, “a tree story. How olave, that firile, was aplantad in her liveside” (564.21–22). “It is faith‒‒a law of light‒‒[which] has been at work since the beginning, at work in the dark of the unconscious, at work everywhere and in all things” (Four 166). In this atmosphere, “Jealousy and the desire of possession have disappeared, disappeared with the physical aspect of life, and it is no longer the woman who attracts us, but the individual” (Four 167). However, “opposites still possess an attraction for each other,” and are thoroughly embedded in Finnegans Wake, in which Shaun eventually loses some of his rival contest with Shem and resembles at the close an idealized “Other.” Stead speculated, “It may be that the mind by meeting an opposite gets a finer reaction, or that each can supply what is lacking in the other.” An earthly goal to unite opposites may be futile: “the affection of opposites, which on earth was supposed to be due to people being male and female, is also to be seen here” (Four 168). Do Swedenborg’s angels exist? Stead perceived that “The earth laughs at the old ideas of heaven, the crudities of white robes and wings and harps, but these crudities were the rough material of reality‒‒the white mists that hang between their life and this, the movement, swifter than that wings could have given, the harmony greater than musical sound,” but man still looked forward to betterment of his condition, and questioned who implanted it, “a comfort in dire sorrow, in loss, in failure, in disappointment? Before him lay the fulfillment of his secret dream. We might imagine he doubted it, but the doubts were evanescent, the dream remained” (Four 169). While the hypothetical “dreamer” of critical lore does not satisfactorily control the narrative‒‒if Joyce wanted this dreamer, he would make it clear‒‒in the later stages, both Joyce and Lucia approaching 1939 referred to “the draym” of the successful, possibly acclaimed novel. John O’Hanlon has replied to my query: “There is a chapter in Danis Rose’s 1995 book, The Textual Diaries of James Joyce (Dublin: Lilliput Press, 1995), called “Lights Out in the Village” (pp. 125-131) describing how Joyce added a new chapter to Book II, by (a) pushing the original intended II.4 back onto the end of II.3, and (b) rewriting MaMaLuJo (that had been considered a “side-piece” and left untouched since its publication in the Transatlantic Review in 1924) by mixing it with pieces from the entirely separate “Tristan and Isolde” and calling that II.4. It’s why II.3 is so long and unwieldy!” Further, David Hayman discusses this matter, and offers three selections of sample text, under heading “The Mastery of Language and the Perfection of Form” in the Introduction to his First Draft Version of “Finnegans Wake,” pp. 8-12. To resume, communicants Stead and Dawson Scott in the mental collaboration of “The Stead Script” needed to assist each other. Discarnate Stead

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commented “Sound waves do not affect our vibrations, nor do they affect your emanations, therefore music is of no particular use when making psychic experiments,” though music succeeded in keeping people “placid and in a state suitable for us to use them” (Four 170). Music, the sounds of nature, penetrate the masculine sleeping whale in the harbor: “Suffering trumpet! He thought he want. Whath? Hear, O hear, living of the land! Hungreb, dead era, hark! He hea, eyes ravenous on her lippling lills. He hear her voi of day gon by. He hears! Zay, zay, zay! But, by the beer/beard of his profit/prophet, he cannot answer” (68.24–28). Afterlife-Stead continued: communication that could “diminish by one iota the sum of human suffering” was worth the effort, but the effort “should be investigated by scientific minds . . . We are willing to meet investigators halfway. It is a case of tunneling through darkness from opposite sides” (Four 171–73), employing the metaphor that several persons favored and that Joyce also adapted (Letters I: 222). Earthlife man could not “guess at the powers we possess,” and here occurs possibly their most singular communication concerning the mental activities of Finnegans Wake. Stead could see through his earth-scribe Mrs. Scott “and into the substance of the earth. If I knew the names of the different strata” ‒‒and did not Joyce make certain that the washerwomen could name the rocks near Dublin set in Vico’s order? “Ordovico and viricordo” (215.23) ‒‒ “I could tell you them. Also I can see through the globe. It is no thicker to me than falling rain.” Then he transmitted a fundamental statement of Wakean construction, that he could “perceive a thought”: I see through [a thought] to the elements from which it sprang. I see not only where it began in the mind which formulated it, but I can see back along the chain of minds to the ultimate germ. I can then turn and observe its influence, its development, mark its growth in different minds. My perception pierces to what has been, has a full understanding of what is and can launch out into the future. A thousand years are truly as one day when you can look back and can look forward. Each of our trains of thought is enough to occupy a whole earthlife—and we have many trains of thought (Four 176).

The future, not yet having been evolved, was difficult to predict at the present stage of Afterlife-Stead’s development. His opinion was “that we‒‒the sparks of life‒‒will eventually be absorbed into God, that we are particles transfused with life that has emanated from Him. [Anticipating Einstein] It is possible He is also evolving, that the universe is evolving.” And what is God? “Our earthly body was composed of tiny cells, each with a life of its own. The millions of evolving spirits, each with his personal life, may be equivalent to those cells, may be built up together to contain the Spirit of God” and “This life . . . appears to me capable of further expansion, of spiritual growth and change” (Four 179–80).

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Stead’s communication prescribed the sweeping scope of Finnegans Wake through all changes and times: A little before I [Stead in afterlife] spoke to you [Mrs. Dawson Scott] I was at a ruined town in North Africa. I looked backward from the ruin through the phases of its existence, a decaying town, a populous town, a village, big wells and trees, a resting-place for the nomad. One or two settled families. The first who brought there his wife and children. I saw back to the far-off day before man came, then before the great beasts came, when crawling water covered the soft ground and the air was a thick mist, and farther still into the dimness of cooling fires wherein was no life. (Four 182)

“Preserved in time” did not mean fossilized but happening as he saw it or appraised it as one would a reading: “The page is opened and the events are actual.” All beings in his location functioned in light: “We bathe in light. Though not material ourselves, we are, in a sense, light, a form of light . . . visible whitely in the day and more brightly when the earth is turned from the sun.” Joyce’s Muta speaks of ages passing from combat back to appeasement, and Juva agrees: “By the light of the bright reason which daysends [Day sends] to us from the high (610.26–29). Afterlife-Stead continued, “We are among you and we perceive you as shadows, but of us you have no knowledge. We are invisible . . . as far as you are concerned, the place where we are is void.” Earth was the place of “copy-book morality” and the “nonsery reams” (619.18) of Anna Livia. On the “other side,” Stead took no food but required “mental food” to act on instinct tracking a mystery, and “when I have cracked that particular nut the kernel will become part of me and my mental appetite will be satisfied” (Four 188). Anna Livia scolds the author of the anticipated letter (the book Finnegans Wake) to watch for it to be cast ashore, for Joyce was in Switzerland when it was printed in 1939, the book packed with “what scrips of nutsnolleges I pecked up me meself . . . But once done,” Anna Livia injects, “dealt and delivered, tattat, you’re on the map” (623.29–35), the dream of an accomplished Finnegans Wake is transferred to a book, a physical reality. Art, Stead said, is “not only loveliness, it is an expression of the whole of life.” The “immense advance of thought and power here is beyond your conception.” Reaffirming the Evans-Wentz concept that “Nature has a memory,” Afterlifie-Stead convyed that “Knowledge does not disappear and die; it is ‘preserved in time,’ and we have only to turn back the leaves of that tremendous book” (Four 191). Here is justification of Joyce’s faith that his “moodmoulded cyclewheeling history” (186.02) would be preserved. For the energy to do this work, Afterlife-Stead credited the “life-force,” admittedly without knowing what name science would give it. It resulted in sex, but “Life existed before sex,” and different from the qualities of men and women may be “the beings who inhabit the many planets of the

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many solar systems,” still leaving male and female for the dual principles of material life, but “In another universe these principles may be unified” (Four 190–91). As carefully explicated by the departed witness W. T. Stead, Mrs. Dawson Scott would naturally share with Joyce this unusual communication, part of her skepticism-tinged researches in psychic phenomena, a study that challenges and expands upon traditional concepts of the deity and the soul. The totality affirms the survival of the soul after death, earthly communication with departed souls, and the ongoing growth of the soul after death, a topic of the Wake’s Book III. For Finnegans Wake in its entirety, Joyce commandeered the departed Stead’s position of visiting observer in outer space watching the phases of the earth and, without violating artistic conventions of point of view, he originated the method of dual narrators after borrowing the second, listening, narrator from Dawson Scott’s spiritualistic practices. THE MERGENCE OF AFTERLIFE-STEAD AND JOYCE’S OVERVIEW Customarily, as psychic investigations proceeded, the receiving “sensitive” questioned and quarreled with the messenger, who was the spirit in outer space or “the universe next door.” Similar to Dawson Scott’s questions for Afterlife-Stead, Joyce placed his second narrator in the position of “Listener,” resembling a receiving sensitive, while establishing for this person a position as departed companion of the departed “Teller.” These two beings explain the “us” in the first sentence of Finnegans Wake, which presents the skyview position looking down upon the “riverrun” scene of Dublin typography bringing “us . . . back to Howth Castle and Environs” (3.01–03). Joyce maintains two narrators throughout Finnegans Wake, the Questioning or Listening and the Telling, and creates a dramatic narrative of their comprehension parallel to the events they view. A magnificent colloquy in the heavens between Telling and Asking narrators, who focus on the earth scenes they select and who visit earth in any period of time and space they choose while they continue their narration, infuses the entirety of secretive Finnegans Wake. A clear enactment of the two personalities in Chapter 1, preceding the Mutt and Jute dialogue, is the paragraph (15.12–27) featuring Mutt who should be Asker acting as Teller in description that morphs into the dialogue itself, in which (having swopped hats) the Questioner/Exclaimer Jute and Teller Mutt alight in primitive time and review their new acquaintance, ranging across several periods of human history. Each of the Wake’s seventeen chapters features a distinctly different application of the Overlook system. In Joyce’s chapter 12, the Four Old Men share the skylight advantage with the Overlook narrators. Chapter 17 in one

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scene poses two levels, in reversed consciousness from those paired in chapter 1. Asking Muta and Telling Juva (609.24–610.33) observe and listen in on the conversation of St. Patrick and the Berkeley-Archdruid. Most important for ordinary navigation of the difficult text, the Overlook narrator is present in third person in a description of speakers, who naturally speak in first person. This distinction is necessary for untangling the “baffling yarn” of the pub scene in Chapter 11. A union of opposites promotes a view of a gendered universe. Irish bonding to land and water is essential, and free movement in time and space, legitimized by the Overlook point of view, provides fancifully for the Wellington monument to serve as a symbolic and phallic measure of Ireland’s aspirations and its defeats, for the totality of Irish culture. Wellington himself is somewhat a negative factor, preserving the fighting instincts of the Irish in the slogan, true or false, “Up boys and at them,” while those soldiers sacrifice themselves for the enemy Britain, under the psychic presence of the Wellington monument. Symbolically it becomes an “eye in the sky” seeing into the tiny nation’s sacred attachment to its land and functioning as an idealistic extension of height; its height enables an enjoyable “proudseye view” of “our mounding’s mass, now Wallinstone national museum, with, in some greenish distance, the charmful waterloose country and the two quitewhite villagettes” (7.36–8.03) of Lucan and Chapelizod. Simultaneously the country’s loss of its land to British domination makes the monument a symbol of defeat and Britain, not Ireland, gets credit for the famous native son. Naturally, the modest measured height of the Wellington monument is insufficient for the geographic range that Joyce attributes to it; as a codicil in Ireland’s tortuous history, Joyce renders it taller than it is and also thereby establishes a male principal, a Pi factor of vertical dimension in the circle of the universe in which the river goddess Anna Livia Plurabelle expresses the female creative drama, given her own space and her own voice in the entirety of the Wake’s chapter 8. W. T. Stead’s idea throughout his life was that mankind is striving upward for closer unity with God, and Joyce expresses this striving in the skyward height of the Wellington monument and the fertility that Anna Livia bestows on the land. Its applications are numerous. Similarly, utilizing their “above earth” perspective, Mutt and Jute voice their sorrow over Earwicker’s “innkempt house” in Ireland and view the “viceking’s graab” (18.13), which is the Viking’s grave at Penrith in England. The park’s Magazine Fort, a ruin presently commanding a geographic prospect that afforded nineteenth-century military advantage, is measurably an inconvenient distance from the romantic “rushy hollow” (34.20) of the Furry Glen, where the “sin” is said to have occurred and where “Eve takes fall,” but all can be comprehended in the overreaching extent of the idealized Monument. Without the Overlook advantage, “by the Magazine wall,” where

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“our maggy seen all, with her sisterin shawl” (7.32) is a geographic implausibility. The detriment of phallism was on parade in the Joyce household, numbering “seventeen in family,” of which “Pappie’s” sexual prowess is also represented on the landscape: “The family umbroglia. A Tullagrove pole to the Height of County Fermanagh” (284.05), a confusion of Catholic blessing of numerous children and the destitution of those children. By the time a pregnancy every year for Joyce’s mother produced “Irish twins,” which Joyce encoded in “Twwinns” (330.30) for his two sisters born in the same year in January and December, the phrase had become derogatory. After the introductions, first in sequence as Finnegans Wake begins is the landscape, which the folklorist David Nutt in Joyce’s time spoke of as “topographical enumeration,” an Irish method of marking location by linking settings of the present back to the past. The Ulster or Northern cycle of tales, glorifying Cuchulain and the Red Branch knights, was popular from the fourth to tenth centuries; this prevalence was altered in the twelfth century, Nutt theorized, when Brian Boru, as Joyce repeats, defeated the Danes at Clontarf, “a champion of Gael against the Gall or foreigner.” Brian’s success then gave to the Ossianic saga of Southern Ireland a share of pre-eminence and made the Fenian tales fashionable. This, Nutt theorized, explains the “vision” tales when the Fenians appeared out of the Afterlife with Ossian, Cailte, and Fergus recalling their past of the third century and persuading St. Patrick that the Fenians’ morality was superior to his own. Any “mention of hills, streams, or burial mounds, calls forth the appropriate legend for each.” After MacPherson’s Ossian tales were published complete in 1765, the “English Ossian” version was the one most people knew; although the tales of, and the sightings of the sidhe, who survived as “little people” underground or across the sea, continued as well. Joyce personalizes the landscape, where the hero “calmly extensolies” (6.35) as part of a living landscape bathing in “Makefearsome’s Ocean” (294.13) of misinformation. Joyce’s thriving waterface of Anna Livia would be quite different, an unconquerable land mass and skysigns. The Lord of the Land violated Irish hospitality consisting of a sacred promise to keep his table set for a visit of the legendary sea queen the Prankquean; and the danger of loss of land was dramatized in her visit. She entered the premises and stole an heir. For what purpose? To convert him to the all certain onegood, which would be British: “she provorted him to the onecertain allsecure and he became a [Cromwellian] tristian” (22.16–17). When the Jarl hears of this, he orders the Prankquean “to shut up shop, dappy”; her doing so closes the door to future invasions and causes the thunder to sound (23.05–07). The spirit of land and water is one of the first principles in the Wake’s progress, unified in the “brontoichthyan form” (7.20) of the thunderfish. Land and water are conscious elements abiding throughout in semi-deific

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forms capable of exacting human appreciation. The landmass of Ireland is presented as a giant form lying “platterplate,” like a giant E on its back), stretching “From Shopalist/Chapelizod to Bailywick [Dublin] or from ashtun [Ashtown] to baronoath [top of Howth] or from Buythebanks [Dublin] to Roundthehead [Wicklow] or from the foot of the bill/promontory to ireglint’s eye [island by Howth].” There he, the land inviolate, “calmly extensolies” (6.33–35). At the same time there is another more simplified map: “the humptyhillhead of humself prumptly sends an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumptytumtoes: and their upturnpikepointandplace is at the knock out in the park” (3.20–22), and in this figure is centered the Celtic doctrine of rebirth that Joyce proposes for residence in a sleeping whale, as if, as told in the Prankquean tale, the spirit of the land has been pressed out by British exploitation to abide at the edge of the nation, awaiting an awakening of national rebirth. The two legends are condensed in HCE on the flounder of his bulk [flat on his back] like an overgrown babeling [whale] waiting for a call. Combination of forms requires two maps. John Bishop’s Map A in his Book of the Dark sketches a circular “Head of Howth” on the east side and Knockmaroon (15.04) left of center for “a knockout in the park” just south of the Strawberry Beds. For the first, the giant “headth of hosth” (317.32) and “Head-in-Clouds” (18.23) of Bishop’s Map B is shifted slightly west to accommodate “the irised sea in plight” (318.34) to the north and extreme east. The entirety is skillfully filled in with a multitude of place names to show their locations on the body of the giant. An ever-present eye surveying the giant’s landlocked form provides a context for the emergence of Finn MacCool in the present, a living representative of the Celtic doctrine of rebirth. The form of the whale in the harbor reminds all that the giant sleeps but will awaken. “And god created giant whales” (Gen. 1:21). The whale is the first creature mentioned in the bible. And all the way (a horn/achone!) from fjord to fjell [bay to mountain] his baywinds’ oboboes shall wail him rockbound (hoahoahoah!) in swimswamswum and all the livvylong night, the delldale dalppling night, the night of bluerybells [Anna Livia Plurabelle], her flittaflute in tricky trochees (O carina! O carina [musical instrument]!) wake him. With her issavan essavans [Swift’s Vanessa] and her patterjackmartins [Swift’s Tale of a Tub churches] about all them inns and ouses. Tilling a teel of a tum [telling a tale of a tub/Stead’s MT], telling a toll of a teary turty Taubling [dear dirty Dublin]. (6.35–7.06)

The fabled “eating of the god” made familiar by Frazer’s Golden Bough emerges here, to which Joyce adds the particular Irish commerce: Grampupus is fallen down [cg London Bridge] but grinny sprids the boord. Whase [who is what is] on the joint of a desh [partition of food]? Finfoefom

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the Fush. Whase be his baken head? A loaf of Singpantry’s [St Patrick’s] Kennedy bread. And whase hitched to the hop in his tayle? A glass of Danu U’Dunnell’s foamous olde Dobbelin ayle [bread and wine]. But, lo, as you would quaffoff his fraudstuff/foodstuff [Ale] and sink teeth through that pyth of a flowerwhite bodey [Eucharist] behold of him as behemoth [Job 40.15] for he is noewhemoe [Real Presence of God in Eucharist]. Finiche! Only a fadograph [graph of long ago] of a yestern scene. Almost rubicund Salmosalar/ salmon, ancient fromout the ages of the Agapemonides [“love feast” religion], he is smolten in our mist, woebecanned and packt away. So that meal’s dead off for summan [folklore: eating of the god], schlook, schlice and goodridhirring [neither fish, flesh nor good red herring]. (7.08–19).

This poses a technical impossibility of avoiding the eating of the god, for which purpose Evans-Wentz recites a theory popular in Joyce’s early history, that at death, “The physical constituents of the body will go to their appropriate places, into the air as gases, into the water as fluids, into the earth as salts and minerals, and in a short time may form the parts of a flower, or fruit, or animal” (496). Scientists now admit that many uncounted eons are known as necessary for the total process. Afterlife-Stead’s talent for seeing back into the origins of life and community on earth finds a parallel in Joyce’s layering of the pages of a book enabling comparison of significant dates of development, turning to 1132 and back to 566, lingering on 566 again, and turning forward to 1132. Numbers of years distinguish human cultures from vast eons, as Nicholas of Cusa, (from J. Lewis McIntyre, whose book Giordano Bruno Joyce reviewed in 1903) commented on numbers in general: “Nothing can exist before number, for all that goes beyond the simplest unity is in its fashion a composite, and, therefore, without number is unthinkable, for multitude, difference, and relation of parts arise from number” (Bruno 148). 1132 A.D., is four times the date 283 when Finn McCool died, according to the Dublin Annuals, for which the four sides of the parallelogram text provide relevant organization. In that year a “groot hwide Whallfisk which lay in a Runnel” (13.34) caused “Blubby wares,” for such a wealth of nature’s cargo would be certainly fought over. All the ends of the earth could be washed ashore, hinting of civilizations elsewhere. In 566 A.D. “a crone” searching the shore found “swart goody quickenshoon and small illighant brogues” (14.4), possibly left by fairies. In 566 also, war was inflamed by a second cause, sexual conquest; a widow grieves. Then in 1132, once again, Caddy and Primas were born to found an Irish dynasty. War still prevailed, but added to sexual conquest and acquisition of territory was the writing of “farce” and early scribbling blotted by the passage of time, “Blotty words for Dublin” (14.14–15). First come numbers, and then the books are written, and the opportunity to lift the “eyes of the darkness” from the “tome” and see stretching “afore us our fredeland’s plain!” (14.31), and much more developmental history. Joyce is writing a

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“creation myth,” which tells how the world and its beings came into existence. History’s stage is set for plateaus of development in the first chapter: (1) the Willingdone museyroom, (2) the “gnarlybird” hen scratching on the downs, (3) the introduction of the “Four” that square the universe and the conceptual dates 1132 and 566, (4) Mutt and Jute on the battlefield of Clontarf, (5) the Prankquean, and, (6) “O foenix culprit!” (23.16), which explains the version of the fall that governs the Wakean resurgence. Last is the “wake” for the contemporary Finnegan. The feminine voice, presumably that of the mother, announces the form of Finnegan now spied in skysigns and earthsigns, a compendium accepting that all matters of spirit from the ancient Egyptians of the Book of the Dead onward have never ceased to exist, and her departed spouse joins all their august company who preserve him safe from danger for the soul’s progress, as if Heaven preserves intact a copy of earth. His hair “grows wheater [with Osiris] beside the Liffey that’s in Heaven!” (26.08). She imagines the greeting of Stead after his imprisonment, “Hep, hep hurrah there!” (26.09) that will later take the form of “Hep! [celestial river in Book of the Dead]. Hello there, Bill of old Bailey!” (480.18). “Your heart is in the system of the Shewolf and your crested head is in the tropic of Copricapron. Your feet are in the cloister of Virgo. Your olala is in the region of sahuls/souls . . . The headboddylwatcher of the chempel of Isid, Totumcalmum, saith: I know thee, metherjar [Egyptian Isis], I know thee, salvation boat. For we have performed upon thee, thou abramanation . . . all the things which the company of the precentors and of the grammarians of Christpatrick’s [church] ordered concerning thee in the matter of the work of thy tombing. Howe [sailors’ greeting] of the shipmen, steep wall [sleep well]!” (26.08–24). In the afterlife, no gods are excluded. Throughout Finnegans Wake, the landscape is alive and active, from the whale to the insect; and the past is active in the present. Mutt and Jute, with the word “Hop,” alight on the scene like one of those jumping bugs, “Fleapow!” (15.27). They use some Boer War jargon [Stead’s experience], in a few words slide backward in speech to a more primitive age, and then forward to modernism; they survey Ireland with disgust for the “filth” of Earwicker’s Inn, which stands for all of Ireland, like an outhouse, an “innkempt house” (13.08), for which “Hesitency” (35.20) should be avoided, so urgent is the need for custodial care. The distinctions between Shaun Mutt and Jute-Shem are unmistaken with Joyce’s black eye patch. Their scene begins with the Asking narrator spying Earwicker’s hunch and demanding to know “who the joebiggar [hunchback, supported Parnell] be he?” (15.30). The Asker replies “Me seemeth [it seems to me he is] a dragon [prehistoric] man,” and the Teller rejoins, spying not “Hump” but Constable Sackerson: “He is almonthst,” always here, “is Comestipple Sacksoun” (15.34–35). Mutt has the familiar stammer, and Jute notices that Mutt has Joyce’s “One eyegonblack’”

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(16.29); in turn Jute’s gluttony betrays him to Mutt: “You that side your voise are almost inedible to me” (16.23). Mutt’s greeting “Yutah!” [Jute’s name in two syllables] sets the scene for the Berkeley-Archdruid episode (611.02). The Wellington monument in Dublin, extended to enable a view of the giant’s grave at Penrith, England, impresses the male principle on the globe of the earth; as such it serves as a guide to the protagonist Earwicker and a source of inspiration, a reminder of his civic and familial duties and his commitment to his deity, and a reassurance of his destiny. As the years pass, events whirl around the “gigantig’s lifetree” (55.27), which is viewed from several perspectives. By the date that Wellington won the Battle of Waterloo in 1815, he had already received all of the awards that Britain had to bestow, and Ireland could likewise be proud of him and claim his birth there, if they wished, make him one of their own. The Irish people contributed their pennies to build a monument to the victor of the Battle of Waterloo, although Wellington, born in Ireland, was not enthusiastically “a native son” but a member of the Protestant Ascendancy. Stead-Earwicker, with his British nationality and Irish sympathies, is doubly invested. As the Wake’s chapter 3 progresses, the Wellington information adumbrates the section with a bit of psychobabble: “the shape of the average human cloudyphiz . . . frequently altered its ego” (51.02), and any individual was likely to be asked on a rainy day to explain “that fishabed ghoatstory” of ‘the two Curchies and the three Enkelchums in their Bearskin ghoats!” (51.13–15). The French Imperial Guard wore bearskins at Waterloo, later adopted by Wellington. The tourists think “he has changed alok syne Thorkill’s [Viking] time!” (51.16). Halfsinister wrinkles now adorn the face of “the stranger stepashore” with still a life or two to spare for his occupancy of “a world at a time” (52.08). which the Einstein critic Duszenko noticed (JJQ 64). After speaking at “Whiddington Wild” (52.10), Stead’s Congregationalist church in Wimbledon, London, Stead in Ireland expands his territory wearing place-defining British clothing while adding to the British “cheerio” and the “legomena of the smaller country” (52.32). Next he appears as a tourist carrying an Irish visa, knowing that “the humphriad of that fall and rise” is remembered while the sexual cause of it is atrociously furtive in protective covers. Riding an Irish jaunting car while thirsting for Thurston’s pub, the companions behold “La arboro, lo petrusu” [tree and stone] the “monolith rising stark from the moonlit pine barren” and likened to the F.E.R.T. motto of Rhodes, “fortitudinous ajaxious rowdinoisy tenuacity” (53.14–17) for Fortitudo eius Rhodum tenuit” tr “His strength has held Rhodes.” SteadEarwicker has returned from his continental travels, on which (as Stead) he visited the Peace Palace at The Hague and listened to the comical misunderstandings expressed by foreigners there (54.07–19). A fellow British traveler, speaking to an “adulescence,” calls “our univalse to witness” his invitation

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for the others to enjoy his “moyliffey eggs” (newspaper articles) and “high British quarters” and guesthouse open “as straight as that neighbouring monument’s fabrication” (54.24–28), all on Miltonic authority, a “lobe [conformist] before the Great Schoolmaster’s” (55.01). For Stead, whose presence is in “stod tillsteyne” (56.14) denoting SteadEarwicker, British justice has failed in his absence, fallen like the house of Atreus, but “deeds bounds going rise again,” for life is a wake and “on the bunk of our breadwinning lies the cropse of our seedfather” (55.18) which Becket in Our Exagmination recognizes for human progress in that “the passage from Scipio to Caesar is as inevitable as the passage from Caesar to Tiberius, since the flowers of corruption in Scipio and Caesar are the seeds of vitality in Caesar and Tiberius” (Exag 6). Stead remembers his journalistic mission, “the hen and crusader ever-intermutuomergent” (55.11) and his travels in a Pullman called “pullwoman” on the Trans-Siberian railway (completed 1904) to assist the Russian revolution of 1905. The British-Irish contention in his mind is apparent in vocabulary; he calls it “transhibernian” (55.20). The tourists positioned back-to-back on a jaunting car circle the monument, the “gigantig’s lifetree” (55.28) perpetuating the memory of Wellington. It will be noticed that references to the monument render it a “lifetree” and therefore it contributes to the monolithic “treestone” combination. Stead revisits in memory his establishing the Review of Reviews in 1890 for a Muezzin calling his faithful readers for assistance and his visits, “silkhatted” (Illus.) to Constantinople in 1911 and anticipates that his pen, his “manslayer’s gunwielder” (56.11) protecting women has already written the end. He resigns himself to the “spectral appealingness” of the mausoleum, the former young man’s “drown o’er the fate of his waters [that] may gloat” (56.18) like “a beam of sunshine upon a coffin plate,” for the “dream” of Irish nationality and his death by water on the Titanic, which was appeased as much as possible by his family’s tombstone bearing his credentials. In “days gone by” Stead had aspired to returning from “van Demon’s Land” (56.21) but was deterred by South African politics. He smiles to think who was he and to whom, attached in Ireland to the folklore of two peaches with three men and with Confucius and the state of Tsi giving “Tsin” (57.03) in the “zinzin” telephone ringing refrain. He can smile at sitting down and thinking of “the ghouly ghost,” although the ghost’s “hantitat hies not here” (57.07) but in Clongowes. However, as time passes, so does his sentiment of the view. He no longer raises his “snobsic eyes to the semisigns of his zooteac” (56.22–23) of high aspirations because of events that followed his Maiden Tribute triumph: his trial and incarceration. Soon “our notional gullery is now completely complacent” rather than stirring national pride, “an exegious monument, aerily perennious” (57.21–22). Only “the shadow of the huge outlander [returning Stead-Earwicker], maladik, multvult, magnoper-

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ous” (57.33) had “bulked at the bar of a rota of tribunals in manor hall [the Old Bailey] as in thieves’ kitchen” who pronounced Jedburgh justice upon him (57.36). Their guilt, not his, was “acquitted contestimony with benefit of clergy” (58.01) who remained silent. One viewer says “he has parliamentary honours” (59.29), because the House succeeded in his purpose to pass the C.L.A. Act. As symbol, the Wellington monument once mutely testified to its noble commemorative purposes overreaching the distances of Irish prospects but now has resumed in the viewer’s estimation its former unremarkable height. The 293 diagram shows one short phallic line pointing to the π for half the circumference of a circle, positioned at the apex of the αλπ “apexojesus” (296.10) and the intersection of two circles, while Shem’s instructive lecture elaborates upon the powers of the “eternal geometer,” the ever-encircling “earth mother.” Male prospects, weakened by circumstances specified above, retain much of their cultural potency by the authority of the predominantly male JudeoChristian ethnology, and, with or without His name, males do remarkable things; “I hear, O Ismael . . . Go to, let us extell/extol Makal” (258.13–15), one of seven archangels of the bible. Male dominance is well evidenced by the closing of the Wake’s chapter 9 in its megaphonic chants‒‒except that comprehension of the universe has expanded. A brief examination of the chapter-ending beginning “Uplouderamainagain!” (258.19), ostensibly calling for loud applause for the children’s performance, has further evidence to offer. The Clearer of the Air (collection of plants, figuratively removes doubt) speaks to a “tumbledown” world, invoked by the fairies of Stephens’ Crock of Gold who tumbled down to the roots of trees they lived among and Lewis Carroll’s Alice similarly down the rabbit hole. In brief, the “unhappitents of the earth” have familiarly “terrerumbled” from “tweedledeedumms down to twiddledeedees,” (258.24), apparently seeking a happier state. The children have returned home, where “Garda Didymus and Garda Domas” (258.30) provide that the children may have their minds opened to light. Bits of history, speaking of another “world,” shine miraculously through the ages. The particular light that they bring was protected and provided for by W. T. Stead. In1891 he granted the honor of “Book of the Month” to “Aristotle’s Treatise on the Constitution of Athens,” two yellow strips of papyrus, the fibres of “the riverplant of that name, which grows plentifully in Egypt.” Fibers of papyrus were placed horizontally and glued to another layer placed perpendicularly. Only one side, on which the fibres were placed horizontally, was intended for writing, but the owner of the estate in the care of Didymus, or perhaps his son [Domas or his twin??], used the verso to make a copy of Aristotle’s treatise, at this time on display in the British Museum. Stead subtitled it “The Day-book of the Bailiff Didymus” and briefly sketched the author’s record of life on an Egyptian farm, “how such a laborer was em-

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ployed in carting manure, how another was strengthening the dyke that kept back the inundation of the Nile, how another was ‘turning the machine,’ how at one time a labourer has taken ‘a day off,’ and another day extra donkeys and donkey-boys have to be hired to do the work of the farm.” On the reverse side was the political constitution of Athens, which Stead’s subhead celebrated as “The Greatest Literary Find of the Century” (R 3: 175–186). Joyce correctly identifies it “the afterthought of thy nomatter by the guardiance of those guards which are thy bodemen” or messengers (258.33–34), unknowingly bringing messages to the secret morning. How “kerrybommers” came to be “in their krubeems” for which O Hehir provides crủibỉn for hoof or pig’s trotter but Joyce constructs in a way to suggest “cabin,” is perhaps clarified by Farmer and Henley. They explain the word originally meant the feet of sheep. The kerrybommers are apparently enjoying the company in the nearest cabin, in which shaking one’s trotters, as in the ballad of Finnegan’s Wake, was to “move your feet,” after which Irish Tim goes to prayers and British Tom back to his barracks. There are subtle adaptations in Finnegans Wake, of which the washerwomen changing into tree and stone would be processed only in eons or cycles of time, of which the washerwoman asks referring to the master’s shirt “how many goes is it I wonder I washed it?” (196.13). Such is the “slow evolution from that tiny span [of life] through long periods of development” that Afterlife Stead understood and that with which Joyce endowed his tree and stone, similarly “transaccidentated through the slow fires of consciousness” (186.03); otherwise, the human lifespan cannot conceive of or be compared with the longevity that the author granted the tree and stone. This is the totality of the “moodmoulded cyclewheeling history” (186.02) of which Joyce wrote to Harriet Shaw Weaver that “as night falls,” the washerwomen “become a tree and a stone” (3 July 1924). Joyce endowed the consciousness of the washerwomen to be aware of the process of ages well beyond the span of the individual life: [Teller]: “My foos won’t moos. I feel as old as yonder elm.” [Asker]: “A tale told of Shaun or Shem?” (215.34–35) . . . [Teller] “My ho head halls.” [Asker/Exclaimer] “I feel as heavy as yonder stone” (215.36–216.01). The close of chapter 9 returns to the theme: “Till tree from tree, tree among trees, tree over tree [from Masonry] become stone to stone, stone between stones, stone under stone for ever.” [Paragraph] “O Loud, hear the wee beseech of thees of each of these thy unlitten ones!” (259.01–04). The male voice for once has been given short shrift. The feminine voice resembling the mother May Joyce waking Finnegan progressively becomes the voice of ALP. She speaks of her spouse’s ghost as accepted fact “walking abroad” and prays for “peace to his limbs” and of bringing presents of “food for glory” for the dead (24.26–25.01). Jackson and Costello follow up events after the death of May Joyce to remark upon the presence of her ghost at 7 St. Peter’s Terrace: “One night, with Jim for

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company, Poppie [Joyce’s sister, age nineteen] kept a midnight watch for her dead mother at the top of the stairs,” a favorite resort for a home with few chairs. “About a year afterward, Jim mentioned in a letter that his dreams were still being visited by ‘the skull,’” and a priest whom Poppie consulted told her “that the figure she saw in a doorway could well be her mother” (JC 259–60). Jackson and Costello note that “The vigil with Poppie led Jim to look into Human Personality and its Survival of Bodily Death by Frederick W. H. Myers” (1903), which appeared in the National Library in October: “Myers’s book is a long one and Jim could scarcely have read in the library the whole of both volumes. Chapter Seven, however, entitled ‘Phantasms of the Dead,’ contains reports of post-mortem phenomena, including an account of a ghost seen by one of the Lissadell Gore-Booths . . . Jim may have noticed a case in which an Archdeacon Farler tells of seeing ‘the dripping figure of a friend who, as it turned out, had been drowned during the previous day,’” similar to Mat Kane in Ulysses (JC 259–60). For further testimony to the exactness of Joyce’s references, the mourning widow in the voice of Joyce’s mother brings Finnegan at his wake the news of the world. That a leopard “kills fellah in Fez” (28.22) was witnessed by John M. Gilliland, the husband of Stead’s daughter Pearl, who drove in 1913 in a Cape-to-Cairo road trial organized by Argyle Motors and the Daily Telegraph. The event was cancelled after a participant was killed by a leopard in Morocco, where Fez was the second-largest city (Daily Telegraph 30 Aug 1913). The mother’s concluding detailed paragraph (28.35–29.36), concerning HCE-Earwicker, encompasses Lord Milner’s view that Stead was “a compound of Don Quixote and Phineas T. Barnum” (28.35–29.36), which Stead validated (R 20: 22). In the United States of Europe (reference the Portrait 196) Stead authenticated his view that “The editor of a newspaper is the showman of the universe” (159–60). The mother present on Shem’s conscience manages the closing of chapter 7 for introduction to the entirety of chapter 8, dedicated to the female element Anna Livia Plurabelle in the intricate remembrances and eon-conscious eyes of the Telling and Asking washerwomen. While Shaun seeks reparation in the form of “Justius,” Shem seeks forgiveness in the form of “Mercius,” both staging an amicable debate to understand their natures and their differences. When Mercius was once thrust into the “obscene coalhole” of his existence, where Victorian children were commonly sent for punishment, “where voice only of the dead may come, because ye left from me, because ye laughed on me, because” he remembers, and here his mother breaks in, in midsentence: “O me lonly son ye are forgetting me!” (194.21). Shem acknowledges that “our turfbrown mummy is acoming” bringing news of the great big world. Incidentally, Joyce’s mother wore in her casket “the brown funeral habit of her lay order, probably that of the Franciscans of Adam and Eve’s Church on Merchant’s Quay” (JC 255), a further contributing factor, perhaps, to the

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Wake’s first line wherein the brownish river has been called out of retirement. Her interrupted sentence is completed with the words “with a beck, with a spring” (194.36). Perpetually youthful, enclosing all, she flows around the bends, passes by green hills and “the pools of the phooka” (194.36) ―Ireland’s own place name Poulaphouca for a chasm of the Liffey that O Hehir translates “Goblin’s hole” ―silently witnesses the embedded fairy faith. When Mercius invokes the poet’s power of creation, “he lifts the lifewand,” and those “dumb” tree and stone by the Liffey begin to speak. The power and the enclosure of the dominating female circles characterize the 293 diagram. THE FAIRY FAITH OF JAMES STEPHENS In judging incredulously Joyce’s proposition that James Stephens complete the writing of Finnegans Wake if Joyce himself could not, Richard Ellmann overlooked the encyclopedic worldview information conflated in James Stephens’ novel The Crock of Gold (1912) which Joyce must have read and Ellmann overlooked while dismissing James Stephens for inspiring “one of the strangest ideas in literary history” (JJ 591–92). In the category of the Crock of Gold, more than five hundred pages by the Welsh-American scholar, Walter Yeeling Evans-Wentz’s book The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries, first published in 1911, thoroughly surveyed the Irish experience both oral and written, and blessed the parallel universe of the aos si, which had been familiar in script from the twelfth century Book of Leinster. The sidhe, or “people of the mounds” were seen by few ordinary mortals and believed in by many while surviving in three territories: the fairy mounds, across the western sea, or mostly invisible while coexisting with humans. Evans-Wentz dedicated his book to those Irish scholar-brethren A.E. and William Butler Yeats, fellow sharers of much occult knowledge and familiar with the routes by which scholars arrived at and verified their information concerning the fairies. It is patently obvious that the universe of Finnegans Wake is complete in conception and considerably remote from the ordinary limited appraisals of this “One World” and its surrounding heavens. What is not obvious is the content of Joyce’s mind framing his masterpiece. Stephens’ astonishing small book of only 173 pages serves the double purposes of a wellplotted novel and a humanist’s encyclopedia. In a “panpsychic” universe that the philosopher William James could envision, James Stephens adapts the Greek nature-god Pan to Irish purposes simply by causing him to visit the island, where Pan contends with the Irish god of love Aengus of the Dagda. Stephens’ domiciled hero Philosopher, who speaks in maxims and aphorisms, goes on a journey seeking Angus Og who is, naturally, engaged in the battle of the sexes. “Tir-na-nOg is the heart

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of a man and the head of a woman” (89), he says. There are six clans of fairies living in this part of Ireland, the most powerful of which are the Leprechauns of Cloca Mora who live underground among twisted roots, busily engaged in shoemaking, wearing green to hide among the grasses of the upper world. But the Thin Woman of Cloca Mora, who is also the wife of the Philosopher, has buried the crock of gold “in such a position as placed it under their own communal honour” (93). In the present environment of commercial greed, the Leprechauns need to repossess it so that any one of them who might be captured “may be able to ransom himself” (48). Pan advances the dictum that the beginning of knowledge is to know whether a thing is good or bad, and carelessness is the beginning of wisdom, but when asked what is the end [purpose] of wisdom, he replies that he does not know (56–57). Pan’s definition of living, to eat and drink and be merry and have children, irritates the Philosopher who calls it “simply materialism” and “unredeemed animalism” and eventually takes a serious “fall” into knowledge that transforms him to disdain “Thought” and embrace emotion. Angus Og, who admires Divine Imagination, is lonely and bereft of followers: “I am the desolate god forbidden to utter my happy laughter, live in holes of the rocks and the dark caves of the sea. I weep in the morning because I may not laugh. Where I have kissed a bird has flown; where I have trod a flower has sprung. But Thought has snared my nets and sold them in the market-places. Who will deliver me from Thought, from the base holiness of Intellect, the maker of chains and traps?” (86–88). If anyone could deliver him, their own Socrates, the Philosopher fills the role until, paradoxically, his journey to enlightenment. There are touches of Finnegans Wake. A discussion of Justice recalls the opposition of JUSTIUS and MERCIUS at the close of chapter 7. Joyce’s “Ding hvad in idself id est” (611.21) is preceded by Stephens: “The thing that is has justified its own importance by mere existence” (91), and Stephens asks the question “is the Earth anything more than an extension of our human consciousness or are we . . . only projections of the Earth’s antennae? . . . Everything has two names, and everything is twofold. The name of male Thought as it faces the world is Philosophy, but the name it bears in Tir-nanOg is Delusion. Female Thought is called Socialism on earth, but in Eternity it is known as Illusion; and this is so because there has been no matrimony of minds, but only an hermaphroditic propagation of automatic ideas” (91). Anthropomorphism permits creatures of superior intellect to participate in human lives; a cat started the major disaster of the lost crock. A donkey discourses with a spider. When jailed by an inept policeman, the Philosopher’s cellmate asks “Can one’s mind go to prison as well as one’s body?” Thought offers no consolation for the impotence of old age (135–47). In a maze of plots and subplots, the great Finn MacCool is briefly foreshadowed

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in a “dark youth” named MacCulain of fabulous leaping talents whose profession is training the hounds, perhaps to adapt Cuchulain. Another young man of twelve, meeting the Philosopher, suddenly understands why Angus Og sent him with a message for the Philosopher, “so that when the Sleepers arise they will meet with friends.” The Philosopher replies, “The Sleepers have arisen. They are about us on every side. They are walking now, but they have forgotten their names and the meanings of their names. You are to tell them their names and their lineage, for I am an old man, and my work is done” (108). The cycle of creation must begin again. Much more can be discoursed upon, and many more gods and theories, form this amazing novel. The denouement, a paean to all the gods assembled, could of itself persuade James Joyce of Stephens’ merits. Evans-Wentz mentions that Dr. Tylor in Primitive Culture places nature spirits among the “elementals” of mediaeval mystics, and specifies the “leprechauns, pixies, knockers, corrigans, lutins, little folk, elves generally, and their counterparts in all non-Celtic Fairy-Faiths” (493). The vast questions how and why and the methods of his research form Evans-Wentz’s last two chapters. Therein he surveys the work of the questers of W. T. Stead’s acquaintance: Charles Richet, William James, Andrew Lang, Frederick W. H. Myers, Sigmund Freud, R. L. Stevenson. To prove that man is immortal, that “human consciousness does incontestably survive the decay of the physical body,” he lists well-attested cases accumulated by Myers: Repeated apparitions with knowledge of the affairs of surviving friends or of the impending death of a survivor, or of spirits of persons dead after the apparition’s decease; cases where professed spirits manifest knowledge of their earth-life, as of some secret compact made with survivors; cases of apparitional appearances near a corpse or a grave; occasional cases of the appearance of the dead to several persons collectively” (472).

This context is the territory of the ghost that Stephen Dedalus sees at Clongowes. Moreover, Evans-Wentz accredits the types of information demonstrated by Stead’s automatic writing announcing “the death unknown to persons present, knowledge communicated in a seance, not known to any person present, but afterwards proved to have been possessed by the deceased; automatic writing by a child in language unknown to her” (472). He quotes Sir Oliver Lodge’s tunnel metaphor that Joyce utilizes to explain the boundary between the known and the unknown that is “wearing thin in places; and like excavators engaged in boring a tunnel from opposite ends, amid the roar of water and other noises, we are beginning to hear now and again the strokes of the pickaxes of our comrades on the other side” (478). M. Camille Flammarion reassessed those childish pranks played by the disembodied communicants who rapped and moved tables and warned “mark

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this well: these spirits are not necessarily the souls of the dead; for other kinds of spiritual beings may exist, and space may be full of them without our ever knowing anything about it” (481). The search extends beyond the two types of parallel universes that Stead’s Borderland studies presented, that of the “Faithful departed” who lingered for spiritualists to pick up their tracks, and that of the familiar Celtic fairies. Evans-Wentz fills his concluding chapter with remarkable quotable interpretations of the “departed” phenomena, of which the Harvard professor William James proposed a “cosmic environment of other consciousness,” a lot of “diffuse soul-stuff” in the universe craving possession of an organism and directing the hand of the communicants. He called it a “‘mother-sea’ of consciousness, a bank upon which we all draw” (479), and the “mother-sea,” as Joyce’s readers know, is Anna Livia Plurabelle. William James posed questions that “educated Celtic seers ask themselves about the Sidhe or Fairy-World and its collective consciousness or life.” The questions begin with: ‘What is its own structure? What is its inner topography? . . . What are the conditions of individuation or insulation in this mother-sea?” and more follows. THE PARALLEL UNIVERSE Andrzej Duszenko at Northern State University became one of two chief spokespersons for the new “Theory of Relativity” by publishing his Internet introduction to it, plus two articles in 1994 on Quantum Physics in Finnegans Wake for the Irish University Review and “The Relativity Theory” for the James Joyce Quarterly. He devotes his article in the Irish University Review to showing that Quantum physics is the key to Joyce’s language in Finnegans Wake and cites Joyce’s letter to Harriet Weaver that the “ports of call” are “not fragments but active elements” (Letters I 204–05). The effect of Stead’s thunderbolt described as “The abnihilisation of the etym” (353.22) cannot be overlooked with its “moletons scaping with mulicules” (353.26) which Duszenko attributes to “the first successful splitting of the atom by Lord Rutherford in 1919.” Duszenko perceives that “Like the physicists breaking up the atoms, [Joyce] annihilates words, reducing them to nothing, and then ex nihilo he builds up new words and meanings” (“Quantum” 3–4). Thus Duszenko phrases a considerate defense of Joyce’s “obscurity.” Concerning the “constant of fluxion” (297.29), Duszenko shows that the Wake expresses quantum physics in that “matter is actually an endless process of creation and annihilation—a process which submerges the universe in a state of constant flux” and he says that “the recurrent motifs not only shift constantly, but they even appear slightly different on different readings.” To accommodate the new role imposes new demands in that “the reader” is

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forced to shift from reader to experimenter: “the concept of the observer had to be changed in quantum physics to that of an active participator . . . we cannot study nature without influencing its course, but it also indicated that the nature of the universe is partly created by the observer” (“Quantum” 5–7). Hence the “constant of fluxion” and a defense of finding a new meaning each time a portion of text is reexamined. Dusjenko cites Shem’s “Pointcarried” (304.05) reaction to being struck by Shaun for “the movement of a materialized subatomic particle, whose picture on a photographic plate often takes the form of a series of bright concentric circles” (“Quantum” 8). Further, the “unpredictability of the subatomic world is rendered through lack of certainty about the causal correlation between successive events,” to the effect that the radio in Earwicker’s pub is “lackslipping”: “They finally caused, or most leastways brung it about somehows, (that) the pip of the lin (to) pinnatrate inthro an auricular forfickle” (310.08–10). Duszenko examines “the fall of Newtonian physics and its gradual replacement by a new physics based on relativity and quantum mechanics” and elaborates many details of space and time with the spaceMookse and the time-Gripes and the four- directional-facing Four Old Men (JJQ 61), of which “space and time as a four-dimensional continuum” is shown in the sketch adapted from 293; and he notes in JJQ 68, that Joyce’s “Eins” (152.18) offers Einstein’s name, and “the Turnpike under the Great Ulm” (293.13–14) discloses Einstein’s birthplace at Ulm (293.14). In the “Joyce of Science” he notes “The most significant change in the outlook” effects a realization that the universe is not a permanent and static entity, but that it expands at enormous speed” (“Relativity” 10), as marked in the interpretation of the 293 sketch. Also, Alexis Sypek at Duke University prepared an honors thesis on Einstein’s physics in relation to Joyce’s Irish nationalism which explains much, as Heisenberg said that “at high energies the most basic particles can be transmuted into different particles, created by energy, or annihilated into energy because they are all fundamentally comprised of the same thing: energy. In Finnegans Wake characters are transmuted, created, and annihilated constantly” (Sypek 81). This ongoing creation of words that no one has seen before scarcely supports the notion of the Finnegan-whale in the harbor who will awaken, for that is primarily a spiritual matter. As one commentator observes, “the “energy” that any dead person leaves behind takes eons to reenter the environment in the form of food. Considering that Einstein’s theories “proved that energy can be neither created or destroyed,” the “Encyclopedia.com” verifies the eons of time posed by the washerwomen in that “A particular carbon atom located in someone’s eyelash may have at one time been part of some now-extinct species, like a dinosaur. Since the dinosaur died and decomposed millions of years ago, its carbon atoms have seen many forms before ending up as part of a human being.” To the effect that “the two

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washerwomen who as nightfall become a tree and a stone” are conceived of far beyond human mortality and represent the passing ages, Joyce offered “The splitting up at the end is the city abuilding” (Letters 1: 42). Dublin dates from geographic time, considering how far back the Poddle stream met the River Liffey at the deep “black” pool when “nullahs were nowhere” (202.36). Only Joyce’s success in humanizing the two washerwomen allows for literary acceptance of one of them saying “My foos won’t moos” as her new enlightenment records her sensations. Time passes so slowly that “I feel as heavy as yonder stone” means in essence I am stone. “My foos won’t moos” calls for an investigation of sedimentary rock. Einstein no doubt taught the world to think differently. At the age of twelve, Duszenko shows, Einstein “renounced formalized religion and resolved to unravel the mystery of the universe on his own” (“Relativity” 1). Max Planck, he writes, “announced his Quantum Theory in 1900, but it was Einstein’s paper on the quantum nature of light, published five years later with the special theory of relativity, that gave the new research its direction and momentum,” and “quantum mechanics became an enormous collective enterprise” (“Quantum” 272). Some elements, like the “movibles” (20.21) of typesetting, merit additional explanations, and the Stead source rather simplifies and coheres much. Nevertheless, all of these authors contribute to the exactness of vocabulary, as “deuteoused” (617.29) represents “the nucleus of the atom of deuterium, a hydrogen isotope, also called ‘heavy hydrogen,’” and “hophazards” (615.07) are the “unpredictable orbital jumps accompanying the energy transformations within the atom” (“Quantum” 13). Joyce favors this one: “Hop!” (15.28) a flea alights, and for its “joyicity” there is “Hop lala!” (295.24). A poltergeist is a “dondherhoploits!” (187.15), of which McHugh notes that Dutch donder op is “get the hell out of here!” Joyce’s 293 sketch is superbly thought-provoking: That the topography of the new universe might be sketched tantalized Joyce, who causes Shem to act the role of confiding tutor to reveal the secrets of his mother’s anatomy to Shaun, for whom he constructs in jocular dialogue the page 293 diagram of ALP, “our callback mother Gaudyanna” (294.28–29) depicting such a “mother-sea of consciousness” also specified by MacPherson’s 1761 “translation” from the Gaelic, his production Ossian, which, though he never produced the manuscript on which he based his “translation,” spoke to the consciousness of many who enjoyed the poetry. John Bishop in his Joyce’s Book of the Dark remembers that Gogarty reacted to Finnegans Wake by calling it “the most colossal leg-pull in literature since McPherson’s Ossian” (25). Duszenko noticed that Joyce applied it to the uncertainties of the “sin in the park”: “Thus the unfacts, did we possess them, are too imprecisely few to warrant our certitude, the evidencegivers [the three spying soldiers] by legpoll too untrustworthily irreperible where his adjugers are seemingly freak threes but his judicandees [two tempting maid-

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Figure 7.1. Joyce’s 293 sketch of Sir Isaac Newton’s Aristmystic Unsaid

ens] plainly minus twos” (57.16–19). “After Makefearsome’s ocean” (294.13) of misinformation, Shem teases Shaun, “You’ve actuary entducked/ discovered one!” (294.14), the fearful but productive “ocean” of ALP. Our favorite actuary has analyzed the 293 sketch. Following Joyce’s “motif method” of unifying many disparate elements that he continues through the text, the “expanding universe” of the new science becomes apparent. Preceding Joyce’s 293 sketch, the Stead sources establish that the “spooks” live “next door,” in the “nearest” universe. The task of interpretation of Joyce’s 293 sketch should be a simple one of observing which passages support the parallel universe of either spiritualists or sidhe and, as Afterlife-Stead insisted, the world of sleep, as well as his expectation of scientific confirmation. Hence Issy prepares for sleep by snuffing out “the ghost in the candle at his old game of haunt the sleepper (c.g.). Faithful departed. When I’m dreaming back [a W. B.Yeats topic] like that I begins to see we’re only all telescopes” (295.08–12) for spying into the distant past, and wakening when the spirits announce their presence with a “thump in thudderdown” (295.14). A ghost appears again with “I don’t know is it your spictre or my omination” (299.04–05). Astonished Shem-Dolph sees ShaunKevin “holy mooxed . . . as if youwas seeheeing the gheist that stays forenenst” (299.14–15). The chief task that Joyce set forth for Shem is well understood; however, in an environment in which children must have observed ruttish animals, the purpose seems mostly specious or, rather, the stage dialogue casts Shaun as naïve or disingenuous, and he acts well his part. Hayman’s First-Draft Version shows “And there’s your muddy delta for you the first of all equilateral triangles. O dear me, look at that, now. What a [coincidence] quincidence. But you’re looking at the wrong place, you blessed [simpleton] simpletop. You must look upon the reflection [in the water] below” (Hayman 165). That Joyce replaced the last words with the

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Figure 7.2. Actuary’s Analysis of the 293 Sketch

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dotted lines of the inverse triangle possibly teases the imagination. Otherwise the first and last of the new 293 schemata are similar. Shem renders Sir Isaac Newton’s gravity “old Sare Isaac’s universal of specious aristmystic unsaid” (293.17–18), which made “the fall” inevitable, drawing upon the aorist indefinite Greek tense; as Sypek observes, “time as a relative dimension made events viable from many different temporal perspectives” (73). Further, Shem refers Shaun to “One of the most murmurable loose carollaries ever Ellis [A. J. Ellis on Algebra and Geometry] threw his cookingclass [Lewis Carroll’s alternate universe in Looking-Glass] while instructing Shaun to “circumscript a cyclone” that he sees “As round as the calf of an egg!” (294.07–11); such was Gogarty’s reaction to Finnegans Wake, that it was “the most colossal leg-pull in literature since McPherson’s Ossian” (Bishop 25). Duszenko observes that the “fall of Newtonian physics” took place in the “first three decades of the twentieth century” (JJQ 61). Hence Joyce follows the age “of a pomme full grave” (20.29) with the word “newt” (21.02) announcing the passing of Newtonian physics and the arrival of quantum physics. As Anna Liva would say, the subject was “in the castles air” (623.19). Joyce’s “Given now ann linch you take enn all” (293.15 accommodates the seamstresses’ fabric width of forty-five inches, an “ell,” still in American use today. As the dawn of the new world rises, “Eve takes fall” (293.21), of which nobody ever blamed Adam for allowing the snake into his paradise! In the vicinity of the 293 diagram, Duszenko comments that the line AL “used in the geometry lesson (FW 293) may appear straight, but it is described as a ‘strayedline’ (FW 294.02–03), curved, “like everything else in Joyce’s book.” The idea of a curving, re-entrant universe, in which the future has to meet the past somewhere, is also implied in “the only wise in a muck’s world to look on itself from beforehand (FW 576.22–23)” (JJQ 66). Regarding Joyce’s response to Wyndham Lewis, Duszenko notes that “The title of Time and Western Man, itself an allusion to Henri Bergson’s Time and Free Will, is transformed into “Spice and Westend Woman (utterly exhausted before publication, indiapepper edition shortly” (292.06–07). Joyce extends Lewis’s objections to Ulysses as a chaotic repository of meaningless material by referring to Finnegans Wake as “a jetsam litterage of convolvuli of times lost or strayed, of lands derelict and of tongues laggin too” (FW 292.15–17) (JJQ 67). The imperative truths of three-dimensional Euclidian geometry during the years of education since Euclid’s lifetime (approximately 325–265 BC) have at last fallen into disrepute when opposed by the fourth dimension. Gogarty’s “legpull” response is the comment with which Shem praises Shaun’s construction of a “cyclone”: “As round as the calf of an egg!” while Oliver Gogarty himself is credited for the witticism in “the boudeville song, Garotsky Gollovar’s Troubles” (294.18–19) and Oliver again in “it’s not alover

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yet!” (294.27), for Joyce would remind the world, by direct quotation, of Gogarty’s debt to him: “Can you write us a last line?” (302.23). Gogarty accepted Joyce’s last line for the poem he submitted for the Vice-Chancellor’s prize at Trinity titled “The Death of Shelley” for which Ellmann provides Joyce’s contribution: “Shines on thee soldier of song, Leonidas” (JJ 131). Joyce’s triple pun “it’s not alover [Oliver; all over] yet” marked another strayed line, the lifelong contention between the surgeon Gogarty who tried to live as a poet and the poet Joyce who sought to be a surgeon for financial stability. Ellmann errs in that Gogarty was not awarded the Newdigate prize, although its claim to authenticity was substantiated by Joyce’s friend Constantine Curran who remembered overhearing Joyce and Gogarty “discussing Shelley” (40). Leonidas, the self-sacrificed hero of the battle of Thermopylae in 480 B.C., gains the honor of a position in Joyce’s left margin note (307.L9). Whereas mischievous Shem continues to dazzle his brother by glibly reciting obscure references, Queen Victoria is “old miss vellatooth (303.03),” who presided over many of the hundred years of authority of Cocker’s Arithmetick (in the right marginal note) that explained nothing while profusely defining the “rule of three.” Stead attempted to establish Queen Victoria’s sixty years of sovereignty compared with seventy-eight years of womanhood and conceded “As sixty is to seventy-eight, so is ‒‒no, the rule of three does not apply” (R 15: 427). The Boer War cost Britain £100,000,000 plus “the practical paralysis of an army of 250,000 British men to settle a dispute with a population of 250,000 all told; an elementary knowledge of the rule of three,” he considered, might calculate the cost of a battle between two giants, instead of “between a giant and a dwarf” (R 23: 36). “Fourth power to her [the Queen’s] illpogue [elbow]!” (303.04) exclaims Shem, for “pogue” was derogatory of a soldier who never fights. As Duszenko shows (“Theory” 9), the fourth power is characterized by Johnny of the Four Old Men, after “4:32 M.P., old time,” confirmed “seven sincuries later by the quatren medical Johnny” (290.05–09). Joyce was fond of Vico’s fourth dimension that ushered in the Viconian cycle, but the fourth power is now Einstein’s motif as well. Shem advises Shaun to regard “how Chawleses Skewered [Charles Stewart Parnell, who stuttered] parparaparnelligoes” (303.11); choose your form of the many parallelograms of accelerations and velocities for the differing goals of the political heroes Daniel O’Connell and James Connolly of the Easter Rising. “Upanishadem!”is Wellington’s “Up guards and at them!” and “Spoken hath L’arty Magory” (303.13) is the Irish phrase from Ulysses for “poisonous berries.” McHugh notes, an Arabian mathematician “began the Arithmetic section of his thesis ‘Spoken has Algoritmi.” The “writings of paraboles of famellicurbs and meddlied muddlingisms” (303.19–20) so exasperate Shaun that he “hit him

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where he lived” (Huckleberry Finn) and, with Shaun’s one geometric stroke, Shem “measured his earth” (303.28). Shem continues rendering his biology lesson in terms of the new science: and accepts his position on the floor with exclaiming “Pointcarried!” for Jules Henri Poincaré. The wealth of scientific data is still enigmatic while Dolph-Shem describes mechanics in terms of its weight, mass, momentum, and potential energy: “I can’t say if it’s the weight you strike me to the quick or that red mass I was looking at but at the present momentum, potential as I am, I’m seeing rayingbogeys rings round me” (304.05–09). He proposes for Shaun a pleasurable ride “rolypoly” in a barrel, as long as from here to tomorrow. And to hell with them driftbombs and bottom trailers” (304.15–16), for those early assessments of nuclear fission considered the drift of waste from the explosion. Shaun replies with “Forge away, Sunny Sim!” to which Shem responds “Eyeinstye!” (305.06) for Einstein’s General Relativity. Their verbal exchange continues with Shem shortening the energy-argument to “I could engage in an energument over you” (305.13). Alexis Sypek traces the development of Joyce’s interest in science from the beginning of his medical course work by his enrollment in St. Cecilia’s Medical School in October 1902, where he was “exposed only to Newtonian science” (47) from which Joyce transferred to the Ecole de Medecine in Paris, and then resumed at St. Cecilia’s in 1903, which would have provided “substantial pre-Einstein scientific exposure” (48), and Joyce read Vico’s La Scienza Nuova while living in Trieste, between 1905 and 1915. She quotes Alan Thiher who “draws the comparison that ‘The law of eternal return can look very much like a description of relativistic temporality,’ in the sense that time is distorted from its unequivocal Newtonian absoluteness” (49), and Jean-Michel Rabaté in Joyce upon the Void disclosed that Joyce was studying for the Ithaca chapter of Ulysses Henri Poincare’s La Science et l’hypothese, which had been published in 1902” and was an important influence for Einstein (Sypek 50). Further, Rabatè writes, “Einstein published his special theory of relativity and a paper on the photoelectric effect in the Annalen der Physik in 1905, and the general theory of relativity in the same periodical in 1916” (Sypek 51). The early 1920s, she observes, “served as time for the rapid popularization of the theories of Einstein and the subsequent developments in the field of quantum theory”; he became “a cultural icon” (51). In his Principia Mathematica, Newton described Absolute Space as “in its own nature, without regard to anything external, [that] remains always similar and immovable. Relative space is some movable dimension or measure of the absolute spaces; which our senses determine by its position to bodies” (Sypek 52). Newton phrased time as “a constant, and the universe moving through time linearly at a uniform rate.” Joyce manipulated time and space into fraternal opposites; the Ondt, whose bulk is famous, “was sair sair sullemn and chairmanlooking when he

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was not making spaces in his psyche, but, laus! when he wore making spaces on his ikey, he ware mouche mothst secred and muravyingly wisechairmanlooking” (416.04–08). Joyce’s Shaun the Ondt is taunted by time-conscious Shem who offers “My in risible universe youdly haud find” (419.04) and the oft-quoted “Holy Saltmartin, why can’t you beat time?” (419.07–08). Sypek notes that “Einstein’s theory of relativity rid physics of the idea of a Newtonian privileged frame of reference. Sypek quotes Bertrand Russell, The ABC of Relativity: When we walk towards a door we experience it as our motion moving towards the doorway. However, the idea that the doorway is in fact moving towards us is just as mathematically and theoretically legitimate according to relativity. There is no privileged inertial frame. The speed of light, however, is constant and independent of any observational referential frame. The goal of relativity theory is in fact to “arrive at a statement of physical laws that shall in no way depend upon the circumstances of the observer” (Sypek 53).

