219.1: “lighting up o’clock:” i.e. lighting-up time: According to the Irish Times report for March 21, 1938 – my candidate for FW’s baseline date – the sun set at 6:27 p.m. and rose the next morning at 6.25 a.m. Lighting-up time for the 21st was 7:09 p.m. – too early for the beginning of most theatrical performances, which typically began at 8 p.m., but not for the attendant “Bar and conveniences” (.2). During the years Joyce was writing FW, lighting-up time in the British Isles was a half-hour after sunset for winter, an hour after sunset for summer. (In 1938, the changeover to summer occurred at some point between April 9 and April 13.) For a similar frame of reference, compare “Nausicaa:” the sun sets at 8:27; lighting up-time is an hour later; shortly before the hour strikes 9:00, Bloom can’t quite make out the writing on what he takes to be a letter but apparently can still see his own “I Am A,” written in the sand, or thinks he can. (Having written it surely helps.) Here, by page 226, Issy is “in the gloaming” (226.4), “fading out like Journee’s clothes so you can’t see her now” (226.11-2).
219.2: “conveniences:” euphemism for toilets 219.2-3: “always open:” alpha-omega 219.3: “Diddlem Club:” to diddle: to cheat, finagle. Also, Ditto: that is, the club downstairs is also open. 219.3: “gads:” short for “gadabouts:” cf. 202.4: the young ALP was a “gadabout.” Given juxtaposition with “the quality,” perhaps also “cads” 219.7: “puppetry:” property – i.e. stage props. Cf. 221.26: “properties” 219.15-16: “all the King’s Hoarsers and all the Queen’s Mum:” shouters (getting hoarse) and shutmouths (staying mum). Also, English queens are addressed first as “Your Majesty,” after that as “Mum.” See next entry. 219.16: “Queen’s Mum:” King’s Men: Shakespeare acting troupe. Also: “horse” and “men:” traditional military designation of cavalry and infantry, respectively. (More frequently “horse” and “foot.”) 219.18: “firn make cold:” Father Michael 219.20: “Bloodriddon:” blood-written, written in blood, like pacts with the devil. Also: along with “moon” in “Ballymooney” and “mother” in “Murther,” a menstrual discharge. Compare 212.15-6. 219.17: “crowdblast:” includes “crow,” variant on Noah’s raven. Compare 496.30-33. 219.23: “gagster:” joker, joke-writer 220.3-4: “Girls scouts…demand acidulated:” longish shot, perhaps, but “acid drops” (lemon, raspberry, etc; cf. 210.9-10 with notes) is a contraction of “acidulated drops,” and the Girl Scouts (in America, anyway – and doesn’t the name here single out the American branch, as opposed to Britain’s “Girl Guides?”) have long been in the business of selling cookies and candies. (Qualification: Girl Scout cookie sales date from 1917; the earliest Google Books hit for Girl Scout candy is 1927.) Acid drops, as far back as I can remember, have been a regular offering on sale in British theatres, perhaps because some are billed as “cough drops” (again, see 210.9-10, also 231.14: “coffin acid”) and coughing would be something the theatres would want to discourage. A bunch of varicolored sweets is obviously compatible with the 29 girls as flowers, jewels, rainbow tints, etc. Don’t know what to make of “demand,” unless it’s part of a sales pitch: When you purchase confectionary, be sure to demand Girl Scouts Acidulateds, accept no substitutes, etc. 220.7: “leaflet.” Issy’s mother ALP is most often a river, but in her final scene she also becomes a tree, whose “leaves have drifted from” her (628.6). At 556.19, her daughter Issy is “like some losthappy leaf.” 220.9-10: “the cloud of the opal:” in an early love letter, Joyce says that Nora has transformed his soul from a pearl to an opal – from purity to a thing of “uncertain hues and colors.” 220.11-2: “chalk and sanguine pictograph on the safety drop:” “Safety drop:” safety curtain, at one time always lowered – dropped - then raised – by order of law, I presume – before each performance. Often decorated with the “pictograph”s of advertisement. Also, “drop” as in the hangman’s drop (“the drop,” in “Cyclops;” see also 289.15). Hanged bodies were buried in quicklime, which is made from heated chalk/limestone. Blood and quicklime mixed together – chalk and sanguine – aptly signifies the authoritarian executioner Chuff. 220.13-15: “who wrestles for tophole with the bold bad bleak boy Glugg, geminally about caps or puds or tog bags or bog gats or chuting rudskin generally:” this passage draws on Jacob-Esau wrestling-in-the-womb theme. “Tophole:” probably, given Augustine’s dictum that “we are born between shit and piss,” the vagina: i.e. the topmost of the two pelvic holes in a supine pregnant female: They are fighting to see who gets out of it first. “Caps or puds:” They’re at it like cats and dogs; also “pud” as in Greek ποσ, foot: Jacob was holding onto Esau’s heel; also – “cap-a-pie” - one’s head is at the other’s foot. “Tog bags or bog gats:” another echo of “dogs and cats.” “Bog gats:” They’re also fighting about who will get the biblical “begat,” that is, who will win the primogeniture honors. (On the opposite side, to be (be)gotten in a bog is no honor: compare “whores’ gets” in “Cyclops.”) “Chuting rudskin:” compare Mulligan’s “Ours the white death and the ruddy birth” in “Oxen of the Sun.” Who will be the first ruddy-skinned arrival to come chuting out of the mother? Answer: Esau, who according to Genesis 25:25 “came out red.” 220.14: "Glugg:" Joyce's Notebook VI.B.5.076 note: "glug (drink)." As a Shem type, Glugg is definitely a drinker. 220.15-6: “until they adumbrace a pattern of somebody else or other:” this happens in II.3 – the brothers conjoin to make an apparition of the father - but not II.1. As J. S. Atherton pointed out, the introduction here previews the rest of FW, not, or not just, the rest of the chapter. 220.22-3: “poor…old…woman:” symbol of Ireland 220.22: Rooster’s rag:” “Rooster Rag:” ragtime song by American performer Muriel Pollock. Also, given “Proteus”’s use of “rag” to describe Tatters’ red tongue, I think this signifies the rooster’s red crest. 220.27-8: “the cause of all our grievances, the whirl, the flash, and the trouble:” echo of opening of Paradise Lost: “the fruit / Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste / Brought death into the world, and all our woe.” In this case the fruit is a peach. (Genesis, after all, never specifies which kind of fruit.) 220.29: “impeachment:” from the Peaches and Daddy Browning scandal of I.3 220.34: “Poopinheavin:” given nautical context, probably incorporates “poop deck.” (Or, simply, “poop.”) A “ship’s haven” is a harbor. Copenhagen is one such. 221.5: “Cup final:” last match of football series. Also: “final cup” – parting cup, deoch an dorais, a frequent FW motif, related to the pub’s almanac picture 221.6: “Tiffsdays off:” a “tiff” is also a fight; the manservant is obstreperous. 221.6-7: “wouldntstop in bad:” in America, disgruntled expression after a hard day: “I shoulda stayed/stood/stopped in bed.” 221.7: “torchbearing supperaape:” in Shakespeare especially, a torch-bearer is to drama what a spear-carrier is to opera: a supernumerary. Also: “supperaape” = super-ape = missing link 221.10: “spoilcurate:” Compare “spoiled priest.” spoiled curate, in both religious and bartending sense 221.10: “unconcerned in the mystery:” as a bit player, he’s not the likely murderer in a whodunit mystery. (Which – the butler did it – probably means that he really is.) A spoiled curate would also presumably have lost interest in the holy mysteries of the church. 221.11: “under the inflounce of the milldieuw and butt of:” situated under the flounces of her skirt, he’s naturally under her influence, specifically of her “butt” – American slang for arse – and “milldieuw,” which I’m betting equals “cunt” in some way or other. (Rather easily, actually: Joyce repeatedly compares semen to dew, and the “mildewed” seats of the “Hades” carriage are taken to be evidence of recent sexual activity.) 221.12: “Lea Varian:” a “Le” or “La” prefix (e.g. “Luperca Latouche” (67.36)) would be typical for a classy-sounding stage-name of the time, although the combination of the two in “Lea” may indicate an unglamorous manliness in the mix. 221.13: “under purdah of card palmer teaput tosspot Madam d’Elta:” given the meaning of “purdah:” under cover; i.e. she does her fortune-telling, during intervals in the performance, under cover of the name of “Madame d’Elta.” As McHugh notes, to palm a card to is to cheat. So: she’s a fake. 221.13-4: “palmer,” “pawses:” besides cards, she’s also a reader of palms – that is, paws. 221.17: “Time: the pressant:” saying: There’s no time like the present. And, of course, “time is pressing;” Bergson more or less said that that’s what time always is. See .23 and note. 221.18-21: “With futurist onehorse balletbattle pictures and the Pageant of Past History worked up with animal variations amid everglaning mangrovemazes and beorbtracktors by Messrs Thud and Blunder. Shadows by the film folk, masses by the good people:” Oxford editors insert “propounded for cyclological” between “and” and “beorbtracktors." Much of this is derived from the Waterloo tableau of A Royal Divorce, the play being viewed near the start of I.2. (The tableau is also incorporated into the “Willingdone museyroom” (8.9) reenactment of 8.9-10.24, itself a version of the production being witnessed in I.2.) The scene is of a ("balletbattle") battle (Waterloo); its most memorable feature, by common report, was one remarkably well-trained white horse, ridden on alternate nights by the actors playing Napoleon and Wellington; there was also (citing stage directions) a “Pepper ghost effect of cuirrasiers and [“animal variations”] horses” (see 214.14-5); “Rolls of steam” and smoke, along with shafts of lighting; flashes of electric light and simulated explosions on stage (a reviewer was impressed by the horse’s imperturbability); a “glass bar” contraption to give the phantom horses “a look of galloping” (hence, perhaps, “futurist:” the Futurists tried to simulate motion in their paintings). “Thud and Blunder:” sound and thunder; Sturm und Drang – the sound effects of explosions, gunfire, etc. It was a scene featuring both (“Shadows by the film people”) filmy shadows, and (“masses”) solid-bodied actors. 221.19-20: “everglaning:” evergreen, ever-greening 221.23: “Elanio Vitale:” “Élan vitale” was Bergson’s coining. Usually translated as “vital force” (slight disagreement here with McHugh, who has “vital impulse”), it applied to progressive life-advancing impulses, including evolution. 221.23-4: “Longshots, upcloses, outblacks, stagetolets:” two predominantly cinematic terms followed by two predominantly theatrical terms: long shot, closeup, blackout, stage to let, the last of the list meaning that the theatre is available for performance. Cinematic effects of this sort will be on display at 559.32-560.6. 221.24: “Creations:” theatre costumes 221.25: “Dances:” A Royal Divorce has two scenes including dances. 221.29-30: “Hoed Pine hat with twentyfour ventholes:” Alpine hat (often including a flamboyant feather); some hats do have holes in the crown, presumably for ventilation. 221.26: “Jests, jokes, jigs and jorums:” Jorrocks’ Jaunts and Jollities, by Robert Surtees 221.29: “Kappa Pedersen:” cap-a-pie 221.34: “seedsmanchap:” seamen’s shop 221.35-222.1: “The crack (that’s Cork! By a smoker from the gods. The interjection (Buckley!) by the firement in the pit:” again, this predicts the action of II.3. 221.35: “(that’s Cork!):” expression: “That’s a corker!” Also, identifying the “crack” sound as coming from the popping of a cork 221.36: “a smoker from the gods:” “the gods:” up in the gallery, under the ceiling, which typically would feature frescoes of divinities. (Compare “Sirens:” "In the gods of the old Royal with little Peake.”) Incongruously, because cheap, a place where the lower orders are liable to congregate and sometimes heckle. If only because gentlemen made a practice of not smoking in the presence of ladies (see 347.36-348.1), the “smoker” here is presumably unrefined. 221.36-222.1: “firement in the pit:” fireman: original definition: one who fires a gun. Describes Buckley in II.3 222.1: “the pit:” in theatres, the area surrounding the stage. Later applied to “orchestra pit” – which is why - see notes for 1-3, 2-3, .4, and .8 - the next few entries are musical. A ferment (“firement”) in the pit could be the tuning-up cacophony: “Accidental music” (.1). 222.1-3: “Accidental music providentially arranged by L’Archet and Laccorde. Melodiotiosities in purefusion by the score:” can’t prove it, but I think this passage owes something to the “musical confusion” / Of hounds and echo in conjunction" – random morning noises coming together in what might be called a ("purefusion") pure fusion - described in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, IV, 1. Compare Joyce's autobiographical essay "A Portrait of the Artist:" "Wherefore, neglecting the wheezier bayings in that[t Cho]rus which no leagues of distance could make musical." The editors of James Joyce, Poems and Shorter Writings trace this to the "musical confusion" passage. 222.1: “providentially:” also provisionally 222.2-3: “Melodiotiosities in purefusion by the score:” odiose otiose profusion of saccharine melodic glop in vast quantities: think, for instance, of the string-heavy soundtrack for a 40’s weepie. Also, as in “Sirens” (“Tenors get women by the score”) a musical pun 222.4: “community prayer:” will occur at .23-4 222.8: “bass noble:” a base noble (in the sense used in “Scylla and Charybdis”) would be a counterfeit, a supposedly gold coin made of a base metal. 222.9-10: "O, Mester Sogermon, ef thes es whot ye deux, then I’m not surpleased ye want that bottle of Sauvequipeu:” again, the cry ("Sauvequipeu") “Sauve qui peut!” conclusively signaled the French defeat at Waterloo. Gist: girl to soldier: if soldiering (especially in battles like that one) is what you do, no wonder you need a bottle of something now and then. 222.13: “Romps:” works as noun as well as verb: the girls are prone to romping (e.g. 226.27) and as naiads, river romps, are now, at bedtime, heading off to the nursery. 222.17-20: “Magnificent Transformation Scene showing the Radium Wedding of Neid and Moorning and the Dawn of Peace, Pure, Perfect and Perpetual, Waking the Weary of the World:” Again, as J. S. Atherton pointed out, this describes the conclusion of FW with Book IV, not the (nighttime) end of this chapter. Transformation scenes, staples of Victorian and Edwardian theatre, used lighting and other effects to turn a relatively humdrum setting into something glittery and glamorous: compare the change from black and white to technicolor in 1939’s The Wizard of Oz. 222.18: “Radium Wedding of Neid and Moorning:” In its review of the opening of the Mirus Bazaar of Ulysses (with date changed), the June 2, 1904 edition of the Irish Times reports a “Radium Exhibition, where Edison-animated photographs were shown.” 222.19: “prowlabouts:” in other words, “those other wicked spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls” – conclusion of the prayer, also addressed to Michael, which completes low mass; quoted in “Lotus-Eaters” 222.22-3: “soard fleshed light like likening:” describes a popular special effect of the Victorian stage: electricity running from a plate on the stage up through a wire in the performer’s costume – performer usually if not always being the hero, fighting forces of darkness - would make his sword flash. (Source: Michael R. Booth, Victorian Spectacular Theatre, 1850-1910, pages 115-6.) Compare next entry. Also “soard” = sourd? Shaun is typically the deaf one. Also: to “flesh a sword:” to use it, for the first time, to inflict a wound (in flesh) 222.24: “Make a shine on the curst:” besides (McHugh) making the sign of the cross, shine light on the (curst/cursed) devil, as Chuffy, with his flashing sword, is doing – one way of expelling him 222.25: “duvlin sulph:” If “Glugger” is taken as the sound of drink or drinking, this would mimic the widespread sentiment expressed in the Irish song “Whiskey you’re the devil.” 222.25: lost-to-lurning:” In Portrait, chapter five, Stephen’s mother worries that too much education has made him lose his faith. Similar sentiments occur in “The Sisters.” 222.26: “anisine:” as shown in “Circe,” aniseed attracts dogs. Here as later in this chapter, Glugg doubles as a dog/wolf. Anagram of “asinine?” Later Shem-as-Ass notwithstanding, probably not. 222.27: “eyesoult:” crying salt tears, from the eyes 222.27: “gnatsching his teats:” Jesus describes hell as a place of “wailing and gnashing of teeth.” Also, if he’s gnashing his (mother’s) teats while being nursed, he must have had teeth from a precociously early age, perhaps been born with them. In folklore, babies born with teeth are generally considered ill-fated: in Shakespeare’s play one of Richard III’s victims-to-be sneers that Richard could “gnaw a crust at two hours old.” Joyce certainly seems aware of the tradition (and the Shakespeare passage) in “Oxen of the Sun,” where he has Punch Costello “thrust like a crookback toothed and feet first into the world.” (Costello later appears in “Circe” as a grotesquely malformed “Hobgoblin,” “crookbacked” among other things.) 222.27-8: “brividies from existers:” briefs – drawers – from his sister(s)? (Compare “my corsets” (.30): when both are removed, a state of (“overlusting” (.30)), overpowering everlasting lust, is likely to follow.) This would fit the following action, and we are after all getting an “argument:” – a preliminary synopsis of the story. 222.29: “praises to his three of clubs:” fortune-telling codes vary, but in a Google Books review the commonest meaning of the three of clubs is “fighting” (or, when juxtaposed with certain other cards, “jealousy”), which at least fits the context. Also: 1. The club sign looks like a black shamrock, i.e., on the same line, “clayblade,” and 2. Thanks to Saint Patrick, the shamrock stands for the trinity. So, wouldn’t a (black) three of clubs signal the same, only the opposite, making Glugg’s praying to it a kind of compressed black mass? 222.32-6: “Aminxt that nombre of evelings, but how pierceful in their sojestiveness were those first girly stirs, with zitterings of flight released and twinglings of twitchbells in rondel after, with waverings that made shimmershake rather naightily all the duskcended airs and shylit beaconings from shehind hims back:” over all, describes the first glimmerings of evening stars being reflected in the water and composed into what “Ithaca” calls “waterrings” (here, “waverings”) by the “rondel” (also in “Ithaca”) effects of concentric circles on the surface. Google Images has examples of the optical effects of rondels. 222.32: “evelings:” the 29 girls as junior or miniature Eves (as – see 220.7 above – Issy is a “leaflet”): mainly, flirty adolescent girls. Also, it’s evening. 222.33-4: “with zitterings of flight released:” By report, Ireland is short of fireflies (although one shows up at 246.8, apparently doubling with the gem in a ring: “lightning bug aflash from a finger:” Joyce is not always above fudging in such matters), but its coastal waters include “marine fireflies,” tiny bioluminescent fish which appear at dusk for mating. I suggest that this passage includes a reflective interplay between the two species. See 245.8 and note. 222.35-6: “duskcended airs:” descended (night) airs, proverbially the source of evening dew – here, also reflecting the glimmering stars. 222.36: “shylit beaconings:” twilight beacon(ing)s: more of the flash-and-glimmer lightplay of this twilight passage. Shy beckonings: hesitant, youthful forays into flirtation 223.1-2: “Mirrylamb, she was shuffering all the diseasinesses of the unherd of:” maybe obvious, but this also gives us Mary’s lamb, who went to school even though it was “against the rules,” making her “unherd”ed. Probably also an echo of “suffering all the agonies of the damned” 223.2: “Arck:” arc-shape at end of shepherd’s/bishop’s crook 223.8: “monthage stick in the melmelode jawr:” message in a bottle. McHugh and Oxford editors have “mouthage,” which certainly fits the context: she is doing things with her mouth, including (“jawr”) her jaw. Judgment call, perhaps, but I think the “message” overtone would still hold. 223.10-11: "a pop from her whistle:” possibly reference to Le Pétomane, turn-of-the-century Parisian performer who whistled tunes from his arse. Some think he inspired the finale of “Sirens.” 223.11: “holytroopers:” In Jocelyn’s The Life and Acts of Saint Patrick, “the holy troop” are Patrick’s followers. According to Clive Hart’s Concordance, this is the II.1’s first sounding of “heliotrope,” the flower/stone/color/perfume whose name Shem will fail to guess. Heliotrope means sun-seeking, and it is, I think, no coincidence that the chapter built around its evasiveness should begin at (219.1) lighting-up time, which in Joyce’s Dublin was (again) a half hour after sunset: throughout, the light of dusk is fading by the minute; by the end, the scene is pitch dark. The girls of the chapter are the seven colors of the rainbow, refracted, as Newton showed, from the single white light of the sun, now set but still radiating from below the horizon. (Hence sunsets, as a rule more colorful than sunrises.) Just as Shem is drawn toward their colors, they yearn for Shaun, angelically sunlit – the original purity of which they are now the degenerative plurals. (Bloom’s twilight “Nausicaa” meditations on light and rainbows – and heliotrope – anticipate much of this chapter’s cast of thought.) All the principals are driven by desire for the vanished or vanishing sun – not least, as children, the desire to keep playing outdoors until after, realistically, it’s too dark for them to see what they're doing. (Exactly how I remember it from my childhood - you kept playing as long as you could, and longer.) For the earlier FW appearances of heliotrope as bloodstone, see 11.21-22 and 212.16, with notes. Early Christian tradition held that the bloodstone's red marks were drops of Christ’s blood. Some of the first Christian amulets were bloodstones carved with Christ's image and held to ward off evil. 223.14: “what you may call for:” whatchamaycallit 223.15: “force to force:” compare Bloom in “Cyclops:” "I mean wouldn't it be the same here if you put force against force?” 223.20-1: “be dumm but:” (I’ll) be damned, but… 223.22-3: “the his:” their 223.24: “The look of a queen:” conclusion of Yeats’ Cathleen ni Houlihan: “I saw a young girl, and she had the look of a queen.” 223.28: "darktongues:" Dark Tongue: language of witches 223.28: “O theoperil! Ethiaop lore:” Romeo and Juliet: “Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear / It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night.” Othello also seems to be in the picture. 223.29-33: “He askit of the hoothed fireshield but it was untergone into the matthued heaven. He soughed it from the luft but that bore ne mark ne message. He luked upon the bloomingrund where ongly his corns were growning. At last he listed back to beckline how she pranked alone so johntily. The skand for schooling:” modeled after Augustine (see McHugh), a survey of the habitable earth, proceeding vertically downward. “Fireshield:” stratosphere and troposphere, shielding earth’s inhabitants from sun’s harmful rays. “Luft:” air. “Bloomingrund:” ground, with (blooming) vegetation. “Beckline:” water, with its (underwater) “school” of fish. One line later – and one line in FW can be a big deal - ether (“either” (.34)), being above all four, would seem to be cycling back to the other end. 223.29: “fireshield:” the safety curtain noted above, 220.11-12. In general, he’s on stage, at a loss for words, looking for his cue. The advertisements customarily printed on theatre curtains or ("fireshields") safety curtains might have suggested something, but this curtain has been hoisted out of sight. His other possible sources also come up empty. 223.31-2: “the bloomingrund where ongly his corns were growning:” scorn and derisive groans from the groundlings. Also, corn in the fields grows; corns on the feet cause groaning. (Also, of course, there’s no script written on his feet, either.) 223.34: “nought a wired from the wordless ether:” in the early days of the wireless, it was widely believed that its messages were transmitted through the ether. 223.35: “hardset:” a “handset” is the apparatus for speaking and listening on the telephone. 224.2: “goodda purssia:” alludes again to “good persons” of 223.36, whoever they are. Oxford editors have “godda” for “goodda,” which perhaps would make him not only good but godly. Persia has produced more than its share of gods. 224.3: “true forim:” expression (in “Lestrygonians”): “True for you:” i.e. You’re right. Also, “true form:” athlete’s top condition 224.9-10: “his old fontmouther. Truly deplurabel!:” his mother, Anna Livia Plurabelle. “Fontmouther:” a river’s fount is its source; its mouth is its terminus. 224.11: “colline born:” Since “colleen” comes from Gaelic caelin, for “unmarried woman,” this suggests that his father was illegitimate. 224.12: “With that hehry antlets on him:” for “antlets,” Bonheim has German Antlitz, visage, face. Compare 260 LM 1: “With his broad and hairy face, to Ireland a disgrace,” and the first page of Portrait: “His father had a hairy face.” 224.12-3: “the baublelight bulching out his sockets:” reminds me, anyway, of Patrick Tuohy’s portrait of John Joyce, who seems (like his son James and granddaughter Lucia) to have had a fixed, unblinking stare. (In the portrait, he also has an impressive moustache, qualifying him – see previous entry - for a “hairy face.”) 224.13-4: “she sprankled his allover with her noces of interregnation:” she spanked him all over, perhaps as a kind of matriarchal third degree, perhaps as a bit of kinky love-play. Also, the initial sprinklings of (“regn” in “interregnation”) rain: there will be a thunderstorm later in the chapter, another one in II.3. (Water – a burst bladder, mist, "floods” – appears at the end of the paragraph.) “Allover:” a pullover could be any of a number of garments – gloves, spats, jumper – of any given material; some were worn against inclement weather. 224.15-6: “And bids him tend her, lute and airly. Sing, sweetharp, thing to me anone!:” she wants him, spanking or no spanking, to be her (“trapadour” (224.25)) troubadouring sweetheart – to attend to her, playing her airs on his lute – or, even better, as an Irish lover, on a harp. “Anone:” Anon, meaning now or soon. Also, alone (don’t sing to anyone else), with a possible disquieting echo of (another kind of aloneness) onanism. 224.19: “the vogalstones that hit his tynpan:” tympany: the name given the eardrum. In which light, the “vogalstones” would be the otoliths, (etymologically, “ear-stones”), what the OED calls the “calcareous particles” in the ear signaling balance, velocity, etc. (Also, given the songster context, hard to believe that America’s “Tin Pan Alley” is out of the picture.) Finnegan fell from a ladder as a result of malfunctioning otoliths: see next entry. 224.20: “midst his flooting:” missed his footing: the kind of thing likely to happen if the otoliths are out of whack 224.22-4: “frilles-in-pleyurs are now shown drawn…drawen up at the hinder sight:” as in a music-hall leg-show – specifically, I suggest, the can-can. The dancers’ (or players’) drawers have frills; at the end of the set they turn around, pull up their skirts, and the audience - the (“guardian”) garden to their “florileague” (.23) - gets a full “hinder sight” of them. See .27 and note. 224.25: “cometh up as a trapadour:” Rhoda Broughton’s title (see McHugh) is loosely derived from the Book of Job: “He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down; he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not.” Broughton: probably not a coincidence that “braught” appears (.31) six lines later. (Her book Red as a Rose Is She is mentioned in "Eumaeus.") 224.26: “fand for himself:” fiendishly fend for himself 224.26: “gazework:” the special effects of “Circe” brothel are often a result of gas-work, of the lighting changing as the gasjet changes, for instance from green to mauve. 224.27: “shown drawens up:” Their stockings are pulled up, and on display for his inspection. See next entry. 224.28: “Doth that not satisfy youth, sir?:” see McHugh on the preceding “Tireton, cacheton tireton, ba!” (.27-8). Leg-show dancers routinely wore flashy stockings, and French for stocking is (“ba!”) bas. (The Lenehan of “Sirens,” being familiar with music hall productions, compliments Miss Douce for not having padded out her own stockings with sawdust.) 224.30: “angled:” dangled. She dangled her slipper, enticingly displaying her small foot. Also, as part of the act, can-can dancers waggle their feet. 224.30-1: “it was cho chiny yet braught her a groom:” Compare 533.6: “smallest shoenumber outside chinatins.” Footbinding aside, Oriental women were prized for their small feet. Fits the Cinderella/glass slipper story – which is why it “braught her a groom,” brought/bought her a groom/husband. After all, Cinderella’s small foot got her a prince for a groom. 224.32: “next lineup:” here as elsewhere in this paragraph, I think one part of the action is of whores in a brothel being lined up for the inspection of a prospective customer. (In “Circe” the madam was Bella Cohen; here we have (.32) “Quanty purty bellas” (.28-9), presided over by (.33, 34) a “Madama.”) 224.32: “rapier:” readier, riper 224.33-4: “can hold his own, especially for he bandished it with his hand the hold time, mamain:” up to this point, anyway, he’s displaying (see McHugh on (“bandished”) bander) his erection (in his hand: “mamain:” ma main: my hand) before the (female) company for an impressive period (but see next entry) without ejaculating. (An erection, after all can be a “rap[i]er” (.32).) 224.35: “and reloose that thong of his art:” But not forever, as will soon become clear. (See previous entry.) “Thong”/song accommodates David, the slingshotting harpist. (Also a womanizer and dancer: a Shem type will return in III.2 as “Dave the Dancekerl” (462.17).) 224.36: “pricoxity:” ejaculatio praecox, which is what has just happened 225.1: “tittertit:” they’re tittering at what they’ve just seen. 225.1-2: “Lad-o’-me-soul, see!:”as McHugh says, the “la-do-mi-so-si” of a singer’s warmup (so was “Mi, o la!” at 224.35): all part of his troubadour’s “thong of his art” (224.35), song of his heart 225.2: “wordchary:” i.e. taciturn: the girls will express themselves with gestures while “holding their noises” (.5) – holding their noses (because he smells bad), but also restraining themselves from, aside from tittering, making any noises. 252.6: “quiet private:” quietly; privately; quite privately 252.6: “he make peace in his preaches and play with esteem:” FW sex is very often excremental, and vice versa: here, the girls have either seen or are pretending to have seen Glugg’s masturbation as – relatively less disturbing - urination. 225.9: “topheetuck:” the land of toffs. Despite the disgrace, Glugg is about to try ingratiating himself with the toffs by behaving respectably at a tea party. 225.13: “whatarcurss:” Watercress sandwiches – a proverbial feature of polite high-tea ceremonies, at which no liquor – nothing but tea and (curse it!) water – would be admitted 225.15-21: “As Rigagnolina…bogdoxy:” recounts Issy’s despair at Glugg’s failure to meet the High Tea test. He didn’t know the difference between “golten sylvup" and plum jam (.16-7); he just sat, to all impressions wool-gathering, without any attempt at polite conversation. All she wanted was for him to be “some Knights Ploung jamn” (.17), some nice young man, and he failed. 225.15: “As Rigagnolina to Mountagnone, what she meaned he could not can:” aside from (McHugh) rivulet to big mountain, this also, I think, describes the inability of river-dwellers and mountain-dwellers to understand (“can” (.16)) one another’s language. FW – most obviously in I.8 - subscribes to the belief that environment influences if not determines character, which in turn is reflected in the regional language: opposites in geography, river-people and mountain-people should necessarily also speak incompatible tongues. Since in FW men are mountains and women are rivers, this also reflects on miscommunications between the sexes. 225.16: “All she meaned was golten sylvup:” the golden mean – exactly what Glugg is not 225.20-1: “Though I did ate tough turf I’m not the bogdoxy:” Irish ate turf – from bogs – during the Famine. Perhaps also recalls the Lynch of Portrait, chapter five, who once ate a piece of “dried dung” 225.21-7: “Have you…lost:” Shem’s guesses, all three – (“monbreamstone” brimstone (.22), (“Hellfeuersteyn”) flint as hellfire-stone (.24), and (“Van Diemen’s coral pearl”)) a pearl from Van Dieman’s (demon’s) Land (.26) - reflect his infernal origins 225.23: “monbreamstone:” brimstone – sulfur – is yellow, as are “sulfur gemstones.” 225.26: “Van Diemen’s Cora Pearl:” given the allusion to Cora Pearl (see McHugh), it’s probably pertinent that “Van Diemen’s” has the initials V.D. Also, Van Dieman’s Land (Tasmania) is near the Great Barrier Reef, made of coral. 225.29: “Shape your reres:” Shake your rear, i.e. Move it, get the lead out of your (in the American version) ass 225.29-31: “Off to clutch, Glugg! Forwhat! Shape your reres, Glugg! Foreweal!, Ring we round, Chuff! Fairwell! Chuffchuff’s inners even. All’s rice with their whorl!:” language of a church wedding; “rice” is thrown at the newlywed couple. As contrasted with the vagabond Glugg, Chuff is the marrying kind. 225.30-1: “Ring we round, Chuff! Fairwell! Chuffchuff’s inners even:” there are a number of “inner seven”s – astronomical, mythical, cosmological – but, given that in turning to Chuff the seven girls are turning to the sun (and moving, in rings, around him), the most pertinent would seem to be the “inner seven” planets, excluding the latecoming Neptune and (now) nonce-planet Pluto, both invisible to the naked eye. For “whorl” as (whirled or whirling) “world,” compare 6.24, 100.30, and 272.4. 225.30-1: “inners...whorl:" the whorls of the inner ear – go with the “reres”/ears of 225.29. 225.32-4: “Yet, ah tears, who can her mater be? She’s promised he’d eye her. To try up her pretti. But now it’s so longed and so fared and so forth. Jerry for jauntings. Alabye! Fled:” variant on the wedding scenario: she’s been stood up at the altar, by the man who “promised to eye [aye: say “I do”] her.” 225.34: “Alabye:” alibi. Like the Johnny of the song, he promised her all kinds of treats, but didn’t deliver; he has only excuses to offer. 225.35-6: “The flossies all and mossies all they drooped upon her draped brimfall. The bowknots, the showlots, they wilted into woeblots:” in addition to giving us the disappointed bride’s feelings, I think this describes the reactions of bridesmaids and flower girl, their dress-up finery (wide flower-draped hats, bowknots) wilting in sympathy for the deserted would-be bride. 226.4-5: “the tincelles a touch tarnished wind no lovelinoise awound her swan’s:” French étincelles: sparks. Strands of tinsel come in many colors, including gold; here, no gold band has encircled her swain’s finger (or, given “swan’s,” no lovely noose has been wound around his or her gracefully swan-like neck). Overtone of “tarnished angels.” Also, her singing suitor’s lovely noise is no more to be heard. “Tarnished” in this context might imply that she has lost her virginity before marriage. 226.10: “she’ll stay daughter of Clare:” despite temptations (to follow him to France), she’ll remain a loyal inhabitant of Ireland, County Clare. 226.10-1: “Bring tansy, throw myrtle, strew rue, rue, rue:” there are variations, but in the language of flowers tansy often stands for conflict, myrtle for true love/chastity, rue – as with Ophelia – infidelity. (Rue, a bitter herb, was used to induce abortions.) 226.13-4: “the shades that Eve’s now wearing:” aside from the falling shades of evening (see note to 219.1), a kind of mourning, similar to widow’s weeds 226.14: “she’ll meet anew fiancy:” stood up at the altar, she will someday meet (as McHugh has it) a new fiancé – or, more ambiguously, someone else she fancies. 226.18: “truss up:” trousseau. Also (in today’s idiom), she’s pulling herself together, after the shock of being stood up; after all, she’s already got the trousseau ready. The expression can also refer to her tying up her hair: compare 225.33, “To try up her pretti” – “to tie up her pretty brown hair,” from “Oh, dear, what can the matter be?” 226.18: “hussyband:” band of hussies – her rainbow retinue. Defiant, she wants them to cheer up, to stop reminding her of her grief. 226.19: “chirrub:” chirrup, cheer up 226.19-20: “sky sheraph:” in “Cyclops,” a “sky pilot” is a clergyman. 226.20: “swing:” in addition to swinging at the end of a rope, the context suggests that Glugg is a “swinger:” someone jiving to swing music. Compare Duke Ellington (mentioned elsewhere in FW) “It Don’t Mean a Thing if it Ain’t Got that Swing.” 226.22: “ingelles:” I suggest this contains “ingénues” as well as (like the “tincelles” of .4-5) “angels.” 226.24-25: “Catchmire stockings, libertyed garters, shoddyshoes, quicked out with selver:” at least a certain amount of coinciding contraries in this list. Cashmere is a luxury fabric, but these cashmere stockings have a way of catching the mire, of getting themselves spattered with mud. Liberty’s was an upmarket store, but “liberty clothes” are those – pretty cut-rate, one presumes - given to convicts when they’ve completed their sentences. The shoes may be tricked out with silver, but they’re still shoddy, and one wearing them is shoddily shod. 226.25: “Pennyfair:” Googling this term shows that a penny fair was a temporary bazaar/amusement park catering to the lower orders – something of a working-class Vauxhall. Featured jugglers, magicians, etc. 226.25-6: “a ring on her fomefing finger:” a puzzle here. An engagement ring? An imaginary wedding ring, by way of compensation fantasy? (The dance enacts “a nuptious night” (226.28-9).) Might the “f”s in “fomefing” be 18th century s’s? (Compare 238.7-8, 302 Fn 2.) 226.28: “light:” alight. Given that they’re leaping, they’re also presumably alighting. 226.31: “greeneriN:” Green Erin; Brendan O Hehir has “sun of Ireland; soil of Ireland.” 226.32: “Boyblue:” “Little boy blue, come blow your horn.” 226.32-3: “fleurettes of novembrance:” according to Ophelia and other sources, in the language of flowers, violets symbolize constancy and faithfulness. Which is close enough, I’d say, to the meaning of “remembrance”-“novembrance.” I note this, of course, because violet is the color called for here. (Not clear, by the way, as to how “odalisque O” is supposed to be indigo – is the terminal “O” all it takes? - but then again, indigo is the dubious one of the lot, included mainly because the deeply superstitious Newton wanted there to be seven, not (the witch’s number) six.) 226.35-227.1: “Miss Oodles of Anems before the Luvium doeslike. So. And then again doeslike. So. And miss Endles of Eons efter Dies of Eirae doeslike. So:” based on the “Sur le Pont d’Avignon” dance: “Les beaux messieurs font çomme ca / Et puis encore çomme ca…Les belles dames front çomme ca / Et puis encore çomme ca” – with ladies and gentlemen dancers curtsying and bowing at each drawn-out "çomme ca.” Probably pertinent that this is often a dance for schoolchildren. (Pettifogging quibble: McHugh identifies the song at 226.34 as “Sous le pont d’Avignon,” which is both right and wrong: the title definitely has “Sur,” not “Sous,” but the bridge is too narrow for any serious dancing in rounds, and it is generally agreed that the dancers performed under the bridge, not on it.) Also, I suggest that we can pick up strains of the dance music at .21 (“So and so, toe by toe, to and fro”), .28 (“Withasly glints in. Andecoy glants out.”), and 227.13 (“And these ways wend they. And those ways went they.”) 226.35: “Miss Oodles of Anems:” omega – alpha 227.2-11: “The grocer’s bawd…thumb:” possibly excepting the “bountiful actress” (.7), their fortunes turn out to be pretty dreary: a grocer’s wife, selling beans; a quack doctor’s wife (.4-5); a lady in waiting who sups (not dines) and, probably, drinks (from a “can” (.4), a common term for a container of alcoholic beverages); a grieving widow with time on her hands and not much to do (.6-7); the actress (until fairly recently, a disreputable calling (.7)); a woman confessing to (apparently unrequited) love in a chilled confessional (.8-9); a “rickissime” (McHugh: very rich - but also, perhaps, rickety) fraud telling fortunes for money (.9-11). 227.5: “Quickdoctor:” as with 226.22-4 (see note), includes quicksilver - mercury - virtually synonymous with quack doctors promising to cure syphilis 227.5: “helts her skelts up:” at the sound of thunder, she hikes up her skirts to run, out of the rain. 227.7: “leashes a harrier under her tongue:” it took me, anyway, a long time to get this: that she’s riding in a hunt, loudly abusing – tongue-lashing – one of the (harriers) dogs, from a height: the dog is literally under her. A horsey woman of the kind Bloom associates with imperious aristocracy, she, perhaps along with the “rickissime woman” (.10), seems to be the one to have done well for herself. 227.10: “foot fortunes:” In Waugh’s 1928 Decline and Fall, a fashionable fortune-teller reads the bottoms of feet instead of the palms of hands. 227.16: “foncey:” McHugh has French foncé, darkened; I would add that according to my (Cassell’s) French-English dictionary it specifically means “dark (colour),” as in “des rubans bleu foncé.” I suggest that this sense of the word may qualify it for indigo, otherwise missing from the .16-8 sequence of seven colors. (As noted before (see 226.32-3 and note), indigo tends to be the outlier on FW’s color wheel.) On some color charts it appears as a darker version of violet. 227.19ff: “But vicereversing:” back to the tea party, and Glugg’s mortifying inability to pass muster 227.21: “tornaments:” torments – but also, since he’s vying (so far unsuccessfully) for a woman’s favor, tournaments. (At .29-36, he’ll be in a free-for-all against his rivals.) 227-22-3: “displaid:” Given (“tummy’s shentre” (.22)) tam-o-shanter, includes “plaid” 227.25: “goosseys gazious:” as elsewhere, it’s pertinent here that Nora’s last name was Barnacle, as in barnacle goose; here, he wishes she’d just gaze at him – pay attention to him. 227.26-7: “he would be fondling a praise he ate some nice bit of fluff:” he would be finding (i.e. coming up with) a (suitable) phrase, (al)beit (even if it were) simply nice fluff (polite chat). As shown at the tea party, Shem is tongue-tied in polite society. 227.27: “But no geste reveals the unconnouth:” The uncouth fellow doesn’t have even a gesture to show for himself. 227.29-228.2: “Wat Murrey…Breeks:” All these names are Scottish. Also, at 227.35 (“a Tartaran tastarin toothsome tarrascone tourtoun”), we get a farrago of Scottishims: Tartan tartan (toothsome) scone tartan. (Plus, I think, the Scottish “braes” in 228.2.) Joyce typically represents the Scots as crude and pugnacious – the state Shem adopts with his Tam-o-Shanter hat. (And, of course, Scots are proverbially among the most fervent of anti-papists, therefore hostile to at least most of the sacraments, all of which (see McHugh) are repudiated in this passage.) 227.31-2: "wiped all his sinses, martial and menial, out of Shrove Sundy MacFearsome:" Shrove Tuesday, the day before the beginning of Lent - in Catholicism, a day for being shriven, for confessing all one's sins, mortal and menial. Perhaps "martial" for "mortal" because Tuesday is named for Tiw, the Teutonic Mars. 228.1: "Machonochie Middle:" from Digger Dialects – A Collection of Slang Phrases used by the Australian Soldiers on Active Service, compiled by W.H. Downing, as recorded in Genetic Joyce Studies, Issue 18, by Ian MacArthur and Geert Lernout: "Military Medal." 228.2 “MacSiccaries of the Breeks:” "MacSiccaries of the Braes:” a common formulation in Scottish lore, including, as it happens, one “Charles Gordon of the Braes.” 228.03: "moush missuies from mungy monsie:" from Digger Dialects (see 228.1 and note): "moush:" mouth. "Misquies:" bad. "Mungy:" (from French manger) food. "Monsie:" cheese. Gist seems to be that he got a bad taste in his mouth from eating gone-bad cheese 228.3-4: “preying in his mind:” preying on his mind 228.4-5: “Macnoon maggoty mag!:” the Scottish strain again, to the nth degree. From Digger Dialects (see 228.1 and note: "Macnoon:" mad. Also, from the same souce, "magotty" means angry. Goes with Irish idiom of "maggot"/"maggoty."- insane 228.8-6: “He would split. He do big squeal:” in “Circe,” a “split” is a police informant – what American gangsters called a “squealer.” 228.7: “yank islanders the petriote’s absolation:” as an exile, Glugg imagines himself heading off for any place that is not Ireland – sometimes (like Joyce) to Europe, sometimes (like most Irish emigrants) to America. The “yank” island here may be Manhattan (or Ellis Island); in any case it is where the (Irish) patriot finds absolution and isolation. Compare the citizen in “Cyclops:” “But those that came to the land of the free remember the land of bondage.” Spelling of “petriote’s” probably includes French pet/peto, fart; compare the end of “Sirens,” with Bloom’s flatulent commentary on Robert Emmet’s patriotism, and see 223.10-11 and note. 228.8: “take skiff come first dagrene day:” expression: “take ship” – that is, sail off. A skiff is a boat, definitely unsuited for crossing the ocean. In context (see McHugh) “come first dagrene day:” on the first sunny day 228.9-10: “with three shirts and a wind:” variant of expressions “not a shirt to his back,” “just the shirt on his back” – all this exile has for his journey is three shirts and the hope of a favorable wind. And, of course, the expression “three sheets to the wind” metaphorically describes someone who is drunk, literally a sailor completely at the mercy of (unfavorable) winds, being blown hither and yon. 228.12: “Byebye, Brassolis:” O Hehir: Brassolis: woman with a white breast. A romantic figure in Macpherson’s version of Irish folklore; Glugg’s saying goodbye to her as well as to (.13) Dolly Gray. (“Goodbye, Dolly Gray” is a soldier’s farewell to his sweetheart as he heads for the front in (.13) “Our war.”) 228.15: “sems of Aram:” sons of Adam; semites 228.15-7: “Mum’s for’s maxim, ban’s for’s book and Dodgesome Dora for hedgehung sheolmastress:” in general, homeland suppression of his words and teachings: mum to his sayings, bannings for his books, the censorship of DORA (see McHugh) for the erstwhile forbidden meetings of hedge-schools, where Gaelic was taught in opposition to British policy. “Sheolmastress: also shul, Yiddish for synagogue, German for school. 228.16: “maxim:” Maxim gun 228.17: “Unkel Silanse:” Scandinavian: pitiful silence 228.19: “Pencylmania, Bretish Armerica:" Bretagne (Brittany) is part of Armorica. Pennsylvania was founded by the Britisher William Penn. Again, Glugg’s range of possible destinations – what with those winds to his three (sails) sheets - is all over the map. 228.20: “prunty!:” Pronto! Italian telephone-conversation equivalent of “Hello!” – after all, he has just been, or just been thinking of, getting in contact with someone far away. 228.20-1: “meteoromancy:” OED says, divination by observation of weather. In the following lines, the sense seems to be that he’s letting the winds determine where he goes – not that he has much choice, but he lets them blow him all over the map. 228.22-3: “tarry easty:” his Tara (Ireland) of the east 228.24-5: “farecard available getrennty years:” a fare-card of which he can avail himself for twenty years. Sounds like a super-duper Eurailpass 228.25-6: “Beate Laurentie O’Tuli, Euro pra nobis:” in what seems to be Glugg’s swerve back from the Americas to (Europe for us!) Europe, it’s probably pertinent that Dublin’s Saint Laurence O’Toole died in Normandy, his last words a prayer for the Irish people. 228.26: “Every monk his own cashel:” Glugg takes the inspiration for his personal declaration of independence from examples of Irish resistance - the Rock of Cashel, and, I suggest, the beehive huts of Skelig Michael, with one (very small) dwelling for each monk. See 228.27 and note. 228.27: “ligger:” liver, in the sense of dweller 228.27: “Liogotenente:” place of tenancy 228.27: “with inclined jambs in full purview of his pronaose and to the deretane at his reredoss:” that is, the home is so small that he can stretch out his body from the door jambs (where his legs are) to the rear of his domicile, where his “doss” is. Reredos/altar would be in the chancel, at opposite end from church doors. 228.30: "weighting midhook:" according to Digger Dialects, "mud-hook" is WW I slang for anchor. So: weighing anchor 228.30: “the raging canal:” “The Raging Canal” is a song about surviving a storm on the Erie Canal. 228.32: “chow collegions:” “Ciao, collegians!” Also, “chow” as slang for food. Skipping the comma: fellow diners in some college commons. 228.33: “gheol ghiornal, subustioned mullmud:” anticipates “mugfull of mud” (286.31) by another Shem type. Also, Wilde (a.k.a. Sebastian Melmoth), wrote his own jail journal, De Profundis. 228.34: “slomtime” sometime 228.35: “Salvo!:” Aside from (McHugh) “Salve!” Greetings! – a salvo of cannon fire, which can be either a friendly salute or the opposite 228.35: “Ladigs:” in Scandinavian, idle fellows; in German, unmarried men. Contrasted here with “jointuremen,” since a “jointure” is an inheritance (often of property) settled on the wife, to become hers in the event of the husband’s death. 228.36: “Free leaves for ebribadies:” given the censorship patch above (.16-7), plus Glugg’s current role as liberating litterateur, I’d suggest “free (book) leaves” here. It’s pretty clear that Joyce uses this sense of “leaf” elsewhere, especially at 628.16. Also, in light of the liberty-hall atmosphere: “Free days off!” – the portside “leaves” awarded sailors, who are of course (“ebribadies”) expected to get inebriated and behave badly. According to Glugg, they’re entitled. 229.1-2: “wild primates not stop him:” variation of phrase “Wild horses couldn’t make me…” “Primates” includes both apes and prelates; same joke occurs in “Circe.” 229.2-3: “Nom de plume!:” French imprecation: “Nom de Dieu!” (Occurs in “Telemachus.”) Also, franglais for pen name 229.3: “Fenlanns!:” much of Ireland is a land of fens. 229.7: “scribenery:” scribbling 229.7: “satiety of arthurs in S.P.Q.R.ish:” English literature of the 19th century and beyond – especially as represented by the poet laureate Tennyson, whom Joyce disdained – might be said to suffer from a satiety of Arthurian matter, but still: “R.ish:” Irish 229.9: “sheepcopers:” sheep-fuckers. Compare 238.21. 229.9: “whole plighty truth:” almighty truth. That he and his woman (Nora?) have plighted their troth 229.10: “made melodi of malodi:” in so doing, they tried to make melody out of malodium, perhaps on a melodion. (Compare: when you’re given lemons, make lemonade.) 229.11: “her knave arrant:” a knight errant and an arrant knave have exactly opposite connotations. 229.12: “Croppy Crowhore:” “Crow” in “Crowhore” – often a source of scandal 229.13: “Ukalepe:” Adaline Glasheen proposes Calpe, the Roman name for Gibraltar, original home of Molly Bloom, who makes her first appearance in “Calypso.” Margot Norris suggests an echo of Ulysses. 229.13: “Loathers:” loafers: there are a number in “Lotus Eaters.” 229.13: “Had Days:” in “Hades,” Paddy Dignam’s days are done. 229.13: “Nemo in Patria:” oddly, this title would apply at least as well to “Cyclops” as to “Aeolus.” In any event, the chapter is one (although not the first or last) in which Bloom is treated like something of an alien. Also, may allude to the Homeric original: Odysseus almost reaches home but is then carried away by the winds. 229.14: “Skilly and Carubdish. A Wondering Wreck:” whatever they may have to do with Glugg, neither of these titles seems to apply particularly to the corresponding episode of Ulysses, "Scylla and Charybdis" and "Wandering Rocks." (There are certainly some wandering wrecks of Dubliners in the latter, but that is true of most of Ulysses's chapters.) 229.14-5: “From the Mermaid’s Tavern:” the gathering of Elizabethan writers who congregated at the Mermaid Tavern called themselves the “Fraternity of Sireniacal Gentlemen” – hence the link to “Sirens.” 229.15: “Bullyfamous:” the citizen of “Cyclops” is (fairly) famous, and a bully. 229.15: “Naughtsycalves:” in “Nausicaa,” Gerty naughtily displays her calves, etcetera. 229.16: “Walpurgas Nackt:” may be pertinent that, indoors and outdoors, the setting of “Circe” is ("-gas") gaslit. (Question: why, in this review of the eighteen-chaptered Ulysses, are the first three chapters and last three chapters not included? Your annotator has no idea.) 229.17: "Maleesh!:" from Digger Dialects (see 228.1 and note to 228.1): originally, Arabic for "It doesn't matter" 229.17: “untired:” given “strip poker” of next line (and “Nackt” – German “Naked” – of previous): unattired, undressed 229.19: “wholefallows:” in “Scylla and Charybdis,” “old fellow” = father. Also (obvious?) phallus, contrasted with "cluft" of .23-4. 229.22: “congealed sponsar:” conjugal spouse. Maybe “sponsar” is meant to echo “partner.” 229.23-4: “the cluft that meataxe delt her:” vagina-as-amputation is in Gargantua and Pantagruel, (Norton edition, 1990, pp 181-2). Rabelais’ phrase for "vagina" - "comment a nom" ("I don't know what it's called") may have suggested Molly's "that word I couldn’t find anywhere" (18.1326-7). (The word was “cunt,’ buried in “couldnt.”) Freud’s penis-envy theory may contribute as well. “Cluft:” cleft. “Circe:” Bloom on women: “the cloven sex.” (See next entry.) Oxford editors have “meatoxe,” which would add butchery (of oxen) o the overall unpleasantness. In Frank Budgen's bawdy song "The Raughty Tinker," present elsewhere in FW, a "meataxe" is a penis. 229.24: “gap:” gape – again, cleft. 229.24-5: "So they fished in the kettle and fought free:" Joyce, Letters I, 400: "in English you begin: Once upon a time and a very good time it was; and you end like this: So they put on the kettle and they made tea and they lived happily ever after." 229.25: “tailibout:” halibut . Goes with their fishing in the kettle (.24-5) 229.26-7: “He would jused sit it all write down just as he would jused set it up all writhefully rate in blotch and void:” compare Joyce on his intentions for Dubliners: “Give me for Christ’ sake a pen and an ink-bottle and some peace of mind and then, by the crucified Jaysus, if I don’t sharpen that pen and dip it into fermented ink and write tiny little sentences about the people who betrayed me, send me to hell.” As for the “betrayed” bit, J. V. Kelleher recalls someone who knew Joyce in his Dublin years: “You had to get up awfully early in the morning if you wanted to betray James Joyce.” “Jused” echoes “Joyce,” probably also “juiced” (“fermented ink”) in the sense of drunk; compare 153.12. 229.27: “writhefully:” writing wrathfully 229.28: “ignorance:” innocence. (Goes with “silly,” three words later) 229.28-9: “heartily sorey:” heartsore 229.29: “bikestool:” I don’t see how it fits, but “bikestool” is a regular term for a bicycle seat. Echo of “backside,” as euphemism for arse? 229.30: “quillbone:” early tattoos were applied with bone tools. 229.32: “sindbook:” German sündenbock, scapegoat 229.32-3: “under the presidency of the suchess of sceaunonsceau:” given the duchess, an echo of “under the patronage of.” (Compare 219.9-10, 342.12-3.) Also, she was presiding. Echoes of “such-and-such” and “so-an-so:” affected disdain for titles of rank (while, to be sure, still broadcasting the connection); also, see 171.25-8: Joyce called his favorite wine the archduchess’ urine. 229.36: “whose told his innersense:” who stole his innocence. Also, introspection – as evinced, for instance, by Joyce’s interior monologue 230.1: “spectrescope:” presumably a device for seeing ghosts. Would seem to go with “grusomehed’s” 230.1. “yoeureeke:” Eureka. (Archimedes puts in an appearance at 230.34.) 230.1: “off colour:” for people: unwell. For books: obscene, or at least lewdly suggestive. (In general, I think we’re getting an account of Joyce’s writings and people’s reactions to them.) 230.2: “the very spit of himself:” the spitting image of himself 230.2: “himself:” Irishism – when describing third party, implies he (or she: I have overheard an Irish lady referring to her daughter, to be sure affectionately, as “herself”) is too self-important. 230.2-3: “first on the cheekside by Michelangelo:” Michelangelo was one of his tattoo artists: he has done a portrait – the spitting image - of the artist, that being Glugg. 230.5-8: “eggspilled him out of homety dometry parrowedknee domum (osco de basco de pesco de bisco!) because all his creature comfort was an omulette finas erbas in an ark finis orbe:” compare 184.11-32. Also, artists sometimes mix eggs in their paints. 230.5: “homety dometry:” homey dormitory 230.7-10: “because…caughtalock:” in language and sentiment, this passage reflects Ibsen’s “Till min Ven Revolutions-Talerens,” semi-quoted at 364.28-9. 230.8: “no master how mustered, mind never mend:” scrambled rendition of “mind over matter” 230.9: “swuck…swimp:” both echo “swink,” work. Also, “swimp:” swamp 230.9: “flood of cecialism:” “flood of socialism:” a fairly common turn-of-the-century phrase, mainly used by socialism’s opponents. Joyce sometimes identified himself as a socialist. 230.9: “cecialism:” blindness? Because of symptoms of glaucoma, FW regularly connects it with floods (Joyce on his glaucoma: “My left eye is awash, and his neighbor full of water”), also with the colors green/grey/black: “blacking out.” “Cecity” is an English word for blindness, from Latin caecus. 230.10. “schortest way of blacking out a caughtalock:” Defoe’s “Shortest Way of Dealing With Dissenters.” “Dissenters” there signifies a variety of Protestant, so “caughtalock,” Catholic, is a case of opposites equaling, or maybe just tit for tat. Also, Oxford editors replace “caughtalock” with “caughtalook,” which would bring in Peeping Tom, one of whose eyes was (“blacking out”) blinded when he caught a look of Lady Godiva. 230.11: “the sorrors of Sexton:” sextons bury the dead. A sorry/sorrowful office, one assumes 230.12: “as a wagoner would his mudheeldy wheesindonk:” as a wagoner would extricate his wheezing donkey, stuck [held] in the mud 230.14: “making goods at mutuurity:” language of bonds and other such investments: their value “at maturity.” This maturity is mutual: two star-crossed lovers finally coming together in old age. 230.15: “Casanuova and Mademoisselle from Armentières:” two famously randy characters, together for a “trist” (.13) 230.19-20: “payment in goo to slee music and poisonal comfany:” Joyce’s notebook notes trace this to “furnished lodgers paying for meals on tally with company & piano music.” “Goo to slee:” go-to-sleep music, as pronounced by someone going to sleep – here, considering Joyce's note, probably as induced by the comfy (compare 523.27) piano music 230.26: “Tholedoth, treetrene!:” Hold off, Tristram! 230.26: “Arty:” dismissive term for artist or would-be artist 230.28: “lived offs:” i.e. those benefactors, mainly women, he used to live off of. Joyce’s biography is obviously relevant here. See next entry. 230.34-5: “patruuts to a man, the archimade levirs of this ekonome world:” compare the presumably female “patriss” (.32), female patrons, of which Joyce had several; they were patrons to a man (him), thus the (Archimedean) levers which sustained his economic existence. 