James Joyce: Notes (1) - Textual History [I]


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Textual History


Notes on the Works (by Texts)
Epiphanies [1902]
“Portrait” Essay (1904)

Stephen Hero (1944)
Chamber Music (1907)
Dubliners (1914)
A Portrait [...] (1916)
Giacomo Joyce (1968)
Exiles (1919)
Ulysses (1922)
Finnegans Wake (1939)
Critical Writings (1959)
Joyce Papers (NLI)
Notes on various stories in Dubliners and chapters Ulysses are filed here under the general headings of those works respectively - with occasionally links to particular items at other locations on this website.

A new Dubliners ...

A collection of new stories by leading Irish writers entitled Dubliners was published by Sarah Davis-Goff of Tramp Press in May 2014 to mark the centenary of Joyce’s book of the same title. Contributors include Patrick McCabe (The Sisters) and Peter Murphy (The Dead) as well as Donal Ryan, John Boyne, Eimear McBride, Paul Murray and others.

[ For information on The Cat and the Devil/The Cat of Beaugency, see attached. ]


Notes on the Works (by titles)
Dubliners
“The Sisters”
“Araby”
“Eveline”
“After the Race”
“The Two Gallants”
“The Boarding House”
“Clay”
“A Painful Case”
“Ivy Day in the Committee Room”
“A Mother”
“Grace”
“The Dead” ...
[ See also “Chronology of Works” - as attached ]
Ulysses
“Telemachus”
“Proteus”
“Aeolus”
“Lestrygonians”
“Scylla & Charybdis”
“Oxen of the Sun”
“Sirens”
“Nausicaa”
“Circe”
“Eumaeus”
“Ithaca”
[...]
[ See also “Chronology of Works” - as attached ]
Finnegans Wake
1st Draft of FW [1923]
FW - “The Hen” [first draft]
The Tunc page of FW
Latin me that! ... (FW)
Scribbledehobble (1961)
Sigla of Finnegans Wake
Finnegans Wake Notebooks


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Epiphanies [1] Conventionally dated 1901-1903; at least 71 written, of which 22 in Joyce’s hand are held in the Lockwood Mem. Library of State University of New York (SUNY) at Buffalo. 18 more are held in in the Joyce Collection of Cornell Univ. Library, all of these being in Stanislaus hand with one exception. Some of these duplicate those at Buffalo. The holograph epiphanies are numbered, possibly in autobiographical sequence, but not their eventual order of use in the works. Their importance in Stephen Hero is indicated by Joyce’s comment on one of them as the transitional point between two sections of the novel (Letters, II, p.79.) The Buffalo epiphanies were edited and published by O. A. Silverman in 1956; later all forty were included in The Workshop of Daedalus, ed. Robert Scholes & Richard Kain (1965).

Note: Stephen Hero contains a lengthy explanation of the process of epiphanisation but the term itself is not included in the corresponding section of A Portrait of the Artist (viz., Stephen Hero, London: Jonathan Cape [1944; rev. edn. 1956] 1969, pp.216-17; Grafton Edn., 1977, p.188-89).

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Epiphanies [2]: See Robert Scholes & Florence L. Walzl, ‘The Epiphanies of Joyce’, in PMLA, 82, 1 (March 1967), pp.152-54 - an exchange in which Scholes argues that the term was never used by Joyce for Dubliners and facetiously suggesting - à la Yeats - that ‘there is more enterprise in walking naked’. Walzl seeks to broaden the term to include the ‘more general signification’ that Joyce attaches to it in his theory of epiphanies [SH188-89] where he relates it to the apprehension of whatness - or, as Walzl actually writes, ‘In the esthetic discussion of Stephen Hero, where the qualities of beauty are defined as integritas (wholeness) consonantia (symmetry) and claritas (radiance), he defines epiphany as an apprehension that radiance is quiddity.’ [sic] (p.152.) Scholes’ contribution to the article occupies only one column of the first page, the rest being devoted to Walzl’s argument.

Oliver St. John Gogarty: When Gogarty was spending an evening with Joyce and others, Joyce suddenly said ‘Excuse me’ and left the room. Recalling the event, Gogarty writes: ‘I don’t mind being reported but to be an unwilling contributor to one of his Epiphanies. Probably Fr. Darlington had taught him. as an aside in his Latin class - for Joyce knew no Greek - that “epiphany” meant a “showing forth”. So he recorded under “Epiphany” any showing forth of the mind by which he considered one gave oneself away. / “Which of us had endowed him with an “Epiphany” amd semt him ot the lavatory to take it down?’ (As I Was Walking Down Sackville Street, p.285; quoted in Theodore Spencer, Introduction to Stephen Hero [1944], Jonathan Cape 1968, p.22, n.2.)

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Epiphanies [3] - Richard Ellmann writes: ‘[H]e began in 1900, and continued until 1903, to write a series of what, because he was following no one, he declined to call prose poems as others would have done. For these he evolved a new and more startling descriptive term, “epiphanies”. The epiphany did not mean for Joyce the manifestation of godhead, the showing forth of Christ to the Magi, although that is a useful metaphor for what he had in mind. The epiphany was the sudden “revelation of the whatness of a thing,” the moment in which the “soul of the commonest object [...] seems to us radiant”’ (James Joyce, 1965 Edn., p.87.) ‘Joyce never insists, and lets the effect trail off. He cradles here the technique which has now become a commonplace of modern fiction. Arrogant yet humble too, it claims importance by claiming nothing; it seeks a presentation so sharp that comment by the author would be an interference. It leaves off the veneer of gracious intimacy with the reader, of concern that he should be taken into the author’s confidence and instead makes the reader feel uneasy and culpable if he misses the intended but always unstated meaning, as if he were being arraigned rather than entertained. The artist abandons himself and his reader to the material.’ (James Joyce [1959] 1965 Edn., p.88.)

Note: In quoting Joyce’s explanatory sentences Ellmann stumbles into inaccuracy by combining passages of Stephen Hero and A Portrait - from the second of which term ‘epiphany’ is starkly absent even though the aesthetic ideas associated with it in the first are substantially reiterated: viz., ‘The soul of the commonest object, the structure of which is so adjusted, seems to us radiant. The object achieves its epiphany.’ [SH 218.] ‘The radiance of which he [i.e., St. Thomas’s claritas] speaks is the scholastic quidditas, the whatness of a thing.’ [AP 217]. It is worth noting that the word ‘revelation’ which Ellmann thrusts into his quotation does not appear in the original, and only figures once in Stephen Hero in an arguably related context when Stephen speaks of the independence of ‘the artist in his revelation of the beautiful’ from puritanical critics [Joyce’s italics; SH 85]. (See Richard Ellmann, James Joyce [1959 Edn.] Oxford UP 1965, p.87.) [BS]

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Epiphanies [4]: See Maurice Beja, Epiphany and the Modern Novel (London: Peter John 1971) - on epiphany: ‘The word of course refers to the manifestation of Christ on the 12th day, January 6th, the Feast of the Epiphany. The word would therefore necessarily have been known to the young Joyce, and as a Catholic he need not have waited, as Oliver St. John Gogarty has suggested he did, to learn its meaning “as an aside in his Latin class.”’ [As I was Walking Down Sackville Street]. Joyce did not know Greek, but he may have known the original meaning of [Greek epiphany]: a manifestation, striking appearance, esp. an appearance of a divinity, according to the OED, which also relates the verb to manifest. In English, the word has for the most part kept its theological context, although the OED does cite figurative adaptions of it. The attempt to determine sources for it other than the ecclesiastical one for Joyce’s application of it have proved unconvincing.’ (p.72.) Note that Beja makes no allusion to Skeat’s Etymological English Dictionary (1882) - which Joyce claims to have read by the hour (Stephen Hero, Cape. Edn., p.32).

Epiphanies/phainos: Joyce’s term epiphany derives from the liturgical calendar feast marking the presentation of the infant Jesus to the priests in the Temple at Jerusalem. Besides harping on the literal sense of epiphany as a “shewing forth” in the sense that the meaning of the thing seen is instantaneously perceived by the observer, Joyce’s abrogation - even theft - of the term carries with it a great deal of the theological sense that the saviour/messiah thus heralded is a type of the kind of artist that he intends to be and that the artists is, correspondingly, endowed with christological powers. In the Stephen Hero episode where the first literary epiphany is introduced and the term defined, the surrounding language echoes the Introit in the liturgy for the epiphany - i.e., Surge Illuminare ...; as infra.) [BS]

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Epiphanies [5] - Epiphany 21, 1903 (I.A.14) - written in Paris - reflects Joyce’s view of his mother’s funeral and was reworked for the Hades episode of Ulysses. (See Buffalo Library Exhibits, Bloomsday; online - accessed 29.12.2008.] Note: the Paris Bourse epiphany in “Proteus” stems from the same date.

Paralytic affections: In Stephen Hero, where he introduces the term “epiphany”, Joyce writes of Eccles Street as one of those Dublin streets of brown brick houses which seemed to him (Stephen) the “very incarnation of Irish paralysis” - an epithet that Joyce employed in several places, most notably in the opening paragraph of “The Sisters” in Dubliners. While the dominant context for the signification of the term is the medical one - particularly importing the symptoms of g.p.i., or “general pareisis [commonly paralysis] of the insane”, which was the tertiary and final stage of the syphilitic infection - the terms has also an Irish folkloric sense, as in the footnote to T. C. Croker’s story of a man who is “fairy struck” by a “good people” seeking to learn of the parish priest (who he is entertaining to dinner) if fairies can enter into Christian heaven. Croker explains:

Thomas Crofton Croker: ‘The term “fairy struck” is applied to paralytic affections, which are supposed to proceed from a blow given by the invisible hand of an offended fairy; this belief, of course, creates fairy doctors, who by means of charms and mysterious journeys profess to cure the afflicted. It is only fair to add, that the term has also a convivial acceptation, the fairies being not unfrequently made to bear the blame of the effects arising from too copious a sacrifice to the jolly god. / The importance attached to the manner and place of burial by the peasantry is almost incredible; it is always a matter of consideration and often of dispute whether to deceased shall be buried with his or her “own people”.’ (“The Confession of Tom Bourke”, in Fairy Legends [... &c.] (London: John Murray & Thomas Tegg 1838): p.49, n.; my italics [BS].)

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Epiphanies [6]: James Joyce to Stanislaus Joyce (8 Feb. 1903): ‘Words cannot measure my contempt for AE at present ... and his spiritual friends. I did well however to leave my MSS with him for I had a motive. However I shall take them back as my latest additions to “Epiphany” might not be to his liking ...’ (Selected Letters, 1975, p.14; quoted in Jorn Barger’s “Joyce Portal” [online; 19.02.08].)

Cf. Stanislaus Joyce (My Brother’s Keeper): ‘Another experimental form which his literary urge took [...] consisted in the noting of what he called epiphanies - manifestations or revelations. Jim always had a contempt for secrecy, and those notes were in the beginning ironical observations of slips, and little errors and gestures - mere straws in the mind - by which people betrayed the very things they were most careful to conceal.’ (MBK, p.124.)

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Epiphanies [7]: Lines engraved on the memorial stone of Ted Hughes bear lines from “That Morning”, a poem recollecting the epiphany of a huge shoal of salmon flashing by as he and his son Nicholas waded a stream in Alaska: ‘So we found the end of our journey / So we stood alive in the river of light / Among the creatures of light, creatures of light.’ The memorial service was accompanied by readings by Seamus Heaney and the actress Juliet Stevenson. (Cited thus on the Wikipedia page on Hughes - online; accessed 18.01.2012.)