Tracing the history of “Joyce’s exposure to science,” Sypek notices that Joyce’s notebook VI.B.1 contains sources Joyce used between February and April 1924, of which the most relevant is “Daedalus: or science and the future,” a lecture that biologist J.B.S. Haldane gave in Cambridge in February 1923” and published later in the year. Haldane discusses “quantum theory, its history, and the future course he thinks it will take . . . for artists to be truly successful, they first must appreciate science,” and he notes that one of the main characters in Finnegans Wake, HCE, is a chemical symbol. Her continuing survey of Joyce’s sources as found in the notebooks and ending with the Encyclopedia Britannica of 1911 is well worthy of close scrutiny (Sypek 45–68). She observes in passing Joyce’s use of J. M. Flood’s Ireland: Its Saints and Scholars for the debate between St. Patrick and the Archdruid/ Berkeley and for, as Duszenko shows (“Joyce of Science“ 10), white light as “the visible part of the spectrum, which, with its constituent parts” Joyce exhibits with their “borderline frequencies, ‘ulstravoliance [and] infroraids’” (316.02–03). For the extension of Joyce’s application of the 293 sketch, the Berkeley-Archdruid debate is considered herewith for two dominant factors: the colors green and white and the vanishing universe. It does, however, pose the question in what part of Joyce’s Wakean universe are the speakers located? The Wake’s preceding two paragraphs, after Viconian divining, offer for “the place and period under consideration a socially organic entity of a millenary military maritory monetary morphological circumformation in a more or less settled state of equonomic ecolube equalobe equilab equilibbrium. Gam on, Gearge!” (599.15–18) as “Come on” or “Game on,” George Berkeley! The next paragraph is concerned with “pacnincstricken humanity” (599.28) and predicts “the fog of the cloud in which we toil and the cloud of

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the fog under which we labour, bomb the thing’s to be domb about it so that, beyond indicating the locality, it is felt that one cannot with advantage add a very great deal to the foregoing by what, such as it is to be, follows” (599.28–34). Identified by the former Mutt and Jute of chapter 1 resurrected in a new generation as part of the ricorso now recreated as Muta and Juva, what “follows” may be assumed to occupy the same space where in chapter 1 they observed the conditions of HCE’s “innkempt house” (13.08). The difference now is the new science. Muta’s first question concerns a non-atomic drift, translated from the approximate Latin “Quodestnunc fumusiste volhvuns ex Domoyno?” (609.24): “what now is that smoke rolling out of the Lord?” referring to St. Patrick’s paschal fire. Juva replies, “It is Old Head of Kettle puffing [pipe smoking] off the top of the mornin,” (609.24–25) the Irish greeting for the new day, and refers to “Jakob van der Bethel, smolking behing his pipe” (607.08). This requires recourse to Ulysses, of which Bernard Benstock in Narrative Con/Texts explains that Leopold Bloom in Lotus Eaters “conjures up a Father Abraham as a surrogate for his own, in ‘Oxen of the Sun’ he visualizes his father ‘with Jacob’s pipe’ in the ‘paternal ingle’ so that in ‘Circe’ he has deftly shifted the emphasis away from religious defection (patriarch Abraham) to the lesser sin of leaving his father’s house. [paragraph] Similarly, at Bloom’s trial, Father Coffee manages to conflate the biblical Jacob with the Dublin company that manufactures Jacob’s Biscuits in his version of “Domine vobiscum’: ‘Namine, Jacob’s. Vobiscuits. Amen’” (Narrative Con 175–76). Benstock is reading Ulysses in the motif fashion required of Finnegans Wake and, to phrase it hastily, links the current Muta-Juva scene back to the biblical time often referred to for Ireland’s heritage “When old the wormd was a gadden” (354.22) and “Eve takes fall” (293.21). Responding to Muta’s objection that he should be ashamed of himself for “smoking before the high host,” Juva refers to Joyce’s letter to Frank Budgen that “Dies is Dorminus master” (609.28) which conveys “Deus est Dominus noster [Our Lord] plus the day is Lord over sleep, i.e. when it days.” Joyce comments in the same letter that “the colloquy between Berkeley and the arch druid . . . is also a defence of the book itself, “B’s [Berkeley’s] theory of colours and Patrick’s practical solution of the problem” (Letters I: 406). In addition to colors, the concern here is the presence of Einstein’s theories. Sypek validates several considerations of the present ancient debate and the new atomic theory. H. G. Wells’ novel The World Set Free, published in 1914, as he said in preface, held back the Great War “to allow the chemist to get well forward with his discovery of the release of atomic energy. 1956 . . . may be none too late for that crowning revolution in human potentialities.” He imagines the initial blast in Europe, not the United States.

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Sypek notes that Joyce used J. M. Flood’s Ireland: Its Saints and Scholars, published by Talbot Press in Dublin and later dated 1917, for the St. Patrick-Berkeley debate. A commanding aspect of the Ard Righ Laery is his great courtesy and consideration of the rival Patrick: “Laery listened to the Saint’s explanation of the Easter celebration, and then desiring to hear him speak further regarding the Christian faith, told him to appear before him at Tara on the following day” (Flood 13). Patrick succeeded in converting two daughters of King Laery, who at first thought the white-robed companions of St. Patrick “were Duine Sidhe or fairies.” They questioned where this God lived and were told He was “above heaven, and in heaven, and under heaven; He was over all things . . . and gave the light to the sun” (Flood 15). The question arises whether human discourse upon the intangibles of the universe is possible without a deity. Berkeley in his Theory of Vision declared that “lines and shapes” mix themselves with ideas of sight” so that “we can hardly avoid thinking of them as visual” and “the moment we open our eyes the ideas of distance, bodies, and tangible shapes are suggested by them; I think we can fairly conclude that the proper objects of vision constitute a universal language of the Author of nature” (33–34). Juva defines white light in that it is “the light of the bright reason that daysends to us from the high” (610.28). Newton thought that white light is “composed of coloured particles that combine to appear white.” The inescapable blessing of a foreign classical deity persuaded Newton to divide his “color spectrum” into seven because ancient Greeks placed their faith in seven wandering stars, as Joyce’s Ard Righ wears a “heptachromatic sevenhued septicoloured roranyellgreenlindigan mantle” (611.06). This debate has potential for humor. From Muta’s “druidful scatterings one piece tall chap” (609.35), Juva derives “Bulkily” for Berkeley whose theosophy/esophagus, accustomed to the stimulant of tar water, is disgusted “over the whorse proceedings” (610.02); he answers the next question to the effect that the Ard Righ, the King, “rearrexes” (610.04) from among the leaves. Following “Tunc” (611.04) Berkeley controls the dialogue to the next paragraph headed “Punc” (612.16). Bilkeley-Belkelly “say [addresses] patfella” (611.27) in sing-song while his listener “comprehendurient . . . augmentationed” (611.30–31) color vision and Bulkily sees that, with his “fiery” crown (his red hair), the King sucks all of the green out of the color spectrum and appears in “sorrelwood herbgreen” (611.34) his golden costume “saffron pettikilt look same hue of boiled spinasses” (611.36) while he is “not compyhandy/comprehending” that his golden torc looks the green of curlicabbis (612.02); moreover, his “verdant readyrainroof” has been inherited from Mosthighest Ober King Leary, now “very dead” (612.04) in spite of an abundance of laurel leaves, typically awarded to victors in competitions. After that the blue eyes of the Highest King look the same green “like thyme choppy upon parsley”

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(612.07) and the Indian gem on his finger looks like an olive lentil and the contusions on his face have been lightened with sennacassia, which gives a golden tint. He would prefer to look golden, for “Hump cumps Ebblybally!” (612.15) or “Here Comes Everybody.” The reply “Sukkot?” for “Succat,” Patrick’s baptismal name, in the tradition of “Succat shalom” would make the church’s accumulation of wealth later a “side issue.” At “Punc” Patrick replies. Since color is created in the brain and appears to be located in objects, Patrick “refrects” (612.16), for colors are types of reflections. He can despise the poor ignorant infidel; and, by the length of his polysyllables, demonstrates his determination to outdo the Ard Righ and Berkeley, and he heaps scorn of “tripeness” (612.17) or worthlessness on the achievement of the “Bigseer” whom he addresses. Patrick himself, assuming meekness, is a “petty padre.” He sees his theological opponent as a “pore shiroskuro blackinwhitepaddynger” (612,18) like himself by means of reflection “aposterioprismically apatstrophied and paralogically periparolysed” (612.19). Patrick profits from the spread of Christianity by its absorption of pagan cultures and chooses his handkerchief for an activity related to things, “My tappropinquish to Me wipenmeselps gnosegates a handcaughtscheaf of synthetic shammyrag” (612.24–25) or, as “my tapping myself is to my wiping myself” employs tactual consciousness, “so a handkerchief is to an it” employs visual consciousness: two modes of perception Berkeley believed were connected only by the will of the Universal Mind. He kneels dramatically three times to the common symbol, the rainbow “Balenoarch” (612.28) while flagrantly plagiarizing Berkeley under the guise of reverence for ‘the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” There is much more (E. Conc.Guide 224–25), but the purpose here is to connect with the vanishing universe. Berkeley’s Theory of Vision offers wisdom for interpreting Finnegans Wake in that “Visible shapes represent tangible shapes in much the same way that written words represent sound . . . Each written word has to contain as many distinct characters as there are variations in the sound it stands for,” and for the letter a in adultery “there are eight different changes of the air by the organ of speech” (Vision 33). This justifies the fasting “cassock groaner” (611.09) in his drinking up words through “photoprismic velamina of hueful panepiphanal world” by which the “zoantholitic furniture” does not appear to fallen man except as “one photoreflection of the several iridals gradationes of solar light” (611.13–17). Einstein’s vanishing universe is disguised as a means of quenching thirst, and Joyce makes parenthetic insertions to sketch the furniture vanishing. Under “Tunc” Joyce applies, as McHugh notes, Berkeley’s phrase “furniture of earth” that refers “to the totality of material objects.” These textual objects/words, contained parenthetically, vanish gradually of which “(furnit of heupanepi world)” (611.18) is reduced to “(part of fur of huepanwor)” (611.18–19), then to “all objects (of panepiwor)” (611.22), then to “obs of epiwo” (611. 24). This is Joyce/Vico’s four stages

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and Einstein’s vanishing world. Regarding the 293 diagram, the search for the completion of the Einstein applications ends abruptly here. But there persists unexplained energy in the world. THE “ELECTROMAGNETIC” ENERGY OF GHOSTS “Ah, there must be terrible creatures at the latter end of the world,” recited John Alphonsus Mulrennan of an “old man,” himself having returned from the west of Ireland and having spoken “about universe and stars” (AP 251). Many persons have personal confirmation of the ghosts of Clongowes and poltergeist activity, which Joyce wrote into “Polthergeistkotzdondherhoploits!” (187.15); traces have been witnessed, curiously, in an otherwise (other than the self) unoccupied house. Like our auras, we carry our psychic energy with us. W. T. Stead was attracted to the achievements of the medium Eusapia Paladino, who was one of only three mediums that William G. Roll names in his book The Poltergeist for being able to move objects with her mind. Frequently objects shot through the air by his subject Julio travelled in a lateral direction across the room, a defiance of gravity, before falling to the floor. A witness who has not seen a ghost or poltergeist activity is not a credible witness. Ghost enthusiasts have adapted Einstein’s mass-energy equivalence formula to claim that the energy of the dead is transmitted to ghosts, and certainly the force of gravity is to be reckoned with. Among fewer than thirty “full-time parapsychologists in the world,” William Roll has developed a theory: we may suppose that a person’s tension system extends beyond the biological organism into his physical environment. In other words, we can think of the psi field as consisting of psychic energy. This field surrounds its source, in our case the poltergeist agent, and interacts with physical objects in his environment, much as sunlight interacts with water molecules as it penetrates the ocean. In the course of this process, psychic energy is transformed, for instance, to kinetic or light energy. (189)

There remains for consideration the eons of mystical time-passing that Joyce writes into the tree and stone transformation, which Encyclopedia.com addresses: “A particular carbon atom located in someone’s eyelash may have at one time been part of some now-extinct species, like a dinosaur. Since the dinosaur died and decomposed millions of years ago, its carbon atoms have taken many forms before ending up as part of a human being.” Science may one day unravel some of the mysteries of Clongowes Wood College that Peter Costello recorded in his appended “General Notes” to his History, but the time is not the present. W. T. Stead was forced to confront the fact that a ghost had not been created in a laboratory and is incapable of being subjected

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to repeated onerous testing; the effects of energy, like gravity present and dispersed, however, can be measured. A century after W. T. Stead, the same tests and topics recur. “The Report on the Census of Hallucinations (1894) by Professor Sidgwick’s Committee,” Evans-Wentz found in 1911, convinced many that “phantoms do appear to the living,” like the ghost at Clongowes, “directly before a death as though announcing it.” Myers, in Phantasms of the Living (1886) by Gurney, Myers, and Podmore, “holds that Nature herself has a memory: there is some indefinable psychic element in the earth’s atmosphere upon which all human and physical actions or phenomena are photographed or impressed,” and these “phantom records or pictures” exist “on the psychical envelope of the planet” (Evans-Wentz 485). This “memory of nature” is at work in the passage in Finnegans Wake (81.07–11) about O’Connell having passed that way. Evans-Wentz reviews additional phenomena of possession by an evil spirit, and the changelings who exhibit change of personality, to conclude that all of these phenomena must be advanced beyond “outworn ‘superstition.’” He examines the Celtic doctrine of re-birth that forms much of Finnegans Wake in the notion that Finn MacCool permeates many ages and will return. The end of chapter 3 has promised much: Finn “skall wake from earthsleep” (74.01). For “in those deyes his Deyus/Deus shall ask of Allprohome [a deity] and call to him: Allprohome! And he make answer” (74.06–07), for the reference invokes Berkeley’s conclusion that “vision is the language of the Author of nature” (Theory of Vision 44). The hero spirit, as well as the hero, answers the call. Where the spirit abides awaiting rebirth is burdened with a vast undetermined legacy. Years away from being a “fabricated ghost” (as one critic calls it), the one seen by Stephen Dedalus at Clongowes was heir to a titled and violent genealogy. Sketching the history of Clongowes and Castle Browne before 1814, Peter Costello’s Clongowes Wood (1989) provides that the silva de Clongow of medieval documents is from the Gaelic cluain gahan, the open place of the smith (247). “When Richard de Clare (Strongbow) through his marriage with Eva MacMurrough, became Lord of Leinster, he granted most of northern Kildare to his friend Adam de Hereford” (246). This contradicts the slander of Mr. Deasy in Ulysses (2: 391) who blamed women for bringing sin into the world and “A faithless wife first brought the strangers to our shore here, MacMurrough’s wife and her leman, O’Rourke, prince of Breffni.” Much transfer and assignment of lands follows, to the year 1317 when Edward II gave the lands to Sir John Wogan, then the Viceroy of Ireland, and in 1417 an “assignment was made” to a widow of Wogan, later of the Eustace family, that included forty acres of Sylva de Clongow, the first history of the actual site of the castle. The Eustace family maintained control “until the Great Rebellion [1798, against British rule] when they were confiscated. During this war, the lady of the castle, a Mrs Eustace who was in her nineti-

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eth year, refused to give up the key to the strong room, keeping it in her mouth. The soldiers broke her jaw to get it” (247), an unwarranted action likely to inspire ghostly retribution. The Castle had been ruined by the Commonwealth troops under General Monck in 1642 and after the Restoration of Charles II was granted to Richard Reynell, who became Chief Justice in the Common Pleas of Ireland. The great Daniel O’Connell favored “its purchase by the Jesuits, as there could be no dispute about the legality of their title,” and Reynell sold Clongowes in 1667 to Thomas Browne of Dublin, who changed the ancient name of the estate to Castle Browne” (246–47). Stephen Fitzwilliam Browne rebuilt the castle in 1718. A son, Thomas Wogan Browne, reconstructed the castle and “took his own life at Clongowes in 1812.” A younger brother “marched with Napoleon to the siege of Moscow. It was General Michael Wogan Browne who sold Clongowes to the Jesuits after the death of his brother.” Another of the family was “Marshal Browne, of the Austrian Army, who was killed at the battle of Prague in 1757” (248). So much dealing with violent death would no doubt motivate many ghosts to linger, or to revisit. Joyce causes one of the senile Four Old Men to recall some of these details, beginning with “their bowl of brown shackle.” To accommodate the ghosts of General Monck in particular for granting the Clongowes lands in 1642, the brown shackle secludes General Michael Wogan Browne, “a lovely munkybown and for xmell and wait the pinch [of sugar] and prompt poor Marchus Lyons to be not beheeding the skillet on for the live of ghosses,” of which the combination of Monck and Browne as former owners of Clongowes forms “munkybown” (397.20). Keeping the wealth in the family was an obvious goal: “Colonel Michael Browne married his cousin Catherine Wogan of Rathcoffey.” A son, Thomas Browne “married Sarah Peirson, the wealthy daughter of a Colonel Peirson of Westmoreland and India” (248). Thomas Wogan Browne, who reconstructed Castle Browne in 1788, occurs to the memory of HCE while summarizing his marriage: “in our windtor palest [Windsor or Winter Palace] it vampared for elenders [exiles; also Master of Elibank visiting in St. Petersburg (R 32: 368–69)], we lubbed Sur Gudd [God] for the sleep [uninterrupted by ghosts] and the ghoasts [sheep and goats]: she chauffed her fuesies [warmed her feet] at my Wigan’s [Wogan’s] jewels” (551.01–03). The Census of Hallucinations would find fertile territory in this saga, and the child Stephen Dedalus would no doubt imbibe much of the tale from “the fellows” almost as soon as he arrived. Here is Peter Costello’s version of the ghost seen by Stephen Dedalus: A curious story was told in the family about the death of Marshal Browne. The castle was lived in at the time by his two unmarried sisters, Rose and Elizabeth. One of the small rooms off the main entrance hall was then used as an ironing room, in which the servants kept a fire on ironing day.

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Chapter 7 One day the door of the room was left open, and the servants were surprised to see an officer in a distinctive uniform enter the hall and go on up the stairs. They could see that his hands were pressed to his chest, and that blood was flowing over them. Recovering from their initial surprise, they hurried up to the Round Room, in which the Misses Browne were sitting at their sewing. They had seen and heard nothing. On hearing from the excited servants the description of the figure, they were certain it must be the ghost of their cousin and that he had been killed. They went into mourning and had masses said for the repose of his soul, a wake was held in the castle. Two weeks later came the official news that the Marshal had died on the day and the hour at which his ghost was seen on the stair of Castle Browne” (249).

Costello verifies that “It is not possible to leave the theme of Clongowes in literature without saying something about James Joyce” (149), despite Gogarty and additional notables, before and after, who studied there. Logical for humans but not ghosts is Stephen’s version: “He saw the dark entrance hall of the castle” suggesting arrival by carriage, after which “A figure came up the staircase from the hall” (AP 19). The “stairs” detail, missing in official accounts, is the prominent factor continued in one scene of Finnegans Wake which is chary of Stephen’s reliving the experience, despite the implication that Kate the Charwoman is a descendant of Catherine the Great and just as tough; the “working medicals” know of “her birthright pang that would split an atam” (333.25). Shem hesitates at the horrors likely to be revealed in family genealogy: “He dares not think why the grandmother of the grandmother of his grandmother’s grandmother coughed Russky with suchky husky accent since in the mouthart of the slove/Slav look at me now means I once was otherwise” (253.02–05). Following “L’arty Magory” for the Arabian mathematician who inscribed “spoken has Algoritmi,” is the unusual orthography of “Prouf!” (303.14) for the “proof” required of geometry. “Prouf,” however, is footnoted “The Brownes de Browne—Browne of Castlehacknolan” (303.F3), calling upon the ghost for confirmation. The rare instances of total recall for the ghost-on-the-stairs incident from the Portrait are indeed minimal but serve notice rather flittingly that the ghost follows the family into the next generation, when Mrs. Porter, awakened at night by the restlessness of the children, is part of a “Shifting scene” moved from “Corridor” (560.03–04). The scene is one of “Wall flats: sink and fly. Spotlight working wall cloths. Spill playing rake and bridges. Room to sink: stairs to sink behind room. Two pieces. Haying after queue. Replay” (560.04–06). It turns to the “old humbug” of the Porter household who “looks a thing incomplete so. It is so. On its dead,” he looks like a ghost. “But it will pawn up a fine head of porter when it is finished. In the quicktime [quicklime for burial]. The castle arkwright put in a chequered staircase certainly,” for the castle is part of the game. “It has only one square step, to be steady,” confirmation of W. T. Stead’s publicized faith in ghosts. Yet

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“notwthstumbling are they stalemating backgammoner supstairs by skips and trestles [typical of Clongowes] tiltop double corner” [on chess or checkerboard] (560.07–12). The usual alarming signal “Whist!” is disguised as a game in “Whist while and game/ backgamon” (560.10–12). The Listening Narrator comments: “What scenic artist! It is ideal residence for realtar/realtor” and there is a “tunning bell” to “airwake” the dead, and “How hominous his house, haunt it?” The Telling Narrator replies in ghost-filled language: “Yesses indead it be! Nogen [possibly Wogan], of imperial measure, is begraved beneadher,” which is Danish nogen er begravat” for “someone is buried.” Befitting Earwicker’s pub, “Here are the naggins/noggins poured, his alladim lamps,” for they indeed keep the pub lights burning, with the “bedst” reminder of Stead (560.13–20). The Anglican grace is made applicable: “For them whom we have fordone make we newly thankful!” (560.21). These flitting reminders of the Clongowes ghost prepare for the brief star performance, in which the Russian-descended Kate the Charwoman sees the ghost of her master. The Afterlife Four Old Men in preliminary call for the handyman Sigurson whose companion in service is Kate: “Call Kitty the Beads, the Mandame of Tipknock Castle!” who may have been one of the “old servants” who saw the ghost of Marshal Browne. “Let succuba [female ghost who visits males] succumb, [exclamation of view of present castle] the improvable his wealth made possible! He’s cookinghagar [looking haggard] that rost/raised [Sw. röst, her voice] her prayer to him upon the top of the stairs” (530.32–34). Kate replies, remembering Stead’s Haunting Horrors in Armenia or Earwicker’s “armenities,” testifies “he warrs the bedst” (531.05). In the version of Stephen Dedalus, the old servants had occupied the ironing room when they saw the ghost. Kate says she massaged Earwicker’s “dilltoyds” with her “ironing duck” on the kitchen table until his face warmed to red “with lovensoft eyebulbs” (531.05–10). After these faint twitterings, Earwicker is called to enter, “Arise, sir ghostus! As long as you’ve lived there’ll be no other” (532.04), and the central revelation on the stairs is imminent. For the “next generation” of chapter 16, Joyce offers a reprise of significant prior events, of which “wan fine night . . . while Kothereen the Slop . . . was basquing to her pillasleep how she thawght a knogg came to the dowanstairs dour at that howr to pierce the yare/ear and downandshe [downstairs she went]” to see what was happening: [T]here was a crick up the stirkiss/staircase and when she ruz the cankle [raised the candle] to see, galohery, downand she went on her knees to blessersef that were knogging [Castleknock Road traverses Phoenix Park] together . . . [for possibly it might be] Gander O’Toole [Lawrence O’Toole] of the Mountains [Howth] or his googoo [teeth chattering] goosth she seein, sliving off over the sawdust lobby out of the backroom, wan ter [one turn], that was everywans [everywhere] in turruns, in his honeymoon trim, holding up his

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Chapter 7 fingerhals, with the clookey [clock key, to wind] in his fisstball, tocher of davy’s, tocher of ivileagh [litany Tower of David, Tower of Ivory] for her to whisht [“Silence!”], you sowbelly [a general term of abuse], and the whites of his pious eyebulbs swering her to silence and coort/courtesy” (556.31–557.12).

However, this “being” appearing to the ghost Earwicker on his castle stairs has herself in a prior scene appeared as a ghost. Kate entered the pub scene as a ghost, creating a mystery: “what o szeszame open, v doer s t doing?” (333.1–2). She is recognized as the “nummifeed confusionary overinsured ever lapsing accentuated katekattershin,” a ghost of Catherine the Great of Russia, who has “clopped, clopped, clopped” through the ages “back and along the danzing corridor . . . between the two deathdealing allied divisions and the lines of readypresent fire” (333.6–10). The Danzig Corridor, also called the Polish or Gdansk Corridor, provided the Second Republic of Poland (1920–1939) with access to the Baltic Sea. In this passage, Kate is the ghost; in the passage quoted above from two hundred pages later, she is Kate the Cleaner who goes to investigate a noise, and she is very humanly frightened by seeing the ghost of Earwicker on the stairs, urging her to be secretive. Abiding through the ages, living or ghosting, she is a guardian spirit as Pappie-Roderick O’Connor licks up the last dregs before closing the pub for the night, “forenenst the staregaze of the cathering candled” (382.17). The ghost that Stephen Dedalus sees haunting the corridor of Clongowes comes from a long line of ghostly inheritance: “He saw the dark entrance hall of the castle” suggesting arrival by carriage, after which “A figure came up the staircase from the hall” (AP 19). Stephen lying in bed in the infirmary at Clongowes had heard the prefect’s shoes going away. “Where? Down the staircase and along the corridors or to his room at the end? He saw the dark. Was it true about the black dog that walked there at night with eyes as big as carriagelamps?” (AP 19). For Stephen’s seeing the castle entrance, Costello explains that The Round Room was the sitting room of the Wogan Browne ladies in the afternoons, talking reading, and sewing. “Usually a glass panel hung in the doorway to keep out the draft, and looking up into a mirror over the mantelpiece, they could see right down the long riding and the drive to the castle and so be aware of visitors before they reached the door and rang the bell” (251). The ghost that Stephen sees on the corridor at Clongowes relives the stairs-haunting presence that abides through generations of living and dying. Onward and upward! Thus Joyce illuminates “the dark night of the soul.” Costello records additional ghosts fraternizing with humans at Clongowes; a room in the basement was exorcised for knockings, and “An account of the other college ghost, the headless coachman, appears in The Clongownian of 1927” (249). And others.

Chapter Eight

Maamtrasna Retrial Defends the Joyce Family Name

Pax vobiscum, to you and the City. The British lion, symbol of the Empire, colludes with Irish weather to wreak misery and to overshadow the streets of our “teargarten” Dublin, where the omnipresent rain weeps mercilessly and turns the land to mud and liquid dung. In the Wake’s chapter 5 (I.5), the native weapon, the Gaeltect dungfork [Shem’s tonguefork], can still triumph by the Wet Pinter’s/Word Painter’s exchange with the “perplexedly uncondemnatory” (90.35) court. A “Q and A” contest of apparently brilliant witticisms is intended to invest the public witnesses with thorough pleasure in the display of Irish repartee, but so far has eluded critical analysis; it appears to be dull rather than brilliant. After “Pegger Festy” washes off the “stucckomuck” from his face and reappears in court, his speech is laden with weighty information that serves to overwhelm the opposition; meanwhile, relevant to the Christmas dinner scene from the Portrait, the information provides answers why the presence of Oliver Wendell Holmes’ “Autocrat of the Breakfast Table” is necessary. Unlike the outcome of the Maamtrasna trial in 1882, in which ten suspects were tried, after which three men were hanged on 15 December 1882, Myles Joyce among them spoke in Gaelic comparing himself with Jesus Christ, Who also was “unjustly hanged.” Joyce’s character, “Pegger Festy” wins the case for “Pappie,” free to go; but Why? Joyce’s essay “Ireland at the Bar,” dated 1907, in The Critical Writings sets forth what Joyce understood to be the facts of the case, that “the seventy year old, Myles Joyce, was the prime suspect” who like the others being tried required an interpreter, at the disadvantage of appearing to be “the patriarch of a miserable tribe unused to civilized customs.” Joyce’s thesis makes clear the importance of Maamtrasna: “The figure of this dumbfounded old man, a remnant of a civilization not ours, deaf and dumb before his judge, is a 247

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symbol of the Irish nation at the bar of public opinion.” Recent incidents made it seem to the public that the Irish are “highwaymen with distorted faces, roaming the night with the object of taking the hide of every Unionist” (CW 197–200). The distance between the sides utilizes Giordano Bruno’s “isce et ille” philosophy. This chapter advances through Essentials of Pappie’s First Encounter in Phoenix Park, details of Pappie’s Consternated Second Encounter, Festy King’s Performance for Maamtrasna, a Diversionary Sketch of Precedents, the Trial Resumption, and Conclusion. Critical coverage of the trial “crossexanimation” (87.34–90.33) basically does not exist, while Bill Cadbury for Crispi and Slote credits Vincent Deane’s discovery of Joyce’s use of “several stories in an earlier Connacht Tribune about actual court trials concerning ambush and attack” (C/S 79, 92) and treats the two parts of “cad” and Maamtrasna under the heading of Chapters 1 - 4 This text will attempt to clarify Joyce’s purposes and construction of the “crossexanimation” (87.34) obviously expected to be a wearying affair. Complexities commence with John Stanislaus Joyce or “Pappie,” the “friend of all creation” (a mood indicating a drop taken) being “encountered” while crossing Phoenix Park, the details of which, except that Pappie was the person accosted, Jackson and Costello could not confirm. They relate that John Stanislaus Joyce worked as a rates (tax) collector when he was crossing Phoenix Park on the night that he met the “cad with a pipe” (35.11) who was “some sort of ne’er-do-well, who relieved him of his satchel with the municipal rates in it.” A “more heroic version of the incident—probably the one told to the family—claims that John saved the day by valiantly fighting off no fewer than two vicious assailants with only the aid of his trusty shillelagh.” John may have helped himself “to something from the satchel” (JC 141), either drink or cash. Telling the family is Joyce’s way of saying that he “reported the occurance in the best way he could, to the flabbergaze of the whole lab” (84.12–13), meaning the family and any additional listeners. The shillelagh, then, explains the “tigerwood roadstaff to his stay” (35.07), an allusion to Tigernach Tétbannach, an early Munster king, or the “woden affair [Wotan, god of word press] in the shape of a webley” (82.16), a wooden gun that “fell from the intruser” (82.18) out of the motley assortment of his clothing (35.08–10) as told when he and his pub friend reinvent the story with changing roles, amounts of money, and weapons (82.04–84.27). The narrative begins with the cheerful prospects of an “Ides-of-April” [13 April] (35.03) morning, close to noon as the bellmaster tolls “twelve of em sidereal and tankard [pubs opening] time” (35.33). Bill Cadbury, who traces genetically Joyce’s complicated visions and revisions for Crispi/Slote, elaborates the tale from Vincent Deane’s discovery of six of Joyce’s notes from a Freeman’s Journal report of 21 November 1923 (C/S 73–74) that vitally enhance the credibility of the Wakean tale

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concerning a comic trial where it is said that “a fender is carried by one of the attackers” at the “bludgey gate” (63.34) of an earlier segment. The word “cad” is mentioned responsibly only once in this scene (35.11) and a second time indirectly about his “wife” (38.09), after which the cad motif, short for “cadger,” diverges elsewhere but has meanwhile fixed “the cad encounter” in literary criticism on this scene irrevocably. It should logically be known as the encounter with the tramp. Cadbury then traces the objects that include a “suspicious parcel,” a “barking revolver,” “mistaken for a fender,” mixed up with a coffin “mistaken for a fender,” and finally “HCE’s identification as ‘King’” (C/S 73–75). That the fireplace surround called a fender may be confused with a pipe indicates that a metal pipe from the fender has been removed and carried away. Joyce’s Pappie is unmistakably prominent as HCE in the subsequent trial of Festy King. Additional information is provided by the biography of Joyce’s father, John Stanislaus Joyce by Jackson and Costello. For a time, Eccles Street, where the Blooms lived in 1904, was “in John Stanislaus’s new collecting patch.” “On one occasion,” they write, “late as usual in sending out notices to pay, he sent Eccles Street residents summonses instead,” never mind the cost in time and money for victims to appear in court and defend themselves. “It would save work and get the rates money in more quickly” (JC 149–50). Characteristic of Irish savoir-faire, in 1865, they write, an escaped Fenian leader [James Stephens] was being smuggled out of Ireland; when stopped by a police launch in Dublin Bay, the prisoner “wearing a dainty long dress and a veil wreathed with orange-blossom, put the officer off the scent by embracing Captain Weldon and fluttering his eyelashes at him” (JC 215). John Stanislaus brought the old sailor home, “the one who got James Stephens away.” Pappie, largely for his own amusement, rather excelled in similar extemporaneous deceptions, and would be trusted to perform his best in the “Maamtrasna” trial. The progress is not a factual rendition of the “encounter” but collaborative mischief starring Pappie in reinventing or reliving the encounter; and “the cad,” who prompts this action, vanishes from here to separate diversions of his own. Like a quarrel in a pub, the “dear reader” is probably destined never to be satisfied with any construction put upon this event. Farmer and Henley define “cad” as a term of contempt for an “offensively ill-bred person” and consent that “cadge” is “begging”; observing definitions also assists with determining the outcome. Since the “pipe” may be part of a fireplace fender, the smoking pipe-carrying cad “luciferent” should be distinguished from an accoster with a shillelagh or a pistol. The “cad” first accosts Pappie with “Guinness thaw tool in jew me dinner ouzel fin?” (35.15–16) which resembles a request for funds for dinner but represents Irish “How are you today my fair gentleman?” which forms a variation of the “dark” gentleman in the Park Maid motif. Colloquial usage

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encodes the luciferent’s question “could he tell him how much a clock it was” (35.18), for which Farmer and Henley offer “to be well informed, experienced, wide-awake, to be equal to any emergency,” which proves authentic in “tell Toler cad [Irish “what”] a’clog it is” (127.07). The slang phrase causes Pappie to react with fear for his life and/or as it appears in the next version, fear for the contents of the satchel he carries; moreover, having tippled, he is definitely “feelin tipstaff” (35.27). He produces from his gunpocket, when guns were not permitted, his Jurgensen’s watch, a time-killer “shrapnel Waterbury,” common to Britain and the United States but owned by Pappie’s “usucapture” (35.28–29), a fact of life originated in Roman law and often covered by the expression “possession is nine tenths of the law,” which in Pappie’s use implies picked up during an owner’s moment of unguarded attention. Simultaneously, saved by the bell, he hears the stroke of midnight from the speckled church; visibility must be limited at this hour. Vitalized by resemblance to the sound of Cuchulain’s call (s.) to action, he tells the “inquiring kidder” that it was “twelve of em sidereal and tankard time” [pubs open] and bended/bowed deeply exhaling sardinish breath, to give more weight or “pondus [moral force] to the copperstick [truncheon/ shillelagh] he presented” (35.35). Here a “confusium” intervenes in the narrative, because Pappie, the habitual creator of new roles, is revealed to possess the British accent; a “hackusay accusation againstm had been made” (36.04) of H. C. Earwicker, a British accomplice rather than an Irish victim. By this time the fabrication of British Earwicker’s arrival in Ireland, having committed a vague “sin in the park,” is identified by circumstances of W. T. Stead derived by hearsay or “hackusay accusation” (36.04) from his Maiden Tribute, has acquired its own mythology; and Pappie, impersonating Earwicker, entangles himself, momentarily at least, in the meshes of Earwicker’s doubtful outsider reputation. Having committed “the sin in the park,” if he wished to be grieving against injustice rightfully, Pappie betrays himself as British with the “hackusay accusation” made in “high quarters as was stood [a form of Stead] stated in Morganspost, the morning newspaper, by a creature in youman form (36.06) who was “quite beneath parr and several degrees lower than yore triplehydrad snake” (36.07), quoted from the Bywaters murder trial that Joyce was using for a source. Famous for turning news of any sort into cash, “Pappie” has borrowed from “the Sayings Attributive to H. C. Earwicker, prize on schillings, postlots free” (36.11–12), as Stead advertised shipping costs for his publications. Whereupon, the instant the thought crosses his mind, Pappie-Earwicker becomes “the flaxen Gygas,” king of Lydia, who taps his “chronometrum drumdrum” of Boer War bullets for killing time and stands full erect “above the ambijacent floodplain” and points backward to the Wellington monument, the duc de Fer’s or Iron Duke’s “overgrown milestone as fellow to his gage,” his personal measurement, which is high

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and extensive, and assertive of his British self-importance. He points backward by elbow gesture marking an Ǝ! “pointed at an angle of 32 degrees,” a Masonic achievement, to signify his Protestant credentials. His pointing with his “Berlin gauntlet” is a reminder that a prototype of the despised Minotaur of Stead’s Maiden Tribute was found thriving in Berlin (R 32:19). Imitating Earwicker and feeling threatened, Pappie stutters to shake hands and “averred with solemn emotion’s fire” that they are “[From] Me only, them five ones” (36.20) and presumably hands over his five coins that he has “won straight” or legitimately earned, a payment he regards as “equal combat” for insults against his hard-earned efforts to sustain the Irish culture, although, unlike Earwicker, he has not provided himself already with commercial exploitation of Ireland represented in Earwicker’s “nonation [British and Irish] wide hotels and creamery establishments . . . for the honours of our mewmew [stutters] mutual daughters” (36.22–23). For this credit he, Irish by birth, will himself take his stand [swear by] as a sign of our “ruru redemption” [union of British and Irish] and will take the oath of loyalty to the Sinn Féin, the “sinnfinners” (35.26) within sight of the Wellington monument, “even if I get life for it, upon the Open Bible and before the Great Taskmaster’s [eye]” and, drawing upon Titanic lore, “British to my backbone tongue” (36.32), all testifying to his sterling character. Chronology is violated. Whereas Joyce’s insertion of the event “Arrusted” (420.31) in Shem’s list of Joyce family residences provides a legal foundation for Earwicker’s arraignment, the case is substantiated in the Wake, as much as it will ever be, in comparison with the absence of legal evidence for Joyce family guilt in the Maamtrasna murders. Pappie convicts himself further. He cites also for his credentials “Mrs. Michan” with emphasis on her credentials as a member of the “High Church of England” (36.29) not living but bearing a name famous for mummified remains as old as 400 years in St. Michan’s Church in Dublin. He swears by every person “which useth of my British to my backbone tongue and commutative justice” which was famously denied the Irish amid summary executions and deportations, but English Stead’s sentence to hard labor was commuted to confinement in a gentleman’s prison. Pappie denies any tittle of truth “in that purest of fibfib fabrications” (36.34) against him. But which fabrication? He has greatly extended the list. The guilty stammer and details of Stead-Earwicker, such as “British to my backbone tongue” (36.32) attributed to the Captain of the Titanic, brands Pappie-Earwicker for the present scene the same Stead-Earwicker who committed the “sin in the park.” This looks like stage acting, not verifiable living, while it presents a case for the barely-mentioned Maamtrasna trial scene, a more rigorous test of Pappie’s (or Shem’s) Irish dramatic skills. If Pappie lied himself into court, can he lie his way out?

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The tale momentarily adverts to “Gaping Gill” (36.35), the cad, a crudity of “Heidelberg mannleich cavern ethics” (37.01) whose ears prick up an inspiration for greed or “gildthegap Gaper and thee” for “see,” which, toothless, he cannot pronounce (37.08); he thanks his victim for “guilders received and time of day” despite the obvious night time of beneficence received; a bit of cultural morality lingers in the air to enable him to grasp that he too is in the care of the great Taskminister, whom he greets (37.08). As the unnamed accoster recovers quickly at the opportunity and “thanked um for guilders received and time of day (not a little token abock all the same that that was owl the God’s clock it was” (37.05–07) and goes on his way to dine and drink, a “gildthe gap Gaper” displaying the “mouldy voids” of his toothless mouth that required the blessing of food and drink (37.09). Ironically, perhaps as evidence that there is a Taskmaster, he has helped Pappie to deal an altruistic example of goodliness. THE CONSTERNATED “SECOND” VERSION Resumption of the original “encounter” under the “law of capture and recapture” (82.01), in chapter 4, provides no part for the “cad.” Multiplexity rules the scene specifying the “howe’s there” (81.12), the site of the Viking Thingmote assembly, and the weather in the “bucan cold spot” that was formerly “rupestric,” covered with stones but now paved. The stage-setting broadens away from the Wellington Monument and its tram stop (81.16), to the larger scene of the border of the cold sea, and mentions climbing summits and traversing mountain passes above the sea’s edge, where “Beneathere!” (81.16) is Irish for Beinn Eadair, Howth. Some references may be too obscure for immediacy; others immediately clear; “livland” (81.17) for Lavonia on the eastern shores of the Baltic was home for the Finns. Mountain passes and battles engage Henry Luttrel (81.14) who in the battle of Aughrim in 1635 betrayed Limerick to De Ginkel (Atherton Books 68) and escaped over “Luttrell’s Pass,” a man so hated that in 1717 he was shot in his sedan chair in Dublin; eighty years later, his skull was taken from his grave and smashed. Strife and purpose unite many references; the “attackler” Peter Kropotkin (81.18) was a Russian scientist and philosopher who advocated decentralized government befitting Pappie’s anarchism. Bordering the cold sea marks the temporary relocation in 1887 of the young Joyce’s family home from Castlewood Avenue, Rathmines, to 1 Martello Terrace in Bray, County Wicklow. There are several new developments in this second version of Pappie’s “encounter” in Phoenix Park, which at times muddies the identities of attackler and Adversary. The attackler, “a cropatkin, though under medium” height (81.18) like Pappie measuring elsewhere ”perhops five foot eight” (443.23) like Stead

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and “between colours” or political affiliation “with truly native pluck, engaged the Adversary” (81.19) who was more fiery of eye but less/slow of foot, when “for plunder sake” the attackler Pappie mistook the other party for someone so remote as “Oglethorpe or some other ginkus,” which, dehumanized, is thought to mean a contrivance or thingamajig (81.21–22), or even a Parr, whose appearance reminds him of the unrecognized veteran cripple in the song “Johnny I Hardly Knew Ye,” shrunken to a “headandheelless chickenestegg” (81.22). The attackler’s “sacrilegious languages” clearly identify him Pappie; he would “challenge their hemosphores” (81.25) to exterminate the unknown stranger and [blanks filled in] “cannonise the bloody bugger’s life out of him and lay him out contritely as smart as the bugger had his bloody nightprayers said” (81.26–27). Three “patrecknosters” in lieu of “Our Fathers” and the “hellmuirries” remind him of the French vaudeville song tour est sacré pour un sacreur, femme à barbe ou homme-nourrice [male nurse or ghost] (tr) “Nothing is sacred to a sapper,” a soldier who lays mine fields (81.29). In short, Pappie-Earwicker is the medium-height “attackler” who curses “the toller/taller man,” who is assumed to be a seeker of Pappie’s wares. A drunken quarrel requires no clear motive, but money is a controlling objective. No? The attackler “Pappie” carries an oblong bar, “with which he usually broke furnitures,” and raises his “stick” at the unidentified party to “plugg him” and “let the blubbywail ghoats out of him” (81.30). Ghosts again? Cattle raids across the border are known in early Irish literature; hence “The boarder incident prerepeated itself” (81.32), which is clarified by a Mason and Ellmann footnote to Joyce’s “Ireland at the Bar” essay specifying “several incidents of cattle-raiding which occurred in connection with peasant evictions in August 1907” (CW 198). The pair, Japanese or Arabic or French, were possibly “trying to reconnoistre the general Boulkeleff” (81.35) of the tale about Buckley and the Russian general. They tussle back and forth for some time, “under the All In rules around the booksafe” (82.02) where Pappie kept the four books that he owned. The “toller man,” McHugh notes, was John Toller d. 1819 who was 8 feet tall, and this tower of strength had opened his “bully bowl” to beg (82.05), and “said to the miner” [created out of the sapper song] who was carrying the worm,” a portable distillery legitimized by the former distillery employment of John Stanislaus Joyce, consisting of “three vats, two jars and several bottles” (82.07). The negotiations require “saying nothing of the stiff, both parties having an interest in the spirits” (82.08). “Stiff” was slang for negotiable paper or bill of exchange; evidently people without funds wrote promises that they will pay later, and this note is the “ten pound crackler” referred to later (82.24–26). Pappie resorts to the song about the crippled hero returned from war and exclaims “Let me go, Pautheen! I hardly knew ye” (82.09). Later, “after the solstitial [summery] pause for refreshment, the same man (or a different or younger

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him of the same ham [deportment])” asked with an ugly vermicular [wormlike] grin “Was six victolios fifteen pigeon takee offa you, tell he me, stlongfella [De Valera was “the long fellow”] by picky-pocky ten to foul months behindaside?” or behind in turning in the rates he collected (82.10–14). Cadbury marks the sum stolen variously as “six pounds fifteen arrears” (C/S 81) and six pounds fifteen shillings (note #8, p. 90), but in the Chicago Tribune version it was “£6 10 s.” (note 8, p. 91), and another note shows six quid fifteen of conscious money (see note #9, p. 91). Further, “Pat” had six pounds ten shillings stolen from his “comicality” of repaying out of the change from today’s transaction. Here is the crux of the matter, as the parts of the tale sway back and forth. Clearly some of the funds Pappie was collecting have gone missing for an unknown time, allusively more likely a century. The companion “to know wanted, joking and knobkerries all aside laying, if his “change companion” who stuck to the invention of his strongbox, “with a tenacity corrobberating their mutual territorial rights, happened to have the loots [from the night’s collecting] change of a tenpound crickler about him” (82.24–26) [paper money “crackles”] with which he would pay back “the six vics odd” (82.27). This strangest of all commercial ventures Bill Cadbury calls “silly,” “to offer to repay stolen money if the victim has change!” (C/S 77); but it is a promise to pay, not actually money, and a foretaste of the stranger result, that Pappie gives away money. Expecting the “loots change” shows that the accoster knows that Pappie regularly carries the rates money, which he calls “the loot,” amounting to “six victolios fifteen pigeon take offa you” (82.13) for 6 Victoria 15 was the Indian Slavery Act of 1843 within the territories of the East India Company, which was soon dissolved. “Offa” is even more discredited, a person from “Widsith,” an old English poem, “probably” from the seventh century, a fictitious account of a minstrel entertaining the great and wealthy from the fourth to sixth centuries. Pappie and the accoster argue for almost an hour, “and now a woden/Wotan affair in the shape of a webley . . . fell from the intruser” (82.16) who suddenly became friendly; cumbrously shaped like a wooden pistol, the object resembles a folded-up newspaper, and “now we recognize our old friend Ned of the illortemperate letters” (82.17), probably to the editor. Fear of the accoster’s superior intellect vanishes; the stranger knows not which century he lives in. Possibly Issy, the protective daughter and cloud spirit, beamed her soothing influence upon them (82.20); the sun shone briefly. Details from elsewhere in the novel are now added. The accoster saying “not his shirt to tear” (82.22) in classic motif fashion derives from the tale of one of the maiden victims in Stead’s Maiden Tribute. Proposing “joking and knobkerries [natives’ knobbed spear during Boer War] all aside laying” (82.22), the “intruser”― now called a “change companion” holding to the “strongbox” story―claims mutual “territorial” rights―the reserve force Ter-

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ritorials were organized in 1908 to support the military―and attempts extortion of Pappie’s “loot,” if he has the “change of a tenpound crickler about him . . . adding that hap so he would pay him back the six vics odd” out of that taken from “the man of samples” [Earwicker’s store] last Yuni or Yuly” (82.28) when the Maiden Tribute was being investigated and printed. Pappie having playacted himself into the character of the “intruser” instead of the person intruded upon, likened to the vicious crippled felon Billy with the Bowl, lends another clue to “Billy” William Stead-Earwicker, with his “hesitency carried to excelcism” (83.31) who stutters “Woowoo” (82.31) his protest that he has no money (of his own), not even a loo (slang “for the benefit of the company”) nor a “tinpanned crackler” (a ten pound bill of exchange) and “cracking” is housebreaking; but, because of the holiday (“Yuletide or Yuddanfest”) and the challenged logic of Alice’s “hatter’s hares,” he could advance “four and sevenpence” to buy the best, Jamison (83.02). In a moment “at the very first wind of gay gay [in venery, “addicted to the use of men,” but see further] and whisk-wigs [slang for drunk] wick’s ears pricked up” and the “starving gunman” or “intruser” who dropped the “webley” (82.16) promises he would “go good to him suntime/daylight,” for a “chip off the old Flint” [“chip” defined “stoop to meanness for a trifle”] (83.10). HOW PAPPIE TURNS MAGNANIMOUS An examination of word definitions clarifies some issues, beginning with “hopping and trapping” (83.02). A “hop” was a dance, a skipping away from a scene, and “trapping” clearly meant cheating; the logical progression would be “trapping and skipping,” when Pappie in his HCE hesitancy mode denies having any of “the loo/loot anywhere about him,” but because of the holiday “Yuletide or Yuddenfest” (whatever your faith may be), plus “it’s mad nuts, son, for you when it’s hatter’s hares for me”; whatever you choose to call it, it’s insane. No? Pappie believes he can see his way “to advance you something like four and sevenpence between hopping and trapping, which you might just as well have, boy baches, to buy J. J. and S. with” (82.35–83.03). “The boy” meant champagne, and particularly the best, which was known as “B and S.” Pappie has his Irish wits about him and swiftly substitutes “J. J. and S” not to insult a native with a rival possibly-superior drink. “Baches” apparently meant bachelors, otherwise unclassified. At this offer, “the whisk wigs [the drunk’s] wick’s ears pricked up.” A “wick” was indeed an officious person as well as a place. This inebriated person is stunned for a moment at the unexpected windfall, which he translates, as if he earned it, into “gay gay,” which simply meant “payday.” The starving gunman recovers and exclaims “strike him pink,” which in fencing meant to show a bit of blood.