230.35: “castle throwen:” slight correction to McHugh: “Castle Tirowen” is the name of the melody to which the song was set; the song itself is titled “Remember Thee.” It is addressed to someone (or, maybe, Ireland) who is loved all the more because fallen on hard times. Fits the context 230.36-231.1: “if yell trace me where title to:” one of the places where Joyce challenges readers to guess the title. After much teasing, the answer (with one deviation) will finally be given in the last chapter: "Finnegan's Wake" (607.16). 230.36: “And oil paint use a pumme:” He’ll write her a poem. (At 231.5, he does.) Pomes Penyeach was the title of one of Joyce’s collections of poems. 231.1: “where was a hovel not a havel:” when is a novel not a novel? (Here, in FW, for one example.) Also, when is a hovel not a haven? 231.2: “juniverse:” junior – young – verse, i.e. juvenilia. An example (.5-8) follows. 231.3: “gussies:” guessers 231.5: “tumtum:” tumty-tum: when a singer can’t remember the words 231.7: “vallsall:” Valhalla, or perhaps Valhalla’s halls 231.8: “cloitered:” includes clitoris 231.8: “boosome shede:” “boosingshed,” pub. Lenehan uses this term in “Aeolus.” Also, the speaker remembers when he was hungry for “youthfood” (.6), and according to tradition the pelican sheds blood from its bosom to feed its young. 231.9-10: “His mouthfull of ecstasy (for Shing-Yung-Thing in Shina from Yoruyume across the Timor Sea:” we’re back at the tea party; hence all the China echoes. A sip of (hot) tea induces a spasm of pain in Glugg’s tooth. (As “Proteus” testified, Joyce had terrible teeth all his young life; at forty-one, he got dentures.) He’s still not making much of an impression at that party. 231.9: “mouthful of ecstasy:” the poem just recited. Sounds like an ad slogan as well (hyperbolic, certainly, but compare the Ulysses ad for Plumtree’s Potted Meat: “With it, an abode of bliss”), probably for tea, but I can’t find it. 231.9: “for Shing –Yung-Thing:” the poem was for a sweet young thing 231.10: “maladventure:” Malavventura – i.e. bad adventure, happening? A stretch, maybe, but it’s hard to avoid hearing the famous Rigoletto curse, “Maledizióne!” 231.11: “pinging” goes with the “pong” in “herepong,” previous line 231.11: “errorooth:” arrowroot. No idea why, unless the party includes arrowroot biscuits, a staple of Victorian teas, and biting on a particularly brittle one has contributed to the misery with his teeth. As recorded in "Proteus," Joyce had terrible teeth. His "stumps were pulled" (129.33) at about the time he began work on FW. ALP will remember her young lover as a creature of impressive dental prowess (624.36), but that was long ago. 231.11: “errorooth of his wisdom:” see McHugh. Part of the dental misery recorded in this sequence. Wisdom teeth usually appear between the ages of 17 and 25. They are liable to become painfully impacted. 231.12: “googling:” a pity this can’t mean what it means now. A friend of mine once coined the term “oogling,” for ogling someone with both eyes. I think Joyce got there first: the poet here is being oogled by his lovey-dove. Maybe she’s giggling as well. 231.13: “gumboil:” more dental misery: a gumboil is a swelling on the gum over an abscess at the root of a tooth. 231.16: “sanguish:” (bloody) language; blood that can accompany serious dental work 231.17: “Apang which:” Upon which. (Most writers would probably have put a comma after “which.”) Also, pang of tooth pain 231.17-8: “crazy chump of a Haveajube Sillayass:” the pain, from the "chewer"'s ("chump") chomping down, causes him to ("chump") jump up out of his seat. Also, someone is calling Glugg a silly ass, perhaps ironically proffering a jujube as being less difficult to (have a) chew on than that biscuit: Have a jujube, you silly ass. 231.18-20: “Though he shall live for millions of years a life of billions of years, from their roseaced glows to their violast lustres:” hyperbolic version of expression like “If I live to be a hundred…” (Gist: even if he does, this will still be the worst pain he's ever experienced.) Glugg’s life compared to a day’s spectral r-o-y-g-b-i-v passing, from the rosy glow of dawn to the last violet glimmerings of dusk. Also, given “billions of years,” sounds like an account of the red shift (which gave us the “almightily expanding universe” of 263.25-6)), only in reverse. That would be one way of going back in time – an idea that incipiently appears in “Ithaca.” 231.21: “pucking Pugases:” Autolycus in A Winter’s Tale: a sign of spring’s arrival “doth set my pugging tooth on edge.” (More tooth action.) Also, Pegasus is bucking; Glugg will soon have a spill. 231.23ff: “But...:" for at least the next few pages there’s a horsemanship thread running through the text, connected with and perhaps originating in the poet-to-Pegasus theme just established. In this paragraph (231.23-233.26), one sequence being recounted is Glugg’s remounting the horse that has just humiliatingly thrown him, from his (because the horse, being Pegasus, flies) “birdsplace” (.24). (The old injunction to “get back on” the horse that has thrown you, right away.) At .26-7, he succeeds, by sheer (“esercizism”) exertion. 231.23-4: “But, by Jove Chronides, Seed of Summ, after at he had bate his breastplates for, forforget, forforgetting his birdsplace:” see 206.1-6 and note. Once again, echoes of the birth of Jove/Zeus: son of Cronus/Chronos, the distracting noise covering his birth cries 231.23-4: “bate his breastplates for, forforget, forforgetting his birdsplace:” beating his breast in mortification over having forgotten his place. More class-consciousness. (For “birdsplace,” see note to .8.) “Silly ass” (.17-8) is a toffish insult. Equally-oppositely, chest-thumping can also be an assertion of dominance. 231.27-36: “With…off?:” it continues beyond this point, but here are some cues as to Glugg’s act: he sings an old drinking (stein) song (.29), he goes in for some clownish facial gestures (.29-31), he dances a jig (.31-1), he goes in for some clownish bodily gestures (.34-6). All in all, he seems to have gone from one extreme to another: pretensions to Parnassus; a flailing stage-Irish act. 231.28: “resumed his soul:” and his seat on his horse. So he starts feeling tiptop again. Not irrelevant, I think, that tea contains caffeine, a stimulant: “the cup that cheers, but not inebriates.” 231.30: “fit up:” a “fit-up” is a stage that may be assembled, “fit up,” on demand, usually in a traveling company. Glugg is putting on a performance. We’re morphing back to the theatrical presentation. It seems highly pantomimic. 231.31: “blew the guff out of his hornypipe:” the animated cartoon Popeye, who along with his Thimble Theatre colleagues puts in a number of FW appearances, regularly blew a ship’s-whistle tune out of his pipe. First animated cartoons were in 1933; I can’t say whether there was anything comparable in the earlier comic strip. Otherwise, he’s ejecting morning mucus from his throat by way of his pipe. Also, sailors stereotypically dance the hornpipe. Also, some pipes are carved out of horn. 231.32: “locofoco:” originally the name of a self-lighting cigar (McHugh), the term quickly came to mean a lucifer match, with overtones of radical activism. Appears, in this sense, in the American section of Dickens’ Martin Chuzzlewit, which Joyce read 231.32-3: “when a redhot turnspite he:” on the one hand, in the high-mettled days of his flaming youth. On the other hand, a turnspit is among the lowliest of household servants. In the latter capacity, he would be “Roastin” (.33). 231.36: “why his biting he’s head off?:” as show business goes, you can’t get much lower than this: the sideshow geek whose specialty was biting the head off of, for instance, a chicken 232.1-7: “Cokerycokes, its his spurt of coal…tarpitch…Carbo…inflammabilis…comburenda…flame…flame…flame…toogasser soot…gleamens:” a classic FW cluster – varieties of carbon, especially as fuel. The gist, I suggest, is that as lover and artist he has flared up and burnt out. See next entry. 232.1: “spurt of coal:” coal fires, under some conditions, will send out spurts of flame. (Consider, for instance, the last two lines of Hopkins’ “The Windhover.”) 232.2: "chromitis...mauwe:" Ian McArthur, in his scrutiny of Joyce's Notebook X, suggests that "mauwe" is a misprint for "mauve." Joyce's source here, a chemistry textbook, would seem to confirm, to quote from its pages, "what is more wonderful, we get from coal these splendid bright violet and crimson colours, mauve and magenta." 232.3-5: “Where the inflammabilis might pursuive his comburenda with a pure flame and a true flame and a flame all toogasser, soot:” whereas this fiery young man, had he managed things better, might pursue his – whatever – with a pure, hard, gemlike flame (as from a gasjet?) – in fact the upshot is, simply and sadly, soot. (Compare the replay at 234.1-2: “He had his sperrits all foulen on him.”) In keeping with the carbon strain, “comburenda” probably includes carborundum (silicon carbide), a rare naturally-occurring mineral of diamond-like hardness. Later addition: the flame in question comes from a candle. Joyce's Notebook X includes excerpts from Sir H. E. Roscoe's Chemistry, describing a candle flame as having "three parts" - "blue," "luminous...where soot is separated out," and the "black" of "unburnt gas." 232.5-6: “the dubuny Mag may gang to preesses:” the twopenny mag(azine) either may go to press or has already. 232.6: “canty, ho!:” cantering horse; cantor (singer) 232.6-7: “In the lost of the gleamens, Sousymoust:” as (see McHugh), Ireland’s last gleeman, Zosimos fits with the terminus of Glugg’s fiery career – the last cinder left gleaming after the flameout. (Surely pertinent that he was blind.) As for the “souse” – or “soused most”- sounded in the name Joyce gives him (compare 222.9), one of Zosimus’ remembered songs is “In Praise of Potheen.” 232.9-10: “pip!..pet!:” also sound of telegraph signal. By quantitative scansion, a classic pyrrhic 232.10: “interfering:” the “interference” of radio broadcasts. The term was around at the time. 232.11-2: “call her a stell!) astarted:” Astarte was goddess of Venus, the evening star. 232.13: “Isle wail for yews:” yews traditionally go with graveyards. She’ll cry for him when he’s dead. Also: variation on the I – I/Thou – Thou theme (“mishe mishe to tauftauf” (3.9)) established at the outset, one version of which (see entry for .9-10) is lovers’ (Issy and Tristram) exchange of a telegraphic Morse code for I–I / T –T. Compare first note to .17 for the electrical immediacy of such messaging, note to .18 for the "Stop" which, in telegraphese, indicated the end of a sentence. 232.14: “And around its scorched cap she has twilled a twine of flame:” Glugg’s fiery last-gasp message is answered in kind. 232.14: “scorched cap:” Scotch cap 232.15: “laitiest:” also “latest” (suitor) 232.15: “she’s marrid:” marred (by marriage) 232.16: “A claribel cumbeck to errind:” a clarion call to come back to Erin: the “message interfering” is, in part, from a radio. Radio 2RN stood for “Come back to Erin” and frequently broadcasted those words. 232.17: “posted ere penned:” a comment on the instantaneous transmission of the wireless: it was sent, posted, in less time than it took or would have taken to write it out. 232.17: “thinkyou methim:” since you met him (you’ve changed) 232.18: “Please stoop O to please:” imitation of telegraphese “stop.” (Also, see note to 68.17, for the naughty joke in play.) The exhaustive Wikipedia entry on the Thomson-Bywaters case, noted in McHugh, includes some grisly stuff (you may want to skip this entry) which seems relevant. Mrs Thompson was heard crying “No, don’t!” several times as her lover, Bywaters, murdered her husband. Later, she fought and screamed so much at her execution that the hangman later committed suicide. The chief prosecutor was named Sir Thomas Inskip (232.9-10: “a message interfering intermitting interskips”). I suggest that Mrs Thomson's story is being spliced here with that of Dr. Hawley Crippen, famously apprehended and later hanged by way of shore-to-ship telegraphy as a result of a similar adulterous triangle. Bywaters was a sailor. Crippen’s hangman, John Ellis, was the same who dispatched Mrs Thomson. 232.18: “Please stoop:” given context – just married, she’s just been told to please mind her step – I suggest that she’s here being asked to mind her head as well, while boarding a ship for a honeymoon cruise, and that the message she’s sent to the miffed Glugg, her “dearmate ashore” (.20), was ship-to-shore. “Stoop” recalls the Waterloo museyroom sequence of I.1, where Kate asks for a tip and tells visitors to mind their heads going in and out. 232.20-1: “so so compleasely till I can get redressed, means the end of my stays in the languish of Tintangle.” Naked (it’s her honeymoon), she’ll be completely under his spell, until she can get re-dressed, including her “stays.” Think of any number of movies (Guys and Dolls, Rio Bravo) where the woman, getting dressed or re-dressed, speaks to a man from behind a screen. 232.22: “boo:” boohoo, cry. Did you cry mighty loud? See note to .18, above. 232.23-4: “Can that sobstuff:” “Can the sob-stuff:” Claire Boothe Luce, The Women. Premiered in 1936. Google Books shows the expression going well before then. 232.24: “stop up:” stop up your tears; step up here 232.27-29: “Now a run for his money! Now a dash to her dot! Old cocker, young crowy, sifadda, sosson. A bran new, speedhount, outstripperous on the wind. Like a waft to wingweary one or a sos to a coastguard:” the horse-rider strain comes to the fore here: he’s a dashing hunter, with a hound or hounds, outstripping the wind. Then he does an impressively quick costume change into a sailor suit. Compare ALP, later: “He may be humpy, nay, he may be dumpy but there is always something racey about, say, a sailor on a horse” (606.33-36). (Usually, the expression “sailor on a horse” indicates someone out of their element, but apparently not here.) Oxford editors change “bran new,” to “bran, new” 232.27: “Now a dash to her dot!” apart from telegraphy (McHugh), a probable sexual innuendo: his straight horizontal going to her point. (See next item.) At 532.23 (see entry) "dot" is clitoris. Or, vertically oriented, the exclamation mark at the end of the sentence. Compare next entry. 232.27: “old cocker:” “old cock:’ British term of affection. Sexual meaning certainly present as well 232.28: “sosson:” given upcoming allusion to the Titanic (.31-2), perhaps not coincidental that this includes “s o s;” as McHugh notes it’s definitely in play at .29; see also “so, so” (.20). She’s signaling him to come rescue her from her unwanted marriage. The Titanic’s S.O.S. was not received in time. 232.28-9: “A bran new, speedhount, outstripperous on the wind:” given the recent depiction of the Glugg figure as a creature of fire, it’s probably pertinent that the “bran” of “bran new” derives from “brent-new,” meaning (OED) “as if fresh and glowing from the furnace.” Also, Finn’s dog Bran was a wolfhound, like the greyhound noted for its speed, here able to outstrip anything, to run like the wind; for example, see next entry. 232.29: “Like a waft to wingweary:” like a gust of wind buoying up a bird tired of flapping its wings: a relief 232.29-30: “a sos to a coastguard:” a signal to apply maximum speed toward reaching one’s ordained destination, in this case a foundering ship urging the Coast Guard to please hurry up 232.31: “in appreciable less time than it takes a glaciator to submerger an Atlangthis:” The Titanic was, in a term of the time, an “Atlantic steamer.” (And, of course, it met the iceberg – “glaciator;” icebergs have broken off from glaciers – in the Atlantic.) I suggest that that’s what allows Joyce to combine its sinking with that of Atlantis. Also: “Atlangthis:” an (outlandish?) Alani, natural enemy of the Roman gladiator. Alani were one of the eastern tribes perennially at war with Rome. Compare 600.11: “the Alieni, an accorsaired race.” 232.32: “agob:” a gob – American slang for a sailor. He’s back, dressed as a sailor. 232.33: A Wake Newslitter (17/1, p. 9) says “transfigured” should be inserted after “ones.” Fits the costume-change story 232.33: “a spark’s gap off:” a very short space; a “spark” – fashionable ladies’ man – politely removing his (sailor’s) cap 232.33: “doubledasguesched:” doubly disguised. Also, yet another telegraphic double-dash, signature of Tris-Tram, T T 232.33-4: “gotten orlop in:” gotten up in, dressed up in 232.35: “The smartest vessel you could find:” the most fashionable and desirable woman around (would still covet him). Woman-as-vessel: occurs in “Nausicaa.” (Also, of course, the ship carrying him/them, for instance the Titanic, last word in performance and fashion) 232.35: “her lucky:” compare 28.23, also describing a groom on a honeymoon cruise: short for the gallant phrase “her lucky man” 232.36: “for the Rio Grande:” from refrain of a popular sea shanty. First verse: I’ll sing you a song of the fish of the sea, Way, Rio! I’ll sing you a song of the fish of the sea, And we’re bound for the Rio Grande! Rio Grande in question was in Brazil, not Texas. 232.36: “pigtail tarr:” sailor – tar - complete with pigtail. (Probably obvious) 233.1: “hadn’t got it toothick:” hadn’t had too much to drink. Also, English expression for someone getting above himself: “laying it on a bit thick.” Also, of course, he recently has had a (“toothick”) toothache. 233.1-2: “pitcher on a wall:” besides picture on a wall, an allusion to the pitcher that went too often to the well. Compare 598.21-2. 233.2-3: “cutting moutonlegs and capers:” eating (with (cutting) knife and fork), a meal of mutton with capers. Also: cutting up, capering, with his legs. (That’s what probably got "his picture in the papers" (.2.)) This phase of his act seems to be returning to its beginning at 231.28. 233.3: “jest be japers:” a jape is a jest. 233.4: “It’s one by its length:” Racing term: “won by a length.” Goes with the horse-riding thread. Also, with “tail” (.3) as antecedent of “its” – yes, judging by its length, it certainly counts as a tail. 233.5-6: “hide from light those hues that your sin beau may bring to light!:” Oxford editors have “ain” for “sin” (hence, "-r ain beau," rainbow) and “night” for the second “light.” “Your” rainbow is the sum of the seven colors of the girls’ seven pairs of underpants, which they are hiding from him, their “ain” (Scots for “own”) beau – their one and only (for seven girls: a problem) boyfriend. 233.6-8: “Though down to your dowerstrip he’s bent to knee he maun’t know ledgings here:” 1. Though he’s kneeling at your doorstep to propose marriage (and, incidentally, strip you of your dowry), he mustn’t/won’t be allowed to cross the threshold into these lodgings. (Probably referring to tradition of groom carrying bride over threshold.) 2. Though he’s bent down to look up your skirts, he mustn’t/won’t see what color your leggings/stockings are. 233.9: “the fringe for frocks:” the French for “frocks” is des robes. Some frocks have fringes and (“translace” (.9)) lace. 233.11: “seagoer:” seeker, (be)sieger 233.12-4: “And note that they who will for exile say can for dog while them that won’t leave ingle end says now for know:” keep in mind that, in trying to come up with the right words, his pronunciation may be off. 233.12: “playfair:” name of an encryption code, widely used during WW I 233.13: “who will for exile say can for dog:” those exiles who, for example, go to France (as did many of the (“wily geeses” (.12)) wild geese: see McHugh) where they say “chien” for “dog.” (Compare 173.1-2.) Or to Italy, where “dog” is cane. 233.17: “server of servants:” legend on the badge of the Prince of Wales: “Ich Dien,” I serve. Also, see McHugh: the pope 233.17: “rex of regums:” paired with the pope (see previous entry), this “king of kings” is almost certainly Jesus. 233.17-8: “bolderdash:” again, a telegraphic signal: a single dash is Morse for “T,” Tristram’s sign. 233.19: “powder mine:” from an 1826 entry in Encyclopaedia Londinensis: “A cavern in which powder is placed so as to be fired at a proper time.” (Glugg is an incendiary.) 233.22: “jaoneofergs:” juniper. Juniper berries are blue. 233.25: “nunsibellies:” consensus (somewhat convoluted) is that the color here is yellow. In "Lestrygonians," Bloom describes his stomach as "whitey yellow." 233.27: “Micaco!:” Son of shit 233.29: “slink his hook away:” to “sling one’s hook” is to either abscond (“slink…away”) or die. (In “Oxen of the Sun,” McIntosh’s wife “slung her hook;” since he’s identified as a widower, the second meaning applies. Also, as (once again) a sailor: to pull up his anchor and depart 233.30: “chimista inchamisas:” “Chimista” is Spanish for “alchemist.” And if “in camicia” means “in one’s shirt,” should “incamicia” mean “shirtless?” 233.31: "hots foots:" Ian MacArthur and Viviana-Mirela Braslasu (Genetic Joyce Studies 2022) suggest Basque hotz, for cold - which would add another FW equal-opposite. 233.33: “pure undefallen engelsk:” Edmund Spenser on Chaucer: “well of English undefiled” 233.33: “undefallen engelsk:” fallen (or unfallen, or fallen under) angels, but (see previous entry) mainly a (coinciding-contraries-wise) comment on his English: Christiania has “undershot” for “undefallen,” and someone with an undershot (alternatively, underhung), caveman-like jaw would, at the time, have been considered not so much pure as primitive. The gist here is that his English is drastically sub-par - as bad as, for a Frenchman, would be (see McHugh) that of a Basque cow speaking Spanish. (On the other hand, it serves him well when he wants to “ciappacioppachew” a “snakk” (.33), etc.) (Suggestion: this sequence may constitute a critique of FW’s flamboyantly polyglot author: he’s gotten so proficient with other languages that he’s lost touch with his native English.) 233.36: “kriowday:” OED: “crowdie" or "crowdy:” “In some parts of the north of Scotland, a peculiar preparation of milk.” Would go with the whole cow-cud-cheese-milk strand here 234.1: “in kamicha!:” compare 233.30, “inchamisas.” Oxford editors have “ni” for “in.” 234.2: “sperrits all foulen, to vet, most griposly:” his spirits had fallen; “griposly:” grievously 234.4: “bruddy:” broody 234.4-5: “A shelling a cockshy and be donkey shot at? Or a peso besant to join the Armada?:” different versions of the expression “to take the king’s shilling:” to enlist – in either English army (and get shelled and shot at) or Spanish Armada (most of which sank) – in either case, a very bad deal 234.4: “cockshy:” a cockshy is a butt, target, fall-guy; in the context, some poor piece of cannon fodder at the receiving end of artillery “shelling.” Possible equal-opposite overtone of “conshy,” WW I derogatory term for conscientious objector 234.9: “green:” in sense of young and naïve 234.10: “stud:” naïve or not, the girls’ interest will be more than platonic. 234.12-3: “son soptimost:” the seventh son of the seventh son is a common folk motif: Wikipedia says that in Irish tradition it confers healing powers. Also, Saint Septimus 234.13: “Mayaqueenies:” Queen of the May 234.14: “near cissies:” nearby sisters, circling – “inwreath”ing (.14) him, as around a Maypole 234.14: “buddy time:” budding time, time of budding: May 234.15: “oily:” hair oil 234.15: “soulnetzer:” soul-netter: Jesus said he would make his disciples fishers of men, meaning their souls. 234.15. “priestessd:” OED says to be “priested” can mean to be blessed by a priest. As vestals - priestesses - the girls are blessing him. 234.17: “his gamecox spurts and his smile likequid glue:” again, naïve or not: an ejaculation (compare 26.4-5) and a liquid version of his brother’s fiery spurts. Also, a gamecock’s spurs 234.18: “spritties:” pretties 234.19: “peahenning:” peahen is female counterpart to peacock. 234.23: “dulsy nayer:” in courtship, sweet (dulce) refuser 234.24: “her future’s year:” her future husband’s ear 234.26: “yismik? yimissy?” Yes, Mike? (Did you) miss me? Also, yashmak 234.26: “t’rigolect:” see next item. Rigoletto’s “La donna e mobile” was recorded by John MacCormack. 234.26-7: “that he, the finehued, the fairhailed:” the kind of language typically applied to Shaun in his John MacCormack matinee-idol eminence. MacCormack was a prominent performer at Dublin’s 1932 Eucharistic Congress, held shortly before the writing of this passage – one of many examples of how Joyce was ready to incorporate recent developments into the writing of FW. (Those attending were called “pilgrims:” (.20).) 234.27-9: “bouchesave…with his kissier licence:” vouchsafe with his mouth, by kissing 234.29: “Andure the enjurious:” an example of coinciding contraries: 1. As a Christian, endure the injuries of those who injure you. (Until a better tomorrow: “till imbetther” (.29).) 2. Injure them. 3. In between, "imbetther" sounds "embitter." 234.32-3: “tell that frankay boyuk to bellows up the tombucky in his tumtum argan and give us a gust of his gushy old. Goof!:” gist: we’re urging the church’s singer (MacCormack) to tell the organist to accompany him, loudly, with organ music for the Tantum Ergo; “Tombucky” and “tumtum” acknowledge its author, Thomas Aquinas. An Argand (“argan”) lamp worked by controlling the flow of air. 234.34-5: “Happy little girlycums to have adolphted such and Adelphus:” debatable, but I suggest that the Adolph here is Hitler, who like MacCormack had a well-publicized knack for eliciting hysterical reactions from crowds of women and girls. (This passage was being written when Hitler's rallies were much in the news.) See also 247.31. Also - again - not sure, but "Nabis" (235.1) might then include "Nazis." 235.1: “the messiager of His Nabis:” Mohammed: the messenger, the (McHugh: “Nabis” = Prophet) prophet. From 234.34 to 235.2: from bowing towards the sacrament in church to thronging towards a charismatic figure, musical or political, to bowing towards Mecca. (Bits of Christian prayer are intermingled with the last phase.) 235.2: “prostitating:” prostrating 235.9: “thank to thine:” 29 235.9: “—Xanthos! Xanthos! Xanthos!:” agreeing with McHugh that “the soul of light” (.7) echoes “the heart of light” from The Waste Land, I suggest that this comes from “Shantih shantih shantih,” which ends the poem (and, as Eliot pointed out, the Upanishads). 235.11-2: “midland mansioner:” mid-level manager. (Google Book’s first citation is for 1934. I can’t say when Joyce introduced this phrase into the text, but it was definitely sometime after the version published in 1932.) 235.13: “Burke’s mobility:” minor correction of McHugh: the title is Burke’s Nobility and Gentry. (Connotations of “mobility” and “Nobility” are, of course, diametrically opposite.) 235.13-6: “Red bricks are all hellishly good values if you trust to the roster of ads but we’ll save up ourselves and nab what’s nicest and boskiest of timber trees in the nebohood:” according to the OED, “redbrick” in the sense of non-Oxbridge university dates from after FW. Here the term applies more generally to any new, non-vintage building, especially considered as a home for purchase - economical, perhaps, but she’s holding out for something classier. 235.13: “La Roseraie:” no offense intended here, but the British habit of giving names like this to private dwellings can seem a mite pretentious in a class-conscious kind of way. (Or, to be sure, it may simply be meant to signify coziness.) 235.16: “timber trees:” perhaps obvious: an estate’s (old) timbers constituted a major sign of old-money Burke-ish (.13) status 235.24-5: “to make Envyeyes mouth water and wonder when they binocular us:” one peeper with binoculars, or two with one tallowscoop/telescope each? “Envyeyes” sounds plural. 235.27: “Chuffs:” cuffs: as in “collars and cuffs:” shorthand for men’s formal wear – here, a feature of the chauffeur’s uniform 235.28: “I sold U:” I told you 235.29-30: “Percy, the pup, will denounce the sniffnomers of all callers:” in other words, he’s the butler, greeting callers at the door and, on social occasions, announcing their names. (“Sniffnomers” because in this incarnation he’s a dog, identifying them by their scent.) 235.30-2: “Tabitha, the ninelived, will extend to the full her hearthy welcome. While the turf and twigs they tattle. Tintin tintin:” compare 28.5-9. “Tabitha:” an elongated version of Tib, at times - at other times it seems to be "Buttercup" - name of the house’s cat. (Overtone of "tabby.") Her usual spot is by the hearth, warming herself and hoping for birds to fall down the chimney flue. In this case, the sound she’s hearing is not their chirping but instead the crackling of turf and kindling, burning in the fireplace. “Tintin tintin:” their sound 235.35: “cochineal:” red dye, made from crushed beetles 235.35: “dancings:” given context, facings 235.36: “suckingstaff:” walking-stick. Also, sugar-stick, for sucking on; OED defines it as “a stick of sweet stuff.” Compare 485.8: “Suck it yourself, sugarstick!” 236.2: “cynarettes:” Ernest Dowson: “I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.” Originally, one of Zeus’ objects of desire; later a conventional name for a temptress 236.3-4: “chocolate pages:” servants of African origin. Same, probably, for “Cococream” (.4) 236.4: “bugling:” given context, the existence of “candy bugles” (which were real and called just that: I remember them from my childhood) seems relevant. I can’t determine when they originated, but see 556.15: “greengageflavoured candywhistle,” with note. 236.5: “with his sticksword in a pink cushion:” with his tongue stuck up his (the “Prince Le Monade”’s (.3)) ass. Compare 568.23-5. 236.8: “So Niomon knows:” So, no-one knows. (See McHugh on “Saint Tibble’s Day” (.8).) 236.9: “the Momor’s her and hin:” the murmur – the gossip – is all about her and him. 236.12-3: “wibfrufrocksfull of fun:” women in frocks, full of fun 236.14: “thou billy with thee coo:” billing and cooing (McHugh): flirting and fooling around romantically 236.15: “sing a missal:” portions of the missal had been set to music before Joyce’s time. 236.15-7: "champouree...champouree...champouree:" in context, 1. champagne (it's a celebration), and 2. chimpanzee ("longtailed blackman") 236.17: “And, jessies, push the pumkik round:” well into Joyce’s time, the custom after a formal or celebratory dinner was for the ladies to – as P.G. Wodehouse put it – leg it to the drawing-room for a period during which the gents would remain behind, pushing the port around the table. Here, in keeping with the Christmas season, it seems to be punch rather than port, and the ladies – jessies, at least for a while – are included. 236.19-20: “the pavanos have been strident through the struts of Chapelldiseut:” 16th century English ordinance: “neither O ne Mac shall strut ne swagger through the streets of Galway.” 236.19-33:” Since…ma.:” the dancing continues, but becomes more formal (until ragtime (.23) shows up): from jigs and polkas (.14, 1.6), etc. to pavannes, waltzes, etc. 236.19: “pavanos:” parvenus 239.20: “been strident through their struts:” the expression “strutting their stuff” was current in Joyce’s time. (“Strutting,” as in “Darktown Strutters’ Ball,” could signify dancing.) 236.22: “tripped:” dripped (from the misty cloud). Also, tripped, meaning danced, as in “trip the light fantastic” 236.24-5: “sterlings and guineas:” a (pound) sterling is silver; a guinea is gold. 236.27: “Thyme, that chef of seasoners:” the seasons are subject to time. 236.28: “endadjustables:” eatables, digestibles 236.30: “po’s taeorns” posterity 236.30-1: “taeorns, the obcecity of pa’s teapucs:” tea urns, teacups 236.33: “stylled:” compare 556.20: “like blowing flower stilled.” 236.34: “lovestalk onto herself:” love-talk unto herself. Also, of course, “lovestalk” = penis 236.34: “tits:” breasts. “Penelope” has Boylan talking about Molly’s “titties.” 236.35: “understamens:” in “Nausicaa,” “understandings” means drawers. 237.1: “towooerds:” includes “woo” 237.1: “heliolatry:” harlotry; helotry 237.2-3: "parryshoots from his muscalone pistil:” as floral parachutes: for instance, like dandelion seeds, doubling here with pheromone-like, musk-like scent emanating from the (male) pistil. (Compare “Nausicaa,” where Bloom imagines women communicants clustering around the semen-scent emanating through pores from the bottled-up reserves of celibate priests.) 237.3: “eyespy:” may be coincidence, but I Spy (with my little eye) is a popular children’s game. First mention in print is 1937. 237.4: “nevertheleast:” “not the least” as well as “nevertheless” 237.4-6: “meaning Mullabury mesh, the time of appling flowers, a guarded figure of speech:” very long shot here on how these three might add up to “heliotrope:” what was and sometimes still is called the “mesh” – reinforced – heel on a stocking (here, one mulberry in color); apples are in season in August, with its zodiacal sign of Leo; and, of course, a figure of speech is a trope. (Again, very much a long shot) 237.5: “Mullabury mesh:” OED says that mulberry is a “dark red or purple color;” heliotrope is a “purple” color. Internet images have the two sometimes identical, more often close. 237.7: “see saw:” see-saw: playground fixture. Also, “she saw.” 237.8: “dumbelles:” stupid (dumb) beautiful young women (belles). Equivalent of today’s “dumb blonde” 237.9: “Lovelyt!:” lovely light (from the sun); in “Scylla and Charybdis” a “light of love” is a courtesan. 237.12: “aboutobloss:” about to blossom 237.13-4: “softmissives:” submissions – probably, given context, in the author-to-publisher sense 237.14: “bag, belt, and balmybeam:” see McHugh. In Book III, Shaun/Jaun is identified as a postman by his mailsack, his belt, and his lantern. 237.14.: “balmybeam:” his “belted lamp” (404.14) 237.15-6: “pampipe in your putaway, gab borah:” pipe and “Geborah!” – both signifiers of stage Irishman. Fits the context – for instance (.16), “will be after doing” – the “after” being a cliché of Irish idiom 237.15: “our barnaboy…with that pampipe:” Jesus was born in a barn. Christian tradition (as in Milton’s “On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity”) has it that Jesus’ birth coincided with Pan’s death. 237.19: “overblaseed:” over-blessed: abundantly blessed; compare Stephen’s “Scylla and Charybdis:” “overplus.” Also, “ovoblast,” as in “Oxen of the Sun:” “ovoblastic generation.” OED includes it as pseudoscientific term, meaning “of or relating to an egg cell,” and cites only Ulysses. Google kicks up exactly one occurrence of “oviblast,” from a gynecological journal, where it has something to do with the uterus. 237.21: “Leperstower:” given Indian associations (“caste,” “karman’s,” “Untouchable”), I suggest this combines a leper colony with the Parsee towers of silence mentioned in “Hades.” Bodies are left in them for carrion birds to eat. India is the home of most Parsees. (I saw a Parsee tower there once, complete with vultures circling above. A long time ago, but it made an impression.) 237.22: “karman’s:” karma 237.23: “blanched at our pollution:” maybe just a hunch, but I think this relates to the Leviticus-ordained segregation of women during their menstrual periods. Ezekiel 22:10 describes one such woman as “her that was set apart for pollution.” In any case, it would certainly fit the context. See next entry. 237.25-26: “You have not brought stinking members into the house of Amanti:” you have not put an unclean penis into the place of love, the vagina. In relation to the above, this would constitute an instance of sauce for the gander, sauce for the goose. 237.27-9: “Your head has been touched by the god Enel-Rah and your face has been brightened by the goddess Aruc-Ituc:” sounds great, but Joyce’s Cornell notes record a similar prophecy given to a king: that his brow would be kissed by Apollo, his limbs washed by Neptune. It turned out that he was crucified. The sun burned his forehead and his body was bathed in sweat. 237.32: “breed and better class:” “breed” as in breeding, well-bred 237.34: “cluck:” includes “luck.” They’re counting on their luck to help them win the Sweepstakes. 237.34: “Sweetstaker:” sweet-talker 237.35: “haloease: Greek helios - sun 237.36-238.1: “toutes philomelas as well as magdelenes:” two opposite kinds of women – the virgin who was raped; the prostitute. A version of innocent Issy vs. fallen Marge. 238.1: “BVD dot:” compare 205.9, where an x is added to distinguish one LK’s clothes from another’s. 238.2: “lotteries of ticklets:” lottery tickets, of course, but also lots of Sweepstakes tickets 238.4: “ishibilley: compare also “Oxen of the Sun” version of dishabillé: “dishybilly.” 238.5: “his wayward:” this-way-ward – in this direction 238.7-8: “We feem to have being elfewhere as tho’ th’ had pafs’d in our fufpens:” illustrates the déjà vu point just made, that (McHugh) coming events cast their shadows before. 238.8-9: “Next to our shrinking selves we love sensitivas best:” 1. Literally: “sensitivas” is a kind or brand of material that feels best against their delicate skin. (Although “next our” would be the commoner British expression.) 2. Idiomatically: aside from myself, so-and-so is my favorite person. “Shrinking” can describe either physical or emotional withdrawal. 238.14: “elvishness:” selfishness; compare .23: “myselfish.” 238.14-21: “Now…her:” much of this sequence is in the context of a woman confessing to a priest. (As McHugh points out, Chiniquy’s The Priest, the Woman, and the Confessional is a major source. The book is a rabidly anti-Catholic polemic about the (Chiniquy’s word) abominations attendant on young women giving auricular confessions. Suspicions along this line are a constant in Joyce’s work; in Ulysses Bloom imagines woman-to-priest confessions in a lurid light.) 238.18: “peach:” as in Portrait, chapter one: to tell on someone 238.20: “how many years till the myriadth and first:” ten thousandth and first (outdoing Scheherazade by an order of magnitude). Probable overtone of “It has been [x days/months/years] since my last confession.” 238.21: “colp:” cope: to strike. Given the context, to fuck 238.22: “Kicky:” given context, perhaps Kiki of Montparnasse, famous bohemian/model/courtesan during Joyce’s years in Paris. (The two would have had acquaintances in common.) 238.23: “pervergined:” perverted virgin - perhaps owing to Anatole France’s quip that “celibacy is the most unnatural perversion.” 238.25-6: “but me and meother ravin, my coosine of mine, have mour good three chancers, after Bohnaparts:” a brief return to the incident in the park: the two girls turn into the three soldiers, accompanied by (as in the “museyroom”), Napoleon. Note .31: “How their duel makes their triel!” 238.26: “chancers:” disreputable opportunists 238.27-8: “shes nowt me without:” Yorkshire idiom: without me, she’s a negligible creature. 238.29: “smithereens robinsongs:” Swiss Family Robinson. Oxford editors have “smithereen’s.” 238.29: “juneses nutslost:” lost "jeunesse" - youth 238.29-30: “the blue of the sky if I stoop for to spy’s between my whiteyoumightcallimbs:” Virgin Mary’s colors are (sky)blue and white. (McHugh notes the BVM’s “assumption” at .27.) Oxford editors have “stoops fore.” 238.31: “How their duel makes their triel!:” duel/dual; tri/trial. Followed by a choice of swords or pistols. See .32-3 and note. 238.31: “Eer’s wax for Sur Soord:” here’s wax for the sword. Swords were waxed to prevent rust. Also, as McHugh notes, earwax, French sourd, deaf: a buildup of earwax can cause deafness. 238.31: “dongdong:” dung. See next item. 238.31-2: “dongdong bullets:” dum-dum (hollow-pointed) bullets would be bad enough; rubbing them in dung would add sepsis to the catalogue. 238.32: “iris riflers:” bees, as in “the birds and the bees,” rifling flowers – here, the iris. See note after next. 238.32-3: “queemswellth of coocome in their combs for the jennyos:” compare “Circe,” Bloom to Bella: “your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb.” “Queems” = quims, cunts. (“Quim” appears in this sense in “Circe.”) “Coocome:” come, semen. “Jennyjos:” as in I.1, the jinnies – prostitutes. Semen is the last body product in the three-stage sequence, after earwax and dung. The overall scenario is of rivals dueling over a woman, who is watching on. Their “duel” is their “triel” (trial) – with wax for the swordsman and bullets for the shooter, the woman/women in question becoming physically aroused in her/their privates. Compare Cissy Caffrey in “Circe:” “They’re going to fight! For me!” 238.32: “queemswellth:” given the context, the queen here is surely a queen bee – hence “Honey swarms where mellisponds” (.33-4) – mel, as McHugh notes, being Latin for honey. The sexually-incited lubrication in the woman’s vagina is being compared to the secretions of the queen. 238.34-5: “Will bee all buzzy one another minnies for the mere effect that you are so fuld of pollen yourself.” (See two previous entries for .32.) We’ll be as busy as a (buzzing) bee, simply because – for the simple fact that – you, the flowers, are so full of pollen. Also, fond of pollen: a typical FW role-reversal. Also, mutually intoxicated: McHugh notes that fuld is Danish for drunk, and “buzzed” can mean the same. “One another minnies” may trace to the expression “from one minute to the next.” 238.35: “Daurdour!:" Dear dear! 238.36: “unspeechably:” unspeakably 238.36: “unspeechably thoughtless:” compare 142.33: “they hate thinking” 238.36: “Gizzygazelle:” gizz or jizz: slang for semen. See note to ,32-3. 239.1: “bimboowood:” bimbo-hood. First OED citation of “bimbo” in modern sense is from 1927. David Hayman's A First-Draft Version of Finnegans Wake, p. 268, includes "Did you know his bimbo well?" in a context where "bimbo" is clearly the equivalent of "floozie." Compare 237.8 and note. Up to .15, most of what follows are the words of a courtesan offering herself to a man/customer. Also, see McHugh: bamboo woods. The girls are "yearning [yearning plus learning] as yet how to burgeon" (.2). According to Wikipedia, bamboo "includes some of the fastest growing plants in the world." Some varieties can grow three feet in twenty-four hours. The girls, thanks in part to "Sweet Stainusless" (357.11), their tutor and suitor, are growing up fast, from "girlycums" (234.34-5) to bimbo-hood. 239.3: “milliems of centiments:” millions of centimes would amount to thousands of francs. 239.3: “centiments deadlost or mislaid on them:” an expression familiar to me from P. G. Wodehouse: a sentiment lost on him/her, implication being that he/she is too thick or rude to take the point 239: 3: “centiments deadlost:” Simon Dedalus 239.4: “master of snakes:” Saint Patrick. Also, an Indian snake-charmer 239.4: “the nip of a napple:” goes with (“original sinse”) Original Sin of .2 239.5: “allsee:” also see 239.5: “your quick:” contrasts slow in “sloughchange” (.4). Given context, I suggest “quick” means something like ready money: she’s prepared to speed up the disrobing act if he’s quick with the compensation. 239.7: “Monkmesserag:” Mount Melleray - a monastery, with monks. (Mentioned in “The Dead”) 239.7-8: “And whenever you’re tingling in your trout we’re sure to be tangled in our ticements:” we’ll step up the enticements – the disrobing, for instance - when we sense that you’re getting sexually aroused. 239.9: “It’s game, ma chère:” game, match. (Tennis) 239.9: “your shepherdress on:” another Joyce dig at the supposed effeminacy of clerical clothing. (Priests are the shepherds of their flocks.) 239.9-10: “Upsome cauda!” Up with our arse/s! 239.10: “Behose:” (Let’s) put stockings on the girls. (Or, equally-oppositely, take them off: de-hose) 239.10-1: “To these nunce we are but yours in ammatures yet well come that day we shall ope to be ores:” for the nonce, amatorily, we’re still in the arms of immature amateurishness (with the result that we’re still, at least technically, as virginal as nuns), but we look forward to welcoming the day when we open ourselves, to be your(s). Probable echo of Laertes’ warning to Ophelia not to “open” her “chaste treasure” to Hamlet’s “unmastered importunity,” with “ores” as underground treasure. Also, “shall ope:” elope. Joyce and Nora eloped, only after which was the relationship consummated. (The next fifteen lines will mainly be a celebration, sometimes qualified, of unregulated sexuality; inevitably, repentance will follow.) 239.12-3: “No more hoaxites:” enough of the pretend-innocence – the hoaxings - of flirtation 239.13: “Nay more gifting in mennage:” Jesus prophesies that after his resurrection the saved “neither marry, nor are given in marriage.” Hamlet (see note to .10-1) paraphrases this as “I say we will have no more marriages.” Neither intends his words as a license for free love, but that’s how the words are taken here. Given context, “menage” as in ménage à trois, or, who knows, maybe more than trois: see next entry. 239.13-5: “A her’s fancy for a his friend and then that fellow yours after this fellow ours.” a sexual partner-swapping session. “Fancy” in English sense of someone to whom one is attracted. “Fellow yours…fellow ours:” followers 239.16: “Hightime is ups be it down into outs according:” a sexualized version of the Virgin Mary’s “Let it be done unto me according to thy will.” Oxford editors replace “ups” with “up.” 239.17-8: “foods for vermin as full as feeds for the fett:” the wretched as well as the well-fed will have enough to eat. Etymologically, “vermin” traces to “worm,” and worms, being skinny, here counterpoint (“the fett”) the fat. 239.18: “Klitty:” see McHugh. Joyce invents a folk-etymology for clitoris, a.k.a. (307 Fn. 1) “little rude hiding rod.” 239.19: “stimm her uprecht:” besides the obvious sexual meaning: tune her upright (piano) 239.21: “ones for all” once and for all. Also, one for all (and all for one) 239.22: “maidfree:” maiden-free: there are no virgins anymore. Hooray! 239.23: “bigyttens:” begottens 239.31-2: “miry hill:” may be a coincidence, but the phrase “miry hill” occurs in Bleak House, by Dickens, mentioned (“diggings”) at .25. Joyce read it. 239.32: “belge:” given infernal setting, one of Dante’s bolges, combined with a WW I trench, in (“belge end”) Belgium, site of much of the war’s fighting 239.33: “bedimmed and bediabbled:” (be)damned and bedeviled. Also, be-dimmed and be-spattered the atmosphere – probably with exploding ordnance 239.35: “arimaining lucisphere:” remaining light (in the atmosphere). May refer to the encroaching night 239.36: “gayed rund:” expression: gay round (of pleasures) 239.36: “rorosily: uproariously 240.5: “shrivering:” shriving 240.6-7: “Examen of conscience:” examination of conscience: recommended spiritual exercise before confession. Glugg is about to review and repent his past sins. 240.8: “tumescinquinance:” tumescent Thomas Aquinas: as remarked in “Scylla and Charybdis,” Aquinas was fat. 240.9-10: “No mere singing all the dags in his sengaggeng:” Shem types, like Chuff, are frequently either Jewish or formerly Jewish. Judaism is here one of the spiritual wrong turns that he is renouncing: he will cease being a cantor in the synagogue. 240.10: “Trinitatis kink had muddied his dome:” the doctrinally wrong (Protestant) twisted turn at Trinity College (“kink”=kirk=church) had muddled his mind, away from the one true course of Catholicism. Again (see previous entry), another spiritual misstep being renounced 240.11: “peccat and pent fore, pree:” this sin was acknowledged (“peccato”) and paid for, I pray; also, (priest’s request in confessional) pray for me. Essentially repeated at .13-4 240.13: “redecant allbigenesis henesies:” another heresy being recanted. The “Albigensian Heresy” was savagely suppressed by the Catholic Church. 240.15: “eggscumuddher-in-chaff:” Excommunicator-in-chief. As usual, he overdoes things, swinging from a history of heresies to becoming orthodoxy’s main enforcer. 240.15: “sporticolorissimo:” Spartican generalissimo 240.16: “duthsthrows in his lavabad eyes:” Mulligan in “Telemachus:” “My methods are new and are causing surprise, / To make the blind see I throw dust in their eyes.” In general, to raise false issues in order to distract from the truth. A lavabo is a term from the mass: either the washing of the priest’s hands after receiving the collection (because his hands have touched money) or the ceremonial bowl in which it occurs. (Doesn’t seem to fit, though.) A “lava bed” or “lava field” is the hardened volcanic rock left after an eruption. Also, Joyce had "-bad" eyes. See .33 and note. 240.19-20: "No more throw acids, face all lovabilities, appeal for the union and play for tirnitys:” a jumbled collection of Parnell references: he had quicklime thrown at him (in his face), he was embroiled in a scandalous love affair, he worked to, in effect, repeal the Act of Union. The fourth entry may allude to his Protestantism: Trinity College was a Protestant bastion in Dublin. In any case, because (in Joyce’s telling) the Church turned on him, so does the newly orthodox Glugg. 240.21: “make clean breastsack:” expression – making a clean breast of things: admitting to all one’s misdeeds, as during confession. The gist of .20-24 is that he’s renouncing his cosmopolitan ways and reaffirming the pure Irishness of his birth and youth, even (perhaps remembering Father Dolan), accepting the priest by whom he was unjustly pandied. 240.22: “milksoep:” milksop: bread soaked in milk; feeble, effeminate male. Compare next entry. 240.22: “weedhearted:” sweethearted. The reformed Glugg is getting in touch with his inner namby-pambitude. 240.23: “the hider that tanned him:” spanked him, “tanned his hide.” Compare 93.8, “tanyouhide.” 240.22-3: “potter and mudder:” potters work with mud. Also, childish and provincial pronunciation of father and mother. In Portrait, a child addresses her mother (affectionately), as “mud.” 240.24: “He go calaboosh:” introduces one of FW’s runs of spasmodic pidgin, here lasting, off and on (thickest, probably, on p. 241), until 243.36. Typically spoken by a Shem type when feeling defensive. Predominantly Malay, but also, here, American (calaboose: jail) and African (calabash: gourd vessel, in Joyce’s time mainly associated with Africans). 240.25: "calico:" Malay pidgin for clothes 240.28: “centy procent Erserum spoking:” 100 % Irish spoken: an establishment’s sign, similar to “Se habla Español.” 240.29: “Drugmallt storehuse:” compare 271.9. Combines drug store with malt house, the latter being a building where grain is converted into malt, later to be made into beer. The American “drug store” dates from the early 20th century. 240.29: “Intrance on back:” servants and/or tradesmen’s entrance at the rear 240.30 “He, A. A.:” the “Anaks Andrum” (McHugh has “anax andrôn, lord of men”) of .27. 240.30: “peachskin:” like peach fuzz: a feature of unfledged and innocent boyishness. (Perhaps contradicted by overtone of “pigskin.”) He exhibits this freshness despite having been occasionally dishonest in his past (his “former guiles” (.31)) and the fact that he’s putting on flesh (“gaining fish considerable” (.31-2)). 240.31: “former guiles:” “Farmer Giles:” Kindly English farmer popular in 19th century children’s literature. Also, Cockney rhyming slang for “piles”- hemorrhoids 240.33: “smily skibluh eye:” Joyce had blue eyes, and at times in his life one of them was covered with a patch. “Smily:” “When Irish Eyes are Smiling;” compare 176.22-3. 240.33-5: “he ast for shave and haircut people said he’d shape of hegoat where just was sheep of herrgott:” one of many, many instances of FW serial misprisions: “shave and haircut” misheard as “shape of herrgoat” by one group, “sheep of herrgott” by another, thus inadvertently separating the sheep from the goats. The last version is in turn another way of saying – sort of – “lamb of God.” Compare the “throw it away” – “Throwaway” of Ulysses, or the “fionn uisge” – “Phoenix” of FW. (Again, Joyce was averse to commas; most writers would have inserted one – or a semicolon – after “haircut.”) 240.35: “just was sheep of herrgott with his tile togged. Top.” A spin through Google Images shows that goats typically have distinctive tails, often pointed upward - as opposed to sheep, whose tails, when (rarely) visible, hang downward, flat against the flanks. Compare “Proteus,” where the dog Tatters becomes, in Stephen’s eyes, a wolf at the moment its tongue protrudes visibly, because a protruding tongue is, in the heraldry books familiar to Stephen, what distinguishes a wolf from a dog. 240.35: “tile:” tail: in context, Chinese pigtail 241.1-7: “Big…torts:" I think this page is the most impenetrable of the chapter, because Glugg wants it to be – accused, he’s (240.16) throwing dust. (His confession has become a frenzied self-defense.) The accusation reprises those against HCE, having to do with the girls in the park. In these lines, anyway, the main charge is of being a child molester, someone who gives, or tries to give, treats to children in exchange for sex. At .3 he’s offering either oranges and sugar candy, or oranges sweetened with sugar, to “lilithe maidinettes,” little (and lithe) maidens. He wants them to “bloo his noose for him” – either blow him (compare 211.34) or, more likely, jerk him off. (The website Urban Dictionary – no date given – has the latter definition for “blow his nose.” Not a strong source, but the meaning fits the context. I wonder whether Philip Larkin was being original when he glumly likened sex to having someone else blow your nose for you.) 241.2-3: “pennysilvers…candid:” penny candy; compare “pecuniarity ailmint” (.5-6), with “mint” both as candy (compare 235.36-236.1) and source of (Latin pecunia) money. 241.3: “bloadonages:” Boanerges: John and James, Jesus’ “sons of thunder” 241.3: “candid zuckers:” sugar candy (for sucking on); compare 53.24-6, 485.7. In context (see note to .1-7), probably with sexual innuendo 241.3: “Spinshesses Walk:” I call attention to McHugh’s (and the Oxford editors’) genetic substitution of “Spinstresses” – unmarried women, with their femininity (and youth) emphasized. Compare, among many examples, 271.4-5: “duo of druidesses in ready money rompers,” with a footnote identifying the “druidesses” as girlish “jennies” - the “jinnies” of I.1. 241.5-6: “that pecuniarity ailmint:” that peculiar ailment. Compare 98.18. 241.8: “not wert one bronze lie:” expression: not worth a brass farthing. (Here, about his (“Collosul rhodomantic”) colossal romantic (in sense of lovey-dove) rhodomantade: he’s a liar, she (“Scholarina”) says.) 241.8: “rhodomantic:” compare “Ithaca”’s account of water “in springs and latent humidity, revealed by rhabdomantic or hygrometric instruments.” “Rhabdomancy,” says the OED, is dousing, “a technique for searching for underground water.” 241.9: “cuddlepuller:” cod-puller: masturbator 241.9: “his pig indicks:” hesitantly, a big dick. “Dick” as penis was current, and it certainly fits the context (masturbation), but as best I can tell appears nowhere else in this sense in FW or any other Joyce work. 241.11-2: “her uyes as his auroholes:” her eyes as his ears, aural-holes – openings for aural stimuli. Read “as” as “at,” and the polymorphous sexuality becomes pretty undeniable. Also, a Mollyish “-yes” whispered into his ears. 241.13: “lightingshaft:” lighting shaft: skylight. Also, a phallic lightning rod 241.13: “lovalit:” again, in “Scylla and Charybdis” a “light of love” is a prostitute. The context here, however, suggests the opposite – the love of his life. 241.14: “smugpipe:” in Portrait, “smugging” is childish sex-play, probably mutual masturbation. Several variants appear in FW. 241.14: “cupric tresses:” again, Nora’s auburn – copper-colored - hair 241.14-5: “the formwhite foaminine:” the form quite feminine; the feminine (or female) form divine. Compare 435.13-5. 241.15: “ambersandalled:” compare “Oxen of the Sun:” Venus “shod in sandals of bright gold.” Here as there, I think this combines Venus the goddess being born from the foam with Venus the planet and morning star being goldenly illuminated from underneath by the rising (or, here, recently set) sun. 241.16: “onamuttony legture:” leg of mutton, certainly – but why? Perhaps by way of contrast between woman-as-divinity (.14-5) and – although the cadaver of The Anatomy Lecture of Doctor Culp, noted by McHugh, is clearly male - woman-as-meat. In “Circe,” Bloom dismisses the fadée whoremistress Bella Cohen as “mutton dressed as lamb.” 241.16: “A mish:” Irish expression: misha. (Many FW appearances) 241.16-17: “A mish…a mountain:” Slieve Mish, a.k.a. Slemish Mountain, where St. Patrick was a slave 241.18: “furframed:” farfamed 241.19: “blushing dolomite:” a variety of dolomite called “red dolomite” 241.21: “ignomen:” ignominy 241.21: “True bill:” a Grand Jury’s decision that a case should be continued 241.22: “Master Milchku:” see 241.16-7, above. Milchu was Patrick’s master at Slieve Mish. 241.25: “The kurds of Copt:” Kurds and Copts 241.25: “purely simply tammy ratkins:” the accusations against him just outlined are, pure and simple, tommyrot; as in the garden scandal of I.2 etc., the main rumor-mongers were the soldiers, the tommies. (This begins another protesting-too-much fulmination against the soldiers and the girls.) 241.27: “begeds off:” begging off 241.28: “Not one zouz!:” 1. Their testimony is worthless – not worth a sou. 2. Were they begging, he would not give them one sou. 241.28: “whiteliveried ragsups:” 1. Stephen in “Scylla and Charybdis:” “The flag is up:” the signal that the play is about to start. 2. An 1882 issue of Puck uses “The rag is up” as an equivalent expression. 3. A white flag/rag is a sign of surrender, which goes with “whiteliveried” – whitelivered: cowardly 4. Further, they are subservient – wearing livery. (No idea what a “ragsups” is supposed to be. Rascals? Italian ragazzi?) 241.28-9: “two Whales of the Sea of Deceit:” expression: “the vale of humility between two mountains of conceit” – North Carolina, between Virginia and South Carolina 241.28-9: “bloodiblabstard shooters:” a “shooter” is, to quote from a website about marbles, the “offensive marble; a larger marble used to hit smaller marbles.” (Also called a “taw,” as such mentioned in “Lotus Eaters.”) The most prized of these marbles were called “Blood Alleys,” “of pink marble, with dark red veins.” I suggest this harkens back to the heliotrope/bloodstone, which gets its name from the same feature. Other presences: bastard; bloody bastard; bloody, blasted, bastards; bloody, blasted, bastard soldiers (shooters); blabbers; blood-boltered (“Scylla and Charybdis: “bloodboltered shambles”) 241.31-2: “Such askors and their ruperts they are putting in for more osghirs is also false liarnels:” Such actors and their report(er)s, they are putting in for more Oscars, as for other false laurels. Approximate, but the general sense is that his accusers are pretending, like bad Hollywood actors. (Also, Oscar Wilde, the (“greyed vike cuddlepuller”), great white caterpillar, has been cited at .9; his courtroom accuser was named Fred (not Tommy) Atkins) 241.33: “Whore is agains sempry Lotta Karssens:” The whole affair is, again, simply…whatever “Lotta Karssens” means. Maybe Lottie Collins, music hall artiste of nineties (“Ta Ra Ra Boom De-Ay” was her signature song), in/famous for her sexual innuendo. In which case, “Whore” would fit. (In Portrait, chapter five, a sequence set in the nineties remembers her as the girl who “lost her drawers.”) 241.34: “lick their lenses before they would negatise a jom petter from his sodalites:” photography: cameras have lenses, and first photographic images are “negatives.” Lick Observatory (see McHugh – and observatory telescopes are all about lenses) was known for the high quality of its photographs. Also, given Wilde thread, "sodalites" probably echoes "sodomites." 