Night of the Epiphany: Joyce bought a rocking-horse for Georgie on the Night of the Epiphany, Jan. 1907 - writing to his brother from the bank where he was working: ‘They are celebrating this week in Sylvester’s Church the union of the rites. Every morning a different rite. I should love to go. But I might as well be in Cabra for all I see of anything Coptic, Greek, Chaldean, &c. Excuse the way I scrawl. Any minute the banker’ [breaks off here]. (Letter to Stanislaus, [postmarked] 10 Jan. 1907; Via Monte Brianzo, 51, IV°, Rome; Selected Letters, ed. Richard Ellmann, Faber 1976, p.143; Letters, Vol. II, Faber 1966, p.206.) See also reference to the Night of the Apophanypes in Finnegans Wake, 626.05

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Epiphanies [8] - Stanislaus Joyce writes in his Dublin Diary (1971; rep. 1994): ‘His “epiphanies” - his prose pieces (which I almost prefer to his lyrics) and his dialogues - are again subtle. He has put himself into these with singular courage, singular memory, and scientific minuteness; he has proved himself capable of taking very great pains to create a very little thing of prose or verse. The keen observation and satanic irony of his character are precisely, but not fully, expressed. Whether he will ever build up anything broad - a drama, an esthetic treatise - I cannot say. His genius is not literary and he will probably run through many of the smaller forms of literary artistic expression. He has made living his end in life, and in the light of this magnificent importance of living, everything else is like a rushlight in the sun.’ (The Complete Dublin Diary of Stanislaus Joyce, ed. George H. Healey [Cornell UP 1971] Dublin: Anna Livia Press 1994, p.2 [see longer extract under Stanislaus Joyce - q.v., or as attached.)

Waste paper?: Joyce writes to Stanislaus of Nora (letter of 7 Feb. 1905), ‘When she saw me copy Epiphanies into my novel she asked would all that paper be wasted - which made me think of Heine.’

Note - Richard Ellmann annotates: Heinrich Heine, the German poet, had a mistress, Eugénie Mirat (“Mathilde”) who later became his wife. She was an almost uneducated shop-assistant, but he remained devoted to her until his death.’ (Selected Letters, Faber 1975, p.51.)

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Epiphanies [9] - Stanislaus Joyce writes in My Brother’s Keeper (1958): ‘Another experimental form which his literary urge took while we were living at this address [Glengariff Parade] consisted in the noting of what he called “epiphanies” - manifestations or revelations. Jim always had a contempt for secrecy, and these notes were in the beginning ironical slips and little errors and gestures - mere straws in the wind - by which people betrayed the very things they were most careful to conceal. “Epiphanies” were always brief sketches hardly ever more than some dozen lines in length, but always very accurately observed and noted, the matter being slight.’ (p.134; see further under Stanislaus Joyce, infra.) [Note that 32 Glengarriff Parade (NCR/Drumcondra), was the family address in autumn 1900.]

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Harry Levin, James Joyce: A Critical Introduction (Faber 1944; rev. edn. 1960) - on epiphanies: ‘What seems trivial details to others may be portentous symbols to him, In this light, Joyce’s later works are artificial reconstructions of a transcendental view of experience. His dizzying linguistic experience and pornographic confession, between myth and autobiography, between symbolism and naturalism, are attempts to create a literary substitute for the revelations of religion.’ (p.38.) See also “Revisiting Joyce”, the additional chapter in the 1960 edition: ‘the term [epiphany] itself has already become a catch-word’. (p.187.)

[Further]: ‘This is simply an attempt to define what is so often referred to as the nuance. The epiphany, in effect, is the same device. Though grounded in theology, it has now become a matter of literary technique. It has become Joyce’s contribution to that series of developments which convert narrative into short-story, supplant plot with style, and turn the raconteur into a candid-camera expert. The measure of success, in so attenuated a form, is naturally the degree of concentration.’ (Ibid., p.39; see also under Commentary, supra - or go to longer extracts in RICORSO Library, “Criticism > Major Authors” - via index or direct.)

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Epiphanies [10] - William T. Noon (SJ) writes: ‘The Joycean epiphany in literature may be described as a formulation through metaphor or symbol of some luminous aspect of individual human life, some highly significant facet of the most intimate and personal reality, some particular radiant point to the meaning of existence.’ (James Joyce and Aquinas, Yale UP 1957, p.39.) Fr. Noon is positive that Joyce’s uses of Aquinas’s triad was ‘a misunderstanding, if not a wilful distortion of the Aquinatian point of view.’ (p.17.) [See further under Commentary, supra.]

See notes on the incidence of the term ‘epiphany’ in current literature and media - including instances from Jan Morrison, Thomas Harrison, Michael Longley, and Homer Simpson - Notes, infra.

Epiphany revival?: Deborah Warner, ‘The Ballast-Office Time Ball and the Subjectivity of Time and Space’, in James Joyce Quarterly, 35, 4 / 36, 1 (Summer-Fall, 1998), pp. 861-64 [available at JSTOR - online]. See also Sam Slote, ‘Epiphanic “Proteus”, in Genetic Joyce Studies [online].

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Epiphanies [11] - In Dublin’s Joyce (London: Chatto & Windus 1955), Hugh Kenner writes that ‘The possibility of epiphanies depends on the composite structure of things, signate matter plus intelligible form.’ (p.46) - adding in a footnote that St. Thomas Aquinas’s epistemological theory (i.e., hylomorphism) is ‘the only metaphysic in which the theory of epiphanies is meaningful.’

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The Day of the Rabblement (pub. 14 Oct. 1901): Two Essays: “A Forgotten Aspect of the University Question” by F. J. C. Skeffington, and “The Day of the Rabblement” by James A. Joyce (Dublin: Gerrard Bros. 1901) - the only extant copies are held at the Lockwood Library of State University of New York (SUNY) at Buffalo and in the Harley K. Croessmann Collection of Emory University, Georgia (Irish Literary Collection). Joyce’s essay is reprinted as “The Day of the Rabblement” in The Critical Writings of James Joyce, ed. Richard Ellmann and Ellsworth Mason (NY: Viking Press [1959] 1966), pp.68-72.

The Day of the Rabblement (1901): For an account of the inclusion of a reference to Bruno the Nolan, calculated to mystify contemporary Irish readers, see Stanislaus Joyce, My Brother’s Keeper (London: Faber & Faber 1958), pp.152-53 [US edn., p.146]. Another telling of this matter is given by Samuel Beckett in his essay in Our Exagmination (1929) where he writes of Joyce’s Dublin readers that ‘they finally succeeded in identifying this mysterious individual with one of the obscurer ancient Irish kinds. In the present work [Finnegans Wake], he appears frequently as “Browne & Nolan” the name of a very remarkable Dublin bookseller and Stationer.’ (Our Exagmination Round his Factification for an Incamination of a Work in Progress, NY: New Directions 1962, p.17.)

Cranly’s “rabblement” (in Stephen Hero): ‘Cranly’s chosen companions represented the rabblement in a stage of partial fermentation when it is midway between vat and flagon and Cranly seemed to please himself in the spectacle of this caricature of his own unreadiness.’ [SH, Cape. Edn., p.127.]

Note on Irish aristocracy: In 1907 Joyce saw this class as ‘[p]oor fallen kings, recognizable even in the8ir decline as impractical Irishmen’ and wonders why they don’t go to America to win the hand of the daughter of a ‘some other king even though he may be a Varnish King a Sausage King.’ (See “Ireland, Isle of Saints and Sages”, in Critical Writings [1959] 1966, p.168.) When Mr Deasy says, ‘We are all Irish, all kings’ sons’, Stephen says, ‘Alas’ [U39].

.

Rabblement, in Skeat, An Etymological Dictionary (1888), p.486: A noisy crowd, mob. O. Low G[erman]) Levins has rabel, rable, rablement. Halliwell has ‘rabble, to speak confusedly’, with an example of M. E., rablen used in the same sense; also, ‘rabblement, a crowd, or mob.’ So named from the noise they make; cf. O. Du. rabbelen, ‘to chatter, trifle, toy’. Skeat also supplies Greek and Sanskrit origins (ramba, to sound, and rambhá, the lowing of a cow). He adds: ‘the suffix -le adds frequentative force; a rabble is that which keeps on making noise. And see Rapparee. Der. rabble-ment (with F. suffix), Jul. Caes., i. 2., 245. [Available online at Internet Archive - online.

William Skeat, An Etymological Dictionary of the English Language, by the Rev. Walter Skeat, M.A., Elrington and Bosworth Professor of Anglo-Saxon in the University of Cambridge [1882] (Oxford: Clarendon Press MDCCCLXXXVIII [1888] - available at Internet Archive online.

Note: In Stephen Hero we are told that the protagonist read ‘Skeatœs etymological dictionary by the hour.’ [Stephen Hero, Cape Edn. 1968, 32].

Oxford English Dictionary
—rabble, sb. - late ME. pack, string, swarm of animals; disorderly crowd of people, a mob. late ME. b. Applied contempt, to a class or body of persons imagined as a mob. 1529. c. Without article: Persons of the lowest class 1687. 3. Disorderly collection [...] 4. A long string of words [with] little or no meaning or value -0 1656. b. A rigmarole.
rabble, sb. = L rutabulum, fire-shovel, oven rack.
rabble. v. late ME. M. Du. rabbelen, LG, rabbeln. 1. a. trans. To utter (words or speech) in a confused manner. b. To speak or read in this fashion; to gabble. 2. To work in a hurried slovenly manner (dial.)
rabble. v. To attack or assail (a person or his property) as, along with, or by means of, a rabble; to mo. 2. To become a rabble.
rabble. v. To stir, skim, or rake with a rabble. Hence rabbler, one who uses a rabble.
—rabblement: same as rabble sb in various senses. b. Tumult or disturbance like that of a rabble; riotous conduct (rare) 1590. Examples incl. Spenser: ‘Heaped together in rude rablement.’

Doctor Johnson, A Dictionary of the English Language (1755)
Rábblement. n.s. [from rabble.] Croud; tumultuous assembly of mean people. [E.g.,] Spenser, ‘A rude rabblement, / Whose like he never saw, he durst not bide, / But got his ready steed, and fast away ’gan ride.’ (Spenser, Faerie Queene.) ‘The rabblement houted, clap’d their chopt hands, and uttered a deal of stinking breath [... because he refus’d the crown.]’ (Shakespeare, Julius Cćsar). ‘There will be always tyrants, murderers, thieves, traitors, and other of the same rabblement.’ (Camden’s Remains.) [See longer extracts]

Concise Etymological Dictionary, Ernest Weekley [rev edn.] (London: Secker & Warburg 1952)
rabble, Orig. string of animals. Origin unknown. The earliest sense is exactly that of F. ribambelle. (p.341.)

Merriam-Webster (online)
Rabblement: People looked down upon as ignorant and of the lowest class haughty - e.g., ‘nobles who ignored the rabblement at their own peril ...’ (1548)

  • Shakespeare: ‘And still, as he refused it, the rabblement hooted [...].’ (Jul. Caes., Act 1, sc.ii, 245ff.)
  • Spenser: ‘[...] Whom, when the Sarazen espy’d / A rude, mishapen, monstrous Rabblement, / Whose like he never saw, he durst not bide, / But got his ready Steed, and fast away ’gan ride.’ (FQ, Bk. I, Canto VI, l.)
  • Note: In the Shem chapter of Finnegans Wake, Shaun asks: ‘Pray, what is [172] the meaning, sousy, of that continental expression, if you ever came acrux it, we think it is a word transpiciously like canaille?’ The correct answer is, presumably, “rabblement”.

       See also ...

    Rapparee. An Irish robber (Irish). ‘The Irish formed themselves into many bodies ... called rapparees’, ... &c.; Burnet, Hist. of Our Own Time, b.v., an. 1690 (R.) ‘Rapparees and banditti’ - Bolingbroke, A Letter on Archbp. Tillotson’s Sermon (R.) - Irish, rapaire, a noisy fellow, sloven, robber, thief; cf. rapal, noise, rapach, noisy. So also Gael. rapair, a noisy fellow. See Rabble. (Skeat, p.490.)