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“Laird” reduced to “lard” in “lards poisonal” encourages the frequent Wake an approximations that make “reading” possible as “lord’s arsenal” (83.08). So Pappie has none of the loot about him but offers an altruistic advance to the “starving gunman,” “something like four and sevenpence,” a windfall of four pounds, in exchange for what? Only the stranger’s good will? The stranger is clearly accustomed to ill will, as he promises to suffer extreme pain, being rammed with “the thorntree of sheol,” that “he would go good to him suntime.” The nearest “four” reference is to Kate Strong and “her filthdump near the Serpentine in Phornix Park” when ructions ended and “by four hands of forethought the first babe of reconcilement is laid in its last cradle of hume sweet home. Give over it! And no more of it!” (80.15–18). The outrageous dialogue defies consistency to the point that Joyce parenthetically apologizes: “ (in the Nichtian [G. nacht combined with niche of venery] glossery which purveys aprioric roots for aposteriorious [reasoning backward] tongues this is nat language (not knowledge for its own sake) at any sinse of the world, and one might fairly go and kish his sprogues [kiss his boots] as fail to certify whether the wartrophy [the gun] eluded at some lives earlier was that somethink like a jug to what, a coctable [concoction with food]” (83.10–15), they plan to depart [to take French leave] to a spree of dining and drinking. A modest rendition of the pubs that Pappie would typically visit in a night (83.17–23) only hints at Pappie’s testified achievement that Joyce’s brother Stanislaus compiled containing sentences like “He headed for the Empire via every public house from the Royal to Dame Street” and “Dame St, College Green, Westmoreland St, O’Connell St, Abbey St, the ‘Ship’” (JC 284). Pappie sums it up as “where appetite would keenest be, ate [at the], funeral fare or fun fain real” (83.21–22) for handouts which O Hehir defines as “under the government or religious rules,” like “the grace of gamy queen Tailte” (83.23). Pappie makes up in gratuities, charity’s and “the government’s” free food, more than the amount he gave away, and does it in his own singular fashion. He recognizes his new (or old) friend a “stunning little southdowner [sundowner]! [tramp looking for free food and lodging] I’d know you anywhere, Declaney” (83.24)” which O Hehir marks “Déaglán” for “Capacity” and its Anglican form Delaney. Pappie would know him [a fellow shyster] “in or out of the lexinction [the extinction] of life and who the hell else, be/by your blanche patch on the boney part!” (83.26) or sacrum. This has nothing to do with Napoleon, a fact Pappie soon clarifies by speaking of his own boney part [backbone] “with the question of boney’s unlawfully obtaining a pierced paraflamme and claptrap fireguard” (84.33). The departed Yawn of the FOM identifies an acquaintance with the “necessary white patch on his rear” (488.30), similar to lack of backbone; this and the foreshadowing that Pappie might “fold” under questioning at the Maamtrasna trial contribute to Shem’s taking his place as testifier.

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To compile and define the words that are possibly not understood is a daunting task, and perhaps the chief task that Joyce imposed on his readers. The task, however, is thoroughly shadowed by intimidation in R. A. Stewart Macalister’s The Secret Languages of Ireland, which contains the alarming statement that “All arts and crafts have a technical terminology of their own, unfamiliar to non-initiates; and their practitioners develop this artificially, the better to preserve their secrets. Masons and Tinkers did so in Ireland” (256). It soothes no linguist’s ego to learn the number of obscure languages that Macalister traces, of which “Bēarlagair na Sāer” is “the language of the Masons” (225–254). Reassuring is Pegger Festy’s attempt to “lilt his holymess the paws and make the sign of the Roman Godhelic faix” (91.35), which is a rare use of the Druid’s studying “an obsolete form of the Goidelic language” to preserve their sacred hymns (Macalister 255), as utilized by a caricaturist’s focus on W. T. Stead. If the shillelagh-pistol-fender folded newspaper is a “pierced paraflamme” (84.34) it may, as a “paraflambeau,” suggest a large ornamental candlestick. Instead, it preserves a common art form of intricate designs made by piercing the metal of a tin can to convert it into a “tin can lantern.” It would not represent a source of wealth but only a convenience in the darkness of the Park, an oddity for Pappie, who “unlawfully obtained” it and speaks of it as “claptrap” or home made. A nail through the bottom of the tin can would stabilize the candle. The tin protects the light from the wind that might snuff out a candle and answers the question “Can I get there by kindlelight?” (20.20) referring to the method of lighting and not the distance. Pappie seems to lay his hands on interesting items that he can carry or discard as he pleases. At present Pappie is delighted with having struck a “Goal ball” and again calls his friend a “sundowner,” whereupon he executes an intricate farewell design based in part on tailoring with “He spud/spit in his faust/fist [concludes deal] (axin/ask); he toped [drank] the raw best [unwatered spirits or baste, to sew together loosely] (pardun) [partner]; he poked [a blow with a fist] his pick (a tip is a tap) [to get the tap, for tailors, to get the upper hand]: and he tucked his friend’s leave [departed; French sleeve]” (83.29–30). With “French hen [letter/condom] or the portlifowlium/portfolio of hastes and leisures” the “queer mixture” of thieving friends exchange the “poghue puxy” kiss on the cheek and implore the god of the day to ratify their “torgantruce,” which O Hehir relates to Irish for “do you understand?” An historical “treatyng” (83.36) from the year 1526 to the refined status of drinking cognac catalogues Pappie’s encyclopediac store of military references and the British genteel. That the hero turns his fez toward “Moscas” (84.01) places him squarely in the camp of W. T. Stead who visited mosques in Istanbul and declared that his Review of Reviews was a Muezzin calling his faithful readers to their reform duties. This inspires Pappie’s new guise as he disposes of

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Figure 8.1. Phil May sketched Stead empowered by Pope Leo XIII “on the brain,” the two fingers of the Pope prominent in blessing of “the Roman Godhelic faith” for Irish Druids’ Goidhelic language now having become Christian (Illus. R 5:343).

a few Bismillas for Allah and “levanted off,” in a display of pedantry, “over the assback bridge” (84.03), the pons asinorum or dolt’s stumbling block, the first difficult theorem from the fifth proposition, Book I, of Euclid. Pappie goes on his way, “spitting his teeths en routes [reinvents the colloquial “in spite of one’s teeth” defined as “in defiance of discomfort”], with the seven and four in danegeld [taxes] and their humoral hurlbat [wooden object] or other uncertain weapon of lignum vitae [wood] reminiscent of a “toboggan poop” or tobacco pipe to keep up “crowplucking” [settling disagreeable matters] with prospective rivals “anywhere between Pearidge” of the American Civil War and Custer’s battle at the Little Big Horn and leaving behind ‘this poor delaney [his companion] with the confederate fender” (84.03–09). Bet-

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ter still, it is skeptically called “The illegallooking range or fender, alias turfing iron” (518.15). Guilt is more guilty in the Afterlife, where one has a choice of “moral turpitude”: “Did you know . . . that one of these two Crimeans with the fender, the taller man, was accused of a certain offence or of a choice of two serious charges?” (522.06–09). To verify his several accounts, Pappie arrives home with “plumsized contusiums plus alsalah [“also la!” means “Look!”) bruised coccyx” reported “to the flabbergaze of the whole lab” (84.11–13), his family, hoping for soothing lotion administered to his damaged parts, which he also exhibited in Vicar Lane, “the white ground of his face all covered with diagonally redcrossed nonfatal mammalian blood” to prove he was “bleeding in self defence” from nostrils, lips, tongue and palate and hair “pulled off his knut’s head” not by the webley but a “Colt” although otherwise healthy with no bones broken (84.19–26). King Canute, to prove a point, commanded the tide to halt (to be divided). Authenticating the damage, like many of the elderly poor, and even young people, John Stanislaus Joyce possessed no teeth at all in those later years. The scene changes (84.28) but not the subject when Pappie prepares to defend himself in court, leaving behind the hard rock wrecking substances of the “encounter” location in preparation for the Maamtrasna Retrial, but nevertheless located miles from civilization, “from [Irish] bank and Dublin [Trinity College] stone” in which he can be observed “wurming along,” sampling the wares of his portable distillery, “even till the eleventh dynasty [of Egypt, mentally] to reach that thuddysickend [thirtysecond] Hamlaugh” or Han dynasty of China (84.30–33), and to examine the question of boney’s (now established as Pappie’s) “unlawfully obtaining a pierced paraflamme and claptrap fireguard” (84.34). Besides thievery, another charge against him is that of his “forebeer, El Don De Dunelli,” a Don Juan at the Theatre Royal in Dublin, whose ship, Pappie wishes, will be stuck and all crew lost. Within “the black of your toenail, sir,” Pappie was in danger of being ambushed by one of the “uddahveddahs” (85.03), combining the sacred cow, the Vedas and the Upanishads, or in danger of being “kayoed offhand” when a heckler with “Peter the Painter [a type of gun] wanted to hole/shoot him” (85.05). Like an upright citizen legitimately walking the Wellington Park Road, Pappie recalls the captain of the Titanic for “Be British, boys” which he improves with “to your bellybone” (85.08) carrying his foredoomed distillery or Quaker’s “quacknostrum” under his “auxter/arm” and bearing his alpenstock (85.11), a legitimate act. He is on the brink of taking his place “on a public seat” for court trial near the Butt Bridge [his anatomy exposed] “as a public protest and naturlikevice, without intent to annoy either” while being thankful for “the wrathbereaved ringdove” (85.17) probably a wanton woman, and the “fearstung boaconstrictor,” an allusion to the Boer War. The sun breaks

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through the rain by means of the cloud Issy intervening, and makes him, for once, thankful for “having other people’s weather.” FESTY KING PERFORMS FOR MAAMTRASNA The exact charges against “Festy King,” initially uncertain, are now specified. Like W. T. Stead who in 1885 was “hailed up” at the Old Bailey on “both the counts” of abduction of Eliza Armstrong and “indecent assault”— Eliza’s examination by the midwife—the reasons that a victim of the Phoenix Park encounter should be charged instead of the perpetrator are now revealed as two of a very personal nature. Pappie’s territory is not the Gaeltacht area of the Maamtrasna murders but “a foulfamed potheen district” (85.25); however, the defendants of Maamtrasna who spoke only Irish, would legitimately speak specifically “old plomansch Mayo” for having originated in the border between Galway and Mayo. [A] “child of Maam, Festy King, of a family long and honourably associated with the tar and feather industries, who gave an address in old plomansch Mayo of the Saxons in the heart of a foulfamed potheen district, was subsequently haled up at the Old Bailey on the calends of Mars, under an incompatibly framed indictment of both the counts . . . that is to see, flying cushats out of his ouveralls [defecating] and making fesses immodst his forces on the field” (85.23–31).

The first charge is defecation and the second is self-exposure to a female, Earwicker’s famed “sin in the park.” The present situation had a precedent. Mysterious witnesses in the Festy King trial of chapter 4 (I.4) begin early to reward backward-browsing enthusiastic readers/listeners to doff their stylish stucckomuck guises from chapter 2 (I.2) when “two pisononse Timcoves” appeared “out of pop/prison” when “the wetter is pest, the renns are overt and come and the voax of the turfur is hurled on our lande” (39.14–15), or “the weather is pest/past, the rains are over and certain to come again and the voice of the turtle [dove] is heard in the land” (Sol. 2:12 ). These “turtlings” have been heard before, “all over Doveland” (61.02) when HCE’s indiscretions were the talk of the land and the possibility, as Sylvia Silence lisped about the “Subsec. 32, section 11, of the C.L.A. act 1885” (61.09–10) that a parallel to his actions would emerge in unforeseen courtrooms. Clearly, the “weather,” meaning “the rain,” which Simon Dedalus remarked drolly is “as uncertain as a child’s bottom,” manifests a persistent, depressing Irish phenomenon in a dramatic trial that, as developments proceed, concern a person or persons aliased WP (86.34) for Wet Pinter. A “pinter,” like Pappie, was a five-pints drinker (or ten). The Word Painter would designate Shem and his enviable facility with languages such as speaking “old plomansch

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Mayo” (85.25). The trial, thus introduced with “the wetter is pest” in chapter 2, begins in chapter 4 (I.5) properly enough with “Oyeh!” (85.31) opening the court session but proceeds farcically. Its recent historical antecedents date from a member of the Joyce family wrongfully accused, they remonstrated, in the Maamtrasna murders in 1882, the year of Joyce’s birth; Stead commented that the “reopening of the question of the Maamtrasna murders” in 1885 contributed to the fall of prime minister Gladstone’s government at the time of the Maiden Tribute. Gladstone denied the reopening but the case resisted satisfaction and was debated again by publication of Winston Churchill’s biography of his father Lord Randolph Churchill in the year 1906 (R 33: 81–93). The fictional trial in Finnegans Wake proceeds in multiplex fashion integrating the Maamtrasna murders, Festy King (whose name Joyce adopts for himself and Pappie) as resident of Galway tried in Dublin, Earwicker as W. T. Stead tried in London but popularly condemned in Ireland for managing a profitable store, told in “The Ballad of Persse O’Reilly” (44–47), and committing the “sin in the park,” the Irish patriot Parnell similarly innocent and tried in London for forgery, characteristics of Shem and Shaun established elsewhere in the novel, reactions of the Irish onlookers, touches of Joyce profiled as Shem, and— overwhelming all—the living conditions of the Irish who were caricatured as pigs that wallowed in mud and were shamelessly depicted as pigs in the Parnell years of Home Rule agitation. Stead made available for posterity those pig depictions by reprinting them in 1892 from 1881 and 1888 (R 5: 359, 361, 363). Venue changes for trials were partially analyzed by John Morley, later Secretary for Ireland: “So long as someone is locked up in Ireland, the official mind is satisfied—the great thing in English eyes is ‘to show force’” (Whyte I: 83), ostensibly wherever they could wreak the greatest damage. The Wakean Maamtrasna project is to baffle the official mind where the Irish can wreak greatest damage, to score a moral victory, which comforts the soul in the absence of a political victory. Exposing several facets at once, the theme of British exploitation of the Irish unravels an Irish plot, a strategy employed for the present-time Festy King’s escape with Irish honors. In the long run, it earns a denouement explaining Joyce’s version of a Brunonian reference concerned with “symphysis of their antipathies” (92.11). Parallel intelligences from Stead’s trial in London continue for “both the counts” (85.28) against Pappi. Stead’s trial reforged the charges of (1) failure to obtain the consent of Eliza’s father, and (2) administration of chloroform to the child for her virgo intacta examination. “Both the counts” under Brehon Law would have been (1) The law of Distress and Caption to cover Distress or Seizure, and (2) laws concerning Accidental Injuries; “as from sledges, hammers, flails, hatches, and other implements connected with peaceful labour” (MacManus 135); the “attackler” in a noble tradition, there-

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fore, naturally arms himself with the “claptrap fireguard” (84.34); and the “woden [wooden/god Wotan “word press”] affair in the shape of a webley [pistol]” (82.16), would be a folded newspaper and, as already witnessed, the repulsive dungfork is Shem’s tonguefork. Among ten Irish-speaking men charged for the Maamtrasna murders of a family of five in the Joyce Country of County Mayo near Galway, in the year of Joyce’s birth (1882), and tried in Dublin among English speakers, Myles Joyce was one of those hanged, although two of the accused when under sentence said Joyce was innocent. The original Festus King owned a shop in County Galway, of which Jackson and Costello reaffirm the Wake’s version of British injustice in that “Blatant Crown simplicity in rewarding the actual murderers caused unease in the legal profession, and documents left lying around Dublin’s Green Street Courthouse revealed that the Crown had suppressed evidence from the defence” (JC 121). Since the Irish expected all trials under British jurisdiction to be unjust, Joyce and the new court achieve some triumph with humor based on common knowledge, like the Anthony pig, for denigrating the Irish. Pappie’s sotted or wearied mind does not proceed methodically, and he has no chance of defending himself. One of his two sons, namely Shem, capable of speaking a variety of languages and skilled at convincing argument, needs to assume the task. But to return to the Atlantic [Stead’s Titanic death] and Phenitia Proper [Earwicker’s “sin”]. As if that were not to be enough for anyone but little headway, if any, was made in solving the wasnottobe crime cunundrum when a child of Maam, Festy/Festus King, of a family long and honourably associated with the tar and feather industries [Irish under British government], who gave an address in old plomansch Mayo [language] of the Saxons in the heart of a foulfamed potheen district, was subsequently haled up at the Old Bailey [as Stead was, in London’s Central Criminal Court] on the calends/first of Mars, under an incompatibly framed indictment of both the counts [thievery and immodesty] (from each equinoxious points of view, the one fellow's fetch [ghost] being the other fellow's person) that is to say, flying cushats out of his ouveralls [defecating] and making fesses [showing buttocks] immodst his forces on the field. Oyeh! Oyeh! [opens court]. (85.20–31)

Multiplexity is being maintained. When charged with two counts of abduction and indecent assault, Stead’s good friend Benjamin Waugh admonished him that a witness said he was “shabbily dressed and did not look like an editor . . . it may determine a juryman for or against you. It is a question of character, and the world judges mostly by outside show. Let me . . . advise you to go to a first-class tailor for a morning suit and to Truefitt’s [Truefitt & Hill] for a West End cut of hair” (Whyte I: 183). Pappie appears as defendant wearing a motley assemblage of clothes “all out of the true” (85.35), blended

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with stains and patches. Ambrosius Aureliannus was the 5h c. champion boxer against the founder Hengest, and Truefitt’s was a famed London haberdasher. Maamtrasna in 1882 was the name of a mountain and a settlement in County Galway; the area was redrawn in 1898 for location in County Mayo. When the prisoner, soaked in methylated [Pappie’s pub rounds], appeared in dry dock, appatently drunk ambrosiaurealised, like Kersse's Korduroy Karikature [tailor], wearing besides stains, rents and patches, his fight/night shirt [like Parnell], straw braces [countryman’s], souwester [Stead photograph, Hayling Island] and a policeman's corkscrew [slang stiff and formal] trowswers, all out of the true [Truefitt’s] (as if he had purposely torn up all his cymtrymanx [Welsh tailor-made clothes] bespokes in the mamertime [a Roman medieval prison and Maamtrasna in 1882] . . . (85.31–36).

The “tailormade clothes” were substantially “tar and feather.” Kersse the tailor, elsewhere in the novel, fancies himself the standard-bearer and trend setter for fashionable attire. Noble Roman antecedents contrast with the “poor Irish” condition, implying the Irish made few if any civil advances since Roman times. [The prisoner] deposing for his exution all the fluors/flowers of sparse/speech in the royal Irish vocabulary how the whole padderjagmartin [three Swiftian churches] tripiezite suet and all the sulfeit of copperas [derived from cupric] had fallen off him quite unaccountably [Pappie doesn’t have the “encounter” money now] like the chrystalisations of Alum on Even while he was trying for to stick fire to himcell, (in feacht, he was dripping, as he found upon stripping for a pipkin ofmalt [treated, perhaps, without funds?] as he feared the coold raine) it was attempted by the crown (P.C. Robort [Police Constable]) to show that King, elois Crowbar [Parnell, caricature R 3:13], once known as Meleky [Parnell as Uncrowned King], impersonating a climbing boy [chimney sweep; Parnell’s exit by fire escape] . . . (85.36–86.08).

Every word is capable of being “used against” the defendant. Weston St. John Joyce’s Dublin describes the former Mud Island west of the North Strand, “inhabited by a gang of smugglers, highwaymen, and desperadoes . . . ruled by a hereditary robber chief [titled] “King of Mud Island” (244). Pappie’s dispersive thought processes could construct a disguise and analogy with the pig fair in Mudford. Also, in 1891 Stead reprinted seven cartoons of Parnell, one showing Ireland’s choice between Liberty and Parnell; another, Parnell sitting on a throne of Party Funds “in his latest role of the Crowbar King”; another, Dr. Tanner calling “Tally Ho, Mr. Fox” as the fox wearing Parnell’s face escaped from North Kilkenny (R 3:11–13). Continuing,

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Is “the impersonator” Pappie or Shem? The common phone book conveys “all Irish are pigs” proceeding slowly in a wasteland of ineptitude on the backs of biblical-time “camel and ass” and have been thus proceeding for the entirety of nine hundred years of biblical longevity and Irish inertia, which also threatens to reveal that the desperate Irishman sold a sister into prostitution to pay the rent and is still in arrears. A pig was raised and sold on “gale day” in May or November to pay the rent. They were on that sea by the plain of Ir/Eire ninehundred and ninety-nine years [misery endureth long] and they never cried crack [gave in] or ceased from regular paddlewicking [raging] till that they landed their two and a trifling selves [couple with infant], amadst camel and ass, greybeard and suckling, priest and pauper, matrmatron and merrymeg/maid, into the meddle of the mudstorm [Ireland]. The gathering, convened by the Irish Agricultural and Prepostoral Ourganisations, to help the Irish muck/Mick to look his brother dane/Dane in the face [competing trade] and attended, thanks to Larry [famously “stretched” in song] by large numbers of christies and jew’s totems, tospite of the deluge, was distinctly of a scattery [Co Clare] kind when the ballybrickan [Waterford suburb of pig brokers] he could get no good of [no free drinks], after cockofthewalking through a few fancyfought mains [meals], ate some of the doorweg, the pikey [tramp] later selling the gentleman ratepayer because she, Francie’s sister [St. Francis called animals his siblings], that is to say, ate a whole side of his (the animal’s) sty, on a struggle Street, Qui Sta Troia [tr what a whore!], in order to pay off, hiss or lick [Hissarlik/site of Troy] six doubloons fifteen arrears of his, the villain's, not the rumbler's, rent. (86.15–31)

Bill Cadbury comments that Joyce’s notes on the pig eating the doorpost “derive primarily from a Connacht Tribune story of 20 October 1923 involving a merchant’s complaint that a pig, being sold at the fair because it ate its sty at home, also ate the woodwork in front of her house on fair day” (C/S 94–95). A religious war is re-brewing here. By means of denigration of a rival faith, the dominant Anglican establishment would not permit Protestants to attend “church” but delegated to their houses of worship the word “chapel,” though many of their “chapels” structurally were respectable “churches.” Now the “Wesleyan chapelgoers” suspect the testifier to be parading as a

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Catholic, a “plainclothes priest W.P.,” and there has been adequate testimony of clergymen doffing their priestly costume for their own purposes. From the Portrait, the phrase “plain clothes priest” belongs to Shem, a Portrait-declared “priest of the eternal imagination” and from Ulysses a friend of the surgeon Oliver St. John Gogarty, a professional specialist in ailments of the eye-ear-nose-and throat. Parting from Mrs Molroe is homeless Shem-Hosty’s experience of sleeping in doorways or sharing whatever cot necessary (41.06–10) preceding the “Ballad of Persse O’Reilly”; it lends metaphoric status to eating (sleeping in) the doorway for lack of funds to buy food and shelter. The prisoner’s defense is in more capable hands than his own. Remarkable evidence was given, anon, by an eye-ear-nose-and throat witness [Gogarty’s profession], whom Wesleyan chapel-goers suspected of being a plain clothes priest W.P. [Word Painter], situate at Nullnull [00 toilet sign] Medical Square [Joyce’s study of medicine], who, upon letting down his rice and peacegreen [Irish colors] coverdisk [bib] and having been sullenly cautioned against yawning [Shaun’s habit] while being grilled, smiled (he had had a onedumper at parting from Mrs. Molroe in the morning); and stated to his eliciter under his morse mustaccents [Norse, mustache forbidden by Act of Parliament 1447 (MacManus 339)] (gobbless!) that he slept with a bonafides [traveller] and that he would be there to remember the filth/fifth of November [Stead’s trial date and Gunpowder Plot], hatinaring [competition], rowdy O [s.], which with the jiboulees of Juno [MT in process in June] and the dates of ould lanxiety [s.], was going, please the Rainmaker [God; MT storm], to decembs within the ephemerides [diaries] of profane history, all one with Tournay, Yetstoslay and Temorah, and one thing which would pigstickularly [game of British soldiers] strike a person of such sorely tried observational powers as Sam, him and Moffat [Shem, Ham, and Japhet], though theirs not to reason why . . . (86.32–87.10)

Biblical legend held that Japhet was rewarded by being granted extensive holdings for having acted dutifully in response to Noah’s drunkenness. Japhet was progenitor of people who inhabited lands at the Black Sea and eastern Mediterranean and “farther west” and brought biblical antecedents to Ireland. In the absence of forbidden weapons, Irish methods of fighting employed dungforks and killings, likened to slaughtering pigs, on the “Fair Green” where duels should be honorably fought; “pigsticking” was a sport among British soldiers bayoneting the Boers. The “Boer’s trespass on the Bull” combines the stock market with Britain caricatured as John Bull. When gold and diamonds were discovered in the Rand, the British withdrew their granting of “suzerainty” to the Dutch Republic in 1882. The date is uncertain for the Battle of Wallop Fields between the chieftain Vertigern and the Saxons. . . . the striking thing about it was that he was patrified to see, hear, taste, and smell [Oliver Gogarty’s expertise], as his time of night, how Hyacinth

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Chapter 8 O'Donnell, B.A., described in the calendar as a mixer and a wordpainter [Shem as author], with part of a sivispacem [pacem bellum: if you want peace prepare for war] (Gaeltect for dungfork) on the fair green [Dublin] at the hour of twenty-four o'clock [midnight] sought (the bullycassidy/bellicosity of the friedhoffer! [cemetery]) to sack, sock, stab and slaughter singlehanded another two of the old kings, Gush Mac Gale and Roaring O’Crian, Jr., [laughing and crying] both changelings [from Other World], unlucalised, of no address and in noncommunicables, between him and whom, ever since wallops [Battle of Wallop Fields] before the Mise of Lewes [Henry III agreement 1264], bad blood existed on the ground of the boer's trespass [Boer War 1900–02] on the bull [Stock Exchange] or because he firstparted his polarbeeber [blond] hair [bear market/bull market] in twoways, or because they were creepfoxed and grousuppers [Mookse and Gripes] over a nippy [girl working in Lyons’ Tea Shop] in a noveletta [Issy in cloud nightgown], or because they could not say meace [not fluent in English], (mute and daft) meathe. (87.11–24)

Any misappropriations of proud Irish history supply the humor, to the effect that everybody is a king in Ireland. Roderick O’Connor died at Cong Abbey, in the Joyce country, and was not “local”; the Scottish Donalds of many chiefs have descended as MacDonald clans. There was a robber chief titled “the King of Mud Island.” Dalkey Island in Dublin held an annual burlesque coronation of the King of Dalkey “up to 1797,” and a goat is crowned annually at the Puck fair in Killorglin. Weston St. John’s Neighborhood of Dublin recollects those kings. “Thick” of “thicksets” means stupid. The litigants, he said, local congsmen [Cong] and donalds [Scottish], kings of the arans and the dalkeys, kings of mud [Mud Island] and tory, even the goat king of Killorglin, were egged on by their supporters in the shape of betterwomen [butter women] with bowstrung [Strongbow] hair of Carrothagenuine ruddiness [women cut red hair for bowstrings], waving crimson petties [worn near Galway] and screaming from Isod's towertop [Dublin]. There were cries from the thicksets in court and from the macdublins on the bohernabreen [path] of: Mind the bank from Banagher [“that bangs Banagher” for the unusual], Mick [for any Irish whose name is not known], sir! Prodooce O'Donner [victory s.], Ay! Exhibit his relics [reserved for saints]! Bu/boo! Use the tongue mor! Give lip less! (87.24–33)

The cross examination of the “stucckomuck” witness engages details of Stead’s life and the backgrounds of his “purity” campaign. A Deadman’s Court of children’s games makes “guilty as charged” a foregone conclusion, unless the Irish can win by wits. Shem joins the fray as a witness and a Painter of Words in European languages whose physical existence would be unusual in Dublin. If he misses the audible-visible world he must be deaf and dumb; indeed, they question whether he is alive as the days pass monotonously with only his peculiar associations (like satyr-Saturday to enliven them), and questions sometimes leap out of sequence. The scene here was

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preceded by the Earwicker side of the story, the “hammering at the gate” (63.33) of his residence, the culmination in Stead’s jail sentence ending with “one clean turv” (71.10), introducing the list of abusive names of SteadEarwicker, ending with “Deposed” (71.10–72.16]; the deposition is now in progress. A DIVERSIONARY SKETCH OF PRECEDENTS Recognizing Shem as defendant and impersonator of Pappie depends in part upon what Wake readers know of the first version of the incorrectly-referenced “encounter with a cad” by selecting, motif fashion, the familiar phrasing. Joyce said the man was a tramp, not a cad which means “cadger,” and Pappie recognizes him as a tramp. To Frank Budgen, Joyce wrote “The encounter between my father and a tramp (the basis of my book) actually took place at that part of the park” (Letters 1: 396). Following the “turtlings” (61.02) that Sylvia Silence knew, HCE-Earwicker escapes his jail cell as “one tall man, humping a suspicious parcel” when he “had a barkiss revolver placed to his faced with the words: you’re shot, major: by an unknowable assailant (masked)” (62.28–33) because of jealousy over a woman. The Waylayer then mentioned to an aunt “that he, the crawsopper [crawthumper: Roman Catholics blessing themselves], had in addition to Reade’s cutless centiblade, a loaded Hobson’s” (63.01–02). This left a choice of shooting her as witness to the crime when Irish were forbidden to carry a weapon of any sort, or bashing in “Patch’s blank face beyond recognition,” and he was asked why he had “that Kane’s fender” (63.07). “Nontrue,” a reader exclaims. “His feet one is not a tall man . . . No such parson. No such fender. No such lumber. No such race” (63.11). Or does it connect with girls under Flaggy Bridge? Or forcing an entrance attempted by “the heavybuilt Abelbody in a butcherblue blouse” at “the temperance gateway” (63.19)? The wretch, muttering Irish, had had too much to drink at a series of pubs and “falling fillthefluthered [drunk, Percy French s. Phistin Phil McHugh] up against the gatestone pier” (63.27–28) he concocts a story about being a process server trying to open a bottle of stout by hammering with it “against the bludgey [bluggy] gate” (63.34) which wakens “the boots” Maurice Behan, who thinks the noise comes from the “blind pig” pub (64.08), but had not heard such event in the total history of the famous Mullingar Inn. After this, “the young reine” comes down “as mud as she can be,” and they were all night washing “the weltering walters [clarifying the intentions of the biographer] . . . off. Whyte” (64.20), W. T. Stead’s biographer. After this “our mutual friends the fender and the bottle at the gate seem to be implicitly in the same bateau” (65.35–36). No point “putting a tooth in” (66.02) this common event. This suggests another question: For the Maam-

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trasna, are Pappie and Shem not “in the same bateau” to free the person on trial? However, a large “chain envelope” (66.14) written by many persons in sequence is handed in at the post office, for Stead had mailed 40,000 copies of his Maiden Tribute newspaper to all the clergymen whose names he could find and, from the scenes prior to this, is “barely a fivefinger span” (67.29) across paper to tales of abused women, who are deciding to profit by or escape from the white slave trade. Meanwhile, “A stonehinged gate” (69.15), a jail, was made for a lifetime containment of Stead-Earwicker, “a bedstead in loo thereof to keep out donkeys” (69.22) or asses, with pig dirt denoting Irish hanging from the eaves and “triplepatlockt” (69.25) on him to keep him inside if he felt like “sticking out his chest too far” (69.27) because Stead bragged of his “first class misdemeanant” jail accommodations and strolling outdoors just prior to his confinement “on the peoplade’s eggday, unused as he was yet to being freely clodded” (69.29). For that they were confined: a person identified as the chief brothel madam had thrown eggs at Stead and his fellow-prisoner Bramwell Booth while they were being transferred from Newgate to the Old Bailey. The prisoner Humphrey had a visitor resembling Pappie who bleated through the keyhole that he would break his bulsheywigger’s [Bolshevik] head for him (70.23)―for many people were outraged by the sex trade exposure―while demanding more alcohol (70.27) from 11:32 in the morning to 2:00 in the afternoon, and calling him to come out and be Executed Amen (70.35). Humphrey makes a list of the abusive names he was called (71.10–72.17), and, indeed, Stead admired the ingenuity of Harold Frederick in compiling abusive names for himself, but had not the name of Frederick’s informant (R 5:46). TRIAL RESUMPTION AND CONCLUSION Resuming and proceeding with the trial of Pappie, the defendant remembers Stephen Dedalus at home and a great many personal details not actually pertaining to the historic Maamtrasna, which is mentioned previously when the prisoner, Pappie, arrives in dry dock having “purposely torn up all his cymtrymanx bespokes in the mamertime” (85.35–36). Joyce in the ensuing trial conclusion was not concerned with being factual but only representative of his own issues for the totality of the novel. The ten men arrested and tried for the original Maamtrasna murders in remote Gaeltacht country spoke only Irish and were tried in Dublin before a judge and jury who knew nothing of the Irish language. Writing the trial scene, Joyce was, consequently, free to discuss issues that he chose without in any way compromising the original Maamtrasna deposition, and he chose to relate current affairs of his own and Phoenix Park with those of the prior murder trial. The unnamed court barris-

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ter or solicitor “Q” interrogates and the defendant “A” testifies. One paragraph extends for three pages. “Dark Scenery Court” recalls that John Joyce, one of the ten Maamtrasna defendants tried in Dublin, was treasurer of the Ribbonmen Fenians that opposed the landlords. At the point where this “Q” and “A” interrogation begins, Stephen Dedalus at home breaks off his reading about Maamtrasna, which lingers in his thoughts, to prepare for attending classes at the University while, at the same time, mentally fixated on his writing and Pappie’s trial at hand in the progress of his writing. But it oozed out in Deadman's Dark Scenery Court/Coat [cg. a cover-up in jacket game] through crossexanimation [life deprived] of the casehardened [indifferent] testis/witness that when and where that knife of knifes [night of nights 17 August 1882] the treepartied [outdoors] ambush [between Galway and Mayo] was laid (roughly spouting/speaking around half hours ‘twixt dusk in dawn [five Joyces were found murdered in their home], by Waterhose's Meddle Europeic Time [clock inaccurate in the Joyce household], near Stop and Think [to calculate time in home of Stephen Dedalus], high chief evervirens [the Dedalus household] and only abfalltree [Pappie’s prominence] in auld the land) there was not as much light from the widowed [fool] moon as would dim a child's altar [very little evidence]. The mixer [Shem], accordingly, was bluntly broached/questioned, and in the best basel [Swiss German] to boot, as to whether he was one of those lucky cocks for whom the audiblevisible-gnosible-edible world existed [Gogarty specialty/Wilde in Psychic Messages]. (87.33–88.7) [A]That he was only too cognitively conatively cogitabundantly sure of it because, living, loving, breathing and sleeping morphomelosophopancreates [Morpheusly (new forms appearing in dreams)-wide-and-powerful], as he most significantly did, whenever he thought he heard he saw he felt he made a bell clipperclipperclipperclipper [new idea; touch of angel]. [Q] Whether he was practically sure too of his lugs and truies [lies and vows] names in this king [the litigant, of Cong and story] and blouseman/clothing business? [A] That he was pediculously [disease of lice/feet/Shaun’s damaged foot] so. [Q] Certified [insane]? [A] As cad could be. [Q] Be/by lying! [A] Be/by the lonee [myself alone] I will. [Q] It was Morbus O'Somebody [response to “Morpheusly” above]? (87.33–88.14)

The text is saturated with satire: “Morbus O’Somebody” posits British indifference to another Irish corpse. The total of Pappie’s verbal exploits, as reported by biographers Jackson and Costello, leave the impression that Pappie was capable of all of the impersonations from “Helmingham” to “Yggdrasselman.” It looks as if “Chudley Magnall” (88.24) combines the

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deaf syndrome with Richmal Mangnall’s Questions for Young People, which Joyce read as a child (Bowker 34). [A] A’Quite/Aquit. [Q] Szerday’s/Thursday's Son [Thor’s day]? [A] A satyr [Saturday] in weddens/Wednesdays. [Q] And how did the greeneyed mister/monster [Othello/ Joyce/Shem] arrive at the B.A.? [A] That it was like his poll [a “pass” in exams]. [Q] A crossgrained/perverse trapper/boxer with murty odd oogs [mighty crossed eyes], awflorated/flowered ares/ears [from boxing], inquiline/aquiline [eaglelike] nase and a twithcherous mouph? [A] He would be. [Q] Who could bit/beat you att [react to] a tenyerdfuul/tanyardful [manure/ filthy language] when aastalled/assailed? [A] Ballera jobbera [anyone on the left or right]. [Q] Some majar/Magyar bore [wine bore: an officious wine expert] too? [A] Iguines [I guess]. [Q] And with tumblerous/trembling legs, redipnominated [hero reborn with many names] Helmingham Erchenwyne Rutter Egbert Crumwall Odin Maximus Esme Saxon Esa Vercingetorix Ethelwulf Rupprecht Ydwalla Bentley Osmund Dysart Yggdrasselmann? [Yggdrasil world tree]? [Initials form acrostic “Here Comes Everybody.”] [A] Holy Saint Eiffel [holy and ivy], the very phoenix [Earwicker’s rebirths]! [Q] It was Chudley [deafness] Magnall [questions] once more between the deffodates [daffodils flower maidens] and the dumb scene [devil and deep sea]? [A] The two childspies waapreesing [were praising] him auza de Vologue [Irish: from an ox] but the renting of his rock [Ragnarøk] was from the three wicked Vuncouverers Forests [the three soldiers] bent down awhits [Q] art thou sure? [The Three Wicked Uncoverings Welsh Arthurian] [A] Yubeti, Cumbilum/night comes! [Q] One of the oxmen’s thingabossers [Viking Council], hvad [what]? And had he been refesqued by the founts of bounty playing there—is—a—pain— aleland in Long’s gourgling barral [s.]?

Impossible junctions are taking place. “Gougane Barra” becomes a gurgling barrel. The five lamps at Portland Row on one lamp post signify not a crossroads but the junction of five streets. Stead’s Maiden Tribute girls are as like as two peas in a pod provoking a duel of lentils. The threat has been aggrandized from seduction of the female to the more urgent necessity of finding any available food. Gaping Gill, the “cad,” resembles Lenehan of “Two Gallants” who could afford only peas for his repast and indirectly detracts from his “takings” from the encounter in the Park. Loss of the heroes of the past is lamented. Dialing “TIM” would produce time of day. Isaac Butt opposed Daniel O’Connell’s efforts to repeal the Act of Union and founded the Home Rule League. “Tim” is Irish and “tom/Tom” (88.36) is British.

Maamtrasna Retrial Defends the Joyce Family Name [A] A loss of Lordedward [Lord Edward Fitzgerald] and a lack of sirphilip a surgeonet [surgeon Sir Philip Crampton] showeradown [monument with drinking fountain] could suck more gargling bubbles out of five lamps [fiveway junction with Portland Row] in Portterand’s praise. [Q] Wirrgeling and maries? [William and Mary] [A] As whose wouldn’t, laving his leaftime/lifetime in Blackpool. [Q] But of course, he could call himself Tem [Shem], too, if he had time to? [A] You butt he could anytom. [Confirmation that the deponent is Joyce’s Shem.] [Q] When he pleased? [A] Win and place. [Q] A stoker temptated by eavesdripping aginst the driver who was a witness as well? [McHugh: in Islam evil jinn eavesdrops in heaven with two angels, a driver, and witness.] [A] Sacred avatar. How the devil did they guess it! [Q] Two dreamyums in one dromium? [Two virgins in one dream; Stead’s Eliza and Lily]. [A] Yes and no error. [Q] And both as like as a duel of lentils? [two peas in a pod] [A] Peacisely. (89.04) [Q] So he was pelted out of the coram populo [in public], was he? [A] Be/by the powers that be he was [disgraced]. [Q] The prince [Machiavelli] in principel should not expose his person? [A] Macchevuole! [Italian Ma che vuole! What do you expect?] [Q] Rooskayman kamerad/comrade? [Ruskay, a village in Roscommon, Ireland] [A] Sooner Gallwegian he [Pappie] would say. [Galwegians old inhabitants of Galloway, Scotland] [Q] Not unintoxicated, fair witness? [A] Drunk as a fishup. [Q] Askt to whether she minded whither he smuked? (89.09) [A] Not if he barkst into phlegms. [Q] Anent his ajaciulations to his Crosscann Lorne, cossa? [Joyce’s uncle was said to reseumble the Marquess of Lorne; the song “Cruiskeen Lawn” means full jug.] [A] It was corso in cursu on coarser again. [A course recurring in progress.] [Q] The gracious miss [a form of formal address] was we not doubt sensible how yellowatty on the forx was altered? [s. “Yellow Wat and the Fox” the same as Moore’s “O Doubt me not” (89.12).] “The yellow wad on the fork” represents a toasting fork thrust into blubber or “innards” that are altered or “disguised” with sauce to make it appetizing; the battle at the Yellow Ford in 1598 may or may not engage Shem’s aversion to bad food. This “yellowatty” question (89.12) is answered later, at “tunnybladders” (90.12); Shem wages a private war against edible deceptions: starvation does not yield to eating the inedible. [A] That she esually was, O’Dowd me not! [Esau sold his birthright to Jacob for “a mess of pottage”; later Jacob stole the blind father’s gift of inheritance by fraud.] [Q] As to his religion, if any?

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Chapter 8 [A] It was the see-you-Sunday sort. [Q] Exactly what he meant by a pederast prig? [A] Bejaob’s, just a gent who prayed his lent [paid the rent] [Q] And if middleclassed [Middlewhite a class of pig] portavorous [dooreating] was a usual beast? [A] By night as useful as vomit to a shorn man. [Sterne: “God tempers the wind, said Maria, to the shorn lamb.”] (89.17)

The trial scene is played as on stage and hyperbolically engages the two temptresses of the Phoenix Park incident as children set by the Irish to spy on the British. For Vancouver, McHugh shows a Welsh triad titled The Three Wicked Uncoverings. A Noah-Genoa witticism uttered by Bulwer Lytton is revived in the Wake’s chapter 10 footnote: “If I gnows [gnosis] me gneesgnobs [kneesknobs] the both of him [testicles] is gnatives of Genuas” (274.F2). Bulwer Lytton wittily replied regarding the dove (colombe) and Columbus: “the one came from Noah, the other from Genoa” [Stead How I Know). The “death of the goat’s sire” alludes to the tavern humor song “The Widow Nolan’s Goat” (380.29–32) which purports bestiality, the goat performing better than the husband. The Maiden Tribute reappears with the “price of the coffin” from the white slave traffic in which Constable Sackerson revisits a Mrs. Jeffries’-type brothel (67.17–26). [Q] And if middleclass portavorous [door-eating escape of the starving] was a usual beast? [A] Bynight as useful as a vomit to a shorn [morally upright and religious] man. (89.16) [Q] If he had rognarised dtheir gcourts marsheyls [Did he recognize their courts martial?] [A] Dthat nday in ndays he had [That day he had.] McHugh: Irish letters t, c, and d are eclipsed by d, g, and n. (89.18) [Q] Lindendelly/Londonderry, coke or skillies [food and drink/Cork, or Skerries] spell me gart/Gort without a gate [word game]? [A] Harlyadrope/Hardly a drop/Heliotrope [secret of sex to be guessed in Chapter 9].

Some persons suspected that John Joyce of the original Maamtrasna had stolen sheep from his neighbors, a simple suspicion complicated by sexual issues in the present version. The mother of John Joyce was named Margaret and was suspected of having informed authorities where two bodies of a landlord had been dumped. [Q] The grazing rights (Mrs Magista Martinetta [mistress, disciplinarian]) expired with the expiry/death of the goat's sire, if they were not mistaken? [A] That he exactly could not tell the worshipfuls but his mother-in-waders had the recipis/recipes for the price of the coffin [location of bodies; children in sex trafficking] and that he was there to tell them that herself was the

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velocipede [locater of bodies; agent in sex trafficking] that could tell them kitkat [give them the picture]. (89.16–24)

The discussion turns to technical matters of languages, of which the Irish may have been speaking Chinese. Distributary endings (flowing out of a river) oppose tributary endings (flowing into a stream, such as Anna Livia). [Q] A maundarin/Mandarin tongue in a pounderin/ponderous jowl [Ezra Pound]? [A] Father ourder [Further orders] about the mathers of prenanciation. [Q] Distributary endings? [A] And we recommends. [Q] Quare hircum? [tr Why the goat?] [A] No answer. [Q] Unde gentium fe . . .? [tr Where are you hurrying from?] [A] No ah [Columbus from Noah-Genoa joke]. [Q] Are you not danzzling/dancing on the age/edge of a vulcano? [E. J. Dillon on Stead: “All great abuses kindled a volcanic fire in the heart of Mr Stead (R 45: 485)]? [A] Siar, I am deed/indeed. [Q] And how olld of him?

The original Maamtrasna trial is the subject here, the age of Myles Joyce and his competency in languages. Joyce’s “Ireland at the Bar” made him seventy years old, when he was actually sixty-five. Joyce was incensed about the unjust treatment of Myles Joyce. Joyce’s paragraph spacing is omitted in this testimony: The magistrate said: ‘Ask the accused if he saw the lady that night.’ The question was referred to him in Irish, and the old man broke out into an involved explanation, gesticulating, appealing to the others accused and to heaven. Then he quieted down, worn out by his effort, and the interpreter turned to the magistrate and said: “He says no, your worship.” ‘Ask him if he was in that neighbourhood at that hour.’ The old man again began to talk, to protest, to shout, almost beside himself with the anguish of being unable to understand or to make himself understood, weeping in anger and terror. And the interpreter, again, dryly, “He says no, your worship.” (CW 197–98) [A] He was intendant to study pulu [Pali language of earliest Buddha canon]. (89.29)

The trial Q and A resumes here, with Pali replacing Myles Joyce’s Gaelic. Pali would be natural for Shem, an impossibility for Pappie. Macalister’s Secret Languages of Ireland is helpful in the next segment. Hayman and Slote in Genetic Studies discuss “Arm bird” (89.33) and similar Ogham words (241); McHugh gives “Arm, Bird & Colour Oghams” representing

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ABCDEF. About “handy jotalpheson/Jottenheim-person (89.34), McHugh references Bog Latin, which may replace a letter (Macalister 117ff.). Stead recalled that Thor and companions were told that no one was permitted to remain in Jotunheim who did not excel, in some feat or other, all other men” (R 1:14); MacManus reports a similar restriction—a skill not practiced by anyone already in residence—for entering Tara. Greek Jason in Bog-Latin would be Jotalphason. Unlike the old man Myles Joyce, the testifier demonstrates complete control of his mental faculties. [Q] Which/What was meant in a shirt of two shifts/strokes [Ogham letters] macoghamade/Macalister [Secret Languages of Ireland ] made or up, Finn, threehatted ladder [Ogham letter]? [A] That a head in thighs under a bush [sexual] at the sunface [Ogma-sunface] would bait/beat a serpent to a millrace through the heather [Ogham letters]. [Q] Arm bird colour [Oghams] defdum [a,b,c,d] ethnic fort [for it] perharps? [A] Sure and glomsk handy jotalpheson [Jottenheim-person] as well. [Q] Hokey Jasons, then, in a pigeegeeses/pig-guesses/epexegesis? [A] On a pontiff's order [Laudabiliter] as ture as there’s an ital on atac [sure as there's a tail on a cat]. [Q] As a gololy bit to joss [glory be to God]? (89.36) [A] Leally/loyally and tululy [really and truly; “Treely and rurally” (90.31).

A talismanic moment occurred to renew faith in humankind during “The Siege of Northumberland Street” when a pickpocket achieved his “second tone” (90.01): he returned Benjamin Waugh’s handkerchief, saying “’Ere’s yre wipe, Guv’nor. If you’ve been in this business, you ain’t a bad sort” (9 Jul PMG 6). Is this the turning point? If Pappie can believe this, or do this, he ain’t a bad sort. [Q] But, why this hankowchaff/handkerchief and whence this second tone, sun-yet-sun/Sun-Yat-Sen [rebel leader]? [A] He had the cowtaw [Hankow revolution] in his buxers/trousers [Boxer Rising 1910] flay/fly of face. [Q] So this that Solasistras/solace/solicitresses, setting odds and evens at defiance [Defiance race horse], took the laud/lead from Labouriter [Dilke’s political party and sex scandal; Pope Adrian’s Laudabiliter granting Ireland to Henry IV] (89.30–90.03).

Unrelated factors coalesce: (1) “toastingforks” and “tunnybladders” reply to the question of “yellowatty” (89.12). In fireplaces, small repasts were heated on large two-pronged forks held over the fire. (2) “Wildfires night” (90.09) revives the festive bonfires lighted on hilltops on Midsummer Night, 23 June (MacManus 98). The ancient custom was dressed in political and national strife. To honor the Queen’s Jubilee in 1897, “Bonfires are to crown with crests of living flame every beacon hill from Cornwall to Cathness” and

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in Australia; Ireland abstained as the only English-speaking people “compelled to submit to an administration and to laws which represent another will than that of the majority of the community” (R 15:520). In his Discrowned King of Ireland, Stead railed against the immorality of the Parnell crisis by citing the examples of Dilke and Hallett (reprint NS 9: 1–15). [Q] What displaced Tob, Dilke and Halley [Sir Charles Dilke and Colonel Hughes Hallett, both adulterers], not been greatly in love with the game [British politics]. And, changing the venders, from the king's head to the republican's arms [pubs], as to the pugnaxities evinxed from flagfall to antepost [horserace bets] during the effrays round fathertymes [Father Time's] beckside and the regents [Regents Park, London; Stead haunted this park to interview prostitutes] in the plantsown [Park's own] raining, with skiddystars and the morkern/morning windup, how they appealed to him then? [A] That it was wildfires' night on all the bettygallaghers [Hills near Bray].Mickmichael's soords shrieking shrecks [bombs falling] through the wilkinses/welkin and neckanicholas’ [Nick Nicholas'] toastingforks pricking prongs up the tunnybladders [the poor eat “innards”]. [Q] Let there be fight/light? [A] And there was. Foght. [Q] On the site of the Angels, you said [Disraeli against Darwinism]? [A] Guinney’s Gap [Norse Eddas Ginnunga Gap], he said, between what they said and the pussykitties [whores].

MAKING SENSE OF ALL OF IT Any event, especially anything so significant as Maamtrasma, cannot be detached from its historic roots and branches; questions of history should, as they do eventually, range far from the initial incident, when or if the initial incident can be found. Joyce near his conclusion pictures a restaging of “Jakob van der Bethel, smolking behing his pipe . . . before cymbaloosing the apostles at every hours of changeover” (607.8–10), a rephrasing of the question of antecedants and results. Involvement of women in the original Maamtrasna remained in dispute. A summary states that persons “believed that the murders related to the overly close friendship between the daughter of the house, the teenager Peigi, and a member of the RIC, a relationship which wouldn’t have been acceptable at that time.” The questioner attempts to obviate the “three soldiers and two maidens” conundrum in Phoenix Park at this opportunity. [Q] In the middle of the garth then? [Scandinavian world-tree Yggdrasil in Midgaard, middle earth]. [A] That they musn't touch it.

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Chapter 8 [Q] The devoted couple was or were only two disappointed solicitresses on the job of the unfortunate class [prostitutes] on Saturn's mountain fort [s. Slattery’s Mounted Foot, nonexistent regiment; hence nonconsequential crime]? [A] That was about it, jah/yes! (90.03–18)

The war ballad “When Johnny Comes Marching Home,” relates that his injuries have made Johnny unrecognizable and embeds indelibly the implications of “I should know you?” A “tree falling” as part of the thunderword (90.31–33) marks the death of a would-be hero. [Q] And Camellus then said to Gemellus [doorkeepers at Tara; this and that]: I should know you? [A] Parfaitly/perfectly. [Q] And Gemellus then said to Camellus: Yes, your brother? [A] Obsolutely. [Q] And if it was all about that, egregious sir? [A] About that and the other. [Q] If he was not alluding to the whole/Hole in the Wall? [Dublin “Nancy Hands” pub; also London pub near Waterloo bridge; also Dublin hole for bribe-takers to secure guineas]? [A] That he was when he was not eluding from the whole/hole of the woman. [Q] Briefly, how does such beginall finally struck him now? [A] Like the crack that bruck the bank in Multifarnham [motif: rebellion 1641/ Monte Carlo s.].

The question of motive for those not hanged is next debated. Of ten men originally arrested and charged, two avoided hanging by turning informers and gave evidence against the others. Pat Joyce, Pat Casey, and Myles Joyce were sentenced to death. Father Micheᾴl Mac Aoidh advised the others to plead guilty to avoid hanging. Their sentences were commuted to penal servitude for life. [Q] Whether he fell in with what they meant? [sold his soul or acted on principle?]. [A] Cursed that he suppoxed he did. [Q] Thos Thoris, Thomar's Thom [Danish invader, defeated by Malachy]? [A] The rudacist rotter in Roebuckdom [Dublin]. [Q] Surtopical? [A] And subhuman. (90.27)

The discussion discredits the “witness” of the sin in the park, and discredits the deed itself as provoking the nonconsequential. The famous A-O, in any language, amounts only to eyes and ears. To “pierce O’Reilly” is to understand: “The Ballad of Persse O’Reilly” (44–47). [Q] If it was, in yappanoise [Japanese language], ach bad clap [a, b, c]?

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[A] Oo! Ah! [see A-O (94.21)]. [Q] Augs/Eyes and ohrs/ears [A-O] with Rhian O'Kehley, to put it tertianly/ certainly, [are] we wrong? [A] Shocking [wrong]! [Q] Such as turly/truly pearced our really’s/Reilly’s [ ears] that he might, that he might never, that he might never that night? [A] Treely and rurally. [Q] Bladyughfoulmoecklenburgwhurawhorascortastrumpapornanenny-kocksapastippatappatupperstrippuckputtanach, eh? [A] You have it alright. (90.33)

Pappie as testifier could be as brilliant, but negatively discursive. The conviction of the ”iron thrust” in this discourse is carried by Shem’s direct on-point replies. Beginning with “Blady,” the fourth thunder word embedded in the hundred letters should be the sound of a tree falling, the tree meaning Earwicker, who had been “the only abfalltree in auld the land” (88.02). For a breakdown of the syllables composing “The Fourth Thunderclap,” of which there are ten thunderwords in all throughout the book, Eric McLuhan’s translation of the fourth thunderword shows “Bloody awful, Mecklenburg [nighttown in Dublin], you’re a whore, a skirt, a strumpet” and the syllabic possibilities extend for several pages (103–09), composing a thorough denunciation of these events and the vindication of Earwicker. Even “tap” meaning “seduce” or “burglarize” is applicable. This thunderword sputters out with “p” sounds and concludes with “eh?” standing for “do I have it right”? for which the reply is affirmative. (McLuahan, The Role of Thunder 93–109.) The testimony ends here. The foregoing most-rigorous construction of Joyce’s “obscurity” shows that Pappie was summoned into court on a nonissue that has not been addressed, and the thunder sounds in indignation. As Peter Costello responded to my question why Pappie’s arrest does not appear in the minutely-detailed John Stanislaus Joyce biography, “There is nothing about an arrest because John [coauthor John Wyse Jackson] and I simply failed to find anything,” and, later, “Certainly nothing seemed to emerge from the newspaper, but then offences against decency were not regularly reported in those days, and still aren’t.” The missing money has already escaped clarification, and customarily the “offence against decency” would make the trial a farce, except for the distinct, now forgotten, matter of elucidating the bungled original Maamtrasna trial. Joyce was writing fiction and planned the “Arrusted” (420.31) plotline for Pappie well in advance of writing the novel. Pappie should be released absolved of charges. As the Boxer Rebellion and additional international matters illustrate, Pappie’s offenses are trivial. But is it Pappie who defends or is it Shem?

