(339.18-341.17) The Butt and Taff play resumes with Taff marveling, somewhat mockingly, at the Russian General's outfit as described by Butt. "Some garmentguy!" he says. Undeterred, Butt further mythologizes the Russian General by likening him to a bear king, "raigning in his heavenspawn consomation robes," which are rainbow-colored. As Butt describes the General-bear stepping forward and stooping before the assembled crowd, Taff tries to make the Sign of the Cross, but has trouble (perhaps on account of his own Russian origin and the fact that he was a later convert to Catholicism). Instead of "The Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit, amen," all Taff can muster is "a little farther, a little soon, a letteracettera, oukraydoubray."
The stage directions now have Butt pointing out landmarks surrounding the field of battle, including the "field of karhags and that bloasted tree" (recalling the stone and tree that have reappeared throughout the Wake). Nearby is "[t]heir feery pass," which isn't too far off from "Phoenix Park." It comes as no surprise, then, that Butt describes the "guerillaman" (HCE), who carries "aspear aspoor to prink the pranks of the primkissies" (a "spear" that he will use to molest the young women) and is spied on by "the buddies behind in the byre" (the three soldiers behind the bushes). Hardly a day goes by when HCE's sin in the park is not brought right back to the forefront.
The pessimist "blackseer" Taff sees the eventual fall of the Russian General/HCE and laments its effect on both the larger world and his family (particularly his mother, he is a form of ALP, after all): "Oh day of rath! Ah, murther of mines! Eh, selo moy! Uh, zulu luy!" Butt goes on to say that, after the General "devoused the lelias on the fined" (as McHugh notes, "defiled the lilies of the field"), he "conforted samp, tramp and marchint out of the drumbume of a narse" (or confronted the three soldiers and perhaps disarmed them).
At this point, Taff is just as eager to hear the rest of the story as the patrons in the pub were earlier. "Divulge!" he shouts. Soon after, he adds, "Bang on the booche, gurg in the gorge, rap on the roof and your flup is unb..." (in other words, he continues to urge Butt on, but can't help but note that his counterpart's fly is unbuttoned). In response to this encouragement, the stage directions have Butt dance as he sings of the climactic moment:
Buckily buckily, blodestained boyne! Bimbambombumb. His snapper was shot in the Rumjar Journaral. Why the gigls he lubbed beeyed him.
Butt thus has Buckley shoot the Russian General while the two young women watch, with his motive being the General's molestation of those girls and his subsequent confrontation of the soldiers. The weight of the moment causes Taff (who's dancing a two-step) to "trumble." Butt, for his part, concludes today's passage by essentially saying that the General got what was coming to him: "By their lights shalthow throw him! Piff paff for puffpuff and my pife for his cgar! The mlachy way for gambling."
(337.15-339.17) Another tough passage today. (I can hear you saying, "Yeah, aren't they all tough?") It seems like an important one though, for it presents the start of an extended dialogue between Butt and Taff. First, though, comes a brief interlude that serves as a transition from yesterday's passage into the Butt and Taff play. The interlude has us going into a relaxing meditation by envisioning a peaceful Phoenix Park encounter between the two young women ("twee cweamy wosen"), HCE ("a stotterer" and "one biggermaster Omnibil"), and the three soldiers ("three longly lurking lobstarts"). In this version, we join in the encounter as we "[p]et her, pink him, play pranks with them." The young women smile, HCE appreciates the attention, and the soldiers participate in the practical jokes. As we're instructed to "[f]eel the wollies drippeling out of your fingathumbs," it's hard not to appreciate this great, seemingly out-of-nowhere passage.
But the patrons now are anxious for some entertainment. "We want Bud," they call out. "We want Bud Budderly. We want Bud Budderly boiddily." This is Butt, of the aforementioned Butt and Taff, and the patrons want to hear the song they've heard "sinse sung thousandtimes." The players will act out "How Burghley shuck the rackushant Germanon" (or how Buckley shot the Russian General).
The scene opens with applause from the pub patrons as two soldiers take the stage ("A public plouse. Citizen soldiers."). I've learned that there's a lot of scholarly debate about the practical particulars of the scene now commencing. The first question is, "Through which form of media is the play being presented?" In the Skeleton Key, Campbell and Robinson write that it is a radio play presented by two vaudeville comedians. Edmund L. Epstein, the editor of the Collected Works edition of the Skeleton Key (which I am using), comments that more recent commentators have suggested that the play is on a television in the pub, but that this is debatable because the television is not turned on until later in the chapter. Tindall agrees in his Reader's Guide that this could be a television program, but prefers to think that it is actually HCE verbally presenting another version of his story. Given the visual stage notes included by Joyce, I am in the camp that thinks this is a visual performance (and thus not a radio play). But, for the moment, I'll argue for a different interpretation: Perhaps this is a live-action play performed by two pub patrons as HCE ("Milster Malster") sits watching from his chair. Butt and Taff represent HCE's sons, and it would be appropriate for two patrons to take on these roles as forces and soldiers opposed to HCE. The live action interpretation seems to square the visual stage directions with the fact that the television isn't turned on until later. (I reserve the right to reverse my opinion, though.)