241.34: “negatise:” recognize. General sense has been that they are bearers of false witness (.36: “bares to his whitness”) who would need to wash out their eyes even to tell the difference between a planet (Jupiter) and its satellites. 241.35-242.1: “In his contrary and on reality:” To the contrary and in reality…continues the defense of the accused by giving his (blameless) life history, from the typically infantile/childhood condition of enlarged ("Adenoiks" (.2)) adenoids up to old age as a (retiring/retired) family retainer, despite his years, still, as we would say today, sharp as a tack – thinking precisely (242.3) and (242.5) “wideawake.” 242.3: “accurect in everythinks:” correct in all his thinking 242.4: “from tencents coupoll to bargain basement:” ten cents obviously isn’t much, but a ten percent coupon, a coupon being (quoting the OED) “One of a set of certificates attached to a bond running for a term of years, to be detached and presented as successive payments of interest become due to the holder,” would be a sign of wealth. It has been said of the British Empire that the Irish were the soldiers, the Scots the managers, and the English the coupon-clippers. (Given that a four percent rate was the standard, a ten percent bond would have been either a bonanza or a scam.) 242.7: “lane pictures:” see McHugh: 1915 gift of paintings collected by Sir Hugh Lane to Dublin. Displayed in what was called the Municipal Gallery, in Charlemont House, a (“geolgian mission” (.6)) Georgian mansion. See 79.27 and note. 242.8: “daarlingt baby bucktooth:” Swedenborg aside (see McHugh), a sign of both old age (one tooth left) and infancy (first tooth), presumably by way of something like reincarnation – in any case, of both ends of life joining. (Although Swedenborg didn’t believe in reincarnation, the Swedenborg Foundation website cites ways in which his ideas about “regeneration” may have resembled Hindu teachings on the subject.) At 129.32-3, we learn that "his drive was forty full and his stumps were pulled at eighty:" At .10, he will be "81." Compare note to..12. 249.9: “nerses:” both the young and the old are likely to require nurses. 242.9: “gracies to goodess:” in “The Dead,” Gabriel (probably knowingly) turns the three graces into the three goddesses of the Judgment of Paris. 242.10: “81:” compare 174.26-7, where “Mr Vanhomrigh’s house” is “at 81 bis Mabbot’s Mall,” and see .15-6: “from one 18 to one 18 biss.” Mink (pages 50, 86, 392-3, 526-7) helps sort this out. The Penguin edition of FW has "82," not "81 bis," at 174.26-7. As said before, your annotator is not a geneticist, but on balance, Mink's survey of the question seems persuasive. 242.10-2: “That why all parks up excited about his gunnfodder. That why ecrazyaztecs and the crime ministers preaching him mornings and makes a power of spoon vittles out of his praverbs:” so exemplary has been his long, clean life that priests and politicians alike hold him up as an example. 242.12: "spoon vittles:” soft food, right for either a baby or an almost-toothless oldster. As lessons, based on his “praverbs,” being preached to the populace, probably means something like pablum – inoffensive sentimentalities fit for children. Compare “mental pabulum” in “Aeolus.” 242.12-24: “That…Strate:” yet another swerve: he may have won over the (male) voices of church and state, but some of the ladies, in their “trial by julias” (.14), by a “jury of matrons” (.22-3) – like the society women of “Circe” who lead the indictment of Bloom – are still on his case. ("Julias” may recall Livia, who changed her name to Julia on marrying Augustus, and in some accounts poisoned him.) The main charge against him still has to do, vaguely, with improprieties to young girls, maybe (.18) of touching them improperly, but by the end – “his Thing went the wholyway retup Suffrogate Strate” (.24) - it comes down to having been observed having intercourse. 242.13: “glycorawman:” Greek or Roman 242.13:”glycorawman arsenicful femorniser:” general sense: sweet-talking lady-killer. “Glyco” is sugar (“raw,” in its original form, here followed by “man”); arsenic is of course the favorite poison of murder mysteries (although – see note to .12-24 - it was not, apparently, Julia’s poison of choice); before the term “feminism” became current (although we do get a (hostile) “feminist” in “Circe,” and a “Suffrogate” (.24) here), a feminiser would have been a womanizer. A teapot (“theopot:” (.15)) would have been a logical place to mix sugar and arsenic (“far infusing”(.16)), for infusing for the purpose, and this teapot (with its “two purses” (.14.)) is clearly penis plus scrotum containing two testicles. Speaking of feminists, in Joyce’s day Christabel Pankhurst among others taught that semen was poisonous. 242.15: “with wokklebout shake:” see above: the testicles being shaken about during (presumably vigorous) walkabout. 242.15-6: “one 18 to one 18 biss:” Two 18-year old girls – older than usual and above the age of consent, a version of the girls of the park scandal. As McHugh notes "bis" ("biss") means "twice." 242.17: “to lock up their rhainodaisies:” expression, invariably ironic, when soi-disant lady-killer is in the vicinity: “Lock up your daughters!” 242.17-8: “nice and twainty in the shade:” 29 degrees Celsius would be 84 degrees Fahrenheit - warmish weather. (20 degrees Celsius, on the other hand, would be quite nice: 68 degrees Fahrenheit.) 242.18-9: “toucher up of young poetographies:” the work of poets dedicated to rendering graphic reality, therefore requiring touching up. Christiani suggests that Ibsen, abandoning poetic drama for what he called photography, is the source. 242.21: “Gigantic, fare him weal! Revelation!:” “There were giants in the earth in those days:” Genesis 6:4, at the opposite end of the Bible from Revelations. Their time is long past, even figuratively; he is the last. 242.23: “a whorly show:” a holy show. Occurs three times in Ulysses, always in the sense of making a spectacle of oneself 242.24: “retup:” as remembered in “Scylla and Charybdis,” “tup” is Elizabethan for fuck. (Occurs in the first scene of Othello.) 242.25-243.36: “Helpmeat…widders:” Glugg is back on the stand. Whatever the final judgment on his father, he has (almost) nothing but good to say about his mother. 242.25: “goosemother:” again: Nora Barnacle/barnacle goose 242.26: “taotsey:” includes Tao, the religion originated by Lao Tse, mentioned in the previous line. I suggest the 242.25 introduction of the female principle, replacing the male, is being given a Yin-to-Yang spin. In this light “contrasta toga” would be the equivalent of a reversible jacket, being turned inside-out or vice versa. Later oppositions, for instance “fenny” and “fulgar,” seem to continue the strain. 242.26-7: “You sound on me, judges!:" You listen to me, judges! 242.28: “Mem:” Mom 242.29: “as fenny as he is fulgar:” she’s as wet as he is fiery - standard FW pairing of female river with male mountain, in this case volcanic. A Victorian wag once described a production of Hamlet as “funny without being vulgar." Both the expression and the quip were in wide circulation. 242.29: “sawlogs:” logs sawn from trees; for them to “come up all standing” is to come floating up in the “foriverever” (.31). 242.31: “cheekmole:” “Hokmah” or “Chokmah:” Hebrew for wisdom. Compare 32.04. 242.31: “allaph foriverever:” Coleridge’s “Kublah Khan:” “Where Alph, the sacred river, ran” 242.31: “allaph foriverever her allinall:” switching from the Bible to (.32) the “Kuran:” Allah, along with sound of muezzin’s ululating call to prayer. Compare 597.14. 242.31-5: “His cheekmole…pointefox:” gist: having rejected divorce, she will not leave him – on the contrary, would not change their home together for a (“Howarden’s Castle” (.34)) a castle. She will be the (“iern”) iron (armor? shield?) and buckle (“fibule”) fibula (.34) to his clothing. 242.33: “Howarden’s Castle, Englandwales:” see McHugh. Hawarden is in Flintshire, close to the border between England and Wales. 242.34: “flamen:” Fleming, Flemish 242.35: “pointefox:” in Henry V IV.4, “point of fox” (cited by McHugh) means the tip of the sword. 242.36-243.1: “when first came into the pictures:” when she first came into the picture 243.2: “fiuming at the mouth:” apart from whitewater foam at the river’s mouth, “foaming at the mouth” signifies extreme anger – according to .3-6, pretty much her state of mind for a spell. 243.3: “magrathmagreeth:” Irish expression: “My grief my grief.” Roughly equivalent to “Ochone! Ochone!” in “Circe.” As Glasheen says, Magrath is consistently ALP’s “special hate;” “Hwemwednoget” (.3) suggests he may have jilted her – that is, not wed her – something Shem/Glugg has been accused of, earlier in the chapter (225.32-226.20). 243.3: “takable a rap for:” probably obvious to most, but some non-American readers may not know that “taking the rap for” someone is gangster talk for being tried and convicted for someone else’s crime, voluntarily or otherwise. 243.6: “to be back in her mytinbeddy:” “bed” as in river bed. (Several FW instances of this sense of “bed,” for instance 76.32. Here, it’s a temporary cozy retreat from terrifying mountain spirits.) 243.7-8: “gets a pan in her stummi from the pialabellars in their pur war:” like Issy/Nuvoletta overseeing the Mookse/Gripes conflict (157.8-158.19), she’s disgusted – sick to her stomach – by the spectacle of men at war, and especially by the pious bromides used to glorify it. FW, though obviously putting much stock in Vico, is uniformly contemptuous of his “pura e pia bella” tag. (As others have observed, so, with the Inquisition at his back, was Vico, probably.) “Pialabellars:” the pealing of (church) bells in support of any given nation’s (bellum) war of the moment. Oxford editors replace “pan” with “pann.” 243.8-9: “Yet jackticktating all around her about his poorliness due to pannellism and crime:” sounds like Joyce’s father: in his account, impoverished because of his steadfast loyalty to Parnell, even during and after the “Parnellism and Crime” drama. Oxford spell the word “jacticktating.” 243.12: “not steal from him:” in sense of “not steal away” – like HCE at the end of III.4, he’s effectively imprisoned her. 243.13: “checkenbrooth death:” see McHugh. The death had been caused, inadvertently, by broth made from a chicken that had eaten rat poison. Sent by Bywaters to Mrs. Thompson, the clipping was an incriminating piece of evidence in their trial. See next item. 243.13-4: “both was parties to the feed:” both were parties to the deed. This was the main issue in the Bywaters case: Bywaters himself confessed, but insisted he acted without Thomson’s knowledge. Their love letters, in some of which she described past efforts to poison her husband, helped convict her. 243.16: “tinner:” tinker, tin-worker: proverbially a job for gypsies 243.17: “fishle the ladwigs out of his lugwags:” tradition that earwigs enter through the ear (lugs, wagging) to bore into the brain: fishing them out before they can do that would be a good idea. Also, so help me (and Ringo Starr): eardrums, therefore drums: Ludwig drums date back to the beginning of the 20th century. In FW, eardrums are also a drummer’s drums, because all perceptions involve the participation of the perceiver. 243.20: “Winden wanden wild like wenchen wenden wanton:” all the ruffling of clothes was caused by the “blowick” (.19) wind. 243.21-2: “renownse the devlins in all their pumbs:” given context, temptresses, on display, walking in their pumps. Compare “diveline” (202.7), “divileen” (511.12), and “Diveltaking” (627.4) – all lively, flirtatious young women. According to OED, pumps had come to signify fashionable footwear for women as of around 1908. 243.23…24: “plague…Bubo:” bubonic plague. (It’s painful swellings were called “buboes.”) Also, the streetwalkers (“streelwarkers” (.22)) are frequently on the plage, French for beach. 243.23: “nettleses milk from sickling:” Nestlé’s condensed milk, advertised for its digestibility, was recommended for the sick and for sucklings. See also .32. 243.23: “sickling:” in context of plague (.23…24) sickening and, with sickle, scything down its victims 243.23: “honeycoombe:” the Coombe was known for streetwalkers. (Ulysses makes this clear.) 243.24: “kop Ulo Bubo selling foulty treepes:” stop him from selling faulty - presumably illness-inducing - tripes. “Kop” probably also includes “keep.” 243.24: “massa:” “master,” as spoken by American black slaves or (later) servants – in light of which “dinars”(.25) is “Dinah,” traditional name for female black slave or servant. (Hence 170.3 and 175.35, where Dinah is paired with her counterpart, Old Black Joe.) General sense of these lines is that if a man does all the husbandly/fatherly things he’s supposed to do, she’ll be a good, submissive wife to him, cooking him dinner and so forth. 243.26: “and hang herself:” Mrs. Thomson was hanged for the murder of her husband. Berenice’s hair ("Mayde Berenice") was hung, first, in the temple of Aphrodite, then in the sky. 243.28: “shookerloft hat:” sugarloaf hat. Occurs in “Circe” 243.28: “no more mulierage:” no more (mulier-rage) wifely fury. See second note to .24. Mrs. Thompson was rather an extreme case. Also, no more marrying, or thinking of marrying, to other men 243.31: “Vatucum:” like Molly in “Penelope,” mixes up “Vatican” with viaticum, administered to Catholics who are dying or in danger of imminent death 243.31: “Monsaigneur Rabbinsohn Crucis:” Joyce’s anticlericalism on display: French opposed to the Catholic Church are known to refer to priests as corveaux, crows; here it’s a different black scavenger, the raven, and – "-saign'-"/sang – a bloody one at that. (Also embedded are a rabbi and the cross of the crucifixion.) 243.32: “ass of milg:” ass’s milk, because of its low fat content, was recommended for infants and invalids. 243.32: “cowmate and chilterlings:” wife and children 243.34: “wop:” pejorative term for an Italian. The scene is the Vatican, in Italy, and in Joyce’s time all popes within and beyond memory had been Italians. Hence Irish Persse O’Reilly becomes Italian “Pursy Orelli” (.34). 243.34: “mezzo scudo:” name of various Italian coins up through the 19th century; some of them were issued by the Vatican or the Papal States. 243.35-6: “loyal devouces to be offered up missas for vowts for widders:” the mezzo scudo was to pay for loyal voices (and holy devotion) to offer up (religiously) masses for widows and (politically) mass rallies for “Votes for Women,” a suffragette slogan; pertinent that “women” is usually pronounced “wimmen.” “Missas” is also: Mrs., misses. Divorce laws (.35) and the prospect of Dutch treats (344.1) in an equal-rights world were both involved in early-20th century debates on the subject. 244.2: “Daintytrees, go dutch!:” Oxford editors have “Dutch!” Dutch Elm Disease was around and identified as such from 1923. FW’s principal tree is the elm. 244.3: “But who comes yond with pire on poletop?:” if I am right in my reading of “lighting up o’clock” (219.1), this is not the lamplighter but, probably, the father, coming out with some kind of light or torch – “pire” is pyre - to order the children inside to lessons: high time, if the II.1 games in fact began a half hour after sunset. Also, see next entry. 244.4: “the moon:” according to Skymap (an on-line program for calculating and displaying the sky in any given location at any given date: skymap.online), on March 21, 1938, the moon in Dublin rose above the horizon at approximately 8:30 p.m. (It was 61 percent toward the full – the shape (see 449.35) of a rugby ball.) See note to .25-6. Writing before that date, Joyce could have found that out by consulting an astrologer – something which, as established separately by Peter Costello and Glenway Westcott, he did at least once. 244.4-5: “mud cabins:” Irish version of the sukkah – the temporary “tabernacle,” made of plant material, corresponding to huts used by gatherers during the harvest. See next item. 244.5: “Ceder:” as Christiani points out, “Danish ceder, cedar, is pronounced like Seder, the Passover feast.” 244.5-6: “feast of Tubbournigglers:” Sukkot: begins (quoting Wikipedia) “just after nightfall” of the fifteenth day of the seventh month of the Hebrew calendar. (McHugh is apparently incorrect in putting it “at full moon.”) 244.6: “Shopshup Inisfail! Timple temple tells the bells:” again: the Mullingar is a store as well as a pub. (See note to 78.12-13.) Here, the store part of the business is closing for the day, the shop shutting up, the shopbell ringing as the door is closed. 244.7: “In syngagyng a sangasongue:” singing songs in the synagogue. Compare 240.9-10 and note. 244.7-8: “For all in Ondslosby. And, the hag they damename Coverfew hists from her lane:” another datum having to do with the probable hour: the Norman curfew, instituted by William the Conqueror for all of (“Ondslosby:” England: see McHugh) required the covering of all fires at 8:00 p.m. (Or, sometimes, 9:00.) It was signaled (“A Timple temple tells the bells” (.6-7)) by the ringing of bells. See next item, and note to .12. 244.9-12: “And haste…burning!:” curfew required all villagers to be indoors by the assigned hour. 244.10: “roo:” roost. Admittedly seems unlike Joyce, but Roo and ("Tiggers") Tigger (246.32) are both characters in the Pooh books, first published in 1926 and 1928, and the language here is addressed to children. The chapter - a children's chapter, with fairy tales, nursery rhymes, etc. throughout - also has a “Winnie” (227.14) and a “poohoor” (224.36). (Speaking of children’s literature, an off-chance that Tinkerbell is behind “Timple temple tells the bells” (.6-7)? In the original stage production, her presence was indicated by a moving light spot accompanied by the sound of tinkling bells. Thumbelina is definitely present in “tommelise” (.30).) Also see note to 322.21-2. 244.12: “where the log foyer’s burning!:” in view of the above items for .7-8 and .12, I suggest that “where” echoes “while:” hurry up before all the lights, including the last one indoors, are put out. (All this, to be sure, will change in the next chapter, where the house is lit up – and, of course, FW as a whole is set at a time long after William’s curfew. But it sometimes happens – all the time, actually – that a given set of circumstances will converge to summon up some scenario from the past. Here, I suggest, the combination of nightfall, shop-closing, and children being called indoors add up kaleidoscopically to an ancestral memory or re-imagining of the Norman curfew. In any case, the situation changes at 245.4, when light is requested.) 244.13: “It darkles:” not to belabor, I hope, but this is what happens when the lights are put out. 244.16-7: “Or just for rugs:” for the animals in the zoo, it’s bedtime; the only activity they’re up to is lying down and making like rugs. 244.17: “Zoo koud!:” So cold! (Excuse the obvious, but the temperature drops when night falls.) See .29 and note. 244.17-8: “Drr, deff, coal lay on and, pzz, call us pyrress!:” I suggest that some of this is the sound of the fire being extinguished, the coals being covered. 244.21-2: "Hound through the maize has fled. What hou! Isegrim under lolling ears. Far wol! And wheaten bells bide breathless." identified by Ian MacArthur and Viviana-Mirella Braslasu ("A Finnegans Wake Miscellany," Genetic Joyce Studies 21, p. 5): "corn wolf," "rye dog." In their words, "Field or wind spirits that take the form of animals. The ruffling of a field of ripe wheat by the wind was attributed to the passage of an invisible animal." "Isegrim," as McHugh notes, is a wolf name. "Ears" are probably ears of corn as well as a wolf's long ears. "What hou!" is an FW version of a hunting cry, directed at the "Hound" running through the rye. "Far wol," besides "Farewell," may carry an overtone of "wolf," perhaps even of "forest wolf." 244.23: “trail of Gill not yet is to be seen, rocksdrops:” recalls rock trail of Hansel and Gretel. Also, according to Joyce by way of Jacques Mercanton (see McHugh), a trail of rocks left by HCE’s enemy; compare the rock-throwing attack of I.3, which also leaves a trail. Also, see previous entry: as land animals have left their track through field of crops, so a fish ("Gill") will leave a trail through the water, though not yet. 244.24-5: “Nor yet through starland that silver sash:” another time-marker: it has not gotten dark enough for the Milky Way to become visible. (In “Nausicaa,” Bloom reflects that night begins when three stars are visible in the sky. The Milky Way is not in evidence when he thinks this; it is, brightly, about four hours later.) Also, see previous two entries. Like wolf, dog, and fish, a celestial object (the moon?) will leave a silver streak as it traverses the sky. Not coincidental, I think, that all these trackings might plausibly be called "wakes." 244.25-6: “What era’s o’ering? Lang gong late. Say long, scielo! Sillume, see lo! Selene, sail O! Amune!:” Again, see .4 and note. According to Joyce/Mercanton (see McHugh), “long gong late” tells us that it is long past 8 p.m. – to be precise, 8:45. (Say long, scielo!:” so long, (day) sky!) Once again (see .4, above), on March 21, 1938, this would be when the moon first started to appear over the horizon. 244.26: “Ark!? Noh?:” Noah’s ark – goes with all the animals in the vicinity. 244.27: “spinney:” thorny hedge 244.27-8: “The swayful pathway of the dragonfly spider stay still in reedery:” as Gerard Manley Hopkins observed (Joyce read him: see 293, LM 2, with its allusion to Hopkins' "sprung rhythm"), a flying dragonfly “draw[s] flame” through the air, tracing a line of light. Here, like everything else, it has been stilled in sleep. (Less happily, dragonflies can be caught and eaten by some species of spiders, weaving their webs among the reeds. At 245.10, the web will have become a net. Compare next entry.) 244.28: “in reedery:” in readiness: what a spider, in its web, amidst the reeds, is 244.29: “Adew:” dew forms at night, because of the drop in temperature. Yet another time-signifier, consistent with the others 244.30-1: “The birds, tommelise too, quail silent…Now conticinium:” “Conticinium” (see McHugh), the first watch of the night, is (quoting Macrobius by way of J.S. Atherton) “when cocks are silent.” (Other birds too, apparently) 244.32-3: “The Laohun is sheutseuyes. The time of lying together will come and the wildering of the nicht till cockeedoodle aubens Aurore:” “The lion and the lamb shall lie down together.” 244.33: “aubens:” opens 244.34-5: “While loevdom shleeps:” again, lion and lamb (or sheep), sleeping together 244.35-6: “Eliphas Magistrodontos and after kneeprayer pious for behemoth and mahamoth:” Elephant Big-teeth (his tusks). Elephants in circuses are made to kneel down to their trainers. Here, the kneeling signals a prayer to one’s heroic ancestors, the biblical behemoth and the extinct mastodon. 245.1: “tusker toils:” perhaps a memory of Portrait’s Tusker Boyle 245.2: “Kikikuki:” Japanese: to listen, to hear. (Here, to the sounds the animals are making) 245.6: “Yul remember Mei:” old age (Yule: December) will remember youth (May) 245.6: “Her hung maid mohns are bluming, look:” handmaid, as in “Behold the handmaid of the Lord.” “Hung maid mohns” may recall the unfaithful housemaids of the Odyssey, hanged from a stretched rope and, variously translated, described as “lamenting,” “wailing,” etc. – that is, moaning. (And of course, yet again: the moon is becoming more visible.) 245.7: “loes on coast of amethyst:” in context, loves lost at sea. Amethyst, dark purple, would be the color of the sea at nightfall. 245.7: "arcglow’s:” I can’t determine whether it was true for Arklow's, but into the early 20th century some lighthouses used arc lights. 245.8: “seafire:” sea fire: marine bioluminescence. See 222.33-4 and note. 245.8: “wextward:” Wexford’s lighthouse is in fact (slightly) to the west (and far to the south) of Arklow's. 245.9-13: “And now with robby brerfox’s fishy fable lissaned out, the threads simwhat toran and knots in its antargumends, the pesciolines in Liffeyetta’s bowl have stopped squiggling about the Junoh and the whalk and the feriaquintaism and pebble infinibility and the poissission of the hoghly course:” fish-centric theology, disputed by the fishbowl’s denizens, though also in the Liffey (where there are fishermen’s nets): they have been entangled in nets, like scholars – including (“toran”) students of the Torah - losing the thread of their arguments. Old joke: one fishbowl fish to another: “All right then, if there’s no God, who changes the water?” (“Liffeyetta’s bowl” is both Dublin Harbor and a fish bowl.) 245.9: “brerfox’s fishy fable:” “fishy” is American slang for dubious, untrustworthy. A “fish tale” is an extravagantly dishonest story, from the tradition that fishermen always lie about the size of their catch – just the sort of thing you’d expect from Brer Fox. 245.9: “lissaned out:” listening to his story to the end, they heard him out. Also, a “lissen” is a strand of rope – here one of the “threads.” 245.10-1: “the pesciolines in Liffeyetta’s bowl:” possible allusion to “The Young Idea,” a once-popular photographic composition by James Lafayette, depicting two children looking at the fish in a fishbowl. Lafayette was a society photographer stationed in Dublin; in Ulysses Molly Bloom has been one of his clients. 245.11: “squiggling:” quibbling 245.12: “pebble infinibility:” the bottoms of fishbowls are frequently lined with pebbles. 245.14: “horker:” harker: listener: ear 245.14: “ribber:” rib; see next entry. Auscultation, listening to the heart by placing the ear against the chest, was standard medical practice before the invention of the stethoscope. 245.14-5: “save the giregargoh and dabardin going on in mount of knowledge (munt):” except for the interference originating in his own head (mind). Compare, for instance, “buzz in his braintree” (180.22), or the description of a “house of thoughtsam” (292.14ff.). Perception in Joyce is never, I think, uninflected by some degree of projection, sensory and psychological: eardrums are always drums (see 23.25-7, 243.19, 243.7 and notes), contributing their own noise to the transaction. 245.16: “watch of your night:” see 244.30-1 and note. 245.17: “acoo with sucking loves:” Bottom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream: "I will roar as gently as any sucking dove.” Coo – “acoo” – as in “bill and coo:” FW’s signature for pigeons and doves 245.20: “Brace of girdles, brasse of beauys:” “Brace of:” two of. So: two girls, brassy boys - i.e. pushy, loud, forward. (Sounds like a memory of the two girls and three soldiers of the park scene, but “brasse” may also be a second “brace,” adding up to two courting couples.) 245.20-1: “With the width of the way for jogjoy. Hulker’s cieclest elbownunsense:” a 1905 Hansard’s records concerns that the footpaths of Phoenix Park are being taken over by cyclists. 245.21: “Hulker’s cyclist elbownunsense:” Hircus Civis Eblenensis; compare 215.27. Also: Hitler's silliest nonsense? Compare 410.7, where "hikler's highways:" is definitely Hitler's Autobahn. 245.24: “wenderer:” wend, as in to wend one’s way 245.24: “Jempson’s weed decks Jacqueson’s Island:” Jim and Jack (or sons of same): FW’s Jim – John / Shem – Shaun pairing 245.25-6: “hellpelhullpulthebell…Bing. Bong Bangbong:” pulling the house-bell, followed by the resulting sound 245.25: “none iron welcome:” no iron – i.e. hard, forbidding – welcome 245.26-7: “You took with the mulligrubs and we lack mulsum? No sirrebob!:” something like: would it be possible – perish the thought - that you’re feeling bad and the establishment doesn’t have something (presumably alcoholic: mulsum or syllabub) to make you feel better? No sirry bob! (McHugh has “cholic” for “mulligrubs;” more generally, the word can signify feeling grumpy, depressed, out of sorts.) The sequence here (245.26 – 246.2) recalls “Cyclops,” 12.1600-1620. 245.27: “sirrebob!:” Sir Bob: false name assumed by Sir Tristan Mickleford in Flotow’s Martha 245.28: “scuts:” “scut” is a term of contempt; ”scutwork” is menial labor. Main idea: were she queen or drudge (or worse, or both: an FW equal-opposite.) Perhaps (as in Martha) nobility disguised as drudge. As with the prankquean (see 21.15 and McHugh’s note) “quean” means whore. 245.29-30: “how matt your mark, luked your johl:” make your mark if (because of lockjaw) you can’t speak. Also (“johl”) jowls as a sign of old age 245.30: “dapplebellied mugs:” not in OED, but a Google Images search makes it clear that a “doublebellied” vessel is pear-shaped. 245.32: “buttles:” bottles; performs the duties of a butler 245.33: “his alefru’s up to his hip:” compare Bloom in “Nausicaa:” “a sixfooter with a wifey up to his watchpocket” 245.33: “Watsy Lyke:” the manservant 245.34: “don’t omiss Kate:” don’t forget (Miss) Kate. 245.35-6: “Where Chavvyout Chacer calls the cup and Pouropourim stands astirrup:” a glance at the pub’s almanac picture, depicting a typical “Stirrup Cup” scene. “Pouropourim” is probably the server – usually, in FW, a young woman. 246.1: “Whoopie Weeks:” “Making Whoopie,” song made popular by Eddie Cantor in 1928. Means making love 246.2: “must put with the Jug and Chambers:” again: the Mullingar House had once been an inn. “Put up” in two senses: staying the night, and reluctantly tolerating a hotel with no indoor plumbing – instead, settling for a water jug and chamberpot in each room. 246.4: “felled of Gorey:” gory field of those fallen (“felled”) on the field of glory; compare Waterloo’s “bluddle filth” (10.9). 246.5: “flambs with mutton candles:” candles made from the fat of sheep/lambs (“flambs:” flaming lambs) – cheaper and proverbially lower-order than wax candles; one sign of the difference was their way of flaming erratically. Also, “flambeaux” 246.5: "Hushkah, a horn:!" Hush! A horn! 246.7: “thundercloud periwig:” So far as I can find, LeFanu’s use of this phrase (noted by McHugh) is unique. For other indications that HCE wears a wig, see 51.69, 396.18, 491.30, 559.25, 578.3, 625.2-3. 246.7-8: “thundercloud…lightning bug:” first signs of cloudburst that will take over at 250.23 246.10: “potstill:" pestle. Also, see next item and note. 246.11: “to hear all be bubbles be saying:” uromancy: divination by reading bubbles made by urinating in a pot. Compare Molly in “Penelope,” urinating into her chamber pot: “o Lord how noisy I hope theyre bubbles on it for a wad of money from some fellow.” See .14-5 and note. 246.11-3: “the coming man, the future woman, the food that is to build, what he with fifteen years will do:” Bulwer Lytton’s The Coming Race, which imagines a future super-race raised on a magical food substance called “Vril,” later incorporated into “Bovril.” Both the Nazis and Soviets promised a “new man” - presumably including a new woman, too; both promised dramatic results from programs of fixed duration: Stalin’s Five-Year Plans; Hitler’s “Give me five years and you will not recognize Germany.” (Before that, “New Woman” was a term dating from the nineties, if not earlier.) 246.13: "the ring in her mouth:" Joyce's Notebook VI.B.18.279 excerpt "ring in mouth" is from “The Story of Tristram and La Belle Iseult,” in Cornwall’s Wonderland by Mabel Quiller-Couch: "So with Branwaine's gladly given help, Ganhardine conveyed Sir Tristram's ring to Queen Iseult in a cup of wine, so that when the queen drank, there at the bottom of the cup lay Sir Tristram's ring." 246.14: “palashe:” splash; Sanskrit for flowery tree 246.14-5: “stars astir and stirabout:” given Kate’s witchy fortune-telling here, I suggest that this is a kind of spell, on the order of “Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.” The stirring “stars” recall Keats’ “beaded bubbles winking at the brim.” 246.15: “wonner:” oner: special, outstanding individual 246.16-7: “Et la pau’ Leonie has the choice of her lives between Josephinus and Mario-Louis for who is to wear the lily:” the story of A Royal Divorce, introduced near the beginning of I.2 and anticipated in the Waterloo sequence of I.1, with the genders reversed: the woman to choose between two men. The play’s most memorable scene, the Battle of Waterloo, is noted at .27. 246.17: “choice of her times:” chance of her life 246.19: “lead raptivity captive:” “raptivity:” both enslaved and enslaver (“raptor”) - perhaps a barbarian plunderer, having been captured, now being led in a Roman triumph 246.21: “campus:” Latin: battlefield – appropriate for Napoleon (.16) and – although invented after his time - a Gatling Gun (.21); also for (“merchand” (.23)) marching 246.21: “Ninan ninan:” the sound of the “belle” (.20) just called for. Also, Brendan O Hehir glosses as Anglicized Gaelic for small child; hence “Childs will be wilds” (.21-2). 246.22: “vamp:” seductress. Perhaps also, given the “marching:” “That part of hose or stockings which covers and foot or ankle” (OED). Used in this sense in “Calypso” 246.23. “merchand:” merchandise. Compare Portrait: E.C. offers her hand as “a soft merchandise.” 246.23-4: “The horseshoe magnete draws his field and don’t the fillyings fly:” the “fillyings”/fillies are young women, drawn toward the magnate, the plutocrat, here present as one of the swells at a horse race. 246.23: “field:” magnetic field; also, field of contestants – here, in a horse race 246.24: “Educande of Sorrento:” Vico was a tutor in Sorrento. Also, Le Educande di Sorrento, 1890 “Melodrama giacoso” by Raffaele Berninzone 246.25: “Arranked:” arrayed as in a military rank and file 246.26: “orangeray, Dolly Brae:” old gray – or brown - mare? “Orange-gray” is art-textbook equivalent of “brown.” 246.27-9: “baffle of Whatalose when Adam Leftus and the devil took our hindmost gegifting her with his painapple:” “Every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost:” British/American equivalent of “Sauve qui peut!,” retreating French cry at Waterloo. Also, given presence of Eden story: Adam, having, thanks to the devil and the apple, discovered sinful sex, got Eve pregnant by way of her moist hindmost, thus inducing the postlapsarian curse that she bring forth in pain. “Adam Leftus” in the lurch. 246.29: “painapple:” pineapple: WW I slang for hand grenade. Also (see .28), Adam’s apple. Also, in Italian and perhaps other cultures, a symbol of hospitality 246.30: “dark deed doer:” in King Lear, Edgar’s “did the deed of darkness” means: had sex. 246.31: “Yem or Yan:” Shem or Shaun 246.30-1: “Jerkoff and Eatsoup:” He jerks off and eats it up. (In “Penelope,” Molly compares semen to gruel. Yuck: I dimly remember stories of this sort from my obviously depraved childhood. Young lads just can’t get enough body-product jokes.) Also, penis and mouth. Perhaps obvious: “Eatsoup” is Esau, eating his mess of pottage. (Or gruel) 246.31-2: “felixed is who culpas does and harm’s worth healing:” the Fall, as just recounted in .28-9, necessitated salvation – healing – through Jesus. 246.31: “culpas:” see 238.21, above; also 246.30, above. 246.31-2: “harm’s worth:” Arthur Harmsworth, Viscount Northcliffe: influential newspaper publisher; rabidly pro-war during WW I; born in Chapelizod 246.32: “Tiggers:” See 244.10 and note. 246.33-4: “For she must walk out:” Irishism: to “walk out” or “go walking” with someone is to be with him/her in a courtship. Fits the context; see next entry. 246.35-6: “Teaseforhim. Toesforhim. Tossforhim:” McHugh has “doesforhim” for “Toesforhim;” Oxford editors do not. Either way, a summation of James and Nora’s first date: they went out walking, she teased him, then (perhaps) did for him – in any case, she tossed him off, that is, gave him a hand job. Not a coincidence that “Jeremy” now returns as “chastenot” (.36), not chaste. Also, “Tossforhim” as in: toss or flip a coin to decide which of the two men you’ll go out with. Compare Molly: “well as well him as another.” 246.36: “Postreintroducing Jeremy, the chastenot coulter:” return of the horse-riding strain, again with Shem/Glugg type astride. Wellington’s horse at Waterloo was chestnut in color. “Coulter:” colt, canter. Also, courter/courtier 246.36-247.1:” the flowing taal that brooks no brooking runs on:” horse’s tail, flowing in the wind as it “runs on” 247.2: “timekiller:” someone killing time – i.e. lounging about. Also, given the context (“foretold of him”) fortune-teller. Sets up occult sequence to follow 247.3: “arubyat knychts, with their tales within wheels:” the Arabian Nights features tales within tales. 247.4: “stucks between spokes:” inserting a stick in the spokes is one way of putting a halt to the rotation of the (.3) “wheels” and causing the vehicle – here, apparently, a bicycle – to come to a sudden, violent halt, as when (“ramming amok at the brake” (.5)), slamming on the brakes. Whether propelled by horse, bicycle, feet (“on the hike” (.4)), or simply the frenzies of “yougendtougend” (.7), he seems to have come to a check by the end of the paragraph. 247.5: “running awage with the use of reason (sics):” six is the last year before the age of reason. Here, with ("sics”) perhaps a glance at the pedant’s “[sic],” he is becoming a precocious young scholar until (see next item) he hits adolescence. 247.6: “ramming amok at the brake of his voice (secs):” sex, setting in, for males, when the voice breaks 247.6-8: “lasterhalft was set for getting the besterwhole of his yougendtougend, for control number thrice was operating the subliminal of his invaded personality:” language of séances, perhaps with admixture of psychoanalysis. Compare this, from Sir Oliver Lodge’s report of “the Piper case,” mentioned in "Scylla and Charybdis::" “I feel that we are in secondary or tertiary touch…with some stratum of the surviving personality of the individuals who are represented as sending messages.” Quoting this passage in Science and Psychical Phenomena, George Nugent Merle Tyrrell comments: “He means by secondary or tertiary that communication is through the medium or medium and control.” “Control” is the common spiritualist term for the deceased once he/she completely takes over the medium’s personality. In Human Personality and Its Survival of Bodily Death, Frederic William Henry Myers - a major source, I believe, for Joyce’s knowledge of spiritualism and occultism - often uses the term “invaded person” to designate someone who experiences an involuntary telepathic perception of something, typically dire, occurring simultaneously to a friend, relative, or loved one. The classic story is of those in London and New York reported to have awakened, terrified, in the middle of the night as the Titanic was sinking with someone they knew aboard. “Subliminal” was a psychic word before it became a psychological one. Spiritualist account blends with onset of adolescence: his latter/lower/lesser half is getting the better of his youthful virtue, invading it from underneath. Variant of Shaun/Shem as top/bottom, spiritual/carnal halves of body. (See, e.g. 246.30-1, above.) I suggest that this invasion from below accounts for the outburst (247.9-11) of violent “underworld” slang. (Also, the medium has been taken over by a rough lot.) Gist: they can all go to hell. There is a similar invasion of personality at page 501. 247.9-10: “He nobit smorfi and go poltri and let all the tondo gan bola del ruffo:” see McHugh. “Nobit” remains elusive, but the gist is: he grimaced and took to his bed, letting the world go to hell. 247.10-1: “Barto no know him mor. Eat larto altruis with most perfect stranger:” He’s changed so much that Barto – whoever that is – wouldn’t recognize him, and he would be a perfect stranger to (with?) Saint Lawrence O’Toole(s). 247.15: “Teapotty. Teapotty:” Asked how he is, he answers either (McHugh) “Not too bad” in modern Greek, or, in English, “Tiptop!” (In either case, he’s lying.) After thirteen pages, a return to the tea party. I think the intervening pages can be taken as fugal fantasia, similar to, for instance, the Bloom “Messiah” sequence in “Circe,” which goes along for 605 lines during the one or two seconds that it takes Zoe to go from “Make a stump speech out of it” to “Talk away till you’re black in the face.” 247.16: “Kod knows. Anything ruind. Meetingless:” God knows. Everything’s ruined and meaningless. After the fiasco(s), including the recent one, he’s feeling down. (Still, he will try one more time to guess the colors of the girls’ underpants, especially Issy’s.) 247.17: “such a tooth:” returns us to the tea party’s aching tooth 247.18: “tart:” loose woman 247.19: “girders up:” expression: to gird up the loins. McHugh glosses as garters: girdle also seems to be present. 247.21: “exude of margary:” oxide of mercury: used for treatment of red/pink eye. Certainly fits the context: his “eyerim rust” (.22) is a red-rimmed eye. 247.24: “Soldwoter:” Google yields a number of hits in which either fresh or salt water is prescribed for treating a black eye. On the other hand, he is also, at least metaphorically, rubbing salt in the “hidden wound” (.23), the secret “bruisy place” (.25) – that being, I suggest, the pain of rejection, which despite his growing up or pretending to (growing ”moramor maenneritsch” (.27)), has not lost its power to sting. Compare Richard, to Bertha, at the end of Exiles: “I have wounded my soul for you – a deep wound of doubt which can never be healed." Also, soda water is good for washing out stains. 247.26: “loseth:” lost 247.26-7: “once for every:” minor Annotations glitch: the Lowell poem is “Once to,” not “Once for.” Sentiment of the poem – essentially, that the march of civilization is always a case of noble martyrs prevailing, in the end, over timeservers - matches Glugg’s returning view of himself as heroic outcast. 247.27-8: “the mode grow more moramor maenneritsch and the Tarara boom decay:” can mean two opposite things, I think: one, that the times (“mode”) are becoming more mannish (“macho” as we’d say today) and jingoist; two, the opposite: that they’re becoming more “mannerly” (polite) and the jingo spirit is declining (decaying). (Second belief was much in the air when Joyce was growing up.) In Irish – “Tara” – context this means that the old fighting Fenian spirit is dying out. 247.28: “give but to drink:” “give to think:” basically an English version of the French version of the English “give cause to think.” (“Given to drink” and “driven to drink” are also probably in the background.) 247.29-34: “all skirtaskortas must change her tunics. So warred he from first to last, forebanned and betweenly, a smuggler for lifer. List the blank ve veered as heil! Split the hvide and aye seize heaven! He knows for he’s seen it in black and white through his eyetrompit trained upon jenny’s and all that sort of thing which is dandymount to a clearobscure:” see 241.33, above. In her “Ta Ra Ra Boom De Ay” performances, Lottie Collins was famous for (on “Boom!”) raising her skirts above her garters. (They were later – after FW – sold at auction at Sotheby’s.) It’s just been established that she – or some such woman – is white from her garters up (247.19). Lottie’s stockings were black. “Lift the blank ve veered as heil!” something white (“blank”) has been revealed as heilig, holy; then (”Split…heaven!”) you split it wide and the eye (and I) sees heaven! Some female performer is revealing her thighs (naked above the stockings), and then spreading her legs. The viewers are in ecstasy. 247.30: “smuggler:” again: in Portrait, “smugging” is sexual activity. At 326-36-327.1, a groom slavers at thoughts of all the “smukklers” he’s about to have with his bride. 247.31: “heil!” A Nazi salute of “Heil” – consistent with Glugg’s access of youthful aggressiveness. Was, of course, widespread well before Hitler came to power 247.31: “Split the hvide and aye seize heaven:” perhaps a coincidence, but the most famous eye-splitting scene of all is in the opening of Buñuel and Dali’s 1929 Un Chien Andalou, which is juxtaposed with views of the moon. 247.32: “he’s seen it in black and white;” cf. .34 “dandymount to a clearobscure:” black stockings, white thighs. At .19 he thought she was black (“Melained” (.19): see McHugh) from neck to knee but also white (“vied”) from her garters/girdle up. For a spell, anyway, he seems to suffer from color-blindness. Compare 248.21-2, where it is suggested that color-blindedness, as well as elderly impotence, is his problem. (So: is she really dressed (“clearobscure”) chiaroscurally, or is it just the way he sees things? Book IV (611.2-613.12) poses a similar question: does the seer see everything as green because of his (early-onset glaucomic green-stage) vision, or is it that the landscape (Irish, after all) really is all green? A version of "Is it hot in here, or is it me?") 247.33: “eyetrompit trained upon jenny’s and all that sort of thing:” recalling I.1: Willingdone’s “tallowscoop” trained “obscides on the flanks of the jinnies” (8.35-6). “Eyetrompit:” an ear trumpet for the eyes, pointing at their flanks, their rump. (“Ear trumpet” appears in “Cyclops.”) “All that sort of thing” is a bit of Bertie Woosterish stage-English. 247.34: “Prettimaid:” From the nursery rhyme “Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary:” “Pretty maids all in a row.” 247.3-248.2: “Prettimaid tints may try their taunts: apple, bacchante, custard, dove, eskimo, feldgrau, hematite, isingglass, jet, kipper, lucile, mimosa, nut, oysterette, prune, quasimodo, royal, sago, tango, umber, vanilla, wisteria, xray, yesplease, zaza, philomel, theerose. What are they all by? Shee.:” Oxford editors insert “ginger” after “feldgrau,” making for a complete 26-numbered alphabet, rounded out by the two digraphs “ph” and “th” to make 28, then Issy’s “Sh,” making 29. Although some on the list may count as “tints,” most of the girls are trying to get his attention by becoming or, in his eyes anyway, appearing to become, various kinds of enticing food. (“Sago,” for instance, is an ingredient in puddings.) Still with a sweet tooth (.17), he is motivated by appetite as well other drives. 247.35: “eskimo:” Eskimo Pies were around in Joyce’s time. 248.7: “lode:” as in the lodestone of magnetic attraction 248.11-2: “My top it was brought Achill’s low, my middle I ope before you, my bottom’s a vulser if ever there valsed:” face, vagina, feet. Top: Helen’s face, which launched a thousand ships including the one that brought Achilles to his eventual death. (Echo of Marlowe’s “topless towers.”) Middle: as at 248.3, the vagina being spread open (“ope”) as erotic overture, if that’s the word. “Bottom’s a vulser if ever there valsed:” what one waltzes with – feet. Here, these regions tend to overlap and swap identities. 248.15: “weapon:” slang for penis; compare 566.22. (No idea how one would “see through” a penis – though, come to think, in “Penelope” Molly does testify that Mulvey’s “had a kind of eye,” and Willingdone’s doubles as a telescope – but Glugg’s equipment is apparently being compared with her “bellyswain’s” “twalf” twelve-horsepower walrus-tusk (.21-2) counterpart, which sounds impressive (although, be it noted, not compared to, for instance, the twenty horsepower of a Ford Model T, and, twelve halved being six, “twalf whulerusspower” does remind us that Willingdone’s was “Sexcaliber hrosspower” (8.6)), but really no good to her because he doesn’t know how to use it, maybe because he’s old and impotent).) 248.16: “And his eyelids are painted:” In “Circe,” the effeminate Gerald “gilds his eyelids.” 248.16-7: “If my tutor here is cut for an oldeborre I’m Flo, shy of peeps:” Archaic “olde” spelling to emphasize age. To “cut a bore” is to drill a hole. Oldeborres (Danish for cockchafers, as McHugh notes) eat flowers and ruin lawns and, like earwigs, are deeply unpopular with gardeners. A cockchafer is a species of (“beetles” (.18)) beetle. 248.17: “shy of peeps:” she doesn’t like - tries to avoid - peepers, Peeping Toms. 248.18-9: “Pull the boughpee to see how we sleep:” echoes rhythm (and some words) of “Rockabye Baby,” especially the lines “When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.” 248.19: “Bee Peep! Peepette:” OED says “peep” is dialect for pipit, a species of bird. 248.19-20: “lump of a tongue for lungeon:” offering one’s tongue: a French kiss. (See note to .23-5.) Also, a piece of tongue served at luncheon: for obvious reasons it seems to have fallen from favor, but in the past, beef tongue was a popular food item. 248.20: “Turkey’s delighter:” a Turk’s delighter would be a harem girl. 248.20-1: “hys hyphen mys:” S – M? a long shot, but compare 249.18, where he’s addressed as “Sem.” 248.23: “Shake…Sweet swanwater:” possibly a combining of two epithets for “Shake”speare, “Sweet Will” and “Swan of Avon” 248.23-5: “Shake hands through the thicketloch! Sweet swanwater! My other is mouthfilled. This kissing wold’s full of killing fellows kneeling voyantly to the cope of heaven:” a variation on the Arrah-na-Pogue story. In the original, Arrah’s kiss transfers a written message to a prisoner; in Joyce’s version it’s usually a key that gets passed (see note to 279. Fn. 1, lines 7-8); here it’s a tongue through the lock – the keyhole – of “thicketloch” (.23), wicket (compare “wicked” (.28)), with the result that the “other is mouthfilled” (.24). There’s also a Lady-of-the-Lakeish parallel story of a woman’s hand reaching up out of a lake (“-loch”). 248.23: “thicketloch:” compare the “triplepatlockt” “gout” (triply padlocked gate”) of 69.24. 248.24: “killing:” contemporary expression meaning, approximately, smashing, gorgeous, especially when applied to person of opposite sex. In “Circe,” Josie Breen says Bloom, as lady-killer, is “killing simply.” Compare 430.33: “killingest ladykiller.” 248.25: “kneeling voyantly to the cope of heaven:” people at prayer with “hope of heaven” – that they will go there 248.25-6: “And somebody’s coming, I feel for a fect:” given highly eroticized context, “coming” here probably has the sexual meaning, and the “somebody” is her. 248.26: "old Deanns:" incorporates “Ann,” her older counterpart and, here, rival 248.27: “threaspanning:” threatening. Also, trepanning: see .17-8 and note. 248.28: “be wicked:” by wicket (gate) 248.28: “Underwoods:” underworld. Also, an Underwood typewriter, as it “spells” (types out) “business” matters (.28-9) 248.28-9: “bushment’s business:” bushman: cunt-fancier. (Compare “bushranger” in “Scylla and Charybdis,” several spots in FW where “bush” is clearly sexual in meaning.) 248.29: “sprig poplar:” speak proper 248.30: “’Twas my lord of Glendalough benedixed the gape for me:” compare pages 203-4: she lost her virginity near there. 248.31: “intimast innermost:” “mast” is underbrush. (Occurs in this sense in “Circe.”) Again (e.g. .28-9; see note), shrubbery – brush, bushes – stands for pubic region. 248.32-5: “Six thirteens…3 Behind Street and 2 Turnagain Lane…Wonder One’s my cipher and Seven Sisters is my nighbrood:” 3, 2, and 1-1 (“Wonder One’s”) give us the expected 1132, whose numbers add up to 7. 613 may refer to the “613 commandments” or mitzvot first extracted from the Torah in the 3rd century A.D. 248.35: “Seven Sisters is my nighbrood:” neighborhood. “Seven Sisters” is a common term for the Pleiades. 248.36: “pink of:” pick of 248.36-249.1: “You can colour up till you’re prawn:” prawns change color when cooked, from gray to orange. (Although OED has “prawn pink” as “bright pink.”) 249.2-3: “But if this could see with its backsight he’d be the grand old greeneyed lobster:” because boiled lobsters are famously red, redcoated British soldiers were called “lobsterbacks.” Red and green are opposites which, as afterimages (stare at a red dot, then at a white wall) can switch colors. A recurring FW example of coinciding contraries 249.2: “backsight:” backside; buttocks. Occurs in this sense in “Cyclops” 249.3-4: “since Valentine:” since Valentine’s Day. Maybe obvious. Not to be ruled out, I think, is Rudolph Valentino, greatest lover of the silent movie era, whose funeral in 1926 was mobbed by female adorers. 249.4: “Wink’s the winning word:” expression: “wink of the word” – some word or phrase that sets one off. Occurs in “Cyclops.” Also – and certainly pertinent, given context – a mare in heat exhibits what is called “vulvar winking.” The highly feminized and seductive habitation of .6-20 is all “consonantia and avowals” (.13) – consent and avowals of desire. 249.6-15: “In…it:" this passage is heavily indebted to Revelations 28, its language here being applied to a female body as object of desire. 249.7: “rubinen…elfinbone:” red and white: traditional poetic colors of carnality. (Jasper, grape, milk, apple: all the items in the paragraph seem to be red, white, or purple.) 249.8: “jasper:” Again, Revelations 21:11: “And her light was like unto a stone most precious, even like a jasper stone, clear as crystal.” Jasper is red. 249.9: “A grape cluster of lights hangs therebeneath:” in view of my 249.6-15 reading: “lights” = lungs. (Actually, that’s literally true, as in “liver and lights.”) Not hard, I think, to envision a bunch of grapes as the lungs, with their cluster of small alveolar sacs, hanging from the windpipe. Compare next entry. 249.10: “breathings:” being in the vicinity of the lights/lungs, breathing is naturally going on. 249.10-3: “the breathings of her fairness, the fairness of fondance and the fairness of milk and rhubarb and the fairness of roasted meats and uniomargrits and the fairness of promise with consonantia and avowals:” all items in the catalogue are either breathy scents of something she’s eaten lately or breathy reminders of something she’s said lately. “Uniomargrits” gives us both onions and pearls, the pearly gates of Revelations, also probably remembering the “union” of Hamlet, act five. “Consonantia and avowals:” again: consent and avowals, constituting the words in a proposition or proposal. 249.11: “fondance:” fondness. Also: Fendant de Sion, Joyce’s favorite wine, from the “grape cluster” of .9, which she’s presumably been drinking. Joyce liked comparing it to an archduchess’s urine, but in fact it’s a white wine. 249.14: “height herup:” high sheriff 249.14-6: “The height herup exalts it and the lowness her down abaseth it. It vibroverberates upon the tegmen and prosplodes from pomoeria:” in sum: the sweet words she hears uptop, with her vibrating eardrum, get debased into the vibrations of her other membrane (this sense in “Sirens”) down below; they resonate in her ear and, downward, explode in her (Roman “pomerium”) sacred precincts. 249.15: “tegmen:” tegmen tympani: “tegmental wall” which (Wikipedia) “separates the cranial and tympanic cavities,” made of “thin plate of bone” (“elfinbone:” 249.7) 249.17: “and keep your other augur on her paypaypay:” however seductive you find her, keep your eye on how much she’s going to cost you. 249.18-9: “And Sunny, my gander, he’s going to land her:” Joyce’s childhood nickname was “Sunny Jim;” he here plays the gander to Nora Barnacle’s barnacle goose. 249.20: “tug:” tug-of-war, between the two suitors 249.21-2: “With a ring ding dong, they raise clasped hands and advance more steps to retire to the saum:” ritual before boxing match (in the “ring”) – they shake (or touch) hands, then retire to their respective corners, here accompanied by sound of the referee’s bell. 249.29: “Misha Misha:” Irish expression; never have been quite able to figure out what it means 249.29: “Misha Misha…Toffey Tough:” as McHugh notes, the “mishe mishe to tauftauf” motif established at 3.9-10; as usual, also the I – I to T – T of Issy and Tristan, Morse I and T. 249.32: “Her reverence:” a reverence is a bow or (here) curtsy, as part of a dance; also an equal-opposite “irreverence” 249.34: “helf:” help 249.34: “sauce:” just 249.36: “bloomers:” women’s voluminous over/underpants of the 1890’s; Molly Bloom remembers them. 249.36: “gegging een man:” egging him on 249.36-250.1: “gegging een man arose:" giving each man a rose; here, as part of a Maypole dance 250.1-2 “She’s her sex, for certain:” She’s a woman, all right. 250.3-4: “ – Willest thou rossy banders havind? He simules to be tight in ribbings round his rumpffkorpff:” Alice B. Gomme, The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland (1965), Vol. 1, p. 8, on “Angel and Devil:” "One child is called the 'Angel,' another child the 'Devil,' and a third child the 'Minder.' The children are given the names of colours by the Minder. Then the Angel comes over and knocks, when the following dialogue takes place. Minder: 'Who’s there?' Answer: 'Angel.' Minder: 'What do you want?' Angel: 'Ribbons.' Minder: 'What colour?' Angel: Red.' Minder retorts, if no child is so named, 'Go and learn your A B C.' If the guess is right the child is led away. The Devil then knocks, and the dialogue and action are repeated. 250.3-11: “Willest…facepails:” Ellmann (1984), page 53: “At charades, the favorite game of the [Sheehy] household, Joyce could be depended on to do or say something ingenious. Asked to represent the word sunset, he sat in a rounded arm chair with just the top of his head showing over its top.” In this charades sequence – the last of II.1’s games - a scenario is suggested in the form of a question, and Shem/Glugg attempts to act out the response. Traces of the misbegotten tea party, last heard from at 247.15ff., are in evidence, also of the color-guessing game: the first color is red (“rossy” (.3)); the second is black (“Swarthants” (.5)); the third, perhaps (pale face in “facepails” (.9?)) white. The performance goes as follows. Do you have red ribbons? (But also, will you have some (rosebud) tea?) “Rossy banders” cues red ribbon. He pretends or seems to tie (and tighten) a ribbon around his forehead. Are you certain that it’s in a shorn – short - style? (But also “shoin-style” tea is a style of tea named from the kind of tea-house building in which it was traditionally served: see education.asianart.org.) “Swarthants” cues black man, black from sweeping chimneys. He pretends to be sweeping their chimneys. (As McHugh notes, “shorn stile” is German Schornstein, chimney.) Can you choose a fresh item? (but also: “fro’ Sheidam:” tea from China) “Ajew ajew” cues tailor. He pretends to be a tailor: cutting cloth with scissors, biting the thread off with his teeth, spitting out the stray bits of thread. (Compare 312.14 and note.) Biting threads in this manner is something I have observed in amateur sewers. The three responses enact three often outcast types: gypsy; chimney sweep or black man; tailor/Jew. (The last two, at least, are common Shem types.) Each of the three acts results from a mis-hearing or misunderstanding of the request. First: bandanas (“rossy banders”) are, at least conventionally, de rigeur gypsy wear (and, according to Google Images, disproportionately tend to be red): Shem responds by tying a ribbon/band around his head. Second: the “swart” (and “shvartser” – always or almost always pejorative Yiddish for “black person”) in “Swarthants” elicits the chimney sweep, a black man. Third, “choose,” as “ajew ajew” elicits tailoring, a proverbially Jewish trade. 250.4: “rumpffkorpff:” dumpkopf: German for “blockhead” 250.6: “He makes semblant to be swiping their chimbleys:” according to E. L. Epstein, “’Swiping their chimbleys’ is a recurrent phrase in a salacious British folk song” for sexual intercourse; he cites a passage in Dylan Thomas’ Under Milk Wood. 250.7: “Can you a jew ajew fro’ Sheidam:” Are you a Jew from Shiedem? Until WW II, Shiedem was a Jewish community on the outskirts of Rotterdam. 250.7: “ajew ajew:” adieu, adieu 250.8: “cutting up:” acting up, behaving flamboyantly: here, flirting with a “pair of sissers” (the “sosie sesthers” (of 3.12 and, later, the park scene), in fact threatening, or taking, their (.9) maidenheads 250.9: “their maidens and spitting their heads into their facepails:” the “maiden” was an Edinburgh prototype of the guillotine, reserved for the highborn. Heads falling into buckets. I’m guessing the connection is with his teeth chopping the thread. 