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“Meirdreach an Oincuish!” (90.34). Murder and anguish and associated epithets are specified in McHugh. “Merde and Oinciu” are Irish, and Pappie’s “Shite and onions!” is Irish meirdreach and όinseach for whore and harlot. The farcical, gossipy trial features the joviality that the Irish had made of British abuse, a sort of gallows humor like “The Night Before Larry Was Stretched” and a battle of wits in which both Pappie and Shem excel. Ironically, while the Irish suffering in British scorn are in this time denigrated as pigs, and caricatured as such, yet a segment of the British public believed the Irish lived well while pretending to be starving. “Evictions,” when Irish hovels were knocked down and “arrears” for nonpayment of rent governed Irish life, W. E. Forster as chief secretary for Ireland, in collusion with London’s Times “predicted that the Irish tenant, faced with eviction, would “bring out the roll of greasy notes and pay” (21 Oct 1881; further details in E MT 36). The trial mixes a Shem line (rare languages, objection to Catholicism) with a Stead line (MT and former trials), a bit of Bruno’s philosophy expressing Shem’s faith, and the two components merged. The answer to Jim’s question “what do a king get” in Huckleberry Finn is that the King typically “gets” to go scot free, to vanish to Balmoral or Camp David. Festy King [either Shem or Pappie] near the end “picked out his pockets [showed that his pockets were empty] and left the tribunal scot free” (93.02); Earwicker was eventually chased in a fox hunt and was thought to be “playing possum” (96.33). Cadbury notes that “’highest common ancestor’ becomes ‘hagious curious encestor’ in the first typescript” (C/S 95). After the trial, Shem, the patient “witness” in the testimony, who is famous for muddying many languages, reappears having washed his face (stucckomuck removed) and puzzles the jury. (This text is moving toward Giordano Bruno.) In the parallel corrupted series of events, the concocted charge against Stead, demanding the father’s consent for Eliza’s “abduction,” defied the stipulation of the C.L.A. Act for consent of mother or father; by accepting money for “letting Eliza go,” the mother had patently consented. In his best knight-errant mode, Stead refused to submit any woman to the dishonor of investigation, as his counsel urged, to verify her marriage; the truth of negation would have dismissed the case against him, but was learned only long after the trial and jail servitude. “Earwicker” similarly, potentially, faces charges concerning money solicitation. Meantime, opposites that may or may not unite are noticeable. The “perplexedly uncondemnatory bench” (90.35) strives with “punic judgment” and “penal law,” the ancient or Irish system present in pigs and mud and the British system governing unsympathetically as if no mud were present. Prior to 1775 and the building of the Four Courts two systems prevailed: the British system “within the Pale” and the old Brehon laws “beyond the Pale.” Even the midden letter’s “we wish for a muddy kissmans” (11.14) figures in the distinctions. It reappears in Pegger Festy’s swearing-in with “mhuith peisth mhuise as fearra bheura muirre

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hriosmas” which translates “with best wishes for a very merry Christmas” (91.04). Having washed off the mud, Shem reenters as Pegger (hard-drinker) Festy, acting as a combination of himself and Pappie. Shem’s identity is cleared in the answer to “why he left Dublin” (91.21) and the “blink pitch” (93.04) or black eye-patch of half-blind Joyce; this deliberate anachronism solves the identity confusion, since Pappie’s “Arrusted,” the ostensible reason for the trial, occurred before Joyce left Dublin in 1904. Ellmann quotes Joyce’s earliest writing about “my one bedazzled eye” while wearing an eyepatch on one eye in 1926 (JJ 567). Stead’s contribution is a distinct cartoon that replicates “his holymess the paws” (91.35), but first, there is more to this story. Meirdreach an Oincuish! [Murder and Anguish!] But a new complexion was put upon the matter, when to the perplexedly uncondemnatory bench [the Asker of the examination] (whereon punic judgeship strove with penal law), the senior king of all, Pegger Festy [Shem] as soon as the outer layer of stucckomuck [pig dirt] had been removed at the request of a few live jurors, declared in a loud burst of poesy [Pappie not a poet], through his Brythonic [Welsh] interpreter on his oath (Joyce writes a simpler version), mhuith peisth mhuise as fearra bheura muirre hriosmas [Irish tr with best wishes for a very merry Christmas], whereas take notice be/by the relics of the bones [St. Patrick restored life] of the story buchal/book that was eaten by Cliopatrick [Clio muse of history; AP Ireland is the consuming old sow] (the sow), princess of parked porkers, afore God and all their honours and king's commons [King’s bench and Common Pleas bench in the Four Courts] that, what he would swear to the Tierney of Dundalgan [in Co. Louth] or any other Tierney [Irish tighearna tr Lord], yif/even if live thurkells/Turks [from Armenian horrors] folloged him about, sure that was no steal [no advantage] and that, nevertheless, what was deposited from that eyebold earbig [Earwicker] noseknaving gutthroat, he did not fire a stone either before or after he was born down or up to that time. (90.34–91.13)

In short, re-entered clean-faced, Shem swears his truthfulness to an audience that is insulted by Joyce’s having left Dublin (91.21) to find better pasturage on the Continent. A Shem comparison in martyrdom is Giordano Bruno, who met death-knell opposition and perished by the market stake at dawn in Florence in 1600, and, thus burned, became edible flesh as “market steak” (91.23) and a notion by which Shem can contrive to swear his innocence. And, incidentalising that they might talk about Markarthy [Kings Mark and Arthur] or they might walk to Baalastartey [Baal-Astarte sun or moon] or they might join the nabour/Labor [British] party and come on to Porterfeud [“portez vous”] this the sockdologer [overwhelming or exceptional] had the neck to endorse with the head bowed on him over his outturned noreaster [raincoat for flashing] by protesting to his lipreaders [he is now speechless] with a justbeen-

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Chapter 8 cleaned barefacedness, abeam of moonlight's hope [Sunlight soap], in the same trelawny [opposed king’s papistry in Cornwall] what he would impart, pleas bench [Common Pleas], to the Llwyd Josus [Lord Jesus] and the gentlemen in Jury's [Dublin tavern] and the four of Masterers [Annals of the Four Masters] who had been all those yarns yearning for that good one about why he [Joyce] left Dublin, that amreeta/Amrita [nectar of immortality] beaker coddling doom [fateful decision], as an Irishman was as good as any cantonnatal [Swiss born citizen], if he was to parish/perish by the marketsteak/stake before the dorming/dawning of the mawn [Giordano Bruno], he skuld [poet] never ask to see sight or light of this world or the other world [heaven] or any either/ether world, of Tyre-nan-Og/Tír-na-nÓg, as true as he was there in that jackabox [prisoner’s box] that minute . . . (91.13–26)

Significant referents are glossed over. In Sala’s Colonel Quagg story, Zephaniah Sockdolloger is a gracewalking brother and ex-prize fighter who defeats a giant scorching the area. The text for “sockdologer” in Our American Cousin is from Act iii, Scene 2 : “Mrs. M: I am aware, Mr. Trenchard, you are not used to the manners of good society, and that, alone, will excuse the impertinence of which you have been guilty.” Asa: “Don't know the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal—you sockdologizing old man-trap.” Laughter was intended to cover the gunshot that killed Abraham Lincoln. . . . or wield or wind (no thanks t’yous!) the inexousthausthible wassail-horn tot [nip or dram] of iskybaush/whiskey the hailth/health up the wailth/wealth of the endknown abgod of the fire [Sanskrit Agni] of the moving way of the hawks with his heroes in Warhorror/Valhalla if ever in all his exchequered [Dublin Court/Treasury] career he up or lave/left a chancery [Dublin court] hand to take or throw the sign of a mortal stick or stone at man, yoelamb or salvation army [frequent target of protests, assisted with MT], either before or after being puptised [Shem is “dogpoet” (177.21)] down to that most holy and every blessed hour [his life from birth to death]. (91.26–33)

Newly organized in the 1890s under “General Booth” and his wife Eva, the Salvation Army, bent on reforming drunks and rescuing prostitutes, was opposed by another disorganized “Skeleton Army,” of violent objectors who threw stones at them while they marched, singing, with all probable converts in tow. In support of the Criminal Law Amendment bill, they collected in three weeks a mammoth petition of 393,000 signatures adjoined to extend two and a half miles in length. They marched the lot of the papers, connected and wound on a windlass, within a mile of the Houses of Parliament under a banner reading “the Salvation Army demand that iniquity shall cease.” Eight cadets carried the overgrown petition on their shoulders down Whitehall and presented it to the House of Commons. The expiring House of Lords passed the C.L.A. bill and on 14 August 1885 the Queen gave her consent. Stead

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gathered field notes and framed his own ideas and wrote, anonymously, General Booth’s In Darkest England and the Way Out (1890), which became Booth’s best known book. Stead had difficulty staying close to puritan principles of truthfulness while preserving his anonymity; some years later he called himself the “Honorary Trumpeter in Ordinary to the Salvation Army” (R 33:39). Continuing his exhaustive oath, Shem borrows a caricature of Stead signing “his holymess the paws” (91.35) which was truly the Pope’s gesture. Stead’s favorite cartoonist, Phil May, serialized his caricatures of famous persons with their obsessions “On the Brain,” of which George Newnes of Tit-Bits was sketched with Scissors and Paste (see U 7:32). After his Letters from the Vatican (1890), Phil May sketched Stead empowered by Pope Leo XIII “on the brain,” the two fingers of the Pope prominent in blessing of “the Roman Godhelic faith” for Irish Druids’ Goidelic language now having become godly and crowned itself Catholic (Illus. R 5: 343; NewsStead 8: 32) in Joyce’s immutable “holymess the paws” (91.35). Here, upon the halfkneed/genuflexed castleknocker's [Phoenix Park] attempting kithoguishly/awkwardly to lilt/imitate his holymess the paws and make the sign of the Roman Godhelic faix, (Xaroshie, zdrst [Jesus Christ]― in his excitement the laddo had broken exthro Castilian [ex cathedra/Castile soap washed off muck] into which the whole audience perseguired and pursuited him olla podrida [rotten pot of stew; fart] outbroke much yellachters [yells/ laughter] from owners in the heall (Ha!) in which, under the mollification of methaglin/mead [is this Pappie?], the testifighter reluctingly, but with ever so ladylike indecorum, joined. (Ha! Ha!) (91.33–92.05)

At the Parnell Commission Inquiry into Parnell’s complicity in the Phoenix Park murders, the “testifighter” who reluctantly joined in laughter against himself was none other than W. T. Stead As editor of the Pall Mall Gazette, he had been summoned by an unknown party to a nighttime West End rendezvous where a stranger offered him evidence against Parnell that became known as the forged letters. Stead possessed not a shilling of one thousand pounds for payment and suggested that the stranger, who turned out to be Mr. Houston, take the offer to the Times (R 1: 104–07). Stead had already learned to his detriment about the laws of evidence in the Maiden Tribute trial and, summoned to testify at the Commission Inquiry, repeated the wisdom; he joined in the laughter against himself (20 Feb 1889 PMG 4–5 and 21 Feb 1889 PMG 2). Stead’s testimony over two days supports Clive Hart’s rendering “PW” as possible Parnell Witness. Shem has skillfully acted and blended parts of several Festies beginning with that of Earwicker as “the senior king of all” or “Festy King” summoned into court (85.23) and “Pegger Festy” whose loud burst of poesy and the “good one” about why he left Ireland; the perceptive audience, penetrating

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Figure 8.2. Shem hides from the Boer War at home in “Drinkbattle’s Dingy Dwellings.” Shem “kuskycorked himself up tight in his inkbattle house” (176.30)

his disguise, perceives him in his native habiliments as Shem. Opposites are easily united; there follows one of the clearest statements of the philosophy of Giordano Bruno, under the heading “isce et ille”: The hilariohoot of Pegger's Windup cumjustled as neatly with the tristitone/ sadness of the Wet Pinter's as were they isce et ille [tr this and that] equals of

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opposites, evolved by a onesame power of nature [they are father and son] or of spirit, iste [tr that of yours], as the sole condition and means of its himundher [him-and-her] manifestation, and polarised for reunion by the symphysis of their antipathies. Distinctly different were their duasdestinies. (92.06–11)

The different destinies were profoundly and aforetime cast forth by Oliver Wendell Holmes in Elsie Venner, a contribution to Joyce’s thinking committed in this work’s next chapter, entitled “The Brunonian Heresiarch and the Russian general.” Here, this key statement of Bruno emphasizes the position that the witnesses to this trial are not expected to distinguish between Pappie and Shem acting like Pappie, although when they part at the end of the trial, they will lead distinctly different lives. The twenty-eight maidens (always a “lunar score”) of the pub, who have no concern with abstractions, overhear a phrase of inspiration from the distinctly different “eranthus” which as spring flower announces the presence of Issy, the twenty-ninth, who murmurs “Show’m the Posed” (92.13) and shifts attention to Shem’s opposite, Shaun the Post, who has earned “the swiney prize” for overeating. This feminine admiration of him (91.15–22) is exhibited again with leapyear girls, in chapter 9 and the girls of St. Bride’s in chapter 13. In a nation of little food, they love to press his incredibly plump and uniquely soft flesh. No doubt the British skeptics are partly right; one at least of the Irish, “their masculine Oirisher Rose,” is not starving. In a parallel scene, Stead suffered a bad cold during his trial and wore a scarf on the last day; misery was the usual tone of trials and jails. “Send treats in their times” (92.22) rephrases the plea of John Mitchel’s Jail Journal and Yeats’ “Under Ben Bulben”: “You that Mitchel’s prayer have heard, ‘Send war in our time, O Lord!’” Hence combined opposites prevail: “with their dindy dandy sugar de candy mechree [Machree darling] me postheen [Paustheen fair-haired], flowns/flies courier to belive them of all his untiring young dames/charms [Moore s.], and send treats [finery for maidens] in their times” (92.20–22). The overlooking presence of “eranthus” Issy is recognized, and the resulting heated, public, embrace provides confirmation for public acceptance of the folklore of the “sin in the park.” But it was not unobserved of those presents, their worships, how, of one among all, her [who was] deputised to defeme him by the Lunar Sisters' Celibacy Club, a lovelooking leap[year]girl [Issy], all all alonely, Gentia Gemma [Flower gem] of the Makegiddyculling Reeks [Kerry], he, wan and pale in his unmixed admiration, seemed blindly, mutely, tastelessly, tactlessly, innamorate with heruponhim in shining aminglement, the shaym of his hisu shifting into the shimmering of her hers (youthsy, beautsy, hee’s her chap and shey’ll tell memmas when she gays whom [Norman Douglas street chant]) till the wild wishwish of her sheeshea melted most musically mid the dark deepdeep of his shayshaun [Irish sé : him-Shaun]. (92.22–32)

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Joyce had been amused by the dual genders of his friend Eugene Sheehy’s last name, an example of Joyce’s synesthesia, translating sounds into words, “hy” to “he,” which does not occur to many persons. The “four justicers” of the Four Courts “laid their wigs together . . . [and proceed to] promulgate their standing verdict of Nolans Brumans” (92.35–93.01), a combination of Bruno and “the Nolan,” which was the identity the young Giordano Bruno adopted when he left his home town and began his career as a monk. In other words, two persons are one. Joyce had drawn attention to this second identity at the onset of his “Rabblement” essay “No man said the Nolan . . .” and in Finnegans Wake conveniently transfers “the Nolan” to the person of Bruno’s “other.” “Nolans Brumans” also bears the Maiden Tribute identity of nolens volens: “Virgins Willing and Unwilling” (6 Jul 1885 PMG 3). In Stead’s First Imprisonment, part of the entrance routine for incarceration was that an officer “emptied our pockets” (First 5); apparently Shem-Pappie’s gesture means both innocence and freedom, as recognized by Irish victims of British rule and the viewers assembled: . . . whereoneafter King [Shem acting for Pappie], having murdered all the English he knew, picked out his pockets [showed them empty] and left the tribunal scotfree, trailing his Tommeylommey’s [Danish “empty pockets”] tunic in his hurry, thereinunder proudly showing off the blink pitch [black eyepatch of Joyce, in lieu of Pappie’s “boney part”] to his britgits/Brigid to prove himself (an’t plase yous!) a rael genteel. (93.01–05)

The “showing off” constitutes a “flashing” of intelligence to the women in court. “How fares your health?” spoken in Irish designates victory in contrast with the “dark sir” spoken in danger. To the Switz bobbyguard's curial [uniformed Swiss at Vatican papal court] but courtlike: Commodore valley O hairy, Arthre jennyrosy? [tr L. How fares your health today, noble gentleman? (the question comes from a maiden)]: the firewaterloover returted with such a vinesmelling fortytudor ages [motto of House of Savoy acronym for Rhodes FART] rawdownhams tanyouhide as would turn the latten/Latin stomach even of a tumass equinous [Thomas Aquinas: equine] (we were prepared for the chap’s clap cap, the accent, but [the odor] took us as, by surprise and now we're geshing it like gush gash from a burner!) [Joyce’s poem], so that all the twofromthirty advocatesses within echo, pulling up their briefs [lawyer-like] at the krigkry [war cry]: Shun the Punman! [shun Shem; admire Shaun]: safely and soundly soccored that fenemine Parish Poser, (how dare he!) umprumptu rightoway hames, much to his thanks, graciasagam [Patrick’s nickname from “let us give thanks” in Mass], to all the wrong donatrices [female donors] . . . (93.05–16).

Following Shem home allows for an account of his “hideaway” at the familiar Drinkbattle house—the Joyce family home—where he retreats from

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everyone and writes in total obscurity his message to the world. A Puck caricature of a Jingo hiding out from the imminent Boer War (Illus. R 13:7) by means of a trapdoor is particularly apt for Joyce’s application of fright and timidity typical of deer and dears. . . . biss [living at] Drinkbattle's Dingy Dwellings [Pappie’s/Shem’s residence] where (for like your true venuson Esau [escaping patrimony] he was dovetimid as the dears at Bottome [A Midsummer Night’s Dream]), he shat/wrote in (zoo), like the muddy goalbind [goblind] who he was (dun), the chassetitties belles conclaiming: You and your gift of your gaft of your garbage abaht our Farvver! and gaingridando/shouting: Hon! Verg! Nau! [all are “shame!”] Putor [foul smell]! Skam [shame]! Schams! Shames! (93.16–21)

“And so it all ended.” Shem’s brave and brilliant defense of Pappie has brought upon him the denunciation of his sisters for misleading them; they turn to Shaun for an adherent who is soothingly devoid of duplicity. Shem recalls yogic goals of “Artha kama dharma moksa,” the four Sanskrit purposes of life (93.22): success or material gain, desire, the moral order, and freedom or release from the cycle of death and rebirth. However, no philosophy has been invented to assuage the misery of the Joyce family “zoo,” and so the famous “letter” is called for as if a Joyce family bible, a last resort. Joyce’s remarkable creativity is fueled by an equally enviable tenacity to plot schemata. This discussion of mergence of identity began with Earwicker on trial, referred to the Parnell trial in which Stead was a witness, and neared its end wherein “The hilariohoot of Pegger’s Windup cumjustled as neatly with the tristitone of the Wet Pinter’s (Shem’s) as were they isce et ille equals of opposites” (92.06–08). There is a tension of union between opposites. Had Joyce intended keeping the professors busy regarding this, Pappie need not be distinguished from Shem impersonating Pappie. The vital “union of opposites” attributed to Giordano Bruno, the “Isce et Ille” passage, and the pun on soul-preserving food burned at the market stake––all prepare the grounds for an almost overwhelming preponderance of the motif of Giordano Bruno.

Chapter Nine

The Brunonian “Hiresiarch” and the Russian general (Sic)

Dante’s narrator asks “what are all those people/ Who . . . Make themselves audible by doleful sighs?”/ And he to me: “Here are the Heresiarchs” (Canto IX, lines 124-127).

“Condemned fool, anarch, egoarch, hiresiarch, you have reared your disunited kingdom on the vacuum of your own most intensely doubtful soul” (188.15–17). Shaun the antagonist denounces his brother Shem the protagonist, who in his younkers traveled a short road between the insult of “Mr. Tate” at Clongowes for “heresy in his essay” (AP 79) and his reply years later at the National University: “I said he [Bruno] was terribly burned” (AP 249). Giordano Bruno (1548–1600), known as “the Nolan,” prioritizes the motif structure, illuminates Joyce’s exquisite regard for details affecting and directing the plot, clarifies his reading of Bruno’s works in the original Italian, and utilizes the Bildungsroman of Stephen Dedalus in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man as point of origin of the theme that is resumed and developed in Finnegans Wake. Familiar quotations from the Portrait prepare for a book-length motif of the Bruno name in a myriad of changing forms founded in a biography of Bruno that Joyce reviewed in 1903: J. Lewis McIntyre’s Giordano Bruno. While McIntyre inspires and controls much subject matter in the Wake, Joyce enumerated additional factors while writing his review, titled “The Bruno Philosophy.” Preserved in Ellsworth Mason and Richard Ellmann’s James Joyce: The Critical Writings (CW 132–34), the review draws from McIntyre and from Joyce’s additional knowledge. Notably, although McIntyre accounts for the “treatises on memory,” Joyce incorporates for Professor Jones an exceptional demonstration of McIntyre’s book that extends to trea287

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tises that McIntyre mentions by name only and does not quote. W. T. Stead informs a network of references that cover otherwise-inexplicable factors such as “Cheesugh!” (163.10). Evidently, Joyce wrote his “book review” to convey Brunonian matters outside McIntyre’s biography, and Joyce’s personal information and private experience beyond “the hiresiarch martyr of Nola.” This discussion focuses on the universal theory of “coincidence of contraries” that the philosopher Nicholas of Cusa advanced, and that Bruno borrowed, testing whether contraries ever merge in actuality like an arc that eventually forms a circle or only in theory. To test the theory, Joyce creates for the Wake’s chapter 11 a television skit featuring Butt and Taff who are major figures in a second motif of innumerable appearances, that of the “Russian general.” Solving an identity crisis of one motif—the Bruno details—engages the mysterious Russian general and the question whether Butt and Taff “merge in identity.” This chapter progresses through (a) Clongowes and the Portrait, (b) A Literary Precedent, (c) Bruno’s Mortality and Transition, and (d) Brunonian Insights in the Novel’s Sequences, (e) Earwicker’s Pub: the “Mergence” of Butt and Taff; and nears a close with the specifics “How Buckley Shot the Russian general.” THE CLONGOWES HERESY Joyce’s devotion to Bruno began at Clongowes, where Stephen Dedalus at age nine had rushed to class eager to hear praises of his essay only to be shocked and humiliated by the charge of heresy, a veritable sin that he has committed against God and Ireland and that Finnegans Wake presents as haunting him in his adult life. The child has been bequeathed ponderous Catholic and British-Irish responsibility for his “disunited” soul. If Bruno’s “contrarities” has any value, the “middle of the mudstorm” into which Shem landed at birth in Ireland’s “two easter island” arguably proves by way of the coexistence of politics and religion that heresy was as firmly grounded as faith. The counts of heresy against Bruno, “reached one hundred and thirty, according to the evidence of his accuser, Mocenigo,” I. Frith records (36) although other persons could eventually tally more, and presumably the fear of committing heresy forms much of Stephen’s sin at Clongowes; it has infected his Dublin environment and created for Shem an identity crisis whose resolution he is burdened with achieving in the pages of Finnegans Wake. Moreover, James Atherton, one of the first and foremost of critics as predicated in his Allusions in “Finnegans Wake” (1960), initiated a scholarship quarrel that directs the outcome of another famous motif, the “shooting of the Russian general.” Only the text itself can resolve through examination of its multiple variations of personal and Brunonian references whether Shem

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is the sham that, playacting with his siblings, he mischievously models for himself, and ultimately whether “the Nolan” exists at all as a separate entity. Regardless whether Joyce merged the publishing pair of Browne and Nolan into one person, the revelations of the motif reveal much about how the novel works in all save the first and fifth chapters. An Oliver Wendell Holmes precedent contributes to, and possibly initiated, the mystery. Atherton established a critical foothold in his observation, perhaps the most frequently cited of his allusions “Bruno and Nicholas of Cusa alike believed in the coincidence of contraries. Joyce uses this theory to strange effect in Finnegans Wake where, for example, an arguing pair like Butt and Taff can suddenly become ‘one and the same person’ (354.08) because they are ‘equals of opposites and polarized for reunion by the symphysis of their antipathies’” (36). Whether Butt and Taff merged into one person is inevitably disputed for credulity; however, among several pages that McIntyre devotes to the definition, here is McIntyre’s confirmation: “the Coincidence of Contraries . . . derives from that of the unity and coincidence of all differences, and which, although it was undoubtedly contained in his own system, Bruno obtained directly from Nicholas of Cusa” (Mc 176). However, since “Bruno” may be translated either Brown or Browne, and Bruno is biographically “the Nolan,” by which McIntyre often refers to him, those supplementary identities from the inception are never separated; meanwhile as a duality they afford Shem a reason for his residence on ”struggle street” where he can examine the “twosome twiminds” of his Irish religion and nationality and clarify some of the ambiguities of those enigmatic phrases about the mergence or impossibility of mergence and the “symphysis” or “growing together” of antipathies. Not an authentic name, “Mr. Tate’s” rejection of Stephen’s heretical essay provided Joyce, as Peter Costello perceives, an example “of the inevitable excesses of Church power” (JC 215). Submitting demurely to “Mr. Tate’s” accusation at Clongowes, from which Joyce withdrew in his third year at age nine in 1891, the child Stephen murmured in reply “I meant without a possibility of ever reaching” (AP 79). The protege has interpreted Bruno’s acceptance that “the Divine reason may be known ever more and more truly through human reason, but never quite truly” (Mc 143). “Mr. Tate,” based on Joyce’s friend George Dempsey, approves the limits of human thought proposed in Stephen’s reply. Dempsey’s finding a chilling aspect of monomaniacal control by Mr. Tate represents a difference between fiction and reality. Stephen speaks from an innate rebellion against authority; his suspicion of the limits of his teachers almost equals that for the priests when both fail their holy offices. Talking with his Italian teacher, “little roundhead rogue’s eye Ghezzi” years later at the University, Stephen remembers that Mr. Tate “said Bruno was a terrible heretic. I said he was terribly burned. He agreed to this with some sorrow. Then gave me recipe for what he calls risotto alla bergamasca” (AP 249).

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Father Henry Ghezzi’s perceptive reply is crystalized in Finnegans Wake, where Stephen, from Joyce’s food-deprived home life, has introduced a controlling theme of saintly human endeavor: starving the body to feed the soul, questioning the fasting in the wilderness and an assortment of human efforts to reach the divine: how to make food available to keep body and soul together. What is the purpose of existence? Joyce illustrated the dilemma in recounting the death of Sordid Sam— whose name originates with Giordano Bruno— and his noble last words, a parody of the death of Bruno: Me drames, O’Loughlins, has come through! Now let the centuple celves of my egourge as Micholas de Cusack calls them,―of all of whose I in my hereinafter of course by recourse demission me―by the coincidence of their contraries reamalgamerge in that identity of undiscernibles where the Baxters [bread] and the Fleshmans [meat] may they cease to bidivil uns and (but at this poingt though the iron thrust of his cockspurt start might have prepared us we are wellnigh stinkpotthered by the mustardpunge in the tailend) this outandin brown candlestock melt Nolan’s into peese! Han var [He was]. (49.32–50.05)

The seriousness of the controlling metaphor is likely to be consumed in joviality, for how else to deal with it; the dual issue of keeping religious martyrdom alive and preserving the necessity for soul-searching social criticism is never resolved. Joyce has comically dramatized the tragedy of the religious ages, that of a “final solution.” While introducing the critical dilemma, James Atherton sets forth the dramatis personae in that “Giordano Bruno . . . forms part of a pair of characters, often called Brown[e] and Nolan after a firm of Dublin booksellers, who are mentioned frequently in the Wake” (108). Atherton assumed over a hundred mentions of Bruno’s name (36); Federico Sabatini accepts an “elevated number of references to Bruno” and expands the Bruno attributes to the special creation of the “mot-valise immarginable” (adapted from 4.19) that summarizes “the whole philosophy and subversive cosmology of Bruno” (25). Thornton Wilder assumed “hundreds of allusions,” and Bill Kuhns in his online “Giordano Bruno and Marshall McLuhan” accommodated Joyce’s “ghost guises like Saint Bruno [pipe tobacco] and the Nolan of the Cabashes [Calabashes] and Nolan’s brown and Nolan Browne and Bruno Nowlan and Nolan Brumans and Mr. Brown and Bruno Nolan and many others.” Repetitions of the distinctive pair can be counted, and the number of flitting “ghost guises” approximated; however, the number of citations of Bruno without Bruno’s name further confuses the counting task. Something is amiss if all are judged equal. There are only three Browns in Clive Hart’s Concordance, fourteen Brownes, although Joyce could not resist a pun on the national anthem “God Save the Queen.” Butt brags of the good times, “I was gamefellow willmate and send us victorias with nowells and brownings . . . that fanagan’s week” (350.35–351.02).

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Reviewing McIntyre’s biography in 1903, Joyce honored Bruno with the cognomen “the father of what is called modern philosophy” and apparently was considering that the Divine is “All” when he interpreted a passage from I[sabella] Frith’s biography concerning “the accusation of pantheism” for his concept of a world soul. Frith writes, “‘He suffered,’ says Coleridge in his Table-Talk and Omniana, ‘at Rome for atheism; that is, as is proved by all his works, for a lofty and enlightened piety, which was, of course, unintelligible to bigots and dangerous to an apostate hierarchy’” (Frith 17). Joyce interpreted the Coleridge source “Is it not strange, then, that Coleridge should have set him down a dualist, a later Heraclitus, and should have represented him as saying in effect: ‘Every power in nature or in spirit must evolve an opposite as the sole condition and means of its manifestation; and every opposition is, therefore, a tendency to reunion’” (CW 134). The wellknown summary of opposites that tend to reunion, often quoted, Bruno derived from Nicholas of Cusa. The “coincidence” statement itself can be regarded “as either dualistic (as Cusanus’ really was) or as pantheistic,” which was the view that Bruno held of the “coincidence of contraries” (Mc 179). The percipience of Coleridge (deceased 1834) is remarkable. The McIntyre biography (1903) devotes considerable space to sweeping breadth in the faith that “all existences differ” and everything is in “constant change, and the flux of atoms is never equal” (Mc 235). Almost twenty years after Clongowes, Joyce resolved the issue of Bruno’s questionable duality in his own mind, writing to Harriet Shaw Weaver (27 January 1925), “Bruno Nolano (of Nola) another great southern Italian was quoted [cited] in my first pamphlet The Day of the Rabblement. His philosophy is a kind of dualism—every power in nature must evolve an opposite in order to realize itself, and opposition brings reunion etc etc” (Selected Letters: 226). Gordon Bowker labels Joyce’s “quoted” a “deliberate mystification” that was “intended to baffle,” a “clear statement of a position that Joyce never abandoned, that art is a high calling and not for sale to any movement or passing fashion” (81–82). Continuing from Stephen’s “ecstasy” in the Portrait, the opportunity recurred for the author to display the evolutionary process in personal experience in a contemporary setting. A Bruno celebration in Rome in 1907 failed to inspire Joyce, as he conveyed to Stanislaus: “I have just been listening to Americans discussing Giordano Bruno in honour of whom there is a procession here tomorrow” (Letters I, 151). On 1 March Joyce wrote a series of self-disparagements, of which in miserable circumstances he feared “to continue as I am at present would certainly mean my mental extinction” and “The spectacle of the procession in honour of the Nolan left me quite cold” (Letters I, 152). Then occurred in discomfort and despair on this murky day in the Holy City a spontaneous personal illumination of Bruno’s contrarieties of “action and reaction,” demonstrating that where “there is motion, diversity, multitude,

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and order, there are degrees, succession and vicissitude.” Joyce observed a “good-looking” young woman holding to her lips “a trinket on a long chain,” not a rosary or a prayer book but “a miniature revolver!” a cazzo, “often worn as a trinket.” Costello recognizes this object, “attached to a ring round her neck,” as a small gold phallus which she carried unthinkingly to her mouth now and again. In his puritanical Irish way [Joyce] was shocked, for he thought it required either a great deal of talent or a great deal of courage to render such facts of life as the sexual organs in any way interesting” (JC 269). The mergence of the sacred and profane flashed in an epiphany of valid contrarieties. He had confessed to Stanislaus a few sentences preceding that he “found Italian men lacking in delicacy and virility” and his fellow clerks at the bank solidly taciturn. On this issue there occurred an explosion of the opposite. Now, “When I enter the bank in the morning I wait for someone to announce something about either his cazzo, culo, or coglioi” (slang for penis, anus or testicles). He had begun writing to Stanislaus “This state of indifference ought to indicate artistic inclination, but it doesn’t.” Instead it produced an artistic construction of Wakean-type familiarity. His talents were being exercised as he wrote. The failures of the first half of the letter reversed themselves in street-gazing mutation. Whence cometh this inspiration? Religion dictates “God,” a soul or spirit of the universe which by its essence and substance is “diffused throughout immensity.” Many years would fall into the continuum of infinity before these irrefragable applications of Bruno would be ingested for Finnegans Wake. Meanwhile, back at Clongowes, why Stephen Dedalus acceded to Mr. Tate’s accusation was comprehended by any reader of Bruno’s works: [S]o the Divine reason may be known ever more and more truly through human reason, but never quite truly. It is the knowledge of this our essential ignorance of the Divine that brings us nearest to it. (Mc 143)

Stephen’s “approaching nearer” is possible; merging with the Deity is not. The second part of Atherton’s observation, pertaining to the opposites polarized for reunion, is accepted in the Ondt and Gracehoper poetic finale of chapter 13 as if stretched and released by a rubber band: “An extense must impull, an elapse must elopes” (418.34). Possibly Joyce’s inquisitive scholarship had discovered a “precursor’ to clarify Bruno’s antipathies, to offer the advantage of familiar language. I. Frith’s remarkably contemporary scholarship now guards the threshold of Brunonian criticism and offers valuable associations that more recent publications overlook; for example, her lengthy footnote beginning “Medieval pedagogues commonly called each other pig” (126) casts new light on the Irish pig and she provides “Allusions” to what Oliver Wendell Holmes called “the ugly central fact of donkeyism” that

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“constantly occur in all of Bruno’s works” (23). Holmes is remarkable for additional insight. A LITERARY PRECEDENT Oliver Wendell Holmes, popular Autocrat of the Breakfast Table (see 124.9), defined as “antipathies” the opposite traits in his characters and treated them as observable in living specimens: Relations are very apt to hate each other [antagonism between Shem and Shaun] just because they are too much alike [to Shem, Shaun is “himother”]. It is so frightful to be in an atmosphere of family idiosyncrasies; to see all the hereditary uncomeliness or infirmity of body, all the defects of speech, all the failings of temper, intensified by concentration, so that every fault of our own finds itself multiplied by reflections, like our images in a saloon lined with mirrors! Nature knows what she is about. The centrifugal principle [Joyce’s “centuple”] which grows out of the antipathy [Joyce’s “antipathies”] of like to like is only the repetition in character of the arrangement we see expressed materially in certain seed-capsules [Joyce’s “pease”], which burst and throw the seed to all points of the compass. A house is a large pod with a human germ or two in each of its cells or chambers; it opens by dehiscence of the front-door by and by, and projects one of its germs to Kansas, another to San Francisco, another to Chicago, and so on [Joyce’s “distinctly different were their duasdestinies”]; and this that Smith may not be Smithed to death and Brown may not be Browned into a mad-house, but mix [Joyce’s “melt”] in with the world again and struggle back to average humanity. (Holmes Elsie Venner 145–46)

Holmes speculated about the family genealogy that could be recalled and recognized by an elderly physician (himself) acquainted with two or three generations. He theorized that an accident of nature could clench a fatal defect, like Elsie Venner’s mark of a snake, and her snake-like aspect when aroused to anger. Joyce evaluates this in “How familiar it is to see all these advenements [Elsie’s family were culturally advantaged] with one snaked’s eyes!” (564.34). Inherited “family idiosyncrasies” cannot be escaped or eradicated; a victim can only live out its malice. Holmes’s rector, exhibiting an affectation, “read the service with such ventral depth of utterance and rrreduplication of the rresonant letter [sent by desperate Elsie], that his own mother would not have known him for her son” (69). An interviewer in 1894 told Dr. Holmes that a reader had taken his description of “a possession” as true and felt herself in possession of a master mind. Dr. Holmes replied: “He did not believe, and he had not supposed that anyone would think he did, that such possession is possible” (R 10: 554). Elsie Venner is possessed of “antipathies many and intense” (183), her cousin Dick Venner of “double consciousness” (329). Holmes has been nominat-

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ed a forerunner of “depth psychology” and an anticipator of Freud. Joyce imposed on himself an additional task, that of representing the soul’s transition into the afterlife, based on a browned turkey, to translate the living person into a transitioning soul at death. BRUNO’S MORTALITY AND TRANSITION Bruno (1548–1600), named Felippo, called himself “the Nolan,” having left home in Nola at the age of eleven or so. At the age of fifteen he passed into the order of St. Dominic in Naples, “Domini Canes,” known as the Hounds of the Lord. The township of Nola “had its own martyrs, one of whom, Pomponio Algerio, suffered during Bruno’s lifetime a fate that foreshadowed his own; accused while a student at Padua of contempt for the Christian religion, he was imprisoned sequentially in Padua, Venice, and Rome. Kuhns mentions that “At twenty-eight [Bruno] shed the [brown] robes of a Dominican friar to wander Europe as a fugitive scholar.” Bruno’s time spent in England in 1583 was, by his biographer J. Lewis McIntyre’s assessment, the happiest of his troubled life (1548–1600). Wherever he traveled, in alternating striations of feast and famine, the peripatetic scholar, if fortunate, was invited to enjoy a temporary patronage. In Paris his patron Henry III gave him a lectureship and a salary. King Rudolf in Prague gave him money. At specific locations, magnates of throne, education, and commerce inveigled Bruno-type philosophers to provide entertainment and enlightenment at lavish banquets. Many, like Giovani Mocenigo, Bruno’s future betrayer, sought him out for instruction in mnemonics. At Oxford University, a “stronghold of Aristotelianism,” the learned fourth century Greek philosopher Aristotle presided as the new “Mr. Tate,” wielding execrably a “horrible example of free thought.” The University’s statutes mandated “that Bachelors and Masters who did not follow Aristotle faithfully were liable up to a fine of five shillings for every point of divergence, and for every fault committed against the Logic of the Organon” (Mc 21–22), the reigning Greek master’s six books of logic. Aristotle’s “two-fold truth” addressed subjects ever in conflict: God and science. On 27 February 1593, “Bruno entered the prison of the Inquisition of Rome” (Mc 85); his imprisonment and trial lasted seven years. The sentence of death at the stake was common to all such sentences: “with as great clemency as possible, and without effusion of blood” (Mc 90), and Bruno’s last words, with translation discrepancies, were said to have been approximately “Greater perhaps is your fear in pronouncing my sentence than mine in hearing it” (Mc 94). On 17 February1600 he was burnt at the stake in the market Campo dei Fiori in Rome.

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To prevent Bruno’s expressing his heretical Faith as he approached the stake, his “tongue was tied” by disputed method; the motive was “owing to the brutish words he uttered” or “so the heretic could not speak to the people.” Kuhns found accounts that “Bruno was led naked to the stake,” although this has been disputed by those who say prisoners of the Inquisition were generally unable to walk. Kuhns continues, “his hands were bound and his jaw contorted from the plug of wood jammed tightly into his mouth, now that his last opportunity to recant his thoughts had passed” (7). Others spoke of a stake driven through his tongue. By such excruciating methods the good Church fathers demonstrated that the Inquisition would not permit any speaker of heresy to speak. McIntyre found that the Company of St. John the Beheaded—also called “the Company of Mercy or Pity”—walked with him carrying “tablets painted with images” for the condemned to kiss until the faggots were lit, and the Company of Mercy adopted “the cruelest methods” to produce “at least the appearance of kissing, and so of repentance” (Mc 95). Bruno would oblige with neither. “The fear of death was no part of [Bruno’s] philosophy: what we call death, it teaches, is a mere change of state, of ‘accidents’—no real substance, such as the human spirit is, can ever die. One of the highest values of his philosophy he thought to be this, that it freed man from the fear of death, ‘which is worse than death itself.’” (Mc 98). The martyrdom occurred during a Jubilee Year and made a spectacle for “gay and thoughtless sight-seers” for whom Bruno’s death was that of “another ‘damnable and obstinate heretic’” (Mc 100). His afterlife commemoration occurred, almost three centuries later, in Rome in 1889, at which time the Italian Freemasons erected a statue by Ettore Ferrari, in the place where Bruno was burnt. The statue, as Ingrid Rowland relates vivaciously in Giordano Bruno, was an image of a “heroic, imposing Bruno [that] is anything but realistic.” Bruno, a “gaunt little man,” had not “worn a Dominican habit for twenty-four years when he was marched off to the stake; indeed, as a final indignity, he was stripped naked before he burned” and “Ferrari’s robust image reflects the man’s spirit, not his body” (Rowland 6). A book between his manacled hands was a further impossible idealism. The inscription on the statue, translated variously, reads “To Bruno—the century predicted by him—here where the fire burned.” Bruno’s heresy of “infinite worlds” had been long calculated by prior scholars; Bruno believed it and was most vocal and now is credited with previsioning Einstein. Not one person expressed sympathy as Bruno’s ashes, dumped in the river, merged with this small part of one of the “infinite” universes. Today Brunonian studies, similar to “the Joyce industry” for intense literary scrutiny, begin to mound up to a burgeoning “Bruno industry.” Bruno lived on a large and lifelong scale the insult to personal dignity that the child Stephen Dedalus experienced minimally when accused of heresy in his essay.

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That Browne and Nolan as publishers merge into one person forming an alterego for Shem-Joyce is a tempting corollary of Joyce’s creation of the Butt and Taff demonstration of “mergence.” Examination of the Butt and Taff motif, however, reveals how carefully Joyce distinguished the names and avoided confusion with Gordons or additional Brownes and Nolans. Costello’s index, after Father Henry Browne, lists Mervyn Archdall Browne, Stephen Fitzwilliam Browne, Thomas Browne, Thomas Wogan Browne, and only one Brown named Stephen. Autobiographically, Joyce at the University seems initially to have overcome Father Henry Browne’s rejection of his “Rabblement” manuscript beginning “No man, said the Nolan,” because he considered using “Gordon Brown,” as Bowker explains, “his English translation of Giordano Bruno,” for a stage name (Bowker 79–80). Although Browne and Nolan were famous publishers and booksellers in Dublin, and Father Henry Browne was only an advisor for the magazine St.Stephen’s, Richard Ellmann relates that Joyce “furiously” protested to President Delany, who “refused to intervene” (JJ 88). The rejection, Constantine Curran noted, “turned on a single point—the reference to D’Annunzio’s Il Fuoco”―which “stood in the Roman Index” (20). It was an early thunderous defeat for a juvenile author who expected “to set the Thames on fire.” Nevertheless, in Finnegans Wake Joyce makes this rejection seminal to others during the turbulent years following: a single, repeated reason for his leaving Dublin. The stage name “Gordon Brown” eludes research in Finnegans Wake. Joyce chose to dramatize it, instead of applying the name, and caused Shem to demonstrate his dramatic talents in the Festy-King Brunonian trial. Brown without the final e of Browne clearly does not appear in the context of Browne and Nolan. Mention of the Gordon Highlanders regiment (392.34) and the vast collection of “haughty hamiltons and gay gordons” (438.36) do not encourage a “secondary personality,” which for Bruno/Browne is replaced by “the Nolan.” Despite Joyce’s unctuous control of the “motifs” or “threads,” the confusing orthography was historically dissolved before Joyce made it crucial. The “great Field-Marshal, Ulrich Maximilian Count Brown” (1705–1757), MacManus explains, was perhaps the greatest of the great soldiers Ireland gave to Austria” (478). MacManus and the DNB differ slightly: the latter designates him a “count of the Holy Roman Empire,” and he is not listed in Wikipedia as a Field Marshall (of which there were many) for Austria, although there was an earlier Austrian Field Marshal Count Ulysses von Browne (b. Limerick, Ireland; 1659 d. Frankfurt am Main 1731). The DNB absolves itself of responsibility; its biography of Ulysses Maximillian von Brown is headed “Brown or Browne.” Brown Bess’s bung (187.26), the Brown child of skin color (520.17), and Chief Brown Pool (546.34) are disengaged from the Bruno question. Joyce’s control of these orthographies is painstaking; his artistic purposes that appear to be reliably

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biographical are often unsynchronized with biographical facts. Costello found that Joyce “remained in contact with Father Charles Ghezzi, the young Italian Jesuit at University with whom he had studied Italian” (179). Successive chapters of Finnegans Wake, beginning with the second chapter, advance the prominent pair Shem and Shaun through the travails of JoyceShem-Stephen’s consciousness. BRUNONIAN INSIGHTS IN THE NOVEL’S SEQUENCES In retrospect, Joyce’s intense single-purpose devotion to art excludes interpolations for ambiguous purposes but often employ humor. The Wake’s earliest Brunonian references closely affiliate the Maiden Tribute, beginning with Gaping Gill, a geological formation referencing the attackler’s “mouldy” teeth, for “studying castelles in the blowne [similar to aspirations blowing in the wind] and studding cowshots [filth] over the noran/Nolan.” The moldy teeth effuse expectoration (37.22–30) “studded” toward the cows of Phoenix Park. After Cromwell, Costello found, the holdings at Clongowes were sold “to a Dublin merchant named Thomas Browne, who changed the name to Castle Browne. The castle, Costello relates in Clongowes Wood, was rebuilt by Stephen Fitzwilliam Browne in 1718 and remodeled by Thomas Wogan Browne in its present style after 1788” (73). “Browne and Nolan” may be victims or villains or merely British and Italian. Subsequently, an anonymous Gaping Gill takes action. The “encounter” in Phoenix Park results in the unprecedented windfall that finances a spending spree for “the attackler.” The following night he regales his “bit of strife” with tales of his cadging success. She carries the news of her husband’s brilliant wiles to her priest and extracts confidence from him: the gossiple so delivered in his epistolear . . . would go no further than his jesuit’s cloth, yet (in vinars venitas! volatiles valetotum! [Pliny: in vino veritas, in wine, truth] it was this overspoiled priest Mr Browne, disguised as a vincentian [vowed to assist the poor], who, when seized of the facts, was overheard, in his secondary personality as a Nolan [resident of Nola] and underreared . . . to pianissime a slightly varied version of Crookedribs [women’s, Eve’s] confidentials . . . hushly pierce the rubiend aurellum [ear] of one Philly Thurnston [Thurston, exiled Archbishop of York], a layteacher . . . during a priestly flutter for safe and sane bets at the hippic runfields of breezy Baldoyle [race track]. (38.23–39.02)

The paired identity enables Browne to don a priest’s robe when approached and to discard the priest’s robe when he desires to perform freely as a visiting Italian from Nola and a layman, perhaps a “layman bogholder.” In

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the role of Browne he can receive confessions; in the role of the Nolan he can turn any information to profit at a race track. SORDID SAM AND THE POPE’S NOSE The Wake’s chapter 3 could be titled “Sordid Sam and the Brown Candlestock.” Atherton’s perception that “Bruno and Nicholas of Cusa alike believed in the coincidence of contraries” manifests first in Finnegans Wake in the reputed last words of Sordid Sam, an undernourished balladeer of Persse O’Reilly (44–47) and a “stage thunkhard” who has been coulinclouted into the Great Beyond. Nothing could be more “contrary” than a coincidental last memorable “speaking” of the expiring body, redolent of freshly baked flesh. The “Chaldeans and Hebrew sages, who attribute body to the omnipotent God, [called] him a ‘consuming fire’; below Him were innumerable Gods, flames of fire and spirits of air . . . souls too were spirits―that is, subtle bodies” (Mc 129–30). In that event, Sordid Sam’s soul would be transported instantaneously to the simultaneous consuming fire of heaven; on earth the body constitutes edible flesh, which is grossly demonstrated in the example of Sordid Sam’s end. Writing “The Candlebearer at the Wake: Bruno’s Candelaio in Joyce’s Book of the Dark,” Gino Moliterno misjudges the thoroughness with which Joyce absorbed and extended his sources and sees in them a “poor acquaintance with Bruno’s writings.” In so saying he overlooks Sordid Sam, who no doubt derives his name from Bruno’s explanation of the three main themes for the Candelaio that are interwoven in “the love of Bonifacio, the alchemy of Bartolomeo and the pedantry of Manfurio.” Of Bruno himself there are “the insipid lover, secondly the sordid miser, thirdly the clumsy pedant: of whom the insipid one is not without clumsiness and sordidness, the sordid one is equally insipid and clumsy, and the clumsy one is no less sordid and insipid than clumsy” (Moliterno 273). Joyce makes humor of “the farcical pedagogue” in his Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and renders the scholarly Stephen Dedalus thoroughly ashamed of the sordidness of his home environment while he covets literary fame. Metaphysics, propitiously applied, might have shielded the viewers of Bruno’s martyrdom from physical discomfort. Literally, the title of Bruno’s Candelaio inspires the notion that Bruno being burned at the stake while wearing his brown robe became a human candle and thus dehumanized, as Joyce applies it elsewhere, a market steak. Otherwise, this undignified union of opposites, converting meat into alternative vegetable peese, is saved by an apostrophe standing for the ownership of the bookstore. Also applicable is Bruno’s comedy Candelaio (The Chandler or The Candle-bearer) of which he designated himself “The Chandler” when he explained the title for his

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lady Morgana, asking her in his dedication of the play to behold in him the candle borne by this Chandler, to whom he gives birth, which will clarify certain Shadows of Ideas, referring to another title by himself. Moliterno, who translates from the Italian for his “The Candlebearer at the Wake: Bruno’s Candelaio in Joyce’s Book of the Dark,” confirms the interpretation, that Bruno as chandler serves to “illuminate certain shadows of ideas.” His translation of Brunonian concepts is invaluable in explaining Joyce’s intention and his pun on a literal application of Bruno’s purpose. I hope to recover lard where I’ve fed grass, if not under one cloak, then another, if not in one life, in another. Remember, Lady, what I believe I have not need to teach you:—Time takes all and gives all; each thing changes, nothing is annulled; only one [soul] does not change, only one is eternal and may persevere eternally one, similar and the same.—With this philosophy [that there is no death] my spirit expands, and my intellect is magnified. Thus, at whatever point I may be in this night [life on earth] of waiting, if in truth there is change, I who am in the night await the day and those who are in the day await the night; everything that is, is either here or there, either near or far, either now or to come, either earlier or later. (Moliterno 279)

The cycle of existence is hinted in recovering meat from grass, part of recovering grass from meat, as in Sordid Sam being melted into vegetable peese. Whether the candle was considered heresy for its resemblance to John 8:12, when Jesus said “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life,” is not applicable. The Christian metaphor would have had little relevance for Bruno, who refused to accept the divinity of Christ. The “contraries” of night and day, however, are perfectly clear. Moliterno finds in the dedication to Bruno’s lady Morgana a work “proffered as a rather phallic, if textual, candle” (273) and in Bruno’s “candlestock” quoted above “the ubiquitous sexual innuendos of the letter of dedication and the metaphorical tumescence of this textual candlebearer/ candle are also condensed in ‘outandin’ whilst Bruno’s extreme mental agitation, his expressed desire to overcome the chaos which now separates him from Morgana and the intense heat which he claims has generated the play are all masterfully summed up in the wishful anticipation that this candlestick may ‘melt’ the Nolan’s preoccupations into ‘peese,’ i.e., peace” (Moliterno 280). Since the days of Stephen Hero, “peascod” (AP 54) has been an issue, both for similarity, as in the prominent Prankquean motif, and for porridge in a nation perishing of physical hunger. Joyce’s Sordid Sam departs this world hungry, consumed in the eternal quest for food. The “poignt of the iron thrust” will be echoed in the service of the toasting fork that becomes visible when bearing an altered and memorable yellow wad intended to be swallowed (89.12). Although the tragic fact of Bruno’s death is undeniable and enduring, the grotesqueries imposed upon it by the Roman

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Catholic fathers are similarly undeniable. The Church delivers no homily that could probe so deeply as this; Joyce-Shem takes upon himself the duties of the “hiresiarch” (188.16) or “hereticalist” (192.01). “Mr. Tate” was right; Joyce did indeed write heresy into his essay. For melting Nolans into peese, the Portrait offers a tantalizing precedent at the dramatic Christmas dinner: Mr Deadlus rooted with the carvers at the end of the dish and said: —There’s a tasty bit here we call the pope’s nose. If any lady or gentleman . . . He held a piece of fowl up on the prong of the carvingfork. (AP 32)

Providing a connection, Peter Costello has explained the phallus of the “cockspurt start” (50.3) in that James Joyce’s father, John Stanislaus Joyce, held “attitudes to sexual matters [that] seem to have been peculiar. The father of a numerous brood, he would joke over selecting for his share of the Christmas turkey the Pope’s (or Parson’s) Nose—the bird’s sexual organ— which was believed to renew a man’s sexual vitality” (JC 96). Joyce’s dedication to his high art, motivated in part by the stinging memory of “Mr. Tate’s” accusation, is further demonstrated in his fiction. The “Parnell scandal broke,” Costello reminds us, “In the autumn of 1890” and the excitement of the fall heralded a heated Christmas at the Joyce house. The famous dinner scene in his novel is based on these three Christmases: 1889 had seen Parnell vindicated and the issue of the divorce writ: the Christmas of 1890 was particularly exciting after the Party split. What 1891 would bring, no one yet foresaw. The divisions carried over into that year. On 11th February Parnell refused to compromise by resigning the leadership of his wing . . .The controversy surrounding Parnell was to colour Joyce’s outlook on matters of sexual morality and politics for the rest of his life.” (JC 98–99).

“James,” Costello reminds us, “returned to Belvedere in September 1893.” The main influence on Joyce from now on was to be his English master Mr George Dempsey— ‘Mr Tate’—who had one of Joyce’s poems published in the school magazine in 1907. After the publication of A Portrait in 1916 contact was renewed and they exchanged Christmas greetings between Switzerland and Dublin. In the last years of his life, between 1922 and 1924, Dempsey supplied Joyce with books, information and materials for Finnegans Wake” (JC 128).

Costello finds, also, that George Dempsey sent Joyce a postcard on 15 October 1903 asking Joyce to call on him and probably at that time provided Joyce with the prospect of teaching in a Protestant school that would “not compromise him” with perpetuating Catholic doctrine (JC 215).

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JOYCE’S CONSTRUCTION ON TRANSITION TO THE AFTERLIFE Only one aspect of Sordid Sam’s departure from this earth remains to be examined. Where would Joyce acquire the crudity of having the body instantaneously translated into edible fare? Difficult it is, to imagine that death by burning flesh and eating rice would be viewed as isce et ille opposites. When Stephen said to Father Charles Ghezzi, “the young Italian Jesuit at University,” that Bruno had been terribly burned, “He agreed to this with some sorrow. Then gave me recipe for what he calls risotto alla bergamasca” (AP 249). Costello notes that Joyce remained in contact with Father Ghezzi and “His interest in Italian culture remained a dominant one in his reading.” Joyce was reading at the famed and impressive Marsh’s Library, purposefully the prophecies of Joachim who taught three ages in history: the Age of the Father, the Age of the Son, and the Age of the Holy Spirit that could be adapted to the structure of Finnegans Wake. As always, it was important that the next generation be provided with sustenance. Holmes’s “seed capsules” in the form of Nolan’s “peese” achieve Wakean immortality in the pease orthography of the Prankquean motif: “why do I am alook alike a poss [a mess] of porter pease?” (21.18). Porridge was often made from dried peas. Pease was a mass noun like oatmeal and was spelled with or without the final e. Some generations after Bruno’s time, the Holmes-like pod ejected a pertinent pair of pease who possibly never met. Sir Joseph Whitwell Pease (1828–1903) was a Quaker millionaire industrialist in Darlington, northern England, where Stead edited the Northern Echo and where, to earn journalistic funds, Stead rather comically wrote an obituary for him in advance, but the old gentleman survived. Stead was well acquainted with the contrarieties of Sir Joseph. As President of the Peace Society, Sir Joseph said nothing could be done with ameliorating the devastation of the Boer War except to “put it through” (R 30: 6), as if a thrust with a bayonet would be sufficient. Pease had visited St. Petersburg on the eve of the Crimean War. Stead’s Review of Reviews memorialized Captain Louis Nolan (1818–1854), who delivered the order that led to the Charge and died as the first casualty of the Charge of the Light Brigade. Stead reprinted the account of Nolan’s death by a survivor, J. W. Wightman (R 5: 491). The “Charge” speaks for Shem-Joyce’s lifelong position of facing fearful odds for the sake of art that, in the midst of play-acting a denunciation of his brother, Shaun adapts to ridicule Shem for “plunders to night of you, blunders what’s left of you” (188.12). The beat of the war drums is seldom interrupted. The sentiment of Sir Joseph Pease about “putting through” the Boer War instead of ending it was jocularly expressed at the point of the British bayonet. They called it “pigsticking the Boers.” One of Michael Davitt’s “Letters from the Front” inscribed for Stead’s War Against War that the Lancers were

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not only pigsticking but also “lemon-cutting” a piece of a Boer soldier’s scalp. The phallus of the “cockspurt start” and the “poignt of the iron thrust” compose Bruno’s role as the Chandler in the auto-de-fé of his death in that of bringing light to the darkness. Candlestock, however, is not the same as candlestick, and Bruno’s leading lady Morgana in Moliterno’s essay bore one of the names of Morgan le Fay, the Arthurian sorceress. Insightful and applicable is Moliterno’s account of the main themes of the comedy that bring forth in turn the insipid lover, the sordid miser, and the clumsy pedant; possibly Joyce derived his Sordid Sam from this list. The painter Gioan Bernardo should be recognized as another Giordano Bruno, and Bonafacio Earwicker’s capacity as the Boniface of many generations of innkeeping could be linked with St. Boniface. Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde masquerades as “Fingal Mac Oscar Onesine Bargearse Boniface” (46.18). Sustaining Sordid Sam’s aspirations for the Afterlife, McIntyre elaborates upon Bruno’s musing over the possibilities of reaching God, those that Stephen recalled in his “without . . . ever reaching” correction (AP 79) and the famed “coincidence of contraries.” Declaring it “a principle of knowledge merely,” McIntyre exempted his successor James Joyce from a necessity to demonstrate with Sordid Sam: Thus although from one point of view all that is best in human experience may be attributed to the Divine nature in a higher form . . . from another every predicate, even the highest, may be denied of it . . . This “coincidence of contraries” . . . was in the Cusan a principle of knowledge merely. The Divine was at once the greatest and the least [Joyce’s symbol 298.13]; greatest because we could not imagine it added to, for it was the all; least because, being truly existent, we could not imagine anything taken away from it. It is owing to the limits of human thought, therefore, that God is at once greatest and least, equal and unequal, many and one. (Mc 143)

Or, decreed James Joyce, “thence must any whatyoulike in the power of empthood be either greater than or less than the unitate we have in one,” with which Joyce shaped the letters of “THAN or less THAN” into the mathematical symbols > < (298.13), an icon of Bruno’s “greatest and least.” In the Wake’s chapter 4 occurs the farcical trial for Pappie’s benefit enacted by Shem which stresses dualism except for unity in the “onesame power of nature or of spirit,” which should be God; defining God was a part of the philosopher’s duties. The hilariohoot [Bruno’s Hilaris motto: “every power in nature and in spirit must evolve an opposite. . .”] of Pegger’s Windup comjustled as neatly with the trisitone of the Wet Pinter’s as were they isce et ille equals of opposites, evolved by a onesame power of nature or of spirit, iste, as the sole condition and means of its himundher manifestation and polarised for reunion by the

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symphysis of their antipathies [Holmes “antipathy”]. Distinctly different were their duasdestinies.” (92.06–11)

McIntyre explained isce et ille or “this and that” as follows: Most significant of all for the development of Bruno’s philosophy was Plotinus’ conception of an “intelligible matter,” which is common to all the different beings and species, in the intelligible world, just as brute matter is that which is common to all kinds of corporeal objects. Again from Plotinus derives the distinction that the matter underlying the intelligible world is all things and all together: having in it (implicitly) all forms, there is nothing into which it may change: whereas the matter of the sensible world becomes all by change in its parts, becomes at successive moments this and that, is therefore at all times in diversity, change, movement. (Mc 132–33)

“This and that” sets the parameters for dualism and provided Joyce some humor; as in “Dis and dat and dese and dose!” (528.27). Extended further, “symphysis” (92.10) from the Greek “growing together” is Joyce’s invention in an Irish world dominated by international antipathies, or isce et ille opposites, with some, at least, of its members yearning toward a growing together of British and Irish. It seems that the nightmare of history that united Joyce and Stead burdened its subjects with realization that the night only refreshes the nightmare for a dawn awakening. The Irish, it seems, from long acquaintance with nightmares of history, excelled at the exploitation of tragedy for purposes of grotesque humor and the symbiosis of self-preservation. Wet, muddy, and odoriferous, Shem’s dazzling performance at the Festy King trial demonstrates the method, of which the Irish wake created a cultural icon that a grand funeral would be remembered long after; Tim Finnegan’s fame is spreading “like Basilico’s ointment since the Fintan Lalors piped you overborder” (25.09–10). A nightlong wake in jail prior to execution established the fame of “Larry” (86.23), memorialized in the ballad “The Night before Larry was Stretched.” Endemic to the Irish race, bleak, translucent tragedy gains historic authenticity when Joyce embellishes precedence with personal experience in a swirl of cultural disparities. Basilico’s ointment, from an old source was basilicon, an ancient compound that “consists of pitch, resin, wax, and some fat, as olive oil or lard.” Extended still further, here lies the crux of the debate whether Shem and Shaun (Taff and Butt) can possibly become “one and the same person” or whether Joyce intended that they do so contrary to the laws of physics. “Reunion” by gradual “symphysis” should claim distinction from instantaneous physical mergence, for which principle, no doubt, after the Butt and Taff reunion the brothers remain “precondamned” divided “two and true” (418.31). Nevertheless, the “identity of indiscernibles” that caught Atherton’s attention was explicitly explained by McIntyre quoting Nicholas of

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Cusa when he signified “It is the knowledge of this our essential ignorance of the Divine that brings us nearest to it” (Mc 143). Both Bruno and the Cusan drew the following conclusion: that no two things in the universe are wholly and in all respects alike (the identity of indiscernibles); each thing expresses the nature of the whole in a special way, but all things may be arranged in graduated scales from the lowest to the highest, or from any one to any other, i.e. there are no absolute differences, only differences of degree” (Mc 146, 176).