    See the Irish ballad Eamonn a Chnoic/Ned of the Hills, or The Wild Raparee [aka Edmund O’Ryan], who became a rapparee or outlaw after shooting a tax collector dead during a quarrel over the confiscation of a poor woman’s cow; his historicity is uncertain though the name is among four cited in a pamphlet of 1694 calling for the overthrow of William of Orange and the restauration of James II.

    “Eamonn a Chnoic” “Ned of the Hills”

    Cé hé sin amu
    a bhfuil faobhar a ghuth,
    a’ réabadh mo dhorais dhúnta?”

    “Mise Éamonn a’ Chnoic,
    atá báite fuar fliuch,
    ó shíor-shiúl sléibhte is gleannta.”

    “A lao ghil ’s a chuid,
    cad a dheánfainn-se dhuit
    mura gcuirfinn ort binn de mo ghúna?

    ’S go mbeidh púdar dubh
    ’á lámhach linn go tiubh,
    ’s go mbeidh muid araon múchta!”

    ”Is fada mise amu
    faoi shneachta is faoi shioc,
    ’s gan dánacht agam ar éinne.

    Mo bhranar gan cur,
    mo sheisreach gan scor,
    is gan iad agam ar aon chor!

    Níl cara agam—
    is danaid liom sin—
    a ghlacfadh mé moch ná déanach.

    ’S go gcaithfe mé ghoil
    thar fairraige soir,
    ó’s ann nach bhfuil mo ghaolta
    .”

    “Who’s that outside
    whose voice is urgent,
    pounding on my closed door?”

    “I’m Éamonn of the hill,
    drowned, cold and wet,
    from endlessly traveling mountains and glens.”

    “Dearest love and treasure,
    what can I do for you
    but cover you with the lap of my dress?”

    And black gunpowder will be
    fired endlessly at us,
    and we will both perish!”

    “I’ve long been outside
    in snow and in frost,
    not daring to approach anyone.

    My fallow unplanted,
    my team in need of unyoking,
    and I no longer have them at all!

    I have no friend—
    how that grieves me—
    who’d take me in, early or late.

    And so I must go
    eastward across the sea,
    for it’s there I have no kindred.”

    Available at Navan.org - online; accessed 20.10.2105.
     
    See also “The Raparee”

    My spurs are rusted, my coat is rent, my plume is damp with rain
    And the thistle down and the barley beard are thick on my horses mane,
    But my rifle’s as bright as my sweetheart’s eye, my arm is strong and free,
    What care have I for your king or laws, I’m an outlawed rapparee.

    [...]

    Hunted from out our father’s home, pursued by steel shot
    A bloody warfare we must wage or the gibbet be our lot
    Hurrah! This war is welcome work, the hunted outlaw knows
    He steps unto his country’s love o’er the corpses of his foes.

    Note also that Skeat gives as first example under gibberish - Holinshed ‘gibberishing Irish’ (Descript. of Ireland, [1577]) - formed from the old verb gibber, to gabble (Hamlet, I, i., 126.)

    Rap: Skeat gives rap as Irish for a forged half-pence and cites the phrase ‘I don’t give a rap’ as its unique instance - but Brewer lists rap as R.A.P. and identifies it as ruppees, annas and pies, corresponding to our £.s.d [pounds, shillings and pence]. (Brewer does not list rabble.)

    peripatetic-al: walking about (L., -Gk.) ’Peripatetical, that disputes or teaches walking, as Aristotle did; from whence he and his scholars were called peripateticks“; Blount’s Gloss., ed.1674. - Lat. peripateticus - Gk. perpatetikós [symbols] , given to walking about, esp. while disputing; Aristotle and his followers were called peripatetikoí [symbols] - Gk. perpatío, I walk about - Gk. peri, about, and patéw [symbols], I walk, from pátos [symbols], a path, cogtnate with E. path. See Peri and Path.

    [ Note: Stephen ‘read Skeat’s etymological dictionary by the hour’ [SH, 32], as Hugh Kenner pointed out to good effect in Dublin’s Joyce (London: Chatto & Windus 1955), p.7. ]

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    Portrait of the Artist” (autobiographical essay of 1904; aka “The 1904 Portrait”) - I: The holograph draft written in a Vere Foster Ruled Exercise Book bearing the name of Mabel Joyce is held at the Buffalo Univ. Library Joyce Collection as Buffalo II.A, wherein the notice: Joyce wrote this brief, quasi-autobiographical sketch for the magazine Dana, although the editors declined to publish it. One editor, John Eglinton, explained “I can’t print what I can’t understand.” (Irish Literary Portraits, 1935, p.136.) In this piece, Joyce combines a fictionalized autobiographical narrative with philosophical exposition in order to describe the evolution of artistic sensibilities in an unnamed young man. Joyce subsequently expanded upon the ideas expressed in this piece in his aborted novel Stephen Hero and, ultimately, in the second version of that novel, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, which ironically reprises and rephrases the title of this essay. Many of the incidents found in that novel can be traced back to this earlier essay. This draft is written in an exercise book that belonged to Joyce’s sister Mabel (1893-1911).

    Timeline: Joyce dated it January 7, 1904 and subsequently used the exercise book to write the notes for Stephen Hero which occupy its later pages. In 1928 he gave the whole to Sylvia Beach. (See Buffalo Library Exhibits, Bloomsday; online - accessed 29.12.2008; also a copy in RICORSO Library, “Irish Classics > Major Authors > James Joyce” - as infra.)

    Bibl.: When Joyce sought to give the original of the 1904 “Portrait” essay to Sylvia Beach in 1928, Stanislaus set about getting the flaked manuscript typed. The result included numerous errors of transcription. Joyce gave the holograph to Beach and it continued to deteriorate. The respective destinations of the original and the copy were the Lockwood Library of State University of New York (SUNY) at Buffalo and Cornell University Library.

    Scholes & Kain write: ‘A few years ago Cornell University acquired Stanislaus Joyce’s typed copy of of the essay, and in 1959 the University of Buffalo acquired the original. [...] Most of the materials in this introductory note and the text of the essay itself were originally published by the editors in the Yale Review, Spring 1960, XLIX, pp.355-59.’ (See The Workshop of Daedalus, Northwestern UP 1965, p.59. [See further at Wisconsin University - contents.]

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    Portrait of the Artist” (1904; aka “The 1904 Portrait”) - II: Joyce wrote to Harriet Shaw Weaver on 8 Nov. 1916 outlining on a ‘enclosed slip’ the publishing history of his works. Under the heading A Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man, he wrote: ‘I began this novel in notes before I left Ireland and finished it Trieste in 1914. Before I left I offered an introductory chapter to Mr Magee (John Eglinton) and Mr Ryan, editors of Dana. It was rejected.’ (Letters, Vol. I, 1966, p.98.) [Note the implication that the essay is essentially the same writing as A Portrait published in 1916.]

    Note: Richard Ellmann writes of the manner of the “Portrait” essay of 1904: ‘This magnetization of style and vocabulary by the context of person, place and time, has its humble origin in the few pages Joyce wrote for Dana.’ (Ellmann, James Joyce, 1965 Edn., p.151; see longer extracts in RICORSO Library, “Criticism > Major Authors”, via index, or attached.)

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    Stephen Hero (1944)

    For the origins of Stephen Hero in the rejection of the “Portrait” Essay of January 1904 by the editors of Dana, and Joyce’s resolve to write a novel which would indict them and Ireland - see the account given by Stanislaus Joyce in his Dublin Diary, ed. George Healey (1963; rev. & enl. as Complete Dublin Diary, 1971) - as infra.

    [ For a Chronology of the Composition of Stephen Hero - see “Chronology of Works” - as attached. ]

    Stephen Hero (1944) - [I]: Sylvia Beach received a portion of the MS as a gift from Joyce [in 1935], and sold it to Harvard College Library in 1938, these being pp.519-902 - the first 518 pages having apparently disappeared. The 383 extant pages have a kind of unity in themselves, the period covered by occupies the last 80 pages of A Portrait in the Jonathan Cape Edn. The text in the edition of Stephen Hero published in 1963 [London 1969] consists of a total of 391 MSS pages, comprised of those given to Sylvia Beach together with 25 more bought acquired from Stanislaus Joyce by John Slocum for the Yale Univ. Library in 1951 [Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library]. These latter - being pp.477-78, 481-89, 491-97 and 499-505 of the original MS - were added out of chronological order to the edition of 1959 [that is, made to follow the originally published text]. These 5 pages are held in the Cornell Collection, are largely occupied by the Mullingar episode which Richard Ellmann has identified as part of Chapter XIII. In the 1977 edition prepared by Slocum and Cahoon, those sold by Sylvia Beach in 1938 appear as pp.27-208 and are followed by additional MS pages, now pp.208-20, being pp.477ff. of the MS original. (See Thomas E. Connolly, ‘Stephen Hero’, in Companion to Joyce Studies, ed. Bowen & Carens, 1984, p.245).

    See Stanislaus Joyce’s - account of the origins of Stephen Hero (in Complete Dublin Diary, ed. George Healey, Cornell 1971; rep. Dublin 1994) - 29 Feb. 1904: ‘I suggested the title of a paper of Jim’s which was commissioned for a new review to be called Dana in February last. [...] Jim has turned the paper into a novel the title of which - “Stephen Hero” - I also suggested. He has written eleven [19] chapters. The chapters are extremely well written in a style which seems to me to be altogether original. It is a lying autobiograpy and a raking satire. He is putting nearly all his acquaintances in it, and the Catholic Church comes in for a bad quarter of an hour. [...]’

    (See The Complete Dublin Diary of Stanislaus Joyce, ed. George H. Healey, Anna Livia Press Edn. 1994, pp.19-20; prev. in Dublin Diary of Stanislaus Joyce, ed. Healey, Cornell UP; London: Faber & Faber 1962, p.25; also rep. in Robert H. Deming, ed., James Joyce: The Critical Heritage, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul 1970, Vol. 1, p.112.)

    [For longer extracts, see under Stanislaus Joyce, as infra. Note also his second and slightly variant account - as infra. Stanislaus adds MS marginalia listing parody-names he himself thought up - e.g., “Sighing Simon”, “Stuck-up Stephen”, “Morose Maurice”, at al. [ibid.].

    Note that Jorn Barger contests the veracity and consistency of Stanislaus’s account - as copied under Stanislaus Joyce, infra. ]

    For a time-line of the composition of Stephen Hero, see “Chronology of Works” in Appendix > Schema - as attached. For remarks on the supposed circumstances of its beginning, see under Stanislaus Joyce - as infra.

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    Stephen Hero (1944) - [2] - See Theodore Spencer, Introduction, Stephen Hero [1944] (London: Triad 1977, 1986): ‘There is some confusion about the date of this manuscript. In her catalogue Miss Beach, to whom Joyce originally gave it, says that it dates from 1903, and adds the following sentence: “When the manuscript came back to its author, after the twentieth publisher had rejected it, he threw it in the fire, from which Mrs. Joyce, at the risk of burning her hands, rescued these pages.”’

    See however Bozena Berta Delimata [b. 9 Feb. 1917], ‘Reminiscences of a Joyce Niece’, ed. by Virginia Moseley, in James Joyce Quarterly, 19, 1 (Fall 1981), pp. 45-62: ‘Two of my mother’s recollections about their family life during the years before she married remain vivid in my own memory. When Uncle Jim had a tiff once with Aunt Nora over her not taking his writing seriously, my mother happened by to see him stuffing a manuscript into the lighted oven and Aunt Nora still laughing. Mamma ran over immediately and snatched out as much as she could, but some five hundred pages were burnt. So were her hands. Next day he bought her some mittens, a collar, and a bow to match.’ ([q.p.])