The second question is, "Which brother corresponds to which character?" Campbell, Robinson, and Tindall agree that Butt is Shem and Taff is Shaun. Eliot, however, notes that the more recent interpretation is that Butt is Shaun and Taff is Shem. I agree with this latter reading of view. Taff is introduced as a contemplative monk with his head in the clouds, playfully prodding his counterpart to tell the story of Buckley and the Russian General. Butt is the practical man of action of apparently witnessed the affair and is here to tell the story. It would seem that Taff has to be Shem, and Butt has to be Shaun.
Anyway, back to the narrative. Taff, as I mentioned before, asks Butt to tell the story. Butt hesitates for a moment, and his words ("But da. But dada, mwilshsuni.") indicate that he is a bit uneasy about the whole thing because it's reminiscent of his father's story (and perhaps his own eventual story, as well). Unrelenting, Taff gives a long speech in an attempt to encourage Butt to go on, and it is ultimately successful. Butt begins the story with the Russian General enveloped by enemies ("He was enmivalluped."). He then goes on to describe the General's garments, and today's passage concludes with an interruption (I'm thinking it's from the radio, which is playing in the background while the two patrons act out the play) in the form of an advertisement for a men's clothing store, Karrs and Polikoff's.
(335.15-337.14) This was a bit of a tougher passage for me today, possibly because it seems like it's one of the chapter's transition points. We begin to march toward the story of the Russian General with an exhortation: "Let us propel us for the frey of the fray! Us, us, beraddy!" McHugh notes that the language that follows (e.g., "Ko Niutirenis hauru leish!") approximates part of the war cry from a Maori haka, and the more English-centric language also indicates that HCE is getting ready for battle/storytelling. As the patrons urge HCE on, the language once again recalls HCE's incident in Phoenix Park, "where obelisk rises when odalisks fall." Growing more and more impatient, the patrons "pled him beheighten the firing."
A preface tells us that HCE's story is a continuation of what came before, but it also starts from a new beginning: "We are once amore as babes awondering in a wold made fresh where with the hen in the storyaboot we start from scratch." Beginning, HCE promises us "the truce, the old truce and nattonbuff the truce, boys." The patrons raise a toast and take a drink of their beers ("Drouth is stronger than faction," after all), and HCE begins the story.
Interestingly enough, the Russian General initially comes in the form of "The Grant," an American general (and eventual president . . . one of the more interesting figures from U.S. history). Like HCE, the general had a bit of a lecherous side, for he liked "to feel to every of the youging fruits, tenderosed like an atalantic's breastswells." There appears to be some grumbling from one or more of the patrons, but HCE is once again urged on after a "truce to lovecalls." The reading ends with HCE about to resume his tale, and the brilliance of today's final sentence warrants a full quotation: "Leave the letter that never begins to go find the latter that ever comes to end, written in smoke and blurred by mist and signed of solitude, sealed at night."
(333.19-335.14) Today's reading resumes with Kate as the central focus of the scene. She has come from upstairs with a message for HCE from ALP, who is in the bedroom in her "sari chemise." Condensed and paraphrased, the message is essentially that the children are sleeping in bed, so HCE should feel free to come upstairs and join ALP in bed. In keeping with the rest of the Wake, the message's tone could be interpreted in a variety of ways at once, from a sense of concern for HCE (come upstairs before you get too drunk and fall again) to a sense of erotic encouragement (come upstairs and take care of this "hot and tot lass").
With the message delivered, three men make comments that echo Kate's previous tour of the Wellington Museum at the beginning of the book. These three -- Gladstone Browne, Bonaparte Nolan, and an unnamed third -- recall Wellington and Napoleon as well as Browne and Nolan, figures who have featured prominently throughout the book. They could be the three soldiers commenting on themselves or HCE, or they could be various parts of HCE's personality commenting on himself or the patrons in the pub. After their brief commentary, the assembled patrons raise a toast to the queen ("her midgetsy the lady of the comeallyous"), ALP.
HCE and Kate perform some chores around the pub, and the patrons' attention turns toward a photo on the wall. The photo is also two things at once: a depiction of a hunt (with its men on horseback and dogs leading the way) and a depiction of the Charge of the Light Brigade. Kate leaves, and a momentary silence falls over the pub (denoted by "(Silents)"). The patrons comment about how they've studied the print on the wall, and their talk is interrupted by a radio commercial for "Carlowman's Cup" in Chapelizod.
At the conclusion of today's reading, the stage is set for a new tale (a "grimm grimm tale of the four of hyacinths"): the story of how "Bullyclubber burgherly shut the rush in general." This is none other than the often-hinted at saga of how Buckley shot the Russian General. My secondary sources indicate that there will be a number of additional interruptions before this tale officially commences, so tomorrow will tell which direction we'll go in next.
(331.14-333.18) Yesterday's reading seemed a bit "easier" than average, so it's par for the course that today's reading was tougher than usual. The rest of page 331 and the whole of page 332 are particularly tough, wrapping up (at least for now, it seems) the tale of the Norwegian Captain. The passage begins with a wide, panoramic view of the Irish landscape ("from your tarns, thwaites and thorpes, withes, tofts and fosses, fells, haughs and shaws, lunds garths and dales") and then focuses in on the mythical Captain/Tina-HCE/ALP couple: "trader arm aslung beauty belt, the formor velican and nana karlikeevna, sommerlad and cinderenda, Valtivar and Viv." The narrator (whoever the narrator is here) speaks of the captain's initial attraction to her and shifts into a hint of his coming fall, comparing this attraction to the way "the last liar in the earth begeylywayled the first lady of the forest."