“Whoa?” (16.01) Joyce must have exclaimed upon entering this linguistic quagmire (16.16) or Stead’s “miasma.” If identities are indiscernible, they can be identified only theoretically, or as Bruno admitted, as a principle of knowledge merely, not physical union or reunion. Meanwhile, the “four justicers” are not so moribund as to forget the consuming matter of virgins. Sitting for Earwicker’s “encounter” trial, they “could do no worse than promulgate their standing verdict of Nolans Brumans” (93.01) [nolens volens: “Virgins Willing and Unwilling” 6 Jul PMG 3], applying Stead’s “Scandalous Maiden Tribute.” It is the crux of the “sin in the park,” of which all discussions never answered the question whether the two maids were consenting or profiteering with the three soldiers. Lawyers assume that jurors decide an issue on the basis of opening remarks and thereafter listen for testimony to confirm their decisions; the senile Four Old Men remember the instigation of all was those young women, and they remember what they thought about it, which was that they, among others, had “Noanswa” (23.20). Among personalities of the “questions” chapter (I.6), Issy enters the scene with her sexual precocity inflated by knowledge of white slave trafficking conducted by procuresses wearing the guise of Sisters of Mercy (see 10 Jul 1885 PMG 3). Mother Browne, “the quonian [slang for cunt] fleshmonger” solicited Issy “for unlawful converse with, with her mug of October [ale a bribe]” (144.31), but Professor Jones, the farcical pedagogue, commands the scene. WHY WE ALL LOVE PROFESSOR JONES Its origin is Joyce’s Portrait, which minimizes the performance of Stephen Dedalus on stage at Belvedere where he enacted “the role of a farcical pedagogue” (AP 73). However, McIntyre stresses Bruno’s hatred of pedantry and informs the present extension of Mr. Tate in the eleventh question of the Wake’s chapter 6. The scene begins with Tate’s characteristic display of pettiness and exposes his professional weakness in providing examples. His position resembles that of playacting or substitute teaching.

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“And you, Bruno Nowlan, take your tongue out of your inkpot. As none of you knows javanese I will give all my easyfree translation of the old fabulist’s [Aesop’s] parable. Allaboy Minor [Shaun], take your head out of your satchel [searching for food]” (152.11–14). Between the writer and the diner, Professor Jones orders the writer Nolan Browne [Shem], to leave the classroom (159.22) as if protecting himself from Shem’s razor sharp skepticism. Peter Costello notes that Father Henry Browne and Father T. P. O’Nowlan were, as well as publishers, the classical dons at University College (JC 217). One hearer remains, necessary for the Professor’s audience, for whom he attempts to teach geography by means of objects in the room, applying Bruno’s treatise on memory. Ingrid Rowland provides the key to Bruno’s instructing his readers “how one would remember the word numero”: Hence the “NU” in “NUMERO”—“number”—is the Apis bull, “ME” is “on the carpet,” “RO” is neglected.” “NUMERATI” is the Apis bull (NU) on the carpet (ME), lamented (RA rather than RO ‘neglected’), with a snake (TI).” Bruno, clearly influenced by Ramon Llull, advises envisioning these stored sets of syllables and their imagery on concentric wheels, each with thirty compartments corresponding to the various combinations of letters. The outermost wheel in the system stores the agents (or first syllables of words), the second wheel stores the actions (or second syllables), the third wheel stores adjectives (or third syllables), and so on inward to the fifth wheel. A single sentence thus becomes a pageant of mythological characters set in strange places, engaged in strange actions in strange company. A speech stored in this way could contain the population of a small city. (124)

Joyce’s Professor Jones parodies Bruno: Will you please come over and let us mooremoore murgessly [Moore and Burgess minstrels] to each’s other down below our vices. I am underheerd by old billfaust. Wilsh is full of curks. The coolskittle is philip deblinite [Mananaan MacLir in U 15: 2162]. Mr Wist is therover beyeind the wantnot. Wilsh and wisr are as thick of thins udder as faust on the deblinite. Sgunoshooto estas preter la tapizo malgranda. Lilegas al si en sia chambro. Kelkefoje funcktas, kelkefoje srumpas Shultroj. Houdian Kiel vi fartas, mia nigra sinjoro? [McHugh tr Esperanto S is beyond the small carpet. He reads to himself in his room. Sometimes functions, sometimes shrinks shoulders [shrugs]. Today how are you doing, my black sir]? And from the poignt of fun/view where I am crying to arrive you at they are on allfore as foibleminded as you can feel they are fablebodied. (160.25–34)

After the Mookse and the Gripes, whose presence is recognizable with “feebleminded” and “fablebodied,” Professor Jones resumes the lecture with butter and cheese, a continuation of Shaun as Burrus and Shem as Caseous, whose offense now is that he eats wormy cheese. This nugget, mined from

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Joyce’s appreciation of local color, can be polished in verbal layers. The Professor also reminds his hearer of a Cusanus philo-sophism and graciously admonishes him “let us be tolerant of antipathies” (163.14–15). Jones vituperates Shem with his most unappetizing zeal by employing a denigration of common people favored by Stead’s former superior and imperialistic editor at the Pall Mall Gazette, John Morley, who formerly as editor of the Fortnightly published in 1900 Joyce’s article “Ibsen’s New Drama.” Stead posted the title on his monthly front cover and excerpted one of Joyce’s paragraphs headed “Ibsen’s New Play” (R 21:372). A short time later, Editor Morley transferred from the Fortnightly to the Pall Mall Gazette, and Stead followed. Democratic Stead working under imperial Morley noticed that Morley spoke arrogantly of commoners as “miserable cheesemites” (R 2: 435). Joyce’s Caseous is “a hole or two, the highstinks aforefelt and anygo prigging wurms. Cheesugh! you complain. And Hi Hi High must say you are not Hoa Hoa Hoally in the wrong!” (163.08–10). Spaces in cheese aligns Professor Jones with Wyndham Lewis and doctrinal space, versus Joyce and personal time. The Professor continues, Thus we cannot escape our likes and mislikes, exiles or ambusheers, beggar and neighbour and—this is where the dimeshow/dumbshow [play preamble] advertisers advance the temporal relief plea [assistance for Ireland during famine]—let us be tolerant of antipathies [Ireland/England]. Nex quovis burro num fit mercaseus [tr from any butter there is not made pure cheese; Caseous advocates no infallible fixed theory]. (163.12–15)

There follows a compendium of titles of Bruno’s works in which Joyce cleverly inserts Shem/Shaun distinctions with Bruno’s spinning top: “God Himself is free from all contradiction, the apparent contraries of our understanding are in Him one and the same. So, to our imagination, the infinite circle coincides with the infinite straight line, and a top spinning with its fastest movement appears to stand still (Mc 143). Joyce’s Professor expounds his ignorance: I am not hereby giving my final endorsement to the learned ignorants [Shem] of the Cusanus philosophism [Nicholas de Cusa: Bruno’s De Docta Ignorantia] in which old Nicholas pegs it down that the smarter the spin of the top [Shem “a top spinning”] the sounder the span of the buttom [Shaun avoirdupois, Bruno’s De Immenso] (what the worthy old auberginiste [innkeeper/ rednose drunk] ought to have meant was: the more stolidly immobile in space [Bruno’s Spaccio] appears to me the bottom/body which is presented to use in time by the top primo mobilisk [prime mover] &c.). And I shall be misunderstord if understood to give an unconditional sinequam to the heroicised furibouts [Bruno’s Heroici Furori] of the Nolanus theory, or, at any rate, of that substrate of apart from hissheory where the Theophil [Theophilus of Varono, an Augustine monk and Aristotelian] swoors that on principial [Bruno’s De

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Rerum Principiis et Elementis et Causis] he was the pointing start of his odiose [Mc 177; Bruno’s De Minimo] by comparison and that whiles eggs will fall cheapened all over the walled [shattering time] the Bure [beurre/butter] will be dear [worms and all] on the Brie [cheese market]. (163.15–28)

All of these references are carefully indexed in McIntyre’s Bruno. Ultimately the chief purpose of Professor Jones is, like that of Shaun, to stagecraft his superior British intellect against Shem, or Joyce. At the time of the Maiden Tribute, “Eggs by the Million” was a Pall Mall Gazette heading that focused on the fear of competing imports from Italy, where Rome carried the authority of Church doctrine. Hence “eggs will fall cheapened” against the import trade or alternative doctrines. Joyce’s time frame holds sway over Wyndham Lewis’s space frame. In chapter 7 (I.7), the prevailing question-answer system escapes into oration-peroration style of intense philosophic and linguistic caliber delivered by Shaun-Mercius who never perorates and fades out by transference of the task to Shem-Justius. Throughout, Shaun violates formal oratory by inserting personal questions and asides for entertainment of his onstage audience, Shem, and his offstage audience of younger brothers and sisters. Shem asks the children “when is a man not a man?” (170.05) representing “The Riddle of the Universe” for which Ernst Haeckel titled his book (in English 1901) on evolution. In the process Shaun recreates the role of Mr. Tate while the two brothers explore the fallacies and the genius of Brunonian doctrine to examine Shem’s reply “When he is a . . . Sham” (170.24) and deservedly shifts the blame for Stephen’s conscience-plagued existence from Mr. Tate back to Shem himself. Shaun-Justius berates Shem for his “twosome twimminds forenenst gods,” an assertion that places Shem, as Joyce noted that Coleridge had noted, that Bruno was a dualist. Shaun queries parenthetically the same audience: “my dear sisters, are you ready?” (188.22). The riddle of the universe was reared and conflicted in their childhood home influenced by a religious mother, a drunken, father, and “the oldest” Shem with his head in books and his prospects in the inkpot. A man is born a sham, not a whole person but divided, suffering a genetic double identity while subsiding in “squalor” and the impossible dream of one day flashing his antlers in the air. Bruno’s Eroici Furori combines with Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso to produce an elaborated comprehension of the ongoing flow: “From the butts of Heber and Heremon, nolens volens, brood our pansies, brune in brume.” (271.19–21). On the left margin in chapter 10 appears “The Eroico Furioso makes the valet like smiling” (271.L3). Bruno explained two kinds of furori or inspiration: “In some there is only blindness, stupidity, unreasoning impulse; others consist in a certain divine abstraction by which some men become better in fact than ordinary men.” Again, there are two kinds of

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ordinary men, some of whom “becoming the habitation of gods or of divine spirits, say or do miraculous things without themselves or others understanding the reason.” Others are “habituated or skilled in contemplation . . . with love of divinity, justice, truth, glory” (Mc 279). Which can be foretold for Shem? As Joyce adds perspicaciously, “There’s a split in the infinitive (being) from have to have to have been to will be.” Too many diversions enter into the scheme of intention. “As they warred in their big innings ease now we never shall know” (271.21–24). We follow the motif to learn its developments and fruition, and the answer is soon forthcoming, in the discussion of Gottgab and gabgut (490.8–14). THE HAMBONE DOGPOET AND BRUNO’S INSIGHTS A theological debate that occurs seldom outside a theological seminary is brought home under the influence of the likes of “Mr. Tate.” Playacting Shaun berates listener Shem because he “used to pal around with, in the kavehazs/cafehouse, one Davy Browne-Nowlan, his heavenlaid [not mangerlaid] twin, (this hambone [amateur] dogpoet pseudoed himself under the hangname [“give a dog a bad name and hang him”] he gave himself of Bethgelert” (177.19–22), a grave marker commemorating the faithful dog Gelert who stood guard over a bloodied child attacked by a wolf; the father in a paroxysm of grief mistakenly killed the dog who had saved the child’s life. This could well pass for a parody of Joyce’s mother who preserved his father while being worn down by poverty, pregnancies, and curses. A colleague said “You’re a sly dog, Dedalus” (AP 76), living at home in wait. The family’s objections that Joyce, the only member having gained a distinguished education, was gaining no reliable income with it, weighed like a tombstone upon Joyce’s mind. Without the memorable tombstone, the Welsh dog would have been forgotten, and Shem, as a dog poet, fantasizes an equivalent national memorial for himself. Shaun JUSTIUS, playing devil’s advocate, addresses “himother” or Shem with eight variations of dactylic alliteration: “Brawn is my name and broad is my nature and I’ve breit on my brow and all’s right with every feature and I’ll brune this bird [see Bruno “fried at belief stakes”] or Brown Bess’s [brown Guinness porter has an effect like a musket] bung’s gone bandy [iron bands of Guinness barrel]. I’m the boy to bruise and braise/praise. Baus!” (187.24–27). The Bruno dactyls imply that Bruno, and not Shaun, is Shem’s “himother.” Shaun calls once more for Shem’s Bruno-self, the one that faced death unflinching at the stake: “Stand forth, Nayman of Noland” [his selfstructured alterego] to stand and receive this lecture (187.28) like Giordano Bruno before the Inquisition, for otherwise Bruno resembles nothing more than an habitual and perverse naysayer, a mental burden, to ripple the tran-

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quil waters of faith and shadow Shem’s conscience. That he is “No” man for the Nolan dictates a standing independence. Shaun calls upon Shem the dogpoet to act like a poet, to move him “through the inspired form of the third person singular and the moods and hesitensies of the deponent” and challenges Shem to “move me . . . to laughter in your true colours” of a poet (187.33). Stand up and be a man! If Shem is the true poet he openly aspires to be, he can accomplish the perfect mime and all that Shaun requires. “I know you and all your shemeries” (187.35) constitutes a plausible confirmation of “when he is a Sham.” The dialogue should remove the scandal. Shaun, however, is not finished and next challenges Shem on the basis that dog is god in reverse: “you have become of twosome twiminds forenenst gods hidden and discovered, nay condemned fool, anarch, egoarch, hiresiarch/heresiarch [hiren is slang for prostitute], you have reared your disunited kingdom on the vacuum of your own most intensely doubtful soul. Do you hold yourself then for some god in the manger [preserves his poetry for himself], Shehohem [Shem’s name transmuted], that you will neither serve not let serve, pray nor let pray?” (188.14–19). Shaun was paraphrasing Aristotle from McIntyre’s Bruno in that Aristotle “takes the word vacuum in a sense in which no one has ever understood it, building castles in the air, and then pulling down his ‘vacuum,’ but not that of any other who has spoken of a vacuum or made use of the name” (Mc 124). It is time for the god-part of the dog in the manger to rise up and manifest itself. Shaun ingeniously alters “how have you wasted your life?” to “Where have you been . . . since your last wetbed confession,” from the Portrait’s first page. The Portrait’s select phrases provide the shameful “squalor of mind and home” [AP 79], expectation that Stephen will “raise up his father’s fallen state by his labor” (AP 84). Shunning a priest, Shaun recommends that Shem confess himself to him and, having said Shem will not pray, invites him “Let us pry.” At least reach a resolution of some sort. Shaun’s acting superbly the role of Inquisitor for Bruno’s trial has reached a praiseworthy display of oratory: Independent of Catholic counsel, Shem has become a dualist. Shem’s country has done nothing for unity of mind and spirit. That Shaun enjoys his oratory is obvious with the address to his audience: “my dear sisters, are you ready?” Shem’s lack of steady income has caused him to sin against his godparents and his culture; he has “thwarted the wious pish of your cogodparents” (189.01) while “extruding your strabismal apologia, when legibly depressed, upon defenceless paper and thereby adding to the already unhappiness of this our popeyed world, scribblative!” (189.08–10). Intensifying “when he is a sham” with praise of his theatrics, “shemming amid everyone’s repressed laughter to conceal your scatchophily/scatophily by mating . . . masculine monosyllables of the same numerical mus [L. mouse], an Irish emigrant the wrong way out [an inhouse exile], sitting on

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your crooked sixpenny stile [nr “There Was a Crooked Man”] an “unfrillfrocked quackfriar, you (will you for the laugh of Scheekspair just help mine with the epithet?)” (190.33–191.01). Jackson and Costello have helped with many epithets. They footnote “Stephen finds the same paradoxes in God and Shakespeare” (JC 110). Among defending the Arian and committing additional heresies, Bruno was forced to flee his convent when his copy of forbidden Erasmus was found in the privy; Bruno in additional scenes of extremism bragged that he knew how to accomplish the miracles of Christ, and compared the Pope to a Medusa head. Frances A. Yates, expounding the Hermetic tradition, named Bruno a “poet magician” who committed numerous heresies. In the seventeenth century, the concept of multiple worlds was a prominent anathema. If blasphemy is an indication, Ingrid Rowland’s account of his behavior in a Venetian cell records the difficulty of tracking Brunonian verbal indecencies. “Garrulous, betrayed, terrified, he talked constantly, to them [his cellmates] and to God. He would awaken in the night, cursing God, Christ, and his own fate in a string of blasphemies: Traitor! Take that, wretched dog fucked cuckold! Look how you run the world!’ giving heaven the finger before going back to sleep.” Three times Bruno applied to be taken back into the Roman Catholic Church after having been excommunicated by Catholics, Calvinists, and Lutherans (236). Like the Church fathers of the Inquisition who condemned Bruno, Shaun advises that Shem the “hiresiarch,” the ruler of his own heresies, should commit himself to any recognized structure instead of conserving his knowledge for his own purposes. He should marry one of the accomplished women, fully educated, if they be not the type Shem finds in brothels but having their honor left, “accompanied by a plain gold band” (189.24). This acceptance of custom would separate him from the monk Bruno, and, instead, Shaun imagines Shem joining the “dynamitards” (R 18: 434–35), anarchists who terrorized government officials and precincts in the 1880s and 1890s. Sir T. Wemyss Reid, editor of the Leeds Mercury and founder of The Speaker, in his Memoirs disparaged “Holy Dynamite,” so christened by the populace, when in 1885 it was set to advance Home Rule by destroying the most sacred of political inner sanctums: the Tower, the House of Commons, and Westminster Hall (368–70). For a similar Sacred Cause, Shem’s incendiarism would destroy the culture. Shaun demands the recognition of consequences: Sniffer of carrion, premature gravedigger, seeker of the nest of evil in the bosom of a good word [Catholic doctrine] . . . by the auguries of rooks in parlament, death with every disaster, the dynamitisation of colleagues, the reducing of records to ashes, the leveling of all customs by blazes, the return of a lot of sweetempered gunpowder didst unto dudst . . . did it ever strike your mudhead’s obtundity . . .that the more carrots you chop, the more turnips you

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slit, the more murphies you peel . . . the merrier fumes your new Irish stew. (189.28–190.09).

Joyce may have expected that his public would substitute the Murrays, the inlaws that Pappie hated, for “murphy come, murphy go” (293.09), a prime example of the Brunonian doctrine that any action, like bringing too many disliked relatives into the marriage, generates a powerful reaction. Joyce’s attendance at a certain Holy Office (190.14) has already imitated the heretical publications of Bruno, at which Shaun, who has accused Shem needing “a fortifine popespriestpower bull of attender” (188.07), now charges with all the power of a papal bull: “What has Your Lowness done in the mealtime” (192.05) with all the blessings already bestowed and “your horrible poverty of mind” while “in honor bound to the cross of your own cruelfiction?” (192.18–19) which must be his goal of literary fame. Shaun’s pointing “the deathbone” at Shem parallels the finger of fate and authority that pointed Bruno toward the flames. To end this neverending debate, Shem in reply has to examine his conscience to defend himself and to restore life to the universe by blending his consciousness with that of the creative Allpower, the mother source Anna Livia Plurabelle. Extending the disparagement of Shem as a dog, Joyce reserves for Shem in chapter 8 among Anna Livia’s list of gifts “a jackal with hide for Browne but Nolan” (211.32) or a “jackal who hid as Browne and Nolan,” not a victim “dogpoet” but an accomplice. Here is an event of the magnitude of achieving a point of no return. If Shem has allowed Browne and Nolan to determine his destiny out of desperation to free himself of a bad memory, or to cherish revenge against the instigators of his misery, he knows he has used Bruno to serve the undistinguished purpose of a disguise, to prevent recognition of himself. The god or gods he renounces must be his own god, not Bruno’s and not the Catholic church’s god. The four chapters of Book II—devoted in 9 and 10 to the children’s mime/games and study session, and in chapter 11 the fabulous drama of Earwicker at the tap in his pub while the lengthy tale of the Norwegian captain dodges in and out of hearing by way of multimedia—ends with the Titanic in chapter 12. The references are subtle and suddenly complicated. But first, Issy must decide whether to side with Shem or Shaun who are “not on terms” at the conclusion of the children’s game of chapter 11. Shem and Shaun are evident in an accumulation of known motifs that distinguish their perpetuated rivalry: [they] “will not be atoned at all in fight to no finish, that dark deed doer [either Shem’s Nighttown ramblings or Shaun’s complaints of plagiarism], this wellwilled wooer [Shaun’s eroticism], Jerkoff and Eatsoup, Yem or Yan, while felixed is who culpas does and harm’s worth [journalist Harmsworth] healing and Brune is bad French for Jour d’Anno [Giordano]” (246.29–32).

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In chapter 9, a secondary identity for Browne and Nolan has been a creation of Shem, or Joyce, and Mr Tate. Primarily Browne and Nolan were book publishers, one of whom judged any submission as potential publication for their customers. This type of injustice in the mind of Issy, the erotic leapyear girl, has similarly produced a major miscarriage of justice for Earwicker upon his arrival in Ireland, their collective judgment rendered not in earnest but in meanness to an anonymous British “invader” of Ireland. Automatically they attached his reputation to a never-substantiated incident in Phoenix Park with three soldiers and two females known as the two temptresses, whether they tempted or not, and the Irish have always coveted their “Furry Glen.” “Which is why,” Issy explains, the archetype prevails: “trumpers [three soldiers] are mixed up in duels [two temptresses] and here’s B. Rohan [Brown plus exiled Huguenot leader, died in London] meets N. Ohlan for the prize/price of a thou [thousand pounds]” (251.33–34). A volte-face has been achieved. Reduction from a salary of one thousand pounds was Stead’s publisher’s revenge on him for publishing the Maiden Tribute without prior consultation and without Yates Thompson’s proprietary permission. Issy permits Browne and Nolan in the chapter 10 study session to resume their chief function as publishers: “Soon jemmijohns [Shem and Shaun] will cudgel about some rhythmatick/rhythmic/arithematic or other over Browne and Nolan’s divisional tables” (268.08). However, the essential Brunoesque narrative failed to bless religious prohibitions with physical “necessities,” and Shaun-Chuff would like to “godolphing [Shem-Dolph] in fairlove to see around the waste/waist of noland’s browne jesus” [300.28–29) which links the brown-robed person of Giordano Bruno with the Maiden Tribute’s message that going west was a waste of going to prostitution. Because, stripped of his robe, Giordano Bruno was “fried-at-belief stakes,” Issy’s footnote “The Brownes de Browne - Browne of Castlehacknolan” (303.FN 3) hearkens back to the land grants in the history of Clongowes that are burdened with the same social forgiveness favoring wealth and nobility that Issy of the midden letter tracked in “the hate turned the mild on the van Houtens” (111.12). Joyce sustained the rejection of his “Rabblement” essay by continuing it in Finnegans Wake; and Shem has allowed himself to join the rabble in denouncing himself, in exhibiting self-loathing as a “dogpoet.” Thus far, Browne and Nolan have been located in chapters 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10, with the link to the letter attitudes in chapter 5. “Approaching nearer,” the crucial chapter 11 once more reveals Joyce’s talent for turning the grotesque shooting of the Russian general to purposes of humor. All of these prior references propose either confrontation or resolution, for which the Butt and Taff episode should suffice, unless a third possibility of “union” intervenes. After the account of Joyce’s application of the Maiden Tribute, additional emendations clarify the issues. Prime Minister Gladstone was reputed to

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support Stead’s moral enemy Sir Charles Dilke for reelection “instench of his gladsome rags [Gladstone bags replaced the luggage “box”]” (61.12), by which time Bruno’s name and fame have extended to commerce and commercial products. In sales habiliments, the modern reminders of Bruno linger in London’s congested Oxford Street, where Dilke or Gladstone could find prostitutes to enjoy or to rescue. A corollary of the Maiden Tribute that Gladstone refused to consider was, as his biographer Richard Deacon narrates, his companionship with prostitutes, a matter of conscience and soul therapy. Nolan of the Calabashes enjoys Saint Bruno, the pipe tobacco that adds another narcotic to the “cigar” maiden. The pipe tobacco, which was founded in Liverpool in 1896, flourished in London; and the knowing speaker in Earwicker’s pub, in chapter 11, enjoys expanding the multiple allusions. These converge at the time of the Oscar Wilde trials; newspapers considered W. G. Grace’s cricket triumphs more newsworthy than Wilde’s trial. Further, Gladstone’s “fiercely intense and hawk-like eyes” were recognized by policemen observing his rescue of “fallen” women (Deacon 46). All to which not a lot snapped [photographed] The Nolan of the Calabashes [business Oxford Street, London, which Gladstone called “our stony-hearted step-mother” (Deacon 45) for the number of prostitutes there] at his whilom eweheart [William Ewart] photognomist [his famous face] who by this sum taken [drunk] was as much incensed by Saint Bruno [tobacco from Carthusian monks] as that which he had consumed was his own panegoric, and wot a lout about it if it was only a pippappoff pigeon [maiden] shoot that gracesold gutrunner [W. G. Grace cricket run-getter; free scorer; frontispiece R 11: 490)], the man of centuries [hundreds of runs], was bowled out by judge, jury and umpire at batman’s biff [cg, Blind Man’s Buff: Stead’s family at Holloway jail] like a witchbefooled [Papal] Legate [leg before wicket fault in cricket]. Dupe [Po dupa: arse]. (336.33–337.03)

There comes a time to call a truce: “Leave the letter that never begins to go find the latter that ever comes to end, written in smoke and blurred by mist and signed of solitude, sealed at night. [Paragraph] Simply. As says the mug in the middle, nay brian nay noel, ney billy ney boney” (337.11–16). Gladstone, the great moralist, could find no means of dealing with the “internal excitement,” a failure that Shem can attribute to the “Batman’s Bluff” of the Church; an Anglican, Gladstone’s church also supports the Papal position of blindness on this sexual issue. EARWICKER’S PUB: THE “MERGENCE” OF BUTT AND TAFF Stead’s Russian experiences contribute to “How Buckley Shot the Russian General” to the extent that the tale could be set in Russia. Stead was the first and only journalist to interview Tsar Alexander III, who was succeeded by Tsar

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Nicholas II. In the first of several journeys to Russia beginning in 1886, Stead tried to mend the relationship between Britain and Russia while the British government under Disraeli favored Turkey instead. During the 1905 Russian revolution, Stead attempted to convert the Tzar’s government into a British-style democracy. He knew exactly how to do it: become like us. Russian exiles in London bequeathed Stead the honorific “The Tsar’s Lecturer-General,” which lends authenticity to the tale told in Earwicker’s pub. Again, Maiden Tribute sex trafficking is ostensibly the reason the Captain sails and one reason that Butt shoots the Russian general who is a standin for Stead himself; as for the insult to the old sod that the Russian general committed, the Maiden Tribute was publicly unmentionable for its “filth, which British polite language covered with the word “improper.” Joyce’s abstemious ship’s captain in “bloody” defilement rues “the bloedaxe bloodooth baltxebec, that is crupping into our raw lenguage navel through the lumbsmall of his hawsehole/arsehole [through anchor cable]” (323.04–06) and directs his curses toward none other than the Stead-model Norwegian captain, “voyaging after maidens” (323.06) Earwicker presides as bartender, while the captain goes “voyaging after maidens” (323.6); this and “slavey generales” (351.22) implicate the captain and the Russian general in rescuing or capturing maidens that assures an additional extrapolation of Stead’s MT. As the first tale unfolds, Kate the charwoman [of Russian genealogy] enters to call Earwicker to bed. The prior “tub in Tobolosk” (162.15) applies Kate’s ancestry in eastern Europe, in the Siberian town Tobol’sk; and “every tub here spucks/spits his own fat” is “good” in the sense of abundant, profitable (378.26–27). A “tale of a tub” (212.21) in slang was any kind of nonsense; “a good rinse” (262.F) was a lost battle. The Three Customers fill in a pause in Kate’s recollections by ignoring her and revisiting anecdotes exploiting undesirables, for the purpose of the British-Irish contention, in Dublin history: characteristics of Napoleon and Wellington are exchanged and anybody else’s are merged for entertainment. Witnesses should be prepared for a display of Irish wit and humor at this point; never mind the appearance of plain print. This is “encrypted” humor at its best, condensed in the current politics, the local geography, available caricatures, and above all the patois of slang. Gladstone’s chief attributes were any abbreviation of Grand Old Man, which Disraeli termed “God’s Only Mistake,” his flyaway standup collar, his eagle eye, a knight on horseback advancing his causes, and most frequently his tall hat by which he could be recognized either day or night when prowling the streets of London. Gladstone is equal to isce et ille, both himself and Bonaparte, both Browne and Nolan. “Dip” appears to be taking snuff. —This is time for my tubble, reflected Mr.’“Gladstone Browne’ in the toll hut/ tall hat. [The remark] was choractoristic from that ‘man of Delgany.’ Dip.

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—This is me vulcanite smoking, professed Mr ‘Bonaparte Nolan’ under the natecup (one feels how one may hereby reekignites the ‘ground old mahonagyan’ [GOM: Gladstone as treefeller]). Dip. —And this is defender of defeater of defaulter of deformer of the funst man in Danelagh, [Borneo s.] willingtoned in with this glance dowon his browen and that born appalled noodlum/Nolan [opposites] the panellite pair’s cummal delimitator [common denominator], odding: Oliver White [first Norse king of Dublin], he’s as tiff [he fathered nine children] as she’s tight [cunt]. And thisens his speak quite hoarse [big white arse]. Dip. (334.06–12)

Stead’s book Gladstone in Contemporary Caricature presented almost two hundred cartoons from 1867 to 1898 from all nations but none from Punch, which denied permission. Gladstone in Stead’s announcement of the book was illustrated as an American Indian chief, a partridge, the British Lion, a squid, an ostrich, the Egyptian king Memnon (carved in Glad-stone), a knight carrying the Irish flag of Home Rule (which never passed), an old English hen, an Aly Sloper old pump, and invariably a knight on horseback, this time scorning an appealing maiden (R 17: 614–622). After exploiting Bulgarian women during the Turkish agitation in 1886, he had as Stead said “done nothing” for British women and refused to support the Maiden Tribute; British women were paltry creatures who had no vote. Gladstone’s “time for my tubble” applies slang for “tub,” a “cock-andbull” story, or a bedtime story. Gladstone in his early years was made a freeman of the burgh of Dingwall—a town in Scotland, a borough in England—and perhaps inspires the Delgany comparison. The caricatures of Gladstone record many causes advanced and betrayed during his sixty years in public office and four terms as Prime Minister. As a “Browne” he rejected Joyce’s essay; in his “other” self as Nolan, a nightcap replaces his famous tall hat. The developmental history of tobacco pipes dates back to the Calabash (gourd) pipes succeeded by bodies made of wood, usually mahogany. A distinctive briar Churchwarden with long fishtail stem was made in Dublin. Opposite Gladstone, Napoleon believed God had made him the chosen one; he placed his faith in a “little red man of Destiny,” a ghost who appeared in the Palace, foretold his future, and guided his campaigns. A volcano or vulcanite was part of the trial scene in which Shem was asked “Are you not danzzling on the age of a vulcano?” (89.28); the multilingual reporter Dr. E. J. Dillon epitomized Stead’s passion for reform in that all great abuses “kindled a volcanic fire in the heart of Mr. Stead” (R 45: 485). The difference is that Stead would not say it or think it of himself. By the light of Bonaparte’s volcano, one recognizes Gladstone, whose familiar head graced the Gladstone pipe when “fancy clays” were fitted with a vulcanite mouthpiece; the intricate design in clay shows Gladstone’s hand on an axe. He felled large trees for recreation and was by far “the foerst of our treefellers” (506.16); sightseers descended on Hawarden hoping to capture a chip for a souvenir. Delgany was

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the opposite of either Gladstone’s or Napoleon’s international intentions; from a name meaning “Thorny Place” but ideally picturesque, “a small rural village in County Wicklow,” a home of Carmelite nuns. A “nightcap” was commonly a thief working at night, a sinister note for Gladstone’s walking the streets of London prowling for “maidens” to rescue. The separate identities of dat and dese Browne and Nolan, Gladstone and Bonaparte, are traded and confused for the purposes of sharpened humor. A pub customer is known by the drink he takes: “As says the mug [person] in the middle, nay brian nay noel, ney billy [Gladstone] ney boney [Bonaparte]” (337.15): we’ll have none of these. Pub humor is like the caricature of it in chapter 12: “Bruni Lanno’s woollies on Brani Lonni’s [Lanno anagram of backward Nolan] hairyparts” (373.17). Moreover, Taff in the “shooting” scene disparages Gladstone, caricatured in endless varieties, as “The grand ohold spider!” (352.24). Brunonian mergences of identities frequently occasion discussion of Butt and Taff, who suddenly appear to transform themselves into one physical, living person. The lengthy tale (338.05–354.36) offers facts of the white slave traffic and features matters of Stead’s travels to Russia, when he worked tirelessly to change Russia from tsaristic monarchical politics to England’s “democratic” politics. An entire history of generations is condensed in the statement that has caused critical confusion, when Butt and Taff represent the “slave wager” capitalist who was adversely considered an undesirable imposition on feudal comforts plus engendering a class war occasioned by the anticipated dangers of a “foeman feodal unsheckled” (354.7), a goal that Alexander III sought when he “freed the serfs” and that Stead considered the idealistic purpose and result of governmental reform. HOW BUCKLEY SHOT THE RUSSIAN GENERAL Bowker retells the Crimean War story of Buckley, the Irish soldier. as follows: [He] once had a Russian general in his sights, but, in awe of his uniform and decorations, was unable to fire. Then, reminding himself of his duty, he took aim again, at which moment the general dropped his pants to relieve himself, again prompting the soldier, unable to shoot so vulnerable a target, to lower his gun. However, when the man then proceeded to wipe himself with a piece of turf, Buckley could no longer respect the man and shot him.

Samuel Beckett delivered the mot juste: “Another insult to Ireland” and its concept of the sacred turf (Bowker 15–16). Recounting his life as a soldier, Butt-Buckley corroborates Stead’s claim that a brothel madam told him that police (who live in barracks) and soldiers “ruin”

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more girls than any other class. Butt begins with details already familiar elsewhere in the novel—the Old Bailey, the Oscar Wilde similarities, Stead’s hesitancy to publish a “horrible” MT story [10 Jul 1885 PMG 2]—and extends the battle against “the White Slave Market” to the work of MacKirdy and W. N. Willis (who was one of Stead’s investigators) in the brothels in Singapore, Hong Kong, and Shanghai where English girls were taken (Rose Index 121–24). Butt concludes that he shot the Russian general “like a wide sleever” [white slaver] (352.15) and explains that this, Stead’s Earwicker reform interference in that “the Percy rally got me,” provoked him to shoot the Russian general at the moment of his wiping himself with a sod of sacred turf, insulting Buckley’s native land as Stead’s MT did England. “Wide sleever” for clerical garments set the scene with “crozier” for religious participation. Joyce retains the three stages of the original story, and thrice Butt claims responsibility. He spoils the first attempt through a gush of sympathy (344.31–03). “Tsar of All the Russians” was the commonly acclaimed title. Butt 1: I confesses . . . when I looked upon the Saur of all the Haurousians with the weight of his arge fullin upon him from the travaillings of his tommuck [soldiers unfed] and rueckenased the fates of a bosser [Fr. Brother] there was fear on me the sons of Nuad [Finn: “sons of Morna”] for him and it was heavy he was for me then the way I immingled my Irmenial hairmaierians [Hail Marys and Lord’s Prayer] ammongled his Gospolis fomiliours [Gospodi familiars] till, achaura moucreas [friend of my heart], I adn’t the arts to” (344.32–345.03).

One of Shaun-Butt’s listeners falls asleep (345.11), and despite the powerful anti-war propaganda of the long segment (350.06–352.15), in which Butt remembers “I was gamefellow willmate and send us victorias with nowells and brownings” (351.01), at the conclusion Butt claims the shooting intention a second time, not for sympathy as the first, but for profiting (it can be predicted) in the white slave traffic (352.01–15). During much time spent in Russia, Stead knew the Procurator well; it could be said of him as of Davy Browne Nolan that “he used to pal around with” (177.20) Konstantin Pobyedonostseff (spellings of the name differ). After dealing much with officials and detailing activities for the Review of Reviews, Stead accepted some of the futility of corralling governmental policies in the midst of Russian turmoil and solicited his brother Herbert to review as Book of the Month a translation of the “Reflections of a Russian Statesman by K.P. Pobyedonostseff, Procurator of the Holy Synod of Russia” (R 18: 298–306). Butt 2: We insurrectioned and, be/by the procuratress of the hory/whory synnotts [Procurator of the Holy Synods, adulterated with “procuress”], before he could tell pullyirragun [polyergon] to parrylewis [counter Wyndham Lewis], I

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Soon after, as Butt vaunts the same issue a third time, he shot the “Russian general” (W. T. Stead) on serious provocation: Butt 3:For when meseemim, and tolfoklokken rolland [thunder rolls] allover ourloud’s lande, beheaving up that sob of tunf for to claimhis, for to wollpimsolff, puddywhuck [raging]. Ay, and untuoning [unbuttoning] his culothone in an exitous erseroyal Deo Jupto [royal arse exit by the god Jupiter]. At that instullt to Igorladns [insult to Igor-land, Russia]! Prronto! I gave one dobblenotch and I ups with my crozzier/crossbow. Mirrdo! With my how on armer and hits leg an arrow cockshock rockrogn [nr]. Sparro [nr sparrow]! (353.15–21).

Butt, usually sanctimonious, cannot ignore an opportunity to inculcate superior Catholic doctrine; he imitates St. Patrick scotching the snakes with his crozier, and, with his crossbow, kills cock robin, all at once encapsulating Beckett’s interpretation of Joyce’s father’s story as an insult to Ireland. The last two passages profess the same excuse; in 1885 London, Stead’s campaign against white slavery was called “filth,” while a prominent sympathizer, the Reverend Spurgeon, spoke of carping social conservatives unaware of “the dunghills which reek under their nostrils” (8 Jul PMG 3); and other Londoners expanded on the “filth” metaphor for their own purposes. In the aftermath, the incident can be viewed as having originated in the Garden of Eden, where “opter and apter,” like isce et ille, were “samuraised twimbs” (354.24) and Quinet’s wild flowers “in Calomella’s cool bowers” (354.27) can absorb, one presumes, the odor as well as the final obliteration, a progress likened to that of exploding the atom. Together assuring another performance, Butt and Taff recite their farewell to the tale: “So, till butagain budly shoots thon rising germinal let bodley chow the fatt of his anger and badley bide the roil of his tubb” (354.34–36), until the tale or the revolution is revived again, with the “tub” a Swiftian reflection on Gladstone’s “time for my tubble” (334.06). The following excerpt is the final closure of the segmented ending, but not the end of Browne and Nolan. This ending negates the confusing “merger,” with a purpose in the extreme “annihilation of the atom” to illuminate ingeniously, once and for all, the effect of Stead’s thunderbolt, combined with the new physics. [The annihilation of the atom [hyperbole for “killing” the “Russian general” by telling the tale in Chapelizod] by the grisning of the grosning of the grinder of the grunder of the first lord of Hurtreford expolodotonates [thunders] through Parsuralia [Lucan] with an ivanmorinthorrorumble [Ivan the Terrible] fragoromboassity amidwhiches general uttermosts confussion

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are perceivable moletons scaping with mulicules while coventry plumpkins fairygosmother themselves in the Landaunelegants [London elegance] of Pinkadindy. Similar scenatas are projectilised from Hullulullu, Bawlawayo, empyreal Raum and mordern Athems [Edinburgh]. They were precisely the twelves of clocks, noon minutes, none seconds [this stops time; in Freemasonry it’s always noon]. At someseat of Oldanelang’s Konguerrig [Old Dane’s conquering kingdom], by dawnybreak in Aira. TAFF (skimperskamper, his wools gatherings all over cromlin/Kremlin what with the birstol [juvenile prisoners] boys artheynes [area of Dublin Christian Brothers] and is it her tour and the crackery of the fullfour fivefirearms [Irish provinces] and the crockery of their damdam domdom [Boer War exploding bullets] chambers). Wharall thubulbs uptheaires [Wellington: up men and at them!] Shattamovick [shot him [Irish] my son]? BUTT (pulling alast stark daniel [Ale] with alest doog at doorak [parting drink] while too greater than pardon painfully the issue of his mouth diminuendoing, vility of vilities [vanity of vanities], he becomes, allasvitally, faint). Shurenoff! Like Faun MacGhoul! (353.22–354.06)

Tsar Alexander III freed the serfs; the union of owner and earner was the height of Stead’s vision in his Russian propaganda efforts, making them equal in modern Russia. Slaves feared loss of security and thus were opposed to or feuded with the new freedoms. Such an ideal union of opposing forces is likened to sections of Dublin’s differentiated classes all “shaking hands and joining together.” The lengthened syllables in some words appear to represent Russian sesquipedalian words distinguished from English monosyllables. The next passage is most significant: BUTT and TAFF (desprot slave wager [capitalist] and foeman feodal [slave] unsheckled [freed], now one and the same person [equal in modern Russia], their fight upheld to right for a wee while being baffled and tottered, umbraged [shaded] by the shadow of Old Erssia’s magisquammythical [world status under Tsars] mulattomilitiaman, the living by owning [Communist propaganda] over the surfers of the glebe [peasants working soil] whose sway craven minions had caused to revile, as, too foul for hell, under boiling Mauses’ [rifles] burning brand, he falls by Goll’s [defeated by Finn] gillie, but keenheartened by the circuminsistence [circumstance and insistence] of the Parkes O’Rarelys [Persse O’Reillys] in a hurdly gurdly Cicilian concertone of their fonngeena barney [blarney] brawl [“The Soldier’s Song” fonn na bhFiann, bearna baoghail gap of danger], shaken everybothy’s hands, while S. E. Morehampton [Road, Dublin] makes leave to E. N. Sheilmartin [Ave., Howth] after Meetinghouse Lanigan [Lane] has embaraced [embraced] Vergemout Hall [Dublin], and, without falter or mormor or blathrehoot of sophsterliness, pugnate [rouse to fight] the pledge of fiannaship, dook to dook [hand to hand], with a commonturn [Communist International] oudchd of fest man [vowed of first man] and best man astoutsalliesemoutioun [God’s emotion], palms it off

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Chapter 9 like commodity tokens against a cococancancacacanotioun) [cocancan concatenation]. (354.07–21)

Butt and Taff are standing side-by-side, “one and the same” in the new democracy. The thunderword’s expolodotanation, reverberating throughout the world, has generated remarkable unions of opposites in the merging and mating streets of Dublin (354.16–21). Bruno had no quarrel with this. McIntyre discerned that Bruno’s theory of atomism was, at any rate in its traditional rendering, frankly materialistic. It admitted nothing but atoms and the void . . . without corresponding reality in nature. . . Bruno gives a teleological scheme of the universe which renders any scientific explanation of it impossible´ (Mc 249–50). Joyce prepares the ground more carefully, with neverending endings. Joyce’s analysis can be followed further, circling back to an earlier concept. After the political “one and the same person” of class union represented by Butt and Taff standing side-by-side [not merged], the Quinet concept of flowers emerging from the battlefield shows that, no matter how much warfare and philosophies and brotherly strife separates world endeavors, the world of nature preserves its own means of healing itself. The Quinet motif, as Clive Hart identified it, is restated immediately following “Butt and Taff” and in the same paragraph: When old the womd/world was a gadden/garden and Anthea [flower goddess] first unfoiled her limbs wanderloot [exploring for plunder] was the way the wood/world wagged [waged war] where opter and apter [this and that] were samuraised twimbs. They had their muttering ivies and their mouldhering iries [iris flower maiden] in that muskat [grapeshot] grove but there’ll be bright plinnyflowers in Calomella’s cool bowers [“in the time of Pliny and Columella” (281.04)] when the magpyre’s babble towers [Tower of Babel] scorching and screeching from the ravenindove [war and peace]. If thees lobed the sex of his head and mees ates the seep of his traublers he’s dancing figgies/figures to the spittle [spindle/female] side and shoving outs the soord [male side]. And he’ll be buying buys/boys and go gulling gells/girls [Gael and Gall: foreigners] with his flossim and jessim of carm/carmine, silk and honey [insect products] while myandthys playing lancifer lucifug [Lucifer] and what’s duff as a bettle [deaf as a beetle for us] for usses makes coy cosyn/cousin corollanes’/Coriolanus’ moues weeter [mouths water; more sweeter to me]. So till butagain budly shoots thon rising germinal let bodley chow the fatt [chew the fat means to grumble] of his anger and badley [Buckley shot the Russian general] bide the toil of his tubb [his pulpit]. (354.22–36)

With “Stillhead. Blunk” (355.06–07) the television has gone blank.

Chapter Ten

Timing and Terrain of the Snake and the Whale

An archetype prevalent and inescapable forced the redoubtable James Joyce into cliché; eventually he spoke of the English as “a reptile people” (JC 226) before he found himself indebted to one of them, Harriet Shaw Weaver; or was she Eden-like fulfilling her own cunning in obligating him to her? The editors of How Joyce Wrote Finnegans Wake find that “Already in VI.B.2 Joyce had begun linking his father and mother to Adam and Eve, the prototypical ur-father and ur-mother: ‘Heva (Living) / A-dam (Pa and Ma) . . .’” By extension this would make HCE’s crime somehow analogous to original sin. In turn, this would require some figure to tempt the hapless pair; hence S. the snake” (C/S 18). However, Joyce did not transfer to the final text the snake symbol from the Buffalo Notebooks, where Roland McHugh found it for The Sigla of “Finnegans Wake,” no doubt because of its prevalence on both sides of the English-Irish issue. Attribution of the snake symbol for Earwicker is mitigated by the varieties of persons deemed worthy of the same distinction; and Joyce’s inquiring mind searches far back in time, as Stead’s did, to the pre-human origins of the landscape, “how our seaborn isle came into exestuance” (387.12) in view of the counter-stroke, the cosmology of the whale. Although the whale is far from attracting the volume of considerations typical of the snake, it stands as testimony to Joyce’s sense of balance and completion in this novel of the world. This chapter observes, first, the mythologizing process in Joyce’s treatment of the British “empire of the snake” governing Stead’s imprisonment; then, second, analyzes the phrase “perfidious Albion” and turns to parallel opinions like that of Issy’s. Surely what one perceives is a “snake” depends on personal experience, and St. Patrick was not capable of banishing the “snake worms.” Joyce himself develops a broader view, questioning whether 321

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Ireland is snakelike-complicit with Eve in the denigration of women, viewing the goddess of the primal garden as willful betrayer of her god-invented innocence. THE BRITISH “EMPIRE OF THE SNAKE” The British snake slithers afield in Ireland from London Parliaments and, in the matter of Earwicker’s arrival in Ireland, makes personal the endemic nature of evil. Possibly Earwicker brought British perfidy with him and anticipated nothing of the Irish natives who, on first hearing of him, believed he had already committed a sexual sin in Edenic Phoenix Park. Possibly his Irish enemies had only scotched the snake of sexual sin and not killed it by mixing fact and mythic fiction and by common consent blaming Earwicker for the Maiden Tribute. An entertaining depiction of the snake placed Sir Charles Dilke in the position of a knight in armor scotching the Review of Reviews snake, W. T. Stead [Illus.] Internationally, his fame had spread immediately, as the feminine voice at the close of chapter 1 knows him as a replacement for the Finn MacCool of salmon fame, already “at random on the premises of his haunt of the hungred bordles” [Hundred Battles] (28.36), and his detractors triumphed when he was convicted and “put away.” As facts of his imprisonment are impressed on the public consciousness, a memorable snake twists the gossip devoted to the vanished (jailed) Earwicker’s emergence from hiding and sliding down a tree. The shield of the O’Reillys was an oak tree with snake descending the trunk; for names of O’Reillys, Joyce used the Weekly Irish Times 21 Jan 1933. By rising and crying Abies magnifica [magnificent fir] Joyce’s textual snake exhibits legerdemain talents that surpass St. Patrick’s sprouting staff. To avoid a clamorous throng, the snake exudes slime to exit at early, irregular time, “Sygstryggs,” from Danish syg for seasick, Norse ygg for Odin, which resembles English “sixty eggs to nine” (77.13). The exact time of Stead’s release from prison, a “quarter of nine,” was intended to baffle the crowd that was anticipated, and Joyce consciously constructs bafflement. As surely as Aurora brought the Greek dawn, Joyce mythologizes the emergence of W. T. Stead and makes the words slide together: But, their bright little contemporaries [the new brain trust; the welcoming crowd] notwithstanding, on the morrowing morn of the suicidal murder [Stead’s writing of the MT] of the unrescued expatriot [Irish Earwicker from Britain] aslike as asnake [Earwicker] comes sliduant down that oaktree onto the duke/dike of beavers, (you may have seen some liquidamber [genus of gum trees] exude exotic from a balsam poplar at Parteen-a-lax Limestone [Co. Clare salmon]. Road/Rose and cried Abies Magnifica! [did it] not, noble fir/

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Figure 10.1. Sir Charles Dilke, the candidate, spears the snake-in-the-grass W.T. Stead, head of the Review of Reviews (R 3:341) “Jarley Jilke began to silke for he couldn’t get home to Jelsey: but ended with: He’s got the sack that helped him moult instench of his gladsome/Gladstone rags/bags” (61.11-13).

sir?) a quarter of nine [the time Stead was released from Holloway], imploring his resipiency [repentance]. (100.09–15)

Magnificent indeed! Liquidamber thrives only in sheltered sites in Ireland, and the Balsam Poplar of the Populus trichocarpa genus, common to the United States, is equally rare; it thrives in Iceland since being introduced

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in 1944. Earwicker’s snakelike escape from incarceration is rarer than liquid amber or the election of a new pope. Joyce rather mixes the three types of prisons from which Stead was released. Newgate, where he was held for trial, presented long corridors that “stand silent as the grave,” repeated as having “the chill and silence of the grave,” and “tiers of cells” that rose story after story: “It was as if you were walking at the bottom of the hold of some great petrified ship, looking up at the deserted decks,” and prisoners walked “along the via dolorosa that leads to the condemned cells.” The first acquaintance with Coldbath-in-the-Fields was that it was indeed cold but later he enjoyed a warm room. He sketched himself “picking oakum,” which was actually coir fibre, described clothing and procedures, suffered with his weak spine on a plank bed, and, at the end of three days was transferred to “Happy Holloway,” designed as a castle and known as “The Castle.” He was fully occupied with receiving visitors, was principally editing his paper, and often chuckled at printed criticisms, in reality witticisms that he had composed himself. Joyce utilizes details from the experiences in varied places. Hence, pub customers betting on the longevity of the new pope invest in Stead’s nickname “the Pope” (common in Ireland) and remember Conn of the Hundred Battles. Mixing their speculations with a well-stirred glass of punch, they recall the blasphemous sale of dispensations granted in the “porphyroid/Butter Tower” of Rouen to dine while fasting. Stead’s inspiration, a “lamp of maintenance” was the light in the tower of journalists on duty when beacons were “farafield” because, as Stead strenuously objected, Disraeli as Prime Minister (titled Lord Beaconsfield) projected pro-Turkish and antiRussian advocacies that wielded British policies far afield from Britain’s best interests. Stead had faith that public-minded journalists like himself would serve an ideal in preference to a salary, “all brevet-named,” and all part of Stead’s world that Morley exaggerated to a Barnum and Bailey circus, except that Stead could “out-Barnum Barnum.” After he was transferred from the “protem grave” (76.21) of Newgate, his lamp burning in the night while he was incarcerated shone through the “Pughglasspanelfitted” (76.11) windows of Holloway with its “transom and leaded panes” (100.23). The time is not in the future but now, when “the bright little contemporaries” witness the election of a new pope. The mythologizing process is distinct. The blue paw probably refers to the Maneki Neko, of which the raised blue paw signifies family wellbeing. To resume: [They] saw the infallible spike of smoke’s jutstiff punctual from the seventh gable of our Quintus Centimachus’ [Conn of the Hundred Battles] porphyroid/ purple buttertower [in Rouen] and then thirsty p.m. with oaths [taking bets] upon his lastingness (En caecos harauspices! Annos longos patimur! [tr Behold the blind soothsayers. We endure long years! [waiting for release from

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prison]) the lamps of maintenance beaconsfarafield innerhalf [Stead’s office sanctuary] the ziggurat, all brevet-named [promoted without extra pay] the wasting wyvern [heraldic dragon], the tawny of his mane, the swinglowswaying [s.] bluepaw, the outstanding man, the lolllike lady [Mary], being litten [candles] for the long (O land, how long! [waiting for the Second Coming]) lifesnight, with suffusion of fine glass [Finglas] transom and leadlight panes [Earwicker’s prison “The Castle”]. (100.15–23)

The zigguarat rather shifts Stead’s light from Big Ben to the most famous of sprawling ziggurats, the biblical Tower of Babel, a geometric similarity to the “muezzin” that Stead proclaimed for the Review of Reviews. Stead refrained from claiming, but would have been aware, that his journalists watching at night resembled the Eye of Providence displayed in the Great Seal of the United States and on the back of the one dollar bill, also the symbol of Freemasonry, both dating from the 1770s. Stead was acting on principle when he opposed the reelection of Sir Charles Dilke in the midst of an adultery scandal and was caricatured as the head of a Review-of-Reviews snake in the grass with an armored and shielded Sir Charles Dilke standing over him (Illus. R 3: 341). Prior to the sex scandal, Stead had welcomed Dilke’s appointment to the Cabinet as President of the Local Government Board (26 Dec 1882 PMG 1) and had been largely supportive of him. Subsequently, entangled in a sex scandal, in 1885 Dilke resigned his appointment. A snake is a betrayer, and Stead it was who, searching for the truth, switched from earlier support of Dilke to haranguing against his guilt. The “funebral pomp” Stead displayed with his commitment to jail was part of Stead-Earwicker’s “MacPelah address of valediction” with snakelike propensity, “a very fair worded instance of falsemeaning adamelogy” [tale of Adam and Eve] (77.24–26), counting him guilty when he was not. Knowing his own convict sentence was based on imperial misrepresentation and injustice, Stead had pontificated for the public: “In a Democratic age we must most jealously uphold the majesty of the law (9 Nov 1885 PMG 1). The irreverent author of the Internet’s “TV Tropes” places this among Arthurian tropes under heading “Lawful Stupid”: determined to bring about this new Rule of Law, “Stupid” lets evil people use him in the guise of “upholding the law.” Stead indeed had a sense of compliance with this evil because the “majesty of the law” should have defended and not prosecuted him. Mrs. Josephine Butler profoundly regretted his capitulation when he was “worn out and ill.” His sentence transmuted from picking oakum at Coldbath, Stead joyfully buried himself in the “gentlemen’s prison” Holloway, the coffin of “transom and leaded panes,” and enjoyed the “liveried retainers” employed by the prison officials. With his usual triumphant fanfare, he promulgated a new dogma that interment at Holloway was enjoyable and profitable for requisite rest. His sentence completed, Stead-Earwicker escapes from prison in