    [Theodore Spencer - cont.:] ‘This story is to some extent supported by Mr. Herbert Gorman, who says in his life of Joyce, writing of the year 1908 [James Joyce, NY 1940, p.196]: “Joyce burned a portion of Stephen Hero in a fit of momentary despair and then stared the novel anew in a more compressed form.” No surviving page of the manuscript shows any sign of burning. / Joyce himself was not very communicative on the subject. When the present writer wrote to him about the manuscript at the end of 1938, he received a reply from Joyce’s secretary which said: “Apparently the very large MS. of about 1,000 pages of the first draft of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, which he calls a schoolboy’s [11] production written when he was nineteen or twenty, has been sold in lots to different institutions in America. He feels that he can do nothing in the matter except to state this fact which he certainly can scarcely be blamed for not having foreseen at the moment of the presentation he made of it.”’

    Note: Spencer further quotes Joyce’s letter to Grant Richards of 13 March 1906 speaking of SH as half-finished: “You suggest I should write a novel in some sense autobiographical. I have already written a thousand pages of such a novel, as I think I told you, 914 to be accurate. I calculate that these twenty-five chapters, about half the book, run into 150,000 words. But is is quite impossible for me in present circumstances to think the rest of the book much less to write it.”’ (Spencer, pp.11-12; see Letters, Vol. II, 1966, pp.131-32 - also given in Chronology of Works, as attached.)

    Spencer inserted an editorial remark at the end of the first [unnumbered] chapter of Stephen Hero (1944) - as follows: ‘In the MSS. “End of First Episode of V” is written in red crayon at this point.’ (Spencer, ed., Stephen Hero; Cape Edn., 1969, p.32.) See also Spencer’s further comments on Stephen Hero under Commentary, supra, and note Hans Walter Gabler’s corrections to the chapter-numbers of the 1944 edition of the novel, infra.]

    Note: On 22 Aug. 1912 Joyce wrote to his brother that he would plunge in and finish A Portrait [... &c.] if Dubliners were printed (Letters, II, p.310). It appears to follow that the MS which suffered at Joyce’s hands during a fit of frustrated - aggravated by Nora’s scorn - was that of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

    The fact that there is no fire-damage on the surviving remnant of Stephen Hero suggests that the MS which was so-treated was the version rewritten as A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Here the date of Eileen Joyce’s arrival in Trieste is pertinent since A Portrait had been in progress since 1907 - in November of which year the first chapter was already finished. In fact, Chapter XXV was probably complete early 1906 (by Grant Richards, 13 March 1906). Eileen arrived in Trieste in January 1910 and cannot have ‘rescued’ the MS before then.

    Eileen Joyce married Frantisek Schaurek on 12 April 1915 and the couple remained in Trieste for some time before moving to Prague [?date]. Her daughter’s saying that ‘she happened by’ suggests that she was living elsewhere - as could only have been the case if she was married. If this is so, then the episode of the burning and rescue of the MS must have fallen after April 1915.

    It happens that Grant Richards delivered his decision not to publish A Portrait on 18 May 1915 - and this might have triggered Joyce’s fit of rage with the manuscript; but, in fact, the serialised of the novel in The Egoist had already begun by Jan. 1915. [BS 24.05.2014; see also Chronology of Works, as attached.]

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    Stephen Hero - [3 - Theodore Spencer, cont.]: ‘Joyce had the bulk of his library, left in Trieste in the care of his brother Stanislaus, forwarded by him to Paris when he settled there [1919]; among the papers were the MSS pages of Stephen Hero which Joyce in time gave to Sylvia Beach; but Stanislaus ‘retained a certain number of manuscript items including twenty-five additional pages of Stephen Hero which were purchased by John J. Slocum in 1950’ - and are included in the 1956 revised edition of the novel (ed. Slocum and Herbert Cahoon). The additional material is discontinous with the pages held by Sylvia Beech, and begin: “nations. They were held out to say: We are along - come: and the voices said to them: We are your people: and the air was thick with their company as they called to him, their kinsmen, making ready to go, shaking the wings of their exultant and terrible youth.” (1956 edn., p.240.) Written here between paragraphs in blue crayon is the holograph line: ‘Departure for Paris’ - and this is followed by the Mullingar episode, which is clearly a unified episode in spite of two, one and one pages being missing at different points.’ (See John J. Slocum and Herbert Cahoon, Foreword to Stephen Hero, Jonathan Lane 1956 edition [and reps.]; Grafton edn. 1977, & edns. 1982, 1984, 1986.) [See also Epiphany 30 - as attached.]

    Slocum and Cahoon, Foreword to the Revised Edition [1956] (London: Jonathan Cape 1969): ‘[...] The words “Departure for Paris”, words that mark the end of A Portrait, have been written by Joyce in blue crayon across the page at the conclusion of the first eight lines [of MS p.477, destined to become the last part of the diary entry of 16th April at the conclusion of A Portrait]. It is probable, though by no means certain, that the pages preceding page 477 were discarded as they were used [9] in the creation of A Portrait. It is also probable that the missing pages from this episode included descriptions or dialogues that eventually found their way into A Portrait. Joyce’s known economy of episode and phrase was such that even the rejected portions of his manuscripts usually contributed heavily to the published work.’ (pp.9-10.)

    Further: ‘[...] James Joyce’s copy of D’Annunzio’s The Child of Pleaure bears Joyce’s signature and the words “Mullingar July.5.1900” the manuscript of his translation of Hauptmann’s Vor Sonnenaufgang is inscribed “Summer, 1901. MS/Mullingar. Westmeath.” (Joyce altered the actual events considerably in representing Mullingar as the home of Stephen’s godfather Philip McCann, who had no connection with Mullingar and had died in 1898.) This fiction is continued in the later pages of Stephen Hero, where Mr. Fulham is mentioned repeatedly as the source of money for Stephen’s university expenses. It is conceivable that an undiscovered patron is represented by the figure of the godfather. [...; p.10] There are also hints that he originally intended to give Mr. Fulham a more important role in his book; when his plans changed, the episode became a little irrelevant.’ (Slocum & Cahoon, op. cit., p.11.) [See Stephen Hero, rev. edn., Jonathan Cape 1969, p.10-11.)

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    Stephen Hero (1944) - [4]: The idea that the title of Stephen Hero is owing to “Turpin Hero”, an old English ballad which Stephen mentions in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (corr. edn. 1964, &c., p.219) seems to have originated with Hugh Kenner in Dublin’s Joyce (1955, p.109.) There the critic draws out a detailed analogy between the ballad, which Stephen cites as an example of the progression from lyric to epic by a process of impersonalisation (‘that old English ballad Turpin Hero which begins in the first person and ends in the third person’). For Kenner, to whom Joyce is the latter-day embodiment of the Flaubertian artist setting out to épater le bourgeois, an extended comparison can be drawn between Stephen and the picaresque highwayman who ‘spends must of the ballad achieving gestes at the expense of a gallery of middle-class dummies’ (p.109).

    Further: ‘Joyce first conceived the story of Stephen Dedalus in a picaresque mode. The original title was meant to incorporate the ballad of Turpin Hero, a reference to which still survives in the final text P252/244. (Kenner, op. cit. p.109.) [...] The ballad ends with Turpin in jail condemned to the gallows; Stephen Hero was presumably to end, as the Portrait does, with Stephen Protomartyr on the brink of continental exile, acknowledged enemy of the Dublin people. This Stephen is an engaging fellow with an explosive laugh, S59/49, an image of the young Joyce whom Yeats compared to William Morris “for the joyous vitality one felt in him” or of the student Joyce who emerges from his brother’s Memoir [quotes Memoir:] ‘Uncompromising in all tha concerned his artistic integrity, Joyce was, for the3 rest, of a sociable and amiable disposition. [...]’ (Kenner, op. cit, p.110; see full-text version in RICORSO Library > “Criticism > Major Authors”, via index, or attached.

    Note: Richard Ellmann has given it as a fact that Stephen Hero is based on “Turpin Hero” in a note to the Selected Letters of James Joyce (1975) where he writes: ‘When “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” was rejected by the review Dana, Joyce decided on his birthday, 2 February 1904, to rewrite it as Stephen Hero, after the ballad of “Turpin Hero”. Stanislaus Joyce said that both titles had been suggested to his brother by him.’ (Letters, II, 1966, p.83, n.10; Selected Letters of James Joyce, Faber 1975, p.56, n.1.)

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    Stephen Hero (1944) - [5] - Joyce wrote to Stanislaus (10 Jan. 1907, Via Monte Brianzo 51, IV°, Rome): ‘The other day I was thinking about my novel. How long am I at it now? Is there any use continuing it? Everyone appears to think I am behaving very well better than they expected. But it’s not pleasant behaving well to please people. I understand Nora is about to have another child. [...] ’ (Selected Letters, 1975, p.143.)

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    Stephen Hero (1944) - [6]: Hélène Cixous writes: ‘Stannie characterises this novel as a mendacious autobiography and a keen satire. The victims of the satire were at this stage simply everyone Joyce knew, and the Catholic Church; the work was an obvious reply to the editors’ rejection [i.e., the eds. of Dana].’ [Vide Stanislaus Joyce, ‘lying autobiography and raking satire’ - as supra] She goes on to quote the Complete Dublin Diary (p.12), as cited in Richard Ellmann, James Joyce, 1959, p.152; Cixous, The Exile of James Joyce [trans. Sally Purcell], London: John Calder 1972, p. 230) - viz.:

    ‘[...] It is to be almost autobiographical, and naturally as it comes from Jim, satirical. He is putting a large number of his acquaintances into it, and those Jesuits whom he has known. [...; &c.]’ (The Complete Dublin Diary of Stanislaus Joyce [Cornell 1962], ed. George H. Healey, Anna Livia Press, Dublin 1994; p.12.)

    Note: Cixous he briefly summarises the chronology in these terms: ‘In September 1907, [Joyce] decided to move on from Stephen Hero to the Portrait, a work which was not finished until 1913. On the other hand, he was already planning to turn the novella [sic] “Ulysses” into a book.’ In a footnote she quotes Joyce’s remark to Stanislaus on Mr. Hunter [as infra]. (Cixous, op. cit., 1972, p.228.) Note: the date of Stanislaus’s entry is 2 Feb. 1904; the version given here is taken from the Complete Diary, 1994 Edn. [BS].

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    Stephen Hero (1944) - [7]: Hans Walter Gabler, Preface, A Portrait [ ... &c.]: A Facsimile Manuscript of the Manuscript Fragments of ‘Stephen Hero’ (James Joyce Archive, Vol. 8), consists of extant portions of Stephen Hero beginning with Chapter IX at MS p.477 and dealing with Joyce’s student days at the Royal University. On chapter numbers in Stephen Hero (ed. Spencer 1944; rev. edn. John J. Slocum [see infra] & Herbert Cahoon, 1955 & 1963), Gabler explains that ‘the 11 chapters of the University College episode in the MS are numbered [XV] to XXV. Spencer’s edition mistakenly counts 12 chaps. and numbers them XV to XXVI. The editorial error arises in Chap. XVIII. Halfway through MS Chap. XVIII, at the bottom of p.610, appears the note ‘End of Second Episode of V’ ...] these [i.e., this and others like it such as ‘End of First Episode of V’] as we now know, are markings related to the composition of Portrait [... U]nfortunately Spencer assumed a revisional new chapter division and, introducing XIX, renumbered all subsequent chapters [...] Correctly speaking Chaps. XVIII and XIX are one chapter, [being] Chap. XVIII; and Chaps. XX to XXVI should be correctly numbered XIX to XXV.’ (See John Paul Riquelme, ‘Stephen Hero, Dubliners, and A Portrait’, in Attridge et al., eds., Cambridge Companion to James Joyce, 1990, p.129.)