250.9: “their heads:” threads 250.11: “little pukers:” Lilliputians. “Pukers” probably = babies/children by way of Shakespeare’s “mewling and puking in its mother’s arms:” As You Like It 250.14: “then’ll be largely temts for that:” There’ll be time for that 250.16: “a burning would:” carnal desire. Having put aside childish things (.11), he now enters, in earnest, the stage of adolescent lust. Much of the next two pages will reflect the change. 250.17: “moidered’s lieb:” mother’s love. Stereotypical Brooklyn accent for “murdered” 250.17: “must leap no more:” no more dancing. (The chapter has, of course, been full of dancing.) Maybe dancing = leaping because of Scottish setting: highland fling and all that 250.20: “Lift your right:” right hand, for taking an oath 250.20-2: “Lift your right to your Liber Lord. Link your left to your lass of liberty. Lala Lala, Leapermann, your lep’s but a loop to lee:” notwithstanding the prohibition (they “must leap no more” (.17)), this is the language of dancing, especially square-dancing, or its British Isles equivalent. (And he’s a “Leapermann,” leaper-man, despite “leap no more” / “Sleep no more” (more “Macbeth).) “The Scottish play” is here bringing in some Scottish dancing, which involves leaping. 250.21: “lass of liberty:” Statue of Liberty. (I suggest that it’s paired/contrasted with a right arm raised in a Nazi salute, to the “Liber Lord.”) Mapwise, if the Italian/European Father Liber (see McHugh) is to the right, the American statue would be to the left. For an Irishman going into exile – “leaving Libnius” (.20), the Liffey – those, according to FW (and Joyce in general), are the two main choices. 250.22: “your lep’s but a loop to lee:” more leaping, more dancing: American folk song, usually accompanied by dancing: “Here we go loobie-lou, here we go loobie-lie, here we go loobie-lou, all on a Saturday night.” 250.26: “Perdition stinks before us:” phrase: “road to perdition.” 250.23ff.: “A fork…” forked lightning. Beginning of thunderstorm. Some later manifestations: “blasting rod” (250.25): lightning rod. “Kilt her kirtles up” (250.29): in order to run out of the rain, her “troup” (.30) following at her heels. (Cf. “Oxen of the Sun:” "womenfolk skipping off with kirtles catched up soon as the pour came.”) “Diamondinah’s vestin” (.31): glinting raindrops, spangled on someone’s clothing. “Scent where air” (.32): scent of fresh air, after a storm. (Again, cf. “Oxen of the Sun:” “The air without is impregnated with raindew moisture, life essence celestial, glistening on Dublin stone there under starshiny coelum. God's air, the Allfather's air, scintillant circumambient cessile air. Breathe it deep into thee.”) “Flares” (.32): lightning flashes. 250.34-251.3: a mad dash to get out of the rain, the “visitation” of “impluvius” (cf. “Eumaeus:” “visitation of Jupiter Pluvius”). .36: the raindrops that were shimmering at .31 have made Glugg’s clothes “piebald” (yet again, cf. “Oxen of the Sun,” where Mulligan’s “smallclothes” are “piebald,” not shimmering, from the rain, because the sun has set). “Goth’s scourge” (251.2): God’s scourge: according to Vico, the sound of thunder, as interpreted by primitive man. Well: enough, except to note that in the rest, Glugg is left alone out in the rain, that we hear the thunder at 251.19 (“A bimbamb bum!”), and that the whole sequence owes a lot to Swift’s “Description of a City Shower.” 250.23: "A fork of hazel:” a dowsing wand, drawn to and indicative of water. Also a “blasting rod” (.25), among other things (see McHugh) a lightning rod, attracting fire - of the four elements, the opposite of water. The right combination for the coming storm 250.23-32: “in vox the verveine virgins ode…frees from evil smells!...For ever they scent where air she went:” not unrelated to the fact that smells of the earth do become sharper when night falls and dew forms, especially if a storm is brewing. “Ode:” odor: as of the late 19th century, vervain (.23), as “verbena,” was a popular perfume scent. See next entry. 250.23: “verveine:” also, because said to have staunched the wounds of Jesus on the “cross”/”rood” (.24), called the “devil’s bane;” hence “Behind me, frees from evil smells!” (.25) – with, as McHugh notes, an echo of “Satan, get thee behind me!” 250.27: “Aghatharept they fleurelly to Nebnos will and Rosocale:” given “Mary had a little lamb” strain in this paragraph, relevant that St. Agatha’s emblem is the lamb. Until it gets to “Rosocale,” this sentence matches the rhythm of “It made the children laugh and sing to see a lamb at school,” to be taken up again at .31-3. 250.28: “now:” no 259.29: “as seed we sow:” compare 176.15-6. 250.30-1: “And what do you think that pride was drest in! Voolykins’ diamondinah’s vestin:” Lions come in prides; sheep give wool. Combines “wolf in sheep’s clothing” with “the lion shall lie down with the lamb.” Also, a society-page report from an upper-class wedding: the bride was dressed in… Sounds like a wedding dress with a spangled bodice. 250.32-3: “the fauns’ flares widens wild to see a floral’s school:” lecherous men, ogling girls. Their glares – eyes - are wildly widened. Again, lust is in the ascendant. 250.34: “Lignifer:” as Lucifer, fire. As lignum, wood. See note to .23: summoner of both lightning and water 250.35: “a marrer of the sward incoronate:” again, Macbeth, present throughout this sequence: “the multitudinous seas incarnadine.” Also: the rain is marring the greensward: more red-green. Also, again: dew on the lawn, crowned with dew, glistening in the moonlight 251.1: “nor far jocubus? Nic for jay?” Joyce, J., who liked the fact that his last name resembles Latin jocus, for joke. 251.1-2: “Get up:” Stand up; stop cowering. (Very bad advice, of course, in a thunderstorm.) Like Joyce, Glugg is terrified of lightning. 251.2-3: “There’s a visitation on your impluvium:” he’s disgraced himself, either with semen stains or by wetting himself out of fear or because the girls see the “piebald” marks and think he’s done one or the other or some combination. (Probably the real cause is just the raindrop spots on his clothing.) Mun (.4) – Gaelic for urine - would seem to support the wetting version. 251.4-5: “oblious autamnesically of his very proprium:” unmindful – oblivious - of his very own self 251.6: “the wont to be wanton maid a will to the wise:” according to Stephen in “Scylla and Charybdis,” the wanton Anne Hathaway taught Will Shakespeare about sex. Overtone of “a word to the wise” 251.6-7: “Thrust from the light…he spoors loves from her heats:” tradition that absence or loss of one sense promotes the others – here, smell and sensitivity to heat 251.8: “For all the…:” For all that the… 251.9: “liquescing:” deliquesce: to melt or melt away 251.11: “a song of a witch to the totter of Blackarss:” witches practice the black arts. 251.11-2: “Blackarss, given a fammished devil:” ancient proverb, cited by Erasmus among others, that “The Devil calls the pot Black-arse” – evidently a version of “the pot calling the kettle black” 251.12-4: “(eternal conjunction) the permission of overalls with the cuperation of nightshirt:” Compare “Cyclops:” “soon as fast friends as an arse and a shirt.” 251.14: “he seethes in sooth:” lusting, he’s hot below his equator (cf. 435.12-4) – which is why “he wilts in the waist” (.15). 251.15-6: “And what wonder with the murkery viceheid in the shade?:” “Mercury” in sense of mercury thermometer. Built around the phrase so-and-so-many “degrees in the shade.” I can’t say what number is supposed to correspond to “viceheid,” but the overall sense is: small wonder he’s seething and wilting, when it’s/he’s so hot. 251.16-7: “The specks on his lapspan are his foul deed thoughts, wishmarks of mad imogenation:” the faults committed over his span of life (this may be his first confession); the spots on his lap; the “cinquefoil” mark on Imogen’s breast as seen, in Cymbeline, by the voyeur Jacques. If the lap spots are from semen, they’re the marks of his foul thoughts, his wishes, his mad and bad imagination. The passage sounds as if it incorporates Jesus’ teaching that “whosoever lusteth after a woman in his heart” has committed adultery. Certainly owes something to the “impure thoughts” of the confessional 251.17-8: “Take they off! Make the off! But Funnylegs are leanly! A bimbamb bum!:” aside from “Take...off!” – get lost – Take off those spots on your conscience! Also, perhaps with a note of Lear’s “Off, off, you lendings!,” one way to separate from the (semen or urine) “specks on his lapspan” would be to remove his pants, if only his legs weren’t so risibly skinny – and, Lord, let’s not even mention his bum. “They:” both them and thee 251.18-20: “They vain would convert the to be here in the word. Gush, they wooed! Gash they’re faire ripecherry!:” They would fain convert you (“the:” thee) to follow “hers” – probably BVM – in following the word of God. “Gash:” American slang for vagina. “Ripecherry:” also American slang: a woman loses her “cherry” when she loses her virginity. 251.21: “As for she could shake him:” she wouldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. Occurs in “Nausicaa” 251.21-2: “shake him:” to shake someone is to get them off your trail. 251.23: “waxen:” waxing, as in growing, up or older 251.23-4: “the most dantellising peaches:” the tantalizing patches – that is, the dirty bits in the book. Also a reminder of (I.3) Peaches and Daddy Browning: another geezer-and-girl combination. “Dante-“ because of Dante’s story of Paolo and Francesca, reading the tantalizing part of their book 251.24: “lingerous:” given (McHugh) the dentelle, French for lace, in “dantellising” (.23-4), lingerie as well as lingering 251.26: “when you’re goche I go dead:” a continuation of the Glugg-as-social-klutz strain; she’s saying that when he’s being gauche she just wants to die. The literary lesson here is both flirtatious – she’s selected a “classic” (Dante, forsooth) about seduction – and, as the Victorians would say, improving: it is, after all, still a classic. 251.26-7: “patch upon:” idiomatic expression: if x doesn’t have a “patch upon” y, y is clearly superior. So: in all literary consideration, “Galilleotto” is far inferior to “Smacchiavelluti” - the passage in Dante beats anything by Machiavelli. 251.30: “whilst her pupils swimmed to heavenlies:” she’s either having an orgasm (compare “Wandering Rocks:” “whites of eyes swooning up”) or rolling her eyes in exasperation at his denseness. For the latter, compare .26 and note. 251.30: “too heavenlies:” [It’s] too heavenly! Compare Bloom after encounter with Gerty: “Thanks, that was heavenly.” 251.30-1: “let his be exaspirated:” aspirating the h in “heavenly” helps to rehabilitate the Eve in “-eave-" in "heavenlies." 251.31: “letters be blowed!:” to hell with the lesson! (Let’s do this instead!) An irreverent imagining of what Francesca, at some point, may have said to Paolo. Followed (.31-2) by a more forward approach than formerly, necessary because he’s still “so dumnb” (225.17-8) about these things: look, dummy, I’m being a (deliberately provocative) female. Even the letters in this book of ours are sexed! 251.33-4: “Which is why trumpers are mixed up in duels and here’s B. Rohan meets N. Ohlan for the prize of a thou:” two main levels to this: prizefighters “mixing it up” (boxing expression: compare “mixup” in the boxing account in “Cyclops:” much of the following resembles this sequence) in the ring for a prize of a thousand pounds; two duelists meeting in combat over which will win the prize of “thou,” the woman being addressed, as in Omar Khayyam’s “A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.” 251.36-252.2: “As he was queering his shoolthers. So was I. And I was cleansing my fausties. So was he. And as way ware puffing our blowbags:” Continues prizefight story. Here they’re preparing just before the bell: squaring shoulders, clenching fists. “Puffing out blowbags:” breathing deeply. (I must have seen this sequence in a half-dozen movies.) The exchange of insults (252.7-13) will constitute what in boxing are known as “callouts.” See 252.29-30 and note. 252.2: "puffing our blowbags:" from Digger Dialects, the expression "blow one's bags out" means to boast. 252.5: “manchind’s:” manchild: a male child, a childish man. Occurs in first sense in “Oxen of the Sun” 252.11: “Harlot’s Curse:” given the funeral dimension here, it’s probably pertinent that Blake’s words are: “The harlot’s curse from street to street” / Will weave old England’s winding sheet.” As in “Cyclops,” the boxing match has an English vs. Irish component. 252.11-2: “make family three of you which is much abedder:” may you be the one adding a third member to the cemetery’s family plot. 252.13: “Grassy ass ago.:” presumably sarcastic comeback showing that he gets the point: FW several times (e.g. 380.26) associates grass with burial, burial plots. Prompted by his antagonist’s callout of “your everglass and even prospect” (.8), which (see McHugh) includes the evergreen grass of the cemetery whose Gaelic name means Pleasant Little Green. 252.14: “continence:” in sense of self-control 252.15: “her crown pretenders:” variation of the Claddagh ring, always associated with the twins: here, the ring’s crown signifies the prize of her favor, reached for by the outstretched hand of each rival suitor. Only one can prevail. Also, pretenders in sense that each is laying claim, probably spurious, to the crown; in “Proteus” Stephen calls Ireland the “paradise of pretenders.” 252.16: “obscindgemeinded biekerers:” German: obsiegen, be victorious; Gemeiner(r): private soldier. A couple of victory-minded fighters. “Biekerers:” bickerers 252.16-7: “uruseye each oxesother:” bear and ox: rivals, like Wall Street’s bulls and bears – here, eyeing each other 252.17-8: “(never cleaner of lamps frowned fiercelier on anointer of hinges):” water for cleaning the lamps, oil for the hinges. Expression: oil and water don’t mix. 252.18: “king’s game:” chess is sometimes called the game of kings. Also, game in the sense of royally licensed prey, in the king’s forest: again, the two rivals are pretenders for the crown as well as suitors for her hand. 252.19-20: “are in such transfusion just to know twigst timidy twomeys:” confused, trying to tell the two (here as Tim and Tom) apart 252.21: “heterotropic:” with heliotropism as the ruling doctrine, heterotropism is heterodoxy. 252.21: “the sleepy or the glouch:” as demonstrated throughout this chapter (.e.g. 251.26), the Shem type is definitely the gauche one. (At least in the first two chapters of Book III, the Shaun type is often sleepy.) 252.24: “hope dashes hope:” combines “hope against hope” with “his hopes were dashed” 252.25-28: “The thing is he must be put strait on the spot, no mere waterstichystuff in a selfmade world that you can’t believe a word he’s written in, not for pie, but one’s only owned by natural rejection:” as man (and potential mate) he must, if he wants to win her over, become a doer, not a dreamer. 252.26-7: “No mere waterstichystuff in a selfmade world that you can’t believe a word he’s written in:” no more sappy-sweet self-absorbed poetry 252.26-7: “selfmade world that you can’t believe a word he’s written in:” art, especially Joyce’s, as solipsism. (Joyce first raises the issue in Portrait, chapter four, and repeatedly in FW – for instance, at 184.5-9.) “Word” – “world” interplay of Ulysses 252.27: “not for pie:” expression appears in Huckleberry Finn; apparently means something like “nosirree!” 252.29-30: “Till they go round if round they go roundagain before breakparts and all dismissed:” language of boxing as well as dancing. Boxers, in a “round” circling in a ring, going into a clinch and being broken up by the referee. (“Breaking:” the referee saying “Break it up!”) “Dismissed:” perhaps referee instruction to “go to your corners.” (A “ring” with “corners,” incidentally: a circle squared.) 252.31: “keep. Step keep. Step:” keep step, keep step. Dancing instructions, perhaps syncopated because of the movement of the dancers 252.32: “Gardoun:” garden 252.33-4: “There end no moe red devil in the white of his eye:” 1. Expression: “Do you see any green in the white of my eye?” Occurs in “Cyclops.” Meaning: he’s not naïve. 2. His spirit is broken: the aggressive “red devil” no longer glares out of his eye. Recalls, and marks the terminus to, the red-eyed Glugg of 247.23, from the period when adolescent lust kicked in, accompanied by frustration and anger. I’m not sure at what exact point, but he has evidently lost (he always does) – he’s hanging his head, given up on courtship crooning, etc. As before, abuse from the onlookers follows accordingly. 252.35: “suckbut:” how can this not mean “buttsucker?” Google Books has no occurrences before recent times, but then obscenities didn’t as a rule make it into print until close to our own era. In Portrait, chapter one shows that the word “suck” in its derogatory sense was around, and FW has variations on the theme (e.g. 288.20.) (In this case, the accusation would probably be one of homosexuality rather than ass-kissing – the Portrait passage has “suck” within eighteen lines of “cocks,” and goes on to enlarge on the theme - in which regard, I suggest an overtone of “catamite” in “katadupe” (.34).) 252.35-253.5: “He does…otherwise:” reflects linguistic studies to the effect that different languages, in their ways of distinguishing tenses, reveal different world views. For instance, some tribes use no past tense or future tense. Such ideas go back to well before Joyce’s time. See next entry. 253.1: “I have done it equals I shall do:” A procrastinator’s mantra: when you ask me if I’ve done a job and I answer yes, what I really mean is that I plan to get around to it. Probably “Peruvian” (.1) due to image of Latins as mañana types, “ersebest” (.1) from English view of Irish as shiftless. (See, e.g., the Irishman O’Reilly, in Fawlty Towers, “The Builders” episode.) 253.2: “in Peruvian:” no such language as Peruvian. (There’s Spanish, plus some native dialects.) 253.4-5: “look at me now means I once was otherwise: “Look at me now!” does precisely mean “I once was otherwise.” (Compare Bloom in “Lestrygonians:” “Me. And me now.”) The character here is female; compare the story, related by Joyce as related by Ellmann, of the old man who looks in a mirror for the first time and is delighted to see his father, while his wife looks in the same mirror and is disgusted to see an old woman. Compare 213.14 and note. 253.5-6: “as youth plays:” as you please 253.8-9: “no thing making newthing wealthshowever:” a nobody, in sense of negligible ne’er-do-well, making nothing whatsoever, wealth-wise. Follows from girl’s insistence (252.22-.28) that, if he wants to win her, he has to give up writing and make something substantial of himself. He might start by being a “healthytobedder and latewiser” (.9) – Benjamin Franklin’s formula for becoming, among other things, wealthy. (Won’t happen.) 253.9: “silly old Sol:” given proximity of the grasshopper (the “sauterelle” (.7-8), known for his fiddling (e.g. 414.23)), I suggest an overtone of Old King Cole, the merry old soul, who called for his fiddlers three. Fits with next item 253.9-10: “Nor that the turtling of a London’s alderman is ladled out by the waggerful to the regionals of pigmyland:” continues “wealthshowever” (.9) strain. “Alderman” signals prosperity; turtle soup (an expensive delicacy - which was why there was such a thing mock turtle soup) signals high living. Here, the alderman presides over something like the London Lord Mayor’s annual banquet, only even more extravagantly: he distributes turtle soup to the provincial regionals – those little people too unlucky or unworthy to be Londoners, let alone London aldermen – by the wagonload, accompanied by ladlings of patronizing politician’s sweet-talk: in poetry, "turtles" are usually turtle-doves - lovebirds, billing and cooing. Maybe constitutes a reversal of a once-popular cartoon trope: white explorer or missionary in cooking pot of (“pigmyland”) native cannibals 253.11: “His part should say:” It is his part to say. Up to .16, (see note to .13-6), the gist is that he should make up for standing her up at the altar (225.29-226.7). This time around, he’d better stick to her (.12-3) and go through with it. See note to .13-6. 253.12: “symethew, sammarc, selluc and singin:” metheglin, marc (a liqueur made from the “marc” of grapes)…gin. There ought to be some alcoholic beverage corresponding to “selluc,” but I can’t find it. FW’s four old men are usually topers. 253.12: “singin:” usual British pronunciation of St. John 253.13: “bite simbum:” Saint Bum: goes with (252.35) “suckbut:”/buttsucker 253.13-6: “and in case of the event coming off beforehand even so you was to release me for the sake of the other cheap girl’s baby name plaster me but I will pluckily well pull on the buckskin gloves!” even if our child were to be born “beforehand” (best guess: born at a date which proved that I was not the father), thus freeing me from the obligation to make an honest woman of you, and even if as a result you were to release me from my vow of marriage so that I could marry the other “cheap girl” I’ve impregnated and bestow legitimacy on her offspring instead, I’d still gamely (“pluckily” (.16): showing manly pluck) pull on a groom’s “buckskin gloves” and marry you instead. (Gallantry, of a sort.) 253.16-18: “But Noodynaady’s actual ingrate tootle is of come into the garner mauve and thy nice are stores of morning and buy me a bunch of iodines:” .13-6 (see previous) is what he should say. Instead he’s coming up with the same old male palaver: “Come into the garden, Maud; thy bright eyes are stars of morning” etc. By Joyce’s time, “Come into the garden, Maud” was synonymous with a seducer’s tired routine, the equivalent of “Let me show you my etchings.” 253.16: “Noodynaady’s:” Blake’s “Nobodaddy” 253.18: “bunch of iodines:” according to Oxford editors, this should be followed by “because it is the month of brumes” – presumably Brumaire, in the French Revolutionary calendar, late October to late November; I suggest that the hour (nightfall) and the weather (stormy) have to do with this choice. 253.19: “tiercely as the deuce:” two-three: the usual brother signature 253.20: “she is wearing none of the three:” the gist is that none of his guesses about the color of her underwear were right. I can identify only two guesses, “mauve” (.17) and “iodines” (.16), which derives from the Greek for violet. As colors, both are as close as Glugg gets to the purplish heliotrope. He gets pretty close, as well, with his “stores of morning” (.17-8) star of the morning, to Issy’s last hint, “my whole the flower that stars the day” (248.12-3), but it’s still no go. I’d say that, over all, Shem has cause for complaint. According to the OED, “heliotrope” didn’t qualify as a color at all until 1882 and is not to be found on any color wheel; even today, Google Images entries for “heliotrope” show a pretty wide range of tints. 253.21-32: “Because…Lucanhof:" lines .25 to .28 (“the shifting…thumbtonosery”) recount a spell of childish horsing-around, after which the father shows up to put a stop. For “thumbtonosery” (.28), see illustration in left margin of page 308. 253.25: “never live:” netherlife 253.28-9: “Myama’s a yaung yaung cauntry:” to say the least, Myanmar (Burma) is anything but a young country. Miami was certainly a young city in Joyce’s time, but not Mayaimai, the ancient name for the lake where it was founded. Miami is in the southern USA, and this may be imitating a southern accent. 253.25-6: “the shifting about of their lassies, the tug of love of their lads ending:” the seas – Thalassa – shifting around in relation to coastlines: “lads ending:” land’s end, the edges of the land. The passage is imagining time on a geologic scale. 253.26: “of their lads ending:” of their last ending; compare “The Dead:” “like the descent of their last end.” 253.27: “scarf drill:” in Joyce’s time, a popular calisthenics routine for children, mainly, it seems, for “the lassies” (.25). Instructions and illustrations are in Kindergarten guide by Löis Gates (1897) (note “kindergarten” at .31-2), pages 335-41. 253.29-31: “gigantesquesque appearance unwithstandable as a general election in Barnado’s bearskin:” bearskin hats, as worn by British Foot Guards, make the wearers appear taller. Compare second note to .35. 253.32: “god of all machineries:” the theatrical deus ex machina was a realistically inexplicable (“how accountibus for him…? (.36)) “appearance” (.30) of a god or goddess, usually from on high, to solve all problems. 253.33: “Blankdeblank:” blankety-blank. Dodging the curse. Compare Portrait, chapter two. 253.34: “Barnstaple:” barn stable. A Wellington signature: see 10.17-8 and note. 253.35: “jacquemin:” Jacobin 253.35: “milesian:” according to Irish tradition, Milesians were exceptionally tall and, in general, physically imposing. 253.36: “more bleu:” “Mon bleu!” – a mild French curse 254.1-3: “pitssched…Orion:” Orion was engendered from piss. Compare 128.11 and note. 254.1: “as certain have dognosed:” i.e., they, like dogs, were exceptionally good at smelling. 254.2: “seawall:” Dublin has two sea walls, the Bull Wall and the South Bull Wall, extending out into Dublin Harbor. 254.3-4: “Meereschal MacMuhun:” Mareshal MacMahon (see McHugh), was descended from one of Ireland’s exiled “wild geese.” 254.4-5: “product of the extremes giving quotidients to our means:” I don’t understand it, but here is a theorem from an 1836 math text: “If four properties be in geometrical proportion, the product of the two extremes will be equal to the product of the two means. [New paragraph] And hence, if the product of the two means be divided by the extremes, the quotient will give the other extreme.” Echo of “quotidian” in “quotidients” may go with (I think) general sense that he – the one “pitssched” (.1) ashore by waves – is less extreme, a kind of mean, compared with the forces that delivered him. 254.5-6: “your brutest layaman with the princest champion in our archdeaconry:” speaking of extremes (see previous entry), this goes from one to the other: the crudest layman with the princeliest (as in Portrait, chapter one, sarcastically) prince of the church – a priest 254.7: “Clio’s clippings:” clippings are items cut and collected from newspapers, sometimes called the rough draft of history, here collected by Clio, the muse of history. 254.9: “have done, do and will again:” the subject to this predicate is “Rurie, Thoath and Cleaver” (.2). 254.11: “while monks sell yew to archers:” bows were made from yew trees. It is, at the least, somewhat incongruous that men of God should be selling the components of weaponry to warriors. With “yew” as “you,” they may also be selling you – the Irish – to the English, whose signature weapon was the longbow and whose leader during the invasion of Ireland was Strongbow. 254.12-3: “the water of the livvying goes the way of all fish:” the way of all flesh is death; dead and dying salmon, spent from mating, flow out to sea down the Liffey. 254.12: “Sara’s drawhead, the corralsome:” "Sarai" means quarrelsome. Compare Dan Dawson’s speech, quoted in “Aeolus,” on the Liffey’s run to the sea: “note the meanderings of some purling rill as it babbles [cf. “babbel” (.17)] on its way, tho' quarrelling with the stony obstacles, to the tumbling waters of Neptune's blue domain.” Also, Sarai/Sarah and Hagar quarreled. 254.13-4: “with her minnelisp extorreor to his moanolothe inturned:” a blow job. Her exterior lips (prone to lisping) are around his interred/entered monolith. He’s moaning. 254.15-7: “Ricqueracqbrimbillyjicqueyjocqjolicass? How sowesthow, dullcisamica? A and aa ab ad abu abiad. A babbel men dub gulch of tears:” as Liffey approaches and reaches the ocean, the volume – the “murmury mermers” (.18) - becomes louder and the text becomes onomatopoeic. (Similar effects appear at the end of I.8.) 254.16.-7: “A babbel men dub gulch of tears:” The sound of the babbling river has at some point been dubbed “gulch of tears” by the (obviously unhappy) men living there. Echoes human life as “vale of tears” and alludes to Lucy Larcom’s “Prince Hal:” “Though his mother her lifelong sorrow / Measured out by his childish years / Their length is the span of a rainbow / That bridges a gulf of tears.” 254.16: “ad abu:” ad: Latin for to or toward. Abu: Gaelic for victory 254.18-9: “The mar of murmury mermers to the mind’s ear, uncharted rock, evasive weed:” the narrator’s account of the onomatopoeic effects just registered. Evidently, they have hypnotized the listener, who is then coached in a Yeatsian/Jungian “dreaming back” (295.10-11: the words here appear in a similar scene) to the real or imagined recovery of ancestral memories. (In fact this will reach back as far as “Java Jane” (.25), presumably helpmate to the primordial “Java Man” (see McHugh).) 254.19: “Murmury mermers:” murmur-induced memory/memories by way of Mesmer’s methods (“par Mahun Mesme” (.26)); compare 320.23ff. and 476.3ff.; in both cases Mesmer’s appearance accompanies an attempt at dreaming back. Also, murmurs, like those of a merman. Arnold’s “The Forsaken Merman” describes a merman at sea’s edge trying to coax his human lover to join him. Also, the “mind’s ear,” listening to water sounds, is, whatever its poetic capacities, no good at all when it comes to guiding navigation. See next item. 254.19: “uncharted rock:” maritime hazard 254.20: “caul:” given context (see, for instance, preceding entry), it seems relevant that being born with a caul was (as recorded in David Copperfield) supposed to be a guarantee against drowning. 254.20-1: “how feel full foes in furrinarr:” contemplating the ocean, he thinks, How fearful the foes in foreign parts. Also, compare “feelful” (613.19). 254.20: “Faineant:” French for lazy 254.21: “puritysnooper:” party-pooper – here as someone snooping around out of a conviction of his own purity, thus qualifying him to detect evidence of the opposite in others - a good way of spoiling any fun going on 254.22: “television opes longtimes:” in this case, “television” is not the recent invention, but seeing things afar off in time – which is what, dreaming back (see .19 and note), he is doing. Compare 143.3-27, where the “fargazer” (143.26), “in the states of suspensive exanimation” (143.8-9), is granted a visionary vista of the past. (According to the Oxford editors, “opes longtimes” should be “opes as eft it were longtimes” – as if it were a long time ago.) 254.22-3: “Potollomuck Sotyr or Sourdanapplous:” see McHugh. Both are examples of the ancient past, but also, yet again (see .4-5, .5-6, above) a case of going from one extreme to the other: founder of a dynasty, last of a dynasty. 254.23: “Sourdanapplous:” sour apple: another term (see .21 and note) for party-pooper 254.25: “Java Jane, older even than Odam Costollo:” “costa:” as McHugh notes, Latin for rib. “Odam Costollo” is Eve, Adam’s rib. (Note nested “eve” in “even” and “dam” in “Odam.”) Java Jane, presumably wife to cave-dwelling “Java Man,” goes back farther in prehistory than Eve. (Also (?): Abbott and Costello? Their first appearance as a comedy team was in 1935. Probably not.) 254.26-7: “em, par…space…scripture:” given “scripture” (.27) as printed matter, it is likely pertinent that “em” (as in em-dash), “par” (short for “paragraph;” occurs in “Aeolus”) and “space” are all terms in printing. Also, “em” as him/them. 254.27-8: “in various phases of scripture:” given pairing with “sepulture,” “scripture” is also “sculpture:” i.e. his image keeps appearing in statues, even though the styles change over time. Also, since scripture is written in books made of leaves (a frequent FW theme) a variation of tree-stone. 254.28: “Groceries!:” See note to 78.12-3. As publican, HCE is also a grocer. 254.28: “whose say is soft:” 1. As an Irishman (thus someone who pronounces “see” as “say”), he has a soft, mellifluous way of talking. In FW, this usually indicates a Munster native; see note to .30. 2. He habitually pronounces the letter “c” as soft – as in “cells” rather than hard (as in “Kells”); as noted elsewhere, this was critical during the Sicilian Vespers, FW’s premiere shibboleth test. (See 21.18-9 and note, also 87.24, 267.20-1, 354.1, 425.1, 456.8.) 3. Something along the order of “a gentle answer turneth away wrath:” although he’s a boss, his language, even when giving orders, is not bossy. 254.29: “rough throat:” hoarseness 254.30: “whose ee has a cute angle:” compare 120.19: “Greek ees awkwardlike perched.” He writes his e’s, Greek or otherwise, on a slant. Also, a French e with an acute accent. Also - given O Hehir’s gloss of “ee” as “í,” Gaelic shi, she - a girl with a cute ankle. (“Cutie,” meaning attractive young woman, was definitely around in Joyce’s time.) Also, John Kelleher once told me that Corkonians – from Munster – had a reputation for being “cute” – smooth-talkers, not always trustworthy, and such types are always on the lookout for angles to play. 254.30-1: “he whose hut is a hissarlik even as her hennin’s aspire:” together, hen hut. They’ve both become exalted: his hut into a city, her (pointed) hat into a spire. 254.31: “And insodaintily she’s:” the “hen” in “hennin’s”(.31) has reminded him of the she in the picture; hence, also, “dainty” in “insodaintily:” compare 102.32. 254.33: “the best berrathon sanger in all the aisles of Skaldignavia:” skalds sang their poems. Aisles of a music hall as well as isles of the sea-going Scandinavians 254.33: “who:” you 254.34-5: “For now at last is Longabed going to be gone to:” they’re going to try to wake up the (sleeping or dead) ancient hero, Finn, Arthur, or whoever – an idea immediately (255.5-6) objected to. 254.34: “Longabed:” “long bed:” grave 254.35: “roadsterds,” aside from “roadstead,” “roadster” – usually with connotations of size and luxury. Sort of thing a prince would have 254.36: “flatter about:” flutter about. (Maybe obvious.) As elsewhere, for instance in this chapter, the girls are eager to cluster around the hero of the hour. 255.4: “to clay, Tamor:” Claymore: large two-handed longsword, used by Scots 255.5-6: “Why wilt thou erewaken him from his earth, O summonorother:” figure has just been identified as Arthur (254.36), who according to legend will one day return, rising from the earth. Also, “erewaken:” earwig. Also, Hereward the Wake: see 619.10-4 and note. According to Revelations, the final summoner will be Gabriel, at whose call the sea will give up its dead; at .11 we get a “depth charge.” 255.6-8: “The hour of his closing hies to hand; the tocsin that shall claxonise his wareabouts:” Hereward (see previous item) fought against the Normans, with (see 247.8, 247.9-12, and notes) their curfew bell, which returned people to their whereabouts. 255.7: “hies to hand:” lies to/at hand – is imminent 255.8: “webgoods:” wet goods – opposite of dry goods. Language (also “tea loft” and barrels) is of a merchandiser. For this reason, I suggest “wareabouts” (255.8-9) carries overtone of “warehouse.” Again, see 78.12-3 and note (and 254.28 and note): the Mullingar Inn/House/Hotel is also an emporium of sorts, in which capacity the hour of closing (255.67) is now at hand. The pub side of the enterprise either continues or commences: 256.6-10 indicates the latter. 255.8: “tealofts:” tea loft: room for storing teas 255.9-10: “to ask of a hooper for whose it was the storks were quitting Aquileyria:” whooping crane, sometimes called a “whooper;’” presumably the one to ask about what the storks are doing. Also, a hooper is a barrel-maker. Goes with “barrel” of .11; also, with “trundler” of .10: OED defines “trundle” as “To cause to roll along upon a surface, as a ball, hoop, or other globular or circular object.” 255.11: “depth charge:” anti-submarine weapon developed between WW I and WW II. Here (.12-8) it causes havoc for the buried or (76.10-79.13) submerged (in fact, at times, submarine-dwelling) giant. Compare, especially, 78.4-5. (It may be a coincidence, but according to Google Books the warning signals on submarines are sometimes called (“claxonise” (.7)) claxons or klaxons. 255.12: “Jehosophat:” “Jumping Jehosophat!” – American expression of alarm or surprise 255.13: “wing of Moykill cover him!:” as an archangel, the warrior Michael has wings, here invoked to shield the subject, under some kind of attack, probably (see note to 250.23) from a return or continuation of the thundery weather; also see note to .5-6. Gabriel is Christianity’s other famous archangel, as such the summoner of the last days, and sometimes Michael's counterpart. 255.13-4: “The Bulljon Bossbrute quarantee him:” “bullgine” is slang for a ship’s engine. (Occurs in “Oxen of the Sun.”) Also, bullion is gold, Michael is traditionally represented with a gold shield, shields have bosses, and we have just had an injunction that Michael protectively cover some threatened party. 255.15: “Bearara Tolearis:” see McHugh. The North Star, Polaris, is in the tail of Ursa Minor, the Little Bear. 255.18-9: “While Pliny the Younger writes to Pliny the Elder his calamolumen of contumellas:” from upheaval by sea to upheaval by land: Pliny the Younger wrote, presumably with his calamus, about his father’s death from the eruption of (“Vitruvius” (.20)) Vesuvius. Although he was apparently not especially given to contumeliis, Latin for insults, the two examples that follow at .19-20, that Aulus Gellius “picked on,” stole from, Macrobius (actually, according to Wikipedia, it may have been the other way around) and that Vitruvius “pocketed from” Cassiodorus (again, chronologically reversed: Cassiodorus came second; according to Arno Borst’s 1990 book The Ordering of Time he specialized in the “sundials and water-clocks” developed by his predecessor) are pretty catty. 255.22-3: “Even if you are the kooper of the winkel over measure never lost a licence:” i.e. Even if you own the shop, being generous – “over measure” – to the licensing officials is good policy when it comes to keeping the license (probably liquor license: “for the honour of Alcohol” appears in the next line). In other words, a discreet bribe might be in order. 255.24; “bath and breakfast:” one of several indications that the establishment has been a hotel - at times, it seems to be either remembering or re-enacting its wayside inn days. 255.26: “Punch may be pottleproud:” “pottle” = tankard. Punch may be full of himself because drunk. Expression: “Proud as Punch.” 255.26: “wife’s wit better:” in As You Like It, Rosalind playfully warns Orlando of “your wive’s wit going to your neighbor’s bed.” 255.27-36: "For…slender:” good news/bad news: it turns out it’s her, not him, who’s being summoned (.5-6) from the depths (of his sleep). 255.27: “Baptister Vickar:” an Anglican vicar is the equivalent of a Catholic priest: administering baptism is one of his offices. 255.28-9: “at a side issue:” from off-stage. Also, Eve came from Adam’s side. See next entry. 255.29-30: “cutletsized consort:” cutlets are cut from the leg or ribs. Eve was made from Adam’s rib. 255.30: “filly of fortyshilling fostertailor and shipman’s shopahoyden:” 1. ALP and/or Issy is sometimes presented as a tailor’s daughter. 2. In the Norwegian sailor sequence of II.3, the woman must choose between a tailor and a sailor; the latter choice signifies her less respectable side. 255.31: “ten pebble ten:” ten stone ten would be 150 pounds: hefty for most women, but then as a suitor Joyce kept urging Nora to gain weight, and Molly Bloom is notably “amplitudinous.” The bust-waist-hips measurements that follow (37-29-37) are also, especially by the standards of the twenties and thirties, on the full-figured side. 255.32: “the good companions:” title of a 1929 novel by J.B. Priestly 255.36: “nine:” McHugh has “feet;” I’d suggest shoe size. 256.2: “hokey or mehokeypoo:” hokey-pokey: American children’s dance, about which it’s all. 256.3: “owreglias:” Aurelia: Roman name for a woman; most prominent was Aurelia Cotta, mother of Julius Caesar. 256.3-4: “their bone of contention, flesh to their thorns:” Issy has been their bone of contention – the one they’re fighting over. Hers is the flesh that has brought out their thorns, likely with phallic meaning. Perhaps a reference to Adam’s rib, Eve. (See note to 255.25-36.) Also, given the poultry context, perhaps also the wishbone, traditionally split by two contestants, with whoever gets the bigger fragment the declared winner. 256.4: “makes off in a thinkling:” expression: quick as thought. Also: tinkling: sounds of rain 256.7: “ram of all harns:” ram’s horn, signaling an announcement – here, the evening opening of the bar, with (.6-7) its rum, wine, beer, and spirits. Compare “ramsblares,” 256.11. 256.9: “flamifestouned with galantifloures:” see McHugh: gillyflowers are (flame-colored) red. 256.12: “kindalled bushies:” burning bush. Also, bush holding ram which was substituted for Isaac 256.13-4: "your wildeshaweshowe moves swiftly sterneward:” American showboat (wild west show? This one is loaded with – see McHugh – Irish authors) is leaving town on sternwheeler. Showboat was Jerome Kern musical of 1927; its signature song, “Old Man River,” appears at 363.10-1. 256.22: “our eleven:” our football team. How did our team do in ’32? (presumably 1932) – a sports quiz question as part of the overall curriculum 256.22-3: “Valgur Eire:” “Vulgar Era” – once synonymous with, since replaced by, “Common Era.” 256.23: “why is limbo?:” theological question 256.23-4: “and what are the sound waves saying?:” “What are the wild waves saying?” much-ridiculed line from the death of Paul Dombey in Dombey and Son. Occurs in “Sirens” 256.24-5: “Amnist anguished axes Collis Collis:” as Mink points out, this begins with Latin for river (“amnis”) and ends with Latin for hill. Also, someone’s getting axed: as Stephen recalls in Portrait, “decollation” is the term for beheading. 256.25: “where fishngaman fetched the mongafesh from:” where the fisherman caught the monkfish (fetched it from). “fishngaman:” overtone of fish and game (or fish ‘n game) 256.31: “valuations:” the officially determined market value, as listed in Thom’s Directory, of a Dublin property; mentioned three times in Ulysses 256.31-2: “dinggyings:” sound of trolley bells 256.33: “That little cloud, a nibulissa, still hangs isky:” takes us back to 157.7-158.5, where “Nuvoletta” hangs in the sky, lamenting that the boys are too busy with fighting over their books to notice her. “Isky:” Gaelic uisce, water, here as cloud vapor 256.33: “little cloud:” in both the Dubliners story of that name and “Ithaca,” the reference is to the “little cloud, out of the sea, like a man’s hand” in I King 18:44. In all those cases the cloud is a first, diminutive sign of a thunderstorm to come; here, it’s apparently the aftermath of the storm just past. 256.33-4: “Singabed sulks before slumber:” probable play on “slugabed,” for someone reluctant to get up in the morning; here, as with many children, it’s the opposite: he/they don’t want to go to bed. 256.35: “Thick head and thin butter:” thick bread with a thin supply of butter (at tea, for instance) would be a sign of cheapness or poverty. 256.36: “gueroligue:” a guerilogue would be a war story, war poem, war song, etc., here followed with a famous example, “The Charge of the Light Brigade” (.36). “-logue” changed to “-ligue” because of that poem’s “half a league onward.” 257.1: "So angelland all weeping:” all England is weeping. Possible echo from Paradise Lost: “tears such as angels weep.” (Occurs in “Scylla and Charybdis”) 257.1: “angelland:” story that Pope Gregory I, seeing pale-skinned Angles for sale in a slave market, remarked that they were not “Angles but angels.” 257.2: “vispirine:” “vespering:” flying or sinking westward – from “Vesper,” evening star. On March 21, 1938, Venus set at approximately 7:30 p.m. 257.2-7: “While…girl:” dancing (“going and coming” (.3)), rhumba (“rhimba rhomba” (.4)), tripping along (“trippiza trappaza” (.4)), “pleating a pattern” (.4) on the dance floor, hopping and skipping and leaping (.5-6), boys and girls by different names (.6-7), all according to the steps taught them by (“Gran Geamatron” (.4-5)), their mothers and grandmothers. The rhumba (.4, cf. 309.7) was a thirties dance fad. 257.5-6: “coneyfarm leppers:” cuneiform letters. Also, coneys – rabbits – are leapers. 257.7-8: “all boy more all girl singoutfeller:” male chorus and female chorus, probably sharing the same stage on opposite sides 257.8-10: “nin nin nin nin:" see McHugh. Eight clock “nin”s in all, signaling 8:00 p.m., but Joyce’s notebook note apparently calls this in question. Not clear to me whether “on the tinny side” (.9) refers to the sound of the ring or to the shoddiness – hence unreliability – of the clock itself 257.15: “place:” plate 257.17: “fecking the twine:” some boys in Portrait, chapter one have “fecked” – stolen - the altar wine. 257.18-9: “he huddly could wuddle to wallow his weg fillbag of the baker’s booth to beg:” he could hardly wallow to the back of the baker’s booth to beg (for food). “Bag” is Dublin slang for belly. Given identification with “Father Barley” (as in John Barleycorn (.10)), his unsteadiness is partly due to a hangover. 257.20: “your panto’s off:” your pants are off; your play-acting (panto) is over 257.21: “booz:” boss 257.22: “prize of a pease of bakin:” continues Farmer Burleigh story (.17-9): he’s begging the baker for baked goods. 257.22: “panch:” paunch, belly. (See note to .18-9.) 257.34: “Gonn the gawds:” i.e. the gaudy trappings of the theatre are gone. So are the gods, as confirmed by ("Rendningrocks...gttrdmmrng") "Ragnarok" and "Gotterdammerung" in 258.1-2. Also (see 256.23 and note) the storm (i.e. “gustspells”) is over. Also, if God (and the gods, and the Gospels) is/are departed, no wonder “Wold Forrester Farley,” old Father Farley, was desperately depressed about (.25-6) their scattering (“diasporation”) and disappearance (“diesparation"). 257.35: “Orbiter:” Obiter (dicta); writer of obits: “lots lives lost” (.35-6): lots of lives lost today: your basic obit-writer’s report 258:2-3: “The timid hearts of words all exeomnosunt:” in context: the vowels, the "hearts" of words, are missing, as in “Gwds,” “gttrdmmrng,” “Hlls vlls” (.1-2). In keeping with Hebrew, with its exclusion of vowels, much in evidence throughout this paragraph - see, for instance, “Lammalelouh” (.3) with note. (Why “timid hearts?” Apparently from the conceit that consonants are male and vowels female: in “Ithaca,” Bloom and Stephen, in their twin urinations, spell out “Y”-“S” (Bloom visibly, Stephen audibly), leaving Molly to supply the “E” for “yes.”) See next entry. 258.3: “Mannagad:” Perhaps example of what happens when a latterday scripture reader tries to supply the missing vowels, resorting to an “a” default. Compare the “tālāfānā, ālāvātār,” etc. from the séance of “Cyclops.” 258.3: “lammalelouh:” Hebrew: why not, or why not her 258.3: “youd:” Jude: German for Jew. Also, yodh (otherwise yod, yudh, yud), tenth letter of the Hebrew alphabet 258.3-4: “youd not heed that fert?:” you didn’t hear that loud (Italian: forte: noise?) The noise will be remembered or imitated: “Fulgitudes ejist rowdownan tonuout” (.4). 258.4: “Fulgitudes ejist rowdownan tonuout:” “Fulgitudes” comes from Latin for bright flash (as of lightning); “tonuout” from Latin for thunder; “rowdownan,” says the OED, from “rowdy” - etymological source, the sound of drums. I suggest this refers to the storm, which has passed over and is now in the distance. 258.5: “And buncskleydoodle! Kidoosh!:” gist: let’s get out of here! “Skidoo” and “skidaddle” both mean scram; so (cf. 9.29) does “bunk” or “do a bunk.” 258.8: “harks…brews…jambses…gaits:” hearts, brows, arms/legs, guts 258.8-9: “To Mezouzalem with the Dephilim:” in “Nausicaa,” the Jewish Bloom thinks “tephilim” for “mezuzah.” 258.11: “Immi ammi Semmi:” among other things (see McHugh), this is saying, I am Jewish, and (as one of the twins), I am half. 258.11-2: “Babel…Lebab:” one of several instances where the twins are mirror images 258.13: "I hear, O Ismail:" According to Digger Dialects, "Isma" is Arabic for I say! Hello! 258.14: “havonfalled:” fallen from heaven; unfallen from heaven 258.15: “extell:” extol (McHugh), expel (Ishmael (.16-7) was expelled), and, since like Lucifer he is recently (“havonfalled” (.14)) fallen from heaven, ex-stell, former star. 258.16: “posspots:” tosspots – drunkards 258.20-1: “For the Clearer of the Air from on high has spoken in tumbuldum tambaldam to his tembledim tombaldoom worrild:” the storm has cleared the air. “Tumbledown” – as in fallen, decrepit, slipshod – echoes throughout. 258.23: “terrerumbled from fimament unto fundament:” have, terrified, tumbled from sky to earth. Phrase: terra firma. (Old joke: the more firma, the less terra.) “Terrerumbled,” I suggest, sounds yet another rumble of post-storm thunder. 258.24: “twiddledeedees:” “fiddle-dee-dee:” contemptuous expression of unconcern. Perhaps, with “dumms” in the vicinity,” “twiddling thumbs” – proverbial activity when not occupied with anything 258.25: “Loud, hear us!:” reflects Vico’s belief that religion begins with humanity’s fear of thunder 258.28: “nationglad, camp meeting:” National Camp Meeting: annual youth gathering held by Methodist Church. The rest of the paragraph (.28-36) sounds in line. 258.28: “Gov be thanked:” replacement of God by Government – seems an Orwell-like comment on the sanctification of bureaucracy. Compare Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World “Year of Our Ford.” At .30-31 the traditional guardian angels are replaced by members of Garda, Ireland’s police force. 258.32-3: “the darkness which is the afterthought of thy nomatter:” an Augustinian description of evil as absence 258.34: “bodemen:” “beadsman,” also “beadsmen” – one hired to pray for the soul of another 259.1-2: “Till tree from tree, tree among trees, tree over tree become stone to stone, stone between stones, stone under stone for ever:” tree becomes stone: petrifaction 259. 3-4: “unlitten:" unlettered, unenlightened, little 259.7-8: “laughter’s low:” in “Scylla and Charybdis,” one of those present “laughed low.” A fairly common expression in Joyce’s time 259.9: “Ha he hi ho hu.:” see 258.23 and note. A E I O U: here come those vowels back.
1 Comment
II.2 Note: With a few exceptions, up until 274.5, and then after 304.5, the British Museum’s ms. indicates the connections between main text and left margin commentary. I will signify the connections as “goes with.” I use “link”/”linked”/”linking”/”links” for the relationship between footnotes (designated “Fn.”) and main text: for instance Fn. 1, beginning “Rawmeash,” is linked to “Am shot, says the bigguard” (260.4-5). 260.1: "As:" the main text of II.2 ends with "A" and ends with "o" (308.24) - probably one of FW's many alpha-omega's. 260.2: LM 1: “With his…disgrace:” goes with “teetootomtotalitarian,” as in patriarchal authority. See McHugh: recalls that, in Portrait, chapter one, the infant Stephen’s first remembered sight is of his father’s “hairy face.” 260.2-3: “Tea tea too oo:” as elsewhere, the song “Tea for Two.” Also, “ta-ta,” “toodle-oo:” taking leave. Also, teetotaler 260.4: “caps ever:” i.e. full caps, as in the RM commentary. Occurs in this sense in 374.9 260.5-7: “And howelse do we hook our hike to find that pint of porter place?:” Patrick McCarthy reads this as “how do we find the pub (Porter’s place, the place where pints of porter are served)?” (The response, “Am shot,” apparently means something like “I’m damned if I know.” 260.5: “hook our hike:” make a sharp swerve in their trajectory. In golf terminology, then and now, it would be to the left. See entry for .8. 260.8-15: “Quick…Roundpoint:” most – though probably not all - of the items on this list correspond to geometrical figures: “wheel” (circle); “mid…mall” (a line, tracing a midpoint between two parallel lines); “diagnosing Lavatery Square” (a square, diagonally bisected to form two right-angle triangles); “shouldering Berkeley Alley” (this one may be a stretch, but an alley is usually in a straight line); “Carfax” (a crossroads, an X); “Gadeway” (an arch or quadrilateral with “onesidemissing,” which at 119.31 signifies an “allblind alley"); "Lane” (another – probably – straight line); “Old Vico Roundpoint” (another circle). Resembles "Ithaca"'s opening Stephen-Bloom, itinerary, plotted along Euclidian lines (and arcs). Compare the sigla of 299. Fn. 4. 260.8: “Quick lunch:” in Joyce’s time, a “quick-lunch” was a fast-food restaurant. 260.8: “lunch:” launch. (A “quick launch” was either a shallow-drafted boat, capable of being put to sea in short order, or the launching itself.) “By our left” seems to confirm that the “hook” (.5) is to the left. 260.9: “Livius Lane:” Livy’s monumental “Ab Urbe Condita Libri” covers the history of Rome from its traditional founding in 753 BC up to his own lifetime, in the reign of Augustus. 260.9: “Mezzofanti Mall:” Cardinal Mezzofanti was a hyperpolyglot, fluent in at least thirty languages. (His appearance at some point in FW would seem inevitable.) A mall, up until the second half of the 20th century, was a fashionable, sometimes tree-lined promenade. 260.10: “diagonising:” again, compare “Ithaca:” they crossed both the circus before George's church diametrically.” 260.10: “Lavatery Square:” in Portrait, chapter one, a “square” is a lavatory. 260.13: LM 3 goes with “d’Arezzo’s.” 260.17: “moll:” U.S. underworld slang for gangster’s girlfriend 260.17-8: “cuckling a hoyden:” Brewer: “cucking-stool:” "a kind of chair formerly used for ducking scolds,” etc. in a pond. 260.18: “cuckling:” cuckolding. A “hoyden” can be male. Fn. 1: “Herod with the Cormwell’s eczema…about his blue canaries…his beaver beard:” besides King Herod, who suffered from chronically inflamed skin, perhaps a passing glance at Cromwell’s famous “warts and all.” Blue Canaries: a term for either the Canary Islands or for some of them. “Beaver beard:” a “beaver” is slang for a conspicuously fullgrown, or overgrown, beard. (As such, by way of its link to “bigguard” (.7), in sync with LM 1’s “hairy face”) Fn. 3: “behind the floodlights:” given the note's reference to ("a royal divorce") A Royal Divorce, also “behind the footlights,” signaling an account, possibly an exposé, of theatre people off-stage. (The footnote links a glimpse of a theatrically costumed “hoyden” (.18) being cuddled by an “enthewsyass,” enthusiast, presumably of the theatre; W.C. Day’s 1885 autobiographical “Beyond the Footlights: Or, the Stage as I Knew It” includes "enthusiast" in this sense.) 261.4: “whins:” winds 261.4: “howe:” home 261.4-5: “howe. His hume.” Home sweet home; David Hume 261.5: “Hencetaking tides:” Brutus in “Julius Caesar:” “There is a tide in the affairs of men, / Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune.” To “take the tide” is to sail with it – here, it brings us home, as it had formerly borne us out. Compare 627.34-628.16 – 3.1-3.3, from “passing out” to sea to coming “back” to “Howth Castle and Environs.” 261.6-7: “ensigned with seakale:” compare the “emerald trail of seaweed” which makes a “sign” on the thigh of the bird-girl: Portrait, chapter four. Seakale is green. 261.12: “cacchinated behind his culosses:” from behind him, laughed at his colossal ("cul-") arse - one of HCE's distinguishing features 261.13: LM 1 goes with “mosoleum,” presumably connecting “Tod,” German for death, to “mosoleum…Without Breath.” 261.14: “upshoot:” offshoot, upshot 261.15: “stupor out of sopor:” i.e. stupor after supper – drowsiness after a full meal. (As elsewhere: he’s not really dead, just somnolent.) 261.15-6: “Hymanian Glattstoneburg:” compare “glatt stones” thrown at HCE at 72.27. Perhaps the sense is that those stones have since been used to build a fortress, named “Glattstoneburg.” The attacker threatened to “build rocks over” HCE (73.07); smooth [“glatt”] stones would presumably be good for that purpose; four pages later HCE was accumulating furnishings for his “glasstone honophreum” (77.34). 261.17: “entiringly:” untiringly 261.17: LM 2: “Dig him in the rubsh:” goes with “tumultuous under his chthonic exterior” (.18). “Dig him:” OED’s earliest entry for “to dig” in the hipster sense of “to get,” to comprehend, is 1935. Still, it seems to fit here. Also, of course, in the literal sense: you dig someone into or out of a (“Tumulty” (.19)) tumulus. 261.19: “plain Mr Tumulty in muftilife:” “Muftilife” (see McHugh) is also multi-life/lives, that is, “more mob than man” (.21-2). Point of Fn. 2, linked to this sequence, is that he has many sides or identities: the list of addresses encompasses both a concentric self-situating similar to Stephen’s in Portrait, chapter one (see note to Fn. 2), and a random list of different and dissimilar locations, for instance The House of Commons and “Longfellow’s Lodgings.” 261.19-20: “antisipiences:” anticipatory cognitions; paired with “recognisances” (.20), its “anti” includes “ante.” 261.23: “Ainsoph, this upright one:” “upright one” because, as Brendan O Hehir notes, “aon” is Gaelic for the numeral 1, which is upright. With “zeroine” (.24) next to him the number becomes, as McHugh says, 10, qualifying him as “decans” (.31) and “the decemt man” (262.1). See next entry. 261.24: “noughty:” “nought” = zero. Hence “zeroine.” 261.24-5: “To see in his horrorscup:” domestic tableau: he’s reading the newspaper, with its daily horoscope, alongside his wife. Compare .28 and note. 261.25-6: “mehrkurios than saltz of sulphur:” mercury, saltpeter, and sulphur were all ingredients for Chinese fireworks. (So was carbon – not, as far as I can tell, included here. Mercury sometimes substituted for sulphur.) Also, salt of mercury, a.k.a. corrosive sublimate (occurs in “Circe”) – used in treatment for syphilis 261.27: “cryptogam:” “gam:” Latin root for “marriage.” Hence “bridable” (.27). 261.28: “broken heaventalk:” one way of describing the zodiac, broken into twelve “houses” or thirty-six “decans” 261 Fn.1: “ludo:” a board game, similar to Parcheesi. (Not in the OED, and no Google Books hits for Joyce’s time, but it does appear in Flann O’Brien’s At Swim-Two-Birds, published in 1939.) 261 Fn. 2: “Kellywick…Terra Firma:” linked to “Mr Tumulty in muftilife” (.19). Based on this footnote, “multilife” is probably in the mix as well: again, as in Stephen’s nine-stage concentrically expanding self-location, from “Stephen Dedalus” to “The Universe” (Portrait, chapter one), his identity moves outwardly in nine phases, intersecting a range of different selves along the way. 1. “Kellywick:” bailiwick, in secondary sense (OED) “One’s place of operation or sphere,” in this case of the individual sometimes named Earwicker. 2. “Longfellow’s Lodgings:” different meanings on different scales, from general place of residence to (OED) “accommodation in hired rooms or in a lodging house.” 3. “House of Comments III:” the house or lodging house itself. (Oxford editors have “111” for “III.”) 4. “Cake Walk:” a “walk” is commonly a lane or side street. 5. “Amusing Avenue:” an avenue is a main street – bigger than a side street. 6. “Salt Hill:” a city district, in this case (McHugh) of Galway. 7. “Co Mahogany:” a territorial entity (a county, e.g.Ireland's County Mayo) encompassing cities (e.g.Galway) and/or other civic districts. 8. “Izalond:” Ireland, a country. 9. "Terra Firma:" Earth, a planet. (Typical, for a Joyce list, are the incipient divagations: Salt Hill is in Galway but Galway is not in County Mayo; “Longfellow’s Lodgings” might be either (McHugh) de Valera’s official residence or one of two tourist sites in America.) Along – again - with the Stephen of Portrait, chapter one, compare Kevin’s nine-stage immersion in 605.4-606.12. 