McHugh notes that page 332 begins with language mimicking that of the various formulas ending Danish and English fairy tales and games, which indicates that the end of the tale of the captain has occurred or is soon at hand. The kettle is on to make the tea (part of the English fairy tale ending, but also what is literally happening in the pub), and the narrator merges the Captain and HCE by asserting that "if hec dont love alpy then lad you annoy me." The next sentence is interrupted by another thunderword which in part indicates that "daddy" has "doodled" in "dubbland."
There's (at least) a double meaning in this doodling thunder, as seen in the next paragraph, in which the thunder is "the act of goth stepping the tolk of Doolin." In the wake (haha) of this thunder, we hear the people saying, "we'll pull the boath toground togutter." If this act of God is the Christ-like intercessor (McHugh notes that "tolk" is "Norwegian" for interpreter) stepping forward to bring peace to Dublin, then the thunder inspires the city's people to set aside their differences with the Norwegian Captain (and HCE) and pull the boat to ground together. But, if the thunder instead stops the gossipy talk of Dublin in a manner that frightens the populace and causes them to resent the invading captain, then it has inspired the people to unite to pull the boat (or both the captain and his wife) and the Norwegian Captain/HCE's reputation to the ground and ultimately to the gutter. The thunderwords always indicate a fall, so the latter interpretation is probably the primary one.
In the aftermath of the thunder-fall, the Norwegian Captain/HCE -- "that gronde old mand to be that haard of heaering" -- meets up with his nemesis, "the cad." Once again, their interaction is vague, as on this "Junuary morn" the captain/HCE has "forecaused a bridge of the piers, at Inverleffy." So, he's either forecasted or caused a bridge or breach of the piece between them.
We won't know which, at least for now, because we now encounter an "Enterruption" or "Dvershen." This is none other than Kate coming through the door and into the pub. Kate (or Kathe, as we remember her in the Wellington Museum) clops between "the two deathdealing allied divisions and the lines of readypresent fire of the corkedagains upstored" (the brawling, drunken patrons and HCE) and reminds everyone to "band your hands going in, bind your heads coming out," much as she did when she gave us the tour at the beginning of the Wake. It appears that she has a message for someone, which we'll get to tomorrow.
(329.14-331.13) Ok, I'm back after a week-long absence. This time I got caught up in March Madness -- particularly the brief run by my alma mater, the University of Dayton, which featured two games in my hometown of Columbus that I felt morally obligated to attend. Hopefully this is my last extended absence, as I'd really like to meet my revised goal of completing this project by the end of August.
Back to the text. Today's passage resumes with the grand wedding feast of the Norwegian Captain and his new bride, Tina. And it certainly was grand. As the narrator says, "Dub did glow that night." Attending the proceedings are figures who parallel HCE's age-old nemeses -- the two young women and three soldiers -- although their representatives here are (for the moment) well-wishers: "Cannmatha and Cathlin sang together. And the three shouters of glory." The new couple is in for at least a brief period of bliss, both during the feast and throughout their honeymoon period: "A doublemonth's licence, lease on mirth, while hooneymoon and her flame went huneysuckling. Holyryssia, what boom of bells!" Everyone who's anyone is in attendance, including the dead, one of whom is detailed in a great passage: "Even Tombs left doss and dunnage down in Demidoff's tomb and drew on the dournailed clogs that Morty Manning left him and legged in by Ghoststown Gate, like Pompei up to date, with a sprig of Whiteboys heather on his late Luke Elcock's heirloom." (This sentence demonstrates the jovial, sing-songy nature of the bulk of today's reading.) Both sides of warring factions are even present, and these enemies are "swearing threaties" to each other.
The wedding reception's not all innocent fun and games, as one could probably expect. The attendees have "haven's lamps to hide us," yet "every lane had its lively spark," a temptress who is perfectly willing to entertain those wanting to indulge their more sinful urges. This seedy side of the evening doesn't escape the surveying eye of Father Matt Hughes, who "looked taytotally threbled."
The marriage doesn't necessarily bring a total and complete peace to Ireland, as was perhaps hoped by the Head Tailor. The "street spins legends while wharves woves tales," and the names of some old, respectable families are consequently marred. Nevertheless, things begin great for the married couple, who take on an aspect of Joyce and his wife, Nora, when they're "eloping for that holm in Finn's Hotel Fiord, Nova Norening." (Nora Joyce worked in Finn's Hotel in Dublin when she met her eventual husband, and the two soon eloped and fled for the Continent.) The couple soon "made fray" (made free, or left the country, like the Joyces) and became quite "homey."
The predicted arrival of twin sons and a daughter is announced via two knock-knock jokes, higlighting the warring nature of the sons and the Adam's Apple-less body of the daughter. The massed children (all 111 of them) join in a dance, which progresses from a barn dance to the can-can and the Highland Fling (not the "polkar," or polka, as the narrator notes) as they reach adolescence. As they grow older, the children take on the traits of the parents, until finally the daughter addresses a potential suitor, Tim Tommy Melooney, in a manner that indicates she's trying to either seduce him or threaten him: "I'll tittle [tattle/tickle] your barents [parents/bare end] if you stick that pigpin upinto meh!"