    See also Richard Ellmann, James Joyce (1959; 1965 Edn.): Ellmann provides a running chronology of the chapters of Stephen Hero, as follows: ‘By March 15 [1905] he had finished 18 chapters, 20 by 20 April 4, 21 by May, and 24 by June. The last of these chapters represented Stephen’s proposal that Emma Clery go to bed with him for one night; Joyce was justly proud of his skill in this scene. He sent the chapters off to Stanislaus with instructions to show them only to Cosgrave and Curran. Curran lent them to Kettle, but when Stanislaus told his brother, Joyce ordered him peremptorily to recover the manuscript. He did not distrust Kettle, but Kettle’s friends. He enjoyed conspiring against conspirators. / While he still had 39 chapters to write in Stephen Hero, he was able to bring Dubliners to completion much more rapidly [...]. (p.215.)

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    Chamber Music (1907), compiled for book-publication 1904, sent Chamber Music to Grant Richards Oct. 8 1904; Chamber Music [1st Edn.] (London: Elkin Mathews 1907); Chamber Music, ed. W. Y. Tindall (NY: Columbia UP 1954); Do. (London: Jonathan Cape 1971), 40pp. [36 poems].

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    Chamber Music (1907): When it came to preparing it for publication in autumn 1906, Joyce repudiated the title as ‘too complacent’ saying, ‘I should prefer a title which to a certain extent repudiated the book, without altogether disparaging it’, but was persuaded back to it by Stanislaus (Ellmann, op. cit., p.241; see longer extract, infra.). Note however that Stanislaus makes a denial of the origin of the poem-collection’s title in this scatalogical context: ‘I have already suggested that Jim had accepted the title Chamber Music for the colection. Another version of the original of the title is given in Herbert Gorman’s biography of my brother, but the story there told, which seems to have tickled the fancy of American critics and been the occasion of at least one book, is false, whatever its source.’ (Stanislaus Joyce, My Brother’s Keeper, 1958, p.209.)

    ... Tinkle?: The title was purportedly inspired by the sound of a prostitute urinating in a brothel during a reading of the poems given by Joyce in her room while he and St. John Gogarty were at a brothel. In Ulysses, Bloom reflects: ‘O, look we are so! Chamber music. Could make a kind of pun on that. It is a kind of music I often thought when she. Acoustic that is. Tinkling. empty vessels make most noise. [...] the resonance changes according as the weight of the water is equal to the law of falling water.’ Bodley Head Edn., 1967, p.365; quoted in Richard Ellmann, James Joyce, 1965 Edn., p.160 & ftn.)

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    Chamber Music (2) - Joyce wrote to Stanislaus: ‘The reason I dislike Chamber Music as a title is that it is too complacent. I should prefer a title which to a certain extent repudiated the book, without altogether disparaging it.’ (Letter to Stanislaus Joyce, 18 Oct. 1906; Letters, II, p.82; quoted in Stephen Heath (‘Ambiviolences: Notes for reading Joyce’, in Attridge & Ferrer, eds., Post-structuralist Joyce, Cambridge UP 1984, p.45.)

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    Dubliners (1914) - Chronology of composition:

    “The Sisters” (Irish Homestead, 13 August 1904, uniquely signed Stephen Dædalus [Daedalus] - see copy, as attached); “Eveline” [events of 1894] (Irish Homestead, Sept 10, 1904; rev. Oct. 1905); “After the Race” [based on an interview by Joyce, Irish Times, 7 par. 1903] (Irish Homestead, 17 Dec. 1904). Following revisions from June 1905 involving a pause in writing Stephen Hero after 25 chaps., Joyce supplied Grant Richards with the following stories in December 1905: “Araby” (begun 18 Oct. 1905); “An Encounter” [events of 1895] (rev. by 18 Sept. 1905); “The Boarding House” (rev. by 13 July 1905; MS dated 1 July 1905); “Counterparts” (rev. by 15 July 1905), “Clay” [begun late Oct. 1904 as “Christmas Eve” [abandoned]; completed Jan 1905, offered to Irish Homestead; rewritten spring 1905]; “A Painful Case” (orig. named “A Painful Incident”, rev. by 8 May 1905; MS dated 15 Aug 1905); “Ivy Day in the Committee Room” (fair copy dated 29 Aug 1905); “A Mother” (rev. Oct. 1905); “Grace” (rev. Oct. 1905 [var. early version 27 Nov. 1905; vide Michael Groden in Bowen, Companion, 1984]); added in 1906, “The Two Gallants” & “A Little Cloud”; added in 1907, “The Dead”. Dubliners was turned down by Richards, 1906; accepted by Maunsel, 1909; printed in 1910; sheets destroyed in 1912 [though Joyce secured one set ‘by a ruse’]; finally published by Richards, London, 15 June 1914, using Maunsel’s proof sheets as copy-text. (See Micheal Groden, Pref. to James Joyce, Dubliners, A Facsimile of Proofs for the 1910 Edition, NY: Garland 1977.)

    See appendix with bibl. refs. in Marvin Magalaner, Time of Apprenticeship: The Fiction of Young James Joyce (New York: Abelard & Schuman 1959), Chapter 3 & Appendix C; Hugh Kenner, Dublin’s Joyce, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1956, pp. 50-53; “Christmas Eve” [abandoned story], in James Joyce Miscellany, ed. Malaganer, 1962, pp.3-7.

    [ For a Chronology of the composition of the Dubliners stories - see “Chronology of Works” - as attached. ]

    Dubliners publishing history - Maunsel and Grant Richards Edns.

    He [Joyce] first submitted his book of (then) 12 stories to Grant Richards in late 1905. Richards agreed to publish the book, and Joyce added a thirteenth story (“Two Gallants”) in early 1906. Unfortunately, the printer chose to typeset this story first; liable under English law for prosecution, he refused to print what he perceived as obscenity. Spooked, Richards asked the young author to omit that story, and “An Encounter” - and to delete offensive words in “Counterparts”. Joyce refused, and the book was withdrawn.
      After numerous other rejections, in 1909 the Dublin firm of Maunsel & Company accepted the (now 15-story) collection. But this time the publisher, George Roberts, got cold feet about a passage concerning the late King Edward VII in “Ivy Day in the Committee Room”; after much legal wrangling and angry correspondence (Joyce, with marvelous chutzpah, actually wrote to King George V to ask if he found the "Ivy Day" passages objectionable), Maunsel destroyed the copies that had been set up.
     Although it was never published, the Maunsel edition went through three stages of proof, each of which survives in fragments. When Richards reconsidered and agreed in early 1914 to publish the collection, an early stage of the Maunsel page proofs (a copy of which Joyce had secured) became the copy-text for the first edition. Thus when Joyce read proof on the Richards edition, he reintroduced some of the changes he had made on a later-stage of the Maunsel proofs; but, since he did not have a copy of them at hand, he neglected to incorporate into the first edition 26 other changes he had made to those proofs. In addition, Richards’s printer ignored both a list of 200 corrections that Joyce had sent, and another fist of 30 misprints that Joyce had sent separately. Thus the first edition has come down to us as a corrupt text, not only because it did not incorporate more than 200 changes that Joyce expressly desired - including the use of dashes instead of quotation marks for dialogue - but also because it is based upon an early stage of the Maunsel proofs that lacks those 26 other changes Joyce made to the late-stage Maunsel proofs. As Gabler notes, the late-stage Maunsel proofs, therefore, represent the Dubliners stories “most close and consistently under [Joyce’s] control” (Garland edition 22; Vintage 232). When Robert Scholes prepared the 1967 Viking edition of Dubliners, he restored most of the changes made on the late Maunsel proofs, as well as the corrections Joyce provided in his two lists. Superseding the flawed first edition, the Viking edition has rightfully stood as the preferred text for almost 30 years.

    —David. W. Madden (California State University)- Irish Literature [ENG 165A] , online; accessed 21.09.2017.

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    Dubliners - epicleti [1]: Poss. an invocation to the Holy Ghost (epiklesis), still used in the Eastern Church but not in Roman Catholic ritual, related to the transubstantiation insofar as the Holy Ghost is called upon to transform bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ by invocation (epiklesis). Joyce’s use of the term to describe the Dubliners stories in a letter to Con Curran of early July 1904: ‘I am writing a series of epicleti - ten - for a paper [...] to betray the soul of that hemiplegia or paralysis which many consider a city’ (Letter to Curran of early 1904, in Letters, I, 1966, p.55; Selected Letters, 1975, p.22).

    Note: This is commonly placed in relation to his remarks recorded by Stanislaus: ‘there is a certain resemblance between the mystery of the mass and what I am trying to do. [...] to give people a kind of intellectual pleasure or spiritual enjoyment by converting the bread of everyday life into something that has a permanent artistic life of its own. [...] for their mental, moral, and spiritual uplift.’ However, a cognate term epikleitos is used to refer to someone summoned before court possibly suggesting the intention to put Dublin on trial. [Q. source.]

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    Dubliners - epicleti [2]: And alternative reading of ‘epicleti’ as ‘epiclets’ [i.e., little epics] is advanced by Wright who quizzes the transcription Letters (Vol. 1), and Selected Letters, pointing out that Constantine Curran gave epicteti in place of the form of the word that occurs uniquely in the letter to him which Stuart Gilbert had copied - or miscopied - for Letters and which Ellmann followed in the Selected - along with the original footnote about the Greek liturgical meaning of epicleti. In James Joyce Remembered, Curran writes of quizzing Joyce about the meaning of the word though no answer was forthcoming, or has survived. In any event, the term appears to have been abandoned by Joyce immediately after and interpretations based on the Greek epiclesis (invocation) of the liturgy are now considered unfounded (See David Wright, ‘The Curious Language of Dubliners’, in James Joyce, ed. Sean Latham [Visions & Revision] (IAP 2010), p.48ff. for longer extracts, go to RICORSO Library, “Criticism > Major Authors”, via index, or attached.)

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    The Sisters” was first published in Irish Homestead (3 August 1904) in a version commissioned for a ‘simple’ and ‘rural’ readership intended to appeal to ‘the common understanding and liking’. The story is uniquely signed Stephen Dedalus [sic] - see copy, as attached).

    See Hélène Cixous, ‘Joyce: The (r)use of writing’, in Post-structuralist Joyce: Essays from the French, ed. Derek Attridge & Daniel Ferrer (Cambridge UP 1984) - of the first version of “The Sisters” published in Irish Homestead: ‘[T]his version contains no reference to the motifs of paralysis, simony, confession, the Persian motif, or the boy’s dreams. All the passages which connote “vacancy” are late additions. It ends: “God rest his soul!”’

    See also a note on the use of the term “paralytic affections” in T. C. Croker’s Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland 1834 Edn.), under Epiphanies - supra.

    The Sisters” - Joyce added the word paralysis, simony and gnomon to the story in revision. Don Gifford’s note in Joyce Annotated (xx) makes it clear that paralysis was equivalent - at least in the Dublin of 1904 to the medical term for paresis in the phrase ’general paresis of the insane, a tertiary symptom of syphilis, citing Burton A. Waisbren & Florence L. Walzl, ‘Paresis and the Priest: James Joyce’s Symbolic Use of Syphilis in “The Sisters”’, in Annals of Internal Medicine, 80, June 1974, pp.758-62. (Gifford, Joyce Annotated: Notes for Dubliners and A Portrait [... &c.], California UP 1982, p.29.)

    Original & reprints: The original version of the story it appeared in The Irish Homestead (13 Aug. 1904) as [“Our Weekly Story”], pp.676-67. The text is reprinted as an appendix in Gifford, op. cit., pp.[289]-93, having previously appeared as a facsimile [photo] in Cyril Pearl, Dublin in Bloomtime (London: Angus & Robertson 1969), pp.[24-25].