262.1: “decemt:” "dec-:" this is the tenth question in the series. Also, again, "Ainsoph" (one) and his "zeroine" make a 10. 262.3: “This bridge is upper:” “The bridge is up” would normally mean that a drawbridge was raised and that therefore one couldn’t “Cross” (.4). Perhaps “Cross” means “Never mind the bridge; ford the stream.” What William did at the Battle of the Boyne 262.3-6: “upper…Cross…castle…Knock:” as Mink notes, this is at “the knock out in the park” (3.22), site of the fallen Finn’s (the “cavedin earthwight”’s (.11)) “tumptytumtoes” (3.21), at the opposite end from his head at Howth. 262.8: “pearse:” pass 262.10: LM 2: "Swing the banjo, bantams, bounce-the-baller's blown to fook:" from Digger Dialects – A Collection of Slang Phrases used by the Australian Soldiers on Active Service, compiled by W.H. Downing, as recorded in Genetic Joyce Studies, Issue 18, by Ian MacArthur and Geert Lernout: "bounce the ball:" to assert oneself. "Swing the banjo:" dig with a shovel. "Bantam:" a short man. "Blown to fook:" shatter to fragments 262.13-4: “When shoo, his flutterby, / Was netted and named:” “flutterby:” an instance of what is sometimes called “Adamic” word-formation: the original coinings, presumed closest to the experiential essence of the thing or act named. Otto Jespersen (see McHugh) cites “flutterby” as an example of the “Secret Languages” of children and “flutter” as an example of how words for relatively quiet repetitive movement frequently begin with “l-combinations,” especially “fl.” Jespersen was an exponent of “phonosemanticism” or “sound symbolism,” the belief, in the words of Wikipedia, that “phonemes carry meanings in and of themselves” – as such the antithesis of Saussure and, later, Derrida. Your annotator believes that FW, often if not always, entertains and exhibits a similar belief in “the sound sense sympol” (612.29), that it is clearly the work of the author who called Verlaine’s “La Lune blanchit sur lest toits” “perfection” because “one could hear the very sound of the rain” and described I.8 as “an attempt to subordinate words to the rhythm of water” (Ellmann (1984), 431, 564). (The words of the footnote (Fn. 4) linked to this sequence may constitute a version of (childish) Adamic language.) Other examples from Jespersen occur throughout FW: the Mookse’s “javanese” (159.12) is “javanais,” the French “Secret Language;” “A pengeneepy for your warcheekeepy” (275. Fn. 1: a penny for your pants), “pengeypigses” (313.16: pants). Jespersen cites a number of cases of children’s intuitive grasp of onomatopoeic rightness: one Danish child’s preference for “krager” as the best word for “crows” may be behind FW’s crow’s “kraaking” (11.1) and later derivatives of the sound for crows; the same applies to, for instance, “raabraabs” for ravens (491.14). For other examples, see Otto Jespersen, Language: Its Nature, Development, and Origin, passim. For Joyce’s extensive use of this and of Jespersen’s Growth and Structure of the English Language, see James Joyce: The Finnegans Wake Notebooks at Buffalo, volumes VI.B.2 and VI.B.6, published by Brepols. 262.15: LM 2 goes with “furscht kracht of thunder” (.12). 262.15: “Erdnacrusha, requiestress, wake em:” gist: if he (him) or they/them (em) are in the Requiescat stage, they are buried, under a crushing quantity of Erd, earth, and ought to be resurrected, waked. 262.16: “And let luck’s puresplutterall lucy at is:” “luck’s:” Latin lux: light. “Lutterall:” Latin lutera: washbasins. “Lucy at is:” Latin "luceatis," subjunctive of: you (plural) shed light. With overtones of “pluo,” rain, and “plu,” prefix for many, something like: and let light shine upon you, washing you clean as with basins of rainwater. (Probably pertinent that the rain appears four lines after a “kracht of thunder,” hence rain, and that the principals are in a hurry to get indoors.) An appropriate invocation for someone (see previous entry) just unearthed. As with all FW’s “lucy”s, it is surely relevant that Joyce’s daughter Lucia was named for the patro saint of sight. (“Shoot the shades” in the linked footnote (Fn. 5) perhaps translates as: banish darkness.) 262.18: “wise fool:“ sophomore 262.19: "Sow byg eat:” according to Christiani, “Sow” (beget); build; eat 262.22-3: ”And that skimmelk steed still in the groundloftfan:” the image of a white horse - (skim) milk-white steed - is still in the fanlight over the door. A sign of Unionist sympathies – hence, probably, “still:” it hasn’t yet been removed or smashed. Accords with 261 Fn. 2 specification of his origins as being in Northern Ireland 262.24: “beastskin trophies:” bearskins, as hunting trophies. Your annotator has suggested elsewhere that one of them is a rug in the parents’ bedroom. 262.27: “The babbers ply the pen:" the talkers – babblers - are also writing. 262.27: LM 4 (“Tickets…Raffle.”) goes with “The bibbers drang the den” (.27). 262.28: “The bibbers drang the den:” “bibbers” are drinkers. “Drang,” from German gedrang: thronged, crowded. With overtone of “din” in “den,” probably also an echo of “Sturm und Drang.” 262.29: “tin:” slang for money Fn. 1: “Yussive smirte and ye mermon answerth from his beelyingplace below the tightmark, Gotahelv!:” link to “Knock:” apparition of BVM at Knock in 1879; apparition of Angel Moroni to (“Yussive smirte”) Joseph Smith (Oxford editors: the “Yussive” in “Yussive smirte” is “Jussive”) in 1823. “Below the tightmark:” below the belt. Also, from Joyce's Notebook VI.B.45.134, "bury below the tidemark," so as not to be buried in earth. Hence ("mermon") merman. "Gotahelv!:" besides Go to hell!, Götaelv, a major Viking trading center Fn. 2: "Dozi:" according to Digger Dialects, in Indian currency a two-anna piece Fn. 3: “A goodrid croven in a tynwalled tub:” link to “furscht kracht of thunder” (.12). Vico’s cowering humanity is being “croven”/craven, hiding, in a cave, from the thunder. “Croven” from “coven,” “convent:” a coming-together: according to Vico: marriage, family, community all begin at this moment. Fn. 4: “Apis amat aram…:” link to “When shoo, his flutterby, / Was netted named” (.13-4): again, according to Vico, lightning/thunder scares people into caves. The vagrant female (“shoo” – she) butterfly – “flutterby” - becomes a domestic bee (“Apis”). She is thus “netted and named:” committed to matrimony, given her husband’s name. She vows to love “Aram:” Shem’s son, patriarch of Armenian people. (The subsequent injunctions in the main text are mainly ceremonial prayers for their future prosperity.) Fn. 5: “And after dinn to shoot the shades:” after the tumult and the shouting – and dinner – pull down the shades, for the wedding night Fn. 7: “To go to Begge:” as throughout this note, “Go to bed.” Perhaps the monstrous Zurich “Bögge” will show up in nightmares. 263.2: “hakemouth:” in his annotation to “Scylla and Charybdis,” Gifford says that a “hake” is a gossipy old woman. Among fishermen, hake is known for its exceptionally large mouth full of sharp teeth, requiring caution when hauling in and removing the hook; 180.30 ("Hake's haulin! Hook's fisk") seems to confirm. 263.2: “which under:” most authors would probably have inserted a comma between these two words. 263.3-6: “Ignotus Loquor…harangued bellyhooting fishdrunks…from a father theobalder brake:" he used to be a (("Loquor") loquacious) temperance preacher, disciple of Ireland's temperance crusader Father Theobald Mathew, haranguing drunks (as in, ("fishdrunks") drinks like a fish) against liquor. (Now, of course, mutatis mutandis, he’s a publican.) 263.3: “foggy old:” from foggy old London 263.5: “stamping ground:” sometimes “stomping ground:": not sure whether this expression registers in British Isles; in America, it signifies one’s place of origin. Compare .9 and note. 263.6: “the incenstrobed:” the intrepid 263.9: “blighty:” WW I: English soldier slang for home, stomping ground 263.10-1: “ostrogothic and ottomanic faith converters:” both Ostrogoths and Ottomans invaded from the (ost) east; the latter campaigned to gain converts to Islam. 263.11-5: “Pandemia’s…Helleniky:” I suggest that here and earlier there are memories of the “Spanish flu” pandemic of 1918-20. All three HCE permutations here include one variant on Spain - “Hispano,” “Castilian,” “Espanol” – following “Pandemia’s post-wartem plastic surgeons.” The flu was a pandemic; its worst phase occurred just after WW I. The general setting is “postwartem:” soldiers returning home from war – again, apparently WW I. As McHugh notes, “postwartem” is both post-war and post-mortem. 263.15-6: “Rolf the Ganger, Rough the Gangster, not a feature alike and the face the same:” i.e. legendary conqueror and modern street “rough” are essentially the same. “Ganger:” gangster 263.20-30: “since primal made alter in garden of Idem…archetypt:” variations on the theme proposed by J.S. Atherton as FW’s central “Hearasay” (LM 4), that God was the original sinner, and that his sin was the Creation. Hence the redemptively sacrificial altar (“alter”) is set up in Eden from the get-go; hence “paradox lust,” the act of creating life, is, paradoxically, the same as the sin of lust, which as Milton put it “brought death into the world.” This phrase from LM 4 goes with “O felicitous culpability” (.29), felix culpa, inviting the heretically revisionist reading that God ordained the sin in the garden so that Jesus would have to be sacrificed, and so much for the Abrahamic Covenant. 263.20-1: “alter in garden of Idem:” possibly a glance at the “Same and Other” of Plato’s Timaeus 263.23: LM 3 goes with ”loth and pleasestir” (.23): love and pleasure. 263. 29-30: LM 4: “Hearasay in paradox lust:” goes with “O felicitous culpability.” Fn. 2: "We dont hear the booming cursowarries:" see McHugh. Joyce's note cited there refers to an excerpt from Lucien Lévy-Brúhl, L’expérience mystique et les symboles ches les Primitifs, about a tribal tradition that different animals are responsible for the weather in different forms, and that (my translation) "It is the cassowary which plays the main part: its growling ('grondement') is actually the thunder." Fn. 3: “And this once golden bee a cimadoro:” Cimex = Latin for bug, in pejorative sense. Since this is linked to a lament on the fall in the Garden of Eden, an example of how things, insects included, became degraded Fn. 4: “Sinobiled:” “Synod” = Lutheran (“Lutharius”) equivalent of bishopric 264.3: “ernst:” earnest = offering 264.5-6: “Horn of Heatthen, highbrowed! Brook of Life, backfrish!:” HCE and ALP as mountain and river. “Horn” is German for mountain peak. If “Heatthen” includes “Heath,” the Matterhorn (German: Meadow-peak) may be in the picture; compare 274.7. 264.6-7: “backfrish!:” backfisch, as (McHugh) teenage girl, completes the family portrait: HCE and ALP (“ech with pal” (.3)), the standard “two…three” signature of the twins (.4-5), and, here, Issy. 264.12: “Petra sware unto Ulma:” Petra and Ulma are both girl’s names. 264.14: LM 1 goes with “On my veiny life” (.14)! 264.15: RM 2: “THE LOCALISATION OF LEGEND LEADING TO THE LEGALISATION OF LATIFUNDISM:” i.e. grossly disproportionate distribution of property is justified, and made law, by adoption of founding-father myths. 264.19-20: “A phantom city, phaked of philim pholk:” with (McHugh) recall of 221.21’s “Shadows by the film folk,” recalls The Wasteland’s “Unreal City” of shadowy half-men. “Phaked:" full 264.19: “broads:” OED: “In East Anglia, an extensive piece of fresh water formed by the broadening out of a river” 264.20: “bowed and sould:” bowed-down and soiled. “Sould”/sold in sense of outsmarted and cheated 264.20: “four of hundreds:” 1. the Hundreds of Manhood, in Mink’s words an ancient “territorial division of Sussex,” ancestral home to the Earwickers and as such mentioned several times in FW; 2. the Chiltern Hundreds, a nominal office to which for technical reasons Members of Parliament officially apply when wishing to surrender their seats; 3. the Greek oligarchy that seized power during the Peloponnesian War; 4. the Gilded Age social elite of New York (so named because four hundred was the maximum capacity of Mrs. Astor’s ballroom) 264.22: LM. 2 goes with “partitional” (.22). Pretty clear connection to (see McHugh) Collins-Mulcahy story – a civil war over the issue of Irish partition 264.26ff: “sainted lawrels...:” Fritz Senn in AWN New Series VIII # 1 shows that many or all of the names here are of people resident at the locations listed. 264.26: “sainted lawrels evremberried:” “sainted” – scented. Given that the bay laurel (the probable variety) has berries and is evergreen, “evremberried” incorporates something like “ever-berried;” also a scrambling of “ever-remembered” (and “buried.”) Laurels are known for being sweet-smelling. Laurentius = Latin for “laurel.” 264.31: “meet:” fitting. From Book of Common Prayer: “It is meet and right so to do.” (Also, of course, a place for meeting) Fn. 1: “Startnaked and bonedstiff. We vivvy soddy. All be dood:” linked to “Fossilation, all branches” (.11-2). The branches of a fossilized tree (.11-2), buried in the sod, would look stark, bare, boney, stiff, sad, and dead. Fn. 2: “When you dreamt that you’d wealth in marble arch do you ever think of pool beg slowe:” link is probably to “bank,” depository of wealth, in “sunnybank” (.23), along with general sense of “sunny” meaning good fortune. Marble Arch is a posh district of London; Poolbeg is a poor part of Dublin. 265.1-2: “the still that was mill:” Chapelizod’s “disused distillery,” mentioned in “A Painful Case.” Mink reports that it was formerly owned by the Chapelizod “Mills, flax spinner and linen manufacturers.” 265.2: “Kloster that was Yeomansland:” a nuns’ cloister would be a kind of no-man’s-land. Chapelizod has a Mt. Sackville Secondary School taught by nuns; according to Mink it was once a convent. 265.3-4: “the quick foregone on:” the once quick, now dead 265.4-5: "elm Lefanunian abovemansioned:” the elm extends over the housetops – above the house, here promoted to a mansion. (In general, during this introduction the precincts seem to have been glamorized, as if part of some touristy travelogue.) 265.5-6: “the retrospectioner:” up until at least 266.21, II.2 will continue to be the narrative of a returner’s retrospective. 265.8: “fragolance of the fraisey beds:” strawberry fragrance. House of Fragonard sold perfumes, some with strawberry scents. 265.8-9: “the phoenix, his pyre, is still flaming away:” certainly Phoenix Park, as McHugh notes, but given how far we have homed in by now, also the fire in the pub’s central fireplace. Homed in: up to 265.7, II.2 is a homing-in sequence of cinematic zoom shots. Compare, for instance, the opening of Psycho. 265.9: “his pyre:” inspired. To “flame” was/is to hold forth in an overly-enthusiastic way. 265.9-10: “trueprattight:" truly patriotic. Also, as (McHugh) “tripartite,” may combine with “flaming away” (.9) as version of Ovid’s “trifida flamma:” see 281.16. 265.10-1: “the turrises of the sabines are televisible:” the building’s high points – turrets, towers – are visible from afar. Probably an early glimpse of the pub’s rooftop “supershielded umbrella antennas for distance getting” detailed at 309.17-8 - as elsewhere, doubling as a telegraph cabler’s (“cobbeler” (.12)) signal tower. (This one may have a bird’s nest in its wiring.) 265.15: LM 1: goes with “af liefest pose” (.14). 265.17: “ivy and hollywood and bower:” English legend’s most famous love bower was Rosamond’s in Hollywood, after which the film capital was presumably named. “Hollywood and Vine” is a famous intersection in Hollywood. Ivy is a vine; bowers are traditionally of vines. 265.18-9: “tho and yeth if you pleather:” Italian expression: “Cosi e si vi pare” – It’s right if it seems so to you 265.20: “two barrenny old perishers:” Abraham and Sarah, from whom multitudes descended. Sarah was surprised when it turned out she wasn't barren after all. 265.21: “a kilolitre in metromyriams:” a kilolitre is one cubic meter, 220 imperial gallons: in other words, a whole lot. Evidently refers to the myriads of offspring. (See previous entry.) 265.22-3: “the parent bole:” the original tree in a stand, at the center of later-generation trees and seedlings 265.27: “wustworts:” Chapelizod is (approximately) westward of central Dublin. Distances are traditionallyh measured from in front of ("generous poet's office" (.28) General Post Office. 265.28: LM 2 goes with “Finntown’s” (.28). Finntown – Finn’s Town – is Dublin. Connections: 1. letters from American “cousins,” arriving at (“generous poet’s office”) General Post Office and delivered by the postman (with possible echo of Our American Cousin, the play being performed when Abraham Lincoln was shot); 2. the twelve (“dozen”) customers are always or almost always bonafides, declared Dubliners entitled to drink after hours if a certain specified distance (here given: .25-8) from Dublin’s official city center, either Nelson’s Pillar or, next to it, the General Post Office. As McHugh notes, it’s three miles. This was the usual requisite distance, although, confusingly, for the Dublin area it could sometimes be five miles – which may help explain why sometimes the travelers’ destination is Lucan, the next town after Chapelizod, about seven miles from Dublin’s center. (More confusion: J. V. Kelleher has the legal distance as "more than four miles" from "home." Tentatively, your annotator suggests that the legal distance varied according to time and region. Any clarification on this subject is welcome.) 265.29: “aloofliest:” leafiest. Compare 624.22. Fn. 1: “Now a muss wash the little face:” Issy speaking: at Fn. 4 (“Googlaa pluplu”) we will hear the splashing sounds of her face-washing. Fn. 2: “A viking vernacular…” obviously not Issy’s voice anymore. She’s absented herself. (The link is to “brandnewburgher” (.13) – a new arrival.) Fn. 3: “H’ dk’ fs’ h’p’y:” see McHugh. In the Ladies’ Room, Issy has purchased – or been offered – a handkerchief to wash her face, with the resulting spluttery sounds. (Link is to “wonderful wanders off” (.16), wonderful waters of.) Rest-room attendants performing such offices used to be fixture of high-class joints. Fn. 4: “Googlaa pluplu:” again, sound of Issy’s face in wash basin Fn. 5: “P. Shuter:” The Egyptian hieroglyphic equivalent of “P” is a shutter. 266.1: “boxomeness of the bedelias:” “Bedelia” is variant of Bridget, Biddy, either way suggestive of chastity - but on the other hand, these bedelias are noted for their buxomness. “Bdellium:” Latin: aromatic gum of the balsam tree 266.2-3: “the store and charter:” as McHugh says, a takeoff on the common pub name “Star & Garter” – but, as noted earlier (78.12-3), the Mullingar also served as a general store. 266.3-13: “Rivapool?...upsturts:” as at the beginning of III.1 (and of “Circe”) the optical wooziness here is at least partly owing to nightfall, complete by the end of the previous chapter, and fog, lingering after that chapter’s thunderstorm; in fact, it won’t lift until 593.6-7. 266.4: “Rivapool? Hod a brieck on it:” hods are used to carry bricks. “Not a brack:” a brack is a mistake or rough spot on clothing; a garment with “not a brack on it” would be just right. So, presumably, would a healthy liver, howevermuch abused - compare 74.13: “Liverpoor? Sot a bit of it!” 266.4: “piers:” OED:” “pier:” “a structure used to support a bridge.” This passage is describing the Chapelizod bridge, a short distance from the Mullingar. General effect is dark and misty. 266.7: “snoo. Znore:” snooze 266.8: “thicker:” the fog 266.8: “Schein:” German for shine, glow; also, appearance as opposed to reality (Sein) 266.9-10: “Which assoars us from the murk of the mythelated in the barrabelowther:” this plays off of “barrow” as tumulus (compare 261 LM 2): we look upward from it (the ground floor) to the upstairs light from the children’s window(s) of .12-3. “Murk” may carry an overtone of lark, soaring. The pub’s spirits, including metheglin, are stored downstairs and/or in the cellar, in barrels; those who have over-indulged in such are feeling murky, seeing murkily. 266.10: “bedevere:” belvedere 266.11-2: “Morningtop’s necessity and Harrington’s invention:” “necessary:” euphemism for toilet. (See McHugh.) Many people, for instance Bloom in Ulysses, visit the toilet in the ("Morningtop's") top o’ the morning. 266.14-5: “love at the latch:” Oberon in A Midsummer Night’s Dream: “But hast thou yet latch’d the Athenian’s eyes / With a love-juice?” 266.15: “nig and nag:” given the setting – front of residence – a hitching post, presumably the same one already noted at 262.20-1. in America at the time typically a caricatured African-American. Non-American rough equivalents were called “Blackamoors.” Hence “nig” for a “nag” 266.16: “principals:” I always thought of this as an Americanism, but OED says that “principal” is a UK synonym for headmaster or headmistress. 266.16-8: “For the rifocillation of their inclination to the manifestation of irritation: doldorboys and doll:” the “-ation” endings identify the “doldorboys” as the four old men; the “doll” would then be their donkey. 266.18-9: “After sound, light and heat, memory, will and understanding:” a kind of internal evolution appropriate to school-learning: physical sensations, followed by intellectual processing 266.21-2: “till wranglers for wringwrowdy wready are:” until the wranglers are ready to start getting rowdy in the (boxing) ring. The mirror-image “F"s of .22, like the "fretful fidget eff" at 120.33ff, F, is always looking for a fight - probably just because of the “F-word” and other monosyllabic obscenities beginning with the same letter, often, as in "Circe" hurled as insults. Compare 266.22: LM 1 and note. 266.22: “at gaze:” this expression appears in “Hades:” Bloom looking out the carriage window at Stephen. The Century Dictionary defines it as “in the attitude of gazing and staring; looking in wonder.” Here, it seems to signify the two fighters attempting to stare one another down. 266.22: LM 1: goes with two facing F’s (.22). Fits both classroom disputation and challenge to fight 266.22: “meet:” a sporting event – here, a prize fight 266.26: "buxon bruzeup:" from Digger Dialects (see note to 262.10): "box-on:" a fight. "Bruzeup:" "Breeze-up:" fear. Also, see next. 266.26: “bruzeup:” bruise-up – a fight 266.26: "give it a burl:" from Digger Dialects (see note to 262.10): to cease 266.27: “june…jenniest:” young…youngest 266.28: “flicklesome:” fickle 266.30-1: “unconscionable:” the unconscious, which can, certainly, entertain unconscionable impulses 266.31-267.1: “flickerflapper fore our unterdrugged:” fickle flapper as object of desire. 20’s flappers were considered sexually forward. Fn. 1: “Sultan of Turkey:” linked to “boxomeness of the bedelias,” a plurality of buxom females, hence harem; also, bdellium is from northern India – Mogul territory Fn. 2: “I have heard this word…:” surely the “word” being remarked is “hobbyhodge” (.1-2), not “hole.” Fn. 4: “A question of pull:” aside from fitting the general theme of attraction, sexual and otherwise (“thine efteased ensuer” etc. (.30)), “pull” is American slang for unofficial influence – an edge, probably unfair. Perhaps explains why the (linked) pursued female chooses “ensuer” over “frondeur” (.27-30). 267.4-6: “Elpis, thou fountain of the greeces, all shall speer theeward:” given Fn. 2, I think this incorporates the spear of the statue of Athena, at the center of the Parthenon. (See note to 594.21.) The sun gleaming off the spear’s gilded tip was a signal for mariners as far away as Sounion – a cynosure for travelers. (The “Mannequin” of Fn. 2, linked to “theeward,” need not be diminutive; the word can be used for any replica of the human form.) “Speer” echoes “spoor:” the travelers are sensing and following a trail or call. “Thee:” The/a: both Elpis and Athena were goddesses. 267.4: “thou fountain of the greeces, all shall speer theeward:” just to take the level down a notch: this links to Fn. 2, the Mannequin Pis (see McHugh), which is a fountain out of a pissing boy’s penis. (Genitally speaking, his female counterpart here is the urinating “pretty Proserpronette whose slit satchel spilleth peas” (.10-1).) 267.4: “fountain of the greeces:” common phrase: “fountain of grace:” can refer to God, devotion, the heart, etc. 267.6-7: “Ausonius Audacior and gael, gillie, gall:” Ausonius was a late-empire Roman poet and pedagogue of Gallic origins; hence “gall.” “Audacior:” Latin for more daring 267.8: “syung:” my notes say that “syung” = “sewing” in Albanian. Apart from fact that FW is often compared to sewing-work and that Issy is often a sewer, this fits the context: she ends each thread with a (“nots” (.9)) knot on the (“vestures” (.9)) vestment, and there’s a “glimpse from gladrags” (.10). In the “Sing a Song of Sixpence” nursery rhyme running through this passage, one additional verse has the maid’s pecked-off nose being sewn back on: “They sent for the king’s doctor / Who sewed it on again / He sewed it on so neatly / The seam was never seen.” 267.8-9: “endspeaking notes:” endnotes 267.10: “briefest:” briefs: drawers, women’s underwear 267.10: LM 1: goes with “glimpse from gladrags” (.10). “Cis:” “Sis,” short for “sister;” "Cis:" Latin “cicere,” chickpea: (cf. 11-2: “whose slit satchel spilleth peas:” “satchel” is the peas’ pod, as in Stephen’s “Eumaeus” translation of “Cicero” into “Podmore;” see note to 267.20-1, below.) 267.11: “whose slit satchel spilleth peas:” as first noted by Aida Yared, an allusion to the Grimm Brothers’ tale “The Blue Light.” A king whose daughter has been bewitched tells her: “Fill your pocket with peas, then make a small hole in your pocket. If you are carried away again, they will fall out and leave a track on the street.” The trick fails because her enchanter overhears and scatters peas everywhere, which the "poor children" gather from what they call the “night it rained peas.” 267.12-268.6: “Belisha…breed by:” the gist is that we are focusing in on Issy, in her lamplit upstairs window. 267.12-3: “Usherette, unmesh us!” Movie usherettes at the time (there’s an Edward Hopper painting (New York Movie) of one) carried flashlights to show patrons to their seats. See next entry. 267.13: “That grene ray:” The Green Ray, a Jules Verne novel about adventurers looking to observe the “green ray” which in some circumstances occurs just at sunrise or sunset. Also, A movie usherette’s flashlight could come in different colors. (I remember red, but not green.) 267.13: “waves:” light as waves 267.14: “red, blue and yellow:” the three primary colors 267.16: “where flash become word:” Vico: imitation of thunder (following flash of lightning) is the origin of language. 267.16-7: “Where flash becomes word and silent selfloud:” “selfloud:” Lucia Boldrini glosses this as German Selbstlaut, “vowel,” and draws attention to the a, e, i, o, u, and y included in “Uwayoei!” (.20) - all the vowels. Also, following the movie thread: introduction of sound (in 1927) into movies, previously a matter of “flashing” light. (Before “talkies,” there were “silents.”) 267.17-8: “To brace congeners, trebly bounden and asservaged twainly:” again, 2 and 3 in combination signify the twins. Usually, either number can go first. Here, it’s both ways: “brace” (2), “trebly” (3), “twainly” (2). 267.20-1: “So mag this sybilette be our shibboleth that we may syllable her well!:” to repeat my note from I.1, 21.18-9, etc.: the “peas” in this passage constitute a shibboleth. During the Sicilian Vespers of 1266, French occupiers who were unable to successfully pronounce “ciciri” (Sicilian dialect for “chickpea”) were killed. See also FW 354.14-15, 425.19. Proserpine, with her “satchel” of “peas,” has reintroduced the theme. The Proserpine and Pluto story (.9-10: see McHugh) is set in Sicily. 267.20: “sybilette:” young Sybil 267.22-4: “Vetus may be occluded behind the mou in Veto but Nova will be nearing as their radient among the Nereids:” Venus the planet may be blocked out by the moon. 267.23, 27: Oddly, the correspondence between LM notes and text here is in reversed order: LM 2 goes with “branches” in line 25; LM 3 goes with “Nova” in line 23. Connection in the latter is perhaps between “Nova” and “Unge:” new and young. I can’t see a direct connection between LM 2 and “branches,” but “Una Unica,” on the same line, would be the North Star, the “Sailor’s Only” guide, friend – something of that sort. The “pointers” of the Great Bear constellation are so called because they point to the North Star. May be relevant that in “Ithaca” the night sky is envisioned as a “heaventree.” 267.25: “Una Unica:” one one: 1 1. Paired verticals are always or almost always an Issy signature. Here, they signify Issy, in \her upstairs room, “under the branches of the elms” (.25-6) – the elm by her window. 267.25-6: “who, under the branches of the elms:” once again: Issy’s upstairs window is shaded, sometimes obscured, by an elm tree. (See 265.4-5 and note.) 267.28: “mistmusk:” the scent of the “rambler roses” (.29). Oxford editors have “mistymusky.” 267.29: “or ever:” ere ever. The theme here is a familiar one: beauty is transient, like the bloom of the rose, which soon will “have faded from the fleur” (268.1). 267.29: “the maybe mantles the meiblume:" “maybe” may be “May bee.” 267.29: “mantles:” in sense of: blushes deep red. Popular in romantic and erotic literature 268.4: LM 1 goes with “thinking all” (.4). 268.7: “jemmijohns:” James and John. Demi-Johns: two offspring/halves of one father named John (Joyce). Oxford editors have “jemmijohns,” bringing in the Gemini twins. 268.7: “cudgel:” phrase: “to cudgel one’s brains:” to think strenuously. Compare 223.25-6. Also, the twins, as rivals, will be cudgeling one another. 268.9: “divisional tables:” division tables of (“a rhythmatick” (.8)) arithmetic; the division between the two rivals 268.9-10: “of minions’ novence charily being cupid:” as her suitors, they are her minions, underlings. I suggest that “novence” echoes “notice,” which, despite her hard-to-get pose, she covets: “cupid” comes from Latin “cupidus,” meaning eagerly desirous. 268.10: LM 2 goes with “charily being cupid” (.10). 268.11: “mug’s wumping:” “mug” appears elsewhere in FW in the sense of loser, dupe. In American slang, to whump or whup someone is to give them a beating. Politically, American mugwumps were said to be pigheadedly indecisive, sitting with their mugs on one side of the fence and their wumps on the other. 268.11: “grooser’s:”grocer’s. Again, the Mullingar House was also a grocery store. Compare, for instance, 367.2. 268.15-6: “And a bodikin a boss in the Thimble Theatre:” “Bodikin” combines Gaelic bud, penis, with the suffix signifying either similarity or smallness. Relativistic gist: in the miniaturized thimble-world, even such a diminutive specimen will be the star attraction. Nora's first boyfriend was named Michael Bodkin, the origin of Michael Furey in "The Dead." 268.16: “inbourne:” within bounds 268.17: LM 3 goes with “gramma’s” (.17). 268.19: “spoken abad:” slandered 268.19: “moods:” in grammatical sense: verbal inflections 268.23: “interest:” in financial sense: it will pay dividends 268.25-6: “mind your genderous towards his reflexives such that I was to your grappa:” during courtship, mind that you’re not too generous with your (gender: sex) favors. Hey, it worked for me with your grandpa; in fact it's why you have a grandpa. (In the desolating words of the 1955 song "Love and Marriage," sung by, of all people, Frank Sinatra: "Love and marriage, love and marriage / Go together like a horse and carriage. / Dad was told by Mother / You can't have one without the other.") 268.26: LM 4 goes with “to your grappa” (.26). “As daff as you’re erse:" as crazy (daft) as you’re Irish (Erse), as deaf as your arse 268.27: “hedon:” hardon: erection. (Appears in “Circe.”) Also, hedonist: Joyce as grasshopper/Gracehoper 268.28-9: “what the lewdy saying, his analectual pygmyhop:” compared to him, an intellectual pygmy; what some people (see Joyce’s July 12, 1905 letter to Stanislaus: Selected Letters, p. 67.) said about Nora, as compared to her super-cerebral husband. (She was also his (“pygmyhop”) pickmeup: they met as strangers and she agreed on the spot to a date. Pretty much contradicts the advice she gave at .25-6.) “Analectual pygmyhop:” overtone of “Anna Livy Plurabelle.” In the accompanying Fn. 7, “A washable lovable floatable doll,” “doll” accords with “pygmy” and probably also carries sense of “living doll,” a highly attractive woman. (Compare 197.20 and note.) For “floatable,” see 210.23-4 and note. “Lewdy: in the sense of ignorant and crude (with an equal-opposite echo of “lady”): actually, they, not she, were the stupid ones, so there. 268.29: “comfortism:” conformism. OED dates the word from 1929. Fn. 3: “The law of the jungerl.” Link is to the rules of courtship, “the business each was bred to breed by” (.6), and it’s a jungle out there. “Jungerl:” aside from young girl, a young (male) churl – the latter is what you’ll wind up with, girl, if you “stray” (.3) from the straight and narrow. Fn. 4: “pullovers:” sweaters. Link is to Issy, knitting (.13-4). Fn. 5: “I’d like his pink’s cheek:” “I like your cheek!” - Victorian/Edwardian expression: a sarcastic rebuke to someone thought to have been impertinent. Linked to a lecture on proper forms for addressing someone (.22). Compare 185.11-2. See next entry. Fn. 6: “Frech:” in sense of “fresh” – i.e. too forward. Also, French men and women were proverbial for sexual forwardness. Link is to her lover as “hedon” ((.27) – see note.) The continuation berates her for the sin of running off with someone not her husband. 269.1-6: “often hate on first hearing comes of love by second sight…prude with prurial…prettydotes:” in (maybe) reverse, the story of Pride and Prejudice, followed by echoes of the title. (Also, “second sight” in sense of clairvoyance.) The whole run of marriage-market advice in these pages recalls W. H. Auden’s comment on Jane Austen vis-à-vis Joyce: You could not shock her more than she shocks me; Beside her Joyce seems innocent as grass. It makes me most uncomfortable to see An English spinster of the middle-class Describe the amorous effects of 'brass', Reveal so frankly and with such sobriety The economic basis of society. (W. H. Auden, Letter to Lord Byron) 269.2-11: “Have…sob:” gist: whatever his promises to the contrary, any man, young or old, chap or chaperone, will, like Peter Wright with Gladstone (see McHugh), inevitably spill the beans about anything scandalous you confide in him, and your reputation will suffer, and your marriage prospects with them, for at least half a year. 269.3-4: “dual in duel:” Beatrice and Benedict, Elizabeth and Darcy, etc.: a romcom feuding duo destined to become a couple 269.4: “prude with prurial:” the prudish with the prurient: opposites 269.5: “aoriest:” hoariest, in sense of oldest. Perhaps also hairiest – most wised-up – as in “Boylan is a hairy chap,” from “Cyclops” 269.8: “pale peterwright:” see McHugh. The Daily Mail’s coverage of the libel trial against Peter Wright recorded that he “paled at the verdict.” 269.8: “preterite:” aside from the grammatical sense, a preterite, in Calvinist theology, is someone who is not of the elect of God – that is, is damned from creation. 269.10-1: “the better half of a yearn or sob:” more than half a (bitter) year or so 269.10-1: “better half:” McHugh has “spouse;” I would add that the term was/is invariably applied to the wife, definitely not the husband. 269.11: "It’s a wild’s kitten:” (I am extending McHugh’s gloss): saying: “It’s a wise child that know its own father.” “Wild’s kitten:” a young wildcat 269.13-4: “predicable…accident:” two related terms in scholarly logic. One sense of the latter is: “to denote the fifth Predicable…as distinguished from the Genus, Differentia, Species, and Property.” (Source: Francis Garden, A Dictionary of English Philosophical Terms, p. 4.) Basic distinction is between essential and inessential, varieties of. 269.14: “you must have the proper sort of accident:” the proper sort of accent – as in Shaw’s Pygmalion. Still, compare 270.2-3 and note. 269.17: “Every letter is a godsend:” 1. tradition(s) of the divine origin of, among others, the Hebrew alphabet. (All four of the letters then listed (.17-9) are from divinities.) 2. Molly Bloom’s “I wish somebody would write me a loveletter.” All four of the divinities are male. See next entry. 269.18-9: “Zeus, the O’Meghisthest:” Omega, last letter of the Greek alphabet, as Z (“Zeus”) is of the Latin. Completes the alphabetical sequence begun at .17 with “Ares” 269.21: “thou arr, I am a quean:” I suggest that this extends the alphabet strain of .17-9: R, M, Q; perhaps also the OE thorn (th) and I. 269.21-2: “Is a game over? The game goes on:” considering “maid” of .23 and other card games in the vicinity, for instance (“beggar the maid” (.23) “Beggar My Neighbor”) – although we do get an egg and spoon race at .28 - the game in question is probably Old Maid. The whole point of this lesson is teaching Issy how not to be one. 269.22: LM 2 goes with “Cookcook!” (.22) 269.23-4: “The beggar the maid the bigger the mauler:” i.e., the more economically desperate the woman, the more liberties the man can take. A “mauler” is a physically overaggressive suitor. See next entry. 269.24-5: “And the greater the patrarc the griefer the pinch:” follows from the previous sentence: the more powerful the man, the more liberties he can take – not only pinching a woman against her will but pinching her hard. 269.26: “O love it is the commonknounest thing:” “love” is, in point of fact, a common noun. 269.27: “the plutous and the paupe:” besides (McHugh) plutocrat and pauper: Pluto, lord of the underworld, and pope – respectively, princes of darkness and of light. The linked footnote (Fn. 4) follows up: Women’s seductive “Wenchcraft” can prevail over both “Black and White.” 269.28: “egg she active or spoon she passive:” “egg:” as in, to egg on. “Spoon:” 20’s-30’s slang for sexual byplay: couple lies down, side by side, with contour of man’s front fitting with back side of woman, who may be said to adopt the “passive” position. 269.29: “all of them fine clauses in Lindley’s and Murrey’s:” in “Eumaeus,” Bloom remembers Molly’s ungrammatical “must have fell down” “with apologies to Lindley Murray.” The gist here (compare .14 and note, 270.3) is that L & M are arbiters of correct, polite conversation – in this case, necessary but not sufficient. 269.30-1: “participle of a present:” particle of a gift 269.30-1: “present…vindicatively I say it:” present indicative; “I say it” is an example. Fn. 1: From at least The Canterbury Tales, unwed women, especially older ones, have proverbially been fond of lapdogs. Hence the link with (“wallfloored”) wallflower, in sense of some unmatched party in a community of couples Fn. 2: “If she can’t follow suit Renee goes to the pack:" Renée: Queen, in pack of cards. There are of course a number of card games in which not being able to follow suit means drawing from the pack - i.e. one “goes to the pack.” Again (see 269.21-2 and note), Old Maid, played with a deck from which one of the queens has been removed, seems the likeliest here. “Renée” is probably a sideways pun on René Descartes – “des cartes,” of the cards. Also, “Goes to the pack:” goes to the dogs. (Digger Dialects (see 262.10 and note): deterioriates.) “Suit” also in sense of “suitor." If she doesn't eventually join up with one, she will wind up going to the dogs. Compare the truth-telling Clarissa in The Rape of the Lock: "She who scorns a man must die a maid." 270.1: “future:” her future husband 270.1 “Lumpsome:” Lovesome 270.2. “lumpsum:” a “lump sum:” a definite amount of money – here, contrasted with pretty words 270.3-4: “oblique orations:” 1. his misleading sweet-talk; 2. equally-oppositely, obligations 270.2-3: “Quantity counts though accents falter:” “Quantity” as opposed to “The Quality” – the upper crust. A vulgarian who keeps dropping his h’s is still worth considering for marriage if he has enough money. 270.4: “parsed:” pushed 270.4: LM 1: “I’ll go for that small polly if you’ll suck to your lebbensquatsch:” goes with “a brat, alanna” (.4). Seems to record conversation between a young male on the lookout for girls and what today would be called his wingman: I’ll go for that one while you stick to the other one and keep her occupied. “Polly:” according to Graham Greene’s Brighton Rock, “polony” – literally a small sausage - was seaside slang for a loose, lower-order young woman. “Suck to your lebbensquatsch:” telling someone to "go suck a lemon” is roughly the equivalent of “Buzz off.” 270.5: “he:” any one of the he’s, however bratty, who get their pick of the girls. (Or women) 270.6: “pipe clerk:” official title of a job in the waterworks. Prospects-wise, not much of a catch, but, alas, given how the deck is stacked, even his advances must be considered. 270.7: “that perfect little cad:” compare 143.35. Highly sarcastic, with an air of offended eminence. Still, see previous entry: lowlife or not, even he has to be taken seriously as a suitor too. 270.7-11: “from the languors and weakness of limberlimbed lassitude till the head, back and heartaches of waxedup womanage:” as, from one end of a sequence to another – here, from a woman’s youth to old age 270.8: “lassihood:” state of being a lass, a young woman 270.10: “head, back and heartaches:” i.e. headaches, back aches, heart aches – signs of age, at the other end of the continuum from (.8) limber lasses: the “brat” (.4) can have his pick of either end, or anything between. 270.11-4: “Note the Respectable Irish Distressed Ladies and the Merry Mustard Frothblowers of Humphreystown Associations:” gist: old unmarried women have it worse than their male counterparts: the former are objects of charity while the latter get together to drink, blowing the froth off their mugs of beer – something, since froth if left alone will settle down into perfectly good beer, you wouldn’t do if you were much worried about the cost. (No idea how “Mustard” figures in (perhaps - long shot - by way of beer - German - German sausage - mustard?) 270.15: “hist subtaile of schlangder:” “schlong” = slang for penis. (Also spelled “shlong.”) “Hist:” hissed, by a (penis-like) snake. Compare .17-8 and note. 270:16: “tease oreilles:” given context, “Tess O’Reilly” seems likelier than Persse. 270.16: “vert embowed:” scrambled “verboten?” Would fit the context 270.17-8: “But learn from that ancient tongue to be middle old modern to the minute. A spitter that can be relied on:” more coinciding contraries: “the ancient tongue” is the Edenic snake’s forked tongue; some snakes proverbially spit venom; still, Jesus did tell his disciples to be “as wise as serpents.” 270.18: “middle old modern:” m. o. m. Paradoxically, Mom’s “ancient tongue” is advising that to catch a man, a girl has to be “modern” (a word with special oomph in the 20’s and 30’s), though perhaps only middlingly so. 270.20: “Wonderlawn’s:” Alice Liddell’s middle name was “Pleasance;” a pleasance is a lawn. See notes for .21, .21-2, and .22. 270.20-1: “Alis, alas, she broke the glass!:” “Amo, Amas, I Love a Lass:” song by John O’Keefe which, as in these pages, includes a love song in the form of a language lesson. 270.21: “broke the glass!:” broke the mirror – seven years’ bad luck. As a Leap Year girl (born on February 29 – a conceit Joyce probably got from The Pirates of Penzance) Issy is either 28, 29, or 30 years old (on March 21, 1938, Lucia was 30) or seven. Alice is exactly seven years old in Wonderland, exactly seven and a half in Looking-Glass. See next entry. 270.21-2: “Liddell lokker through the leafery:” combines the rabbit hole of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, which is under a “hedge,” with the looking-glass of Through the Looking-Glass. Compare the “grass”/glass (the latter by way of Gaelic’s “l-r interchange”) through which “We pass,” of the end (628.12). 270.22: “mistery of pain:” misty mystery; also pain induced by men - “mister”s – in a man’s world. Also, Carroll’s Alice, about to go through the looking glass: “Why, it’s turning into a sort of mist now, I declare!” (from Through the Looking Glass.) Earlier, I.2 has ended with sound of glass crashing, followed by “freakfog” (48.2) of I.3 – caused, I believe, by fog rolling in through a broken window. 270.22: “ours is mistery of pain:” the pain of childbirth to which women are condemned in Genesis, but maybe also a getting-even infliction of pain on men, as Mistress-of-Pain dominatrix. 270.25: LM 2, “O’ Mara Farrell’s,” goes with “virgil page” (.25). “O’Mara” = “Omera,” Italian for Homer. O Hehir also suggests Omar, and adds, “Farrell:" "Fearghail Mod. I. = Fergil O.I. = Vergilios Celt. = Vegilius L,” and “Vergil’s birthplace, Mantua, was in Gallia Transpadana, his origin Celtic.” 270.22-5: “You may spin on youthlit’s bike and multiplease your Mike and Nike with your kickshoes on the algebrars but, volve the virgil page and view...:” with her shoes on the handlebars and the wind blowing up her skirts, her virgin vulva would be on view, thus mightily pleasing Mike and Nick. (In Ulysses, both Gerty and Molly remember such shocking spectacles.) Also, virgin page: a blank sheet. More generally, giving in to her suitors – pleasing them in multiple ways – would, as the speaker goes on to point out, leave her sorry in the long run: see next two entries. 270.25-6: “volve the virgil page and view, the O of woman is long:” Sortes Virgilianae was practiced as prophecy; in this case, it tells her that she is destined or doomed to live for a long time. If the “o” in “woman” is long (O Hehir: “assertion that the first syllable of ‘woman’ should scan as long”), the word should be pronounced woe-man, inviting the ancient joke that woman is so named because she brought woe to man. (It won’t be all that great for her, either.) Also, see next entry. 270.25-7: “the O of woman is long when burly those two muters sequent her.” In addition to warning about male inconstancy, this also reminds her that women live longer than men, so that she’d better feather her nest while she can. In “Nausicaa,” Bloom reflects that ”widower” is the derivative of “widow” – a rare case where the female form is primary, and there's a reason for that. Compare 79.33 and note, 272.5 and note. 270.25: “O:” as at 196.1, graphic representation of vagina 270.26: “muters:” as in “mutable.” Maybe also “mutes?” 270.27: “Nebob:” nabob: an Englishman who had grown rich in India and returned home; generally associated with vulgar ostentation. Another case (see .2-3) of “Quantity” winning out over “Quality” in the marriage market 270.27: LM 3 goes with “stray who” (.28). 270.29: RM 1: cued to Roman history (.29-271.6) a catalogue of, predominantly, stern Roman virtues. I suggest that the three sets of three correspond to three successive phases in the main text: “COURAGE, COUNSEL, AND CONSTANCY” as military virtues needed for the (“puny wars” (.30)) Punic Wars, “OMEN, ONUS AND OBIT” for (“Jeallyous Seizer” (271.3)) Julius Caesar and perhaps his assassins as well; “DISTRIBUTION OF DANGER, DUTY AND DESTINY” to (“the tryonforit of Oxthievious, Lapidous and Malthouse Anthem” (270.5-6)), the Second Triumvirate. 270.30: LM 4 – first line, “Ulstria,” goes with “The O’Brien” (.31). 270.30-271.3: “ya, ya…ga, ga…da, da:” at least the first and third of these pairings mean the equivalent of “aye aye” (and there’s a sir, a “Sire,” at 271.3: Aye aye, sir), that is, I I, invariably or (just to be safe) almost invariably, in one of many permutations (two l’s, two 1’s, two i’s, two eyes, two eyes as dots, two dots as Morse code, two verticals as a pair of female legs (sometimes, as in 271 LM 2, wearing “hosies,” stockings), as the uprights of a ladder, etc.) the signature for Issy, here addressed as a “duo of druidesses” (271.4). Note that the sentence begins/ends with “one:” “One hath just been areading, hath not one” (270.28). Fn. 2: “He’s just bug nuts on white mate he hasn’t the teath nor the grits to choo and that’s what’s wrong with Lang Wang Wurm, old worbbling goesbelly.” See .15 and note: the link is to “schlangder.” He lusts after the white meat of young damsels but like an antiquated toothless terror he can’t even chew it properly. (Perhaps alludes to Wyndham Lewis’s short story “Cantleman’s Spring Meat,” whose title shows up elsewhere in FW: Cantleman’s sexual relations with a young woman are described as a “devouring” that parallels what the story represents as the cannibalistic sexuality of nature.) When “white meat” is “white mate,” he’s an aged plutocrat who can’t perform sexually with his young, bought bride. (A comedy standard – in FW, most prominent in the Peaches and Daddy Browning story of I.3.) “Grits:” “grit” at the time was the American equivalent of “sand:” toughness over the long haul. Also: in America, “grits” are a kind of porridge – something that wouldn’t require teeth to consume. Calling him a “Wurm” obviously undermines his phallic snakiness; his “worbbling goesbelly” indicates not only that he is unsteady on his pins but that in fact those pins have (like Joyce’s teeth, the last one pulled when he was forty-one) been removed, so that like the serpent in Genesis he must now creep on his belly, even that he is now reduced to penitently warbling gospels in some uplifting choir as the final humiliation. (Also, geese wobble when they walk.) Also, “white mate”/white meat: the white female sexual partner of a black man, here by way the link to – again - “schlangder,” schlong, in turn traceable to the venerable tradition of African ithyphallicism: compare, for instance, 236.15-6. Fn. 3: “Dear and I trust in all frivolity I may be pardoned for trespassing but I think I may add hell:” I’m not sure just when it happened, but Issy is clearly back on the scene. Linked to “ours is mistery of pain” (.22), her note, based on what she’s just learned, is giving an amen to main text’s assertion that woman’s life is miserable – is hell. Fn. 4: As link to “Nebob,” This would go with Nemo as Odysseus’ Noman: “all menkind of every desception,” by deception he managed to get away in the guise of nobody. 271.1: LM 1, continuing from 270, LM 4, goes with “The O’Connor” (.1). “Monastir:” Mona = Isle of Man. According to Brendan O Hehir, the O’Briens, the O’Connors, and the MacLoughins have “nominal” claims to the kingships of Munster, Connacht, and Ulster respectively; “MacConmara inaugurated Ó Briaian kings but has no separate claim to kingship stalk.” 271.3: “Sire Jeallyous Seizer:” nothing that I’ve been able to find about Sir Julius Caesar (see Glasheen) seems to suggest exceptional jealousy or rapacity – although, to be sure, he was awfully good at working the court for advancement. (The Roman original, of course, was an expert at seizing - Gaul, for example.) Also, apparently unlike all other members of the catalogue here, he seems to have had nothing to do with Ireland. Maybe “Sire” here is just the customary term of honor applied to male heads of state. 271.4: LM 2, “Cliopatria, thy hosies history:” goes with “his duo of druidesses” (.4). “Druidesses” are Cleopatra and Octavia, Caesar’s exotic mistress and his homebody above-suspicion wife - perhaps, via “-patria,” homeland, both incorporated in “Cliopatria.” Again, the “hosies” are her/their pair(s) of stockings, legs included, here – as often in FW – provoking the male. 271.4-5: “ready money rompers:” a popular tongue-twister: “rubber buggy bumpers.” Also: “rompers:” OED: “a fashionable, loose-fitting woman's garment combining esp. a short-sleeved or sleeveless top and wide-legged shorts.” Bought with “ready money” – i.e. from customers well-off enough that can pay the full value at once. May be relevant that “rompers” were originally children’s outfits. 271.5: “tryonforit:” given “rompers,” may include sense of “try on for fit.” (Occurs in this sense in “Oxen of the Sun:” “Just you try it on.”) Figuratively, “try it on for size” means to measure your own accomplishments or character against those of some heroic figure. Also, of course, “triumph:” celebratory Roman processions given to conquering generals, who were frequently also (tyron) tyrants. 271.7: “Suetonia:” name of Roman virgin, a convert to Christianity 271.8: “reflections:” as in a mirror/looking-glass: see next item, .10 and .11 and notes, 270.20-2 and notes. 271.10: “caudle:” as McHugh says, “a warm drink,” therefore traditionally taken as a nightcap. (Hence “caudle lectures,” bedtime lectures: see Ulysses 9.238 and Gifford annotation.) The general sense seems to be of a once-comely woman, either aged or infirm, looking into her candle-lit mirror before bed, a caudle in her hand. Overtones of Snow White’s magic mirror: you are no longer the fairest of them all. See next two entries. 271.10: “holds her candle:” expression: “doesn’t hold a candle to:” is not nearly the equal of; see .5 and note. 271.11: “lone lefthand likeless:” image (likeness) in mirror, if held with right hand. Also, something “left-handed” may be clumsy or spurious; implication is that the reflection doesn’t do her justice. Issy’s mirror companion is Marge, her presumed inferior, sometimes opposite (see next entry), and dark double – the (.11-2) “sombring Autum of your Spring.” (“Sombring:” it gets darker in the Autumn.) 271.12: “Autum:” Latin autem: on the contrary 271.12-4: “reck you not one spirt of anyseed whether trigemelimen cuddle his coddle or nope:” more worldly-wise advice: don’t get all upset over whether your man has a squeeze (“cuddle”) on the side. (On the other hand, "spirt of anyseed" - semen - tells another story.) 271.12: “spirt of anyseed:” ejaculation 271.17-8: “Gruff Gunne may blow, Gam Gonna flow:” “Can’t Help Lovin’ That Man,” from Jerome Kern’s and Oscar Hammerstein’s Showboat: “Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly.” The play’s signature song, “Old Man River,” appears at 363.10-1. Also, the parents: gruff father will blow up (with anger), mother will flow with tears 271.19-21: “From the butts of Heber and Heremon, nolens volens, brood our pansies, brune in brume:” fragment of Quinet sentence - given in full at 281.7-13 – usually signals a tempus fugit theme 271.21: LM 3 goes with “nolens volens” (.20). 271.21-22: “There’s a split in the infinitive from to have to have been to will be:” “split infinitive” (McHugh) followed by an egregious example, “to will be” 271.23: “big innings:” a cricket “innings” in which many points have been scored 271.26: LM 4 goes with “glider” (.26). See next entry. 271.26: “glider:” porch swing, sometimes associated with summer courtships 271.29: “Gough:" God 271.29: “hiss:” sound of snake in garden 271.29-272.1: “we’re wizening:” getting older, getting wiser. Expression: “older but wiser” Fn. 1: “All his teeths back to the front:” linked to “torskmester” (.4), tusk-master. (Compare “Tusker Boyle” in Portrait, chapter one.) Elephants have tusks, which can curve around back-to-front; at 245.1 the zoo’s elephant is relaxing after “tusker toils.” Also, as stern military taskmaster, Julius Caesar – this time, the Roman, not the Englishman - is ordering his weary troops “back to [the] front.” In this second version, the story of Cadmus sowing dragon's teeth to make soldiers is probably in play. Fn. 2: “Skip one, flop fore, jennies in the cabbage store:” as McHugh notes, a nursery rhyme. Commonly used in children’s “clapping games,” here it links to two girls in “rompers” (.5), presumably for an accompanying skipping game. Fn. 3: “cumpohlstery English:” English was compulsory for Ireland through much of British rule. “Upholstered” English would be excessively high-toned, lah-dee-dah variety. Link is with “Suetonia,” a recondite classical allusion which the footnoter may see as pretentious. Fn. 5: “Tho’ I have one just like that to home, deadleaf brown with quicksilver appliques, would whollymost applissiate a nice shiny sleekysilk out of that slippering snake charmeuse:” linked to sentence about a phallic serpent in Eden. As elsewhere, snake reduced to (silk)worm, yielding “sleekysilk” for her new dress. Compare ALP’s dress in I.8: “a period gown of changeable jade that would robe [rob] the wood of two cardinals’ chairs,” that is, the leaves of two trees (200.2-3) - here as there, the dress is apparently green, as if made out of (.27) “leaves,” this time from the tree in the “garden Gough gave,” both India (see McHugh), with its un-Irish abundance of snakes, and God. (“Applisiate” includes “apple.”) Snakes shed their skins, which in time go (“deadleaf brown”) from shiny to brown. (Also, a possible memory of Lucia’s 1929 performance in what Richard Ellmann describes as “a shimmering silver fish costume she had designed herself.”) 272.1: “Hoots fromm:” “Hoots mon!:” stage-Scottish idiom; means something like “hey, man!” – or, more simply, just an expression of surprise or alarm 272.1: “globing:” getting fatter with age; becoming more visibly pregnant. See next two entries. 272.1-2: “Why hidest thou hinder thy husband his name?:” generally, a visibly pregnant woman would want it to be known that she had a husband. (Compare next entry.) “Husband his:” archaic form of “husband’s” 272.2-5: “Leda, Lada, aflutter-afraida, so does your girdle grow!:” compare Yeats’ “Leda and the Swan:” because her offspring by Zeus led to the Trojan War among other momentous events, Leda’s impregnation is something of a pagan parallel to (as in another Yeats’ poem, “The Mother of God”) Mary’s. 272.5: “Pappapassos, Mammamanet:” again, in the order of things, Papa may pass away – either abscond or die – but Mama remains. 272.6: “whowitswhy: “Who knows why? 272.7-8: “tails for toughs:” nursery rhyme: little boys are made of “snips and snails and puppy-dog’s tails.” 272.8: LM 1 goes with “deeleet” (.8). Oxford editors have “deleet.” (Note: their version also cancels the next paragraph break and the next six words (“Dark ages clasp the daisy roots”): maybe this was an authorial directive to “delete.”) 272.10-2: “a sally of the allies, hot off Minnowaurs and naval actiums…banks of rowers:” the last verse of the 1916 song “Sally in Our Alley” includes the lines “And, but for her, I’d better be / A slave and row a galley.” (The Battle of Actium was fought with war galleys, manned by rowers.) 272.11: “naval actiums, picked engagements:” naval actions, pitched engagements: language of warfare 272.12-3: “Please stop if you’re a B.C. minding missy:” mind your own (“B.C.”) business; go away if you can’t 272.12-3: “a B.C minded…A.D.:” goes with musical notes (B, C, A, D) in LM 2. See note to 271.13. Woman addressed here – a type of Issy – was previously A-B-C-minded, that is, simple. 272.16: “holy Janus:” Jesus (colloquial Irish pronunciation: Jaysus) is also Janus because his arrival – B.C. to A.D. – is history’s major threshold. 272.17-8: “Here, Hengegst and Horsesauce, take your heads out of that taletub!:” Oxford editors have “Hengegst.” Repeats story of sultan immersing his head in tub of water; first appears at 4.24. (See note.) Here as there – and see previous entry - signals transition to a new age. 272.20-1: “Whoan, tug, trace, stirrup!:” 1. Signals of horse-rider coming to halt: “Whoa!” Tug at reins. Horse’s “traces” are detached. Rider dismounts via stirrup. 2. Hypnotist bringing subject out of trance: One, two, three, wake up! 272.21: LM 3 goes with “that, sense” (.21-2). 