(327.15-329.13) We pick up today with the long paragraph that begins on page 326 and introduces us to the young woman that the head tailor has seemingly selected for the Norwegian Captain. Let's call this young woman Tina, since in yesterday's reading she was apparently referred to as "Tina-bat-Talur" (McHugh notes that "bat" is Hebrew for "daughter of," hence Tina, daughter of tailor). In today's reading, the head tailor continues to extol Tina's virtues. For example, she makes "every Dinny dingle after her down the Dargul dale," or, in other words, she leaves everybody tingling as she walks by. Amid these continuing praises, the head tailor takes a moment to warn the captain in an aside, telling him to cool his jets until he gets to know her better: "wait awhile, blusterbuss, you're marchadant too forte and don't start furlan your ladins till you' ve learned the lie of her landuage!"
We learn that part of Tina's role as the captain's wife will be to "work her mireiclles and give Norgeyborgey good airish timers, while her fresh racy turf is kindly kindling up the lovver with the flu." Not only is she to show the captain a good time, but it also seems that in inflaming his sexual desire she will burn him up and turn him to ashes that will waft up the chimney (and thus bring peace to the land). Underscoring this point, the head tailor says that she "with a roaryboaryellas would set an Eriweddyng on fire, let aloon an old Humpopolamos with the boomarpoorter on his brain." She must be quite a lady.
Eventually, the head tailor -- the "marriage mixter" -- addresses Kersse, who is Tina's "coaxfonder" (or godfather), in order to convince him that the Norwegian Captain is a proper match. Although the captain has a deservedly bad reputation ("the clonk in his stumble strikes warn"), the head tailor says that he'll be harmless once wedded. It's declared that the captain, "Heri the Concorant Erho" (or HCE, the conquering hero), will be wedded at "Sing Mattins in the Fields" by "the Referinn Fuchs Gutmann." And once the marriage has been consummated, Tina "will make a suomease pair and singlette" (or, as Campbell and Robinson explain, twin boys and a girl). The head tailor concludes his speech by calling the captain "the bettest bluffy blondblubber of an olewidgeon what overspat a skettle in a skib." With this, the captain is captured in the wedding arrangement: "Cawcaught. Coocaged."
(325.13-327.15) Yesterday's reading was a bit on the "easier" end of the Wake spectrum, but that brief respite has ended with today's reading and the often vague, shifting identity of its characters. It begins with a man who's referred to as "the head marines talebearer," who perhaps is the head tailor (or the head marine tailor). He appears to address the Norwegian Captain, the "elderman adaptive of Capel Ysnod" (the captain, like HCE is an immigrant who has adopted Chapelizod as his home). He says that he will find the captain a "faulter-in law, to become your son-to-be."
This head tailor, who is also called "the ships gopsfather" (making him the captain's godfather), tells the captive captain ("the husband's capture) that the time has come for peace between "soilers" (sailors) and "toilers" (tailors). As "Gophar" (godfather) is speaking to "the nowedding captain, the rude hunnerable Humphrey," the captain prays to his (non-Christian) gods for deliverance. It's no use, though, for the head tailor beckons the captain to come into the "shipfolds" of Ireland. The head tailor goes on to tell the captain that he will now become an Irish Catholic or else "I'll rehearse your comeundermends and first mardhyr you entirely." St. Patrick, the head tailor says, will guide the captain: "Pat is the man for thy. Ay ay!" With this, the head tailor pulls the captain from behind the outhouse, makes the Sign of the Cross, and baptizes ("popetithes") him. The captain's Christian name, fittingly, is "Erievikkingr," further cementing the captain-HCE connection. The captain will now be Ireland's "hero chief explunderer of the clansakiltic" and will father a nation of "pukkaleens" (as McHugh notes, blending the Irish "buachallin" and Norwegian "pukkelen" to make a word for "little humpbacked boys").
The captain's not entirely on board with all this. "Nansence," he says. He's known for being against all religions, so it's unclear why he's submitted to this ritual.
Now begins a long paragraph, which looks to consist of a single sentence spanning two and a half pages. So, the first bit of the sentence will conclude today's reading, and the rest will make up the next one. The head tailor says to the captain -- his "secondnamed sutor" (who has been newly rechristened as part of his baptism and also is still wearing an old, secondhand suit) and "lately lamented sponsorship" (as the captain's godfather, the head tailor acted as his sponsor) -- that he's going to let him in "on some crismion dottrin." This is both Christian doctrine and, as McHugh notes, Christan daughter (from the Icelandic "dottirin"). The daughter is "the lippeyear's wonder of Totty go," or the 29th girl of the age of 20, making her sound very reminiscent of Isabel. There's a lot left in this paragraph, so next time we'll surely learn what's in store for the captain and this particular daughter.
(323.25-325.12) As luck would have it, I didn't see any direct references to St. Patrick in today's reading. Nevertheless, I'm sure Joyce would've gotten a kick out of the fact that I'm spending a significant portion of my St. Patrick's Day at home trying to decipher Finnegans Wake.