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Joyce’s mythology by sliding snakelike down a tree, a dramatization of the consistent perfidy of the British. Stead detailed his occupation of three jails in all―Newgate for trial, Coldbath for criminal conviction, Holloway for gentleman’s convenience―in his booklet My First Imprisonment, all of which merited him the criminal status of “recidivist” (107.10). Joyce’s double entendres veil Stead’s rhetorical effects combining “maateskippey” (76.19) ship and “protem grave” (76.21), his trial and attendant publicity “a number of select and other committees” (76.15), his admiration of Oliver Cromwell cramped into “an old knoll” (76.26). His Holloway Castle “tower” has offices on the ground that provide “ground battery fuseboxes” (77.11) for his “aerial thorpeto” (77.07) escape from his “inversion of a phallopharos” (76.34). Upon further reflection, he exploded the MT “from a reinvented T.N.T. bombingpost” (77.05) that will much later in text attain the status of expolodotonating (353.23) like the Maiden Tribute (and atoms) throughout the world. Indelibly it marked his personal memory and recurred to mind after the Russian revolution of 1905. Then, in classical metamorphoses and realistic old age, “whaanever his blaetther began to fail off him and his rough bark was wholly husky” and he stooped a little in the shoulders (77.14–16), as Stead did, he could take comfort in the achievement of the MT. “Show coffins” (77.28) accounts for the tiers of cells that Stead viewed upon entering Newgate, “as if you were walking at the bottom of the hold of some great petrified ship, looking up at the deserted decks” (My First 3)]. Joyce interprets his mood as a time to “turn to house” the housekeeping editorial duties and depart from this fancied ship, “allaboardshoops!” (77.28), and confront the abandoned wastes, which represent Joyce’s additions: But t’house and allaboardshoops! Show coffins, winding sheets, goodbye bierchepes, cinerary urns, liealoud blasses, snuffchests, poteentubs, lacrimal vases, hoodendoses/hatboxes, reek waterbeckers [urinals], breakmiddles/emetics, zootzaks/saltbags for eatlust/appetite, including upyourhealthing rookworst [smoked sausages] and meathewersoftened forkenpootsies [pigs' trotters] and for that matter javel [cut corn] also—any kind of inhumationary bric au brac for the adornment of his glasstone/Gladstone honophreum . . . . (77.28–34)

Visiting dignitaries at “Gladstone’s honorarium,” an “honophreum” for Humphrey, numbered among Stead’s friends Benjamin Waugh, Cardinal Manning, the Rev. Dr. John Clifford, half a dozen M.P’s, T. P. O’Connor, Dr. Barnardo; the Prime Minister Gladstone himself; and Cecil Rhodes attempted a visit but found prior arrangement was required. Stead profused being “Lethe lulled” at Holloway where, “after years of incessant stress and strain . . . I had come to a place where time was a drug in the market—where time was to hang heavy on my hands, where after being long bankrupt in minutes, I was to be a millionaire of hours” (My First 3–4). Here is the foundation, if any, for the notion of his secret wealth that was bruited abroad

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from the inflated sales of the Maiden Tribute and repeated ad infinitum in Finnegans Wake. Joyce’s Irish folk perpetuate it as if irrefutable for SteadEarwicker to the end of his days and his memory thereafter. Explosions outdoors, “from a reinvented T.N.T. bombing post” (77.05), again testifying to the power of journalism, are those events that Stead would tend to, if he were not imprisoned. Joyce noted that “Greeks believe thunderbolts form mines” (VI.A.1); a rumbling under the foundation thrusts Earwicker out of there. [The “bric au brac,” continuing] would, met these trein of konditiens, naturally follow, halas, in the ordinary course, enabling that roundtheworlder wandelingswight [Stead-Earwicker], did suches pass him, to live all safeathomely the presenile days of his life of opulence [the comforts of Holloway], ancient ere decrepitude, late lents/Spring last lenience [anticipated release], till stuffering stage, whiling away the whole of the while hypnos chilia eonion! [tr sleep for thousands of ages!) lethelulled between explosion and reexplosion (Donnaurwatteur! [Thunder weather!] Hunderthunder!) from grasskopp to megapod [head to foot], embalmed, of grand age, rich in death anticipated. (77.34–78.06)

But this is not the purpose for which he was born into this world. His “true nature” is that of the Hebrew “Nash of Girahash, [who] would go anyold where in the weeping world on his mottled belly” (75.20), because the capability for evil is born into human nature, to the effect that the snake becomes a mixed symbol. Eve did not tell the snake “Go away, I don’t recognize you.” Stead would indeed, for any journalistic or (later) internationally-peaceful purpose go anywhere in the world, as he travelled to Ireland in 1898 to update 1798, and these purposes suffice for his motivation for coming to Ireland. As for the oaktree he slides down, the ancient Celts honored the oak for its endurance and noble presence; it overshadowed Dublin in the “questions” chapter, a “flowery kingdom” where “asnake is under clover” (139.31). Humanity has a choice to exclude it but not eradicate it. A washerwoman gifts the river plain with “snakes in clover, picked and scotched [Picts and Scots]” (210.26) and built a wall against northern England to keep those unkempt riffraff out. MacBeth reflected, regretfully, “We have scotched the snake, not killed it” (III.2.3). It provides humanity with a choice and a need for a hero. Earwicker’s heroic predecessor, Finn MacCool, carries the misogynist prejudice of the Edenic myth, that Satan departed leaving Ireland in the hero’s care; he “led the upplaws/applause at the Creation and hissed a snake charmer off her stays” (132.16). Issy would like to charm the snake by waging the battle of the sexes with her fantasy lover: “Please be acquiester to meek/make my acquointance! Codling [sl. a raw youth], snakelet, iciclist/ bicyclist! My diaper has more life to it! Who drowned you in drears/tears,

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man, or are you pillale [insignificant] with ink? Did a weep get past the gates of your pride? My tread on the clover, sweetness?” (145.10–13). Issy would like to gain the stunning attraction of Eve by wearing a sexy gown, “a nice shiny sleekysilk out of that slippering snake charmeuse” (271.F5). Macbeth was right; the Edenic myth is alive and well in Ireland, and St. Patrick has failed; the Catholic faith of abstention for unwanted pregnancies has failed. When teenage Joyce perfected the duties of altar boy, the Church as lifebeacon betrayed him by failing to educate him in matters of libido. Issy’s sense of a “tread on the clover” is the feminine version; the clover disguises the necessity for a hero. If “St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland,” why, one asks, are they still there? Finnegans Wake has much to say on this topic, beginning with the first chapter when the Overhead narrator surveys the “middenhide hoard of objects!” [19.08] and recites the legend: Sss [Serpent]! See the snake wurrums/worms/squirms every side! Our durlbin [what British have made of Ireland] is sworming in sneaks/snakes [legless lizard]. They came to our island from triangular Toucheaterre [Spain; England] beyond the wet prairie rared up in the midst of the cargon of prohibitive pomefructs [Edenic apples] but along landed Paddy Wippingham [St. Patrick] and the his garbagecans cotched the creeps of them pricker/quicker than our whosethere outofman [Eve] could quick up her whatsthats. Somedivide and sumthelot [divide and conquer] but the tally turns round the same balifuson [bale: misery]. Racketeers and bottloggers [British who overran Ireland]. (19.12–19)

The snakes are still there because (in Joyce’s mainframe time of 1904) the British Protestants still occupied Catholic Ireland, which shoved sex education into hiding under clover. The “snake wurrums” point to the harmless legless lizard resident in Ireland styled “a slow worm” that reminds people of the authentic snake. No one knows when they arrived; perhaps St. Patrick failed to recognize them and let those “wurrums” remain. Earwicker’s major “sin” is not his misconduct in Phoenix Park; his sin is that he is one of the “proud invaders.” Before he acts as the “stranger stepashore,” he is already guilty—of being British, a blot on his escutcheon that he cannot erase. Stead applied a well-known phrase to the results of the trial of Dr. Jameson for the Raid that precipitated the Boer War. In this event, “Perfidious Albion” was felt “to have meted out justice with an even hand” and Stead could only wish Dr. Jameson and his friends to have “as happy and merry a time in Holloway as I passed in the same place eleven years ago” (R 14: 106). The skies, however, rapidly grew darker against Stead’s attempt to stop the Turkish massacres of Armenians.

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PERFIDIOUS ALBION “Perfidious Albion” characterized the British presence in Ireland, commonly known from the “Foggy Dew” song by Canon O’Neill about the Easter rising: “Oh the night fell black and the rifles’ crack/ Made perfidious Albion reel.” The French used the phrase against the English in the nineteenth century. Stead applied it to “the Eastern question” in 1896 to exemplify the evil work of Lord Beaconsfield who claimed by making concessions to Turkey he brought “Peace with Honour.” In Stead’s view the Berlin Treaty brought shame upon England, “a standing reminder to all Europe of the trickiness and dishonesty of “perfide Albion.” If the Turkish Assassin reigns, “it is England who put him there” (R 14: 355). Kevin Sullivan, in LeFanu’s name, explicates the phrase from Porphyry, who was “an ‘old boy’[alumnus] set in stoney opposition to Christianity that maintained church and state in Ireland by force and fraud.” Sullivan notices the marginal left note in the children’s study session “the localisation of legend leading to the legalisation of latifundism” (264.R2). The last word, meaning quite precise, constitutes Issy’s patriotic, laconic footnote for the Neoplatonist Porphyry: “Porphyrious Olbion, redcoatliar, we were always wholly holy rose marines on our side [justified] every time” (264.F3). The Teller perceives that matters of British-Irish nationality are extremely delicate when the soldier Fred Watkins (British Atkins) attempts to reenter Britain from Ireland. Jimmy d’Arcy has eluded “certain questions [at customs] vivaviz the secret empire of the snake” [Britain] (587.23) for the sake of contraband cigarettes. It looks as if all his pleasures were left in Ireland, and Joyce poses a contest of many references. Queen Victoria was only following custom when she sent chocolates to Boer War soldiers, and “stepmarm” refers to Stead’s declaration of Britain as the wicked and stingy stepmother of Ireland. Candidates for “old noseheavy” were Ally Sloper and Wellington; the text points to Ally Sloper’s exaggerated proboscis and search for news. The soldier’s “Whitby” hat, as he politely bows low, shows rebel Whiteboy and the Irish tonsure dating from the Synod at Whitby in A.D 659: “Lopping off the froth” was a pub custom called “drowning the shamrock,” central to St Patrick’s Day: [Overlook Teller as soldier-narrator] Hiss [sound of pull on cigarette]! Which we had only our hazelight [haze of city] to see with, cert, in our point of view, me and my auxy [army Auxiliary], Jimmy d’Arcy, hadn’t we, Jimmy?—[Jimmy answers] Who to seen with? Kiss! [another cigarette breath]. [Teller] No kidd, captn [Captain Kidd], which he stood us, three jolly postboys [s.], first a couple of Mountjoys [Brewery] and nutty woodbines [cigarettes] with his cadbully’s choculars, [Cadbury] pepped [Epps’ Cocoa] from our Theoatre Regal’s [Theatre Royal, Dublin and London] drolleries puntomine, in the snug at the Cambridge Arms [Dublin] of Teddy Ales while we was laying/betting,

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The mixed metaphors of the Teller-soldier, concerning “the stepmarm” and the cemented friendships of traducers, ride a linguistic airborne surface of contradictory but Irish idiom, unrelenting in the quest for the female and mindful of Britain, the “secret empire of the snake” (587.23). The Moore song “Cruiskeen Lawn” means little full jug. The song “The Picture That Is Turned to the Wall” has a pathetic refrain about a mother’s heart half broken.” [Teller] tomorrow comrades, we, his long life’s strength and cuirscrween loan/ lawn [s.] to our allhallowed king, the pitchur that he’s turned to weld [toward] the wall [s., 1891], (Lawd lengthen him!) his standpoint was, to belt and blucher him [Prussian marshal shoots him] afore the hole pleading [whole bleeding] churchal [Stead’s defense at Wimbledon church (52.10–17)] and submarine bar yonder, but he made no class at all in port and cemented palships between our trucers/traducers [England and Ireland], being a refugee, didn’t he, Jimmy? (587.13–19)

The Stead metaphor “pleading churchal” encrypted herewith is a matter of memory, that of his defense delivered to the congregation of Wimbledon church when he spoke of “the Compassionate” while his mind was occupied by victimized maidens, their condition obscured in Esperanto (59.2–17), a language Stead spoke and advocated. Second, one of Stead’s major articles severely scourged the “Stingy Stepmother,” the London School Board facing elections at the time, accompanied by a photograph of its majestic offices on the Victoria Embankment. The Stepmother in full force failed, first of all, to build sufficient schools so that children, having no school to attend, were growing up in ignorance (R 10: 384–92). This is Stead’s view of “the “secret empire of the snake” (587.23). [Listener]—Who true to me? [Teller] Sish! Honeysuckler [female pudendum], that’s what my young lady here [calls him], Fred Watkins [Atkins blackmailer of Wilde], bugler Fred, all the ways from [Sebastian] Melmoth [Wilde] in Natal [Melmoth town in Natal, in lieu of calling him fag], she calls him, dip the colours [naval salute], pet, when he commit his certain questions vivaviz the secret empire of the snake which it was on a point of our sutton down [Isthmus joins Howth to mainland], how was it, Jimmy?—[Listener] Who has sinnerettes/cigarettes to declare? Phiss! [cigarette and hiss of snake]. (587.19–24)

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Irish-English relationships entangle the speaker in self-contradiction. The “empire of the snake” is not secret while, as the Teller-soldier continues speaking, “those pest of parkies” actually “twitch” with the familiar two lasses from the Maiden Tribute [Eliza and Lily] when the Phoenix Rangers hold their “nuisance at the meeting [“nuisance meetings” were protest meetings] of the waitreses, the daintylines, Elsies from Chelsies [s., Stead’s “two” Elizas in London], the two legglegels [little girls] in blooms [s. bloomers; maidens as flowers], and those pest of the parkies, twitch, thistle and charlock [field mustard]” (587.26–28). Not esteemed as flowers/maidens, the Elsies are scorned, twitching, as snakes, deprived of cultivated beauty like the wild thistle and a weed. These familiar metaphors that shift British girls out of the home territory to Ireland (or Irish girls to England, the continent, or Buenos Aires) extend the dehumanizing of prostitution into the riskier system of white slavery. Joyce and his father were visiting London at the time of the Queen’s visit to Ireland, which Jackson and Costello dismiss with “In April Queen Victoria spent three weeks passing over bridges in the city” (JC 223). As a later segment proves, Joyce could decide which reports to read upon his return. At present, this “Jimmie” conversation proves exceptional for its “multiplex” scope of familiar topics, and derogation. The Listener inserts “the Nolan” with “Who fears all masters! Hi, Jocko Nowlong, my own sweet boosy love, which he puts his feeler to me behind the beggar’s bush, does Freda, don’t you be an emugee!” (588.02) from the “Trinity Church” song “I was an M.U.G.,” apparently for emigrant, subject to fraud (McHugh 103.1). Freda is the Cad, a transvestite. Much “twitching” of the various citizen snakes. Interpolated in activities in the HCE-Porter household of chapter 16 are three scenes of Irish social criticism that exploit the concept of Perfidious Albion. Prevalent force and fraud in this penultimate chapter characterize Viconian decline. The Perfidious Albion scenes are (1) Joyce’s unrelenting oppositional vigor in statements like “The dame dowager [Queen Mother] to stay kneeled how she is, as first mutherer with [naval/navel] cord in coil” (566.19). First, in parallel history, the Irish “celebration” of the exceptional visit of Queen Victoria in 1900 presents the plight of the civil—and courteous—Irish subjects playing host to the enemy (568.16–570.13) while by custom being excluded from the rewards of spying royalty-on-display except to wave and cheer in humble sidelined gratitude. (2) The original Stead MT trial is recast as incest committed by the Honuphrius [English in Ireland] family, which approximates the withering eugenics attributed to the American families the Jukes and the Kallikaks, for which Joyce could rely on book reviews: The Kallikak Family: A Study in the Heredity of FeebleMindedness (1912) by Henry H. Goddard, and The Jukes: A Study in Crime, Pauperism, Disease and Heredity (1877) by Richard L. Dugdale. The latter

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was updated in The Jukes in 1915 by Arthur H. Estabrook. Given to crime, members of those families were frequently incarcerated. Joyce mentions them first in connection with the enormity of SteadEarwicker’s crimes, of which Prime Minister Balfour’s “detractors . . . apparently conceive of him as a great white caterpillar” (33.23), based on a caricature in the Westminster Gazette of 30 March 1904 [Illus.]. Such enormity was also “recorded to the discredit of the Juke and Kellikek families” (33.24), of which incarceration occurs, “And kick kick killykick for the house that juke built!” (375.04), since slang for a jail was “The House That Jack Built.” (3) The Doyle family have been integrated into British profligacy, to the downfall of Ann Doyle (573.35–576.09), who retreats into the negative stereotype of Irish women, apologetic and easily available. This is Viconian decline with a vengeance.

Figure 10.2. “his detractors . . . apparently conceive of him as a great white caterpillar” (33.23) (R 27:334)

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On the way to the Maamtrasna trial, the Hydrad snake of amazing regenerative powers (when Hercules cut off one head, two grew in its place) defines Earwicker’s troubles invading Ireland as told in chapter 2 (I.2), when the identity of Pappie’s “intruser” is shrouded in heavy rain during the Phoenix Park “encounter.” This is Joyce’s basic reduçtio ad absurdum of his father’s persistence in crossing Phoenix Park with a bag of rent money, or strongbox, or a container of money or whiskey. Each of the Hydra’s heads was powered by poisonous blood, and the Hydra is multifarious in this usage, standing for the British in an Irish Garden. The “intruser” in Phoenix Park dislodges “a woden/wooden affair in the shape of a webley” that was assumed stuck as that cat to that mouse in that tube of that christchurch organ” (82.16–19) which describes the “change companion” holding onto the treasure, and Pappie’s instantaneously performing the role of Saxon Gygas. The “hakusay” accusation against him had been made “by a creature in youman [young Stead as Yorkshire farmer] form who was quite beneath parr [unchaste Old Parr (3.17)] and several degrees lower than your triplehydrad snake” (36.04–07). To address this issue, Anna Livia steps forth “to crush the slander’s head” (102.17), and gifts the floodplain with destruction. In fact, while Stead was defending the Irish, he was active also in a campaign to unite England and the United States, which was called “hands across the sea,” was illustrated with two flags and a ship and clasped hands between the flags in 1896 (R 13: 486) and a new version illustrated in the New York World in 1899 (R 20: 355). The concept hands across the sea was actually written into Hayman’s First Draft Version adapted to Stead’s “eliza the second . . . trying to get all that bearded virility into her limited lap at the same time” (162). In essence, Earwicker has chosen to blend the two nationalities of Britain and Ireland, as if performing a God-directed but self-denying mandate. Earwicker stammers with his failure to make his intentions understood and points to the Wellington monument, more than British and a symbol of the union of Britain and Ireland; hence himself and Ireland. The dubious loyalty to Wellington is not helpful; it reminds people that while Wellington was born Irish, left Ireland, accepted all the honors the British enemy had to bestow, he also uttered famous derogatory words about Irish soldiers born in a stable. The accosted party, Earwicker, stammers several details of his personal resumé: his hotel and creamery establishments (Stead’s Review of Reviews the cream of the crop), his ethics those of an honorable puritan under the Taskmaster’s eye, his language “British to my backbone tongue” (36.32). There is no question of his British pride and his guilt in choosing to live in economically-depressed Ireland; following Stead’s perspective, he came there to see conditions for himself in the prospect of alleviating some of the misery, a sad judgment of the small country. However dubiously motivated, the native Irish still believe he came there to seduce Irish maidens, an even

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sadder comment if they think their women would be a visitor’s only enticement. Joyce has plotted this as well as any detective mystery. However, because of their exportable product, their women, in Ireland he is perceived lower than a snake. Part of a title for Anna Livia’s “mamafesta” is “First and Last Only True Account all about the Honorary Mirsu Earwicker, L.S.D., and the Snake (Nuggets! [gossip]) by a Woman of the World” (107.02), all concerned with the unmentionable underwear of the MT. Whatever else, the snake cannot escape its archetypal stand for sinful temptation, and Ireland would not wish to return to its status at the time of St. Patrick. One of Stead’s advocacies was the penny post, instituted 1898; it bore the Queen’s likeness (R 18: 117–18)] it is veritably belied, we belove [love to believe], that not allsods of esoupcans [the wisdom of Aesops and Esaus] that’s in the queen’s pottage post [penny postage], and not allfinesof greendgold that the Indus contains would overhinduce them, (o.p.) [our people] to steeplechange back once from their ophis workship [snake worship] and [attend church] twice on sundises, to their ancient flash and crash habits of old Pales time [medieval English-occupied] ere beam slewed cable [Cain slew Abel]. (289.04–09)

Explaining Anna Livia’s title for her “Mamafesta,” Stephen Jarvis selects “The Groans of the Britons” for the most important letter in history: “sent circa 450 A.D. by ancient Britons appealing for Roman help in resisting invaders. When no help came, the Britons asked Germanic mercenaries to come to their assistance―leading to the Germanic takeover of Britain. This was effectively the start of the English language” (Atlantic Sept. 2017: 104). Mikio Fuse provides “The Letter and the Groaning: Chapter 1.5” in Crispi and Slote. IRISH SNAKES UNDER CLOVER St. Patrick indeed required something dramatic to dislodge this cultural preference. The pre-Christian Irish worship of snakes under the direction of the druids, however, formed only part of the uncounted multiple references to and emblems of snakes, dominantly visible in the Book of Kells (chapter 5) and elsewhere. Expanding on Patrick’s success, after the druid’s time passed, a simplistic following of clover citations, then and now, embellish the current prominence of the clover/shamrock symbol of Ireland. The compositors of the ballad of Persse O’Reilly recognize in the congested streets sedate ladies in their sedan chairs among “some wandering hamalags [Irish for amalóg or simpleton] out of the adjacent cloverfields of Mosse’s Gardens” (43.02). Sedan chairs could be hired in 1924 at the Rotunda, where Mosse built the Rotunda Hospital; and the shamrock was consumed for its medicinal proper-

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ties. Kate Strong, dumping her midden trash, knows that Bryant’s Causeway is “bordered with speedwell, white clover and sorrel a wood knows” (80.02–03); these are types of shamrock, of which speedwell replaces traditional flowers for Issy in hospital (458.14). The Trifolium that St. Patrick plucked to fable the Holy Trinity is popularly believed to have been the white shamrock. The Gaelic name for young clover was seamróg, and the name for wood sorrel seamsóg, often a salad ingredient. One source claims there is no Irish evidence that the Irish ate clover, but that they ate wood sorrel. Whatever the gastronomic argument, all of these references imply an Ophis workshop still working. Generally accepted is the notion that Ireland is blessed: “We who live under heaven, we of the clovery kingdom” watch the sky overreaching the land knowing that “Our isle is Sainge,” the Isle of Saints (110.05–06). The third question of chapter 6 challenges the faith: “Which title is the true-totype motto-in-lieu for that Tick for Teac [house] thatchment painted witt wheth [Dutch wit, white] one darkness, where asnake is under clover . . . (139.29–31). Issy’s success in breaking down her sex partner’s pride, her “tread on the clover” (145.13) provides evidence of her great daring—anything in the name of love. Anna Livia in chapter 8 delivers vengeful gifts justifying Issy’s fears: snakes in clover [cg “pigs in clover”]; picked and scotched [Picts and Scots], and a vaticanned viper [Dr. Karl Shuls reported a scarlet viper that vanished from Dorset, wiped away] catcher’s visa for Patsy Presbys [old man still striving to “catch” a female] (210.26–27). Homeward customers singing Joyce’s rollicking ballad “Water Parted from the Say” in chapter 11 appreciate the good times, no longer serving in the British army: “His bludgeon’s bruk, his drum is tore. For spuds we’ll keep the hat he wore And roll in clover on his clay By wather parted from the say” (372.25–27). And there’s the unregenerated Shaun-Chuff in the afterlife picturing the same rolling in clover [s.] while vowing to seduce Issy with “I’d be staggering humanity and loyally rolling you over, my sowwhite [snow white] sponse/bride, in tons of red clover [Trifolium pratense] (451.20–21). Soldiers of the Royal Irish Regiment wore the shamrock on St. Patrick’s Day, a custom prompting Queen Victoria’s beneficence; to honor herself during her visit to Ireland in 1900, she decreed that soldiers should wear the shamrock in honor of the Irish military who fought bravely in the Boer War. Earwicker’s status as invader implies that he is privileged to return home at any time, especially to escape the sight of Irish misery and the effects of despairing, soul-numbing economics, although equivalent prospects of Irish entry and reentry were naturally restricted by personal finances. Stead’s repeated visits to Ireland for multiple newsworthy purposes in 1898 bemoaned delayed civic progress during the century since 1798. The historic quartering of British soldiers in those tiny Irish cabins was the most unforgiveable sin of British rule that enraged Stead, as he expressed in Centenary of 1798. He

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traveled onward to South Africa in 1904 gathering facts for conditions left by the Boer War; in the example below, Joyce chooses New Zealand and environs for the furthest antipodal outpost from which Earwicker, anonymous, returns. The antipodes of Britain and Ireland are in the Pacific Ocean, south of New Zealand; the Campbell islands of New Zealand are “close to being antipodes” for Ireland. Stead’s determination was to go anywhere in the world for necessary information; he could long for the comforts of home and imagine eager questions upon his return. Not olderwise Inn [search for Inn] the days of the Bygning/building would our Traveler remote, unfriended, from van Demon’s’ Land/Tasmania, some lazy skald/troubadore or maundering pote, lift wearywilly [William Stead tramping] his slowcut snobsic eyes to the semisigns of the zooteac [the traveler studies the sky] and lengthily lingering with [Aires] flaskneck, [Taurus] cracket cup, [Gemini] downtrodden brogue/shoe, [Cancer] turfsod, [Leo] wildbroom, [Aquarius] cabbageblad, [Pisces] stockfisch, longingly learn that there at the Angel [Irish pub in Islington, England] were herberged for him poteen and tea and praties and baccy and wine width woman wordth warbling [song]: and informally quasi-begin [tentatively] to presquesm’ile to queasithin’ [smile at questions]. (Nonsense! [says our second Narrator]: There was not very much windy Nous blowing [conversation] at the given moment through the hat of Mr. Melancholy Slow! [not many topics to discuss with Wyndham Lewis]. (56.20–30)

Does the slow worm glint through this disparagement? The traveler may be suspected of returning “for a prize of two peaches” (57.04), but the unfacts, did we possess them, are too imprecisely few to warrant our certitude, the evidencegivers by legpoll too untrustworthily irreperible/undiscoverable where his adjugers/judgers are semmingly freak threes [the soldiers] but his judicandees [evidence-givers] plainly minus twos [the reputed temptresses]. (57.16–19)

There are no reliable witnesses against the gossip about Earwicker in Phoenix Park, and there is another defect. The same vices that defile Earwicker’s reputation flourish, as Stead proclaimed at the outset of the Maiden Tribute, “within the shadow of our churches” in London, and Joyce extended the wretchedness among the questionable antics of the gownedabout clerics of Oxford in their ease. Stead was not necessarily excluded from such company; he was awarded an honorary doctorate at Western University (Pittsburgh), although he instructed his associates not to use the “doctor” title because his was not an earned degree. To honor Shem, Joyce promotes him from the National University in Dublin to the hallowed precincts of Oxford, where he can watch bland old Sol slide Dodgsomely, a disguised Lewis Carroll, drifting netherward. A “little trip to the west,” remember, was a

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London girl’s induction into prostitution. Stead learned that girls were frequently delivered to Madame Tussaud’s for entrapment (7 Jul 1885 PMG 5), and “Madam” otherwise, the manageress of a high-class brothel, paraded the “girls,” either nude or elegantly dressed, to display attractions for the pleasure of wealthy customers. Complacent, Ireland had accepted the Hugh Lane pictures; in London the National Gallery rejected Stead’s portrait. Now, approach with your blackthorns [Irish walking stick] to view the portrait. “Tom Quad” was Lewis Carroll’s Christ Church College, Oxford, and the “mawdliness” was Magdalene College, Oxford or Magdalene Street, Cambridge. This is the privileged empire of the snake. Nevertheless Madam’s Toshowus waxes largely more lifeliked, (entrance, one kudos; exits, free) and our notional gullery is now completely complacent, an exegious monument, aerily perennious [Horace]. Oblige with your blackthorns, gamps [umbrellas/flashers], degrace! And there many have paused before that exposure/photograph of him by old Tom Quad, a flashback in which he sits sated, gowndabout [photo of Joyce with Irish classmates] in clericalease habit, watching bland sol slithe dodgsomely into the nethermore/ west, a globule/tear of maugdleness about to corrugitate his mild dewed [mild und leise; Stead’s Eliza] cheek, [remembering] the tata/goodbye of a tiny victorienne, Alys/Alice pressed by his limper looser/hand. (57.19–29)

One of Stead’s tiny Victorian maidens, dying of disease when he visited her in hospital, gave him her only small coin, which he carried with him on the Titanic. A gesture of this sort still thrives in the empire of the snake, but there is little hope for it among the honors awarded the male colleagues at the great university. The Alice books honor the male in its high ranks pursuing the underage female, to the extent that it pervades the netherworlds of academe. Naturally a leering suspicion taints Earwicker’s arrival in Ireland. He returns from his travels accused, as Stead had been in returning from Switzerland to face trial, after a time when perhaps some of the objection had been forgotten. Geographic pairings are sustained with ‘Marlborough Green” of London and “Molesworth Fields” of Dublin. Stead had reported an example of Jedburgh justice in his youthful days at the Northern Echo (12 Nov 1874), and such mortality of justice could by extension be witnessed in his conviction at the Old Bailey in 1885. He was “acquitted with testimony” of Rev. Spurgeon and the Mansion House Committee; they were not permitted to testify for him, but the Pall Mall record stands. The pairings “Thingmote” reborn in a London jury and “Thing Mod” for the Maiden Tribute resurrect in the present the scenes of the past. Since the C.L.A. Act set the age for statutory rape, his “beneficiaries” are, indeed legion. Recurrent cycles of the “Greatwheel” engage Stead’s long-distant adventures on a bicycle equipped with Dunlop tires plus his impressive civic improvements; the superintendent of police in London who assisted Stead was also named Dunlop. Astronomi-

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cally, Dunlop “was the name was on him” because the hero earns a new name, occupies a new star. For the phrase “in manor hall as in thieves’ kitchen” (57.34), the poem titled “Student and Cook” in Kelleher’s translation dramatizes an episode of a maiden at the mercy of a polite gentleman scholar. Woman in the kitchen, Do you give food to people? Will you give me some, fair woman— Milk, bacon, bread and butter? If not, you’ll get a lesson. I’ll shove you in a corner And when you’ve lost your honor I’ll tell the old professor. (262)

The comparative theft of Stead’s honor “at the bar of a rota of tribunals” (57.33) who convicted him, and thereby assured many of the public that he was a criminal convict, makes the subject particularly apt, and ironic when paired with his Maiden Tribute. James Knowles, editor of the Nineteenth Century, repeated his denigration of Stead as “a filthy ex-convict.” Joyce may have read the poem “Student and Cook” in Irish. Yet certes one is. Eher the following winter had overed the pages of nature's book and till/until Ceadurbar-atta-Cleath [Dublin] became Dablena Tertia [backward to Ptolemy’s time], the shadow of the huge outlander [Earwicker], maladik, multvult [many-faced], magnoperous, had bulked at the bar of a rota of tribunals in manor hall [Stead’s Mansion House committee judged the MT] as in thieves' kitchen [stealing of virginity, preventing Stead’s testimony], mid pillow talk and chithouse chat [phrase “clever as a shithouse rat”], on Marlborough Green [London] as through Molesworth Fields [Dublin], here sentenced pro tried with Jedburgh justice there acquitted contestimony with benefit of clergy (57.30–58.01).

There follows here one of those potent summations for which Finnegans Wake is famous, that often, in true chrysalis fashion, requires a page or more to honor a single word. Minimizing the potential of “testimony of benefit of clergy,” its setting is several lines at the onset of the Maiden Tribute when Stead confidently announced that he would in private divulge his sources and proofs to the following persons: His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury, The Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster, Mr. Samuel Morley, M.P., The Earl of Shaftesbury, The Earl of Dalhousie, as the author of the Criminal Law Amendment Bill, and

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Mr. Howard Vincent, ex-Director of the Criminal Investigation Department (6 July 1885 PMG 3).

These persons, he anticipated, would, in the event of criminal proceedings, testify to his integrity, but the snake-like pursuit of privilege triumphed in corrupting the judicial. Four of those persons had served on the Mansion House Committee that upheld Stead’s MT findings. Alas, as the system prevailed and the legal world came to know, Stead at trial was not permitted to call his witnesses. “Pro” and “Con” are embedded in “pro tried” for the prevailing system and “Contestimony” against the system and against the Dissenters, not the Anglican church, providing “Benefit of clergy.” Thus the snake wiggles. Beneficial clergy would embrace the Dissenter Reverend Spurgeon and the Mansion House Committee. “Greatwheel Dunlop” places Stead’s fate in the heavens: His Thing Mod [Viking parliament; Stead’s jury] have undone him: and his madthing [Maiden Tribute] has done him man. His beneficiaries [of the C.L.A. Act] are legion in the part he created [as “Secret Commissioner” of MT]: they number up his years. Greatwheel [superintendent and cycles of progression] Dunlop was the name was on him: behung, all we are his bisaacles [beneficiaries, bicycle tires make the system go]. (58.01–04).

Stead’s twin passions for helping his fellowman and promoting cycling gained the attention of a caricaturist in 1894 by his offer of his own grounds at Cambridge House for overnight accommodation; he erected a large tent for shelter of long-distance cyclists (Illus. “Steadfast Supporter” depicts a tramp who stole a cycle saying “We doss on Mr. Stead’s lawn free” (Illus. R 10: 84). Anything that wriggles or writhes is suspect in the empire of the snake, stemming from Eden, which was “the farst wriggle from the ubivence” (356.12); mythology may be scorned as unscientific, but it records human thought. The snake as a scorned low form of life also forms in its wriggles the first conscious effort at life. All other materials stirring into life are noticed in “a foist edition,” as though he were “a wrigular writher neonovene babe!” (291.28) of the new year. Anna Livia’s own emergence from childhood occurred when she fell over a spillway “and lay and wriggled in all the stagnant black pools of rainy” (204.17); the chapter 5 letter has its origins in vague “wriggles and juxtaposed jottings” (118.30). However, whereas Joyce restrained inclusion of prominent Browns to avoid competition with the booksellers, so snakes and snake attributes are similarly selected. After Stead-Earwicker made of his jail confinement a “reinvented T.N.T. bombingpost” (77.05) to continue editing his newspaper and promoting his concepts; eventually an atom smasher “expolodotonates” (353.24) as acknowledged by Butt and Taff and atomic energy. True, other contexts may analo-

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gize an explosion of clapping when a performer is “hissed off the stage,” but Joyce restrained control of his text and never puts a live snake on stage to hiss, possibly because such would conflict with the extreme reverence he held for the stage. Rather, Joyce stays close to the myth of Edenic seduction; in this sense, Anna Livia, not Shem or Earwicker, is the behind-the-scenes protagonist. When emerging from environmental seclusion, Anna Livia resents the snakes among her acquaintances; and slander outlasts all else of injustices committed by one’s unlovable neighbor. She expresses her furious indignation in her closing letter: “Sneakers in the grass, keep off!” (615.28), wherewith the best she can do is to propose that their whispers are intended for Earwicker’s enlightenment. They are “the me craws [or crawls], namely” (615.30) of whom McHugh specifies Daniel McGrath of Dublin, another grocer and publican. For such who strive for profits ahead of patriotism, she exclaims against commercial competition, “the [imported Danish] bacon what harmed [Irish] butter” (615.31). She does not affirm “Arrusted” for Pappie but only vague rumors against him carried by “those slimes up the cavern door around you, keenin” what they “had the shames to suggest,” apparently an assignation; she fumes “Never! So may the low forget him their trespasses” (615.34–36); Lily Kinsella’s “pulling a low” (618.17) stamps this activity with unspeakable disapproval. Anna’s spouse loves to tease salesladies for “their affectionate company. His real devotes,” an innocent devotion to which her reply is “Wriggling reptiles, take notice! Whereas we exgust all such sprinkling snigs/snickers,” with “the committee of amusance” and considers whether public notice would render it “able to be seen” (616.16–19). Even revered icons of the sacred past could be destroyed by brilliant stabs of humor, in which John Stanislaus Joyce excelled; he could “pillow/bellow his head off to conjure up a, well, a particularly mean stinker like funn make [making fun of Finn McCool] called Foon MacCrawl brothers, mystery man of the pork/Park martyrs [Phoenix Park murders of Cavendish and Burke in 1882]” (617.11). Slander emerges like a snake out of hiding in the Dublin underworld. Anna Livia sees “felicious coolpose” everywhere: If all the MacCrawls would only handle virgils/virgins like Armsworks, Limited [explosives]!” (618.01). An advertisement for bacon was “Pale bellies our mild cure, back and streaky ninepence” (618.07). The washerwomen’s “Ellis on quay” bearing the nubile letters L is on K “in scarlet thread” is Kinsella’s Lilith (205.07–11) who “became the wife of Mr Sneakers for her good name” (618.05). While the cad is indifferent to marriage, himself being a transvestite, he allows her to marry himself, the ceremony performed by the kissing solicitor. Whereas “the cad with the pipe” is Cockney “cad with the pope’s wife,” the cad is the one nicknamed “the Pope” and “Lily Kinsella” is she

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“who became the wife of Mr Sneakers for her good name” and who violates the good name while being seen on a sofa “pulling a low” (618,17). What Anna sees is that marriage does not quell the lure of sexual curiosity, herself included; she remembers her own participation in a sex game of hide-and-seek when she was taken by surprise, apparently in a store, and “near fell off the pile of samples,” which she follows by questioning the various rumors about her husband’s common practice of impromptu acting (624.32–625.05), and for herself, she could tell him “all sorts of makeup things” (624.32–625.05), and possibly he could play “the king of Aeships” (625.04). If the snake is the sexual lure, the empire of the snake exists wherever the empire is human, and teaches an overwhelming tolerance for “forgive us our sins as we forgive others.” Anna Livia sums up: “Allgearls is wea” [informed and experienced] (626.03) and “All men has done something” (621.32), this one best left to the imagination. Accepting that the Ice Age extinguished the possibility of squirming native specimens on the mainland from thriving on the island of Ireland, Joyce explores further what could be said of aeons of geographic undulations. Along with human imposter snakes, there is another: a proposition that the spirit of Finn resides in the hump of Howth and further, that the island lies in the water like a sleeping whale eventually to be lured awake by the siren call of the waiting maiden. THE WHALE’S AWAY WITH THE GRAYLING The snakes are numerous, mortal, and endemic. The whale is singular, immortal, and mythological, a giant, in Joyce’s creation, abiding in the harbor and blessing with its bulk imaginatively stretched throughout the land, ever rejuvenating, an immanence that escaped the imposition of the Judeo-Christian transcendent deity when St. Patrick closed the Ophis workshop. To accomplish this displacement in one generation or one hundred years was indeed a miracle. However, the march of millions of church-goers seeking the blessings of God has been unsuccessful in banishing completely the former faith, nor does anyone wish to. Joyce saw it preserved in the harbor whale of Irish geography in Galway when he perceived the whale shape once again, always engendering the creation motif: how the world and its beings came into existence. After St. Patrick, the West’s Judeo-Christian concept of a transcendent deity tended to demonize as superstition the many forms of the Eastern concept of immanence, a life force sacred in all living things. Joyce reminds his readers of the East-West blend in constructions like “Sankya Moondy” combining American hymn writers Moody and Sankey with Sakya Muni for the Buddha, the combined form playing “his mango tricks under the mysttet-

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ry, with shady apsaras sheltering in his leaves’ licence” (60.19–20). Rather than transcendence (the deity above and beyond) Joyce’s discerning absorption of cultural history favors immanence (present in all things) that is present on the landscape in the shape of the “sleeping” whale in the harbor. The soul must abide somewhere while awaiting rebirth. Joseph Campbell in his Hero with a Thousand Faces marks “the belly of the whale” for the last stage of the hero’s separation from the world, “a form of self-annihilation” in which “the hero goes inward, to be born again.” Joyce’s hero will be “reborn” when he responds to the call of the female. Sleeping and capable of being roused by the female voice, the humanized whale (male) of Joyce’s creation binds with the free-roving female (grayling). Opposite of the snake in popular culture, the whale promotes humor. “Very like a whale,” Fraser explains, is “Very much like a cock-and-bull story.” Polonius’ compares a cloud to a camel, and then to a weasel and, with approval of the courtier, Hamlet adds “Or like a whale,” to which Polonius answers “Very like a whale.” Joyce links the whale with the titular ballad, “Lave a whale a while in a whillbarrow (isn’t it the truath I’m tallin ye?) to have fins and flippers that shimmy and shake” (15.24–26). The children of the Joyce family used a wheelbarrow for invented games, as Peter Costello muses in James Joyce: The Years of Growth, In Bray, “James and the children played a game of Hell in which he took the part of the Devil. His Satanic Majesty’s victims were placed under an inverted wheelbarrow, while James spun the wheel (representing the bellows) crying ‘Hotter, hotter, hotter.’ He also took the part of Satan in a tableau of the Garden of Eden, in which his sister Margaret played Eve and [brother] Stanislaus Adam” (Costello 70). Wheelbarrows challenged the caricaturists rather frequently and would have been used to transport corpses during a cholera epidemic. Punch of 15 August 1885 sketched “cholera” in the upper left while a British imperial figure of John Bull slept folded in a wheelbarrow like a sleeping whale with head down while the Inspector of Nuisances prods him with an umbrella issuing “one warning more!” The scene is a Mud-Salad Market where nothing is growing, tools are abandoned, and the Inspector scolds: “Now, then, my noble stick-in-the-mud, I’ve told you to clear up this place long ago. Wake up, or it will be too late!” (Illus.) Fearful of German industrial competition, Stead authored a series titled “Wake up! John Bull.” Naturally everyone speculates how long it’s been that this earth home has been experiencing the present species-growth process. The “Stead Script” in From Four Who Are Dead offers Stead’s Afterlife perceptions that took him back to the origins of life, “far back to the far-off day before man came, then before the great beasts came, when crawling water covered the soft ground and the air was a thick mist, and farther still into the dimness of cooling fires wherein was no life” (Four 182). At the stage in the evolutionary process

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now in consideration, a whale has been immobilized on the landscape and similarly caught Joyce’s attention at Galway. “At the mouth of the gulf, the three Aran islands, lying on the waters like a sleeping whale, form a natural breakwater and take the force of the Atlantic waves” (CW 229). In Ulysses the image was in view in Dublin: “They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the water like the snout of a sleeping whale” (U 1: 181–2), or “very like a whale.” Since “snout” is for breathing, the sleeper will awaken for the progress of humanity, or he must be prodded to waken and resume his earthly purpose. Persons living at the edge of the sea were conscious of the large mammal’s presence in the human element; a whale carcass on land was prized for food and housing, in that the skeleton was accommodated for the structure. Thomas Carlyle spoke of a sea journey as going “to the whale.” Following the motif of the whale produces an unexpected development. The whale, in particular the distant view of it, is necessary to complete the atlas of the Wakean world and, in the opposite particular, to house the Irish soul that will awaken. The Greek combined form Brontoichthys would occur to Joyce as “thunder fish” to expand the scope of the thunder of Stead’s Maiden Tribute; and, third, the time element brings the past into the present. Evidence of the earliest arrival of the foreigner in Finnegans Wake was a whale, carved on the Irish landscape and, almost simultaneously, the arrival of the tempting female to awaken the sleeping giant. Joyce had concealed the “dark sir” endangerment in foreign languages; now the same technique obscures the sexual element of the whale with allusion to the magistrate Judge Williams, who, preceding Stead’s trial in 1885, died upon entering a brothel (Playfair 79). On Ben Howth a nannygoat is noted in Ulysses (U 8: 911), and, in this location, the Latin “obscurity.” The text is remarkable for a landscape alive with participation in the affairs of the people and integration with the progress of the novel: Yet may we not see still the brontoichthyan [thunderfish] form outlined aslumbered, even in our own nighttime by the sedge of the troutling stream that Bronto loved and Brunto/brunt [thunder and impact] has a lean/lien on. Hic cubat edilis. Apud libertinam parvulam [tr here sleeps the magistrate with the little freed-girl, an MT rescue.] “What if she be in flags [iris flower] or flitters, reekierags or sundyechosies/things, with a mint of mines or beggar a pinnyweight. Arrah, sure, we all love little Anny Ruiny/Rooney [s.], or, we mean to say, lovelittle Anna Rayiny, when unda [wave] her brella, mid piddle med puddle, she ninnygoes nannygoes nancing by. Yoh! Brontolone [grumbler] slaaps, yoh snoores. Upon Benn Heather, in Seeple Isout/Chapelizod too. The cranic head [cranium] on him, caster of his reasons, peer yuthner in yondmist. Whooth? His clay feet, swarded in verdigrass, stick up starck where he last fellonem [hills of Phoenix Park], by the mund/mound of the magazine wall, where our maggy seen all, with her sisterin shawl. (7.20–32)

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The whale’s arrival gains prominence with the legendary benchmark date of 1132, an adaptation of the Dublin Annuals inscription of a shoal of whales cast ashore in 1351; incrementally for the date’s importance, the founder Lawrence O’Toole’s birth was 1132. The purpose of the whale now appears to be the nation’s fertility: 1132 A.D. Men like to ants or emmets [from skyview of earth] wondern upon a groot hwide Whallfisk which lay in a Runnel/rivulet. Blubby wares [wars for capture of whale meat] upat Ublanium/Eblana. (13.33–35)

Those are wars of conquest for the female and wars of the Irish versus the invader, of which Finn MacCool’s part is synecdochical; he is a “floodsupplier of celiculation/circulation through ebblanes; a part of the whole as a port for a whale” (135.28–29). John V. Kelleher quotes Julius Pokorny’s Irland while speculating that the Irish weapon called the gaí Bulga could have been an Eskimo harpoon, “which is provided with a throwing-stick, and a seal-skin bladder. It was named after the bladder (bolg), which is tied to the harpoon by a long string, and serves to facilitate its recovery from the water” (69). “The weapon used against HCE,” Kelleher continues, “in his manifestation as a whale would inevitably be a harpoon, not necessarily Pokorny’s” (70). Joyce makes the whale the possessor of a gigantic sexual weapon, and the “bowmpriss” (197.35) the weapon wielded by HCE against the female as he rams his vessel ashore. Here is the transference from sleeping whale to active, sexually productive whale, and Joyce may have conceived of the transfer while examining the scene in Galway, where an ancient map by Henry Joyce shows “the old pigeon house located in the southern part of the city” (CW 231). Weston St. John Joyce in The Neighborhood of Dublin (first impression 1912) comments on the necessity to afford shelter for shipping by protecting the harbor during storms and high tides. At “the pale ends,” port authorities erected a massive watch house and store house which became a resort for visitors: A man named Pidgeon who lived in the wooden house and acted as caretaker of the works and tools, finding the place become such a public resort, fitted out his quarters as neatly as possible, and, assisted by his wife and family, made arrangements for supplying meals and refreshments to visitors. He also purchased a boat to hire to his guests, had it painted and finished in an attractive manner, and as he dealt with only the best class of visitors, his rude hostelry soon grew to be a noted resort of distinguished citizens and wits, while the owner found himself on the fair road to fortune. His house came to be known to all the Dublin folk as “Pidgeon’s House,” or the Pigeonhouse, and even after he and his family were gone the way of all flesh, and the old building, having served its purpose, had fallen into decay, the name was perpetuated in the title of the stronghold that in after years rose over its ruins” (7).

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Weston Joyce also offers a photograph from 1895 of the “Entrance to the Pigeonhouse Fort.” This familiar environment of James Joyce “appears to have been built partly for the purpose of a repository for State papers, bullion, and other valuables in time of disturbance, and partly for defence of the Port” (8). Who would have “thunk” it! The two washerwomen are discussing the conquest of Anna Livia: [Teller] By the smell of her kelp they made the pigeonhouse. [Asker]. Like fun they did! But where was Himself, the timoneer [helmsman]? [Teller]. That marchantman he suivied their scutties [small boats] right over the wash, his cameleer’s burnous [hooded cloak] breezing up on him, till with his runagate bowmpriss [bowsprit] he roade and borst her bar. [Asker]. Pilcomayo! Suchcaughtawan/Saskatchewan! [Teller] And the whale’s away with the grayling! (197.31–36)

The evolution of the manstrength of the whale mentioned previously authenticates the variation on the Ballad: “Lave a whale a while in a whillbarrow . . . to have fins and flippers that shimmy and shake” (15.24–25), and two whales on the sea of deceit a cover for sexual corruption of both parties, male and female. Capture of large prospects is implied in the explanation of whale genitals in a wheelbarrow that occurs in chapter 14, where Shaun gloats on the joys and adventure of sea travel, a mating with the brine: “I feel like that hill of a whaler went yulding around Groenmund’s [grown men’s] Circus with his tree full of seaweeds and Dinky Doll asleep in her shell. Hazelridge [old name of Dublin] has seen me. Jerne valing [Jules Verne] is. Squall aboard for Kew [Irish archives in London] . . . The brine’s my bride to be” (469.15–19). The search for Irish records is indeed a whale of a task. Oddly, the image reverts to the financial fiction of Stead’s windfall from the MT, for generally the quires of newspapers were priced by the guinea and left on the dock: “How did he bank it up, swank it up, the whaler in the punt, a guinea by a groat [four pence], his index [finger] on the balance and such wealth into the bargain, with the boguey [bouquet: flower maiden] which he snatched [Eliza Armstrong] in the baggage coach ahead?” (589.12–15). Of course Stead never travelled with a maiden, a whale of a corruptive implication. The journey is evaluated through a series of comments; its arrival is obvious, as Glugg in chapter 9 evaluates Earwicker’s modus operandi and ends with the two maidens and three soldiers: he coaxyorum a pennysilvers offarings bloadonages [blood oranges] with candid zuckers on Spinshesses Walk in presents to lilithe [Stead called Eliza “Lily”] maidinettes for at bloo his noose for him with pruriest pollygameous inatentions (241.02–05). . . . Of so little is her timentrousnest [timidity and trousseau] great for greeting his immensesness (241.10) . . . They [Berbers and Bedouins] whiteliveried ragsups, two Whales of the Sea of Deceit [compared

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Chapter 10 with camel as “whale of the desert”], they bloodiblabstard shooters, three Dromedaries of the Sands of Calumdonia/Caledonia” (241.28–30).

Whales of the Sea of Deceit is the expectation of Brewer and the “cock and bull story.” Everything in Finnegans Wake appears to connect with everything else. The biological conundrum that Earwicker brings with him into Phoenix Park “comes with the territory.” The hump of Howth blends skillfully with the human counterpart while the mountain-Earwicker struggles to awake: “Whath? Hear, O hear, living of the land! Hungreb, dead era, hark! He hea, eyes ravenous on her lippling lills. He hear her voi of day gon by. He hears!” (68.25–27). But he cannot answer; he will be forever struggling to “awake.” They will not breathe “the secrest of their soorcelossness. Quarry silex, Homfrie Noanswa! Undy gentian festyknees [ecclesiastical Latin transmuted for English visual], Livia Noanswa?” (23.18–21). Thus Joyce presents the mystery of the origin of life, and leaves it a mystery. Metaphysics still has “Noanswa.” The answer that Afterlife Stead gave in From Four Who Are Dead is that now is too soon to know. Afterlife-Stead supports (1) Joyce’s view of the preservation of thought: “Knowledge does not disappear and die; it is ‘preserved in time,’ and we have only to turn back the leaves of that tremendous book” (Four 190). This is a primary function of Finnegans Wake, showing that thoughts as well as words are preserved in time, and (2) the male and female “are the two principles of material life. In another universe these principles may be united, but I only know of this” (Four 191). Once the whale has “broke the bar” coming ashore, he is another invader, like Patrick’s snakes that came “from triangular Toucheaterre beyond the wet prairie rared up in the midst of the cargon of prohibitive pomefructs” (19.13–15), the Edenic apples. Patrick “cotched the creeps of them.” But he was also a founder. WHERE ISSY’S SNAKES ARE UNDER CLOVER Despite the entire range of snake lore that Joyce could plunder, the subject of the quest is Issy, who has known her own particular snake, the father of her unborn child. It begins with the midden letter quoted in chapter 4 of this work and pairs Christie’s Auctions with the sale of maidens and the preferred notion that a priest’s seduction is a “virgin” birth: “with a lovely face of some born gentleman with a beautiful present of wedding cakes for dear thankyou Chriesty and with grand funferall of poor Father Michael [priest seducer] don’t forget until life’s [end; wedding vow]” (111.13–15). She harbors no resentment of Father Michael, whom she calls “poor” as if sympathizing with him. She deals with her pregnancy practically, blaming neither herself nor Father Michael (who drops out of the narration), only retaining her dream of

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herself as a Presentation nun. The story’s exactnesses of time and place argue for a different Father Michael of the Bolsheviks “about this red time of the white terror” (116.07); there is no other competing Father Michael, while Father Gapon became a martyr to peaceful protest in St. Petersburg as part of the Russian revolution of 1905 (Baylen, Tsar’s Lecturer 67). After a brief consideration of suicide, Issy moves into the next phase. Her age advances to eighteen, when, as a widow, she captures her dream of a lover. The Vatican passage quoted previously needs to be reconsidered: “snakes in clover; picked and scotched [Picts and Scots], and a vaticanned viper [as a priest, Father Michael has been blessed by the Vatican] catcher’s visa for Patsy Presbys [old man in search of maiden] (210.26–27). The Picts and Scots of old time and Father Michael, Issy’s original snake, are under clover, under sod. The mystery of Issy’s fate is resolved in chapter 16, wherein the BritishIrish experience absorbs Issy’s tragedy. With Joyce’s system of multiplexing, it is disguised by ongoing theatrical performances. It appears that Issy’s pregnancy has ended in abortion, similar to that which Joyce directed, according to Carol Loeb Schloss, for Lucia in 1933 who noticed that in May of 1933 Joyce and Nora “took Lucia with them to Zurich, where Joyce was to have another eye examination with Dr. Vogt. For the time being Dr.Vignes was left behind and, along with him, one of the most puzzling moves in the Joyces’ many attempts to help Lucia. Dr. Vignes was not a nerve specialist but an obstetrician/gynecologist” (Shloss 256). Carol Shloss traces further details that offer Dominique Maroger’s memory that Lucia stopped dancing “on account of an accident of health” and with Lucia’s own memory that “it was dangerous for me to become pregnant . . . And I was not able to have the child.” Moreover, “we might have a ghost story that underlies and explains both the silences in the available record and the inconsistencies in the account that Ellmann constructed” (Shloss 257). While Ellmann protected the family secret, other persons who came too close would be confronted with obstruction to publication. The family’s attempt to sequester Lucia’s abortion would explain their opposition to publication of Joyce papers. Thankfully, not to over-simplify, Joyce also offers Apnorval in a chapter 16 (III.4) setting of stage plays when the answer to the earlier, chapter 14, question whether Ireland’s verdure will vanish challenges Shaun, as he interprets the question, to a defense of the pervasive green Irish dramatic talent. With relief, the play actors who will produce themselves are “two genitalmen of Veruno, Senior Nowno [Now Know] and Senior Brolano (finaly! finaly!) all for love of a fair penitent that, a she be broughton [brought on] rhoda’s a rosy [pregnant] she” (569.31–33). Schloss inserts “Apnorval” which represents a topic properly addressed in the “hero” chapter, after “My name is novel” (569.35), Joyce adds “songslide to nature’s solemn silence” (570.3) with attention to “traitor slave!” (569.36). In multiplex fashion, the story of

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the abortion is interwoven with an account of the theater and the hero. The play continues. Tyrone Power acted in Romeo and Juliet! “Buy our fays!” (569.34) are the Abby actors W. and F. Fay, and the hero announces himself and his purpose: “My name is novel/Norval and [I’m going] on the Granby in hills [Grandbeyond Mountains/Grampion]. Bravose!” (569.35–36). Tending his father’s flocks on the Grampion hills, Norval assisted in his father’s “constant care” to “increase his store.” Repetition provides a different interpretation, assisted by Telling [T] and Questioning [Q] narrators, in which Joyce in multiplex fashion weaves into the stage play details from his own heroic life. St. Patrick is called “traitor slave” for developing a reputation he did not deserve. For Issy’s encrypted part, read Apnorval as “abortion/approval” and in “sudden silence” one of the many actors that in the Douglas play meet tragic ends. “It will give piketurns” (570.4), those unexpected upsets on the life’s journey. In “gat her!” “gat” was old-fashioned for a child: that is, the result of procreation. How they strave to gat her! Such a boyplay! Their bouchicaulture! [playwright Dion Boucicault] [Q] What tyronte power! Buy our fays! My name is novel and on the Granby in hills. Brovose! Thou traitor slave! Mine name’s Apnorval [hero is unknown; Joyce signs papers for abortion] and o’er the Grandbeyond [beyond compare] Mountains [hero’s birth is obscure and prophetic]. Bravossimost! The royal nusick their show shall shut with songslide to nature’s solemn silence [death]. Deep Dalchi Dolando [lament/sorrow; Lucia Joyce’s abortion]! Might gentle harp [Moore s.] addurge! It will give piketurns on the tummlipplads [abdomen or playground] and forain [open air] dances and crosshurdles and dollmanovers and viceuvious/Vesuvius pyrolyphics [fiery hieroglyphics], a snow of dawnflakes, at darkfall for Grace’s Mamnesty [Grace O’Malley: gracious majesty] and our fancy ladies [all players in the play] all assombred [saddened]. (569.35–570.07)

An abortion mixes relief with regret and loss discussed by Questioner and Teller: [T] Some wholetime/helltime in hot town tonight [s.]! [Q] You do not have heard? It stays in book of that which is [Egyptian Underworld]. [T] I have heard anyone tell it jesterday (master courier with brassard [armlet of appointment] was’t) how one should come on morrow here [hero’s arrival told in legend] but it is never here that one today [better news never comes]. [Q] Well but remind to think, you where yestoday Ys Morganas war [Morgana le Fay] and that it is always tomorrow in toth’s tother’s [vulva] place. Amen. (570.07–13).