272.22-3: “threehandshighs put your twofootlarge:” 3-2: twins signature. Three hands, conventionally, would equal a foot. 272.23: “timepates:” pates = heads 272.24: “Murph:” Morpheus. (In “Eumaeus,” “arms of Morpheus” becomes “arms of Murphy.”) Oxford editors have “Murph it is and.” 272.28: “Foamous homely brew:” refers to (.27) “Ghinis” - Guinness 272.29: LM 4 goes with “Bull igien bear” (.29). “Atthems:” Athens 272.29: “Bull igien bear:” “bullgine:” ship's steam-engine. Occurs in “Oxen of the Sun” 272.31: “Staffs varsus herds:” stacks/sticks knocking (hard) heads; shepherds versus cattlemen; perhaps also shepherds vs. sheep. “Varsus:” Varsity 272.31: “bucks vursus barks:” deer vs. dogs, presumably in hunt. “Vursus” perhaps includes “ursus,” bear, which would bring a bear-baiting into the frame. Fn. 3: “Lethemuse:” Lethe is the underworld river of forgetfulness. As in the linked story incorporated in .17-8, the “taletub” has induced amnesia. (Again, see note to 4.21-4.) Fn. 4: “shessock:” O Hehir says this is Gaelic for “truce” or armistice. I suggest that “stimmstammer,”in the same line, traces in part to “Waffenstillstand” (588.5), German for the Armistice of 1918. Along with “shellshock,” this note, linked to the “guegerre” of .29, clearly has to do with WW I. It appears in a section, presumably initiated at line .13, launching us into postwar developments - the League of Nations (273.5) for instance. The historical hinge of these lines – B.C to A.D. – at times seems to include 1918 as well. 273: LM 1 “bosthoon:” Irish “bostoon,” boor. Also, considering the letter theme, probably Boston. “Femilies hug bank!:” Females, hang back! Oxford editors have “Femmilies,” which would combine females with families. 273.1-2: “Bumps, bellows and bawls:” summary of battle 273.4. “Heil:” given the way things are going, I think this is the Nazi salute. The post-WW I future is not as rosy as some suppose. (The Joyce of the FW years seems always to have known this.) The first publication of this passage was in 1934, a year after Hitler came to power. 273.4: “Heil, heptarched span of peace!:” the Heptarchy: the union of seven Anglo-Saxon kingdoms from the fifth to the tenth century. Given Wilsonian/American element in this passage (e.g. “league of lex”), perhaps also a skeptical glance at Emerson’s poem about “the rude bridge that arched the flood,” where was fired “the shot heard round the world.” (See 403.6 and note.) Chapelizod has what is sometimes called a “three-arched bridge:” flat on the road surface, supported by three arches. (There are several seven-arched bridges in existence; probably the likeliest to be pertinent was built in1892 in Newport, County Mayo.) 273.4-5: “heptarched span of peace!” List just given (“Rents…spends”) had seven items, all of them having to do with finance. Although the British Museum notes show no direct connection, this very likely goes with LM 2 “Femilies hug bank” – “bank” in the money-storing sense. Again, this sequence is thick with post-W W I material, including the stock-market money madness of the 1920’s. 273.6-7: “Impovernment of the booble by the bauble for the bubble: “in the name of improvement, government is impoverishing fools with worthless items (baubles) and unsound policies (financial bubbles). 273.7: “booble:” common people as boobs; in 1922 H.L. Mencken coined the term “booboosie.” 273.7-8: “So wrap up your worries in your woe:” given context, it’s worth noting here that the 1915 song “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag,” was, after “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” (with which it shared essentially the same melody), the second most popular marching song among the Tommies of WW I. Promoted to boost troop morale, its chorus was “And smile, smile, smile.” 273.8: LM 3 goes with “worries in your woe” (.8). “Cowdung forks:” Common folk; dungfork. “Old Kine’s:” Old cow; perhaps also allusion to “Silk of the Kine,” Ireland’s Poor Old Woman, who in “Circe” tells Stephen to kill himself for her sake; type of Kate, the scavenger, earlier identified with the old women who scavenged the bodies of the fallen after Battle of Waterloo; “Old Kine’s Meat Meal,” a "pick of the basketfild,” intimates that the scavenging included cannibalism, meat - not loaves and fishes, which filled the “baskets” at Jesus’ command - picked out of the collection baskets, meat meals being rare among the lower orders well through the 19th century; “Old Kine’s” initials are American expression “OK.” 273.8-9: “(wumpumtum!):" musical accompaniment to song (.7-8) “Pack up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag.” Also, wampum - money 273.10-1: “one mere ope for downfall ned:” given McHugh identification of “mere ope” as Merope, mother of Daedalus, “downfall ned” is presumably Icarus. Also, “Ned” is slang, current in Joyce’s time, for a Scottish hooligan. 273.12: “nievre anore:” evermore; nevermore 273.12: “skidoos:” “Twenty-three skidoo:” popular American expression of the 1920’s; usually means to exit promptly, make a getaway 273.13: “hugh and guy:” hue and cry; you and I 273.14-5: “dimpled and pimpled and simpled and wimpled:” “simpled?” Not sure. Otherwise: child, adolescent, nun 273.15: “poke:” sack 273.16: “She wins them by wons:” “by ones:” one at a time, person to person, not as a group or category. Compare Auden’s “Homage to Clio:” “but we, at haphazard / And unseasonably, are brought face to face / By ones, Clio, with your silence.” 273.17: “hectoendecate:” given context, probably overtone of Hecate, with her (“mumbo jumbjubes” (.17)) witchy mumbo-jumbo 273.17: “mangay:” given “mutts” in the next line, this probably includes “mangy.” 273.18: “Tak mutts:” “Thanks much:” a slangy American expression, sometimes ironic, for “Many thanks,” dating from 1922 and still around. In the same vein as “muchas…gracies” (.18-9) 273.19: LM 3 goes with “what a loovely freespeech” (.19-20). 273.20, 21 (“tep):” “Tip:” Kate signature. In Fn. 7, linked to “tep,” "My six is no secret” reinforces her witchiness: six is the hex number. (See first note to .17.) 273.23: “Blusterboss, blowharding about all he didn’t do:” in other words, a Miles Gloriosus 273.24-5: “Hell o’ your troop!:” Holy Troop: Patrick’s followers. See 223.11 and note. 273.25-6: “With the winker for the muckwits of willesly:” the Duke of Wellington, brother of the ("muckwits") Marquis, once remarked that being born in Ireland no more made him Irish than being born in a stable would have made him a horse. Joyce gets revenge for this crack in I.1 by making him a “harse,” and here his brother is outfitted with a hack's blinkers. (He or perhaps another horse is a purblind or poor blind (“poorblond”) “hoerse” at .27-8.) 273.25: “muckwits:” “mucksweat:” occurs in “Circe.” Originally from Goldsmith’s The Vicar of Wakefield 273.27: “poorblond piebold:” purblind piebald 273.28-274.1: “hauberkhelm:” a hauberk is a shirt or suit of armor, so this is presumably the helmet worn with armor – or just a comical hat on a comical (“Huirse” (.28)) horse. Fn. 2: “I’m blest if I can see:” linked to “Heptarched span of peace” (.4-5), the seven-colored rainbow. Glaucoma's onset is typically rainbow-like; when Joyce, in Zurich, started seeing rainbow colors, he knew at once that he was a victim. FW repeatedly associates rainbows with blindness. “Blessed” also in French sense: blessé: wounded Fn. 6: “Well, Maggy, I got your castoff devils all right and fits lovely.” Compare 459.14-6: as servant, Maggy breaks in her shoes for her. Link is to battlefield spoils (.16-9), which apparently includes shoes as well as hats and gloves. Fn. 8: “Yes, there, Tad, thanks:” link is to “crocodile” (.22) directing bird where to peck; like someone getting their back scratched. (See .21-2 and McHugh’s note.) 274.1: LM 1 goes with “For the man that broke” (.1-2). 274.2: “broke the ranks:” French soldiers broke ranks at Waterloo. 274.2: “Sinjon:” common English pronunciation of “Saint John” as a man’s first or middle name 274.5-6: LM 2 goes with “the Five Positions” (.5-6). “Pas d’action” is a ballet term for a scene in which a story is told through expressive movements. Also, ballet has five “positions” for the feet, called, simply, first, second, third, fourth, and fifth. (My thanks to Stephen Sas for this information.) (N.B.: Until page 304, this is the last of the LM notes which can definitely be shown to go with a certain place in the main text.) 274.6: “death ray:” imaginary “miracle weapon” predicted in popular science and science fiction publications of twenties and thirties 274.7: “reproaches:” reports reproachfully, re-preaches (as at .11) 274.7, 11: “reproaches Paulus,” “repreaches Timothy:” Paul and Timothy were partners in preaching. 274.8: “Dunderhead:” thunderhead: a dark cumulus cloud portending a thunderstorm 274.9-10: “Hannibal mac Hamilton the Hegerite:” if I understand the Oxford editors (it is not clear to me whether their version is meant to supplement or replace the present text), the correct passage should be “Hamilcar is chasing Kate O’Carthydge around the Capuawalls. Hibraham the Hegerite…” “O’Carthydge,” of course, would be an Irishing of Carthage, “Kate O’Carthydge” an ironic inclusion of Cato, who demanded that Carthage be destroyed. 274.9: “shiver his timbers:” note McHugh’s correction: Fn. 1, “Go up quick, stay so long, come down slow,” is linked to this, not to “hobnobs.” Thus realigned, it clearly refers to Solness’ ascent of the tower in The Master Builder. (I wonder about the other three footnotes on this page as well; Fn. 2 seems right for “hobnobs,” not “Hegerite.”) “Shiver my timbers!:” Long John Silver in Treasure Island 274.10: “elbow him!:” “elbow” is an anagram of “below,” and he is on a height. 274.11: “ministerbuilding:” Oxford editors have “minsterbuilding.” See .9 and note: Halvard Solness has been a builder of churches, i.e. minsters. 274.11-2: “Timothy, in Saint Barmabrac’s:” Oxford editors delete “in.” Saint Timothy and Saint Barnabas were both closes allies of Saint Paul. 274.12-3: “Number Thirty two West Eleventh streak looks on:” the address locates this in Greenwich Village, New York’s traditional center of bohemia. Perhaps “looks on” because of the city’s preponderance of multistory apartment buildings: most Manhattan residents “look on,” and down on, something – here, a tree. 274.14: “sempereternal:” sempiternal 274.15-7: “datetree doloriferous which more and over leafeth earlier than every growth:” date tree/palm tree: “Phoenix dactilifera.” Also, counterpoised overtones of “deciduous” and “evergreen.” In point of fact, palm trees are not deciduous and are, obviously, unlikely to flourish in lower Manhattan. (Joyce’s handling of New York material is often capricious.) 274.17: “elfshot:” see McHugh. According to a source in The English Dialect Dictionary, one symptom is that cattle become suddenly “excited.” Would seem to fit the account that follows: “with frayed nerves wondering” (.17-8). 274.17: “headawag:” head awag, that is, wagging 274.20-1: “the howmanyeth and howmovingth time:” as Stephen says in Portrait, chapter five, “Yet another removal!” Whether as child, grown man, or family man, Joyce was incessantly moving from one residence to another. 274.23: “sparksown fermament:” the syntax of this sentence (.12-27) is exceptionally baffling. I suggest that the starry, spark-sown firmament is what they can look up at from their apartment’s “windstill” (.25), when they’re not looking down at the tree. (Did Joyce know that in Manhattan you can never or almost never see the stars? According to “Ithaca” you can, from midtown Dublin, at least from a back garden.) 274.28: “whereaballoons:” whereabouts 274.28-9: “for good vaunty years:” for a good twenty years 274.30: “prepping up:” preparing, in sense of preparing for an exam. Also, Clongowes (.29: see McHugh) is what Americans call a prep school. 274.30: “prepueratory:” “puerperal:” after childbirth. Pre-puerpal, before the afterwards, would then be during. See next entry. 274.31-2: “put a broad face bronzily through a broken breached meataerial:” childbirth, head first; “breech birth” means the opposite. 275.3-4: RM 1: “CENOGENETIC:” OED: “kenogenesis:” “Haeckel’s term for the form of ontogenesis in which the true hereditary development of a germ is modified by features derived from its environment (opposed to palingenesis).” Ernst Haeckel promoted Darwinian recapitulation theory (“ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny”), widely believed in Joyce’s time and an important premise of Ulysses’ “Oxen of the Sun.” (Also, I think, of FW, especially in this chapter: for a review of the background, see my Physiology and the Literary Imagination, pages 149-51.) Compare to this, excerpted in Joyce's Notebook VI.B.32.140 from Sir Richard Paget's Babel, or the Past, Present, and Future of Human Speech: "It is stated that the normal development of a human being recapitulates, to some extent, the evolution of the human race." Here, the theory seems to double with something like Lamarckian embryology: the twins are different because of some external occurrence or influence in the womb. (After all, they did wrestle there. In Ulysses, Bloom wonders whether his son Rudy died shortly after childbirth because of the external circumstances of his conception, and in the same vein speculates that Milly is blonde because Molly was thinking of his predecessor, the blonde Mulvey, when Milly was conceived. Also, compare Tristram Shandy, literally misbegotten due to his mother’s other-mindedness during coition.) The whole of RM 1 proposes that the family’s brother-battles were “CENOGENETIC” in origin but later resolved through dialectic (“DIAGONISTIC CONCILIATION”), allowing the (“DYNASTIC”) dynasty to continue on, more or less peacefully. The scene being commented on is of an elderly couple contentedly reminiscing about some of the family divisions and difficulties now past, including (“crime and fable” (.20)), Cain and Able. 275.4-5 “Pacata Auburnia:” Echo of Doughty’s In Arabia Deserta – reinforced by “camel” in “gammel,” “untillably” (much of Ireland and almost all of Arabia is subnormal as farmland), and the link to Fn. 2, where Issy reports that, because she was looking for her missing shoe, her mind wandered during the part of the geography lesson devoted to Arabia. Also, “Auburnia:” Hibernia 275.7-9: "(if you've got me, neighbour, in any large lumps, geek? and got the strong of it):" Digger Dialects (see note to 262.10): if you've understood me, and now have enough information to make the right decision. 275.8-9: “topiocal sagon hero:” I can’t say exactly how, but sago and tapioca are apparently interchangeable in lots of Eastern recipes. 275.9-10: “signs is on:” “Signs on” appears in “Circe;” Gifford glosses as “bad luck to” 275.11-15: “silvering…quicken boughs:” see following notes to .11, .12, .13, .15, and .23. Compare Gerard Manley Hopkins, “The Starlight Night.” The silver birch and quicken (a.k.a. rowan, mountain ash, quickbeam) both have thin trunks, slender branches, and a voluminous canopy of leaves, making for dramatic effects in windy weather. (According to both Oxford editors and McHugh, “and his whitehatched patch, the towelturbaned and Flower, a” should be inserted after “fullness, and” (.11.)) 275.11: “silvering…birchleaves:” silver birch 275.11: “silvering to her jubilee:” Victoria’s Silver Jubilee was in 1862. (Not likely to have been all that jubilant, since Albert had died late in 1861.) Whether of marriage or other anniversary, (or, of course, as hair) silver connotes longevity. Fn. 3, linked to “jubilee,” comments on the appearance of an older woman. Also, see note to .24, below, and Fn. 5, where “boyjones” is another Victoria cue. 275.12: “lavy in waving:” a tree’s leaves waving in the wind. (Also, Liffey waves, similarly stirred by the wind.) 275.13: “Airyanna and Blowyhart topsirturvy:” The wind (airy Anna, in motion) is blowing his topper hat topsy-turvy. Also, the Joyces, like the Blooms, sometimes slept head-to-foot. 275.15: “quicken boughs:” OED: a quicken bow is “a branch of a rowan tree, traditionally thought to ward off evil spirits and protect against enchantment.” According to the same entry, a quicken bough would serve “as protective talisman at the door-post.” 275.17: “17:69:” unclear what it’s doing here, but 1769, when both Wellington and Napoleon were born, is a talismanic FW date. Also, a four-digit telephone number. Four numbers were adequate in 1904 Dublin for Bloom’s “Aeolus” phone call, but, whatever FW’s default date (definitely post-1904), I find it somewhat surprising that it still suffices. In many places, seven-digit numbers had become standard by the mid-thirties. (Also see 501.8-9, with McHugh’s notes.) 275.17-8: “his seaarm:" “arms of the sea:” incursions of the ocean into land. Occurs in “Ithaca” 275.19: “discusst:” includes “cussed,” i.e. “cursed.” Compare “seedy cuss” in “Oxen of the Sun.” 275.24: “tales all tolled:” Compare Dorothy Sayers’s The Nine Tailors. A “tale” is "tolled" when someone dies, nine tales or “tailors” for a man; hence the common expression “nine tailors make a man,” which figures elsewhere in FW, especially in the next chapter; “thine” in the next line may be an echo of “nine.” 275.26. “cowly head:” head of a child born with a caul. Occurs elsewhere in FW: 254.19, 578.10. Among other properties, cauls are supposed to protect against drowning. And, of course, a “cowl” is a monk’s hood; occurs in this sense in Portrait, chapter five. 275.26-7: “press his crankly hat:” have never heard of a hat, however crinkled, being ironed, but that’s apparently the idea here. Fn. 2: “My globe goes gaddy:” see note to 275.4-5, above. Fn. 3: “It must be some bugbear in the gender especially when old which they all soon get to look:” linked to “bucked up with fullness, and silvering to her jubilee.” Whether or not a description of the elderly Queen Victoria, the subject was a woman who “look”s “old.” Fn. 4: “see preseeding chaps:” scholar’s direction: see the preceding chapters. Perhaps also ALP’s pre-HCE lovers, the chaps who seeded her before they met. Fn. 5: “hairyoddities:” heredity. Gist: It’s only because no one told the missus of her husband’s (“massas:” massa’s, master’s) misbehavior that she didn’t laugh so hard that she would have sunk down on her fat arse, shaking all her (arse & other) cheeks to pieces. The (“fat arks”) fat arse, this footnote’s link to (“shame, home and profit” (.20-1)), Noah’s son’s Shem, Ham and Japheth, on the ark, is consistent with other testimony, for instance at 621.18-20, that her figure is not what it once was. Fn. 6: “jinglish janglage” links to jingling-jangling sound of the bells being “tolled” (.24). Ulysses includes some examples of bell-sound being rendered in English, for instance, in “Circe,” the “Haltyaltyhaltyall” of bicycle bells. Also: “the nusances of dolphins born:” The musician Arion was borne landward on a dolphin. 276.11: RM 1: “THE MONGREL UNDER THE DUNGMOUND. SIGNIFICANCE OF THE INFRALIMINAL INTELLIGENCE:” The Mongol in Our Midst: popular 1924 book by F. G. Crookshank, arguing that Down’s Syndrome births were throwbacks to inheritance from the racially mongrelized – children of mixed-race matches. “INFRALIMINAL:” beneath the line dividing human intelligence from sub-human. Much of the adjacent main text (.11-21) describes instinctive behavior, especially of animals. 276.5: “gale with a blost to him:” O Hehir glosses this as: Irishman with a correct Irish accent. 276.5: “dove without gall:” Brewer: “Pigeons have no gall, because the dove sent from the ark by Noah burst its gall out of grief, and none of the pigeon family has had a gall ever since.” 276.6: “jilldaw’s nest:” a jackdaw’s nest would be a random assemblage of oddments; this is Jill’s – of Jack and Jill fame - version. 276.7: “lettereens:” Lucia’s lettrines. The linked Fn. 3 identifies it as a letter requesting a certain kind of gift, as for a birthday – an article of jewelry, probably a ring, set with either bloodstone or moonstone. 276:10: “Ough, ough:” sound of someone blowing out a candle, as on birthday cake for a child – a “brieve kindli:” Also an injunction to breathe gently in blowing. 276.11ff. “Dogs’ vespers…” in general, evokes bedtime: the candle has just been blown out (.10), it’s time for a nightcap (.15) bats are flying (.20), it’s too dark to see anything rightly (.277.3) and so on. 276.11-2: “Goteshoppard quits his gabhard cloke to sate with Becchus. Zumbock! Achevre!:” equally-oppositely, both a good shepherd – of sheep – ecumenically sitting with goats, or a goat shepherd – a goatherd, condescending to sit (and – “sate” – dine) with his herd; in the case of the latter it would be only diplomatic to first remove his “gabhard,” his goatskin cloak. “Zumbock! Achevre!:” however peaceful his intentions, things seem to have gone wrong pretty quickly. See next entry. 276.13: “Zumbock!:” according to Bonheim, “zum Bock!” = German: literally “to the goat!” (same, in French, for (“Achevre!” (.13) à chèvre!), in effect similar to “to the devil!” Also, Sündbock, scapegoat. Also, sjambok: whip made from rhinoceros hide, used on cattle (or people). Occurs in “Circe” 276.13: “Achevre!:” French achever, to conclude 276.15: “if Nippon have pearls or opals Eldorado:” For certain. Similar to “if it’s hot in hell:” that Japan has pearls and Eldorado all manner of gems are two well-known, immutable facts (though to be sure the second is a legend). 276.16: “daindy dish:” dandy dish. Frumenty (“fruminy:” see McHugh) is usually considered a treat. 276.16-7: "lecking out:" given context - food, eating - licking out, as from a bowl 276.17: "Gipoo, good oil!:" Digger Dialects (see note to 262.10): gravy or grease; good news 276.17: "hushmagandy:" Digger Dialects (see note to 262.10): editors gloss as "an insipid and monotonous army dish." 276.18-9: “till gets bright that all cocks waken and birds Diana with dawnsong hail:” “Diana” seems to be the direct object here – which would have the moon (Diana, female counterpart to the sun, heralded by the “dawnsong” of cocks) still in the sky at dawn – visible, since the sun has yet to show above the horizon. 276.19-20: “Aught darks flou a duskness:” something/anything darts through the dusk. Most likely a bat; after all, these words are immediately followed by “Bats” and “peepeestrilling.” In “Nausicaa” the bat goes “ba;” here it’s something like “ot” or “awk.” (On the other hand, at 126.30-1, it’s ravens who “be pitchin their dark nets after him the next night:” probably the “night raven,” an imaginary nocturnal bird whose cry portends misfortune.) 276.20-1: “peepeestrilling:” the thrilling sound of (peepee-ing) urination. (A major FW motif: according to Ellmann’s 1984 biography (pp. 418-9) it thrilled the early-adolescent Joyce, and he seems never to have gotten over it.) 276.21: “Brannan’s on the moor:” there are a number of St. Brendan’s churches in Ireland – though none, it seems, in the Chapelizod vicinity. (There is one in Coolock, a few miles away.) There’s also St. Benedict the Moor – though as far as I can tell Ireland has no churches in his honor. In “Nausicaa,” bats reside, typically enough, in the church’s belfry and come out at night. As for the song (see McHugh) “Brennan on the Moor,” its subject is a highwayman who, after being hanged, is said to still ride at night. 276.22: “his still’s going strang:” in context, “still” is distillery. Much of this section of the chapter is a reminiscence of earlier times – when, for instance, Chapelizod’s “disused distillery,” described in “A Painful Case,” was still going strong. 276.23-4: “can tell things acommon on by that fluffy feeling.” bats can sense approaching objects through echolocation; not sure how that would be a “fluffy feeling,” but then have never been a bat. An echolocating bat appears in “Nausicaa.” 276.24: “acommon on:” as in Summer or Winter is (ME) “icumin in.” 276.25: “bodgbox:” the link to Fn. 7 (“A liss in hunterland”) may indicate that this can be taken as a rough echo of “Dodgson.” (Complication: McHugh changes to “lodgebox;” Oxford editors do not. Given context, especially the following “lumber,” “bodge” seems the likelier. The English Dialect Dictionary (1903) defines “bodge” as “a wooden basket or ‘scuttle.’” Neither Google nor OED has anything on “lodgebox” or “bodgebox.”) 276.26: “hoodie hearsemen:" hooded horsemen Fn. 2: “readymaid maryangs:” link is to “she of the jilldaw’s nest” (.6), the female half of the marriage. OED cites two cases, one from Swift, where wives are to be “bespoke” rather than “ready-made.” “Maryangs:” marrying. Gist is that she wants to keep herself young-looking, with a “linefree face,” for when her future husband returns home from the war. Fn. 3: “What I would like is a jade louistone to go with the moon’s increscent:” linked to her writing of “lettereens” (.7), this is Issy’s epistolary list of preferred presents - a bloodstone (a.k.a. heliotrope) and moonstone. Bloodstones are jade in color, with flecks of red. The two were frequently in play during the previous chapter. Also, compare 212.15-6: "She gave them ilcka madre's daughter a moonflower and a bloodvein." According to a tradition recorded in "Oxen of the Sun," a moonflower can induce pregnancy, and the "bloodvein" like the "bloodstone," definitely connotes menstruation, typically in sync with the moon. She may be requesting that her monthlies occur on a regular basis. Fn. 4: “Parley vows the Askinwhose? I do, Ida. And how to call the cattle black. Moopetsi meepotsi:” echoes of wedding language: “vows,” somebody “asking” someone, someone else answering “I do.” The double-I’s constitute a sure-fire Issy signature. Also, as Glasheen notes, throughout FW “ida is a girl of dual personality who has a twin, Ida-Ida.” As for the rest: “Moopetsi” is the name of a South African river valley; newspaper reports of the 1924 discovery there of platinum nuggets were probably where Joyce came across the name. Link to “Ough, ough, brieve kindli?” Beats me. As a rule, the rationale behind these connections, footnote to main text, are, by FW standards, relatively straightforward, but not in this case. Fn. 5: “I was so snug off in my apholster’s creedle but as long leash I’ll stretch more capritious in his dapplepied bed:” “capritious:” what with all the goat talk in the main text (.12-4) probably (capri) goatish – that is, lecherous. “Dapplepied bed:” from The English Dialect Dictionary (1903): “APPLE-PIE BED:” “A bed made by way of a practical joke with one sheet folded so as to make entry impossible.” Linked to an evocation of nightfall, this note’s gist is that she’s about to go to bed, in fact to a bigger bed: her cradle was “snug:” this one will be (“capritious”) capacious. (But, again: apple-pied. The joke will be on her.) Fn. 6: “Pipette:” linked to “birds Diana” (.19), the sound of birds, probably as imitated by Issy 277.1: “His sevencoloured’s suit:” Joseph’s coat of many colors? Whatever it was, it’s now, or now seems (“soot”) sooty, because it’s night, and the colors are undetectable in the dark. (Also, you can’t see rainbows at night.) Like “how to call the cattle black” (276, Fn. 4), a variant on the saying that all cats are black in the dark. Next entry continues the thread. 277.2-3: “his imponence one heap lumpblock:” Latin impono means to cheat, to impose upon. Here, just as his seven-colored suit (.1) is or now seems soot, so his overbearing bulk is or now seems just a large (black) lump. “Lumpblock:” lampblack, with which minstrel show performers “blacked up.” 277.3: “And rivers burst out:” see McHugh: the sign of a hero’s funeral. At 276.21-2 we heard that Finnegan’s wake was still going strong, at 276.26 that hooded hearsemen were about to carry him away. The presiding blackness is nocturnal and funereal. 277. 3: LM 1: there are (“so mucky spick bridges”) so many bridges because, according to the adjacent main text (.3-5), there are so many rivers all of a sudden. 277.6: “The wellingbreast, he willing giant:” no genetic support, but your annotator wonders whether “The” should be “She.” In any event, some willing someone’s breast is swelling and, in the watery element (all those rivers) welling up too. 277.7: “mountain mourning his duggedy dew:” Mountains of Mourne; mountain dew (American moonshine liquor, traditionally made by mountain men) 277.7: “duggedy:” “deoch:” Gaelic for drink 277.7: LM 2: “listnin:” accent from American south; “cottonwood” trees are also associated with south – as is the “mountain…dew” in the main text. 277.10: “he’s head on poll:” he’s come out ahead in the poll(s); i.e. he’s won the election for deputy member; he’s been executed for treason and had his head stuck on a pole – implication being that, as with Parnell, one leads to the other: you raise your head above your fellows and sooner or later they will cut it off. “He’s:” both he is (ahead) and his (head is on a pole). See next entry. 277.10: “Peter’s burgess:” in another race, Peter’s been elected burgess. 277.10: LM 3: "The throne is an umbrella strande and a sceptre's a stick:" like a transformation scene is reverse, deflating the panoply of government office recounted in main text. According to Oxford editors, this goes with line 8, based on the Dublin motto, as inscribed on the city seal. 277.10-11: “Miss Mishy Mushy:” “Miss” notwithstanding, sounds like a derogatory name for some male candidate, like “Tricky Dickey” in “Ivy Day in the Committee Room.” (Actually, “Miss” can be part of the insult.) He was defeated in the election – in an upset - by a tough-talking toff, perhaps with some Welsh ancestry. Also, probably a sign of female sexual response; see next item. 277.11: “tiptupt:” included “tupped:” i.e. screwed, sexually and otherwise 277.11-2: “Boblesse gobleege” - noblesse oblige would be an appropriate sentiment to accompany a toff’s entry into public office. Oxford editors have “Goblesse gobleege!” – perhaps adding “God bless” to the mix. 277.14: “white night:” aside from (McHugh) a sleepless night, can mean a midsummer night in northern latitudes when the sky never becomes completely dark 277.15-6: “as shower as there’s a wet in Westwicklow:” “Westwicklow” includes the letters “w,” “e,” and “t.” (Compare 279, Fn. 1, lines 7-8.) Also, “wet” is slang for “drink.” Also, to quote from the website en.climate-data.org, “There is a great deal of rainfall in Wicklow, even in the driest month.” 277.16-7: “a little black rose a truant a thorntree:” reverses the saying that all roses have thorns 277.18: “And Sein annews:” given context, probably “Sein” includes the Seine River, “annews” Anna. 277.22: “legionds:” legends 277.23: “shuttle:” shut till [until] Fn. 1: “suckle…honey:” honeysuckle. “Emballem:” emblem(atize): here, a pope represented in a certain pose. “His mouth open:” as Bloom recalls in “Hades,” corpses have their mouths sewn shut for burial. Link is to a passage (276.25-277.1) about a funeral. Fn. 2: "And a ripping rude rape in his lucreasious togery:” Linked to “Ochonal” (.2) - Daniel O’Connell. “Togery:” togs, toga: O’Connell as the caped “hugecloaked” (“Hades”) orator commemorated in his Dublin statue. Also, “(Ochone! Ochonal!),” meaning Alas!, for the rape of Lucretia Fn. 3: "Will ye nought would wet your weapons, warriors bard?:" wet your whistles – i.e. have a drink. Link is to “joydrinks for the fewnrally.” Also, wet your weapons – by bloodying them in conflict Fn. 5: “The stanidsglass effect, you could sugerly swear buttermilt would not melt down his dripping ducks:” link is to “meek Mike,” a political candidate. The sense is that, in trying to come across as everyone’s friend, he is faking it, successfully – you would swear that butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Stanidsglass” may include Stanislavski, famous acting instructor. As McHugh notes, it definitely includes Stanislaus Joyce, origin of sweetly buttery "Burrus" of Professor Jones's lecture in I.6. 278.1-3: “who wants to cheat the choker’s got to learn to chew the cud:” the only way to avoid being killed by the state is to behave like cattle (who are, of course, eventually, killed anyway). 278.2: “cheat the choker:” phrase: “cheat the hangman” by committing suicide. Probably the prompt for LM 1, with its “noose.” 278.3: “scrubs on scroll:” writing on ME manuscripts was regularly scrubbed off and copied over, producing palimpsests. I suggest that “circum-” etc. (.4 - see next) illustrates the result. “Palimpsests” are mentioned at 182.2. 278.4: “circuminiuminluminatedhave:” scrolls, including illuminated ones, are rolled and unrolled. 278.4-5: “encomiums here and improperies there:” the scroll’s range from panegyric to reproach is condensed in Fn. 1, the linked footnote: good fellow and “grim felon,” God bless him and (“bloke:” block) fuck him. 278.5: “pansy:” compression of French pensée with “penny for your thoughts” 278.10-1: “a eh oh let me sigh too:” sol-fa 278.11: “Coalman bell: behoves you handmake of the load:” the sound of the coalman’s bell recalls the sound of the Angelus bell, commemorating the Incarnation. “Load” by way of common expression “load of coal.” A coalman’s bell was fastened onto the horse pulling a wagon of coal down the street, signaling its approach to the houses of customers. 278.11: LM 2: a letter, from “Uncle Flabbius Muximus to Niecia Flappia Minnimiss:” – probably connected to the “Post” of .13 278.12: “Jenny Wren: pick, peck:” sound of wren, pecking at ground 278.13: “Johnny Post: pack, puck:” sound of postman, stowing letters into his pack 278.17: LM 3: a begging letter, asking for help with “arrears” 278.17: “king…cat:” linked with Fn. 6: “With her modesties [majesty’s] office” - expression: “a cat may look at a king” (or queen) 278.20: LM 4: “Rockaby, babel, flatten a wall:” the tower of Babel was flattened by God because of human hubris. Probably connected to the groundlings who want to “raze a leader” (.21) - the main example, for Joyce, being Parnell, pulled down by the rabble 278.23: “Daganasanavitch:” Doggone son of a bitch, as contrasted with (LM 5) a “Gent.” 278.23: “Empire, your outermost:” that is, the mail arrives from the outermost reaches of the British Empire – always a point of imperial pride 278.25-6: “We have wounded our way on foe tris prince till that force in the gill is faint afarred:” We’ve (wendingly) evolved a long way from our oceanic origins. Perhaps ("wounded") that is not entirely a good thing. 278.25-6: "wounded our way on foe tris prince:" my translation of a passage from Lucien Lévy-Brúhl, L’expérience mystique et les symboles ches les Primitifs, as excerpted in Joyce's Notebook VI.B.45.141: "to paralyze an enemy or an animal in its walk, it suffices to wound its footprint." Here, "foe tris prince" sounds "footprints," which are "wounded." Fn. 1: "Gosem pher, gezumpher, greeze a jarry grim felon! Good bloke him:" McHugh, but not the Oxford editors, replace "greeze" with "freeze." The editors of the Digger Dialects notebook entries (see note to 262.10) concur, and gloss "freeze a" as "freeze-a!:" "a catch word satirically applied to a popularity-hunter (corruption of 'for he's a jolly good fellow!'):" Also, "Gosem pher:" "gezumpher:" a big artillery shell. "Good bloke him," besides Good bloke, him, and (McHugh) God bless him, probably, equally-oppositely, includes "block," fuck, as used in "Penelope" and one Joyce letter. Fn. 4: “Heavenly twinges, if it’s one of his I’ll fearly feint as swoon as he enterrooms:” speaking of letters – the note is linked to the sound of letters being packed in a mailman’s sack - if it’s a letter from her sweetheart she fears she’ll faint as soon as it comes through the letter slot. “Heavenly twinges:” By Gemini!, the twins - later By Jiminy! - was a popular exclamation. Fn. 5: “To be slipped on, to be slept by, to be conned to, to be kept up. And when you’re done push the chain:” the link is to “letters,” and letters can, as “lits,” beds, be slept (“slipt”) on, or, if from a lover, kept by one’s pillow (Joyce did this with one of Nora’s), or learned (“conned”) by heart; correspondences are or are not “kept up.” And, of course, there are “chain” letters: compare 66.13-4. Fn. 7: “cuckhold:” cockade, typically worn on a hat. British postmen wore (wear?) an official hat with a royal medallion at the front. Linked to “Empire, your outermost,” this imperial courier seems to think that it qualifies him to (“Strutting as proud”) strut around. Compare Shakespeare’s Dogberry. 279.1-4: This is rainstones ringing…Pot price pon patrilinear plop:” “Pot…” imitates sound of raindrops. Compare 74.18-9. 279.2: “rainstones:” hail, melted 279.2-3: “Strangely cult for this ceasing of the yore:” I think the FW date is March 21, which in some traditions would have been the last (or first) day of the year – the ceasing of the year. March is proverbially the most changeable of months (comes in like a lion, etc.), when one might remark on how the day is strangely cold (“cult”) for the season. 279.3: “Erigureen is ever:” “Erin Go Bragh!:” Irish slogan: Ireland Forever! (As McHugh notes, equal-opposites overtone of “Over.”) Also, of course, Ireland is (ever, forever) green. 279.4: “Pot price:” What price x?: is x really worth it? 279.5: “onkring:” perhaps “ohn’ Krieg,” without war: the following sentence incorporates Woodrow Wilson’s “war to end war.” The intermission/interval announced with 278’s RM 1 begins at 279.8 and, I think, ends at 280.1 with “A scene at night;” lessons and hostilities will recommence at 282.1; lines .5-8 entertain the conventional notion that games, for men, are a relatively civilized substitute for war. 279.7-8: “athclete, blest your bally bathfeet:” athlete’s foot, which, or so I was taught, can be picked up in a shower or bath. "Bally" is a polite substitute for "bloody," and athletes are trained to poise on the "balls of their feet." 278.8: “bally:” again, a mildly derogatory adjective, traditionally associated with stage-English types, for instance the Philip Beaufoy of “Circe” 279.9: “A halt for hearsake:” It’s all for her sake. (In other words, it’s all for the love of the woman: Helen of Troy, for instance, or, here, Issy, for whose favor the brothers often battle.) According to Oxford editors, this should start a new paragraph. Fn.1. line 1: “smooth of my slate:” smooth off the slate, wipe the slate clean – i.e. cancel all issues and grievances and start afresh. Also, given classroom setting, a student’s slate. “Slate” is also slang for “face.” Fn.1, line 1: “to the beat of my blosh:” blosh = blush; therefore beat of blush = pulse, which is pounding from sexual stimulation. Fn.1, lines 1-2: “gilded ewes:” maybe obvious: a gelded ram would become, for sexual purposes, the equivalent of a ewe. Also, gelded youth Fn.1, line 2: “jilting:” “jilt” is slang for abandoning or separating from a boyfriend/girlfriend. (“Dump” is the modern equivalent.) Given context of this passage, Issy’s is a sour-grapes complaint: not just that the young men around aren’t interested in women, but that they’re not enough interested in her. Undertone of Lady-Chatterley-ish convention that upper-class males are overbred and undersexed Fn.1, line 2: “laylock” in the language of flowers, lilacs usually stand for love. Fn1. line 3: “chants:” chance(s) Fn. 1, line 3: “cecilies:” young-girl voice suggests, to me anyway, the Cecily of The Importance of Being Earnest. Given ("laylock" (line 2)) lilacs, it’s probably worth noting that “Cecilies” echoes “lilies.” Fn.1, line 3: “killing times:” phrase: killing time Fn. 1, line 5: “perfection class:” given what follows – lessons on socially acceptable diction – a finishing school. Typical student would be a young woman. Fn. 1, lines 5-6: “You sh’undn’t write you can’t if you w’udn’t pass for undevelopmented:” teacher to student: you shouldn’t write “you can’t” if you don’t want to come across as uneducated, underbred. Presumably “cannot” would be more proper. (Even today, some editors balk at contractions. Perhaps “sh’undn’t” and “w’udn’t” are meant to illustrate the anomaly of skipping the “o” in “cannot.”) Fn.1, line 6: “This is the propper way to say that, Sr.:” here, also short for “Sister" as well as "Sir.” Although probably working both ways, it’s mainly the male teacher addressing his female student. Spelling of “proper” as “propper” is surely a private allusion to Joyce’s Trieste student Amalia Popper, on whom he had a crush, and to whom he was definitely (“Sr.”) a senior sir. (Compare 420.23-4: “Speak to us of Emailia;” here (.9) we have “amare.”) Fn.1, line 6-7: “If it’s me chews to swallow all you saidn’t you can eat my words for it:” “swallow” words and “eat”ing words: combines three expressions: you can take my word for it; someone can’t swallow all of what someone else says; someone who’s been proven wrong is made to eat his words. After the exchange about contractions (Fn. 1, lines 5-6), the unheard-of “saidn’t” (didn’t say) may count as an extreme example, perhaps for Swift’s Houyhnhnms’ “saying the thing that is not.” Fn. 1, lines 7-8: “as sure as there’s a key in my kiss:” compare 93.22-3: "Ask Kavya for the kay.” The Irish pronunciation of “key” is or can be “kay,” as in the pronunciation of the letter k, beginning the word “kiss.” Perhaps a riddle of the “Railroad crossing, look out for cars, / Can you spell that without any r’s?” type: compare 277.15-6 and note. (This may be the place to remember that, in Boucicault’s Arrah na Pogue, Arrah’s kiss transfers a message, not a key, to the jailed rebel Beamish MacCoul. (Obiter dictum: a character in the play addresses a judge as “riverence.”) A number of Wake commentators have assumed it’s a key, presumably because of passages like this, and Joyce may indeed be combining the Arrah story with another one; if so, my candidate is the tradition that one or more of Houdini’s escapes (127.10-1) involved his wife’s “farewell kiss,” secretly including a key for whatever he needed to escape from.) Fn.1, line 9: “amare hour:” “Amare” is Italian for “to love.” In Joyce’s poem “Bahnhofstrasse,” evening is the time for “trysting.” Fn.1, line10: “does:” dos, back Fn. 1, line 10: “loved have I on my back spine:” long shot: in their lesson’s conjugatings of “love:” “I have loved,” given a backspin Fn.1, line 12: “inst:” is, isn’t. Again – see note to .5-6 - more consternation about contractions Fn.1. line12: “my…newfolly likon:” “nouvelle icone:” French phrase: literally translates as “new icon;” approximate English equivalent would be “latest thing.” Here as “Jr” (line 11), it’s her latest new fellow. Like the one before, on whom she was just “throne away” (line 11), he’ll probably turn out to be a mistake, a folly, perhaps as part of her latest folie a deux. Fn.1, line 12: “I’ll slip through my pettigo:” both slips and petticoats are woman’s undergarments, which she is here proposing to slip off. Also, the village of Pettigo is on the border between north and south and in Joyce’s time the site of a station for the train from Dublin to Belfast; it was/is also billed as the “Gateway to Patrick’s Purgatory.” I suggest that the former circumstance accounts for why one might think of “slip”ping through it. Also – see McHugh – she’ll get by her college Little Go and get her (“decree” (line 13)) degree. Fn.1, line 13: “seidens:” Seidlitz Powder? Popular cure for constipation Fn.1, lines 14-6: “to grig my collage juniorees who, though they flush fuchsia, are they octette and viginity in my shade:” compare “Penelope:” it “grigged” her friend Josie Powell when Molly told her “a good bit of what went on between us [her and Bloom, when courting] not all but just enough to make her mouth water.” Issy is telling her leap-year gal-pals about what she did with guys when in her “flimsyfilmsies” (line .14), which makes them blush – “flush fuchsia,” in fact, and no wonder: “viginity” definitely includes virginity - their problem, not hers (she has “conjugate[d]” (line 8), been “plough[ed]” (line 13)), has become a real woman (they’re till “juniorees”), and all in all, when it comes to experience with men, put them in the shade. Fn.1, lines 15-6: “octette and virginity in my shade:” her 28 degrees (Centigrade) in the shade would be pretty warm: 84 degrees Fahrenheit. Fn.1, line 16-7: “they’re nary nay of my day. Wait till spring has sprung:” again, your annotator’s theory is that FW’s default date is March 21, Nora’s birthday and, usually, the official first day of spring. In this regard, note .18-9: when spring arrives “they’ll be plentyprime of housepets:” “plentyprime” is, certainly, FW’s 29 (leap-year girls), but “prime” is often synonymous with “first” – the first canonical hour, the beginning of the day, or of any other period, cycle, or age. Also, spring itself – again, usually beginning on the 21st of March. Point being, the 29 here may also be a 21. Fn.1, line17: “Wait till spring has sprung in spickness and prigs beg in to pry:” it’s spring! Sprigs of flowers begin to appear, prying out of the ground; as we’ve just been hearing lovers flirt and canoodle, so of course priggish people begin to pry on their doings. Also, echo of “birds [like pigs] begin to fly,” perhaps by way of OE “brids.” Fn. 1, line 17: “spickness:” as in the “spick and span” quality of something new. Spring cleaning Fn. 1, line 19: “about:” as in: about and around Fn. 1, lines .19-20: “I learned all the runes of the gamest game ever from my old nourse Asa:” most if not all what follows, up to the end (line 37), are the remembered voice of Asa, her “old nourse”/Norse: hence the allusions to “runes” (line 19), “thor” (line 26), (“Auden” (line 29) Odin), (“Skokholme” (line 27)), Stockholm). Old faiths – witchcraft, Druidism – occasionally surface. The “gamest game ever” is of course sex – “the ruelles of the rut” (line 31) – and all its do’s and don’t’s; 268.16-272.8, with its worldly wisdom from “gramma’s grammar” (268.16-7), was a sample. Fn.1, line 21: “heartswise and fourwords:” considering “vicking well” (same line) – something like “fucking well” or “frigging well:” “fourwords” are four-letter, i.e. improper, words. Complements the wisdom of the heart – “heartswise.” Issy’s old nurse knows all about such things, the high and the low. Fn. 1, lines 21-3: “Olive d’Oyly and Winnie Carr, bejupers, they reized the dressing of salandmon and how a peeper coster and a salt sailor med a mustied poet atwaimen:” olive oil, vinegar, salt and pepper are all plausible ingredients for mustard, for salad dressing, or for various salmon sauces. Oxford editors, but not McHugh, have “salanadmon;” McHugh, but not Oxford editors, has “atwainem.” Fn.1, line 22: “bejupers:” by jeepers: American expression; also a slangy “by Jupiter” Fn.1, line 23: “coster:” short for costermonger, outdoor seller of food; related to seller/salesman of “sailor” Fn. 1, line 22-3: “peeper coster and a salt sailor med made a mustied poet atwaimen:” coincided contraries: they combined (like pepper and salt) but still remained atwain. Fn.1, line 24: “Mad Mullans:” given proximity of Olive Oyl, the comic-strip character Moon Mullins, who debuted in 1923, seems likely here. Fn.1, line 25: “kill kackle:” kill the cackler – chicken – to cook in the kettle. A cackler doesn’t have to be a rooster: in fact OED defines “cackle” as the sound a hen makes. Fn.1, line 26: “Auden:” W.H. Auden took this as a reference to himself. A friend of his, fellow poet William Meredith, told me this. Fn. 1, line 27: “a dag in Skokholme:” according to Christiani, Scandinavian for: 1. a day in Stockholm; 2. a day on a whore’s islet. (Swedish “sköka:” harlot) Fn.1, line 27: “Drewitt’s altar:” Druid’s Altar: standing stone formation in County Cork – a traditional site for marriages. Also, see 493.19-21, with McHugh’s note: this may be another version of Ota, wife of the Viking invader Turgesius. Fn.1, lines 27-8: “culcumbre:” “cul” is French argot for arse or, sometimes, arsehole; “mot de Cambronne” (“Cumbrum” (9.27)) is, of course, “merde.” Asshole-shit Fn.1, line 28: “sloping ruins:” slapping reins Fn. 1, line 29: “swinge:” OED v. 1.e: swive: copulate Fn. 1, line 29: “you offering me clouts of illscents:” compare 550.8-16. Fn1, line 30: “leasward:” leeward in sailing; the greensward on a lea – meadow Fn.1, line 30: “off-red:” pale for fear, that is (same line) “blanching” Fn.1, line 31: “ruelles of the rut:” rues – rules – elles: rutted roads; established rules for (“elles”) women, especially when it comes to rutting Fn.1, lines 32-4: “The good fother with the twingling in his eye will always have cakes in his pocket to bethroat us with for our allmichael good:” the father will give them the communion wafer, to pass down their throats. Fn.1, line 33: “good fother:” Godfather Fn.1, line 34: “Amum. Amum. And Amum again:” Amens; sounds of appreciation on consuming the host; probably also (see note to Fn.1, lines 32-4) erotic Fn.1, lines 34-6: “For tough troth is stronger than fortuitous fiction and it’s the surplice money, oh my young friend and ah me sweet creature, what buys the bed while wits borrows the clothes:” truth is harder to take than fantasy, but face it, sister: when it comes to courtship, promises of marriage matter more than lovers’ sweet nothings; underbred toughs with (“surplus,” with a play on the priest’s surplice) income must win out over wits dressed in second-hand clothes. Again, a lesson from her “old nourse Asa;” see lines 19-20 and note. “Oh…ah:” omega-alpha. “What buys” is a sign of lower-class status. 280.1: “A scene at night:” again, see 279.5 and note. I propose that this marks the end of the interval, and that lines .1-9 are setting a scene, the action on stage being a young woman writing a (the) letter. The directions resemble Stephen’s “Ithaca” (Ulysses 17.612-20) conjuring of a staged commercial for the Queen’s Hotel. 280.2: “By her freewritten:” McHugh and Oxford editors both call for a period after “freewritten.” “Free writing” can mean either: 1. the practice, first popularized in 1934, of writing continuously, without regard to grammar or other strictures, for a set period of time; 2. what Yeats called “automatic writing,” presumed to open a Ouija-like connection to psychic or subconscious sources. Also, this is a woman writing (note “Anna” in “annalykeses” (.3)) and Joyce published in The New Freewoman: see 145.29. 280.4-6: “Is it in the now woodwordings of our sweet plantation where the branchings then will singingsing tomorrows gone:” a bit of scene-setting word-painting: compare the whispering yews of “Circe.” The wind in the trees is whispering and singing. 280.5: LM 1: “Bibelous hicstory:” probably refers to .4-5: “Hopely for ear that annalykeses if scares for eye that sums;” compare 1 Corinthians 2:9: “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.” 280.7: “yesters outcome:” Oxford editors have “ontocome,” which, counterpointed with “tomorrows gone” (.6), makes more sense. 280.9: “Such is:” Such as. This version of the FW letter is derived from, or similar to, a sample from a book on the proper writing of letters. (Nora’s first letter to Joyce apparently had a similar model.) 280.9: “A. N.:” Any Name 280.10, 16, 19, 27: “Shlicksher…Shrubsher…Shrubsheruthr…Shlicksheruthr:” Leah Ann Connor suggests that these may be the sounds of Issy licking her pencil. Problems: 1. in other places, for instance 66.14, the medium seems to be ink; 2. at .19-20, just after “Shrubsher,” she waves the letter gently in the air, which makes sense for ink but not for pencil; 3. “Blotsbloshblothe” (.33): possibly her blotting the letter (although also possibly the latest version of its tea stain), common practice for documents written in ink but not pencil. Complication: “pencil” not only includes “pen” but (see note to 3.6) can also signal a painter’s brush. A quandary, and I can offer no better explanation for those “Sh…” sounds (pen dipped in ink bottle?) but all in all pencil-licking seems less than likely. 280.11-12: “one if:” i.e., if there is one 280.14-5: “maggy…domestic:” Maggy/Marge is a domestic, a servant. 280.15-6: “pershan of cates:” present of cates – tasty food items. See note to 371.1. 280.16-8: “Those pothooks mostly she hawks from Poppa Vere Foster but these curly mequeues are of Mippa’s moulding:” “hawks:” harks (back): i.e. this feature (the pothooks, s-shapes, in her writing) traces back to the father; the other will come from mom – “Pippa’s moulding.” On Google Books, “Curly-q” shows up as both a handwriting flourish and in the context of hairdos – here, as done up by her mother. 280.17: “Poppa Vere:" “papaver:” Latin for poppy 280.19: “Wave gently in the ere:” sound reaches the ear in waves; we’re still hearing the gentle “woodwordings” (.4) introduced at the top of the page. Probably also: her hair, having been “waved,” is rippling in the wind. On the primary level, again: she’s waving the letter to dry the ink; see note to 280.10, 16, 19, 27. 280.20-1: “(consolation of shopes):” consolations of hope 280.24: “peethrolio:” Petruchio, gold-digging courtier of The Taming of the Shrew 280.25: LM 4: “Le hélos:” the sun – matches the heliotrope alluded to in “flower or perfume” (.25) 280.29: “concomitated:” come 280.31: “as sphere of silver fastalbarnstone:” given recent (.25) mention of bloodstone, as far as the moon/moonstone. (McHugh: “barnstone” = Dutch barnsteen = amber) 280.33: “after odours sigh of musk:“ perfume on letter (probably heliotrope). Also, after hours: it’s dark. “Musk:” music 280.33: “Blotsbloshblothe:” the blot (of tea) at the foot of the letter 280.34: “Sleep in the water:” just noting in passing that the FW letter often seems to have arrived in a bottle, across the water from Boston 280.35: "shake the dust off:” off of your shoes. In general, .34-6 is advising her to make herself comfortable by the fire, nod off, and dream of her future husband. For girls, such dreams were held to be prophetic. 281.1: “Lammas is led in:” Lammas is an ancient harvest festival celebrated midway between the Summer Solstice and the Autumn Equinox. Folk-etymology has it as “Lamb Mass;” in some traditions a lamb is led into church. 281.1: “baith our washwives:” the two (“baith:” both) washerwomen of I.8. As elsewhere in FW, “weird” (.2) identifies them with (white, in this case) magic, of the “faery” (.3) not the witchy variety. “Baith” is also “bathe.” 281.2-3: “thorngarth:” OED on “thorn-garth:” “an enclosure protected by a thorn-hedge.” The “evil” thorngarth here is contrasted with an equally-opposite space of “faery blithe”ness (.3). 281.4: LM 2: “Twos Dons Johns Three Totty Askins:” reverses the genders of the two girls and three soldiers of the park episode, in a context of flirtation (Don Juan, (“Totty”) totties - in Portrait means girlfriends. Makes sense if the main-text quotation from Quinet is taken as including children’s games, especially the kinds of courtship games on display in the previous chapter. 281.4: RM 1: “BELLUM-PAX-BELLUM” is presumably cued by “les civilisations se sont choquées et brisées,” in the main text. Possibly what Eliot in “East Coker” called “l’entre deux guerres:” I haven’t been able to determine the date this was first included (an early version of the sequence was published in 1934), but Joyce was certainly one of those not surprised by the advent of WW II. (Evelyn Waugh, for one, predicted it in the 1930 Vile Bodies.) 281.11: LM 3: “Zerothruster:” a fucker. (Compare 261.23-4, among other places.) 281.14: "Margaritomancy!:" Prompted by “marguerite” of 281.6, as “Hyacinthinous” is by “jacinthe” (281.5) and “pervinciveness” by “pervenche” (281.6). (Obvious?) Anyway, all are (.15) “Flowers.” The RM 2 “SORTES VIRGINIANAE,” “Sortes Vergilianae” (see McHugh) suggests that the reader has made a point of singling out random words as they strike her attention. Like “Margaritomancy” (see McHugh), a way of letting accident determine your action. See next entry. 281.16: “trifid tongues:” Ovid, Metamorphoses: “trifida flamma:” lightning 281.17: LM 4: “A saxum shillum:” to take the Saxon shilling was to enlist in the British army. Adjoining main text includes ("Bruto and Cassio" (.15-6)), Brutus and Cassius, Caesar and Roam – civil war. 281.21: ”Ancient’s aerger:” an ancient anger – an old grudge 281.24-5: “That’s how our oxyggent has gotten ahold of half their world:” “Oxy” – Oxford – gentleman; his kind, like the Romans before, have taken over half the world. (In “Telemachus,” Mulligan calls Haines an “oxy chap.”) Also, oxygen rusts (Erin) iron. 281.26: “the ruck:” the hoi-polloi. Occurs in this sense (among others) in Ulysses. Perhaps also overtone of (see previous entry) rust Fn. 1: “The “nasal fossa:” a.k.a “nasal cavity:” prominent in human skulls, therefore a determinable sign of “natal folkfarthers,” original forefathers. Caesar had Vercingetorix paraded as prisoner in a triumph before ordering him strangled. Linked to "Numance" - Numantia, a “Celtiberian” – Spanish-Celtic - settlement which rebelled against Rome and was destroyed. The speaker here seems to be indignant that the Gallic Celt Vercingetorix has received more historical recognition than the Spanish Celtic defenders of Numantia. She may have a point – Vercingetorix’s name, ironically, registers mainly because he appears in Caesar’s first-year classroom classic, The Gallic Wars – but, considering that the man gave himself up in order to save the lives of his people, this seems pretty harsh. Fn. 3: “You daredevil donnelly…:” linked to “trifid tongues.” A trifid tongue would be a (three-) forked tongue, proverbial for liars such as the snake in Genesis, and, by extension, all lowdown lying male seducers. Issy knows this, but still can’t help falling for the devil with his (“lots of”) lies and piercing eyes; “flashy foreign mail” = cosmopolitan dash in a man at the time when French postcards were synonymous with lasciviousness; “flashy” also because light is flashing off “mail” in the sense of armor, of the sort worn by a romantically desirable “knight in shining armor,” for instance (“I dalgo”) an hidalgo, known for aristocratic and chivalric-romantic demeanor. “Cowrie hard:” calling card – today’s equivalent would be a woman giving a man her phone number. (“Nestor” shows that Joyce knew that cowries were once used as money; he probably also knew that in some cultures they were taken as symbols of the vagina.) “With all my exes, wise and sad:” a sadder-but-wiser woman is one who has, as a later age would put it, been around the block a few times, with her (now) ex-lovers or ex-husbands. A woman of the world, she knows he has a past, so does she, and here, sir, it is: full disclosure. 282.6: “At maturing daily gloryaims:” a bit of Coué-ish uplift talk of the "Everyday in every way I'm getting better and better" variety: something like: Keep raising your goals with each and every day! 282.7-8: “A flink dab for a freck dive and a stern poise for a swift pounce:” boxing moves 282.8-9: “mainly arith:” manly art (of boxing) – with his fists. And, of course, his arithmetic lesson begins by counting the fingers on his hand – French main. 282.9-12: “he knowed from his cradle, no bird better, why his fingures were giving him whatfor to fife with:” a born musician from birth, he knew right away that his fingers were for playing the “fife.” (At .30-32 he will be doing scales on a fife or similar instrument.) “Fife” is – see .7-8 and next entry - also fight. 282.11: “giving him whatfor:” giving him a beating 282.12: “First, by observation, there came boko:” Christiani: “Buhko,” moo-cow. The practiced Joyce reader will recognize the moo-cow coming down the road in the first sentence of A Portrait. Gaelic bó, cow.” Here, as in Portrait, it is the first to appear “by observation.” Also, according to Digger Dialects, "boko" is 19th century English slang for the nose. As here, the example given is from an account of a boxing match. 282.13: “tittlies:” titillate. (All of this first round of names for his fingers are baby-ish. Compare Cissy with Baby Boardman in “Nausicaa” (12.257-9).) 282.15-7: "pickpocket...pickpocketpromise:" compare Hamlet on hands: "pickers and stealers," in turn an allusion to the Book of Common Prayer, including a vow to "keep my hands from picking and stealing." 