The passage for today presents a clear(er) diversion from the story of the Norwegian Captain, which has dominated this chapter thus far. After the fiery condemnation of HCE/the captain that occurred at the end of yesterday's reading -- which the narrator likens to a horn signalling attack and a crack of thunder -- HCE, "the lord of the saloom" -- returns (apparently from behind his counter, though he may have gone outside to urinate again). He reviews the crowd with his alien eyes ("ambilaterally alleyeoneyesed"). The patrons, confronted with the butt of their joke, are about to laugh as if their joke (or their yoke) had come to them on its own. Like Adam ("his first foetotype"), HCE is just a man, "erning his breadth to the swelt of his proud." Despite his faults, though, he's still a great figure, and the patrons accordingly "hailed him cheeringly, their encient, the murrainer, and walruse, the merman, ye seal that lubs you lasssers, Thallassee or Tullafilmagh, when come of uniform age." (In other words, they cheered him accordingly, the ancient mariner, the mythic figure, who loves the girls of the sea and the terra firma, when they've reached the proper age.)
A joyous shout comes up from the crowd: "Heave, coves, emptybloody!" (Here comes emptybladder!) But things are never good for long for ol' HCE (or the captain). One of the tailor-patrons interrupts this cheering and tells his compatriots to "change all that whole set" (echoing yesterday's admonishments, "Take off thatch whitehat" and "Tick off that whilehot"). This tailor-patron doesn't want to celebrate the invading HCE/captain and instead inovkes the Irish nationalism of the crowd by leading them in another round of the Feinian chant, "Our set, our set's allohn." With this, HCE and the captain are once again tossed into the metaphorical fire.
The proceedings are now interrupted (as I mentioned earlier) by the radio. First, we hear a message asking for the return of a bereaved person to be brought back. The person summoned is "Finucane-Lee, Finucane-Law," which must mean the deceased Finnegan. After this, we get a weather report ("Welter focussed.") and the news ("What hopends to they?"). The news of the day follows Vico's cycle, of course. The passage wraps up with some advertisements and a listing of upcoming programming, which includes horse races and midnight music from a "fourposter harp quartetto."
(321.21-323.24) Today's reading begins at the pub's counter ("Contrescene"), where HCE works pouring drinks ("blanding rum, milk and toddy with I hand it to you") and grabbing the coins the customers are leaving as payment. The description of the taking of the coins is great: "with a pattedyr but digit here, he scooped the hens, hounds and horses biddy by bunny, with an arc of his covethand, saved from the drohnings they might oncounter, untill his cubid long, to hide in dry." On one level, this is the covetous HCE collecting the Irish coins -- which McHugh notes bore the likenesses of the animals listed here -- and hiding them in his till. On another level, this is the newly re-arrived Norwegian Captain playing the role of Noah, taking the animals into his ark to save them from drowning.
Soon Ashe Junior, one of the tailors, reenters. He's got some clothes with him (ostensibly for the captain). Also reappearing is Kersse, who is separately scolded by three separate people for wearing a white hat and odd clothes. Campbell and Robinson speculate that Ashe and Kersse are the same person. I'm not sure about that, but I do agree with their assertion that Kersse represents the self-destructive side of HCE. (Campbell and Robinson also have the insight that Finn MacCool -- one mythical version of HCE -- wore a white hat to a hurling match also attended by the King, who inadvertently gave Finn his name when the King asked who was wearing the "fin cumhal," or white cap.)
Kersse (who is called a "scum of a botch" and "suck of a thick") was supposed to be tracking down the Norwegian Captain, but he comes in gallantly from the race track looking like a naval officer. Someone asks him "who did you do at doyle today, my horsey dorksey gentryman," essentially asking him how he did betting on the horses. Kersse tells the crowd the entire story of "how the whole blazy raze acurraghed, from lambkinsback to sliving board and from spark to phoenish."
After Kersse has given his recap of the races (the details of which don't actually appear in the book -- we just get the narrative summary), the drunken newcomers (who "had been malttreating themselves to their health's contempt") appear, saying, "Same capman no nothing horces two feller he feller go where. Isn't that effect? gig for gag." I think what's happening here is that Kersse is being compared to the Norwegian Captain (this supports Campbell and Robinson's idea that Kersse is a version of HCE) and the assembled crowd now begins to conflate the two, "fag for fig" and "mhos for mhos." This culminates in one person expressing a bloodthirsty disdain for the captain. This man spits out an exhaustive list of insults and delivers threats to the captain's body and ship in addition to his reputation. He finally says that no tailor could make a suit that would fit the humpbacked captain.
(319.16-321.20) The two other tailor-patrons both gulp down their drinks in the same manner as the first did. The Norwegian Captain is now "plumbing his liners," indicating that the captain is getting ready to leave again and that HCE is getting ready to go out and urinate again. One of the tailor-patrons asks "where's Horace's courtin troopsers?," indicating that the captain and/or his new suit aren't on the scene and that HCE has left. One of the tailor-patrons says that he "put hem behind the oasthouse," meaning that he's played a practical joke on the captain/HCE by hiding his clothes. What's more, the clothes have been thrown into a fire. Everyone in the crowd laughs, except for the Ship's Husband, who feels like he's been metaphorically thrown into that fire as punishment for the role he's played in this whole affair.
Things get really confusing on page 320, so here's my best guess as to what's going on: One tailor has completed a suit (in the latest fashion) for the captain. He joins in on cursing the captain. At some point in this rant, the curses sound like they're being uttered by the captain about the tailor, so I'm thinking this paragraph starts out with the tailor complaining about the captain, then shifts to the captain complaining about the tailor. The only really clear thing here is that the patrons are getting pretty drunk.