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    Araby” - vide the title-song is by W. G. Wills (set to music by Frederick Clay): ‘I’ll sing thee songs of Araby / And tales of far Cashmere, / Wild tales to cheat thee of a sigh, / Or charm thee with a tear. // And dreams delight shall on thee break, / And rainbow visions rise, / And all my soul shall strive to wake / Sweet wonder in thy eyes. [...; see further under Wills, infra; see also full text in Michael J. Seidel Joyce pages (Coursework) at Columbia University - online; accessed 10.06.2013.

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    Eveline” [1]: ‘The lass that loves a sailor’, which Frank sings to her pleasant confusion, is a line in a popular song by Charles Dibden (1745-1825) in which the love of sailors for lasses is not represented as a very trustworthy article - viz.,‘The gay jolly tars passsed the word for a tipple / And the toast, for ’twas Saturday night. / Some sweetheart or wife he lov’d as his life, / Each drank and wish’d he could hail her; / But the standing toast that pleas’d the most, / was “The wind that blows, / The ship that goes, / And the lass that loves a sailor.” (See Gifford, op. cit., p.51.) The meaning and connotation of Derevaun Seraun are still unknown, in spite of several conjectures. For remarks on Eveline’s income and the economics of the Hill household, see Don Gifford, Joyce Annotated: Notes for Dubliners and A Portrait [... &c.] (California UP 1982), Introduction, p.13-14 - or extract in RICORSO Library, “Major Irish Writers > James Joyce”, via index or as attached.

    Eveline” [2]: St Margaret Mary Alacoque (1647-90), member of the Visitation Order in France, experienced visions leading to a crusade for public devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus; beatified 1864, canonised 1920. Don Gifford assumes that the coloured print in the story would depict the Sacred Heart and list the promises made through her to those who display it in their homes, enumerating 12 such promised (Gifford, op. cit., 1982, pp.49-50.)

    Note: In the Wikipedia article on Alcoque we hear: ‘In James Joyce’s short story “Eveline”, part of his Dubliners, a “coloured print of the promises made to Blessed Margaret Mary Alacoque” is mentioned as part of the decorations of an Irish home at the turn of the 20th Century, testifying to her enduring popularity among Irish Catholics.’

    Eveline” [3]: The ‘terrible Patagonians’ of whom Frank speaks are identified in Gifford (op. cit. p.51) as the Tehuelche of southern Argentina, a tribe said to be the tallest of the human races in Victorian travellers’ lore. Hugh Kenner has identifies Frank’s story with that told by Othello to Desdemona during his wooing of her, speaking of those men ‘men whose heads / Do grow beneath their shoulders’. Kenner draws the inference that Joyce intended us to see that Frank’s story is unreliable and similarly pointed out that the route from Dublin to Rio de Janeira would necessarily involve embarkation on a liner from Liverpool where prostitution was a desperate resort for stranded Irish women. [Kenner memorably used the Shakespearean allusion to explicate the story in an MA seminar at UCSB in 1973: BS].

    Note: The Frank-Othello connection has been explored by Myron Taube in ‘Joyce and Shakespeare: “Eveline” and Othello’, James Joyce Quarterly, 4, 2 (Winter 1967), pp.152-54 [available at JSTOR online; accessed 15.11.2010.]

    Eveline” [4]: See the epigraph to the second set of stories in T. C. Croker’s Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland, Pt. II (1828) - viz., Fairy Legends / The Dullahan: “Men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders.” Shakespeare; “Says the Friar, ’tis strange headless horses should trot.” Old Song. (p.83) [BS]

    See William York Tindall’s remarks on “Eveline”, in Reader’s Guide to James Joyce [1959] (1963): ‘The plot is simple. This girl, fretting at a dull job and leading a life of quiet desperation with a brutal father, is offered escape by a sailor. Marriage and flight across the sea promise life and “perhaps love too.” But Irish paralysis frustrates her bold design. The end is not a coming to awareness but an animal experience of inability. ’ (See longer extract under W. Y Tindall in Commentary - infra.) [Note: the interpretation is obviously simplistic in view of the unlikelihood that Frank has "landed on his feet" in Buenes Aires and other signs that her journey would probably stop in Liverpool if she boarded the boat with him: BS.]

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    Eveline” [5]: This is a tale of adolescence in Joyce’s epistolary schema. It is purportedly based on family events of 1894 [i.e., John Stanislaus Joyce’s physical attack on his wife (May Joyce)]. It was first issued in Irish Homestead (10 Sept 1904; rev. Oct. 1905) and certainly written after “The Sisters” which was accepted by Norman, the editor of Irish Homestead, in 23 July - and certainly written after Joyce’s first meeting with Nora Barnacle on 10 June 1904. Interpretations of the story commonly hold that Eveline fails the test of courage which would end her paralysis and send her abroad with her sailor-boyfriend Frank, but the account he gives of ‘falling on his feet’ in Buenes Aires seems doubtful and, in any case, their immediate destination is Liverpool, not South America. It was proverbial what happened to stranded Irish girls in Liverpool, or any British city. In this sense the story incorporates a double-take on the predicament of its title-character who lacks the courage to go but saves her life through that very timidity. One might say that the top layer of intelligent reading identifies her as a simply example of Irish moral paralysis while a second layer suggests that the predicament of the Irish is actually much worse: they are damned if they don’t and damned if they do. Charles Peake compares her stay-at-home cowardice with Stephen Dedalus’s expression of courage in A Portrait where he says, ‘I do not fear to leave ... whatever I have to leave’ - and this implies that he would leave Dublin if he were in her position - as, in fact, he left Dublin in October 1904 - using the very ship that she turned away from at the North Wall Quay. Yet a far more telling point of comparison is with Nora Barnacle who - though unmarried - accompanied James Joyce on his flight from Ireland and risked opproprium from both those she left behind and the foreigners she was to live among thereafter. Since Joyce composed the story after he met her and revised it after they reached Trieste together, we can hardly only suppose that he had Nora in mind when he wrote it - while the young man in the photo taken by Con Curran has a good deal of the appearance of the sailor Frank, who wears a yachting cap in the story. (Indeed, Frank is a peculiarly ironic name for the kind of immoralism in which he was apparently indulging - whether he intended to ‘do right by her’ or otherwise later on. Perhaps Joyce was forcing the identification between his own case and that of the fictional sailor - one of a breed who, according to song and legend, has ‘a sweetheart in every port’. The story is, in any case, the most nearly autobiographical in the collection as delineating a moral condition through which he himself lived in an aggravated way. It puts the cap on the parallel, so to speak, to learn that he did in fact leave Nora on a park bench in London when he went to visit the writer Arthur Symons at Yeats’s invitation. When he returned he was almost surprised to see her, and wrote to his brother that he knew by this sign that she would always stay with him. [BS]

    Note note the recurrent sensory effects conveying her sense of emprisonment in Dublin, commencing with the ‘dusty cretonne’ curtains and the mystery of their resistance to her house-keeping; note also the role of the picture of Margaret Mary Alocoque, the self-flagellating saint-nun who experienced visions of Ecce Homo (Christ on the Cross) and overcame the opposition of the Jansenists in 17th c. France.

    Available on Youtube - online.

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    After the Race” [1] The central character, Jimmy Doyle, is said to be based on the career of Jimmy Fields, son of Wm. Field, butcher and Nationalist MP up to 1918, who established a chain of shops in Dublin and supplied on contract to the police; called ‘merchant prince’ sent his son to English public school and Cambridge. Doyle divided time between musical circles and motoring. (See Peter Costello, James Joyce: The Years of Growth, 1992, p.106.)

    The story stems from an interview Joyce conducted with drivers in the Gordon Bennett Race – a motor-car event which represented modernity and – but also risk for young Irishmen not used to such cosmopolitan affairs and prone to be cast aside when their money was all used up. (For his reportage on the event, see ‘The Motor Derby (1903)’, in Critical Writings, 1957, pp.106-09.)

    [Note: the general similarity of his circumstances with those of Oliver St John Gogarty - education and indulgence in motor-sport - suggest that Joyce may have had another target. BS]

    After the Race” [2]: Cadet Roussel was a French army marching song originating in the 1790s, and endlessly improvised, concerning a cadet who is unfairly derided and bears his lot with heroic stoicism. The phrase ‘Ho! Ho! Ho Hé! vraiment!’ belongs to the two-line refrain, of which the second is ‘Cadet Roussel est un bon enfant [i.e., a good chap]’.

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    The Two Gallants”; this story is roughly based on case of Brigid Gannon, a housemaid found in the Dodder [river] at Newbridge Rd., on 23 Aug. 1903; her body identified by a policeman called Henry Flower who had actually been with her on the night of her death; Flower tried with his associate Sergeant Hanily, who subsequently cut his own throat in Irishtown barracks; acquitted on ‘No True Bill’; Flower resigned from the force and emigrated; in the 1940s another servant-girl confessed that she had drowned Brigid Gannon. (See Peter Costello, James Joyce: The Years of Growth, 1992, pp.168-69.)

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    The Boarding House” [1]: Joyce wrote to Stanislaus - ‘There is a neat phrase of five words in “The Boarding House”: find it.’ (Selected Letters, 1975, p.63.) Ellmann endorse Robert Adams’ suggest that it may be the description of Polly as being ‘like a little perverse madonna’ (ibid., p.63.) Further, on the word ‘bloody’, Joyce wrote to Grant Richards at the time when the publisher was intent on terminating the contract in view of the printer’s misgivings about the stories: ‘the exact expression I have used, is in my opinion the one expression in the English language which can create on the reader the effect which I wish to create. Surely you can see this for yourself? And if the word appears once in the book it may as well appear three times [viz, also in “Two Gallants” and “Ivy Day”]. Is it not ridicilous that my book cannot be published because it contains this one word which is neither indecent nor blasphemous?’ (Letter of 31 May, 1906; Selected Letters, 1975, p.85.)

    The Boarding House” [2]: Polly’s song, “I’m a naughty girl, you needn’t sham: You know I am” includes the lines: ‘Sometimes I’ve had the fun / I repent of what I’ve done, / But not for long! / But not for long!’, and ‘If some youth with manners free / Dares to snatch a kiss from me, / Do I ask him to explain? / No, I kiss him back again! ... I’m a naughty girl, &c.’ (Quoted in Don Gifford, Joyce Annotated [... &c.], California UP 1982, pp.64-65; rep. from Zack Bowen, Musical Allusions in the Works of James Joyce, NY 1974.) Note: Reynold’s Newspaper was a radical London-based political scandal-sheet of the period (fnd. 1850).

    See also Gordon Bowker, James Joyce: A Biography (Hachette 2011): ‘[Of May Joyce [née Murray]: ‘May had two elder brothers, John and William, who did not get on [...] Brother John, a journalist with the Freeman Journal, was forced into marriage when he impregnated the sixteen-year-old daughter of his lodging landlady, something John Joyce, who disdained his brother-in-law, never allowed to go unmentioned. John Murray's plight - a young man inveignled into marriage - became the basis for his nephew's story, "The Boarding House". William, the younger of the brothers, a self-employed cost accountant, married the convent-educated Josephine Giltrap, who became James's favourite aunt. Kind and emphateti though she wasy, William was a martinet who bullied his children, providing James with more material for a story - "Counterparts" - in which a browbeaten cleark in turn browbeats his own son. (q.p.; Chapter 1; searchable at Google Books - online; accessed 09.08.2017.) ’

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    Counterparts”: Jordan Burr suggests that Joyce modeled his story “Counterparts” on Homer’ Iliad, exemplifying in an embryonic form the complex ways in which he would appropriate Homer’s characters, narrative structure, and language in Ulysses - a method spoken of by T. S. Eliot as the ‘mythic parallel’ - and that Joyce intended the method to be the antithesis of the nationalistic approach advocated by Irish cultural nationalists in the Fenians movement and the Irish Literary Revival. (See Burr, ‘“Counterparts”, the Iliad, and the Genesis of Joyce’s Mythic Method’, in James Joyce Quarterly, 49, 3-4, Spring-Summer 2012, pp.493-510; available at MUSE - online; accessed 310.05.2014.)