282.17: "upwithem:" foppish practice of extending the fifth finger of the hand holding a tea cup. 282.24: "hoojahs koojahs:" in Digger Dialects, "hoojah" means "What's-his-name," "koojah" is Persian for "where." Sthe student is confused - he doesn't know the who, what, or where of what he's reading. 282.15-7: “pickpocket with pickpocketpumb, pickpocketpoint, pickpocket prod, pickpocket pickpocketpromise:” reciters of the C of E catechism promise “To keep my hands from picking and stealing.” Hamlet is alluding to it when he calls his hands “pickers and stealers.” 282.17: “upwithem:” probably alludes to etiquette rule to lift the little finger of the hand holding a cup of tea. Usually signalizes affected decorum 282.20-1: “cardinal numen:” cardinal number 282.23: "Kay O’Kay:” “KO” = “knockout” in boxing. Given Vico ricorco, maybe relevant that signal for “OK” is a circle formed with thumb and index finger? 282.23-27: “Always would he be reciting of them, hoojahs koojahs, up by rota, in his Fanden’s catachysm from fursed to laced, quickmarch to decemvers, so as to pin the tenners, thumbs down:” reciting units of 10, in a “rota” up and down: sounds to me like he’s saying the rosary. (Would fit both the religious sequence (catechism, rota, “Holy Joe” (.17)) we’re in and the stage of his membership in the church: he’s gone from infancy to confirmation. Also: when a boxer has been knocked down, the referee goes into a ten-count.) 282.24: "hoojahs koojahs:" Digger Dialects (see note to 262.10): What's-his-name. Presumably refers to the names of the cardinals just run through 282.25: “fursed to laced:” furs and lace both signify luxury: here, of the cardinals, for instance the (“epulent”) opulent “curdinal weisswassh” (.22). 282.26: “quickmarch:” a march in quick-time, 120 steps per minute 282.28: “arecreating:" r-creating: recreating. Only the pope can create cardinals; he may be playing at it. 282.28: A Wake Newslitter says this should be added after “om:" “a rightleft by and ingreasing om and moultipiecing.” Not included by Oxford editors or McHugh, but it would go with the boxing thread Fn. 4: “That’s his whisper waltz I like from Pigott’s with that Lancydancy step. Stop:” linked to “pin puff pive piff,” etc.: 3/4 waltz beat. The “Whisper Waltz” was a popular waltz and song of the 19th-early 20th century; Rudy Vallee recorded a version in 1933. “Lancydancy step:” Lancers dance step (see McHugh). In “Circe,” Professor Maginni orders “the Katty Lanner step,” named after the daughter of the creator of the Vienna waltz and herself a noted choreographer; the music is to “waltz time.” 283.4: “Ace, deuce, tricks, quarts, quims:” see 71.24-5, 134.7 and notes: ace-deuce, in either order is a draw in a card game or a roll of the dice. A trick is a round won in a number of card games. (It can also mean a casual sexual encounter, usually for money.) “Quarts” probably refers to drinking. As McHugh notes, “quim” is slang for the vagina. In other words, at this stage the young Kev is going to the bad in the usual, time-tested way: gambling, drinking, loose women. 283.5-6: “whole number:” not a fraction 283.6: “on the other hand:” literally the other hand 283.7-9: “loaferst terms for their aloquent parts, sexes, suppers, oglers, novels and dice:” see note to Fn. 2. 283.8: “aloquent:” “aliquot.” OED definition: “Contained in a larger number a certain number of times, without leaving any remainder…Chiefly in aliquot parts.” Occurs in “Cyclops” 283.9: “novels:” well into the 19th century, some severe sects considered the reading of novels, as opposed to sermons, a path to immorality. 283.9-10: “find…the valuse of:” mathematical formula, e.g. find the value of the function with x being 4 283.10-11: “thine-to-mine articles:” as an inevitable result of his downward course, he’s become familiar with the ways of the pawn shop. 283.13-4: “his tables:” gaming tables. Also, in “Aeolus,” “the tables of the law” are the ten commandments. 283.15: “oozies ad libs:” floozies to [Latin "ad"] libertines 283.15-7: “several townsends, several hundreds, civil-to-civil imperious gallants into gells (Irish):” by now a thoroughgoing pimp, he’s introduced many “gallants” to girls. Worse, it’s been imperial (English) men to Irish girls. 283.17-8: “bringing alliving stone allaughing down to grave clothnails:” 1. in (1) Peter 2:4 the followers of Jesus are compared to “a living stone.” 2. he’s reduced a happy (laughing) 165-pound man (eleven stone, eleven), to something negligible, near death. (Googling “clothnail” shows it means something real, something beside the 1/16 measurement, but I haven’t been able to find out just what.) 283.19-20: “a league of archers, fools and lurchers under the rude rule of fumb:” as in the Bible, numbering the populace is the indispensable prerequisite to ruling it. (David angers God by “numbering” his people.) The “archers, fools, and lurchers” = the common people before brought under the thumb of government control. (“Archers” may hearken back to the Robin Hood story – free Saxons from before when the Normans took over.) A good deal of this page is about tyranny facilitated by numbers: for instance, the thirty-nine articles (10-11), agent of Anglican domination of Ireland. 283.21: “be all the prowess of ten:” potentially infinite. In mathematics, the “power of ten” refers to ten multiplied by itself a certain number of times: 10, 100, 1000, etc. 283.24: “nucleuds:” combines Euclid (geometry) with Newton (differential calculus) 283.25: “bearings:” in geometry, a bearing is the number of degrees of an angle measured from the vertical. As measured from true north, used in this sense in navigation 283.27: “agnomes:” unknowns: in algebra, the variable to be solved. Usually signified by x; hence “agnomes, yees and zees”-x's, y's, and z's Fn. 1: “Twelve buttles man:” Regency tradition of defining a man by how much claret he could drink at one sitting. So far as I know the upper limit was a six-bottle man; compare the “fourbottle men” of 95.25. Fn.2: Gamester Damester in the road to Rouen he grows more like his deed every die:” linked to a second round of vices (“sexes, suppers, oglers, novels and dice” (.9)), this confirms Kev’s path on the road to ruin, following in the footsteps of his reprobate father, who died. Also, Ellmann (1984), p. 572: Joyce found Rouen a miserable place. “Gamester:” besides a wencher (McHugh), a gambler, fond of (.9) dice. 284.1: LM 1: “A stodge Angleshman has been worked by eccentricity:” a stodgy stage Englishman would go with the “given obtuse one” (.2). (There are both “obtuse” and “eccentric” angles.) “Royde” (.1) would be a stage-English accent. “Angleshman” presumably cued to “angles” (.2). On stage and off, the English are noted for their eccentricities. 284.4: “Brickbaths:” fragments of brick thrown as a sign of disapproval – for instance at a stage production. Maybe not pertinent, but “bathbricks” were used for cleaning and polishing. 284.4: “The family umbroglia:” the lesson has just outlined a geometrical figure: a straight line bisecting the midpoint of the inside of an arc: ---). (Typographical illustration here is approximate: please pretend the horizontal dashes are continuous and intersect with the arc.) Upright, an umbrella. (The figure will return, more or less, at 317.17-20: a “stickup” with a “mushroom on it,” which “paraseuls round.”) Here, it represents an observer’s account of sexual penetration, sometimes frontally, sometimes rear-entry, sometimes, it seems increasingly likely, anally. I agree with Margot Norris that the definitive sin of FW at least involves what Freud called the primal scene. 284.5-9: “A Tullagrove pole to the Height of County Fearmanagh has a septain inclinaison and the graphplot for all the functions in Lower County Monachan...is rivisible by nighttim:“ Counties Fermanagh and Monaghan are adjoining. A telegraph pole near the border between them might therefore be visible (or re-visible) from one to the other. The language here mimics that of textbook exercises. 284.8: “zeroic couplet:” 8, or as a couple of 0’s 284.10: “heventh:” seventh heaven 284.11: “noughty times:” naughty indeed: vagina and anus, seen from back, from the side. (Joyce uses pretty much the same conceit in “Penelope,” where Molly is connected with the number 8, vertically and, as the sign for infinity, horizontally; see next entry, also.22-4 and note.) In Richard III I.1, Shakespeare plays with “naught” = nothing = vagina; also compare Hamlet’s “nothing” in the “country matters” exchange of III.2, also the (probably) double-meaning title of Much Ado About Nothing. 284.11: LM 2: "An oxygon is naturally reclined to rest:” adjoins “noughty times an (octo-) 8, reclined horizontally ꚙ. The phrase “naturally inclined to rest” is most commonly applied to humans and animals after eating. Also, a popular version of Newton’s account of inertia is that “all objects are naturally inclined to rest.” Note: “oxygon” is, says OED, a triangle with three acute angles. (Etymologically, “oxy” means “sharp,” "acute.”) In that sense neither 8 nor "eight" are oxygons or octagons, the shape of a stop sign. Be that as it may, Joyce lets figure 8 – eight – Latin "octo" - carry the day. 284.13-4: “international surd:” a surd is an irrational number, pi being the most familiar example. “International” may echo "irrational" 284.15: “ififif at a tom:” compare 455.16: “atoms and ifs” 284.19-20: “the twelve deaferended dumbbawls: deaf and dumb; can go with FW’s twelve, who are elderly and sometimes seem to have trouble hearing, for instance at 378.22-3. 284.19: “dumbbawls:” dumbbells: more 8s or ꚙs 284.21-2: “urutteration of the word in pregross:” the uttering of the word before it takes on flesh – when it’s pre-gross. Thus original, pre-sex: ur-rutter 284.22-4: “two antesedents be bissyclitties and the three comeseekwenchers trundletrikes:” reversion to park scene: two girls, three soldiers. Former may be “antesedents” in the sense of virgins: have not yet been seeded. (Compare 275 Fn. 4 and note.) This despite their busy, buzzing "-clitties," being stimulated by the bike-riding. The three soldiers who have come here to seek wenches are the natural consequences of the girls’ brazen flirtation. (Girls riding bicycles in Joyce are always, following the conventional wisdom of his youth, being brazen.) “Trundletrikes:" maybe because tricycles are slower than bicycles - trundling rather than speeding. Bicycles, with their two wheels, are yet another variation on the theme of 8 and ꚙ, as in play in "Penelope." 284.25: “footplate:” a “footplate” could be the step leading up to the door of a coach or the resting step for driver or fireman on a train engine. (Occurs in this sense in “Circe.”) The term also shows up in patents for bicycles, apparently as attachments to pedals. 284.25: “Big Whiggler:” British Whigs were the party of the landed aristocracy and, later, the wealthy merchant class. Pretty much fits with ("Big Whig-) “bigwig.” Also, given bicycle context, probably one of those early models, called a high-wheeler, with one big wheel in front. See next entry. 284.25-6: Big Whiggler restant upsittuponable:” as bicycle, a high-wheeler (see previous entry) with the rider perched on top. As coach, the “upsittuponable” would be the father, the Big Whiggler,” as an “outside” – that is, a passenger perched on the roof. (Later “Coach with the Six Insides” (359.24) shows that Joyce was familiar with the term.) All together, the two (Issy and her double), three (twins and tertium quid), four (ALP) with father aboard make a “tandem” procession along the North Circular Road – a variation on the “family umbroglia” (.4). (Also: Wilde’s advice against starting a career from the bottom: “No; begin at the top and sit upon it.” A Wake Newslitter VII, 1, 9 suggests “Big Whiggler” may be Wilde, the “Big White Caterpillar.”) 284.26: “NCR:” Dublin’s North Circular Road is, roughly, an arc. 284.27: “tandem:” more bicycle talk: people ride tandem on a bicycle built for two. 284.27-285.1: “an ottomantic…a lot):” language of photography. A dekko (“turquo-indaco” (.28)) was a kind of photograph paper. (Later, beginning about 1930, a brand of camera. Also, slang for a glance: take a dekko of that.) Photographers working in dark rooms were concerned with the paper’s degree of “pictorial shine by pictorial shimmer” (.28-9) and (“asheen” (.30)) sheen: effects of light as it came through a “lenz” (.285.1). (References to “automatic [“ottomantic”] cameras started showing up around 1920.) Apparently, the resulting photograph is in color – or, I think more likely, we’re looking at a turquoise-indigo negative. 284.29ff: “gad of the gidday:” god of the (good) day – the sun (compare 83.34-5), lighting up the “pictorial [pastoral] scene” just described, brightening the dark turquoise-indigo colors of the picture to the “viridorefulvid” colors of summer. On the next page, this sunny scene will be darkened and dispersed by a thunderstorm. (Also – see previous note – photographers care about sunlight.) FN.1: “Poll” links with “pole” of line 7. FN.3: “coachers:” a “coach” is also a private tutor. Linked to “Answers, (for teasers only)” – that is, to one of those teachers’ editions of a textbook with the answers in the back of each chapter. The ensuing results make clear why such coaches were called crammers: a dull student is being force-fed at way too fast a rate, with head-exploding results around 285.15-22. FN.4: “Braham Baruch:” Bernard Baruch, famous financier, plutocrat, adviser to statesmen, philanthropist. Linked to “Big Whiggler” - he was definitely a bigwig FN.5: "A gee is just a jay on the jaunts cowsway:“ G” in “giants” is soft – pronounced “J.” “Jaunts:” gents. As for “cowsway:” Mink reports that “herds of cattle” were once “driven along the NCR.” 285.2: “outraciously enviolated:” violated by someone of another race. Miscegenetic rape. Opposite of (“habby cyclic erdor” (1-2)) happy civic order, especially if “habby” includes “hubby.” (See next entry; “Hubby” occurs in “Grace.”) “Enviolated” also probably includes “envy:” in Homer and Joyce and many others, the dead, of the sort that show up at table-turning séances, envy the living. Compare the end of “The Dead.” 285.3: “mierelin roundtableturning:” given context, probably includes multiplication tables. Also, “table-turning” was a feature of séances. Also, according to Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae (a major FW source), Merlin’s magic allowed Uther Pendragon to rape – outrageously violate (.2) - Igraine, the wife of his enemy, and impregnate her with Arthur, later king of the Round Table. LM 2’s “Arthurgink’s hussies and Everguin’s men” echoes Arthur and Igraine. (Odd, I think, that LM 2 follows rather than precedes LM 1, but then see note to .11-2: this may be a case of one marginal comment doing double duty.) 285.3: “knuts:” “knots” in Scandinavian 285.4: “dart with the yeggs:” Egg-and-dart: an ornamental device common in Greek and Roman temples 285.5: “wingless arrows:” unfledged arrows, therefore with unpredictable destinations, hence “hodgepadge” (.6). In one Arab legend, a wingless arrow is used to randomly determine which of ten sons is to be sacrificed at the Kaaba. 285.6-7: “all boy more missis blong him:” an instance of what I have been calling FW’s stage-Chinese or stage-Oriental idiom. Always or almost always, as here, signals (usually exasperated) befuddlement. Earliest example occurs in “Circe:” “Li li poo lil chile,” etc. (Ulysses 15.962). Perhaps related to Mongolia–mongoloid equation common in Joyce’s time. Kev is in a frenzied state here both because the lesson is difficult and because he is the thick one. 285.8: LM 1: “Finnfinnotus of Cincinnati:” Since, in Joyce’s time, Cincinnati, Ohio was America’s pork capital (a fact celebrated by the 1950 variety song “Cincinnati Dancing Pig”), it makes sense that this should be adjacent to “hogglepiggle” (.8). Also, “Finnfinnotus:” Cincinnatus famously walked away from power – gave his ("-finnotus") final notice – after saving Rome. 285.9: “catched and dodged:” sounds like a game of tag. Also, the American expression “raining cats and dogs” (repeated at .16, in a distinctly American voice): see .10, .15.16, and .18, with notes. 285.9. “exarx:” “ex archēs:” from the starting line. Again, a race 285.10: “himmulteemiously:” rainstorm: the heavens (German Himmel) are teeming. 285.10: “he wins her hend! He falls to tail!:” given ongoing race, this may be an allusion to Atalanta story. 285.11: “ersed ladest mand:” erstwhile ladies’ man. Fits the footnote (Fn. 3): a harem-full of pretty young women assembled for his diversion 285.11-2: “ersed ladest mand…the losed farst:” Matthew 20:16: “So the last shall be first, and the first last: for many are called, but few chosen.” Probably pertinent that the context is of a race, with winners and losers; also that the (probably) corresponding LM entry includes “Arthurgink’s” (King Arthur, with first syllable placed last) and “Everguin’s” (Guinevere, with first syllable placed last.) 285.13-4: “twalegged poneys and threehandled dorkeys:” unpromising entrants in a horse race, one would think. Also, a reprise of the bicycle and tricycle of the previous page: Fn. 4 has just (see McHugh) given us someone freewheeling on a boneshaker, a bicycle. 285.15-6: “rainborne pamtomomiom:” thunderstorm; see next three entries. 285.16: “aqualavant:” aqua-lavant: water-washing (from rain) 285.16: “cat my dogs:” American expression: “raining cats and dogs” 285.18: “volts:” volt = unit of electrical measurement. From lightning of thunderstorm 285.22: “finish:” as McHugh notes, the multiplication just completed (.17-21) has been partly in Finnish. 285.22: “helve’s fractures:” “twelve factorial:” a mathematical formula which I do not understand. Compare “factionables” at .26. 285.22-3: “outher wards:” outer wards 285.25-6: “bully clavers:” Balaclavas (hats). Also, an ironic Englishy “bally clever.” 285.27-8: “Binomeans to be comprendered:” the binomial theorem, which he does not comprehend. (Neither do I.) 285.29-286.1: “prostalutes:” postulates. OED defines its meaning in geometry: “A simple…operation whose possibility is self-evident or taken for granted, e.g. the drawing of a straight line between two points in space.” Fn. 2: “Barneycorrall, a precedent for the prodection of curiosity from children.” Joyce's note to Notebook VI.B.45,133: "bornokarl." As annotated by Ian MacArthuir and Viviana Mirela Braslasu, this comes from The Vikings, by Allen Mawr, as follows: "Children were tossed on the point of the spear and the Viking leader who discouraged the custom was nicknamed barnakarl, i.e. the children's friend." As McHugh notes, "Barneycorral" is paired with the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. Fn. 3: “A pfurty pscore of ruderic rossies haremhorde for his divelsion:” link is to ”ladest mand” (.11), ladies’ man, and here he is with a harem of pretty rossies. “Divelsion” includes “divel,” Irish pronunciation of “devil.” Also, as division, perhaps long division, it reminds us that this is still a math lesson. Joyce's notes (see previous entry) trace this to Allen Mawr's The Vikings: "the great grandson of Rurik, the founder of the Russian kingdom, had more than 800 concubines." Hence the forty-score of "ruderic rossies" harem, for his diversion Fn. 6: “Indiana Blues on the violens:” “Indiana Blues:” a song covered by several bands; the earliest listing is for 1916. Joyce seems to think it’s the name of the band’s violinist. As McHugh notes, all colors of the rainbow are present, and the link is to “Iris in the Evenine’s World” (.27) - “Iris” is presumably the pen name of the paper’s authority on fashionable gossip. She is also the Greek goddess of the rainbow. Perhaps the “Evenine’s” – evening – world because sunsets are colorful and because that’s when the colorful gowns show up at balls: Bloom contemplates both phenomena in “Nausicaa,” and Joyce, with the aid of Ponchielli’s “Dance of the Hours,” builds a “Circe” scene on the same basis. “Tomatoes malmalaid with De Quinceys salade:” believe it or not, there are, or were, such things as tomato marmalade and quince salad. 286.3: RM 1: “HEPTAGRAMMATON…:” "P.t.l.o.a.t.o” in the adjoining main text is seven (hepta-) letters. The “LUSTRAL PRINCIPIUM” refers to the Roman practice of sacrificial purification every five years. Turning a new page (see McHugh) in sense of turning over a new leaf. We are passing from one stage to another; the adjoining (.4-5: see McHugh) allusion to Yeats’ A Vision suggest that the change is in part one of reincarnation. 286.4: “initials falls:” false initials; the Fall of original sin, the “primary taincture” (.5), original taint 286.5: "primary taincture:" see previous entry. Also, "taint" as "tint," the first sign of color. Adumbrates what, following J.S. Atherton, your annotator thinks is FW's main metaphysical premise: that the Fall was God's sin, not Adam's, and that its main manifestation is the rainbow, signaling the prismatic refraction of the white light of moral perfection. 286.6: “begath:” Gath: Philistine city, cited in 2 Samuel 1:20: “Tell it not in Gath, proclaim it not in the streets of Ashkelon.” 286.6-7: “the arab in the ghetto knows better:” 1. street Arab: urchin. 2. because the Arabs invented algebra. Like studying French for years and then going to France only to find that the kids speak the language better than you do. Compare 98.10-15. 286.9: “frost:” first 286.10: “dirty:" duty 286.10: “hacked at Hickey’s:” Oxford editors insert “ever so new at” after “Hickey’s.” “Hacked:” hocked: American slang for “pawned.” (See McHugh for “Hickey’s” as second-hand book store.) Compare Stephen’s schoolbooks in “Wandering Rocks.” “Page torn on [and] dirty” may be part of the pawnbroker’s cold-eyed assessment: not really all that bloody new, is it now? 286.11: “hucksler, Wellington’s Iron Bridge:” hustler, Huck Finn, huckster, hocker (see second note to .10) in sense of seller of hocked goods. In “Wandering Rocks,” Stephen is browsing through second-hand books of the sort sold by Hickey’s (see .10 and note.) on Bedford Row, around the corner from Wellington Bridge. 286.13: “trump:” boss suit in various card games. Also, he is, with trumpet, trumping a farewell (“atout atous”) toot – toot to everyone, to everyone. 286.13: “cardinhands:” it was from the fingers on his hand that he first learned (282.20-1) his cardinal numbers. There were four of them (.282.20) – apparently the thumb wasn’t involved – like the four suits in a deck of cards. 286.14: “big deal:” in poker, four of a kind. More generally, a poker round with serious money at stake 286.14-5: “rossecullinans:” Cullinan diamond – the largest diamond ever found 286.15: “in suitclover:” expression: “in clover” means well-off, lucky, doing very well 286.16: “revoke:” in bridge, whist, etc.: to fail to follow suit; i.e. when one’s hand still holds a card of the suit being led 286.18: “plates to lick one and turn over:” licking the plate, turning it over: certainly a sign of uncouthness and/or hunger. Also, compare Stephen as teacher in “Nestor,” telling a student to “Turn over” a textbook page to the next. We are turning to the book’s next chapter: after arithmetic and algebra, geometry. (Trigonometry will follow.) 286.19: “Problem ye ferst:” in standard school order, geometry follows algebra. 286.19: “aquilittoral dry ankle:” since a littoral is the intermediate zone between high and low tide, it makes a kind of sense that one could walk along it and keep the ankles, though not necessarily the feet, dry. 286.19: RM 2: “INGENOUS:” naïve, like Shaun/Kev, who is the one, in the adjoining main text, “With his primal handstoe in his sole salivarium” (.20-1), a sucker, sucking his thumb; “LIBERTINE:" the immoral free-thinker, like Shem/Dolph, who, likewise in the adjoining main text, will make his brother complicit in “Concoct[ing] an equoangular trillitter,” thus, because it’s their mother’s pubic delta, will teach the former to be “vicewise” (29). 286.21: LM 3: “The boss’s bess bass is the browd of Mullingar:” besides (McHugh) Bass Ale sold at the Mullingar Inn, the town of Mullingar is known for its milk cows – here producing Bossie’s best. 286.22: “trillitter:” A. L. P.: three letters 286.23-4: “mythametical tripods:” the Holy Ghost is the third member of the Trinity. Perhaps as well an allusion to the magical walking tripods of the Iliad 286.29: “easiest off kisshams:” expression is more familiar to me as “as easy as kiss-my-hand.” Also, “ham:” “kiss my arse.” 286.30: “Oc:” common Irish expression. 286.30: LM 4: “jumeantry” is likely prompted by “Sem” in the adjoining main text. Again, Shem was the original Semite. 286.30: “mud, son:” medicine 286.31-287.1: “Oglores, the virtuoser prays, olorum!” “Glorious,” interrupted by narrator Fn.2: “trouveller:” French trouver, to find; troubadour. A “trouvaille” is a lucky find 287.4: “Deva:” in “Lycidas,” with its “wizard streams,” Milton’s name for the River Dee 287.7: “Anny liffle mud:” contrast the creation of Adam, out of “dust.” This time around, the creation of Eve comes first. Women, in FW, are liquid. 287.8: “Amnium:” as in amniotic fluid, released in childbirth 287.9: “alp:” Alp – mountain 287.9-10: “a howlth on her bayrings:” Howth, overlooking Dublin Bay, with its semicircular outline 287.10: “Gu it!:” Gut!” – German: Good! Also “Go it!” – Keep it up! (Occurs in this sense in “Circe.”) 287.10-19: “bayrings…too:” I think that among the usual other things (making a triangle, for one) the two are drawing the outline of a human face: two eyes (“0”s) side by side, then a third “0” lower down makes the mouth. Starting at 304.5, Dolph will say that he has been made unconscious either by being knocked out or by staring at the triangle and going into a trance – exactly what happens to Bloom in “Oxen of the Sun.” The altered state begins at line 20. 287.15: “olfa:” pronouncing “alpha” this way turns alpha into omega; the word as spelled out goes from omega to alpha. Followed by “ah! O!” (.15-6) 287.15: “isle of Mun, ah!:” the Isle of Man is also called Mona. 287.15-7: “Mun…odrer:” O Hehir says “Mun” = urine. “Odrer” = ordure. Augustine: “We are born between piss and shit.” Creation, whether divine or human, is an act of sin. 287.17: “husk, hisk, a spirit spires:” “husk” is a common term for a body after the spirit has left it – i.e. “spired” into the spirit world – which, at least approximately, is what’s happening here. 287.18-9: “meager suckling of gert stoan:” i.e. negligible offspring of heroic parent. “Gert stoan” = Scots version of “great stone.” The most important “great stone” in the Bible is the one on which the arc of the covenant is placed. 287.20-8: “venite…amplecti:” informs us that FW, founded on Bruno and Vico, is being written in Paris, near the Seine, with its left and right banks. Brendan O Hehir notes the following: 1. that “chartula liviana” is charta liviana, (.21), “2nd of 5 grades of papyrus in Imperial Rome, a high quality, used for literary texts; named for Livia wife of Augustus.” (Also, of course, the Liffy, FW’s other river); 2. that “Jordani et Jambaptistae” encompasses Jordan and John the Baptist (who, of course, baptized Jesus in the Jordan River); 3. that “eadem quae ex aggere fututa fuere” (.25-6) and “iterum inter alveum fore fututa” (.26) translate as, respectively, “the same which had been fucked from the embankment” and “again will be fucked among the riverbed.” 287.28-9: “when him moved he would cake their chair:” when, as moved, seconded, and passed, he would take the chair. A ceremonial formality among convivial, often bibulous, men’s clubs Fn. 1: “Will you walk into my wavetrap? Said the spiter to the shy:” link is to Dolph’s temptation of Kev, definitely the “shy” (hesitant) one in this transaction, as spider to fly. Also, “wavetrap:” a wave trap, around in Joyce’s time, was a device to minimize radio interference. Fn. 4: “Basqueesh:” Baksheesh: bribe or kickback demanded in the Middle East 288.2: “bronze mottes:” bold-as-brass girlfriends. (“Mots” is the spelling given in “Wandering Rocks.”) Like an epistolary Cyrano, he is, in exchange for money (“a dillon a dollar” (288.1)) from tongue-tied college boys, writing lovey-dovey letters to their girlfriends in their name. The linked footnote (Fn. 1: “An ounceworth of onions for a pennyawealth of sobs”) indicates that his writing has the desired effect of jerking sentimental tears. 288.3: “tingling tailwords:” loveletter valedictions meant to excite the recipient. Martha Clifford’s letter to Bloom includes an example. 288.4-5: “cunctant that another would finish his sentence for him:” at the same time, he played it cute. His obscenity was a matter of innuendo and double entendres (“cunt” in “cunctant,” for instance; Bloom has included that word in letters to both Molly and Martha Clifford), counting on his listeners to fill in the blanks. All the while, he’d nervously, but not guiltily, pretend to be “so prim” (.6). 288.5. “he druider:” “he’d rather,” with overtone of American expression “druther” 288.5: “eggways:” edgewise – i.e., sideways, from the corner of the mouth, here for his erotic insinuations 288.5-6: “don’t say nothing:” given the context, this sounds as if it’s coming from one of Joel Chandler Harris’ tricksters – Brer Rabbit or Brer Fox – in the Uncle Remus stories. 288.6: “ordinailed ungles:” ordained (presumably as clergy) uncles. Also, ordinal numbers, as opposed to the cardinal numbers (286.13) of his arithmetic lesson; examples follow at .9-10. 288.7: “trying to undo with his teeth the knots made by his tongue:” a version of “biting his tongue” – he’s said too much already and makes himself stop. Probably also an allusion to Alexander and the Gordian knot, which was tied to the pole, a.k.a. “tongue,” of a cart. Also “tonguetied” 288.8: “math hour:” in school, the hour of the day spent on math lessons 288.11: “bag from Oxatown:” Oxford bags: fashionable trousers for young men 288.13: ”in point of feet, when he landed:” like Eveline’s Frank, he “landed on his feet.” Certainly true of St. Patrick, one of the personages here, who “converted it’s nataves” (.14) 288.14: “saved and solomnones:“ saints and sages. (Saints are automatically “saved” – in heaven; Solomon was a sage.) 288.18-21: “to put off the barcelonas…and kiss on their bottes…as often as they came within bloodshot of that other familiar temple:” take off their hats (Borsalinos) and make a low bow – low enough to kiss their own boots – when in sight of a church. (Some pious Catholics make a practice of crossing themselves when passing a church.) 288.20: “kiss on their bottes (Master!):” butts: American slang for arse. The Irish are commanded to show deference to their betters, whether (“Gratings, Mr Dane!” (.19)) Dean Swift or Danish conquerors, either by hat-removing or butt-kissing or both. “Bottes (Master!):” a backwards “masturbates.” Presence of Swift, who insinuates the word into the beginning of Gulliver’s Travels, probably exerts an influence. 288.20-1: “within bloodshot:” within sight (with bloodshot eyes); within gunshot range. Perhaps recalls “Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes,” from American Battle of Bunker Hill 288.22: “tristar:” in context (Patrick’s conversion of natives) shamrock, the trefoil. See next entry. 288.22: “hattrick:” three goals in hockey, soccer, etc. – another group of three 288.24: “galloroman cultous:” according to one version, Patrick was a captive in France – Gaul – when a vision commanded to bring the "-roman" religion to Ireland. Hence, a Gallo-Roman cultus 288.24: “prevailend up to this windiest:” prevailing winds 288.25: “beforeaboots:” play on thenabouts, thereabouts. Here, it means “hithertofore, more or less.” 288.25: “landhavemiseries:” Michael Davitt: the land system has “made Ireland a land of misery.” 288.28: “moss hungry:” Irish ate moss during the Famine. Fn. 1: “An ounceworth of onions for a pennyawealth of sobs:” a pennyweight is 1/20th of an ounce. A penny can be unit of either British or American currency. Here, linked to “dollar” (.1), it probably plays off of the double sense – money, weight - of “pound.” A British penny would be worth 1/240th of a pound. Also, of course, onions cause tears. Fn. 4: “When all them allied sloopers was ventitillated in their poppos and, sliding down by creek and veek, stole snaking out to sea:” as McHugh notes, Patrick’s expulsion of the snakes. Linked to “the Lady Eva, in a tan soute of sails” (.14-5): the snakes, having done their worst with Eve, are sneaking away. (The suit of sails belongs to the boat, not Patrick.) Also, the repulsed and retreating French naval invasion at Bantry Bay, 1796. Wikipedia: “Contrary weather and enemy action forced this expedition to withdraw.” The “sloopers” (sloops), windblown and peppered with grapeshot (“ventitillated,” in two senses) in their (rear) poop decks (“poppos”), steal sneakily “out to sea” from “creek and veek.” Accounts record that the fleet was scattered by adverse winds, and that some of the ships were sloops. “Snaking:” sneaking: of a later French naval defeat in 1798, Roger Casement, himself involved in a similarly ill-fated expedition, wrote that the commanding officer’s abandonment of his Irish allies was a “disgrace.” Fn. 5: ”cinnamondhued:” Chinamen too. (Compare 6.18.) Also, redskins: by contrast, English tourists, described in “Wandering Rocks,” are “palefaces.” The Irish, by comparison – the “nataves” being converted in the linked passage (.16-8) are proverbially ruddy. Compare 378.33 and note. 288.28-299.1: “hold ford:” hold hard 289.1: “healing:“ hearing 289.1: “old weights:” old ways 289.2: “prence:” pence: one of the weights and measures introduced at the time; also Peter’s pence 289.2: “prence di Propagandi:” P.P.: Parish Priest. Also, see McHugh. 289.3: “rock:” punning on Peter’s name, “rock” in both Aramaic and Latin, Jesus established him as the rock on which the church was to be built. He was the original (see previous) official prince of propaganda. 289.4: “allsods:” “Ould Sod:” sentimental emigrant term for Ireland 289.5: “esoupcans:” Incorporates French soupcon, a little bit, with soup cans – not so much tinned soup as the vats in a soup kitchen. As such, adumbrates “famine soup” or “famine stew,” the thin potato gruel (hence “queen’s pottage” (.5) – French potage plus “potato”) given to the Irish during the Famine, sometimes on the condition of conversion to the Church of England; the gist here is that not all the soup in the world could induce them to abandon their faith. 289.5-6: “allfinesof greendgold:” refined gold. (Perhaps – although Oxford editors don’t flag it – there should be space between “allfines” and “of.”) First “d” adds greed to the mix. 289.6: “greendgold:” green and (“-end-”) gold: Irish colors. Given emigrant theme, may also be relevant that greenback dollars and gold coins signify American wealth. Also, according to Mink, “The Jholung goldfields are on its [the Indus river] up [upper] reaches.” See next entry. 289.6. “Indus:” either West or East Indies (although “Hindustan” sounded with "Indus” points to the latter); Columbus famously believed that America was India. Although both Indies were synonymous with fabulous riches, the point here is that neither could tempt Irish natives to abandon their faith. (Equally-oppositely, this worship is both pre-Patrick ("ophis workship" (.7), worshiping snakes) and post-Patrick ("twice on sundises" (.8). Compare next entry.) 289.7: “to steeplechange back:” to backslide, or rather back-flip - here in matters of religion: a Steeplechase includes a lot of jumping. Again, whatever the temptations, they will not abandon the faith. 289.8: “twice on sundises:” phrase: once a day and twice on Sundays – schedule for church or chapel attendance 289.9: “beam slewed cable:” radio replaced telegraphy, especially as transmitted by the Atlantic Cable. Compare next entry. 289.9: “live wire:” literally, a loose and active (therefore dangerous) electrical wire – e.g. a “cable.” Figuratively, any especially energetic or boisterous person 289.9-10: “Derzher,...sin righthand son:” overtones from Apostle’s Creed: “Jesus, his only son, our Lord…sitteth on the right hand of the Father Almighty.” “Derzherr” includes “Herr,” Lord; the linked Fn. 2 has “spirits.” I suggest this passage combines the fall of Lucifer (note “sin”) with the descent of Jesus to Earth. 289.10: “Funkling outa th’Empyre:” sparks (“funk:” German for spark) coming out of a pyre 289.11. “having listed curefully to the interlooking:” Camp Interlochen, in Michigan, broadcasting musical performances over the (see .9 and note) radio since 1930; concerts were re-broadcast in Europe. (The original of this passage was published in 1928, without the “interlooking.”) Joyce enjoyed listening to American radio. 289.13: “apostrophised:” all five of the following names are given apostrophes. 289.14-7: “they…let drop…coal on:” “they” is apparently the “them” of .6 – the Irish people, converted by Patrick. “Let drop” in the sense of mentioned in passing. Unclear to me whether “coal on” is a version of what they said (coal is also dropped, down coal chutes; see note to .17) or a colon pointing to it. For the whole sequence, compare 244.17-8. 289.15: “as a doombody drops:” as a doomed/condemned man is hanged (at the “drop”) 289.16: “eitherways:” otherwise 289.17: “coal on::” putting coal on the fire, which (“Byrne’s and Flamming’s” (.13)), burns and flames; see second note to .10. Also, colon - the unusual and incongruous ":" following "coal on." (I wonder whether one or the other other traces to an error between Joyce and his transcriber.) Also, again, compare 244.17-8. 289.18: “gigglehouse:” slang for madhouse 289.19: “missions for mades to scotch the schlang:” sounds like a Catholic woman’s organization – something like the Irish “Children of Mary,” bent on doing God’s work. Thanks to Patrick, scotching snakes in Ireland would be pretty redundant, but not so when it comes to putting an end to scandal/slander: compare ALP’s showing up at 102.17 to “crush the slander’s head.” Doubtless pertinent that (“schlang”) “schlong” is slang for penis 289.19: “leathercoats:” perhaps letter-cards, term for either postcards or a semi-sealed "petit bleu" (see 458.20) 289.20: “magdies:” Magdalenes 289.23: “saving his presents:” “saving your presence” means with all due respect; no insult intended 289.23: “onefriend:” once-friend: former friend, hence unfriend 289.24: “Shaughraun:” Gaelic for vagabond or imp of mischief 289.24-290.14: “but to return…but, seigneur!:” reverts to 288.13-4, this time in order to follow the story of the woman involved in the exchange 289.26: “Hotel des Ruines:” Rouen? In 1925 Joyce stayed in several hotels in Rouen and vicinity; what with weather and health, he found it pretty ruinous (Ellmann (1984), p. 572). (Compare 283, Fn. 2 and note.) 289.27-8: "Ides of Valentino’s:” obvious? Valentine’s Day falls on the Ides of February. 289.28: “laid her batsleeve:” compare “Circe”’s version of “The Dance of the Hours,” where the “twilight hours,” as elegant and fadée seductresses, are dressed in “grey gauze with dark bat sleeves.” (Examples are on Google Video: the effect is pretty vampish.) 289.28-9: “Idleness, Flood Area, Isolade, Liv’s lonely daughter:” see note to 261.19. Apparently another location (compare Stephen’s self-orientation in Portrait, chapter one, Kevin’s in 605.4-605.12) expanding concentrically outward: I, area, island, the Irish Sea of Lir’s lonely daughter in “Silent O Moyle” Fn. 1: “That is to sight, when cleared of factions, vulgure and decimating:” warring groups in Irish “faction-fighting.” In context, “decimating” probably retains original meaning: the killing of ten percent – a fraction - of a given group of soldiers. Linked to “still hold ford [hard] to their healing and” (288.28-289.1), the sense is that the ordinary people are united in their faith: they still “byleave in the old weights,” believe in the old faith (also ways) if – a big if – you don’t count all the blood spilled in fighting over which version is the true one. Fn. 2: “They just spirits a body away:” language of séances. It was commonplace at the time to compare spirit visitations to radio waves – hence the link to “beam slewed cable” (.9). Fn. 4: “Dump her:” linked to “coal on.” A “dumper” is a mechanical apparatus for dumping coal. Fn. 6: “Do he not know that walleds had wars. Harring man, is neow king. This is modeln times:” Walls have ears. (And settlements put up walls because they’ve experienced external threats during wars.) “Harring man:” a hairy man: a cave man, a mammal, evolutionarily supplanting (because it’s now “modeln times”) the age of reptiles: the link is to “reptile’s age” (.25). Allusion to ("Harring man") Sir John Harington, proverbial inventor of the toilet and therefore a force for (“modeln”) modern progress. (Glasheen finds him elsewhere in FW but not here.) Also Esau, “a hairy man” in the biblical text, as opposed to the “smooth man” Jacob. “Neo” and “new” imbedded in “neow” confirm the “modern times” spin. 290. 1-2: “rose world trysting:” “Rose-world” = Rosamond, paramour of Henry II; their “trysting”s were in the lovenest (“lovenext” (.15)) of Hollywood. (Rosamond’s last name was Clifford; in Ulysses, Bloom’s romantic correspondent is named Martha Clifford – getting, thinks Bloom, her “roses,” menstrual period - and writes “world” for “word.”) 290.5: “old time:” i.e. before the late-17th century adjustment of the calendar, officially from “Old Style” to “New Style” 290.7-8: “synchronisms:” the old men are synchronizing their watches. The change from Old Style to New Style (see .5 and note) also involved synchronizing. 290.8: “seven sincuries later:” seven centuries after “4:32:” (.5), that is (see McHugh) Patrick’s arrival in 432, totaling A.D. 1132. 290.13: “if:” structurally, parallel with the “if” as at 289.26 – only to be indignantly interrupted before the sentence can be completed 290.14-5: “as she yet will fearfeel:” see next entry. Anticipates ALP’s “my cold mad feary father” (628.2) 290.15-6: “coolcold douche:” warm bath replaced by cold shower. A cold douche is proverbially a wet blanket, a sobering spoiler-of-fun. General sense, which will run through the next 30-40 lines, is that Tristram-type is transformed into (return of) King Mark-type, who with combination of power and priestcraft (re)claims Iseult and the other young lovelies of Ireland. “Coolcold” includes “coocoo:” the dove forecasting the landing of the (old) Noah; also, inevitably, cuckold: Mark is one. On a literal level, it makes sense that someone washing in with the Irish Sea’s “saltwater” (.16) would be cold; compare the “My cold mad feary father” (628.2) of ALP’s return to that sea. 290.16: “totterer:” he totters because he’s old. Reverse-echoes “toddler.” 290.16: “four-flights-the-charmer:” the expression “Third time is the charm” appears in “Circe.” 290.16: “when saltwater he wush him these iselands:” compare Stephen in “Telemachus:” “All Ireland is washed by the gulf stream.” 290.16: “Iselands:” Iceland, icy Ireland 290.19: “Multalusi:” Bog Latin for “Myself.” 290.19-20: “vartryproof…would it wash?” In American underworld slang, a “watertight” alibi is one that can’t be discredited; “will it wash?” means, Will this story stand up? – for instance in court 290.19: “a vartryproof name:” one example of a waterproof name would be Macintosh. 290.20: “cheek white:” compare, for instance, 185.11-2. Throughout FW, white cheeks often signify innocence, real or affected, blushing the opposite. 290.21-2: “washawash tubatubtub and his diagonoser’s lampblack, to pure where they were hornest girls:” from baptism to last rites, a.k.a. extreme unction. (Extreme unction was administered with olive oil, also used in lamps.) Also, Diogenes-like, he’s using a lamp – perhaps a dark lantern, prototype of the flashlight – to diagnose whether they’re pure or whores. See next entry. 290.22: “where hornest girls:” OED gives 1889 as the first occurrence of “horny” meaning libidinous. (I’d say that the character of Horner in Wycherly’s Restoration play The Country Wife suggests that it goes a lot farther back than that). Compare the overtone of whore in “where:” were they pure and honest or whorey and horny? Also, equal-oppositely, “honest” – i.e. chaste – girls. By this point, Patrick has become a lecherous priest, for instance fondling (“foundling” (291.14)) yet another, second Eliza (the first was at 289.26); compare Daddy Browning, with his two Peaches (65.25-6) while pretending to be safeguarding their chastity. 290.22: “her in:” Erin 290.23: “par jure:” perjure 290.23: “il you plait:” he (il)/I plait with you / plight my troth. Language of marriage. Also, of course, “s’il vous plait.” 290.25: “come messes, come mams:” come misses, come ma’ams: i.e. both unmarried and married women – all the “mavourneens” in their “plurible numbers” (.24) 290.27: “winebakers:” bread and wine of the Eucharist. See next entry. 290.27: “Lagrima:” given “winebakers,” this is surely an allusion to “Lachryma Christi,” tears of Christ, a famous, and, certainly, (“oldest ablished firma” (.26-7)) old and established, Italian wine. Also, the old established firm he represents is the Catholic Church. 290.28: “craft ebbing:” German kraft = power. Given the Krafft-Ebbing allusion, an insinuation of impotence – he’s old and tired and can’t service all those women. Also, his (seagoing) craft is receding with the ebbing tide. Fn. 2: “Jilt:” a jilt is fickle, flirtatious woman – here linked to a flirt whose “semicupiose eyes” are “brightening.” Fn. 6: “Miss Dotsh:” again: sea-going Tristram and homebound Issy sometimes communicate in Morse code – he in dashes, transmitting the Morse for “T,” she in dots, signaling “I.” “Dotsh” combines dot and dash. 291.1: “Unic bar None:” Unique, bar none, but also – see note to 290.28 – a virtual eunuch, impotentized by age 291.2: “ship me silver!:” “Shiver me/my timbers!” with an overtone of Long John Silver: character and expression both appear in Treasure Island. Appropriate for (“Saint Yves…Landsend cornwer” (.1-2)). Cornish setting; Treasure Island is set in southwest England. 291.4: “flat as Tut’s fut:” cf. 196.6: “went futt,” fizzled out – or, given the context, died. He’s as used up as King Tut. “Flatfoot:” aside from the condition of flat feet, American slang for policeman 291.5: “given the bird:” Mary, impregnated by a dove; compare Ulysses 1.585, 3.162, and compare .6 and note. 291.5: “peggy:” aside from reviving Peg-of-my-Heart (290.3), “Peggy” is a nickname for Margaret or Marge, Issy’s lower-class looking-glass double. 291.5-6: “inseuladed as Crampton’s peartree:” See McHugh. Mink suggests that Joyce may have confused the Crampton’s peartree with the monument. Sounds reasonable to me. Surely it was the monument, not the tree, that everyone (“inseuladed”) insulted. 291.6. “she sall eurn bitter bed by thirt sweet of her face!” combines Adam’s curse with Eve’s. The “bitter bed” is the bed of childbirth, where the woman is sweating in agony. “Sall”= Sally, a nickname for Sarah, who gave birth at an advanced age. Glasheen notes the repeated pairing of Sarah and Sally. 291.7: “tomthick and tarry:” Tommy Atkins and Jacky Tar: UK soldier and sailor 291.8: “subsequious ages of our timocracy:” Vico’s third stage, sub-obsequious, timid, democratic: Joyce’s rabblement. Finnegan’s first name is Tim. 291.9: “mirrorable gracewindow’d hut:” miserable hut; grass hut. One definition of “grass widow” is a woman pregnant with an illegitimate child. Given Gaelic’s l/r interchange and “mirror-,” we’re probably also sanctioned to read “glass window.” 291.9: “till the ives of Man:” till the Ides of March 291.10: “O’Kneels and the O’Prayins:” they are kneeling and praying. 291.11: “hollyboys:” “Holyboys:” ironic nickname for Norfolk Regiment: during the Crimean War: some of its soldiers sold their Bibles for drink. As “holy boys,” the phrase appears in “Cyclops” in a sardonic allusion to the Irish clergy. Kneeling and praying (see previous entry) and (“O’Hollerins” (.11)) hollering are the sort of activity you’d expect from the Holy Joes at a revivalist prayer meeting. 291.12: “kickychoses:” quelchechoses; kicky/kicking shoes 291.13: “to think of him foundling a nelliza the second:” the link to Fn. 3, with its “drooping dido:” may help: Aeneas, off to found a second Troy (Elizabeth’s England also styled itself a New Troy), left Dido drooping. In any case as a man fondling two women of the same name, a version of FW’s pervasive theme of one man with two women – “sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe” (3.12), Tristram with the two Iseults, etc. 291.13-4. “nelliza the second, also cliptbuss:” Eliza/Elizabeth, also yclept (named) Bess: as in “Good queen Bess.” In “Scylla and Charybdis” Stephen refers to Queen Elizabeth as “carroty Bess.” Writing when he did, Joyce would not have known that England's future monarch would be Elizabeth II. 291.14: “foundling:” also “founding:” he’s still an explorer like Columbus, founding new settlements and naming them after his monarch. 291.14-5: “(the best was still there if the torso was gone):” if “best” includes bust, this is close to a contradiction. Otherwise, it means something like: She’s lost her figure, but the best of her (which is?) remains. Not impossible that we should read this cattily. 291.16: “my forgetness now was it:” even for this relentlessly run-on fugue, going from 287.28 to 292.32, the absence of punctuation on either side of “now” - whether comma, semicolon, colon, or period, and almost any combination would do - is notably confusing here. In any case, “now was it” begins a prolonged effort, on the forgetter’s part, lasting until “oxers” (.20), to come up with the right place-name. 291.17: “nom de Lieu!:” see McHugh. Including “Waterlow [Waterloo] raid [road] or street” helps French for “place-name” here make sense. 291.20: “merry a valsehood whisprit:” Merry Widow Waltz. Grammatically, continues on from “when he did” (.15). 291.20-1: "merry a valsehood whisprit to manny a lilying earling:” lily ear: i.e. white, pure, innocent ear, into which the practiced seducer is whispering. (Not clear how the same ear could also be "l--ying," but maybe it just takes one to know one.) Also “yearling:” one-year-old sheep, calf, foal, etc. – therefore a very young female. Given (“braceleans” (.21-2)) bracelets in next line and context of “juwelietry,” probably also “earring.” Also, “darling” 291.21-2…24: “miching miching…tuff tuff:” a repeat of FW’s “mishe” – “tauftauf” (3.9-10) 291.22-3: “gaulish moustaches:” garish. Also, Frenchmen – Gauls - at the time were stereotypically depicted with (sometimes elaborate) moustaches 291.25: “lapse:” common term for a woman’s sexual indiscretion 291.25: “for towelling ends:” “towelling:” dwelling? Kind of works if you read “ends” as a verb. 291.26: “oily head:” treated with hair oil used to create patent-leather hairdo popular with fashionable young men of the time 291.26-7: “sloper’s brow:” a sloping brow was considered a sign of mental retardation. In “Circe,” the prodigiously subnormal Punch Costello has a “receding forehead” and is called “Ally Sloper,” a cartoon character of negligible intellect. Maybe not coincidental that Joyce had the opposite – a bulging forehead 291.27: “prickled ears:” 1. Ears pricked up. 2. Ears pricked for earrings. 3. Pig’s ears, pickled, as a dish 291.28: “a wrigular writher:” wriggling writher: a worm or newborn snake. The latter are called “neonates” – hence, possibly, “neonovene babe” (.28). Also, a regular writer Fn. 1: “O hce! O hce!:” linked to “gracewindow’d hut.” If she is a widow, grass or otherwise, she might well be sorrowfully calling out the name of her late husband, HCE Fn. 2: “Six and seven the League:” a price of six shillings and seven pence for the lot. Linked to “burryripe who’ll buy?” – the cry of a street pedlar. Fn. 4: “here’s me and Myrtle is twinkling to know:” Brewer: “If you look at a leaf of myrtle in a strong light, you will see that it is pierced with innumerable little punctures.” (Hence: "twinkling.") "According to the fable, Phaedra…fell in love with Hippolytus…and beguiled the time by piercing the leaves [of a myrtle] with a hairpin.” Fn. 6: "Fennella:" version of Gaelic Fionn-ghuala - "of the white shoulders." Given context, that of Diarmad and Grania, the Irish Tristan and Iseult, probably a connection to "Iseult of the White Hands." Fn. 7: “Just one big booty’s pot:” linked to “towelling ends.” If, as suggested above, “towelling” includes “dwelling,” then that dwelling, “in their dolightful Sexsex home” (.25-6) is a beautiful spot to live. Also, OED cites 1926 as first instance of “booty” as slang for vagina. (Unless I’m much mistaken, today it means a woman’s bottom.) So, again: “dolightful Sexsex.” (McHugh has "beauty spot" as "slang for cunt.") Also, the main text to which this note corresponds is about "Dammad and Groany" (.24), Diarmad and Grania, and in some versions Dermot has a "beauty spot" making him irresistible to women. 292.1-3: “if that is what lamoor that of gentle breast rathe is intaken seems circling toward out yondest (it’s life that’s all chokered by that batch of grim rushers):” life, choked to death by the Grim Reaper. Also, see McHugh: set to the air of “The Bunch of Green Rushes that Grew at the Brim,” Thomas Moore’s song beginning “This life is all chequer’d with pleasures and woes / That chase one another, like waves of the deep.” I suggest that “lamoor,” besides sounding Moore's name (also, almost certainly, “l’amour”) is la mer, the sea (compare .18: “á la Mer”) its waves, as in the tidal “vicus of recirculation” (3.2-3) out yonder, circling back to the (“life:”) Liffey, its course impeded by a river mouth choked with green rushes. “Rathe” can be an (archaic) adverb as well as adjective – eagerly as well as eager. Comparing sea surface to a breast is a poetic commonplace, e.g. Yeats’ “the white breast of the dim sea,” quoted in “Telemachus.” 292.5-6: “diorems…roundshows:” dioramas, cycloramas – anticipated by “circling” (.2) 292.6-7: “utterly exhausted before publication:” the writing was tired well before it ever saw print. Not a recommendation 292.5-6: “improving:” in Victorian sense of morally uplifting 292.7: “indiapepper edition:” India paper is the thin but opaque paper often used in Bibles and other bulky books squeezed into one volume. Also, pepper imported from the East Indies 292.7-8: “are for our indices:” are any indication 292.9: “pastripreaching:” the past repeating itself 292.13-28: “An you could peep…boredom:” “An:” if. A surgeon’s account of the inside of the subject’s head. A detailed rendering of one of Joyce’s many eye operations is about to follow, and the conceit at work is apparently that, since the eyes are windows to the soul, an eye incision will expose the inner workings of the mind. The usual drug for these operations was ("scoppialamina" (183.1)) scopolamine, a hypnotic whose administration, I suggest, began taking effect with the fugue state beginning at 287.18. Seeing “pharahead into faturity” (.19), we can observe the mental workings – the brain processes – producing FW, which Joyce sometimes promoted as a prophetic book, seeing far ahead into the future, albeit perhaps a future as fatuous as the present. 292.13: “cerebralised saucepan:” cerebral brainpan. “Celebrated” because that of a famous author, similar to Joyce/Shem: compare 421.19, 21. 292.14: “house of thoughtsam:” center of thoughts – again, the head, holding the brain 292.15: “decontaminated:” the surgeon before the operation. The reader/scrutinizer needs to be decontaminated too – but of what? Samuel Beckett, defending Work in Progress: “And if you don’t understand it, Ladies and Gentlemen, it is because you are too decadent to receive it.” There is a kind of Adamic ideal, only fitfully comprehensible to the fallen post-Babel world, behind the language of FW. 292.16: “convolvuli:” “convolutions of the grey matter” (“Eumaeus”); the term “convolutions” was (still is) widespread in descriptions of the brain. Exploring the mind, we are probing the brain. Also, “convolvulus:” night-blowing convolvulus: moon-flower, so named because it opens nightly to moonlight; also, there’s the “convolvulus moth;” both can be said to “search lighting” (.18). (In retrospect, 212.15’s “a moonflower and a bloodvein” may also mean “head and heart.”) 292.17: “longa yamsayore:” along of yesteryear, days of yore: peering into his brain, we’re surveying the litterage of remembered experiences – and, because the past is prologue and Viconian cycles repeat, the future (“faturity” (.19)) – as well. "Yam" is Malay pidgin for "year." 592.18: “search lighting:” searchlight. Definitely around in Joyce’s day; note (McHugh) pharos (“pharahead”), lighthouse, in next line. The context suggests the searchlights used on the battlefields of WW I; compare next entry. (Also, the bright light of the operating theatre.) 292.18: “beaushelled:” shelled, in combat 292.20: “jazztfancy:” “jazz,” at the time synonymous with African-American music, here with (“pickninnig” (.19)) pickaninny of previous line. 292.20: “novo…place:” New Place, Shakespeare’s home. A Shakespearean passage will accordingly follow (.21: see McHugh) – one from The Tempest, appropriately enough on the subject of flotsam and jetsam. 292.20-1: “stale words whilom were woven with and fitted fairly featly for:” and here’s the man himself, William (“Scylla and Charybdis” has Anne Hathaway remembering him as “Willun”), whose specialty, according to Stephen Dedalus and Robert Greene, was stealing the stale words of others and making them over – they’re “woven” together and “fitted fairly” for new ends. The same is said of the “pelagiarist” “stolentelling” (182.2, 424.35) Shem, and might be said – sometimes was said - of Joyce. In fact, I suggest that this sequence in general is implying that, in writing FW, Joyce is doing with words what Shakespeare did in his day. See next entry. 292.22: “faustian fustian:” for example, he’s stealing this pun on “Faustian:” In Marlowe’s, play, Dr. Faustus is several times called “Master Fustian” or “Doctor Fustian.” And, of course, there’s the tradition that Shakespeare was really Marlowe. 292.25: “hark back to lark:” McHugh notes “Hark, Hark, the Lark;” I would add that the author is, again, Shakespeare. 292.27: “half a sylb, helf a solb, holf a salb onward:” not off base to say that Joyce wrote FW syllable-by-syllable (if not, indeed, letter by letter) 292.29-30: “gogoing of whisth to you sternly how:” countering the alarming contention that no one has the right to silence someone, reader or writer: going to sternly tell you to “whist!” – hush 292.30-1: “Platonic…yearlings:” according to A Vision, a Platonic year is 36,000 years. The hypnagogic state induced by scopolamine (see 304.3 and note) can make the patient feel, in the words used to describe Bloom’s similar experience in “Oxen of the Sun,” that “the soul is wafted over regions of cycles of generation.” 292.31: “you must, how, in undivided reawlity draw the line somewhawre):” Blimpish stage-English accent: let’s not get carried away with all this Platonic folderol. Fn. 1: “Where Buickly of the Glass and Bellows pumped the Rudge engineral:” sounds like the name of a pub, where, after all, glasses are filled and pumping of beerpulls goes on. “Rudge engineral:” Red gin? There is such a thing, otherwise known as sloe gin – Boylan’s drink in “Sirens.” 