Eventually, it's time for "the second tryon." This is both the second time the captain has tried on a new suit and the second round or chorus of the repeated tale. The captain takes the bundle of new clothes over his shoulder and leaves town again in the morning. Once again the Ship's Husband yells after the captain, shouting, "Stuff, Taaffe, stuff! . . . Come back to May Aileen." This echoes what he yelled the first time the captain ran off ("Stolp, tief, stolp, come bag to Moy Eireann!"). Once again, the captain gets away.
A pause now momentarily halts the telling of the tale, and two of the soldier-patrons (here, "the reminding pair of snipers") in the pub take advantage of that pause to drink more and to take shots at HCE's reputation. HCE returns to the pub, welcoming in customers and serving more drinks. HCE's return also heralds the return of the Norwegian Captain to Ireland. The scene is thus set for a third round of the tale.
(317.22-319.15) Today's reading begins with the three soldier-patrons merging with three tailors from the tale of the Norwegian Captain (thus making them soldier-patron-tailors, I guess). They comment on the captain (and HCE), calling him "Humpsea dumpsea" and promising "[a] ninth for a ninth."
As his feast continues, the captain seems to become lost in thought, "obbliffious of the headth of hosth that rosed before him" (oblivious that he sits before Howth hill). He ponders the "precious memory" of his wife ("Him her first lap, her his fast pal, for ditcher for plower, till deltas twoport.") and takes stock of his life. He's getting up in years -- "this glowworld's lump is gloaming off" -- and he hopes that his wandering has ended and that his golden years (his "wondernest") have arrived. But while he has "performed the law in truth for the lord of the law," he is not a perfect man. His rainbow -- his "spectrem onlymergeant" -- is not one of colors, but of the seven deadly sins: "calvitousness, loss, nngnr, gliddinyss, unwill and snorth." Still, he says, "[T]here's the chance of a night for my lifting."
Here, the tailor-patrons interrupt the captain's musings. The first comments that "it's a suirsite's stircus haunting hesteries round old volcanoes" as he downs three swallows of ale at once. Tomorrow, we'll resume with the others' interjections.
(315.21-317.21) First things first: today officially sees me passing the halfway point in Finnegans Wake. (I'm counting the book as beginning on page 3, since that's where the actual text begins.) It's taken a long time to get here, but I'm excited and proud nonetheless. I'm aiming to take less than 10 and a half months to finish the second half (seriously).
Back to the text. Maybe I'm psyching myself out a bit here, but it seems that this chapter is particularly difficult, especially when considering the way in which it's already blending the competing-yet-parallel narratives of the goings-on in HCE's pub and the affairs of the Norwegian Captain. Different parts of today's reading could be dealing with either or both of those storylines. Since my primary purpose in this project is to make it through the Wake with a basic understanding of what's going on, I'm choosing for the moment to try and simply things as much as possible (and am therefore saving most of the deeper analysis for later (in this read through or in life in general)).
Having reentered the pub after going out to urinate, HCE greets the customers by saying, "Good marrams . . . freshwatties and boasterdes all." He has his hat on a bit slanted (he's getting drunk himself) as he asks what everyone's been talking about while he's been out. One patron tells HCE that the skipper is coming in then lowers his voice to tell his friends, "Pukkelsen, tilltold," which McHugh translates as Norwegian for "Humpson, charged," meaning, in essence, that this patron is indicting HCE. The patron then goes on to quietly discuss HCE's invasion (again, this could also be the townsfolk discussing the Norwegian Captain's invasion) as HCE stands aloof pouring beer and spirits.
HCE then resumes the story of the Norwegian Captain, who, upon his return to Ireland, greets the natives by saying, "Good marrams and good merrymills." The natives had been walled up in a castle for the seven years that the captain had been gone and ended up believing that the captain might have drowned at sea. He didn't, though, and as he makes his way off his ship he gives the Viking "sign of the hammer." He's worked up an appetite, so he asks, "[S]hoots ogos shootsle him or where's that slob?" (In essence, "Do I have to shoot somebody to get some slop to eat?") He adds that he'd like a bit of cheese, a whiskey and soda, or some bread with sake. "When I'm soured to the tipple you can sink me lead," he adds, basically saying that once he's sated and passed out, they can shoot him for all he cares.
"Allkey dallkey," says the Ship's Husband, being very accomodating. He makes the "sign of the feaster" and lays out a nice spread for the captain, lest "this ogry Osler will oxmaul us all." At the conclusion of today's reading, we see the natives plying the captain with fare, concluding, "Say wehrn!"
(313.7-315.20) Ok, now it gets tough again. For whatever reason, I found today's reading significantly more difficult than yesterday's. I did note that Campbell and Robinson explained that this part of the chapter gets murkier and murkier as it goes along -- with HCE's pub getting louder and louder as the patrons get drunker and drunker -- and that things don't start getting clearer for another 10 to 12 pages. So, as I've been (mostly) doing thus far, I'll keep chugging along.
The passage begins with Kersse agreeing to track down the Norwegian Captain. He does so with the knowledge that every joy-seeking widower eventually gets pneumonia and "is consitently blown to Adams" (or atoms). In other words, the captain is set up for a fall.