The hero follows his daughter over the Grampian hills into a strange land that Carol Shloss narrated for Lucia, possibly to have a child when conditions

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are better, “in toth’s tother’s place.” The hero, having lived and passed into history, necessarily belongs for return to the tomorrow that never comes. The Joyces had difficult decisions to make and would do anything to preserve their beautiful child. Lucia was the only girl they loved, as she is the queenly pearl you prize, because of the way the night that first we met [s.] she is bound to be, methinks, and not in vain, the darling of my heart [s.], sleeping in her april cot, within her singachamer, with her greengageflavoured candywhistle duetted to the crazyquilt, Isobel, she is so pretty, truth to tell, wildwood’s eyes and primarose hair, quietly, all the woods so wild, in mauves of moss and daphnedews [Daphne goddess], how all so still she lay, neath of the whitethorn, child of tree, like some losthappy leaf, like blowing flower stilled [s.], as fain would she anon, for soon again ‘twill be, win me, woo me, wed me, ah weary me [Vico’s cycles]! deeply, now evencalm lay sleeping (556.11–22).

It may well be the view of the father Joyce looking on his beautiful daughter, the queenly pearl he prized. Issy is a survivor. In total, Issy, with primrose hair and Daphne dews, personifies the Quinet motif; flowers survive not only wars but all of a maiden’s personal life’s defeats.

Chapter Eleven

The Encrypted Hero of Finnegans Wake

W. T. Stead surmised, “Humanity has always known there is something beyond,” a power assuring eventual understanding and possibly spiritual reward. From the ancient past, the hero accomplished the extraordinary deeds, and the Teller made a profession of praising them. From Eremon downward, writes Seumas MacManus, “The carefully trained filé, who was poet, historian, and philosopher, was consecrated to the work . . . was seldom known to deviate from the truth in anything of importance” (12). The “blaze of Bardic light,” wrote Standish O’Grady, was understood in a country in which “the ard-ollam was equal in dignity to the King . . . illumined with that light which never was on sea or land‒‒thronging with heroic forms of men and women‒‒terrible with the presence of the supernatural and its overreaching power” (MacManus 13). W. T. Stead was outstanding in that he combined the two functions. With determined evangelistic zeal he sought heroically to improve the state of the people; in god-driven journalistic zeal he told the tales. Topics featured in this chapter begin with Joyce’s essay “The City of Tribes” and travel through the methods by which Stead achieved improvements for the British public, Joseph Campbell’s Quest and Ireland’s Finn MacCool, How the Hero Conquers Defeat, A Horse Named Saint Ladas, “Pappie” the Hero of Roderick O’Conor, and the Stead-Campbell Monomyth. It will be discovered that Joyce proposed the qualities of the hero that Campbell made famous in his Hero with a Thousand Faces. JOYCE’S QUEST FOR MYSTICAL MEANINGS In 1912 Joyce visited Galway and inscribed in his essay City of the Tribes his fascination with a “curious document, left by an Italian traveler of the sixteenth century in which the writer claims that, although he had travelled 351

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throughout the world, he had never seen in a single glance what he saw in Galway—a priest elevating the Host, a pack chasing a deer, a ship entering the harbor in full sail, and a salmon being killed with a spear” (CW 230). These are clearly Druidic powers, and a heiroglyph of Finn MacCool, that enabled Finn—as Joyce adapted it—to “see at one blick” all of these: “a saumon taken with a lance [the Fiana’s skill], hunters pursuing a doe, a swallowship [designed like a bird, patented in the Royal Navy from 1497 onward] in full sail, a whyterobe lifting a host” (139.2–4). The “whyterobe” is one of three citations of Frederick Whyte’s 1925 biography of W. T. Stead (also 64.21, 223.17). It should be mentioned in passing that the “whyterobe” probably occurred to Joyce, in connection with Saint Patrick. J. M. Flood records in his Ireland: Its Saints and Scholars that when Patrick and his attendants met Ethnea and Felimia, two daughters of King Leary, “The sisters at first thought that St. Patrick and his whiterobed companions were Duine Sidhe or fairies” (Flood 14). Joyce clearly intended the spelling whyterobe. Why the travelling autobiographer should be credited with priestly skills apostrophizes a further range of speculation verifying the “everyman” hero whose lineaments Joyce specified (bowing to Jesse Weston) as “priest and king to that” (58.05). Certainly, decreed Thomas Carlyle, the true king “has ever something of the Pontiff in him” (Heroes 199), and Stead was apostrophized “king of journalists.” Finn MacCool officiates as hierophant of these dual demanding responsibilities, told by scops around the campfires and in the banquet halls. The sacred task of the filé endows Joyce with a consciousness of the value of the mechanized printed word and a certainty that “The war is in words and the wood is the world” (98.35). Robert Graves in The White Goddess traced the backgrounds of this philosophy in that “‘Beech’ is a common synonym for ‘literature.’ The English word ‘book,’ for example, comes from a Gothic word meaning letters, and like the German buchstabe, is etymologically connected with the word ‘beech’—the reason being that writing tablets were made of beech” (38). One of Joyce’s most ingenious linkages is that of the all-important hen letter with the wisdom of the woods: “You most shouts out: Bethicket me for a stump of a beech if I have the poultriest notions what the farest he all means” (112.05). Or a document may be a “wood” and serve a maiden being wooed. After Stead’s Law warning the maiden to marry before being victimized by a sex sleuth, the “maiden” is scolded: “What are you doing your dirty minx and his big treeblock [the Maiden Tribute] way up your path?” (80.30). The dual contribution of SteadEarwicker is Stead’s doing the deed and articulating it in printed words that do not perish. The “whyterobe” passage further enlightens the certainty that much description of “Finn MacCool!” (139.14) ‒‒the answer to the novel’s first

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question in the Wake’s chapter 6‒‒is W. T. Stead. It begins “with one touch of nature set a veiled world agrin [the “improper” language of the MT] and went within a sheet of tissuepaper [newspapers were “tissues”] of the option of three gaols [Stead’s occupation of Newgate, Coldbath, and Holloway]; who could see at one blick a saumon taken with a lance, hunters pursuing a doe, a swallowship in full sail, a whyterobe lifting a host” (139.01–04). In multitextual language, Joyce wraps “priest and king” into the package of the hero; the dual role of the hero is expounded in Jesse Weston’s From Ritual to Romance (1920), her admirable work devoted to the quest for the Holy Grail. Multitextual signage serves as a type of shorthand that is easily penetrated. John Boyd Dunlop’s pneumatic bicycle tires ran Stead’s bicycle, and Dunlop ads ran daily in his short-lived Daily Paper of 1904; another Dunlop was Superintendent of Police and assisted Stead during the MT. Joyce allows “Dunlop” to represent figuratively the great protective circle of the cosmos and the broad extent of Stead’s efforts within it; and “we” as his “bicycles” wheel forth his reform efforts. Further, Stead’s home on Hayling Island was covered with ivy and served as a retreat from the hurly-burly of the city. Ivy, pertaining to the MT, is “a feminine symbol denoting a force in need of protection,” the very task Stead set for himself in launching the MT. James Branch was the sympathetic foreman of the jury that, unwillingly, convicted Stead of abduction and indecent assault. Ovid tells the tale of Diana (Artemis) and the hunter Actaeon who spied upon her when she was naked; for punishment, the gods transformed him into a stag to be killed by his own hounds. Such simple referents connect W. T. Stead in his daily living with the vast cycles and purposes of the universe, and turn him into the model for Joyce’s hero: His Thing Mod [Stead’s law; the Old Bailey] have undone him [disgraced him with criminal conviction]: and his madthing [reform zeal] has done him man [made a leading man of him]. His beneficiaries [women] are legion in the part he created; they number up his years [he worked for the cause all his life]. Greatwheel Dunlop [the universe] was the name was on him: behung [descended], all we are his bisaacles/bicycles. As hollyday in his house [Stead’s Sunday worship] so was he priest and king to that; ulvy came, envy saw, ivy conquered. Lou! Lou! [female plus “loo,” the “filth” of the MT]. They have waved his green boughs [healthy growth of the nation] o’er him as they have torn him limb from lamb [hounded like Actaeon for publishing “filth”]. (58.01–08)

From simple details from Stead’s life, such as the name James Branch as foreman of Stead’s jury, Joyce penetrates the maze of facts of life to build a case for Stead as Campbell’s hero of a thousand faces. Stead would be the first to acclaim the “dirt-encrusted tramp” who became a hero of the legitimate grin, and Stead advertised the advertisement by reproducing the carica-

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ture on the back cover of many publications. Joyce made him the hero of the chilly dawn: “Guld modning, have yous viewed Piers’ aube? Thane years agon we have used yoors up since when we have fused now orther” (593.9–11).

Figure 11.1. The Pears’ soap tramp: “Guld modning, have yous viewed Piers’ aube? Thane years agon we have used yoors up since when we have fused now orther” (539.9-11).

CAMPBELL’S QUEST AND FINN MACCOOL Modeling Campbell’s journeying hero, Finn MacCool begins with abandonment as an infant. Finn’s father rejected his mother, who was pregnant, and ordered her burned; King Conn of the Hundred Battles imposed “supernatural aid.” He ordered Finn brought up in secret while learning to hunt and to fight. When studying “to learn wisdom and the art of poetry,” he was tutored

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by the poet Finn Eces or Finnegan who directed the child to tend a salmon cooking; Finn famously burned his thumb, put his thumb in his mouth (596.06), and gained all the salmon’s wisdom. Such “supernatural aid” is imprinted akasha-like on the atmosphere: “One might hear in their beyond that lion roar in the air again, the zoohoohoom of Felin make Call [Finn MacCool]. Bruin [bear; Sir Bruin in German Reynard the Fox] goes to Noble [lion in Caxton’s ed. of Reynard the Fox], aver who is? (488.13–15) Retellings make light of the Dermot and Grania love story as something of a distraction, an unflattering parody of the “real hero” and inconsistent with Finn’s nobility. Dermot of the Love Spot was “so fair and noble to look on that no woman could refuse him love.” When the “old man” Finn wed Grania, daughter of Cormac the High King, she had already bound Dermot “by the sacred ordinances of the Fian chivalry to fly with her on her wedding night.” When he “got his death” thereby, she returned to Finn, “and when the Fiana saw her they laughed through all the camp in bitter mockery, for they would not have given one of the dead man’s fingers for twenty such as Grania” (Rolleston 138). Joyce reserves some of his telling for Tristan and Isolde. For Joyce the chief legendary occupant of the Irish Valhalla was Finn MacCool who lends his name to the novel’s title and whose spirit abides and would be reborn as fixed in vague legendry, but there is no MacCool episode, as there is a Wellington/Willingdone episode. Not only has Finn’s prowess become part of the fabric of Ireland’s heritage, but also, as O Hehir explains, “From the stories and from the Annals (see Four Masters), a great deal of information can be derived about Fionn—almost everything, in fact, but evidence of his actual historical existence.” O Hehir provides fetching examples of incongruities, such as “Fionn’s death is placed by the Annalists either in 252 or 283 [which Joyce favors], making him, presumably, either an improbable seventy-eight or an impossible one hundred and nine at the time” (O Hehir 419–20). From the tale of his “fum in mou” that gave him divine wisdom, any of the many references to salmon evoke his presence. Otherwise, Finn’s prowess, if it exists, must be told in various stages of awareness and varying conditions of anonymity; and the specificity of the epic hero of Finnegans Wake began biographically with Joyce himself and his family. Passages concerning Finn’s activities chart the steps by which Joyce reached Campbell’s ultimate comprehension, of which Joyce had already composed a fill-in-the-blanks passage to illustrate the common qualities that Campbell developed after. Possibly Campbell unconsciously absorbed Joyce’s clear comprehension of the hero’s journey, which Joyce called “a multimirror megaron of returningties, whirled without end to end,” and for which he provided the skeleton:

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Chapter 11 So there was a raughty . . . who in Dyfflinsborg did . . . With his soddering iron, spadeaway, hammerlegs and . . . Where there was a fair young . . . Who was playing her game of . . . And said she you rockaby . . . Will you peddle in my bog . . . And he sod her in Iaarland, paved her way from Maizenhead to Youghal. And that’s how Humpfrey, champion emir, holds his own. Shysweet, she rests (582.20–27). MacMahon on leaving Crimea said “J’y suis, j’y reste.”

Whereas Joseph Campbell roamed the world of manuscripts to pluck his textual examples that demonstrate the hero’s journey, often with one hero authenticating only one stage, Joyce processed all of them at home with himself and his contemporaries in Dublin. The setting is primarily the year 1904 when Joyce left Dublin with Nora and Stead suffered the defeat of his Daily Paper and, seeking recuperation, visited South Africa. Secondarily the setting is all of Irish history until Ireland achieved its independence from Britain and further illuminating events occurred after. The first onstage personal presence complicating the concept “everyman” hero is Joyce himself, and the second is his father “Pappie”; and thereafter family and friends, particularly Issy in the role of Joyce’s daughter Lucia; all of these complement a story of the “hero with a thousand faces.” Joyce welded a massive hero-journey process in such overwhelming structures of compacted lucidity that the Stead origins of the Campbell-typehero has escaped notice, even by Campbell himself. The exception, which does not at this point in the telling serve the purpose being sought but will assume significance later, is Campbell’s quotation of the Portrait to distinguish tragedy and comedy: “Pity is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the human sufferer. Terror is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatsoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the secret cause” (AP 204; Hero 26). Campbell set forth his definition of myth, with its priestly, kingly, and deific functions by declaring that “myth is the secret opening through which the inexhaustible energies of the cosmos pour into human cultural manifestation” (3). In considering “The Hero as God,” Campbell introduces the topic with “The standard path of the mythological adventure of the hero is a magnification of the formula represented in the rites of passage: separationinitiation-return: which might be named the nuclear unit of the monomyth.” Footnoting his use of the word “monomyth” (581.24), Campbell acknowledged “The word monomyth is from James Joyce, Finnegans Wake (New York: Viking Press, Inc. 1939), p. 581).” Here is the oversight. By this state of progress in the puzzle, it should be evident that significant words in Finnegans Wake do not spring forth isolated and, if the word itself is not repeated, the motif support structure will provide a recognizable variant. Shem hiding out from Pappie and the Boer War moans “feebly in monkmar-

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ian monotheme” (177.02). In fact, Stead’s emerging new selves from humble assistant editor through worldclass peacemaker make evident “the inexhaustible energies of the cosmos” with which humanity struggles forth without understanding why. Commonly several heroes illustrate stages of separation, initiation, and return that Campbell organizes and simplifies as follows: “A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered and a decisive victory is won: the hero comes back from this mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man” (30). Ulysses of the Greek myth repeatedly encounters new and fabulous forces just beyond the crest of the next wave. W. T. Stead achieved the “boon” of public service that repeatedly improved the lot of humanity. Campbell assigns the phrase “the road of trials” to those numerous events that test the hero to the furthest of his mental and physical endurance wherewith each “trial” constitutes a “fall” into enlarged understanding. For Joyce, the legendary exemplar is the third century hero Finn MacCool, yclept in childhood Demne or Demni, who won a socially-unacceptable number of hurling games and was bullied; fighting back, he felled seven angry and jealous attackers and “put the rest to flight” (Rolleston 128), a predication of the future. To Stead’s embarrassment Benjamin Waugh told the story of the “legendary garter incident” when Stead at age eleven or so strove to protect a girl named Lydia who was innocent of and unconscious of seduction while tying up her garter. Stead struck the larger boy who was leering at her, and then was intolerably punched and thrown to the ground, achieving a rise and a fall almost simultaneously. Stead corrected Waugh’s notion that he was protecting the girl’s modesty; instead; he was “really inspired by a very devoted love for the girl herself” (E. Stead 17). Preferring for his childhood companions his father and his sister, Stead’s behavior was distinct from that of other children; he wrote in his reminiscences that “It was thought in the village that I was a little ‘daft,’ and the girls did not care to receive the attentions of a suitor who was more or less looked down upon and ridiculed by local public opinion” (E. Stead 42). Among possible heroes, except Cromwell whose heroism emerged in his adulthood, Stead experienced the child hero’s early tendency to embark on the hero’s path. In Stead’s Lydia incident he achieved in his childhood, like many heroes, the marking of “god’s son.” He and his sister colluded to tell the parents nothing. Moreover, his Puritanism and his father’s guidance dictated that he walk humbly in God’s ways and his father enforced modesty or “humility” regarding his achievements. Except for pride in a just cause, Stead’s upbringing prevented his realization of Anna Livia’s accolade; that he (or she) “ruz two feet hire in her aisne aestumation. And steppes on stilts ever since” (204.03). Campbell’s reward for the hero, upon his return from his journey, is that he achieves the acclaim of the populace. Such was unnec-

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essary for Stead, who probably left them behind; by the time an accolade could have been issued, he was already embarked on the next journey. That the traditional hero is somehow innocent or unaware of the forces of destiny that impose upon him is belied by Stead’s confessional (his journal) and professional (journalism) articulation of his experiences. Undeterred by humiliation, the hero keeps in mind his original purpose and weighs it to comprehend his possible course of action. As Stead told Annie Besant, he often thought the garter incident “was prophetic of a good deal that has happened to me and will happen to me through life. I get the thing done that I want to get done, but I go under pro tem. Only pro tem., because I always keep bobbing up again!” (Whyte I: 21). Stead both wittily and unwittingly synthesized the hero’s journey—his character, extraordinary achievements, and desires—as he expressed it in the pro tem phrase. The singular difference that Stead offers to the hero sagas, as Campbell told, is exactly what Robertson Scott called his “Cacoethes Scribendi” (98), in his individualism not only the desire to write but the necessity to do so. He said he “prayed with his pen,” similar to Joseph Campbell’s remark on meditation, which Campbell rejected. Campbell said “I underline sentences.” The depth of Stead’s humiliations, the higher spheres of his ambitions, all were expressed for posterity to see. Under his father’s instruction about humility, when confronted with the reversal of world-redeeming prospects achieved with the Tsar’s interview, his aspirations were crushed with his assistant E. T. Cook’s manipulation and he learned that he had instructed no one, he courageously faced bravely the reality of being flung from exaltation “almost unto the stars, now abased to the depths.” This meant that God was keeping him humble as he broached the hell of his proprietor Yates Thomson’s anger. His salary was reduced to an inadequate one thousand pounds a year, and the necessity to depart from the Pall Mall Gazette become a certainty (E. MT 121–26). Stead pondered his situation “If I cannot earn £1200 I cannot live here. But I have bought the house and so far as I can see I am meant to live here” (R. Scott 149). Joyce’s “house of Atreox is fallen indeedust” (55.03). Shaun berates Shem: “what has Your Lowness done in the mealtime . . . To let you have your plank [bed in Coldbath jail] and your bonewash [meat] (O the hastroubles you lost!), to give you your pound of platinum and a thousand thongs a year (O, you were excruciated, in honour bound to the cross of your own cruelfiction!”) (192.05–19). After the hometown lass, the next encounter with feminine pulchritude occurred on the international scene and somewhat overplays Campbell’s “meeting with the goddess”; there were three of those goddesses whose jealousy made Stead resemble the pawn of an apple of discord incident. The occasion preceded the small-type debacle during his absence in St. Petersburg. On the same journey, lodging on Tolstoy’s estate, Stead saved the

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renowned novelist from a burning hut; then at his hotel he aroused jealousy among the international beauties Princess Catherine Radziwill, Mme Novikoff, and the Irish revolutionary heroine Maude Gonne; the latter saw Stead as “an English journalist with more than ordinary force and vitality, but little culture or literary background,” which was the lack of the “university edge” that resulted from being educated at home; moreover, he had never been taught that grown men don’t cry. Maud Gonne found his “puritanical beliefs constantly warring with a sensual temperament” and found repellent the “sex obsession” that he introduced “in every conversation.” She remembered his weeping because, he said, she had “laughed at my love for you with Madame Novikoff, who was found out in a fit of jealousy.” Madame Novikoff had opened Maud Gonne’s writing case in her absence and read Stead’s “very foolish and very amorous letter” without permission. The three had not met prior to St. Petersburg. Robertson Scott, who called Stead “A Galahad,” would have found his opinion justified. After the discord incident, Maud Gonne was pleased to quote Stead’s praise of her in his Review of Reviews: “Miss Gonne is one of the most beautiful women of the world. She is an Irish heroine. . . Everywhere her beauty and her enthusiasm naturally makes an impression” (Gonne, Autobiography, 80–84). The subtitle of her book announced her a “servant of the queen,” Cathleen ni Houlihan. The incident in St. Petersburg, although intense, must have been brief. Stead had little time for philandering, and on this journey he also investigated conditions, interviewed significant personnel, and wrote much of his book Truth about Russia. The quest for beauty is noticeably tempered by education and permeates a great many endeavors. It engaged Stephen Dedalus in the Portrait to estimate the power of “the broken lights of Irish myth” in his friend Davin’s education. Stephen bewails the fact that “no individual mind had ever drawn out a line of beauty” from the myths and the “unwieldy” tales “that divided themselves as they moved down the cycles” (AP 181). What youth cared to know probably was not this. However, Joyce overcame the lack of a disputant for Stephen by establishing an Asking narrator to counter the Teller. Creation myths relate an artificial chronology of how, in the long ago, the world and its beings came into existence; Joyce embeds the chronology in human experience and merges it with present time; the “time” of Finnegans Wake is continually present tense. The senile Four Old Men have forgotten the catechism’s version of the myth, “who made the world,” but one of them asks “how our seaborne isle came into exestuance” (387.12), touching the purpose of Joyce’s “City of the Tribes” and considering the welfare of creation large and small, whale and snake. Fulfilling this cosmogony, Finn MacCool exerted his massive strength to carve out the territory and create the landscape familiar to the Irish; tearing up the turf, he brought forth Lough Neagh and the Isle of Man. Joyce’s task was to find a way to embed the Irish myth in a

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setting that elevates it above uninteresting repetition and makes it vibrant and natural. The creation of Lough Neagh bears retelling in an account of SteadEarwicker in his fallen state in jail: [Teller] so you maateskippy might [do] to you cuttinrunner on a neuw pack of klerds [tr New suit of clothes or jail uniform], [that] made him, while his body still persisted, their present of a protem grave in Moyelta [where Parthalonians died of plague] of the best [he bragged of excellent treatment at “The Castle” jail] Lough Neagh pattern [entrance to prison “the chill and silence of the grave” My First 1]; then as much in demand among misonesans [island haters; prisons on islands] as the Isle of Man today among limniphobes [lake fearers]. Wacht even! [Asking narrator: Wait a minute!] It was in fairly fishy kettlekerry, after the Fianna's foreman [Finn McCool] had taken his handful [of turf], enriched with ancient woods and dear dutchy deeplinns/Dublins mid which were an old knoll/Old Nol [Cromwell] and a troutbeck. (76.19–26)

For Earwicker, contemporary occurrence places events in layers whose heroic nature he does not verbalize but others notice. Carlyle perceived of the god-hero “A great soul, any sincere soul, knows not what he is,—alternates between the highest height and the lowest depth; can, of all things, the least measure—Himself! (Heroes 25). The intense bouts of depression that Stead and Cromwell both suffered through much trial and error and prayer and selfdoubt to find the will of God are part of the hero’s “road of trials.” Like glimmers of the sacred, harkening back to Irish prehistory, Celtic scholars can scent the air for MacCool’s famous hounds, Bran and Sceolan. Bran occurs to Shem’s thinking in the Wake’s chapter 9 (II.1) wherein Shem is playing “It” or “devil” in the game of colors. Suffering a toothache, he tries to concentrate on the guessing game while his mind ranges to MacCool’s hounds, to death on the Titanic, to Tristan and Isolde, to his leaving Dublin in 1904 wearing “secondleg breeks” (U 7–8), and always the quest for food. Joyce in Paris ran to the telegraph office for money sent by his mother. Now a run for his money! Now a dash to her dot [telegram]. Old cocker, young crowy [As the old cock crows, the young cock learns], sifadda, sosson [like father, like son]. A bran [MacCool’s hound] new speedhount, outstripperous on the wind [like sailing]. Like a waft to wingweary one, or a sos to a coastguard. For directly with his whoop, stop and an upalepsy didando a tishy [fall down], in appreciable less time than it takes a glaciator to submerger an Atlangthis [Titanic] . . . (232.27–32)

At this moment, Shem’s mind returns to the scene at hand. Joyce’s carrying with him the portraits of ancestors assured a “pitcher on a wall” always watching him. The “orlop” or lowermost deck on a ship was used at the battle of Trafalgar for receiving and caring for the wounded on tables covered with sailcloth, among them Admiral Nelson.

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[there] was he again, agob, before the trembly ones [the girl players], a spark’s gap/step off, doubledasguechsed [Tristan returned to Isolde disguised], gotten orlop [lowest deck on ship] in a simple sailormade [cheap clothes] and shaking the storm out of his hiccups. The smartest vessel you could find would elazilee [bounce] him on her knee as her lucky [stroke; sailors were delighted to know Swedenborg was on board] for the Rio Grande. He’s a pigtail tarr [Chinese sailor] and if he hadn’t got it toothick/toothache he’d a telltale tall of his pitcher on a wall with his photure in the papers for cutting moutonlegs [lambshanks] and capers [pranks], letting on he’d jest be japers [a trifle] and his tail cooked/cocked up. (232.32–233.02)

The concluding rhyme was collected by P. W. Joyce: who added that “a person struggling with poverty is “pulling the devil by the tail”: Did you ever see the devil With the wooden spade and shovel Digging praties for his supper And his tail cocked up? (61)

While MacCool and his Fianna customarily played chess in intervals of inaction, our hero passes by the City’s Seal enlivened for amusement: he “shot two queans [chess] and shook three caskles [on Dublin coat of arms; also Holloway’s triple towers] when he won his game of draughts/dwarfs [against mighty Britain]” (128.17). The events of the road of trials consume his attention, and he is consistently busy dispatching the next event. Running, Finn MacCool could carry twelve balls of lead: “You’re getting hoovier/heavier, a twelve stone hoovier, fullends a twelve stone hoovier, in your corpus entis/body; not non compos mentis] and it scurves you right, demnye/Demne! (376.14–16). Those voices echoing in Earwicker’s pub, after the customers depart in chapter 11 (II.3), turn humorous with ranging from “quicken tree” to dog biscuits. Finn MacCool often resembles a bumbling big man, the benevolent giant in children’s tales. Before you bunkledoodle down upon your birchentop [quicken tree in Dermot story] again after them three blows [giant protecting tree killed by three blows] from time, drink and hurry [Tom, Dick, and Harry]. The same three that nursed you, Skerry, Badbols and the Grey One [druidesses nursed Finn]. All of your own club too. With the fistful of burryberries [to cure beriberi] were for the massus for you to feed you living in dying [Finn’s request]. Buy bran [Finn’s dog] biscuits and you’ll never say dog/die. (376.24–28)

The giant Manu of Eastern mythology authenticates fascination with the whale on the landscape: “I cool him my Finnykin/Finnegan he’s so joyant a bounder” (495.20). “And his tear [tearing up soil] makes newisland [nine

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places are called New Island]. “Did a rise? Way, lungfish [beached whale]! The great fin may cumule/Finn MacCool! Three threeth [one whole] o’er the wild! [Vaivasvata; god as fish] Manu ware! [saved humanity from a great flood]” (525.30–32). (To compress notes on “newisland,” New Ireland is an island in Papua New Guinea.) An opportunity arrives for disbelief and common sense: (there is such a fui fui [phooey] story which obtains of him): comming nown from the asphalt to the concrete, from the human historic brute, Finnsen Faynean, oceanyclived [called Ossian], to this same vulganized hillsir from yours, Mr Tupling Toun [Dublin Town] of Morning de Heights [Irish emigrants in New York], with his lavast flow and his rambling [London] undergroands [Stead’s “underworld” of criminal vice], would he reoccur Ad Horam [on time] as old Romeo Rogers [reincarnated; cg], in city or county” (481.11–16).

It’s another resurrection enacted in a children’s game, “Old Roger Is Dead and Laid in His Grave.” They planted an apple tree over his head; an old woman came and picked all the apples, whereupon “Old Roger got up and he gave her a knock,” or “a whack” (N. Douglas, 42–43). The hero generally achieves stunning successes accommodated by humiliation and disheartening defeats. For those who love the old myths, the most heartrending passage of the lengthy narrative “The Fate of the Children of Tureen” is its climax when after long journeys and travail they finally achieve their goal, the “three shouts on a hill” (442.04). The three heroes are blood-stained and wounded unto death to the extent that “a darkness fell over their eyes.” After some time the leader Brian raises his head to find whether they are dead or alive, and is forced to use his remaining strength to stand up and lift “one with each hand, while his own blood flowed plentifully; and then they raised three feeble shouts on Midkena’s Hills” (P. W. Joyce 63). That James Joyce was writing a comic book often meets with skepticism and incredulity; yet he places the “three shouts on a hill” in a humorous context with Jaun “braying aloud like Brahaam’s ass” (441.25) and declaring “I don’t care a tongser’s tammany hang who the mucky is nor two hoots in the corner nor three shouts on a hill” (442.02–04). Surviving humiliation, defeat, and failure requires ingenious coping skills, for which evangelistic zeal and journalistic doctrine often combined to propel Stead toward a new reform project. To find what the cities and towns of England needed to have or to do to improve people’s lives, Stead toured Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Newcastle in 1891 and conceived of civic or community centers (NS 23: 23). This project was rapidly implemented and widely diffused at home and abroad. In 1897 his topic was world peace and was inaugurated with a tour of the major capitals of Europe promoting the objectives of the second world Peace Congress at The Hague (E. MT 325–28). Willingness to “set the world agrin” was termed Stead’s “Barnum faculty”

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and was demonstrated in Philadelphia. A truncated account of his visit to America in 1907 on his way to the Peace Congress at The Hague is represented in the “Name” chapter of this work, and relates some of the impressions of his non-stop speaking engagements. The Finn MacCool legends resemble parts of Campbell’s journeying hero who begins with abandonment as an infant. Finn’s father rejected his mother, who was pregnant, and ordered her burned; King Conn of the Hundred Battles imposed “supernatural aid,” the famous “fum in his mow” (596.06). Such “supernatural aid” is imprinted akasha-like on the atmosphere. “One might hear in their beyond that lion roar in the air again, the zoohoohoom of Felin make Call/Finn MacCool” (488.13–14). The range of the hero is everywhere, and often his fall is from rural innocence into world knowledge. Earwicker fell out of a cabbage patch and into an elegant theater. A HORSE, NOT AQUINAS, NAMED SAINT The hero might answer a call to investigate the national pastime. Stead’s friend Lord Rosebery owned the horse St. Ladas, which inspired Stead to write a satire of horse theology with the motivation of discouraging gambling. Stead’s lengthy essay of brilliant humor and commendable knowledge deserves being read in full in the original (R 10: 20–33). However, to state the bare facts briefly, St. Ladas had in 1894 already won the Two Thousand, the Newmarket Stakes, and the Derby, and was expected to win the St. Leger, but lost. Preacher Stead saw that Nonconformists would welcome an opportunity to disestablish the Church of the Turf, whose racing stables replaced theological colleges, its places of worship ubiquitous, its bookmakers more numerous than incumbents in the Church of England; its priesthood the turf assistants who outnumbered the ministers of all denominations. Jockeys, hierophants of this pagan creed, worshiped at the Newmarket Down and received higher salaries than the archbishop of Canterbury. Horse racing’s scriptures were the fifty newspapers (among them the Racing Calendar) devoted to the cult in London alone, augmented by others that chronicled open air services. Its prophets innumerable, racing bowed to St. Ladas (R 10: 20–33). Stead, as Joyce does throughout Finnegans Wake, expands his text with an astonishing array of historical facts. Artistic insertion of names of many famous horses can be appreciated, as well as details of Irish Catholicism invading every aspect of the life of the faithful. The religious community had never succeeded in quelling the sin of gambling, nor seemed to desire it, the same as alcoholism. Joyce’s satire of Stead’s satire enlivens the horse race witnessed by Butt and Taff (341.19–342.32), offering the “Bailey Beacon” and additional recognizable touches of W. T. Stead. And where did

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Stead stand on the moral or immoral nature of racing? His goal was to ridicule it to death. Up to this curkscraw bind an admirable verbivocovisual presentiment of the worldrenownced Caerholme [London race track] Event has been being given by The Irish Race and World. The huddled and aliven stablecrashers have shared fleetfooted enthusiasm with the paddocks dare and ditches tare while the mews was combing ground [“Wearing of the Green”]. Hippohopparray helioscope [sun] flashed winsor places as the gates might see [case might be]. Meusdeus/My god! That was (with burning briar) Mr Twomass Nohoholan for their common contribe satisfunction in the purports of amusedment [purpose of amendment] telling the Verily Roverend Father Epiphanes [horse] shrineshriver of Saint Dhorough’s [village and church] (in browne bamler/ Bomber [cartoon horse]) how (assuary as there’s a bonum in your osstheology! [bone in your horse theology]. (341.18–28)

Naturally, Buckley shirked the Racing Calendar and shot the Russian general: Backlegs shirked the racing kenneldar. The saintly scholarist’s [Stead’s name for horse St. Ladas] roastering guffalawd of nupersaturals holler [penitent’s sorrow] at this metanoic excomologosis [public confession] tells of the chestnut’s (once again, Wittyngtom!) absolutionally romptyhompty successfulness. A lot of lasses and lads without damas or dads, but fresh and blued with collecting boxes [“church theology” gambling]. One aught to spare one’s triflets, to be shut: it is Coppingers [archdeacon at 55.18] for the children [charity]. Slippery Sam [thief in Beggar’s Opera] hard by them, physically present howsomedever morally absent, was slooching about in his knavish diamonds asking Gmax, Knox and the Dmuggies [Mick, Nick and the Maggies] (a pinnance/penny for your toughts, turffers!) to deck the ace of duds. Tomtinker Tim, howbeit; his unremitting retainer, (the seers are the seers of Samael [God’s enemy] but the heers are the heers of Timoth [voice and hands of Jacob and Esau deception] is in Boozer’s Gloom [race horse], soalken steady [Stead as Achilles] in his sulken tents. (341.28–342.6)

Stead would be amused at finding himself a boozer and an amorous Achilles sulking in his tent and was himself skilled with inventing those picturesque comparisons. Ecclesiastics as well as jockeys wear shimmering costumes. Baldawl [Baldoyle, Dublin race track] the curse, baledale [baleful] the day! And the frocks/clocks of shick/six sheeples/steeples [churches] chases in their shummering insamples! You see: a chiefsmith [Finn MacCool], semperal scandal stinkmakers [seven candlestick makers], a middinest [working girl] from the Casabianca [poem by Mrs Hemans.l and, of course, Mr Fry. Barass! (342.6–10)

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Sir Edward Fry (1827–1918) was a jurist who served as a judge on The Hague Tribunal (1900) arbitration for international cases, and on the FranceGermany dispute over Casablanca (1908–09) (R 41: 307). Joyce’s reference to “Casabianca” (342.10) assures onlookers that higher governmental officials participate in the racing scandal and assures readers that this is the intended person named Fry, an international embarrassment. Pardon the inquisition, causas es quostas? [Spanish for “you are the cause. Where do you stand? for or against”]? It is De Valorem’s/Valera’s Dominical Brayers [prayers; but asses bray; church and state are part of the scandal]. Why coif that weird hood [Take off Stead’s white hat!]? Because among nosoever circusdances is to be apprehended the dustungwashed poltronage of the lost Gabbarnaur-Jaggarnath [Vishnu: Lord of the World and Stead as Tzar’s “Lecturer general”] Pamjab! Gross Jumpiter, whud was thud? Luckluckluckluckluckluckluck [horses running]! It is the Thousand to One Guinea-[the 1000 Guineas race] Gooseberry’s [long odds] Lipperfull Slipver Cup [Liverpool Summer Cup]. Hold hard, ridesiddle titelittle Pitsy Riley [s.]! Gurragrunch, gurragrunch [horses breathing hard]! They are at the turn of the fourth of the hurdles [Dublin]. By the hross of Xristos, Holophullopopulace [horse loving populace] is a shote of excramation! Bumchub! Emancipator [horse] the Creman hunter (Major Hermyn C. Entwhistle) [HCE] with dramatic effect reproducing the form of famous sires on the scene of the formers triumphs, is showing the eagle’s way [biblical and name of horse] to Mr Whayte-hayte’s [white heat; Stead’s white hat] three buy geldings Homo Made Ink [Shem at 185.25], Bailey Beacon [Howth lighthouse and Stead’s trial at Old Bailey] and Ratatuohy [Patrick Tuohy painted Joyce’s Pappie] (342.10–23)

The MT sexual theme emerges here. while Furstin II [G. princess] and The Other Girl (Mrs ‘Boss’ Waters, Leavybrink) too early spring dabbles [Lincolnshire Handicap and the Grand National], are showing a clean pairofhids [haunches] to Immensipater [horse]. Sinkathinks [sexual offer] to oppen here! To this virgin’s tuft, on this golden of evens! I never sought of sinkathink. Our lorkmakor [Lord Mayor] he is proformly annuysed. He is shinkly thinkly shaking in his schayns. Sat will be off follteedee [all for today]. This eeridreme/drama has being effered you by Bett and Tipp. Tipp and Bett, our swapstick quackchancers [quick changers], in From Topphole to Bottom of The Irish Race and World.] (342. 23–32)

Unlike Stead and Finn MacCool, Earwicker’s achievements proliferate abundantly in hce initials for ordinary activities, till “hulm culms evurdyburdy.” Joyce renders Earwicker sub rosa the only person aware of the alteration in his consciousness which escapes in the voice of Viconian thunder: “he’s the mannork/monarch of Arrahland oversence he horrhorrd his name in thutthunder [8 Jul 1885 PMG 1; thunder like a growl] Rrrwwwkkkrrr! [Earwicker]! And seen it rudden up in fusefiressence/phosphorescence on the flash-

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murket [London “is the greatest market of human flesh in the whole world” (10 Jul 1885 PMG 6; (378.08)]. Wholemark comprehension of the common citizen is the area in which Stead-Earwicker flourishes, authenticating him “The unnamed nonIrishblooder that becomes a Greenislender overnight [Stead’s English origins and Celtic preferences]! (378.10–11). John Alfred Spender, editor of the Westminster Gazette, spoke of Stead’s “more than Celtic fervor” (R 45: 488), which portends more Celtic than most. By preference Earwicker carries with him the Irish inheritance: “Tried mark, Easterlings [Vikings]. Sign, Soideric [Viking] O’Cunnuc/O’Connor, Rix. Adversed ord/lord, Magtmorken, Kovenhow [MacMurrough Kavanagh, 14th c. king of Leinster” (378.13–14). Joyce’s mother, Mary Jane “May” Murray, could claim the Murroughs for her cultural patrimony, and this “everybody” character is that in which Joyce could review the Morken sisters of “The Dead” and write his father into the novel. The combined form of Stead and Joyce’s father John Stanislaus Joyce journeys through the Roderick O’Conor paragraphs in an easy lope among pleasant trees and meadow stream. “PAPPIE,” THE ORIGINAL OF “RODERICK O’CONOR” James Joyce’s father “Pappie” predominates in the “Roderick Random” passage beginning with oddly-acquired clothing and nineteenth century associates and a singing career, which John Joyce made successful on stage for a time; and ends as an aggregate of Pappie as actor, Joyce as observer, W. T. Stead as subtle reference, all in the name of King Roderick O’Conor, the last High King of Ireland, who reigned historically 1166–1198 and whose kingly mien Joyce’s father adopted at times. His father’s voice, and the memorable sight of him, lingered in Joyce’s consciousness. From the historic king was descended the 700 years of British domination that Joyce lamented as an “allburt/Albert unend” (598.07). Drafted as the first segment of Finnegans Wake on 10 March 1923 and updated in September 1938, “Roderick O’Conor” pairs the demise of HCE with an obituary of Joyce’s father, his unquenchable thirst, his habitual pub drinking. O Hehir notes that from 1175 Roderick O’Connor’s “career was a dismal and bloody decline,” which ended in 1198 at age eighty-three; he was buried at Cong, and “nine years later his bones were removed to Clonmacnoise and there interred to await the Resurrection” (O Hehir 373, 426). That Roderick O’Connor is in part Joyce’s father (1849–1931) is clear in the biography John Stanislaus Joyce (1997) by John Wyse Jackson and Peter Costello, which renders the identity of “O’Conor” indisputable while revealing John Joyce’s talent for mimicry, his amazing retentive memory for onomatopoeic language and cultural history, and above all a consuming thirst that cannot be requited until the last dregs are drunk. The father’s singing on stage must have encouraged the son to try.

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The father possessed an undying love of pub joviality, where he reigned with a boundless repertoire that was crafted anew with instantaneous inspiration, remanded into witticisms, and delivered with a professional comedian’s split-second timing for improvisation. Biographers Jackson and Costello characterize John Stanislaus Joyce as “Intelligent and fiercely feckless, he resists encapsulation.” They have made important use of an interview conducted with John Stanislaus Joyce as he lay in bed in Drumcondra during the last decade of his life. The work of an unidentified journalist or stenographer, it was found among James Joyce’s papers after his death. With its cascading memories and asides, the interview captures evocatively and uniquely the colourful old gentleman’s voice and, as such, in quoting from it, we have left intact its somewhat eccentric syntax and spelling. A caveat may be entered that these effervescent recollections, while always illuminating, are not always accurate. John Stanislaus Joyce, for decades a frock-coated fabulist on the streets of Dublin, understood the value of the artificer. (JC xv)

This is one place where the “syntax and spelling” of his son James deserves preservation intact. This most characteristic of passages describing John S. Joyce concludes chapter 11 (II.3), famous for the two tales‒‒the Norwegian captain first, Butt and Taff second‒‒set in Earwicker’s pub by the sea. Earwicker is left alone after all customers have departed. Here begins the tribute to the complex High King John Stanislaus Joyce, which assures the impression that the originator of the Wake’s unique language (as well as the seven articles of clothing) was Joyce’s father, John Stanislaus Joyce. So anyhow, melumps and mumpos [my lords and members] of the hoose uncommons [House of Commons], after that to wind up that longtobechronickled gettogether thanksbetogiving day at Glenfinnisk-en-la-Valle [s. Glenfinishk-in-the-Valley], the anniversary of his finst homy commulion [first Holy Communion], after that same barbecue beanfeast [annual feast given by employers to their work-people] was all over poor old hospitable corn and eggfactor [grocer], King Roderick O’Conor, the paramount chief polemarch [ancient Greek officer] and last pre-electric/elected king of Ireland, who was anything you say yourself between fiftyodd and fiftyeven years of age at the time . . . (380.07–14)

The birthday of John Stanislaus Joyce (4 July 1849) differed by one day from that of W. T. Stead (5 July 1849), a fact enshrined with great determination in Finnegans Wake and barely mitigated by an assumption of casual indifference: “fifty-six or fifty-seven,” the age in 1904 when W. T. Stead first visited a theater and briefly shared in the estate of the cultured “Upper Ten,” the age in 1904 at which Joyce left Dublin. Chapter 15 (III.3) places it in conjunction with sexual exposure and the C.L.A. Act: “O’Neill saw Queen

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Molly’s pants: and much admired engraving [the new law], meaning complet manly parts during alleged recent act of our chief mergey margay magistrades, five inches above the kneecap, as required by statues. V.I.C.5.6.” (495.27–31). The deed by the Magazine Wall, for “Hosty’s and Co, Exports,” celebrates “his five hundredth and sixtysixth borthday” (497.25–27). Earwicker is “a man of around fifty” (506.34). The floorwalker at the department store, “picking up ideas,” is “well over or about fiftysix or so, pithecoid proportions, with perhops five foot eight” but is carefully distinguished from Stead with Joyce’s “toothbrush moustache . . . and of course no beard” (443.21–26); by Joyce’s age fifty-six Finnegans Wake was near completion. Anna Livia makes the magic number the cost of clothing “Fiftyseven and three, cosh, with the bulge” (620.04–05), which Stead also acquired in those later years (Illus.). McHugh notes that Roderick O’Connor was “about 60 when he submitted to Henry II.” The “radio beamer tower” belongs to Earwicker’s fictional pub in chapter 11. “King Art MacMurrough Kavanagh,” the 14th c. king of Leinster, dignifies Pappie’s pedigree, while the “leather legions” refers to the leggings of Murtagh of the leather cloaks, high king in 941. The “poached fowl in the poor man’s pot” began as a campaign promise of Henry IV of France and was adapted by several succeeding politicians. Roderick O’Connor continues depicting the rapidly-changing affiliations of John S. Joyce’s monologues: . . . at the time after the socalled last supper he greatly gave in his umbrageous house of the hundred [emptied] bottles [penchant for drink; king parodies Conn of the Hundred Battles] with the radio beamer tower and its hangars, chimbneys and equilines [full estate/stables] or, at least, he wasn’t actually the then last king of all Ireland for the time being for the jolly good reason that he was still such as he was the eminent king of all Ireland himself [Joyce’s father as well] after the last preeminent king of all Ireland, the whilom joky old top that went before him in the Taharan [Teheran] dynasty, King Arth Mockmorrow Koughenough [Kavanagh] of the leathered leggions [Irish high king 941, Murtagh of the leather cloaks], now of parts unknown, (God guard his generous comicsongbook soul!) that put a poached fowl in the poor man’s pot before he took to his pallyass/palliasse with the weeping eczema [aftermath of a drinking bout] for better and worse until he went under the grass quilt [“Finnegan” song] on us, nevertheless, the year the sugar was scarce [1911], and we to lather and shave and frizzle him, like a bald surging buoy [s. Bowld Sojer Boy] and himself down to three cows that was meat and drink and dogs and washing to him [Sterne Tristram Shandy] (380.14–30) . . .

“Three acres and a cow,” a political slogan of Joseph Chamberlain in 1885, developed as an improvement from farmers grazing their cows on the roadsides. Jessy Collins had conceived of this “three acres” form of obligatory land purchase to equalize land ownership. Below, Goldsmith’s “Sweet

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Auburn,” loveliest village on the plain,” is Joyce’s Chapelizod. In religion, a “backslider” failed to adhere to his religious duties. . . . ‘tis good cause we have to remember it, going through summersultryngs of snow and sleet [s.] witht the widow Nolan’s goats [s.] and the Brownes girls neats [cattle] anyhow, wait till I tell you, what did he do, poor old Roderick O’Conor Rex, the auspicious waterproof [raincoat self-exposure] monarch of all Ireland, when he found himself all alone by himself in his grand old handwedown pile [Gladstone’s position on responsibility for Ireland] after all of them had all gone off with themselves to their castles of mud [Irish poverty; the pub hearers have departed homeward], as best they cud, on footback, owing to the leak of the McCarthy’s Mare [s.], in extended order, a tree’s length from the longest way out, down the switchbackward slidder [backslider] of the landsown route [Lansdowne Road] of Hauburnea’s liveliest vinnage [“loveliest village”] on the brain/plain [Goldsmith’s “Sweet Auburn”], the unimportant Parthalonians [Irish colonists] with the mouldy [drunk] Firbolgs and the Tuatha de Danaan googs [dimwits] and the ramblers from Clane [village]/Clare [s.] and all the rest of the notmuchers that he did not care the royal spit out of his ostensible mouth about, well, what do you think he did, sir, (380.30–381.09) . . .

A drunkard’s version of Earwicker’s seven articles of clothing represents the mixed attire of “Pappie,” of which the Reillys made shoes and boots from 1877 onward: . . . but, faix, he just went heeltapping through the winespilth [waste] and weevily popcorks that were kneedeep round his own right royal round [bought “rounds” of drinks] rollicking toper’s table, with his old Roderick Random pullon hat at a Lanty Leary [character in Samuel Lover novel] cant on him and Mike Brady’s shirt and Greene’s linnet/linen [s. about Napoleon] collarbow and his Ghenter’s gaunts [John of Gaunt born in Ghent] and his Macclefield’s [town] swash and his readymade Reillys [boots] and his panprestuberian poncho, the body you’d pity him, the way the world [Congreve] is, poor he, the heart of Midleinster [Scott novel; Gladstone defeated Disraeli in Midlothian campaign] and the supereminent lord of them all, (381.09–17) . . .

“The Song of the Lark” (381.23) was a song and a painting photographed in color, when color was a new adventure, for the frontispiece for Stead’s Review 29 in 1904, . . . overwhelmed as he was with black ruin [gin] like a sponge out of water, allocutioning in bellcantos to his own oliverian [Cromwellian] society MacGuiney’s [Hood’s] Dreams of Ergen Adams [Eugene Aram] and thruming through all to himself with diversed tonguesed through his old tears and his ould plaised drawl [Ould Plaid Shawl s.], starkened by the most regal of belches, like a blurney Cashelmagh [s. Rock of Cashel/ Blarney Castle] crooner that lerking Clare air [s.] the blackberd’s ballad I’ve a terrible errible lot

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Chapter 11 todue todie todue tootorribleday [s.] well, what did he go and do at all, His Most Exuberant Majesty King Roderick O’Conor but, arrah bedamnbut, he finalised by lowering his woolly throat with the wonderful midnight thirst was on him, as keen as mustard, he could not tell what he did ale [at all], that bothered [drunk] he was from head to tail, and, wishawishawish [well indeed], leave it, what the Irish, boys, can do [s.], if he didn’t go, sliggymaglorral [s.] reemyround and suck up, sure enough, like a Trojan, in some particular cases with the assistance of his venerated tongue, whatever surplus rotgut, sorra much, was left by the lazy lousers of maltknights [Knights of Malta] and beerchurls in the different bottoms of the various different replenquished drinking utensils left there behind them on the premises by that whole hogsheaded firkin [nine gallons] family, (381.17–36) . . .

Pappie’s biographers Jackson and Costello comment that the “misspelling Guiness” (382.03) duplicates a stenographer’s transcription that James Joyce commissioned, after his father’s portrait went on tour and made him famous in 1925, to capture the “memories and idioms and speech rhythms of his father” (JC 391). Otherwise, how could any Irish misspell “Guinness”? Joyce “arranged again for the stenographer to visit John Stanislaus and record his divertimenti.” This unknown interlocutor “worked his way through the set of diverse questions which James had provided and received a rich haul of answers. Though old John was speaking from his bed, his verbal vim was unimpaired” (JC 391). . . . the departed honourable homegoers and other slygrogging [illicit] suburbanites, such as it was, fall and fall about [walking while drunk], to the brindishing of his charmed life [Macbeth], as toastified/testified by his cheeriubicundenances [cherubic countenances], no matter whether it was chateaubottled Guiness’s or Phoenix brewery stout it was or John Jameson and Sons or Roob/ rube Coccola or, for the matter of that, O’Connell’s famous old Dublin Ale that he wanted like hell, more that halibut oil or Jesuits tea [nicknames of drinks], as a fall back, of several different quantities and qualities amounting in all to, I should say, considerably more than the better part of a gill or naggin [one-fourth pint] of imperial dry and liquid measure till, welcome be from us here, till the rising of the morn [s.”The Rising of the Moon”], till that hen of Kavin’s (381.36–382.11) . . .

“Beaconegg sun” heralds the potential rejuvenating illumination that Stead thought his newspaper possessed to awaken the world’s day. Stead’s shout of “Stained glass!” was his warning against flattery, a glaze on facts. The “staregaze of the cathering candled” in true motif fashion authenticates (and continues) a different and unrelated scene, in which Katherine the housemaid awakens on “wan fine night” upon hearing a knock and goes to investigate. There is a “crick up the stirkiss,” she raises the candle and falls down blessing herself, thinking she is seeing a “googoo goosth” (556.31–557.12). Resuming, the hen of Kaven’s

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shows her beacon [bacon egg and Chapwellswendows [Chapelizod stained glass] stain our horyhistoricold [story historical] and Father MacMichael stamps/stumps for aitch o’clerk mess and the Litvian Newestlatter is seen, sold and delivered and all’s set for restart after the silence [ricorso], like his ancestors to this day after him (that the blazings/blessings of their ouldmouldy gods may attend to them we pray!), overopposides the cowery [crouching] lad in the corner and forenenst [opposite] the staregaze of the cathering candled, that adornment of his album and folkenfather of familyans (382.11–18) . . .

Joyce did, indeed, borrow another phrase from elsewhere! Describing a drowning “where they were that he had gone dump [drowned] in the doomering/Götterdämmerung this tide where the peixies [fishes] would pickle him down to the button of his seat and his sess old soss” (316.18), he recalls Stead’s account of Cecil Rhodes in 1897. Disembarking in London, Rhodes “came down with a soss on the broadest and firmest part of his corporation” (R 15: 107). Joyce changes the phrasing slightly: he came acrash a cropper sort of a sate on accomondation and the very boxst in all his composs [transition point between HCE drinking up the dregs and sailing outward on the Titanic], whereuponce, behome the fore for cove and trawlers [coat and trousers], heave home, leave lone, Larry’s on the focse/ fo’castle and Faugh MacHugh O’Bawlar [in s. “Follow Me up to Carlow”] at the wheel, one to do and one to dare, par by par, a peerless pair, ever here and over there, with his fol the dee oll the doo [faugh a ballagh is “clear the way”] on the flure of his feats [Gideon: dew on the fleece] and the feels of the fumes in the wakes of his ears our wineman [s. Wild man from Borneo] from Barleyhome he just slumped to throne. (382.19–26)

The next brief paragraph is Joyce’s eulogy for and farewell to Pappie, of course honoring a pub as well: So sailed the stout ship Nansy Hans [Hole in the Wall pub, one of the many that Pappie patronizes]. From Liff away. For Nattenlaender [night]. As who has come returns. [Cape] Farvel [Greenland], farerne [fare well]! Good bark, goodbye!

Pappie has been the “good bark,” the good ship, and only his literary son could sufficiently appraise it. Now follow we out by Starloe [to Carlow: s.]!” (382.27–30)

One would certainly pity John Stanislaus Joyce with the burden of living (his “hump”) in the old neglected days after May Joyce died as he trudged through the streets of Dublin on the familiar route to his favorite pubs. There, among his memories, Joyce leaves him, consuming heavenly last dregs.