    Note: Heather Ingman suggests that “Counterparts” is a re-working of George Moore’s story about Edward Dempsey. (Ingman, A History of the Irish Short Story, Cambridge UP 2009, q.p. [?78; available in part online.)

    See also Gordon Bowker, James Joyce: A Biography (Hachette 2011): ‘[Of May Joyce [née Murray]:) ‘[...] William, the younger of [her] brothers, a self-employed cost accountant, married the convent-educated Josephine Giltrap, who became James's favourite aunt. Kind and emphateti though she wasy, William was a martinet who bullied his children, providing James with more material for a story - "Counterparts" - in which a browbeaten cleark in turn browbeats his own son. (q.p.; Chapter 1; searchable at Google Books - online; accessed 09.08.2017.) ’

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    Clay” is probably based on character of Maria O’Donohoe, a guest at John Murray’s Hallowe’en part in Drumcondra who was diagnosed with inoperable tumour; living in the Flynn’s home at 15 Usher’s Island; d. Hospice, Harold’s Cross, 8 Dec. 1899; she was associated in Joyce’s mind with the superstitious “clay” tradition of the season. (Costello, James Joyce: The Years of Growth, 1992, 1992, p.163.) Note that Maria cannot remember the second stanza of her party-piece “I dreamt that I dwelt ...”. [For full-text version, see under Balfe - as attached.)

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    A Painful Case” is based in an entry in Stanislaus Joyce’s Dublin diary in which he records sitting beside a concert given by Clara Butt, who spoke to him in the interval; he recorded her ‘fair skin and large pupils and very pure whites of her brown eyes’ also included in the story are two sentences of Stanislaus’: ‘Every bond is a bond to sorrow’ and, ‘Love between men and woman is impossible becase there must not be sexual intercourse, and friendship between a man and a woman is impossible because there must be sexual intercourse.’ Joyce called his brother’s aphorisms ‘bile beans’. (See Stan Gebler Davies, James Joyce A Portrait of the Artist, 1975, p.67.)

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    A Mother”: According to Stanislaus Joyce, his brother James often spoke of his distaste for ‘puling Irish traditional music, too often heard’. (Quoted in Martin Dowling, ‘“Thought-Tormented Music”: Joyce and the Music of the Irish Revival’, in James Joyce Quarterly, 45, 3/4 [Biographical Joyce] Spring-Summer 2008, p.445, citing My Brother’s Keeper: James Joyce’s Early Years, NY: Viking Press 1958, p. 16.)

    Note: Dowling writes extensively about the story in the context of a wider discussion of the ambiguous place of traditional Irish music in the Literary Revival. He also draws attention to allusions to the events of the story in Ulysses - viz., when the Sirens recall ‘that horrible night in the Antient Concert Rooms,’ and Simon mentions O’Madden Burke (U11.138-39, 270) - remarking [Dowling] that ‘both references seem to have no purpose in the episode except perhaps to recall the earlier story’ (Dowling, op. cit., p.456 [Notes].)

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    Grace”: The story is follows the tri-partite pattern of the Divine Comedy of Dante - Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradiso - to narrate the fall and redemption of Tom Kernan, a down-at-the-heel businessman who falls down the lavatory stairs of a pub, is resuced by Jack Power - a younger associate, induced to attend the religious retreat for businessmen (‘keeling the pot’) given by Father Purdon - in real life Fr. Arnott (?), here endowed with the name of a prominent brothel street in Dublin’s Nighttown. “Grace” is the first of Joyce’s stories in which the use of a narrative framework taken from a literary classic is employed, in anticipation of the same in Ulysses. That Fr Purdon offers his clients a debased interpretation of the Parable of the Unjust Steward to preach an economic doctrine of salvation suited to their occupation - eschewing the ‘two masters’ theme of the original - is central to the ironic critique of Irish commercial life involved in the story, whose Roman Catholic characters are wildly inaccurate in their allusions to Church history and Christian doctrine.

    Parable of the Good Steward (Gospel According to St. Luke, Chap. 16.)

    1 He also said to His disciples: “There was a certain rich man who had a steward, and an accusation was brought to him that this man was wasting his goods.
    2 So he called him and said to him, ‘What is this I hear about you? Give an account of your stewardship, for you can no longer be steward.’
    3 Then the steward said within himself, ‘What shall I do? For my master is taking the stewardship away from me. I cannot dig; I am ashamed to beg.
    4 I have resolved what to do, that when I am put out of the stewardship, they may receive me into their houses.’
    5 “So he called every one of his master’s debtors to him, and said to the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’
    6 And he said, ‘A hundred measures[a] of oil.’ So he said to him, ‘Take your bill, and sit down quickly and write fifty.’
    7 Then he said to another, ‘And how much do you owe?’ So he said, ‘A hundred measures[b] of wheat.’ And he said to him, ‘Take your bill, and write eighty.’”
    8 So the master commended the unjust steward because he had dealt shrewdly. For the sons of this world are more shrewd in their generation than the sons of light.
    9 “And I say to you, make friends for yourselves by unrighteous mammon, that when you fail, they may receive you into an everlasting home. 10 He who is faithful in what is least is faithful also in much; and he who is unjust in what is least is unjust also in much.
    11 Therefore if you have not been faithful in the unrighteous mammon, who will commit to your trust the true riches?
    12 And if you have not been faithful in what is another man’s, who will give you what is your own?
    13 “No servant can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or else he will be loyal to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.”

    See also Stanislaus Joyce, My Brother’s Keeper (Oxford 1958): ‘Mr. Kernan’s fall down the steps of the lavatory is his descent into hell, the sickroom is purgatory, and the Church in which he and his friends listen to the sermon is paradise at last. In “Grace’ the pattern is ironical with a touch of suppressed anger.’ (p.228; quoted in Michelle L. Lecuyer, Dante’s literary influence in Dubliners: James Joyce’s Modernist allegory of paralysis, MA Litt., Iowa State University - available online; accessed 12.04.2017.)

    Michelle L. Lecuyer (writing of the sin of simony or corruption of priestly office, in “Grace”): ‘Dante, in the canto of the simoniacs, stands over the souls “like a priest who is confessing / some vile assassin” (Inf. XIX.49-50). Dante regards simony as a particularly grievous and unforgivable sin. This is evident from his angry rebuke of Pope Nicholas III’s tortured soul and lengthy lecture on the evil nature of simony. Dante the Pilgrim rarely demonstrates such outspoken anger and repulsion in the Inferno; Dante the Poet even reflects, “I do not know, perhaps I was too bold here” (XIX.88). Joyce, too, devotes extra attention to simony in Dubliners. The sin reappears in more explicit detail in “Grace,” when Father Purdon, reputed to be a man of business, advises his parishioners that he is their “spiritual accountant” and they must “open the books of [their] spiritual [lives], and see if they tallied accurately with conscience” [Dubliners]. The corruption of the Catholic Church as portrayed in these stories and throughout Dubliners is a theme often commented on, but there is a crucial difference between Dante and Joyce. Dante, although disgusted by [it], still believed in its divine authority and power. Joyce, on the other hand, had in his early twenties so thoroughly lost his faith in the Irish Catholic Church that he refused entirely to acknowledge that institution’s authority. Because he is a figure of the Catholic Church, the priest in “The Sisters” serves a central role in Joyce’s subversion of Dante’s allegory of salvation; associated with the sin of simony, he is an allegorical representation of the Church’s corruption and inability to serve as a spiritual guide in the modern world.’ (accessed 13.04.2017.) Note: Lecuyer" remarks departure from a discussion of the priest in “Two Sisters”, of whom she now goes on to say: ‘But there is something else troubling about the character of the priest [...]’. (Idem.)

    Note: Lucuyer further quotes Lucia Boldrini who speaks of Joyce’s parody of The Divine Comedy in the story as an example of his ‘playful and complex relationship with Dante’ (“The Artist Paring His Quotations: Aesthetic and Ethical Implications of the Dantean Intertext in Dubliners”, in ReJoycing: New Readings of Dubliners, ed. Rosa M. Bollettieri Bosinelli & Harold F. Mosher Jr., Kentucky UP 1998, pp.228-46; orig. printed in Style, 25.3, 1991, p.10; Lucuyer, idem.)

    See also remarks on the term grace in Margot Norris, ‘Setting Critical Accounts Right in “Grace”’, in Suspicious Readings of Joyce's Dubliners Pennsylvania UP 2003) [Chap. 14] - here p.198ff.

    [...]

    Margot Norris 2003, p.198

    For more pages, see attached.

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    The Dead” [1]: When Gabriel sees Gretta listening to “The Lass of Aughrim” on the stairs, he contemplates a possible painting: ‘Distant Music he would call the picture if he were a painter’. The title-phrase derives from a contemporary song: “I Hear You Calling Me” by Harold Lake, a journalist on the Daily Express who gave expression to his feelings about the death of a girl he loved from tuberculosis [vide Raymond Foxall, John McCormack, London: Robert Hale 1963, p.56], set to music by Harold Harford and published in London on 11 Feb 1908. John McCormack soon afterwards adopted the song as his signature - with one note changed - singing it first a month after publication and twice again in the same year. The three verses read:

    I Hear You Calling Me
    ‘I hear you calling me. / You call’d me when the moon had veil’d her light, / Before I went from you into the night, / I came, do you remember? back to you / For one last kiss beneath the kind stars’ light. // I hear you calling me. / And oh, the ringing gladness of your voice! / The words that made my longing heart rejoice / You spoke - do you remember? - and my heart / Still hears the distant music of your voice. // I hear you calling me. / Though years have stretch’d their weary length between, / And on your grave the mossy grass is green: / I stand, do you behold me? list’ning here, / Hearing your voice through all the years between. / I hear you calling me.’
     
    —See Gerard Quinn, ‘Joyce, Nora and Sonny Bodkin’, in Blackrock Society Proc. 2004, pp.116-23.
     

    Note: The song is quoted in full in Séamus Reilly, ‘Rehearing “Distant Music” in “The Dead”’, James Joyce Quarterly, 35, 1 (Fall, 1997), pp.149-152, p.149 [online; accessed 21.11.2010]. See also Thomas Moore’s “Oh Ye Dead!” from Irish Melodies, under Moore, Quotations, supra.

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    The Dead” [2]: Of “The Lass of Aughrim”, the song that Michael Furey sang, Gerard Quinn remarks: ‘Could Gretta, listening to distant music from her dead lover be a symbol of Ireland, a bereft Ireland still in love with its former Gaelic cultural identity that has died?’ (Quinn, op. cit., p.119.) He further quotes Joyce’s poem, “She Weeps over Rahoon” [as in Quotations, infra], whose implied speaker - in his reading - is Nora Barnacle-Joyce. Quinn notes that Joyce went to Galway in Aug. 1912 when, with Nora, he visited both the fictional grave of Michael Furey at Oughterard and the actual grave of Sonny Bodkin (his original) at Rahoon. Finally, he compares the phrase ‘falls softly, softly falling’ [in that poem] with the last sentence in “The Dead”: ‘snow was general all over Ireland [...] falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, on the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, to, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried.’ (Quinn, ‘Joyce, Nora and Sonny Bodkin’, in Blackrock Society Proc. 2004, pp.116-23., p.121; cf. Martin Dowling, ‘“Thought-tormented music”: Joyce and the Music of th Irish Revival’, in JJQ, Spring-Summer 2008, pp.437-58; espec. 450-51.)