HCE pauses in his story to count the coins in his till, while three conniving patrons (who immediately call to mind the three soldiers who witnessed HCE's sinful act in the park) "pushed their whisper in his hearing." It seems that at this point, some patron ("the queriest of the crew") trips over some portion of the floor where planks have been removed and falls, causing our latest thunderword: "Bothallchoractorschumminaroundgansumuminarumdrumstrumtruminahumptadumpwaultopoofoolooderamuansturnup!" This word is both the sound of the tremendous noise in the pub and (as Campbell and Robinson explain) the sound of HCE's reputation falling. The three soldier-patrons comment on the ruckus, with the third saying, "Rutsch is for rutterman ramping his roe . . . . Where the muddies scrimm ball. Bimbim bimbim. And the maidies scream all. Himhim himhim." The soldier link is cemented here, for this one is saying he's seen this before, by the magazine wall in the park. It was there that the two young women -- the maidies -- screamed "it was him," and thereby implicated HCE.
The narrator now presents a brief interlude in which it's repeated that with "luck's leap" HCE -- the "cwympty dwympty who has fallen again -- will be restored. In the future, the narrator tells us, this story will feature both on the radio and on the silver screen of the cinema.
In the next paragraph, one of the patrons asks what became of the Norwegian Captain's daughter, who we learn was the apple of the captain's eye. She walked to school in her slippers, and, given her family's poverty, it was no wonder that she fell for a "butcheler artsed out of Cullege Trainity" (at bachelor of arts from Trinity College). Back in the pub, another patron wants more beer, and proposes that they use the money they've already offered to HCE to refill their glasses.
Shortly after this proposition is set forth, HCE returns as "Burniface" (as McHugh notes, a generic name for innkeepers based on St. Boniface). He has gone outside to "let flow" (urinate). After delivering "the diluv's own deluge," HCE has "breezed in, tripping, dripping," with his pants not fully returned to their proper position. The narrator notes that he's "left his stickup in his hand to show them none ill feeling" (I'll leave it to you to interpret that bit). Back at his post in the pub, HCE greets his customers with, "Howe cools Eavybrolly!"
(311.5-313.6) And now it gets fun. Tonight was one of those nights where I really enjoyed the reading. The passage was dense, and I imagine this chapter will get denser and more confusing as it moves forward, but I flew through these two pages, and was laughing out loud for a few moments (so you know the text was resonating with me). The overwhelming depth of this chapter is quickly becoming apparent, but I feel like I got at least a decent handle on the basics.
We've reached the point in the Wake where HCE begins to tell a story of the Norwegian Captain. This captain, as an invader of Ireland, represents one aspect of HCE. Before HCE starts his tale, however, he invokes his muses in a manner reminiscent of an epic poet: "O, lord of the barrels, comer forth from Anow . . . , O, Ana, bright lady, comer forth from Thenanow . . . , O!"
He's promptly interrupted by his patrons, who first "would deal death to a drinking." They shout, "Our svalves are svalves aroon! We rescue thee, O Baass, from the damp earth and honour thee. O Connibell, with mouth burial!" There's a lot of stuff going on here, from the patrons' rowdy show of Irish patriotism (McHugh points out the echo of the Feinian motto, "Ourselves, ourselves alone") in the face of the foreigner, HCE, to the comic addresses to Bass and O'Connell's ale, which mock HCE's invocation of the gods.
With the patrons' encouragement (they mock Wellington's "Up, guards, and at 'em!" by shouting, "Up draught and whet them!"), HCE finally gets to the story. The Norwegian Captain asks the ship's husband (a Dubliner helping to manage the ship while it's docked, who also seems to represent another aspect of HCE) to help him find a tailor for a suit. A tailor is produced, and a bargain is struck. (Here's where I had to stop and laugh at the captain's language: "chunk pulley muchy chink topside numpa one sellafella, fake an capstan make and shoot!") But things escalate when the Norwegian Captain sails off without paying. (There are obvious echoes here from the tale of the Prankquean (together with literal references to her later on page 312), with the added wrinkle that now an HCE figure (the captain) is playing the role of the invading Prankquean.) The captain travels the world for 40 days and 40 nights.
The story is interrupted by the patrons, who are getting rowdier and chant at our narrator (Humphrey C. Earwicker): "Hump! Hump!"
HCE tries to resume the story: "I will do that, sazd Kersse, mainingstaying the rigout for her wife's lairdship." Kersse is another HCE figure (and another form of Persse O'Reilly), who is going to save the day by setting off in search of the captain.
But HCE is once again interrupted by the patrons: "Nett sew? they hunched back at the earpicker." HCE is undaunted -- as the narrator says, "he nought feared crimp or cramp of shore sharks" -- and the narrator explains that he's ever-indulgent of the rowdiness of these "people of the shed." The narrator goes on to give the professions of each of these twelve working-classs men, who form the "quorum" or jury that will sit in judgment of HCE: "Lorimers and leathersellers, skinners and salters, pewterers and paperstainers, parishclerks, fletcherbowyers, girdlers, mercers, cordwainers and first, and not last, the weavers." All are welcome in HCE's pub, the narrator concludes: "Our library he is hoping to ye public."
The final paragraph serves a dual role as representing both the patrons' encouragement of HCE (the "Innholder, upholder") and the crowd's encouragement of Kersse (as the avenging Dubliner). "Sets on sayfohrt!" they shout. "Godeown moseys and skeep thy beeble bee!" Tomorrow we'll get to see if Kersse/Moses sets his people free, or if HCE gets interrupted again.