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THE UNITATE WE HAVE IN ONE: THE MONOMYTH The unsubtle methods by which Here Comes Everybody takes on the lineaments of the revered pilgrim Everyman occurs in Joyce’s synchronization of several plots/themes; certainly the hero’s best efforts are summoned when he confronts evil. If the god El assigned Adam the chore of naming all creatures, then he included, somehow, the principle of evil as broader than Eve’s mischief, stamping the name of the deity on the coin of creation. Joyce places sinful Man on the “Nick-el” or mischievous side of the Mick and Nick duality and thereby aligns him with Satan in the Garden of Eden. “Flatch” is called “back-slang” meaning half as in “flatch-yennep” for half penny, its meaning in Scotland related to a “mag,’ a gratuity for servants. Victoria’s name was literally stamped on everything, principally evidenced by coins and stamps. In this “Afterlife” scene, the style of Pappie may be recognized: —Well, he was ever himself for the presention of crudities to animals [Stead’s Prevention of Cruelties to Children] for he had put his own nickelname [Nickel name], on every toad, duck and herring before the climber clomb aloft [aspirations], doing the midhill/mudhill [wading through the muck/sin] of the park, flattering his bitter hoolft [wife/Eve] with her conconundrums. He would let us have the three barrels [Irish law: whiskies aged three years in barrels; two-barrel guns implied]. Such was a bitte [request] too thikke for the Muster of the hoose [God] as he called down on the Grand Precurser [Satan] who coiled him [called forth] a crawler [Edenic snake; Earwicker emerged from prison “comes slidaunt down that oaktree” (100.11)] of the dupest/duplicitous dye and thundered at him to flatch [inch down] down off that erection [production] and be aslimed of himself for the bellance of hissch life [Gen. 3:14]. (505.36–506.08)

But Adam must work for a living. Earwicker, “our grocerest churcher” (619.04), keeps a store to which the Joyce family, it may be assumed, was consistently indebted. First, Earwicker sets out on his hero’s journey from England, which Napoleon had famously agnomened “a nation of shopkeepers,” by hailing the king from his cabbage patch, told in the “genesis of Harold or Humphrey Chimpden’s occupational agnomen” (30.02–03). The telltale “Ballad of Persse O’Reilly” presses the urgency of food and supplies: Universally provided by this soft-soaping salesman. Small wonder He’ll Cheat E’erawan our local lads nicknamed him When Chimpden first took the floor (Chorus) With his bucketshop store Down Bargainweg, Lower. (45.31–46.04)

A storehouse of English wordcraft is Shakespeare, at present being superannuated by James Joyce, designated with Dante and Goethe “Daunty, Gouty

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and Shopkeeper, A.G.” for a joint stock company (539.06). Earwicker in his closing monologue, imitating Queen Victoria’s acquisition of India, speaks of Anna Livia, “I thumbed her with iern of Erin and tradesmanmarked her lieflang mine” (547.33–34). He renders a catalog of his supplies which makes lovable woman an edible stock in trade: fortiffed by my right as man of capitol, I did umgyrdle her about my vermincelly vinagerette, with all loving kindness as far as in man’s might it lay and enfranchised her to liberties of fringes; and I gave until my lilienyounger turkeythighs soft goods and hardware (catalogue, passim) and ladderproof hosiery lines (see stockinger’s raiment). (548.16–22)

The “catalogue, passim” begins with “And after these things, I fed her . . .” (550.08) and lengthily continues. Earning his name thrusts the hero forward on his life’s journey; Joyce elaborates it into Earwicker’s lifestory. HCE or Everyman produces the “monomyth.” Joseph Campbell derived the “monomyth” of the hero’s journey from the following, wherein Joyce’s universal hero/man and omni woman are clearly evident. Note the 4–3–2–1 equation for the universe. “Q” is Questioner and “T” is Teller. [Q] Use they not, our noesmall [not small] termtraders, to abhors [horrors] offrom him, the yet unregendered thunderslog [thunderclap/understanding], whose sbrogue cunneth/kenneth none lordmade undersiding [distinction], how betwixt wifely rule and mens conscia recti [tr mind informed with the right], then hemale man all unbracing [let down] to omniwomen, but now shedropping his hitches [Stead dropping H’s] like any maidavale [London] oppersite orseriders [Norse] in an idinhole [hiding hole]? [T] Ah, dearo! Dearo, dear [FOM]! And her illian [Helen/Lilian]. And his willyum [William Stead]! When they were all there now, matinmarked [Matthew, Mark] for lookin on [Luke, John]. At the carryfour [crossroads] with awlus plawshus [Aulus Plautius invaded Britain], their happyass cloudious [Roman Emperor and donkey owned by Joyce’s friend Phylis Moss]! And then and too the trivials [three]! And their bivouac [two]! And his monomyth [one thesis; Joseph Campbell] [Q] Ah ho! Say no more about it! I’m sorry! I saw. I’m sorry! I’m sorry to say I saw! (581.15–24)

Perhaps in deciding to make the book humorous, to cause the comical to infiltrate every endeavor, Joyce did himself the great disservice of being uncomprehended and misunderstood. Some comparisons, like Joyce’s “watches of the night” are easily assumed from Campbell’s phrasing of the Buddha beneath the tree of enlightenment, when in the first watch he acquired “knowledge of his previous existences.” In broad terms the fourteen questions of chapter 13, to which Shaun is subjected, force him to rethink and defend his doings of the past. In the second watch the Buddha acquired

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“the divine eye of omniscient vision,” and in the last watch acquired “understanding of the chain of causation.” In this HCE-Yawn lies prone while being interrupted in his thoughts by an assortment of visitants acting completely in character while pressing forth their own perplexities. The Buddha “experienced perfect enlightenment at the break of day” (Campbell Hero 32–33), the very phase that Joyce begins with “Sandyas.” In the combination of the living Stead and the idealized Earwicker, Joyce makes his extended system do its work. That Margot Norris saw Joyce’s universe as “decentered” is part of the Campbell scheme; the universe is everywhere. The torrent of Anna Livia pours from an invisible source. STEAD’S AND JOYCE’S PRECEDENT FOR CAMPBELL’S MONOMYTH Whereas Joyce grants much, Campbell provides little information about Finn MacCool. In the “belly of the whale” section, Campbell mentions that Finn “was swallowed by a monster of indefinite form,” known as a peist (91). In the “crossing of the return threshold,” Campbell tells about Finn’s son Oisin meeting the daughter of the King of the Land of Youth, who was under a Druidic spell that kept her wearing the head of a pig, which would be removed if he married her (221). Campbell mentions the tale of Oisin’s return to the natural world, bringing with him the timelessness of the “other world” until his foot touches the ground and he becomes an old man (223). Campbell cites “The Cycle of the Fianna” as the fourth of five “legendary cycles of medieval Ireland” (330). W. T. Stead’s youthful “bobbing up again” was part of his religious faith. Addressing the huge crowds gathered in Hyde Park on 22 August 1885 to celebrate the passage of the Criminal Law Amendment Act and to further ignite support for it, Stead lectured his vast audience “whenever a call comes . . . remember that that call comes from the great heart of God” (22 Aug PMG 10–11; E MT 66). Campbell must have absorbed inspiration without realizing it from Stead’s validations of parts of the monomyth in the challenging process of living his puritan nature. After Finn MacCool has contributed to sixteen chapters, Joyce reaches the last chapter and clearly enumerates the stages of the archetypal hero’s journey, which Joseph Campbell made a classic statement of human endeavor by publishing Hero with a Thousand Faces. Campbell condensed the hero’s journey and its multiple variations to separate identities which he assigned progressive stages (Hero 36). Interpolated, below, in Joyce’s hero sequence are some of Campbell’s suggestive titles in italics on the left margin, and Joyce’s list on the right, only with the caveat that Joyce’s encryption causes some of the scenes and designations to overlap, plus the designations

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acquire wide latitude before being compressed into Campbell’s stages of the hero’s journey. Citations are from (595.34–596.33). Each “peruser” of this summation of the journey will have his or her own favorites; mine is the “bloke you may in holiday crowd encounter” (596.16), of which Joyce related his experience in Rome by sending a letter to his brother Stanislaus; he had observed a woman reverently and repeatedly raising to her lips not a cross but a phallic symbol. Joyce’s hero in this present list departs and returns twice, as he should, at least, in a lifetime. Required supplemental facts include (1) Kevin’s “limon threw up a few spontaneous fragments of orangepeel” (110.29); (2) Erskine Childers (1870–1922) signed the AngloIrish Treaty 1921; he smuggled guns in his yacht Asgard, was executed in the Irish civil war. (3) For Larry as “son of dub,” see “To say too us to be every tim, nick and larry of us, sons of the sod” (19.27–28). Joyce’s fill-in-thenames section for Campbell’s convenience is (582.21–27), and Campbell credited Joyce with the word monomyth (581.24) nearby. Below is Joyce’s “journey of the hero,” which Campbell may have unconsciously absorbed: Call to Adventure “The child, a natural child [illegitimate], thenown [father unknown or undeclared], by the mnames of, (aya! [going] aya!), wouldbewas kidnapped at an age of recent probably [Finn’s father slain before his birth; taken from his mother for protection], possibly remoter; or he conjured himself from seight by slide at hand [Egyptian god Atum]; for which thetheatron is a lemoronage [see Kevin’s limon (110.29)] Orange; midden]; at milchgoat fairmesse [Goat Fair of Killorglin];” (595.34–596.02) Supernatural “in full dogdhis” [Dagda, father of god Aengus]; Call to adventure “sod on a fall” [sat on a wall; Humpty Dumpty]; Sign of vocation “pat [result]; the hundering blundering dunderfunder of plundersundered manhood [thunder; Hundred of Manhood, Sussex]; (596.02–03) Return “behold, he returns renascenent; fincarnate; still foretold around the hearthside; at matin a fact;” (596.04–05) Hailed as hero “hailed chimers’ ersekind [HCE; Note 2]; foe purmanant [service to death];” Crossing First Threshold “fum in his mow [Finn’s wisdom from salmon]; awike in wave risurging into chrest; victis poenis hesternis [tr yesterday’s punishments having been overcome];” (596.07) Into the Realm of Light “fostfath of solas [first father of light; Stead’s light in labyrinth];” Meeting with the Goddess “fram choicest of wiles with warmen/ women and sogns til Banba [Ireland], burial aranging;” (596.08) Victories as lawgiver “under articles thirtynine of the reconstitution [Church of England];”

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Master of Two Worlds “by the Lord’s order of the canon consecrandable [to be made sacred]” (596.10) Belly of the whale “earthlost that we thought him [burial in Lough Neagh]; pesternost [Paternoster], the noneknown worrior;” (596.11) Return “from Tumbarumba [town in Australia] mountain; in persence of whole landslots/Lancelot; forebe all the rassias [return through Russia; the Tzar’s title was “Tzar of all the Russias”]; (596.12) Crossing return threshold “sire of leery subs of dub [Dun Laoghaire; Note 3 for son of dub”]; the Diggins, Woodenhenge [near Stonehenge, sacred edifice]; Reintegration with society “as to hang out at; with spawnish oel/ale [U 12: 1298] full his angalach [numbness; Finn’s drinking horn]; the sousenugh/Sasanach [HCE-Stead an Englishman]”; (596.14) Freedom to live “gnomeosulphidosalamermauderman [hero a shape changer: gnome, sylph, salmon, maudlin (drinker)]; the big brucer/ bruiser, fert/F.E.R.T. [motto of House of Savoy; Stead’s friend Rhodes] in fort;” (596.14–15) Everyman hero “Gunnar [Eddic hero], of The Gunnings [Dublin theater Gunning sisters], Gund [German surname]; one of the two or three forefivest fellows a bloke could in holiday crowd encounter; benedicted be/by the barrel; kilderkins [cask], lids off; a roache [fish food], an oxmaster, a sort of heaps, a pamphilius [died while asking the time], a vintivat niviceny [Joyce a vinevat novice], a hygiennic contrivance [Stead’s phrase for coitus] socalled from the editor [Stead]; the thick of your thigh [Finn]; you knox/know; quite;” (596.15–20) Freedom to live “talking to the vicar’s joy and ruth; the gren, woid/ white, and glue [maypole] been broking by the maybole gards; he; when no crane in Elga is heard [Finn had wealth in bag made of crane’s skin, stolen when Goll slew Cumhal (Rolleston 127); upout to speak this lay [hero must recite reams of poetry]; without links, without impediments, with gygantogyres [cyclic departures and returns], with freeflawforms;parasama [emblems] to himself; atman [Sanskrit self] as evars [even the self]; whom otherwise becauses;” (596.20–25) Vigor in old age “no puler as of old but as of young [transformed] a palatin [Stead was called a “Paladin of mankind” (R 49: 364)]; whitelock [Stead’s white beard] not lacked nor temperasoleon [temper of the times, keeps up to date; Stead “grappled with the problems of Time and the Hour” (Harper 122)]; (596.25–26) Our hce “though he appears a funny colour;stoatters some [HCE]; but quite a big bug [earwig] after the dahlias [MT maidens]; place/ police inspectorum [observers] sarchent [watched MT investigation];

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also the hullow chyst [Holy Ghost] excavement [HCE]; astronomically fabulafigured [horoscope]; as Jambudvispa Vipra [Giambattista Vico] foresaw of him;” (596.26–30) Atonement “the last half versicle [short sentence in divine service] repurchasing his pawned word [Stead’s Review of Reviews]; sorensplit [Soren Kierkegaard, Either/Or] and paddypatched; and pfor to pfinish our pfun of a pfan [frying pan] coalding the keddle [calling the kettle] mickwhite;” (596.30–32) Our hero “sure, straight, slim, sturdy, serene, synthetical, swift [parody of Finn-saga style (O Hehir 422)]. (596.33) The total is an amazing achievement, one to ponder over and, like most of Finnegans Wake, to revert to for further illumination. To conclude, Anna Livia, who flows and washes through most of the mysteries in Finnegans Wake, offers a last comprehensive ambiguity. “Here gives your answer, pigs and scuts [Picts and Scots]! Hence we’ve lived in two worlds” (619.10–11), which can suggest a multitude of awakenings, of which one is unambiguous: “He is another he what stays under the himp of holth. The herewaker of our hamefame is his real namesame who will get himself up and erect, confident and heroic when but, young as of old, for my daily comfreshenall, a wee one [a child] woos” (619.11–15). And such is the essence of Finnegans Wake. Anna Livia has much wisdom to dispense. Another example is her vision of the future, “a child beside a weenywhite steed. The child we all love to place our hope in for ever” (621.30–31). And again, there is the essence of Finnegans Wake. The creative force that lies dormant in the whale “under the himp of holth” will awaken. The hero who awaits awakening will awake when a maiden calls. The “two worlds” of sleeping and waking, of going and coming, are integrated afresh in the pages of Finnegans Wake. The defense rests. It has been a privilege to work with this master.

References

Anderson, John P. Joyce’s Finnegans Wake: The Curse of the Kabbalah. Baca Raton, FL: Universal Publishers, 2010. Atherton, James. The Books at the Wake. New York: Viking, 1959. Attridge, Derek. “The Dream of Interpretation in Finnegans Wake” (JJQ 50; no. 1-2, Fall, 2012- Winter 2013: 185-202). Baylen, Joseph O. “Oscar Wilde Redivivus,” Studies in English, no. 6 (1965): 77-86. ———. “Swinburne and the Pall Mall Gazette.” Research Studies no. 36 (December, 1968): 325-34. ———. The Tsar’s “Lecturer-General”: W. T. Stead and the Russian Revolution of 1905. Atlanta, GA: Georgia State College, 1969. ———. “W. T. Stead’s Estimate of the London Daily Press,” NewsStead 7 (Fall 1995): 1-8. Beckson, Karl. London in the 1890s: A Cultural History. New York: W. W. Norton, 1992. Begnal, Michael H., and Fritz Senn. A Conceptual Guide to “Finnegans Wake.” University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1974. Begnal, Michael H., and Grace Eckley. Narrator and Character in “Finnegans Wake.” Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press, 1974. Benstock, Bernard. Critical Essays on James Joyce. Boston: G. K. Hall, 1985. ———. Joyce-Again’s Wake. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1965. ———. Narrative Con/Texts in “Ulysses.” Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1991. ———. ed. The Seventh of Joyce. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1982. Berkeley, George. Essay Towards a New Theory of Vision. Peter Millican. May, 2014. Berry, Neil. Articles of Faith: The Story of British Intellectual Journalism. London: Waywiser Press, 2002. Bett, Henry. Nursery Rhymes and Tales: Their Origin and History. 2d ed. Detroit: Singing Tree Press, 1968. Billings, Harold. M. P. Shiel: The Middle Entry Years 1897-1923. Austin: Roger Beacham, 2010. Bishop, John. Joyce’s Book of the Dark: “Finnegans Wake.” Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1986. Bolton, Henry Carrington. The Counting-Out Rhymes of Children. 2d ed. Detroit: Singing Tree Press, 1969. Booth, Bramwell. Echoes and Memories. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1925. Bowker, Gordon. James Joyce. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2011. ———. “Writing of the Night”: The Restored “Finnegans Wake.” TLS (6 July 2012): 10.

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Index

Æ. See Russell, George William Abdul Hamid, 24, 25 Adams, Jad, 53 Aengus, Irish god of love, 226–229 Akashic Record, 36 Alban Lake and Jove, 52; Alban Hills, 72; Christian love, 73; submersion mythology, 72 Alfred the Great, 87 Ally Sloper, 129, 315, 329 alternative reality, 18, 23 Anderson, John P., 8 Angels, 28; Disraeli, 275; existence, 38, 212; Irish pub in England, 336; Islam, 271; “The Stead Script”, 212; Waugh, Benjamin, 63, 262 Anna Livia Plurabelle, 2, 23; dissertation, 5; dust jacket, 80; farewell letter, 170, 198; “forever” child, 90; his and her letters, 198; knighthood for Stead, 88; language, 203–208; last letter, 198, 201–208; Pranklings, 175, 183; rain, 82; spawning, 22, 66; spouse, 55, 82–83; two worlds, 377 Arabian Nights, 160 Aristotle’s “Treatise on Athens”, 223 Armenia, 31–32 Armstrong, Charles, 139 Atherton, James, cites Lewis Carroll, 78; Bruno’s “hilaris” evolving opposites, 302; Bruno’s hundred mentions, 290;

Cambrone’s “Merde”, 189; cites betrayer Henry Luttrell, 252; coincidence of contraries, 288, 289, 291; “first and foremost critic”, 288; identity of indiscernibles, 303; Joyce’s “joking Jesus”, 186; opposite of knowledge merely, 302; opposites polarized for reunion, 292; pairs Bruno and Nicholas of Cusa, 298 Atomic energy, 38, 100; Bruno’s atomism, 320; Maiden Tribute bombing post, 325, 339 Attridge, Derek, 41 Babylon in London, 5; brand of scarlet, 59; British girls white slaves, 134–136; Carlyle’s opinion, 45; children’s rhymes, 145; farewell to, 162–163; Finn MacCool, 45, 354–363; how many miles to, 101, 145, 162–163; Joyce as historiographer, 19, 344; Pigeon House, 344–345; scarlet “her”, 59 Bacon, Miss cyclist, 195 barrel scene, 43, 44 Baylen, Joseph O. explains Tsar’s Lecturer, 4; Russian Revolution 1905, 346; Samuel Beckett and Buckley, 163 “Be a Christ”, 59–60 Beckett, Samuel Our Exag collective, 51; insult to the old sod, 163 Beit, Alfred, 93 387

388

Index

Beja, Morris, 68 Belinda of the Dorans, 149, 169–172; midden hen, 197–200 Benstock, Bernard, 5, 238 Bentinck, Cavendish, 123–124 Bergson, Henri, 234 Berkeley, George: Archdruid, 215, 220; color, 209, 210; Flood’s Ireland, 237, 239; green debate, 240; letter to Frank Budgen, 238; new science, 237; St. Patrick and Archdruid, 238–240; tar water, 239; theory of vision, 239, 240; Vico’s four stages vanishing, 240 Besant, Annie, 65 bible, 39 Big Ben, 71 Birmingham, Kevin, 2 Bishop, John Book of the Dark, 83, 218 “The Bitter Cry of Outcast London”, 100 Board of Agriculture, 80 Boer War 1899-1902 “boaconstrictor”, 259; British cost, 235; Chamberlain responsible, 43; conditions after, 335; exploding bullets, 250, 319; Jameson raid, 328; jargon, 220; knobkerries, 254; Majuba British loss, 92, 265; “put it through”, 301; Shem’s hideout, 282, 284–285, 356; Stead peace dove, 20 Book of Kells, 146, 150 Booth, Bramwell, 42 Booth, Charles, 188 Borderland, 66, 68 Boston Mass, 169, 198 Boucicault, Dion, 7 Bowker, Gordon James Joyce: Buckley, 316; dark night of soul, 34; Dubliners against Joyce, 136; Joyce chooses Gordon Brown stage name, 296; Joyce reading Mangnall’s Questions, 269; Joyce’s art a high calling, 291; Branch, James, 353 Brehon code, 171 Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 83, 181, 202; Whale, 346 Brian Boru, 143, 217 British and Irish. See also Kelleher, John V.: conflicting information, 81–82, 83; Cromwell statue, 95; Earwicker’s hotels and creamery, 271; nation’s size

competition, 154–155, 156; Sinn Féin loyalty, 271; symphysis, 289, 303 Brooks and Lyons, 134 Broughton, Mrs. Nancy, 111 Brown, John, 29 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 111, 118 Browning, Robert, 180 Brown study, 141 Bruno, Giordano, 58, 66, 72, 156, 157. See also “Brunonian Hiresiarch” chapter , 287–320; Chandler light in darkness, 302; “fried-at-belief stakes”, 312; Frith, Isabella, 288; imprisonment, 294; previsioned Einstein, 295; Professor Jones parody, 304–307; Rowland, Ingrid on statue, 295; Sordid Sam, 290, 298–300; transition to afterlife, 301–307 “Buckley shot the Russian general”, 316–320 Budgen, Frank and James Joyce: anticollaborators, 19; authors of Our Exag, 51, 144; Berkeley and Archdruid defense of book, 238; encounter with tramp, 83, 144, 248, 267 Bulgarian atrocities and MacGahan, 30–32, 95 Burton, Sir Richard F., 4, 101 Butler, Josephine, 111, 124, 325 Bywaters murder trial, 250 Cabbagers, 55, 79, 85, 96–98 cad, 248–249, 331 cakes, 175 Cambridge University, 65 Campbell, Joseph, 29, 52, 76, 324; Finnegans Wake pages 595.34-596.33, 375–377; Joyce’s precedent, 374–377; monomyth hero path, 356, 372–377; separation-initiation-return, 357; Stead hero path, 356–363; Stead meeting goddesses, 358–359 candlelight, 101, 145, 161, 257 Caractacus, 204 Carlyle, Thomas credits, 61–65; Cromwell hero of Joyce and Stead, 95–96; hero knows not himself, 93, 360; Heroes and Hero Worship, 96; London a Babylon, 45; message from Goethe, 99; Sartor

Index Resartus, 194; sea journey “to the whale”, 342; Stead’s choice of Cromwell over Jesus, 58; true king, 352 Carnegie, Andrew, 88 Carus, Paul, 17 Casaconcordia, 65, 89 Catherine the Great. See Kate the charwoman Catholic University of Dublin, 82 Cawnpore, 14–15 Celtic doctrine of rebirth, 218–219 Chamberlain, Joseph in Punch, 25, 27; blamed for Boer War, 43, 93; political pretensions, 122; three acres and a cow, 368 Charrington, Frederick, 127 Cheiro (Count Hamon), 85, 183 Childers, Hugh Culling Eardley, 76, 81 child victim, 63, 64, 102, 119 Christlikeness, 59–60 Christy Minstrels, 32 chrysalis factor, 3 Cincinnatus, 97, 118 civic centers, 88, 141, 362 Cloete, Stuart, 113 Clontarf battle and Brian Boru, 143; Cabman’s shelter, 149, 167; clean turf disguise, 264; family imbroglio, 187; Gael against Gall, 217; Mutt and Jute, 83, 104, 121, 220 clover credits, 334–335 Coates, James, 42, 183 Columbus, Christopher, 68 Combe, Mrs., 170, 172, 199–200 community centers, 75, 88 “conspiracy of silence”, 103 control number thrice, 160 Copenhagen horse, 8 Costello, Peter Clongowes Wood (history): death of Marshal Browne, 243–244; ghosts, 241–244, 246; Henry Browne and T. P. O’Nowlan, 305; “Peter the Packer” at Clongowes, 182 Costello, Peter James Joyce: The Years of Growth, 342 Cousins, James and Gretta, 66 Criminal Law Amendment Act, 1, 2; “Act of God”, 154; charges against Stead, 261; history, 112, 170; passage, 138;

389

“siege of PMG office”, 123–125, 127 Crispi, Luca and Sam Slote How Joyce Wrote “Finnegans Wake”, 21, 42, 321; Anna Livia’s “Well”, 201; Geert Lernout, 26; Issy source, 21, 22 Cromwell, Oliver as Carlyle’s “Savior”, 75; “good man Stead”, 61, 62, 63; hero of Carlyle and Joyce, 94–95; “old knoll”, 325 crossheads, 106 crossing Phoenix Park, 333. See also Maamtrasna crosskisses, 111, 170, 200 Custer’s Battle of the Little Big Horn, 257 cycling, Countess Warwick, 160; Miss Bacon 27 days, 195; Stead’s Cambridge House, 339 Daily Paper, 93 “Daunty, Gouty and Shopkeeper”, 80 Darrow, Clarence, 14 Deacon, Richard, 137, 139, 312 Deane, Vincent, 248 Dempsey, George as “Mr. Tate”, 300, 304 Dilke, Sir Charles and Gladstone, 312; Stead as snake, 323; Stead opposes Dilke, 312, 325 Dillon, Dr. Emile Joseph, 25, 32, 315 Disraeli, Benjamin (Lord Beaconsfield) in Punch, 95; GOM [Gladstone] “God’s Only Mistake”, 314; anti-Russian, 324 Domesday Book, 87 Douglas, Norman London Street Games, 266. See also “cg” designations passim Dowson, Ernest, 46, 53 Doyle, Ann, 332 Druids, 29, 34, 334, 351, 374; Joyce in Galway, 34, 351; language, 257; shapechanging enchantment, 374; snake worship, 334; tree alphabet, 29 Dublin city motto, 2, 46; judge scolds Stead for filth, 139 Duke Humphrey, 76, 78, 79 dunghills by Frank Harris, 122 Dunlop tires, 127, 353 Dunne, Finley Peter and “sepoys’ revenge”, 13–14; domestic service crisis, 203; Hiena Hennessy, 15

390

Index

Duszenko, Andrzej on Joyce’s science, 210, 233; Einstein and Joyce, 221, 231–234; Joyce’s Johnny a fourth power, 235; relativity and splitting atom, 229–230; white light, 237 Eagleton, Terry, 2 Earwicker credentials, 333; absorb Irish history, 221–223; gatekeeper, 83 earwigs, 83–84 Eastern question, 4, 329 Eckley, Douglas (actuary), 233 Eckley, Grace Maiden Tribute biography of Stead, 148–149 Einstein, 209–213, 232, 233. See also Duszenko, Andrzej; Bruno previsions, 293; Eins and Ulm, 230; energy neither created nor destroyed, 230; Joyce time and space, 238; Joyce’s vanishing universe, 240; light and quanta, 210; Poincare, Henri, 236; quantum theory, 229–231, 236 Eliza Armstrong, 2, 20; Bishop Regionary, 105, 106; Cardinal Manning, 72, 122; “Child of 13 Bought for £5”, 108–113, 138; “C.L.A. Act”, 127; Eliza-Lily, 109–112; facsimile letter, 199–200; midden crosskisses, 6, 20–21, 112; Professor of Breakfast Table, 146–150; repercussions, 113–119, 131; Stead’s trial, 47, 109, 139; thunder, 99–141 Ellis, A. J., 234 Ellmann, Richard, biography James Joyce, 32; Adrian Monniere gathering, 67; Anna Livia’s speech, 201; control of Gorman biography, 51; Critical Writings, 287; “Dooleysprudence” song, 13; Eyepatch 1926, 278; final word, 52; Gogarty contribution, 226, 231, 234; “Ireland at the Bar”, 253; James Stephens The Crock of Gold, 226–229; “keep professors busy”, 52; residences, 186; “St. Stephens” magazine rejection, 296; Stephen Hero, 52–53; Triestine pupils, 32–33 etymology of Stead name, 85–88 Euclidian geometry, 234, 257 Evans-Wentz, Walter Yeeling, 34; elementals, 228–229; Fairy Faith, 209,

226; memory in nature, 214, 242; phantoms warning of death, 242; recycling body particles, 219 Faber and Faber, 36, 78, 80 Fargnoli, A. Nicholas and Michael Patrick Gillespie, 43, 78 Farmer, J. S. and Henley, W. E. Slang and Its Analogues dialects, 23; donkers, 28; Fing, 204; layers and backers, 206; pudding, 204; snigs, 33, 202; “what aclog it is”, 250; “You’re a cure”, 183 Father Michael, 170, 172, 189–196; funeral, 346–347; sacred seduction, 22 Fay, W. and F., 347 Felix culpa, 340 F.E.R.T. motto of Rhodes, 221 Festy King trial, 157–158 “Fields of Athenry” song, 98 “filth” designates anti-vice campaign, 1, 88, 100, 139; Earwicker cannot oppose, 80; England butt of jokes, 101–122, 104, 105; Festy King, 158; Frank Harris, 122; Joyce and “sin in the park”, 137; Kate Strong, 256; Mutt and Jute on Ireland, 220; Pears’ soap tramp, 354; Stead as peace dove, 21 Finn MacCool (McCool) basics, 354–363; Druidic powers, 351–352; handful of turf, 72, 359–361; hypothetical death date 283, 219; Ogham inscriptions, 153; OHehir lack of evidence, 355; Phoenix Park murders, 340; rebirth, 43–45, 218, 242; salmon episode, 322; W. T. Stead, 129, 151, 352 Finot, Jean, 91–92 Flammarion, Camille, 228 Fleming, Alice Kipling (pseud. of Mrs. Holland), 69 Flood, J. M., Ireland Its Saints and Scholars color green, 237; daughters of King Leary, 351; St. Patrick and Archdruid, 237, 239 Flying Dutchman, 107 Fooks, Mark, 64 forgery, 5 Four evangelists, 154 fourth power, 235 Fredeman, William E., 29

Index

391

Frederic, Harold, 81 Furniss, Harry, 76, 81 Fuse, Mikio, 334

Grimaldi on light, 209 “Groans of the Britons” letter, 334 Gurney, Edmund, 69

Gall-o-glach soldiers, 10 Garrett, Edmund, 147 genetic research, 86–88 Genov, Roumen L., 95 ghosts on stairs at Clongowes, 243–244; Earwicker, 246; Joyce’s mother, 217, 224; Kate the Cleaner, 244, 245–246; Mrs. Porter, 244; Turfbrown Mummy, 225 giant’s grave at Penrith, 221 Gilbert, Stuart, 36, 51 Gilliland, John M., 225 Giordano Bruno biography by McIntyre, 287–288, 291, 309; identity of indiscernibles, 304; ignorance of Divine brings closeness, 292; Ingrid Rowland on Bruno’s memory, 305; Isce et ille, 303; symphasis in antipathies, 303 Gladstone, William in Punch, 25, 27, 315; Bulgarian Horrors, 59, 106; Carlyle’s view, 61; character, 314–316, 326; courtesans, 137, 312–313; general election, 173, 199; Gladstone pipe, 315; injustice to Ireland, 81; internal excitement, 137, 138; Joyce against Gladstone, 155; Napoleon a “colossal intellect”, 17; Napoleon not “boneypart”, 256; taxes, 81–82; thunder of the anti-vice crusade, 315 Glasheen, Adaline, 189 Goethe, Johann, 80, 99 Gogarty, Oliver debt to Joyce, 234; Clongowes, 244; legpull, 231, 234; profession, 264–265, 265, 269 Goldsmith, Oliver, 40, 84, 205; “Sweet Auburn” Joyce’s Chapelizod, 368–369 Gordon Highlanders, 92 Gorman, Herbert biography of Joyce, 51 Grace O’Malley, 8, 348 Grace, W. G., 312–313 Graves, Robert White Goddess, 352; Beech means literature, 352; Joyce’s pun implies Beckett, 169 Greenwood, Frederick, 100 Griffin, Gerald, 190

Hadrian, Emperor, 43 Haeckel, Ernst The Riddle of the Universe, 307 Haldane, J. B. S. biologist, 237 Hamo (Sir William) Thornycroft, 95 “Hands across the sea”, 333 Harmsworth, Alfred (Viscount Northcliffe), 59, 205, 311 Harper, Edith K., 34, 36; Catherine the Great, 153; Shaun’s letter parody, 185; Stead’s work of “Time and the Hour”, 376; telepathy with Stead, 193; watercress, 183 Harris, Frank, 122 Hart, Clive tribute, 6; Cecil Rhodes and Quinet, 90; Coppinger, 181; Joyce’s knowledge, 20; limit of three Browns, 290; Mrs. Holland and artificer, 69; oasthouse, 22–23; ”PW” as Parnell witness, 281; Quinet motif, 320, 349; Stead variations, 85 Harte, Eva, 32 Hawksley, Bouchier, 94 Hayman, David purposeful alteration, 22; First Draft Version, 212, 232, 333; Hayman/Slote Genetic Studies, 273 Heber and Heremon, 169 Henley, William Ernest, 62 Henrietta’s slum, 122 Herbert, Hon. Auberon, 127 hero’s quest, 45, 83 hesitancy, 100, 127–136 Hill, Frank Harrison, 31 Hodgson, Dr. Richard, 69 Hole, E. S. on Stead’s contradictions, 141 Holloway Prison/castle, 139, 140, 324; “Be a Christ”, 52; Gladstone honophreum, 326; Dr. Jameson, 328; Lough Neagh, 72; My First Imprisonment pleasantry, 140, 325–327; release, 322 Holmes, Oliver Wendell “Autocrat”, 145, 247, 289; antipathies in living specimens, 293; Atherton, 289; Bruno, 283, 292, 301; “Donkeyism”, 292; Elsie Venner precedent, 157, 293; Stead’s

392

Index

breakfast, 147, 150 holusbolus “genuine authorship”, 19 Hopkins, Miss Ellice, 126 Horsley, Rev. J. F., 119–120 horse racing theology, 363–365; Lord Rosebery’s St. Ladas, 363 “House That Jack Built”, 17 Hughes, Rev. Hugh Price, 59 Huis ten Bosch Palace, 89 Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker, 80, 81, 83–84; dining with Duke Humphrey, 78, 79; Here Comes Everybody, 79; Phoenix Park “encounter”, 144, 145, 252–254; political statement, 78 Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker name, 78–85; list of abusive names, 268; second version, 252–266; travels throughout Ireland, 219–223 Humpty Dumpty, 43, 78; encrypted name, 15; “grandada of all rogues”, 78; John Tenniel, 45; nursery rhyme egg, 36, 78 Hurley, Rev. Timothy, 54 Ibsen, Henrik, 52, 53 Ides of April, 101 Igoe, Vivien Burial Grounds, 66; James Joyce’s Dublin, 186 incest, 119 “Ireland’s Little Account” with Britain, 81–82 Irish called pigs, 84, 261, 263–265, 268; British soldiers, 265, 278, 301; medieval pedagogues, 292; pigsticking the Boers, 301 Irish history reset, 220–221 Irish kings, 266 Irish mudstorm, 247, 260, 263, 288 Irish vision tales, 40, 217 Irving, Sir Henry, 97 Issy’s “Dream Place” sequence, 145; cloud spirit, 254, 311–312; “draym” and “dreemplace”, 41; fantasy lover, 327; game of colours, 160; her condition, 198–200, 346; her “majesty”, 201; intertextual letter, 180–183; last “dissociated” letter, 189–197; midden letter, 172, 204–205; secret abortion, 347; “sin in park”, 312; snakes under clover, 346–349; Speedwell, 191, 197;

suicide letter, 177–181 Ivan the Terrible, 100 Jackson and Costello biography John Stanislaus Joyce, 2, 158; Browne and O’Nowlan, publishers and dons, 305; “Cabra” poem, 66; Dodder mystery, 188; family denials, 136; food crises, 151; ghost of May Joyce, 224; Guiness misspelled, 370; impersonations, 269; Jim reads Myers, 248; last interview, 367; mad nuns, 186 James, William, 226 Jarrett, Rebecca, 111 Jarvis, Stephen, 334 Jedburgh justice, 222, 337 Jeffries, Mrs. brothel madam, 113, 115; Constable Sackerson’s visit, 272; Inspector Minahan, 113; pamphlets to the Peers and Commons, 118; parade of brothel beauties, 174; party after Stead’s conviction, 139; procuresses, firm of, 115–117; Rose Cottage brothel, 161; Stead threatens subpoena, 124 Jingoism, 94 John Bull icon, 79, 95 John, Saint “of the Cross”, 33 Jones, Victor, 113 journalism’s Eye of Providence, 325 Joyce, James, 23–26; Bruno’s burning links to food, 301; Butt and Taff “mergence”, 296, 313–316; Dempsey, George “Mr. Tate”, 289; family, 158; “Ireland at the Bar”, 247, 253; Professor Jones parodies Bruno, 305; Shem-Caseous eats wormy cheese, 305–306; studies Italian with Father Ghezzi, 296 Joyce, James and Issy’s “draym” and “dreemplace”, 41, 212 Joyce, James and W. T. Stead: Father Michael, 174, 179, 180; format of chapter 10, 177; Guspodin, 149, 152–156; hesitancy, 129; Kish, 181–183; Minotaur: Ovid and London, 121; “Peaches” and boys, 120; present tense, 210, 359; Shaun/JUSTIUS berates Shem, 308–309; Shaun letter carrier, 186; Shaun’s “Trial by Julias”

Index letter, 183–185; Shem as dogpoet and Bethgelert, 308; Shem as “heresiarch”, 310; Shem as jackal, 311; Stephen Daedalus and Christiana, Norway, 52; thunder and the “Maiden Tribute”, 99–141; vice fed by tributary rills, 114–115 Joyce, James Finnegans Wake, 29, 39, 78; 293 sketch, 38, 231–232, 232; Abba, Father, 73, 74; afterlife, 74, 163–167, 189–190; Amenti, 34; Anna Livia Plurabelle, 80, 82–83, 90; Anna’s his and her letters, 198; antipathies, 70; barrel dream ride, 43, 44, 236; British storekeeper, 79; Bruno and Frances A. Yates, 297, 309; Bruno and Ingrid Rowland, 309; Butt and Taff television skit, 163; Castleknock Road, 122; children’s nightletter, 181; Clongowes, 4, 209, 241, 242; Clongowes heresy, 288–292; Conscience of the race, 60, 70; Constable Sackerson, 43, 126, 159; Quest for Meanings, 351–353 Joyce, James “letters” at residences, 185–189; opulence designed, 161–163 Joyce, James “Maiden Tribute”, 143; aftermath, 139; Eliza Armstrong’s letter, 170, 180; night prowling, 129, 159–160; pest of the park, 130, 131; Serpentine pond prowl, 129; shirt torn, 254; stains, 172; Stead’s personal appearance, 141 Joyce, James Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, 69–73; beauty as light, 210; Ellice Hopkins, 126; ending “Old father”, 52; Joyce’s Easter duty, 54; “muddest thick”, 210 Joyce, James Ulysses: Cabman’s shelter, 149, 156, 167; “poisonous berries”, 235 Joyce, John Stanislaus (James Joyce’s father Pappie). See Jackson and Costello biography Joyce, Myles, 247 Jukes and Kellikeks, 331–332 Julia Ames, 174, 175–177 Julia’s Bureau, 183–185

393

Kate the charwoman, 8, 9–18, 23; Catherine the Great, 153; summons children from pub, 314 Kelleher, John V., 49, 337, 344; Irish gai Bolga harpoon, 344; “Student and Cook”, 338 Kensit, John, 64 Kersse, 83, 105, 136 Kinch, 160 King Charles I, 96 King Olaf, 96 Kish, 85, 181–182 Knowles, James, 338 Knowlton, Charles, 65 Labelle, Maurice, 67 LeFanu, Sheridan, 34, 144 Leoni’s three souls, 189 Leopard “kills fellah in Fez”, 225 Lewis Carroll, 234, 336 Lewis, Wyndham Time and Western Man, 234; Butt on parrylewis, 317; Convolvulus, 133; Joyce’s time versus space, 307; Mr. Melancholy Slow, 336; Professor Jones, 304–307; Shem/Shaun and Bruno’s spinning top, 306 Lily Kinsella, 205–206, 340 “Lily-Lilith”, 108, 109, 112, 230 Lincoln, Abraham, 3, 118 Lipoleums, 8, 9–10 Lodge, Sir Oliver, 69, 228 Longford, Elizabeth, 9–10 Lopes, Judge Henry Charles, 1 Lord Aberdeen, 127 Lord Milner opposes Boers, 90; refuses Stead, 93; Stead as Quixote-Barnum, 225 Lord Rutherford split atom, 229 Lord Snell, 46 Lough Neagh, 74 Lowell, James Russell, 57 Lucan and Chapelizod, 40 Luttrel, Henry, 252 Lyons, F. S. L., 97 Maamtrasna, 3; “cad encounter”, 83, 249–252; Festy King’s trial, 260–266; Joyce’s “Ireland at the Bar”, 247; judiciary and police, 82; lack of

394

Index

evidence, 248, 251; precedents, 248; purpose of Pappie’s arrest, 187; second Park encounter, 252–254; Shem speaks for Pappie, 275–277, 282; Pappie as Roderick O’Connor, 366–371; trial conclusion, 268–275; varied accounts of encounter, 259 Macalister Secret Languages of Ireland, 257; Goidelic, 257, 258 MacGahan, Januarius A., 30–32 Mackillop, James, 34 MacManus, Seumas on Irish file, 351, 352 Madam Tussaud, 336–337 Made in Germany by E. E. Williams, 60 “Mad Mullah”, 178–180 Maeterlinck, Maurice, 52 Magrath, 201, 202, 203 maidens as flowers, 133–134 “Maiden Tribute”, 42, 70, 104. See also Criminal Law Amendment Act; Berlin, 250 Manning, Cardinal portrait, 105, 106; compares Stead to Cromwell, 95; chides Stead for dare-devil writing, 72; father to Stead, 72; once married, 58; visits Stead in jail, 125 “Mary Had a Little Lamb”, 113 Mark Twain, Huck and Jim, 91 Mansion House Committee, 138, 338–339 Marx, Karl, 83 Mason, Ellsworth and Richard Ellmann James Joyce: Critical Writings, 287 Mason, Shelagh, 86 May, Phil, 258 Maybrick, Mrs. Florence, 188 McAlmon, Robert, 67 McHugh, Roland “sigla” signs, 51; Berkeley’s phrase, 240; Bog Latin, 273–274; Danis in Thom’s Directory, 204; hymns for “libans”, 193; Irish “Dthat nday”, 272; murder and anguish, 278; Ogham words, 273; Shaun’s letter and Swift, 183–184; “spoken has Algoritmi”, 235; Toller man, 253; Tristan of Howth, 201; Vancouver, 272 McIntyre, J. Lewis Giordano Bruno, 287 Mearns, Andrew, 100 midden letter basics, 5–22; Anna Livia’s, 201–208; born gentleman, 173;

children’s Nightletter, 181–183, 182; closing, 203; Eliza information, 111; Father Michael, 179; Issy’s first letter, 169–177; Issy’s “last” letter, 189–197; Issy’s pregnancy, 180–181; Jarl van/ von Hoother, 87; Joyce family residences, 185–189; origin, 198–200; outer husk, 146–151, 153, 159; “Who’s the Hen”, 197–200 migration of souls, 43 Minahan, Inspector, 113 Minotaur, 104, 118–120, 121; Berlin, 250 Monniere, Adrienne, 67 Mookse and Gripes, 156 Moore, Henry, 122 Moore, Thomas, 73, 81 M.P.s in Session, 76 Morgan, Matt cartoonist, 29 Morley, John, 95, 154, 305, 324; commoners as “cheesemites”, 305–306; locking up the Irish, 261; published Joyce’s “Ibsen’s New Drama”, 53, 305 motifs, 2, 20–22, 21 motto of the Garter, 171–172 “Mr. Tate”, 66, 304–307; Aristotle as new Mr. Tate, 294 “muddest thick”, 100, 126, 210 multiplexity, 28, 29 municipal sin, 100 Murray, Mary Jane (Joyce’s mother): dog poet, 308; Irish twins, 217, 225; Murroughs family, 365; nickname May Joyce, 203 Mutt and Jute, 83, 143 Myers, Frederick W. H. Phantasms of the Living, 160, 228; “Nature has a memory”, 242 Napoleon, 7, 17, 79, 153, 155; “Man of Destiny”, 315 Narrators, Asking and Telling, 26–28, 155 “nat language”, 256 Neagh, Loch, 72 Newcastle civic center, 88, 362; Robertson Scott, John W., 42, 151 newspaper defined, 170 Newman, Cardinal, 72 Newnes, Sir George, 76

Index Newton, Sir Isaac, 209, 230, 232, 234; space, 236; white light and color, 239 Nicholas of Cusa, 288, 289, 291; Bruno, 298; numbers, 219 “The Night before Larry Was Stretched”, 32 “nightmare of history”, 4, 42, 67 Nighttown, 102, 159–160 “nine tailors make a man”, 202 Nobel Prize, 93, 94 Nolan, Captain Louis, “Charge of Light Brigade”, 302 Nolan peripatetic Bruno, 158; Bruno celebration in Rome, 291, 374; Emigrant M.U.G., 331; Senior Knowno and Senior Brolano, 347 Norsemen, 101 Norwegian captain, 83, 153 Novikoff, Madame, 61, 65 Numbers, 219 nursery rhyme: “Where Are You Going?”, 144–146 “Obedience of the Citizens”, 139 obscurity, 23–25 O’Connell, Daniel, 235 O’Connor, T. P., 326 O’Grady, Standish on poet equal to king, 351 O’Hanlon, John, 41, 212 “Old Artificer”, 68, 70 Old Bailey, 111 “One of the Victims”, 63, 64, 119, 175 opposites, attraction of, 38, 70 Ossian tales, 217 Ovid, 105, 121 Paladino, Eusapia, 241 Pappie, 34, 125, 144, 187. See also Maamtrasna; age of Stead and Pappie, 367; court trial, 259–268; Festy King, 157–160, 260–261; pubs, 256; voyeurism, 202–203 parallel universe, 229–240, 233 Parnell, Charles Stewart, 235, 263 Pears’ soap, 76, 354 Peel, Sir Robert, 43 Penny Popular Poems and Novels series, 141

395

“Perfidious Albion”, 328–334; Kevin Sullivan on Porphyry, 329; Queen Victoria visit, 331 Persse O’Reilly, 57, 80, 83 Peter the Packer, 182 Phoenix Park, 18, 34, 83, 333. See also Maamtrasna Piccadilly, 100 pierced paraflamme, 144; Pappie’s acquisition, 256, 257, 259 Pigeon House, 344–345 Piggott, Richard, 127 “Pink one” Sporting Times, 102 Polhemus, Robert M., 120 Police des mœurs, 126 Pope Adrian (Nicholas Breakspear), 181 Power, Tyrone, 347, 348 Prankquean, 87, 217; defines “Pease” as mass noun, 301 Prince, Morton, 189, 192 Prince of Wales, 171–172 Procurator of the Holy Synod, 195–196 “Professor at the Breakfast Table”, 146–150 Professor Jones, 156–157 Prolegomenon, xiii prostitution, 48; London market of human flesh, 132; promoted by theatres, 132 Publican, 60 Punch, 25, 29, 56, 183–185 Puritanism, 97, 98 Queen Victoria’s shamrock, 335; chocolates, 329; “rule of three”, 235; visit in Ireland, 331 Quinet motif, 90, 133, 180, 320, 349 Rabaté, Michael, 41–42, 236 Rees, Alwyn and Brinley, 40–41 Rhodes, Cecil, 31, 42, 371; attempted visit to Stead in jail, 326; F.E.R.T. motto, 90–94 Richards, Grant, 13 Robertson Scott, John W., 42, 59, 148, 150; Stead’s bible, 151 Robins, Elizabeth, 97 Roll, William G. The Poltergeist, 241 Rolleston, Thomas High Deeds of Finn, 355, 357, 376

396

Index

Roman Catholics, 102 Rose Cottage, 161; Rose, Danis and John O’Hanlon, 4, 41–42; John O’Hanlon and David Hayman, 212 Russel, George William [pseud. Æ], 226 Russia and British prejudice, 169 Russian general, 5, 86, 100, 137; Bruno, 288, 312; Buckley, 154, 156, 163, 253–255; extrapolation of Stead’s “Maiden Tribute”, 314; mergence of Butt and Taff, 318–320; shooting the Russian general, 313, 316–320 Saint Fiacre, 36 Saint Laurans O’Toole, 204 Saint Muezzin, 176, 257 Salvation Army, 114 Savoy acronym, 158 Schloss, Carol Loeb, 347, 348; Joyce’s tribute to Lucia, 349; Lucia’s abortion, 347 Schults, Raymond L., 63, 122, 169 Scotland Yard, 123 Scott, Amy Dawson, 33–34, 39; From Four Who Are Dead, 210–215, 346; “Stead Script”, 209 second sight, 35 Secret British “empire of the snake”, 321–323, 325–328; Anna Livia speaks, 339–341; Edenic misogyny, 327; Edenic snake, 372; Elsies from Chelsies, 331; Howth entrance, 330–331; Issy treads on clover, 327, 346–349; snake worship, 334, 341; Stead illustration, 323 “Secret Commission”, 114, 124–125, 130 Senior Partner, 59, 150 Sepoys, 14–16 sexual disease, 45–47 Shakespeare-Bacon, 76 shamrocks, 334–335 Shem multiplexity, 40; “excesses of church power”, 289; Kate, 153; Oxonian, 152; trial of Shem and Pappie, 157–158 Sherwood, Mary, 102 Shiel, Matthew Phipps, 46 Sidgewick, Henry Census of Hallucinations, 242 Sinai of sex and religion, 65–68

Sinn Fein, 138, 250 Sir Arthur Edward Guinness, 134 slow/snake worms, 321; legless lizard, 328; Wyndham Lewis, 336 snakes, 321–349, 323; storekeeper McGrath, 201–202, 203 Society for Psychical Research, 69 soldier recruitment, 47, 48 speckled church, 71, 74, 249 spiritualism, 38, 66; dark night of the soul, 33; death of son Willie, 90; game of “colours”, 160; journal Light, 185; Julia’s Bureau, 68 Sporting Times, 102 Spurgeon, Rev. Charles Haddon, 118 statutory rape at age 16, 99 Stead and Steed, 87 Stead, Estelle My Father and Spirit Return, 180; Congregationists, 55; Stead’s faith not devotional, 54; a wrong equates with a divine call, 57 Stead, Henry “My Father”, 61, 139, 147, 150 Stead, W. T. ethics: “A Child of Thirteen”, 108–113, 112; “Barnum faculty”, 88–90; “Be a Christ” doctrine, 59; bibliomancy, 148, 150–151; Bill of Old Bailey, 41; boys abducted for prostitution, 120; childhood education, 55–56; child prostitution, 103; churchmandated celibacy, 72; conspiracy of silence, 103, 118, 123; criminal vice, 101; Daedalus of Crete, 104; Dogger Bank, 59; droit of signory, 104; evolution to unity with God, 210, 213–216; fish out of season, 120; innumerable solar systems, 211–212; light in afterlife, 214; “Mother” a Stead tribute, 148–149; “My Father, My Son”, 55–56; new Catholicity, 58, 70; “Nolens Volens”, 100, 106–108, 304; North Richmond Street, 107; W.T. and his father, 55, 71 Stead, W. T. beliefs, 20; angels, 212; afterlife, 38–39; automatic writing, 66–70, 175; “century of wrong” since 1798, 57; contradictions, 141; dirty tramp a hero, 353, 354; faith, 212, 258; journalistic practice, 327; London

Index schools, 330; multiple personality, 194, 198, 210, 228; prison uniform, 140–141, 323; speech at The Hague, 65; union of Britain and Ireland, 333; vilification, 53 Stead, W. T. crossheads, 123; “Majesty of the law”, 321; Humpty Hunch (Kyphosis), 83; Irish relations, 57, 120; “niggers” Pappie’s children, 55; Reading Quiz, 151; North Richmond Street, 107 Stead, W. T. besieged at Northumberland Street, 123; optimism, 61; Pall Mall Gazette, 99; personal enemies, 138–139; Protestants, 58, 102; Publican, 60; Punch, 99; raven and dove motif, 20, 21, 68; Review of Reviews, 42, 71, 132; shirtsleeves, 116; slogans, 54, 57, 59; Spuk, 68; telepathy, 193; Vatican, London, 58, 96; West End brothel, 107; white hat, 98; white slavery, 102, 137, 170; Willis, W. N., 125, 133 Stead, W. T. Fifty Years of the House of Lords, 61 Stead, W. T. From Four Who Are Dead, 34; “The Stead Script”, 34, 37 Stead, W. T. Ghost Stories, 68, 189 Stead, W. T. Haunting Horrors in Armenia, 31 Stead, W. T. Here Am I: Send Me!, 148, 180 Stead, W. T. How I Know That the Dead Return, 68 Stead, W. T. How the Mail Steamer Went Down in Mid-Atlantic, 67 Stead, W. T. Hymns That Have Helped, 54, 141 Stead, W. T. Letters from Julia, 34, 68; Julia’s Bureau, 34, 175–177; Shaun and Julia, 183–185 Stead, W. T. Letters from the Vatican, 58, 62, 72; Afterlife, 214; Joyce’s overview, 215–225; “Maiden Tribute”, 99, 117, 119; Pope “on the brain” 8f1. Stead, W. T. Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon, 83, 99, 101, 250; atomic bomb, 100, 229, 318; “Lily-Lilith”, 108, 109, 112; man in shirt motif, 100;

397

“marks”, 107; Moslem afterlife, 105, 144, 145; mothers selling children, 21; Mrs. Mackirdy, 125, 133; Naples, 103 Stead, W. T. My First Imprisonment, 29 Stead, W. T. The Pope and the New Era, 58 Stead, W. T. Truth about Russia, 198, 359 Stead, W. T. Truth about the Navy, 41 Stead, W. T. The United States of Europe, 65; MacCann in Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist (196), 65 Stead, W. T. “The Wasted Wealth of King Demos”, 61 Steede, Michael, 88 Stephens, James, 19, 209, 226–229; fairy faith, 226–229; Fenian, 265 Stevenson, Robert Louis, 153 subliminal consciousness, 160 Sultan Abdul Hamid, 31 Swift, Jonathan, 184–185 Sylvia Silence, 60, 103 Sypek, Alexis, 237–239; George Berkeley, 237; HCE symbol, 237; J. M. Flood Ireland, 237; Juva’s light of reason, 239 taciturn, 121, 143, 173 tailors, 202 “Tale of a Tub”, 314 teastain, 174 Tegman, Mark, 4 Tenniel, John, 2, 95 Tennyson, Alfred Lord, 169, 171 “Territorials”, 92, 254 Terrot, Charles, 63, 102, 103, 123; Victorian upbringing, 199 theatre, 97–98 Thompson, Yates, 312 Thor, 96 thought, 40, 210–226, 213–214, 226 thunder. See also “muddest thick”: extension of Maiden Tribute storm, 125–127; last day of Maiden Tribute, 125–126; source of secret wealth, 326–327; Stead’s “deluge of filth”, 122, 139 thunderbolt (Maiden Tribute), 99, 100, 137; annihilation of the atom, 318; jail bombing post, 326 thunderstorms and May Joyce, 66

398

Index

thunderword, 171 Tiberius, 121 Titanic with Nomon, 26; backbone tongue, 333; “Be British!”, 250–251, 259, 262; children’s quiz, 151; end, 141; Eva Hart, 32; investigation, 165; Kish, 85; magazine, 207; mysterious light, 73; nightmare, 41; Nobel, 93; Peace Palace at The Hague, 90, 221; prediction, 34; sailing outward, 29; Shem’s memory, 360; songs: Robert McAlmon and Eugene Jolas, 67; Stead’s souvenir, 337; tombstone, 222 tree and stone eons, 224, 230, 241 Tsar of all the Russians, Alexander III, 156, 169, 317 tunneling, 39, 69, 70 tunnel metaphor, 69, 213, 228 umbrella, 25, 26, 27, 43; flasher, 337; political program, 25, 26, 27, 125 Van Hulle, Dirk, 201; pre-publication copies of Finnegans Wake, 3 Van Mierlo, Wim, 42 Vercingetorix 82 BC-46 BC, 204; “force in gidderish”, 204; hero reborn in HCE acrostic, 270 Vereshchagin, Vasily, 14–15, 270 Vico, 47, 82, 180–181; Joyce cycles of history, 210; Lucia Joyce, 349; Samuel Beckett in Our Exag on Vico, 51 Viking’s grave at Penrith, 216 Vincent, Howard, 63 virgins willing and unwilling. See ”Nolens Volens” Vizetelly, Henry, 53 wall, Humpty’s, 43, 45, 78 Warwick, Countess, 160

Waugh, Benjamin, 63, 103, 123, 141; visits Stead in prison, 326 Weaver, Harriet Shaw, 34, 41, 43, 51; Bruno Nolano afterview, 291; home, 202 wedding cates/cakes, 175, 180; born gentleman, 173, 199; crossmess parzel, 207; Father Michael, 192, 346 “Weel May the Keel Row”, 154 Wellington, Arthur Wellesley, First Duke: Dublin monument, 4, 9, 18, 169, 216, 221, 223, 250, 252 Wellington, Duke of and Jinnies, 11–13; London Apsley House, 9 Wellington, Richard, 11 Wells, H.G. World Set Free, 238 West End procuration, 115 whale, 146, 212–230, 217, 321; awakening, 341–344, 345–346 white slavery, 1, 4, 99–103; Eliza Armstrong, 112, 120, 134; scorn of “filth” and “snake”, 318, 331 Whittington, Dick, 40 W. H. Smith parliamentarian, 117 Whyte, Frederic Life of W.T. Stead, 126, 141, 267 Wilde, Oscar, 312 Williams, Ernest Edward Made in Germany, 60 “Willie” [Stead], 90 Wilson, David Alec Carlyle on Cromwell, 45 Wimbledon church, 146–147, 330 woman question, 80 Yates, Frances A. Giordano Bruno, 309 Yeats, William Butler, 34, 176, 232 Zodiac, Irish signs, 336, 337