    Martin Dowling, ‘“Thought-Tormented Music”: Joyce and the Music of the Irish Revival’, in James Joyce Quarterly, 45, 3/4 [Biographical Joyce] Spring-Summer 2008, pp.437-58: ‘[...] As I argue elsewhere, traditional music is modern, but it was never susceptible to being modernist, emanating as it does from class fractions other than those of what Eagleton calls the “radical right”. How was this manifested in literary and musical fields? J. M. Synge’s adventures in the far west appear in this light to have rather over-shot the mark in his search for dynamic, autochthonous, authentic culture, just as Miss Ivors has missed the target in her goading of Gabriel to make a trip to the Aran Islands in “The Dead”. A similar problem is evident in the reception and interpretation of the song “The Lass of Aughrim”, both by the two main characters in the story and by later readers. In an essay on “The Dead”, Kevin Whelan calls the tune “a folk song which summoned the deep, oral, Irish language, Jacobite, Gaelic past of the west of Ireland.” Here he replicates the mistake made by Gabriel in the story, ascribing to the mongrel song some essential characteristic of the West of Ireland, “the old Irish tonality” that Gabriel immediately identifies once the hall door is closed. Whereas Gretta’s response to the song is authentic - a response she may share with Joyce himself - Gabriel’s reaction and, by extension, Whelan’s and many other interpreters [441] involve an illegitimate symbolic projection onto both the melody and the lyric. The point is perhaps unintentionally highlighted in John Huston’s film depiction of the story, where the Scottish, not the Irish, version of the melody is rendered, as noted by Hugh Shields.’ (pp.441-42; citing Whelan, ‘The Memories of “The Dead,”’, in The Yale Journal of Criticism, 15, Spring 2002, p.69, and Shields, ‘History of the Lass of Aughrim’, in Musicology in Ireland [Irish Musical Studies, 1], ed. Gerard Gillen & Harry White, Dublin: Irish Academic Press 1990, pp.58-73.) [Also cites Terry Eagleton, Heathcliff and the Great Hunger, remarks on modernity and modernism in Ireland.]

    Further: ‘Whereas Kathleen’s aesthetic moment is drowned out by the bickerings backstage in “A Mother”, in “The Dead”, the aesthetic moment is elevating, provoking the final epiphanies. The tender intimacy of the private but accessible time-space of the tenor’s rendition of “The Lass of Aughrim” contrasts with the tortured artificiality of the “Irish concert” [in “A Mother”]. The particular song is also important. Like the time-space of its performance, it is quite “traditional,” part of a semi-public field that exists beneath and is, as we have seen, misunderstood in the cultural field dominated by the Feis Ceoil Association. It was neither [450] collected nor published when Joyce wrote the story and is, therefore, outside the canon of “Irish” song-formed by Edward Bunting, Thomas Moore, George Petrie, and others-that was publicly handed down to the Irish Revival generation. In authentic ethnographic style, Joyce unearthed the song himself, coaxing Nora Barnacle’s mother to give him the verses while he sat at her kitchen table during a visit to Galway.’ (Ibid., pp.450-51; citing Ellmann, James Joyce, [rev. edn.] p.286).

    Note - Ellmann here writes: ‘Most of the weekend [...] he sat at 4 Bowling Green with Mrs. Barnalcle and talked of Nora. He got her to sing “The Lass of Aughrim”, including some of the verses that Nora did not remember. [...]’. In a footnote, he adds: ‘Donagh MacDonagh discovered that “The Lass of Aughrim” was a variant of “The Lass or Royal Rock”, No. 79 in F. J. Child, English and Scottish Popular Ballads, 1882-89, II, 224.) [Ellmann, idem; also gives an account of the substance of the ballad, in which the Lass with her child seeks entrance to Lord Gregory’s house, as a former lover, is refused and drowns herself in the lake.]

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    The Dead” [3]: Joyce wrote to Nora on 22 Aug. 1909, ‘Adorn your body for me, dearest. Be beautiful and happy and loving and provoking, full of memories, full of cravings, when we meet. Do you remember the three adjectives I have used in “The Dead” in speaking of your body? they are these: “musical and strange and perfumed. / My jealousy is still smouldering in my heart. Your love for me must be fierce and violent and make me forget utterly.”’ (Selected Letters, 1975, p.163.)

    See David Spurr, ‘Colonial Spaces in Joyce’s Dublin’, in James Joyce Quarterly, 37, 1/2 [Dublin and the Dubliners] (Fall 1999-Winter 2000), for remarks on conceptions of authentic ‘Irishness’ in “The Dead” - as attached.

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    The Dead” [4]: Bret Harte’s novel Gabriel Conroy (1875) tells of a silver-mining community and the part played by the central character in taking the blame for a murder he supposed to have been committed by his wife, the inheritor of the rights to the mine; in that story the wife has a child with him and briefly loves him, though her original motives for marrying him were entirely selfish. The novel opens with a description of snow which matches the final paragraph of “The Dead”:

    Snow. Everywhere. As far as the eye could reach - fifty miles, looking southward from the highest white peak - filling ravines and gulches, and dropping from the walls of canons in white shroud-like drifts, fashioning the dividing ridge into the likeness of a monstrous grave, hiding the bases of giant pines, and completely covering young trees and larches, rimming with porcelain the bowl-like edges of still, cold lakes, and undulating in motionless white billows to the edge of the distant horizon. Snow lying everywhere over the California Sierras on the 15th day of March 1848, and still falling.
     It had been snowing for ten days: snowing in finely granulated powder, in damp spongy flakes, in thin, feathery plumes, snowing from a leaden sky steading, snowing fiercely, shaken out of purple-black clouds in white floculent masses, or dropping in long level lines, like white lances from the tumbled and broken heavens. But always silently!

    —Quoted in Don Gifford, Joyce Annotated: Notes for Dubliners and A Portrait [... &c.] (California UP 1982), pp.113-14.

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    The Dead” [5] (Letter to Stanislaus, 25 Sept. 1906) - rethinking the ending of Dubliners
    ‘Sometimes thinking of Ireland it seems to me that I have been unnecessarily harsh. I have reproduced (in [109] Dubliners at least) none of the attraction of the city for I have never felt at my ease in any city since I left it except in Paris. I have not reproduced its ingenuous insularity and its hospitality. The latter ‘virtue’ so far as I can see does not exist elsewhere in Europe. I have not been just to its beauty: for it is more beautiful naturally in my opinion than what I have seen of England, Switzerland, France, Austria or Italy. And yet I know how useless these reflections are. For were I to rewrite the book as G[rant] R[ichards] suggests “in another sense” (where the hell does he get the meaningless phrases he uses) I am sure I should find again what you call the Holy Ghost sitting in the ink-bottle and the perverse devil of my literary conscience sitting on the hump of my pen.’
    Letters, Vol. II, 1966, p.166; Selected Letters, 1975, pp.109-10.

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    The Dead” [6]: Heather Ingman compares Joyce’s liminality to Yeats’s in John Sherman: Sherman nodding off in his mother’s drawing room, experiences a liminal state similar to Gabriel’s [...] Telling revealing of the differences between the two writers, in Yeats such a borderline space is where imagination is nurtured’ in Joyce, Gabriel’s sleepy state expands his capacity for imaginative empathy. Though resisting Yeats’s national as another of the paralysing mechanisms weighing on his Dubliners’ lives, the ending of “The Dead” with the lyrical beauty of its prose and its themes of liminality and dissolution, begins to read like Joyce’s tribute to Yeats’ [mystical stories]. (A History of the Irish Short Story, Cambridge UP 2009, p.80; available in part online.)

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    The Dead” [7]: de Quincey connection?

    Some quotations suggestive of points in common between De Quincey’s romantic psychology and the method of Joyce’s works from “The Dead“ to Finnegans Wake”. ...

    De Quincey wrote of memories: ‘Everlasting layers of ideas, images, feelings, have fallen upon your brain soft as light. Each succession has seemed to bury all that went before, and yet in reality not one has been extinguished.’ (‘The Palimpsest of the Human Brain’, in Thomas De Quincey: The Collected Writings, ed. Masson, Vol. XIII, p.346.)

    ‘Yes, reader, countless are the mysterious handwritings of grief or joy which have been inscribed upon the palimpsest of your brain.’ (Ibid., p.348.)

    ‘[L]ike the annual leaves of Aboriginal forests, or the undissolving snows of the Himalayas, or light falling upon light, the endless strata have covered up each other in forgetfulness. But by the hour of death, but by fever, but by the searchings of opium, all these can revive in strength. They are not dead, but sleeping.’ (Masson, op. cit., Vol. XIII, p.34; cf. cf. ‘flick as flowflakes’ in Finnegans Wake.)

    ‘[O]ften I have been struck with the important truth that far more of our deepest thoughts and feelings pass to us through perpleced combinations of concrete objects, pass to us as involutes (if I may coin that word) [see note] in compound experiences incapable of being disentangled, that ever reach us directly, and in their abstract shapes.’ (‘Suspiria de Profundis’, in Masson, op. cit., Vol. I, p.39.)

    ‘[...] I am convinced [...] that the dread book of account which the scriptures speak of is, in fact, the mind itself of each individual. Of this at least I feel assured: that there is no such thing as forgetting possible to the mind.’ (Confessions, ed. Edmund Baxter, p.235.) John Barrell identifies ‘involutes’ as a term used for conch-shells (The Infection of Thomas De Quincey, Yale 1991, p.32.)

    ‘Simple ideas will run into complex ones by Means of Association’ (In ‘Doctrine of Vibrations’, Observations on Man, His Frame, His Duty and His Expectations, 1834; available in Google Books.

    (The foregoing quoted in Roisin McCluskey, PhD transfer submission, UUC 2008, p.7 - describing it as an ‘account of the brain’s memory system’.)

     

    Note: For Althea Hayther, De Quincey’s ‘whole lifetime of experiences which, under the agency of opium dreams, folded inwards round each other and became a single involute of feeling.’ (Opium and the Romantic Imagination, Faber 1971, p.126.)

    Cf. Wordsworth: ‘There are in our existence spots of time / Which with distinct pre-eminence retain / A fructifying virtue ... / Such moments chiefly seem to have their date / In our first childhood.’ (Prelude; in Romanticism: An Anthology, p.307.)

    §
    [ See also under Thomas de Quincey - in James Joyce > Notes (4) - infra, ]

    The Dead (1987) [the film, after Joyce’s story], dir. John Huston, distrib. Vestron Pictures / Zenith; duration 1.19.25. Cast incls. Donal McCann, Anjelica Huston, Helena Carroll; Cathleen Delany; Rachael Dowling; Ingred Craigie; Dan O’Herlihy Marie Kean; Donal Donnelly; Sean McClory; Frank Patterson [as Bartell Darcy]; music ed. Robert Silvi; dir of phot. Fred Murphy.

    John Houston, ’The Dead’
    John Houston, ’The Dead’

    (Available on YouTube - online; accessed 24.03.2014.)

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    Incidence of the word ‘soul’ in Dubliners -
    Dubliners Concordance Online
    “The Sisters”

    —“God have mercy on his soul,” said my aunt piously.
    —desired to confess something. I felt my soul receding into some
    —“The Lord have mercy on his soul!” said my aunt.

    “Araby”

    —were called to me through the silence in which my soul luxuriated

    “A Little Cloud”

    —soul revolted against the dull inelegance of Capel Street. There
    —verse. He felt them within him. He tried weigh his soul to see if it
    —was a poet’s soul. Melancholy was the dominant note of his
    —melancholy of his soul in verse? There were so many things he

    “Ivy Day in the Committee Room”

    —got those little pigs’ eyes for nothing. Blast his soul! Couldn’t he
    —“Why, blast your soul,” said Mr. Henchy, ’I’d get more votes in

    “A Mother”

    —and the silver biscuit-barrel. She entered heart and soul into the

    “The Dead”

    —“The Lord have mercy on his soul,” said Aunt Kate
    —ecstasy. For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul or hers.
    —to her from his soul, to crush her body against his, to overmaster
    —entered his soul. He did not like to say even to himself that her
    —standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul
    —His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly

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