(309.1-311.4) Alright, here comes the third chapter of Book II of Finnegans Wake. I've been promised this chapter is quite a doozy (and a long one: 74 pages). This far into the book (almost halfway through, actually), I feel like I'm up to the challenge.
As hinted by the first line of the chapter (which I quoted as this post's title), our focus now turns toward drinking beer and, more exactly, the goings-on in HCE's pub. First, in the fashion established thus far in the Wake, we get a brief paragraph to orient us. It's generally not in dispute, the narrator tells us, that the Viconian cycle is predominant in the affairs of the world. Our hero starts out in a primitive, god-fearing state ("the fright of his light in tribalbalbutience hides aback in the doom of the balk of the deaf"); marries and enters into the public life ("the height of his life . . . is when a man that means a mountain barring his distance wades a lymph"); falls ("yet that pride that bogs the party begs the glory of a wake"); and goes back to the beginning to repeat the cycle again ("while the scheme is like your rumba round me garden"). The "Finnfannfawners" -- both us as devotees of the Wake and the fawners in HCE's pub -- now find this to be elementary.
With this established, we move into the pub, where we learn that the patrons have donated a radio to the establishment. This passage (which begins halfway through page 309 and runs to halfway through page 310) is a fun one, describing both the radio (which is "modern as tomorrow afternoon") and the anatomy of the ear (which Earwicker uses to listen to that radio) in intricate detail. I can't do this passage justice (obviously), so I'll just say it's one I encourage you to read if you want to get a taste of the Wake without committing to read the entire thing.
Moving from the radio, the narrator reacquaints us with HCE, who in the drunken haze of the pub, assumes dual roles of bartender and mythical father. In the pub, HCE's "deed" (i.e., the event of his downfall) "immerges a mirage in a merror," indicating that this pivotal story will be retold once again in this chapter. But first, HCE pours some beers. Like his forefather Finn, a giant who played a part in the creation of the Irish landscape, HCE "pullupped the turfeycork by the greats of gobble out of Lougk Neagk." In HCE's case, this is him uncorking a bottle, but its mythic connotations are plain as day.
(306.8-308.25) The final passage from the second chapter of Book II begins with the children wrapping up their studies. They say, "We've had our day at triv and quad and writ our bit as intermidgets." They sum up the subjects they've covered in their "triv and quad" -- "Art, literature, politics, economy, chemistry, humanity, &c." (note that those subjects also spell out ALP and ECH, so even when the children are studying on their own, the parents are always present) -- and then proceed to list out the specific things they've covered. This list takes up about three-quarters of today's reading, and consists of a kind of title to each particular subject matter's lesson, which is found in the text, and an identification of the particular person to which the lesson is attached, which is found in Shaun's notes in the left margin. For instance, the lesson titled "Your Favorite Hero or Heroine" is attached to "Adam, Eve." Other interesting ones include "The Uses and Abuses of Insects" (attached to "Lucretius," who McHugh notes was driven mad after consuming a love potion made of Spanish Fly), "Santa Claus" (attached to "Prometheus," who gave humanity the gift of fire), and "What is to be found in a Dustheap" (attached to the biblical figure "Job").
With this list complete, the children get ready for tea and dinner. We hear ten chimes, which indicate that it's 10 p.m. Campbell and Robinson devote a few pages in their Skeleton's Key to the manner in which these ten chimes also correspond with ideas from the Kabbalah, but I'll leave that unpacking to those experts. The chapter ends with an address from the children titled "NIGHTLETTER," which sends wishes of "very merry Incarnations" to "Pep and Memmy and the old folkers below and beyant" (HCE, ALP, and the pub patrons) and is signed "jake, jack and little sousoucie."
(304.3-306.7) Dolph, after being struck by Kevin, responds in a perhaps unexpected manner. Addressing his brother, he says, "Thanks eversore much, Pointcarried!" And he proceeds to heap more praise upon his brother: "Honours to you and may you be commended for our exhibitiveness!" Some of his praise is loaded with double-meaning, such as when he says, "If my maily was bag enough I'd send you a toxis." This could be Dolph calling a taxi to help his brother, or delivering a toxin to poison him.
Dolph is clearly ready to move on by "celebridging over the guilt of the gap in your hiscitendency." He's trying to fill in the gaps of Kevin's knowledge/personality in order for the twins to form a unified whole, which will stand as an equal to their father. Page 305 contains additional references to the Parnell "hesitency" theme, including the aforementioned "hiscitendency" example and also "hazeydency." A third appears in Shem's marginalia, where he mock's HCE's stuttering, saying, "COME SI COMPITA CUNCTITITITILATIO?" McHugh translates this as "how do you spell cunctatio," with "cunctatio" being Latin for "hesitancy." In the margin, Shem goes on to playfully spell the word, ending with one of the choicest (for this Ohioan) phrases to appear in the Wake: "TWO AT A TIE, THREE ON A THRICKY TILL OHIO OHIO IOIOMISS."
Dolph makes peace with his brother, then mentions that tomorrow they will receive a reward from the "Foremaster" and "Heavysciusgardaddy" (HCE), who will "gift uns his Noblett's surprize." This gift given to Kevin and Dolph, McHugh notes, includes both a Nobel Prize and treats from Noblett's, a Dublin sweet shop.
With all seemingly well in the world of the children, we reach the end of this chapter tomorrow (and I seriously mean tomorrow).