293.1-15: “Coss?...ground:” again, as with Bloom in “Oxen of the Sun,” a spell of hallucinatory semi-consciousness, in Bloom’s case induced by staring steadily at the red triangle on a bottle of Bass Ale. (Compare “that red mass I was looking at” (304.6-7).) Here, the text specifies (.11-2) a carving in lapis lazuli, entitled something like “A View of Dublin,” as the object being concentrated on. We seem to have passed through the looking glass, perhaps at the “soswhitchoverswetch” of .8 (which the Oxford editors have as “so switchoverswetch.”) As usual, overdetermined – plus, again - as outlined on pages 250-259 of my book Joyce and Reality, the sequence includes, over the next twelve pages, an operation for glaucoma. The operation involves a triangular flap of the sclera being cut and peeled back like the dotted triangle of the p. 293 diagram, and when completed, the result looks exactly like (LM 2: “The Key Signature”) a keyhole. In the following pages of these annotations, some stages of this procedure will be indicated with the phrase “eye operation.” Also, “Coss” = because: three dots forming the outline of a downward-pointing triangle is mathematical symbol signifying “because:” see dotted triangle outline of p. 293’s diagram. 293.1-2: “You, you make what name?:” (.1-2): What is my name and why – and, likewise, why is his his? He is coming to, after the operation, and this is the first question to get settled - who he is, as opposed to who his brother is. 293.5-6: “rickets as to reasons:” rickety in his reasoning 293.11: “in the lazily eye of his lapis:” eye operation. Joyce’s eyes were blue (lapis lazuli). “Lazy eye,” amblyopia, can be caused by wearing an eyepatch. (Also by alcoholism: see 545.10.) 293.11-2: illustration situated between lines 11 and 12: this is what the finished picture will eventually look like. It will not be completed until 296.27. Steps, beginning with Euclid’s Proposition 1 (Joyce has changed the letters from the usual a, b. c., etc.) as follows. 1. Using straightedge, draw the line ά – λ (293.18-294.3). 2. Using compass, describe a circle with center ά (“Olaf”) alpha (294.8) and radius λ (“lambtail”) lambda (294.9: 294.8-10). 3. Using compass, describe a second circle with center λ (“Luccan” (295.20)) and radius ά (“Allhim” (295.20)). 4. Name the two points of intersection between the two circles. Here they are π and P (296.4-10. 5). Using straightedge, join the points A – π and π – L (296.22-30). (Further steps in Euclid will prove that the resulting triangle is equilateral.) At this juncture, the exercise will take a departure: two additional dotted lines will be inscribed (296.25), one from ά to P, the other from P to λ, making for a second triangle, on the lower half, and ά and λ will be renamed Aά and λL. 293.12-3: “dozedeams…dewood:” “deze” and “doze” for “these” and “those” were comical signatures of a working-class New York accent, especially associated with Brooklyn, which had a large number of Irish immigrants. 293.12: LM 1: “Bones” would seem to go with the “darkies” of line 13: “Mistah Bones” was a fixture of blackface minstrel shows. Also, slang for dice: the Jacob and Esau wrestling-in-the-womb story compared to a tumble of the dice 293.16-7: “alljawbreakical expressions:” all jawbreakers, all jawbreaker-like expressions. “Jawbreaker” is slang for long, difficult word – “maryamyriameliamurphies” (.11), for example. The diction after this point becomes notably monosyllabic, for a while. 293.17-8: “old Sare Isaac’s universal of specious aristmystic unsaid:” perhaps Einstein, indirectly alluded to with “Ulme” (.14 – his birthplace was Ulm) could, with some leeway, be said to have made Newton’s calculations about space “specious.” He certainly made them “old.” 293.18: “aristmystic:” Newton was both a genius when it came to matters of arithmetic and deeply mystical. (He spent his last years working on a decoding of Revelation.) 293.21: “Eve takes fall:” “take the fall” is underworld slang for accepting the blame for a crime, not necessarily one’s own. Historically, Eve has taken the fall for the Fall, but see 296.7 and note. (Also, simply: evening, falling, paired with (.20) dawn, rising) 293.22: “Aiaiaiai:” four “Ai”s, Greek for Alas. “Ai” is mythically inscribed on the hyacinth, commemorating the death of Apollo’s lover. 293.23-294.1: “(lens your dappled yeye:” Joyce worked on FW with the help of a magnifying glass. (Later, it will be “telescopes” (295.12).) Also, eye operation: the surgeon is asking him to lend not his ears but his eyes (“dappled:” doubled: both of them). “Dappled” probably refers to macular degeneration: compare 251.26-7 - the “macula”sounded in a reader’s ”Smacchiavelluti,” in the vicinity of “patch,” “Soot,” and “spot.” Fn. 1 “Draumcondra’s Dreamcountry where the betterlies blow:” link is to someone having “dozedeams” (.12) – one of those hypnogogic doze-dreams, where beside (McHugh) butterflies, the buttercups blow, as in blossom; perhaps as well, like FW’s dreams, it consists of better lies than we tell ourselves in the waking world. Fn. 2: “toadhauntered:” haunted by death. (German tod, death.) “Secret stripture:” the footnote’s link is to (“Sare Isaac’s,”) Sir Isaac Newton, with his “universal of specious aristmystic unsaid” (.17-8); again, Newton spent his last years at work decoding what he considered the mystical truths hidden in the Book of Revelation. 294.2-3: “strayedline AL:” see figure at p. 293.12 and note. This shows, again, that they have a straightedge as well as compasses (295.27) – the two, and only two, requirements for classical geography. In Book VII of Paradise Lost, God designs Creation with a pair of “golden compasses;” in a monotype entitled “Newton,” Blake, mockingly, has Newton (here as “old Sare Isaac’s” (293.27)) using a pair of compasses to try to figure out the universe. 294.3: “Fig., the forest:” i.e. Figure the First - Figure One 294.3-4: “from being continued:” continuation of a narrative which ended with “To be continued” 294.4: “Lambday:” if, as I believe, we’re tracking historical time as well as space, Genesis to Revelation, “Lambday” would be Good Friday/Passover: sacrifice of a lamb; sacrifice of the Lamb of God. See 271.13 and note. The figure on the previous page marked the X-moment of Nativity-to-Easter; note that the four points could just as easily have been connected π to P, then Aά to Lά, making a cross. Also, a (straight) tram line stopping at Lambay (name of a Dublin road as well as an island, although (“anchore”), anchor, (.5)) points to the latter.) See “Makeacakeache” in linked Fn. 1; compare 4.2-3 for similar sound of 1. mating frogs, and 2. traffic. 294.4-5: “Modder ilond there too:” Mother Ireland [is] there too. Compared to Lambay, that would be the larger island - Ireland 294.5-6: “I bring down noth:” as in a magician’s act: “Nothing up my sleeve;” cf. 295.18. Continued with “and carry awe” it becomes the language of a math lesson. Bloom would have called this “musemathematics.” 294.5-6: Now, then, take this in!:” eye operation. First incision. Because glaucoma is caused by excessive fluid pressure on the interior of the eye, the lancet’s penetration, is followed by a gush – here, as “Makefearsome’s Ocean” (.13), later, at 297.17, as “Sluice! Pla!” 294.10: “Allow ter!:” Louder! 294.11: “As round as the calf of an egg!:” eggs are ovoid, but half an egg… Hard-boil an egg, peel it, cut it in half, trace around the circumference, and the result will be a circle, or (.10) “Hoop.” 294.12-3: “discobely:” the Discobolus of Myron is holding a (round) disc. 294.13-4: “After Makefearsome’s Ocean. You’ve actuary entducked one! Quok!:” My thanks to Nuala McNulty for pointing out here that Dublin is on an ("actuary") estuary. Here, it includes ducks, quacking. 294.14: “entducked:” induct/inducted 294.16: “galehus:” “gallus” - a distinctively Irish idiom; see 377.21. Also, jail-house. (GB spelling of “jail” is “gaol.”) 294.17: “Bigdud:” O Hehir says “dud” is Gaelic for “stump, pipe, penis.” 294.17: LM 2: introduction of (“Docetism”) trinitarian dialectic is probably prompted by adjoining main text’s assertion that he and his father are (“Match of a matchness” (.17)) much of a muchness. 204.18: “boudeville:” Buddha. The adjacent LM 2 (see McHugh) concludes with Buddhist terminology. Buddha was certainly (“cropulence” (.22)) corpulent. Followed, at .29, with “Gaudyanna” - Gautama 294.19: “turvku:” turf: anticipates the Russian General’s (“Gorotsky Gollovar’s” (.18)) arse-wiper. Worse, he’s doing it – also smoking Turkish tobacco – in the “precincts of lydias,” presence of ladies. The linked Fn. 2 will, indignantly, call the tobacco “a flagrant weed” - it will certainly be flagrantly fragrant by the time he's finished with it. 294.20: “smukking:” compare “smukklers” (327.1), which in context seems akin to the “smugging” – sexual byplay – of Portrait, chapter one. 294.20: “lydias:” Glasheen calls this an allusion to Lydia Languish. Theatre setting would seem to confirm. She’s certainly the kind of lady likely to be bothered by men smoking in her presence. According to “L’Allegro,” the Lydian mode is soft and effeminate. 294.20-3: “Mary Owens and Dolly Monks seesidling to edge his cropulence and Blake-Roche, Kingston and Dockrell auriscenting him from afurz:” as McHugh notes, all the places named here are on the coast. Gist: the waters are eroding the edge of the land’s (“cropulence”) corpulence. “Mary” probably echoes Latin mare, sea. Also, another sounding of the park scene, with its two girls and three males “auriscenting” him, sniffing him out. (That he’s smoking must help.) Substituting “auri-” for “aura-” would bring in hearing in as well. “His cropulence” is a mock-honorific imitation of, for instance, “his highness.” 294.22: “cropulence:” also “crapulence.” OED: “Sickness or indisposition resulting from excess in drinking or eating;” “Gross intemperance, esp. in drinking; debauchery.” 294.24: “papacocopotl:” given linked Fn. 3’s “blowing off steam” on waking up, includes sense of papa’s (chamber) pot 294.24-5: “(ting ting! Ting ting!):” given proximity of “Dockrell” and “magmasine” (.23, .25), the sound of a shopbell ringing. See also 244.6 and 600.13, with notes. 294.26-7: “But, thunder and turf, it’s not allover yet! One recalls Byzantium.” There’s been a “fall” (.25) but that doesn’t mean things are all over: Rome fell, but on the other hand Byzantium/Constanople survived for a thousand more years. The “One recalls” formula signals pedantic stuffiness; compare Stephen’s parody in “Proteus:” “When one reads these strange pages of one long gone…” Also, what with this chapter’s proliferation of Yeatsian elements, a mention – a “dreaming back” (295.10-1) recall – of Byzantium was probably inevitable at some point. 294.29: “Gaudyanna:” gaudy Anna – ALP. (Obvious?) 294.29-30: “daughter to a tanner:” in some cultures tanning is traditionally considered a degraded profession (smell, working with dead animals – hence the “anmal matter” of the linked Fn. 5); in India, land of ("Gaudyanna") Gautama, the Buddha, tanners were untouchables. William the Conqueror’s mother was a tanner’s daughter; the link to “[anmal] alma mater” may be a clue in that direction. 294.31: “possetpot:” pisspot. Tanners (see previous entry) soak animal skins in urine. Also, under normal circumstances, chamber pots were de facto pisspots - defecation was for the outhouse. Also, oppositely, a posset pot was piece of china-ware for mixing possets - cordials of milk with wine or other alcoholic beverage. As in "Telemachus," one hopes that the two jobs were not done "in the one pot." Fn. 1: “Ex jup pep off Carpenger Strate:” linked to (among other things) directions on how to catch a tram on the “copyngink strayedline” (.2-3) line to “Carpenger Strate,” presumably connected to (Mink, Glasheen) Dublin’s Coppinger’s Row, this has always sounded to me like a cartoon English person helpfully giving directions. (“Just pop around the corner to…Pip pip!”) As usual, Coppinger (“Carpenger”) is associated with children – “kids’ and dolls’ home.” Fn. 3: “Grand for blowing off steam:” linked to (“papacocopotl” (.24)) Popocatepetl, an active volcano. Volcanoes blow off steam, etc. As the sometime mountain HCE, sitting on his pot, he is blowing down, not up. 295.1: “homolocous humminbass:” “humming bass:” usually used in the sense of harmonizing with someone or something in the treble. Google Books has about forty hits for the period 1850-1930. A stretch, but “homolocous” may echo “harmonious.” 295.4: “Shapesphere:” “Sphere:” the Globe. (Shakespeare’s.) Compare next entry. 295.4: “puns it:” Samuel Johnson wrote that for Shakespeare a “quibble” - a pun - was “the fatal Cleopatra for which he lost the world, and was content to lose it.” 295.5: “yules gone by:” expression: years gone by. Also, nostalgic memories of Christmases past, spent with the family, especially (“purr lil murrerof myhind” (.5-6)) Mom 295.7: “Sundaclouths:” Sunday [go-to-meeting] clothes, i.e. the best clothes of the week. The reason that Saturday was the night for taking baths and that Monday was the day for washing. The embedded “clouts” has the opposite meaning: a piece of patchwork cloth, usually a sign of shabbiness. Also, the cloths intended for (“Tate and Comyng” (.8)) Tutankhamen would be a mummy’s winding sheets. 295.8-9: “the ghost in the candle:” from a 1908 encyclopedia of folklore: “ghost candle:” “candles which are kept burning around a dead body, before burial, now said to be used for the purpose of warding off Ghosts.” Occurs in “Telemachus” 295.10-1: “dreaming back:” again, much of this sequence resembles a Yeatsian trance or séance. 295.12. “comeallyoum saunds:" “chameleon sands. Compare Stephen’s memory in “Eumaeus:” “He could hear, of course, all kind of words changing colour like those crabs about Ringsend in the morning burrowing quickly into all colours of different sorts of the same sand.” The term pops up a number of places in Google Books, nowhere with enough specificity to say just what chameleon sands are, beyond the obvious – juxtaposed patches of different-colored sands, perhaps changing color as the sea washes in and out. Also, the sounds of a “come-all-you” (Stephen to his father in Portrait, chapter one: “That’s much prettier than any of your other come-all-yous.”), a traditional Irish song beginning with those words. Oxford editors insert “of” between the two words, adding “communion of saints” to the mix. 295.13: “dromed I was in Dairy:” dromedary. (No idea why.) 295.14: “wuckened up with thump in thudderdown:” falling out of bed while wrapped up in an eiderdown quilt. Either he heard a thunderstorm underway or the thump, in his half-dreaming state, sounded like one. 295.18: “eau…curry:” French oeuf, egg, curried. Presumably because of the egg’s shape, “oeuf” was French slang for “zero;” that’s why “love” means zero in tennis. Curried eggs was/is a popular dish. Eggs, like rabbits and decks of cards, are common props in magic acts. 295.18: “nothung up my sleeve:” part of a stage magician’s patter. Also (see McHugh) as “Nothung,” a sword up one’s sleeve: a concealed weapon 295.19: “mudland Loosh:” Brendan O Hehir has “Loosh” as Gaelic luis, quicken tree and the letter L. (Confusing: “Lucan” (.20) also seems to have L covered. Then again, if λ counts, there ought to be two L’s.) 295.20: “Allhim as her Elder:” Adam, who was 1. all men – all “him”s to Eve, and 2. her elder 295.20-1: “tetraturn:” an advance of one on the “triple turn,” usually the maximum windup for the hammer-throw 295.21: “on all fours:” the same as. Occurs in this sense in “Eumaeus” 295.23: “O:” as with the first line of I.8, vagina as vacancy, as (.24) “umpty” 295.27: “pair of accomplasses:” the compass used in geometry is sometimes called a pair of compasses, presumably because it has two legs. 295.28: “kunst:” cunt, as opposed to a man's dangling "handel." Also, German kunst, art, primarily applies to visual art but can also signify music, for instance by (see next) the German Handel. 295.28-9: “omething with a handel on it:” aside from George Frederic Handel, a man (French “homme”) with a penis. Hence the adjacent LM 2 (“The haves and the havenots: a distinction”). Gist: you prefer women; I prefer men. (It’s probably Kev/Shaun speaking, which would seem to go against type. On the other hand, if he saying he’s a man’s man and Dolph/Shem the opposite, the latter will come across as the effeminate one.) Also, compare the disapproving reference in “Ivy Day in the Committee Room” to those overly deferential to “any fellow with a handle to his name” – that is, a member of the nobility. 295.31-2: “doubling bicirculars, mating approxemetely:” if the eyes are out of focus – if they fail to meet/mate – the result is the double vision of “doubleviewed seeds” (296.1). 295.31: “doubling bicirculars:” bicycles. Goes without saying that tires are round, like the compass-drawn circles? In any case, seen from the side, doubled, two circles – O O 295.32: “mating approxemetely in their suite poi and poi:” see first note to 293.12. The “sweet bye and bye” of the song is heaven, where after death we shall “meet on that beautiful shore.” The spelling of “approxemetely” recalls learning in I.8 that a “proxenete” is a procuress (198.17-22), facilitating a less celestial kind of “mating.” Also, the two peas in a pod of the prankquean episode of I.1; in that case anyway the two indistinguishable individuals were father and daughter. Also, the two circles are eyes: the point where their lines of vision meet produces depth perception, a.k.a. parallax; Joyce’s chronic eye ailments, especially prominent in this sequence, meant that the convergence would never be more than approximate at best. 295.33: “eath the ocher:” each eats the other. (Sexual innuendo? In my youth “Eat me!” was an insult implying the homosexuality of the person addressed – although not, strangely and come to think, of the speaker.) Also earth and ochre/ocher: ochre pigment is made from clays and other earth materials and looks earthy. 295.33: “Lucihere:” Lucifer match, being struck, which is why Shaun/Kev can suddenly “fee where you mea” (.33-296.1), that is see (18th century “s”) what Shem/Dolph means. Also, of course, Lucifer is the fallen angel of light. The match will go out at 297.4 (“Hissss!”), leaving things “dark” (297.15.) Similar play on “Lucifer” match occurs in “Circe.” Fn. 1: “Sewing up the beillybursts in their buckskin shiorts for big Kapitayn Killykook and the Jukes of Kelleiney:” link: continues tanner’s daughter strand of 294.30/Fn. 5: always sewing, here she’s sewing up animal hides. Being “big,” “Kapitayn Killykook”’s belly has burst his buckskin shorts; she’s repairing the damage. Inclusion of Jukes and Kallikaks carries forward the underclass implications of “tanner:” see 294.29-30 and note. Fn. 2: “Say where! A timbrelfill of twinkletinkle:” compare 38.20, “timblespoon,” which pretty clearly draws on the fact, or belief, that the average amount of ejaculate amounts to a thimble, or tablespoon. The “tinkle” in “twinkletinkle,” on the other hand, is schoolgirl slang for urinate. (But then of course Joyce repeatedly associates the sexual with the excremental.) Also, the sound of drinks being poured, accompanied by the host’s “Say when!” Compare “Grace:” “The light music of whisky falling into glasses.” 296.1: “doubleviewed seeds:” he’s seeing double. (As in diagram of 293.) On the other hand, what he’s seeing is in fact already doubled: two circles, two triangles. So which is it? (Is it hot in here, or is it me?) Not the first or last time this issue will arise: in FW’s final showdown, in Book IV, between St. Patrick and the Druid, when the latter sees everything as green, the question will be: is that because, as at for instance 193.10-1, the Joycean seer has early-onset glaucoma, making everything look green, or because the setting is Ireland, and everything really is green? A perennial FW version of, "Is it cold in here, or is it me? 296.1-2: “Nun, lemmas quatsch:” Now, leaving nonsense aside…” Compare 293.16-8. 296.2: “vide pervoys akstiom:” see – vide - previous axiom. Euclid’s Elements begins with five axioms; not clear which one is being referred to here 296.3: “stickmen punctum, but:” something like “blow me, but,” or “call me crazy, but:” in this case: indulge me in this, even if right now it doesn’t seem to make much sense. Also, the two geomaters are marking the (“poinds” (295.33)) points from which the lines will be inscribed. 296.4: “for semenal rations:” for reasons of semen 296.5-6: “capital Pee for Pride down there on the batom:” “capital” in British sense of excellent, super. Pride, of course – first of the seven deadly sins - was why Lucifer fell, to the “batom” (.6). Joyce seems especially conscious of Paradise Lost on this page: see, for instance, the next two entries. 296.6-7: “Hoddum and Heave, our monsterbilker:” the masterbuilder, a mason, built, with a heaving hod. 296.7: “monsterbilker, balked his bawd of parodies:” he was also a masturbator, whose self-pleasurings “balked his bawd of parodies,” cheated his (naturally bawdy) woman of the connubial bliss to which she was entitled by marriage. (Recalls the Blooms of Ulysses.) Also – reversing the usual order – by sinning originally, Adam caused paradise to be lost for Eve. 296.8: “Airmienious:“ Ahriman. Can’t find his antagonist Ormuzd in the vicinity, but LM 1 (see McHugh for translation) would seem to reinforce the theme of polar opposites. 296.9: “mock Pie:” Google Books cookbooks yield two main meanings of “mock pie.” Most prominent: a fruit pie in which, because of shortage of fruit, other ingredients are substituted. Also: A pie baked with fillers – cloth napkins, for instance - so that at the last minute some uncooked ingredient such as raw oysters can be inserted. 296.9. “Pie:” pi 296.9-10: “up your end:” whatever else it means, it’s hard to miss the “Up yours!” here. 296.11-2: “With a geing groan grunt and croak click cluck:” sound of hen laying an egg: groan and grunt following by click and cluck. Compare Ulysses 13.845-9. See next entry, .19-22 and note. 296.12: “trying to make keep peep:” she’s been straining to bring her newborn egg into sight; about-to-be-hatched chick is in turn straining to make “peep peep” sound, with complications from Gaelic’s “P-K split,” much in evidence elsewhere in FW, for instance: her visage is “kink and kurkle” (.12-3), pink and purple with the effort. Perhaps, as well, a manifestation of the naïve Kev’s new knowledge of the facts of life 296.16: “angelous:” Michael, perched “on the top line” (.18), is the angelic one; “Nickel” (.18) Nick, as in Old Nick, the devil, is on the bottom. (They are also singing, tenor and bass, but see next entry.) The juxtaposition surely owes something to the standard depiction (e.g. 559.11-2) of the Archangel Michael defeating Satan, always underneath. 296.18: “top line:” according to Wikipedia, in musical notation the “top line” in scores is actually below the “bottom line.” Coinciding contraries, perhaps 296.19-22: "But, yaghags hogwarts and arrahquinonthiance, it’s the muddest thick that was ever heard dump since Eggsmather got smothered in the plap of the pfan:” continues egg-laying strain. (See .11-2.) Newly laid, he’s contemplating the “muddest thick” from which he’s been “dump”ed – his mother’s insides and the grungy gooiness which accompanied his birth and afterbirth. For “Eggsmather,” compare Molly in “Penelope,” wishing she’s “smathered it” (her discharge) “all over” the face of her gynecologist. (“Smather,” to recklessly plaster something on, shows up in some recent documents, but all of them later than FW, let alone Ulysses.) Both Humpty Dumpty and Cosmic (mother) Egg – hence the capitalization – are in play as well. The “plap of the pfan” where she ends up is presumably a frying pan, frequently (e.g. 183.23-4) an egg’s destination. 296.23-4: “beloved bironthiarn and hushtokan hishtakatsch:” Beloved brothers and sisters. Beginning of a church service, probably low church. 296.24: “hushtokan hishtakatsch:” Robert Heller, in A Wake Newslitter Occasional Paper Number 1, says that this is Hebrew for “to be pierced, to be forgotten.” 296.24-6: “join alfa pea and pull loose by dotties…eelpie and paleale by trunkles.” See 293.12 and note. Drawing of lines ά – P and P – L, A – π and π – L result in the two equilateral triangles. (Intermittent interchangeability of Roman and Greek letters is, well, confusing.) Eel pie was (is?) a popular English dish. (There is also an Eel Pie island in the Thames.) Together, eel pie and pale ale sound like a standard pub grub combo. 296.25: “pull loose:” peruse – “by dotties,” dots, could indicate either Morse or Brail – dubiously significant marks produced by piercings, as elsewhere, notably p. 124. 296.26: “sparematically:” spermatically 296.27: “trunkles. Alow me align:” trunk line: the main line, for rivers, roadways, telephone lines: here, the “top line” (.18) – the unbroken lines of the top triangle – occupied by Michael. 296.27-8: “Alow me align while I encloud especious:” drawing these lines encloses a geometrical space – the triangle. 296.29-30: “And as plane as a poke stiff:” Oxford editors have “pokestiff.” As McHugh notes, “pikestaff” is slang for penis. Compare “Cyclops,” on a hanged man’s erection: “it was standing up in their faces like a poker.” (Same conceit appears in “Circe.”) Allowing for economies of scale (see 297.6), an aroused clitoris, as confirmed by the linked Fn. 5: “The impudence of that in girl’s things!” I.e. how dare a woman, let alone a girl, possess a phallic facsimile inside her girly “things,” her drawers! The object of inquiry, after all, is a vagina. 296.30: “aqua in buccat:” McHugh: water in the mouth. What I’m about to show you – a vagina - will make your mouth water. In “Penelope,” Molly remembers telling Josie Breen enough about her canoodling with Bloom “to make her mouth water.” Fn. 1: “Parsee ffrench:” linked to “batom,” Shelta for policeman: Percy French collected Shelta words. Fn. 2: “I’ll pass out if the screw spliss his strut:” to split the “strut” of a structure – building, ship, etc. – would likely cause it to collapse. Here, linked to sounds (.11-2) of hen groaning and clucking, laying an egg, apparently almost passing out from the strain Fn. 3: “Thargam then goeligum?:” O Hehir: Do you understand Irish? The link is to “keek peep,” and “keek” is Gaelic for “peep.” 297.1-2: “And if you flung her headdress on her from under her highlows:” highlows were short boots. Not clear to me what they were doing atop her headdress (head over heels? heels over head?) but compare Molly, in “Penelope,” remembering when Boylan “turned up my clothes on me,” and compare .8, where a “seam hem” is being “lift”ed. 297.2: “wheeze:” in Ulysses, “wheeze” means something like inside information 297.4: “Fin for fun!:” Among other things Shaun has just ejaculated (“You’ve spat your shower” (.5)) so the fun is over – “Fin”ished. 297.5: “like a son of Sibernia:” sardonic comment on Irish ("Sibernia"/Hibernian) male sexual practice – either masturbation or premature ejaculation. In Stephen Hero, Stephen says that the much-vaunted chastity of Irish men is because, as any father confessor could testify, they “do it by hand.” 297.7: “Pisk!”: Petr Ŝkrabánek says Russian pyska, for “infantile penis.” (Everything is relative: see 296.29-30 and note.) A penis loses volume after ejaculation. (Sorry for the “Duh” factor here.) Hence his “languil pennant” (.6-7), languid penis, after “You’ve spat your shower” (.5). 297.8: “pleats:” skirts can have pleats. (Obvious?) 297.8: “seam hem:”semen. (Also, of course, the seamed hem of her gown) 297.9-10: “(like thousands done before:” compare Stephen in chapter two of Portrait: he “knew that he had yielded to them [Emma’s wiles] a thousand times.” Eternal Feminine as Eternal Temptress 297.10: “fillies calpered:” given “fillies,” “calpered” is probably a portmanteau of “cantered,” “galloped,” and Gaelic capall, horse. (Along, as noted by McHugh, with “capered.”) Passage’s main sense, though, is that men have been guiltily obsessed with female genitalia ever since the Fall. 297.11-14: “the maidsapron of our A.L.P, fearfully! Till its nether nadir is vortically where (allow me aright to two cute winkles) it’s naval’s napex will have to beandbe:” makes some sense if one assumes that a “maidsapron” is just that, a maid’s (scanty) apron, still covering ALP’s lower body from navel to “vortex,” vagina. The lower edge of the apron – its “nether nadir” – marking the vertices of two triangles (vortices are triangular, when represented on a plane surface), of garment and pubis, is on a vertical line with the navel. Navel is apex to other’s vertex. “Apron stage” is probably also present: compare 147.1. 297.13: “two cute winkles:” two attractively (flirtatiously) winkers – that is, winking eyes 297.14: “beandbe:” see note to .32. 297.14: LM 2: Prometheus or the Promise of Provision:” Prometheus the fire-bringer is adjacent to the match-lighting (“And light your mech” (.15-6)) in the main text. 297.14-5: "You must proach near mear for at is dark. Lob.:" given Digger Dialects gloss of "lob" as "arrive," the general sense is that, because it's dark, you have to approach - get very near - to it before you know you're there. 297.15ff: “at is…” Glasheen’s identification of “at is” as Attis is a clue to the proceedings. Kev is being instructed not just to see a vagina, his mother’s, but to make one of his own. The galli (see 377.21 and note), Roman followers of the Magna Mater (as in “eternal geomater” (296.31-277.1)) Cybele, castrated themselves on March 24. Some of the following 15-20 lines records Kev’s alarmed reaction to what is now his, “your,” “muddy old triagonal delta.” (An entry not included in the standard text has him lying on his “rawside.”) 297.16: "Jeldy!:" Digger Dialects (see note to 262.10): Quickly! 297.17: “Waaaaaa. Tch! Sluice! Pla! And their, redneck:” mimics sounds and sights of childbirth. “Redneck:” newborns are often – always? – redfaced. (Compare 589.22-3.) “Pla!” anagram of “ALP.” Also, probably, first (watery) cry of newborn 297.18-9: “Pull the Punkah’s bell:” compare “Master Pules” (166.20) and “puler” (596.25), both meaning “newborn,” probably from “puling” – crying in a childish voice. In “Oxen of the Sun,” the sound of a bell summons Doctor Dixon to assist in the delivery of Mrs. Purefoy’s baby. A Pookah (variously spelled) is a Celtic shape-changer. 297.19: “mygh and thy:” another variant on “mishe mishe to tauftauf” (3.9-10) 297.20-1: “living spit of dead waters:” recalls Bloom’s “Calypso” comparison of the Dead Sea to a “grey sunken cunt,” one that can “bear no more.” “Living spit” is a less common variation of “spitting image,” presumably applied, traditionally enough, to the offspring, the image of the parent. 297.21-2: “discinct and isoplural in its (your sow to the duble) sixuous parts:” I take this as saying that the offspring is female – she has the same “sexual parts” as the mother; it’s the mother, not the father, that she’s the spitting image of – see previous entry. (“Sixuous” may make more sense if you now have two pubic triangles present, not one, by way of a "doubleviwed" seeing (296.1) of the inscribed triangle of page 293.)) The “sow” – the mother, has just been “duble”d, doubled. (As McHugh points out, the “fiho” of line 24 means “girl,” so “fiho miho” = “my girl;” cf. 620.25-6: “And blowing off to me, hugly Judsys, what wouldn't you give to have a girl! Your wish was mewill.”) 297.25: “appia lippia pluvaville:” not to belabor (pun!), but the lower-case here would be fitting for the new junior version of the mother who was given the capital-letter treatment just fourteen lines above. (Could plausibly be either Eden's apple or apple of discord.) Also, Rome’s Appian Way comes with an Appian Viaduct. 297.25-6: “hop the hula, girls!” at the time, the hula meant a dance of licentious, provocative movements. 297.26: “no niggard:” generous, bountiful. 297.27-9: “and why wouldn’t she sit cressloggedlike the lass that lured a tailor?:” young ALP as tailor’s daughter, a frequent FW motif and a variant on the Norwegian captain story of the next chapter, where her two rival suitors are a tailor and a sailor. Perhaps obvious: sitting cross-legged would expose her “usquiluteral threeingles” (.27) in a way likely to lure either. 297.31: “tidled boare:” titled boor: a version of the husband, recalling I.1 and I.2: in the first he has a coat of arms (5.5-12); in the second (31.34) he gets nomingentilised. Also, surely, “bore” in the sense of “boring;” as the male principal will be told at 585.35, “Others are as tired of themselves as you are.” 297.32: “allaph:” A – L – P, here definitely including the (probably lower) triangle of 293. 297.32: “bett und bier:” compare “beandbe” (.14): “bed and breakfast”s, going by that name, were around since before Joyce’s time; so, it seems, was the abbreviation “B&B.” Here A – L – P triangle (“quaran’s“ (.32)) quarrons (see McHugh) is his determined destination. 298.1: “Paa lickam laa lickam:” combines lingam (see second note to .6-7, below) with cunnilingus 298.1: LM1: “Ambages:” McHugh has “ambage” for dark language of concealment. Perhaps, but “ambages,” meaning deliberately circulatory language, seems to me to be closer to the mark for the adjacent “Paa lickam laa lickam, apl lpa! This it is an her. You see her it. Which it whom you see it is her.” (Oxford editors have “her her it” for “her it.”) The word occurs frequently in Augustine. 298.3: “goaneggbetter:” an eggbeater, usually, has two intersecting rotaries: compare illustration at 293.12. 298.5: “so post that to your pape:” so send that to your pope. (From anticlerical Shem/Dolph/Nick) 298.6-7: “And you can haul up that languil pennant, mate, I’ve read your tunc’s dimissage:” naval pennants (hence “mate”) convey messages. Evidently as well, Michael’s tongue (“languil:” lingual; “tunc:” tongue) has been hanging out after what he’s just seen. (In “Cyclops,” a dog has “his tongue hanging out of him.”) 298.6-7: “languil pennant:” given foregoing, a limp penis. “Languil” probably incorporates “lingam,” Kama Sutra term for penis, as remembered in “Circe.” Overall sense: pick up your detumescent dick and fly it from the flagpole, mate - an Irish insult worthy of the “Cyclops” narrator. Also, a sex-change note: excepting naval pennants, pennants are triangular. 298.9-18: “Doll the laziest…themselves:” eye operation. Among other things, describes efforts of seer to achieve correct parallactic perspective between two eyes, one of them “lazy” from want of use (see 293.11 and note) – in other words, to stop seeing double, as with the double-vision image of p. 293, and make true three-dimensional perception possible. Joyce was of course intimately familiar with such matters, if only from having spent time wearing an eyepatch. “Vectorious readyeyes of evertwo circumflicksrent searclhers never film in the elipsities of their gyribouts those fickers which are returnally reprodictive of themselves” (.14-8): the “searclhers” are the two eyes. (Compare, e.g. “gropesarching eyes” (167.17-8)); “film” is the liquid film on the eyeball. (See note to 305.12: LM 1.) Because the orbical orbiting of each is elliptical, both literally and figuratively, there never or almost never was a match of the sort that would be possible with two perfect circles. They cannot quite, as in a stereoscope, match one figure with the exact same figure as seen from a different perspective. (Three-dimensionality would not occur if the image taken in by one eye did not predictably (“reprodictive” (.17)) reproduce – reproductively - that taken in by another.) 298.11: “fiercst:” fierce ("fier") or fiercest. Also proudest, firiest. In American slang, an erection is “angry.” (Fanny Hill includes several expressions along the line of “fiercest erection.”) General sense here is that, as you, mate, have just found out, there’s a big difference, size-wise and otherwise, between a fierce cock and a lazy one. The graphics of line 13, imitating the ˂ ˃ signs of algebra, do their best to illustrate the point. 298.12: “the power of empthood:” both emptiness and umpti-hood (see 13.24, 345.18 and notes), non-existent and infinity – the former because (.8-9, see McHugh) a geometric point has no magnitude, the latter by way of Bruno’s geometry, according to which minimum is maximum. Probably not coincidental that Nicholas of Cusa anticipated Bruno, and that the speaker here is Nick. 298.17: “returnally reprodictive:” “returnally:” shorthand for “eternal return” – that creation, passing through repeating cycles – which is why “fickers,” fuckers, both reproduce and re-predict themselves - is itself eternal. An old idea popularized by Nietzsche; Bruno believed it. 298.19ff: “The logos…:” starting with digit-counting and now into logarithms, the mathematics lesson has continued to advance in the usual order of progression. 298.22-3: “here is nowet badder than the sin of Aha with his cosin Lil:” sex between cousins is, in many cultures, the sin of incest. According to Jewish folklore, Lilith, made at the same time and from the same substance as Adam, would have been much closer kin than Eve, made later from his rib. So: this was the real original sin, than which there is “nowet badder,” nothing worse. “Cosin:” co-sinner; the word “cousin” can signify many kinds of kinship. 298.25: “redtangles:” rectangles, of course, and to be sure “tangles of red hair,” as noted, but let us not forget the triangular vagina, “her bosky old delltangle” (405.3). In one of his sex letters to Nora, Joyce goes on about her “red cunt.” 298.27-8: “to expense herself as sphere as possible:” to expand herself as far as possible. Also, “spend” was Victorian-Edwardian slang for sexual climax; occurs in this sense in “Penelope.”’ 298.27-9: LM 2: see previous entry. A sphere expanding limitlessly could be said to have a “peripatetic periphery.” Again, starting from an infinitesimal point (see .12 and note) an illustration of Bruno’s geometry. 298.30: “unbridalled:” unbridled, as in “unbridled lust;” not brided – unmarried. What with “sphere” and (“perimutter” (.28-9)) perimeter, and “bend” and (“infinisissimalls” (.30)) infinity, we seem to be talking about a planetary body here, outward-bound beyond its proper orbit. 298.30-299.1: “infinisissimalls…scherts:” general sense: as her body expands, the (“calicolum” (.31)) calico clothing she’s wearing, including (“umdescribables” (.32)) unmentionables and (“scherts” (299.1)) shirts, naturally seems to become scantier by comparison. 298.31: “calicolum:” given “eternal Rome” (.33), may be Caligula 299.4-5: “I don’t know is it your spictre or my omination:” In “Penelope,” Molly mishears her gynecologist’s talk of “emissions” as “omissions,” probably because thinking of the not-there of her vagina. The etymologically original sense of “spit” is “sharp protuberance,” as in “turnspit.” Blake’s – and Yeats’s - terminology (see McHugh) has been sexualized – again, to (295 LM 2) haves and have-nots. (“Emanation” is also a term in mathematics, Neoplatonism, and Kabballah.) 299.5: “omination:” if an abomination is something repellent to the Lord, what is an omination? 299.6: “Lourde:” more liquid, from a (female: the Virgin Mary’s) sacred spring 299.8: “superpbosition:” geometrically, superposition is notionally placing one figure over the other to show that they’re congruent. Ophthalmologically, it’s what allows the eyes/brain circuit to not see double – not see, e.g. like whoever is seeing p. 293. 299.8: “quoint:” obvious? Cunt. Appears this way, almost, in Chaucer. And “quincidence?” In “Circe,” Boylan’s word is “quims.” See 206.35 and note. 299.8: “O.K:” at the time, the expression most identified with Americans. 299.9-11: “As Ollover Krumwall sayed when he slepped ueber his grannyamother:” Cary Grant, in the 1940 movie The Philadelphia Story: “I’d run over my own grandmother for a drink, and you know how much I love my grandmother.” Evidently not the first occurrence of the expression. Also: disputed tradition that Oliver Cromwell visited, and may have slept at, the castle of Rosyth, where his grandmother had been born; also, interestingly, that through his grandmother he was related to the royal Stewarts. (If curious, see Alan Reid, Rosyth Castle: a notable Fifeshire ruin, 50ff.) 299.9. “Krumwall:” Kremlin Wall. One post-revolutionary despotism, Cromwell’s, being combined with another 299.11: “Kangaroose feathers:” kangaroo feathers: two main senses, of which the second seems the more probable: from Australian wags displaying, for instance, emu feathers to newcomers and saying they came from a kangaroo. (Compare the American jackalope.) Hence, bullshit, believed in by the gullible. (Digger Dialects (see note to 262.10) has "a tall tale.") I suggest that this marks a shift in the dialogue – Shem answering back to Shaun. 299.12: “belevin:” “levin:” OE for lightning. (Occurs in “Oxen of the Sun.”) note proximity of “thunder’d” and “bolt.” 299.13: “holy mooxed:” wholly mixed (up). Also, note that “holy” is followed in the next line by “gheist,” ghost. 299.13: “mooxed:” moke/mokes: slang for dullard 299.14: “palce:” place, palace 299.16-7: “Where’s your belested loiternan’s lamp:” reference to letterman’s - postman’s - lamp confirms that this is now a Shem-type addressing a Shaun-type. See, for instance, 404.13. 299.16: “belested:” blasted 299.17: “lap wandret:” have wandered 299.18: “refluction:” compare 297.29; see McHugh. 299.18: “trunk’s:” pants, in the sense of boxing trunks, Turkey trunks (harem pants) – the latter appears in “Oxen of the Sun.” Shem/Dolph/Nick, of all people, is accusing his brother of confusing ALP’s lower half with her upper half. 299.19-20: “Yseen here the puncture. So he done it:” After “puncture,” McHugh inserts “See her good. Luck." (Oxford editors do not.) Either way, the gist is that she’s not a virgin. 299.21: “Well, well, well, well! O dee, O dee:” More water. “Well” as in water-well; Dee as in River Dee. (UK had five River Dee’s, including one in Ireland.) Given context, probably pertinent that the best-known Dee, in Aberdeenshire, got its name from “Deva,” goddess. (Compare 287.4-5.) Also, of course, D, the delta letter. 299.22-3: “Simperspreach…: ”O’Haggans:” in other words, he’s speechless – especially compared to his talkative double. (See McHugh.) 299.23-5: “rolls over his ars and shows the hise of his heels:” 1. Displays signs of gentility: French r’s; well-heeled. (Also, for a while in the 17th century, high heels were fashionable for men.) Follows from “Simperspreach:” simpering, like lisping, was, around the same time, sometimes taken as a sign of too much gentility – for men signifying the overbred and effeminate. (In “Telemachus,” Mulligan feigns a “womanish simper;” in “Circe,” Bloom simpers when unmanned by Bello.) 2. Rolls over backward on his arse and thus shows us his heels. 3. “Round-heeled:” an overly compliant woman. 4. To “show your heels” was to run away when found out. 299.27: “Moll Kelly, neighbour topsowyer:” the Michael side of the twins, still perched on top 299.28: “lozenge:” diamond-shaped. Like the straight-edge figure on 293, if the dotted outline is included 299.30: “copperas:” comrades 299.30: “Ever thought about Guinness’s?:” I wish I knew why Shaun/Kev/Michael’s tone changes so abruptly here. Nothing in particular seems to have brought it on. Anyway, “Guinness’s” is also Genesis: he’s asking sarcastically if Shem/Dolph has ever thought of reading the Bible. Fn. 2: “I call that a scumhead:” linked to “gaping up the wrong place” - her vagina. Hence “scumhead.” Like a caul, only going the other way Fn. 3: “Pure chingchong idiotism with any way words all in one soluble. Gee each owe tea eye smells fish. That’s U:” see McHugh. From double sense of “Mongolism:” congenital idiocy connected to Asiatic origin. (Occurs, with same double sense, in “Circe.”) “Any way words:” a way with words: the two parties to which this is linked, Single-speech Hamilton and “Selvertunes [silver-tongued] O’Haggans,” both had a way with words. Also, wayward words: Words appearing any way – in any order – are typical of FW’s rendition of Oriental speech and seems to apply to “More better twofeller we been speak copperads” (.29-30) as well as the l/r uncertainties in “Simperspreach Hammeltones…Selvertunes O’Haggans” (and other words to follow). “That’s U:” i.e. you are, or smell, fishy. Fn. 4: Geometrical figures are linked to “lozenge,” a geometrical figure. “Hoodle doodle, fam.” sounds like a stage-American version of “Howdy-doody [How are you doing?], Family?” Howdy Doody later became a popular children’s television show, but Google Books has the expression as early as 1927. "Hoddy-doddy" is Elizethan slang for a fool. Compare 332.26 and note. 300.5: “wanigel to anglyother:” both McHugh and Oxford editors have “anigel” - Pope Gregory’s “not Angles but angels.” See 257.1 and note. 300.6-7: “you’ll be dampned so you will, one of these invernal days:” he’ll be dampened because ("-vernal") spring is the time for April showers. 300.9: RM 1: “SICK US A SOCK WITH SOME SEDIMENT IN IT FOR THE SAKE OF OUR DARNING WIVES:” a sock filled with, for instance, (sedimental) sand, would be what was called a blackjack, or cosh. Holes in socks are mended by “darning,” traditionally a wifely job. Secondary meaning is that the men would like a cosh in order to brain their darn – American curse-dodging version of “damn” – wives. The (see McHugh) overtone of “song with some sediment in it” probably fits the “Sweet Marie” of .11-2 in the main text; see note to .11-2. 300.9: “gayet that:” given that; made happy that (he would get the last word). OED says “gay” is a verb. 300.9ff: “Wherapool…” the next two and half pages, approximately, are mainly concerned with a writing lesson – Shem/Dolph/Nick master, Shaun/Kev/Mike student. As with the earlier math lesson – unhappily revived in his mind at .26-8 - the latter finds himself out of his depth and becomes frantic and resentful, at least one reason for the spasmodically percussive diction. Also, whirlpool: applies to Shaun/Kev, whose head is (e.g. .26-8) spinning. 300.9: “stop look round who here hurry:” stop and look around to see who’s hurrying in this direction: schoolbook advice given to pedestrians in the age of the automobile: “Stop, Look, and Listen.” Again (see previous), whirlpool, head spinning 300.9: LM 1: “Primanouriture and Ultimogeniture:” Both this and the linked Fn. 3 (“Bag bog blockcheap, have you any will?”) relate to the main-text .12, “Jacob’s:” the marginal note because the Jacob-Esau-pottage story is about both food (“-nouriture”) and primogeniture; the footnote having to do with Jacob’s deception of Isaac, with the fact that he was a shepherd, that he finagled his father’s inheritance (“will,” in the sense of last will and testament), that, depending on how you read the story, he might also be called the black sheep of the family. (Also, he covered his arms with lambskin to convince Isaac that he was the hairier brother.) The “birthright” at issue shows up at .32 as “bursthright.” 300.10-11: “he would have ever the lothst word:” whatever, he would have the last word. (He does, whether that means the brotherly cross-talk ending at 306.7, the answers to the quiz, beginning at 306.15, or the chapter’s last footnote.) Also, from “The Story of Tristram and La Belle Iseult,” in Cornwall’s Wonderland by Mabel Quiller-Couch: "'Yonder knight is a goodly man, but I will never yield, nor say the loth word." Joyce's Notebook VI.B.18.237 includes the excerpt "the loth word." According to OED, "loth" means something like "angry." 300.11-2: “with a sweet me ah err eye ear marie to reat from the jacob’s:” “Sweet Marie” was a popular turn-of-the-century song; this sounds like a singer stretching out the chorus. (Compare Simon Dedalus’ rendition of “M’Appari” in “Sirens.”) Also, see McHugh, who glosses it as a variety of Jacob’s Biscuits. (“To reat:” treat.) Sweetmeats? Some Jacob’s products were what the English call sweetmeats and Americans call (“candykissing” (.15)) candies; one Jacob’s item advertised in the April 15, 1900 Irish Times, “sandwiched with Soft Cream Icing,” sounds like an Oreo. 300.11, 16: “the lothst word," “rinnerung:” FW’s last word is “the;” its first is “riverrun.” Also, see note to 300.9; LM 1: Jacob got the last word. Speaking of Jacob, he dreamed a ladder, with rungs, reaching up (“up the rinnerung”) into the sky. 300.11: “lothst:” compare “lothing,” 627.17, 18. 300.15: “candykissing:” 1. In boxing, a "canvas-kisser" is a boxer who loses continually, perhaps because he’s taking a fall. 2. Candy kisses, a popular type of candy in the FW years and earlier. (One example: Life Savers.) Syntax and logic in this frantic sequence are, to say the least, elusive, but it does include “sweet” (.11), “jacob’s” biscuits (that is, cookies - .12), “toothsake” (.13) toothache, “fress up” (that is, gobble up - .15-6), “ate” (.16), (“nibbleh ravenostonnoriously” (.18)), nibble ravenously, and so on – in short a lot about food and eating, candy included; at about .23, with “delubberate,” the issue becomes one of digestion, both literally and in the sense of making sense of the “mess” (.24) of experience, both internal (the “creactive mind” (.20-1)), creatively reactive mind, and external, both written-down and acted-out. 300.16: “ate by hart:” as McHugh notes, to get, learn by heart. Also, to “eat one’s heart” (out) is to undergo extreme envy or remorse, usually for something lost, not done, not obtained, etc. To eat one’s liver (301.16) carries much the same meaning, with an added nod to cirrhosis. 300.16-7: (“leo I read, such a spanish escribibis:” such is Spanish – the two italicized words, that is 300.17. “escribibis:” ex libris 300.18: “nibbleh:” nib of pen? As a verb, “nib” means to sharpen a pen. As “nibble,” contrasts with “fress” of .15. To nibble ravenously would, to be sure, constitute a contradiction in terms – no biggie, in FW. 300.18-9: “ihs mum to me in bewonderment of his chipper chuthor:“ "mum” prompts “chuthor” – author, as in “father” – which in turn prompts “Other.” In this exchange, “Other” is the Shem type, “Same” the Shaun type. See next entry. 300.20-2: “Other…Same:” these terms originate with Plato, by way of (see McHugh) Yeats. 300.21: “deleberate:” liberate 300.21: “deleberate the mass:” celebrate mass 300.22-24: “our Same with the holp of the bounty of food sought to delubberate the mess from his corructive mund:” “mass”/”mess” as meal comes into play here: for one thing, his spirally wobbling head (.27) makes him feel nauseous. “Mund” is German for mouth; “corructive” echoes Latin eructare, to belch or vomit. He is delivering/liberating a mass of food, either by digesting it or by throwing it up. 300.24-6: “with his muffetee cuffes ownconsciously grafficking with his sinister cyclopes:” he’s unconsciously rubbing his left eye with the cuff of his sleeve. Joyce’s left eye was the one that sometimes had a patch. His mental confusion is in part the result of his optical issues. 300.26: "sinister cyclopes:" see previous entry. The eye-patch was to protect what remained of the vision in Joyce's left eye, the (relatively) less afflicted of the two. Insofar as he could see at all, with patch removed, it was as a left-eyed one-eye. 300.25: “muffetee:” for a soldier or clergyman to be in “mufti” is to be in civilian clothes. 300.25: “cuffes:” cuffs, as blows – to give someone a cuff in the (here) left eye – one reason for rubbing it, one possible cause of the patch 300.25: “grafficking:” grappling: what boxers are sometimes described as doing, when they go into a clinch. (Also, as McHugh notes, scratching – in rubbing the afflicted eye, he’s scratching it.) 300.25-8: “ownconsciously…selves:” essentially he has been rendered uncoordinated, mentally and physically, by all the confusion brought on by the former mind-boggling lessons. 300.26: “sinister cyclopes:” left eye. Again, the one with the eyepatch, in pictures of Joyce. Also: the eye isn’t synchronizing with what the hand, in the writing lesson, is trying to do with the pen – what is sometimes called faulty “hand-eye coordination.” (Eye-eye coordination is a problem too.) 300.30…301.1: “till that on him poorin sweat the juggaleer’s veins (quench his quill!) in his napier scrag stud out bursthright tamquam taughtropes:” the veins in his face and neck, including the jugular, are standing out like tautened ropes because of the mental strain he is under. (Also, boxing: when a boxer is up against the ropes, they become tauter.) For the (pretty obvious) phallic implications of this quenchable quill, compare Molly on Boylan’s erection: “all those veins and things.” 300.30: “thru him no quartos:” if he can’t write, he’ll produce no quartos (of books). Overall, as elsewhere in this passage (e.g. “quench his quill” (.31)), a prescription for censorship. In the ongoing boxing strain: give him no quarter. 300.31: “quench his quill” pens, including quill pens, were filled with a liquid – ink. That was why certain feathers in which the hollow that, in the words of Wikipedia, could serve as a “reservoir,” were favored. I can’t find much in the way of “quenched quill” online; on the other hand, “thirsty quill” is quite common. Also, the beleaguered individual being described, with his jugular vein swelling near to bursting (.31-2), is by pre-modern medical practice in need of bleeding, by a (“bloodlekar” (301.1-2)) bloodletting leech (a word once synonymous with physician). Bloodletters used quills. 300.32: “napier:” nape (of the neck). Probably obvious. Site for bleeding. Maybe ”neighbor,” too. Fn. 1: “Picking on Nickagain, Pikey Mikey?:” the pike is the weapon most associated with native Irish rebellion against the English, especially in 1798. And, of course, “Mike,” along with “Pat” = Irishman. Fn. 3: “Bag bog blockcheap, have you any will?” linked to “jacob’s,” in turn adjacent to “Primanouriture…Ultimogeniture:” See note to LM 1, above. 301.1-2: “(Spry him! Call a bloodlekar!:” Spray him with water – splash him or hose him down: he’s burning up with fever, or feverish exertion, and (300.30-1) "poorin sweat," pouring sweat. Boxers between rounds were/are doused with cold water; in extreme cases one might want to call a doctor – a (blood) leech. 301.1-2: “call a bloodlekar...Dr Brassenaarse:” because advanced syphilitics were famously noseless – and because until recently most doctors treating syphilis were quacks – a doctor dealing in false noses, brass or bronze, would be a quack specializing in venereal diseases. More generally, throughout most of medical history the treatment for a feverish state of the kind being reported – and, to be sure, much else – would have been bleeding, that is, causing the patient to leak blood (“bloodlekar,” with an overtone of "leech"), because his system is overcharged with vascular pressure. 301.3: “O He Must Suffer!”: “On His Majesty’s Service” – applied to Shaun the mailman, and thus reintroducing the letter: we will be hearing excerpts from here until 302.10. 301.3-5: “From this misbelieving feacemaker to his noncredible fancyflame:” facemaker: “one who makes faces, to deceive. Part of an exchange of loveletters between two partial frauds. (Compare Bloom-Martha.) He doesn’t believe; she’s not believable; vice-versa. Fn. 1, linked to this passage, has her applying Pond’s cream to salve her skin (the “skin” in “-kins” in “suiterkins”) and to disappear, or at least cancel her identity: Pond’s was marketed as “vanishing cream.” (FW uses the conceit elsewhere, for example 528.10-3.) Immediately followed by the standard heading giving the sender’s address (Boston (.5)), .5-302.11 will intermittently present yet another rendition of the FW letter. 301.4: “feacemaker:” facemaker. Given blood-pressure dimension, also this, from the OED for “pacemaker:” “a part of the heart that determines the rate at which it beats and where the contractions begin.” First listed occurrence is 1910. 301.5: “Ask for bosthoon, late for Mass, pray for blaablaablack sheep:” as for this loser, the (see McHugh for “bosthoon”) perennial blockhead, he’s always late for mass – one reason he’s the black sheep of the family. See note to “mick” (.8), below. 301.6: “blaablaablack:” Google Books confirms that the expression “blah-blah,” indicating substanceless blather, was around in Joyce’s time. 301.7: “wright:” possible allusion to Peter Wright, Gladstone’s accuser (in (“wright”) writing) – see 269.2-ll and 269.8 and notes. 301.7: “pippap:” again: Morse code. Dot-dash is “A.” 301.8: “Erewhig:” once was a Whig. Compare 359.26: “Goes Tory by Eeric Whigs.” English/Irish saying: “Give an Irishman a horse and he’ll vote Tory.” 301.8: “yerself:” in “Oxen of the Sun,” “yer,” a cornerboy pronunciation of “your.” 301.8: “mick:” in context – “bosthoon” (.5), the stage-Irish pronunciations of “foyne” and “yerself” (.7, .8) – the commonest derogatory term for an Irishman, connoting crudity, lunkheadedness 301.9-10: “Nock the muddy nickers! Christ’s Church verses Bellial!” Compare 175.5. Campbell & Robinson say that Balliol College “enrolled numerous Hindus and other outlanders.” (Confirmed by, for instance, Thomas Weber’s Our Friend the Enemy: Elite Education in Britain and Germany before World War, which records (p. 210) that Raymond Asquith, on his arrival, thought that Balliol was full of “niggers and Scotchmen,” and that students at the neighboring Trinity College called Balliol students “ruddy Basutos.”) By contrast, Wikipedia reports that Christ Church has long been considered the most “aristocratic” of the Oxford colleges. “Muddy knickers” are muddy (earth-colored) niggers; perhaps “bloody”- ruddy as well. Fn. 2, linked to “muddy nickers,” chimes in by comparing them to products of Ireland’s lowest educational class, Christian Brothers Irish, i.e. the sort you’d expect to have muddy knickers; compare Simon Dedalus on the Christian Brothers: “Paddy Stink and Mickey Mud” (Portrait, chapter two). (It also asks us to excuse their bad language and accent, probably that of “Sure…knickers!:” “yer,” “foyne,” “lousy,” “mick,” perhaps “bloody,” “knickers/niggers;“ the whole street-tough tone.) Though most associated with women’s undergarments, “knickers,” says the OED, also refers to shorts worn by footballers. The “varsity” in “varses” probably constitutes a hint that, as on the p. 175 passage it echoes, there’s a football match going on between the two colleges - so that one would naturally expect those knickers to get muddy. 301.10: “Dear:” the letter-writing begins in earnest here. It will be mainly a sob story. Early on (“gentlemine born, milady bread”), it wants to sound genteel, and tries too hard. 301.12-13: “frolicky frowner…glumsome grinner:” some of what follows seems to support the hypothesis that this refers to the laugh and cry masks of the theatre. The letter is also a stage production. 301.15: “waggy:” Maggy of letter 301.15: “my animal his sorrafool:” compare Joyce in his 1915 composition “Nightpiece,” on Lucia: “Her soul is sorrowful” (Ellmann, 1984, p. 346). 301.16: “liver:” 1. livre is French for book; 2. livers proverbially suffer most from excessive drinking; 3. Joyce had gone through what was at times certainly a rough spell, including heavy drinking, in Trieste. 301.16-7: “Se non é vero son trovatore:” see McHugh. Presumably refers to .16’s mistranslation of a line from Verlaine 301.18-19: “mistermysterion:” Brewer: “Mysterium:” “the letters of this word which, until the time of the Reformation, was engraved on the Pope’s tiara, are said to make up the number 666.” 301.19-20: “Like a purate out of pensionee with a gouvernament job:” the expression “like a god on pension” (see 24.17) lurks behind this one, but the meaning seems turned inside out. In the Church of England, a curate has a government job. 301.23: “floored:” to be beaten, bested, knocked out 301.24: “Sink:” think. The “Cartesian” (.25) Cogito 301.25: “ashes:” as in sackcloth and ashes 301.26: “griper:” American slang for one who gripes – complains - a lot 301.26-30: “How dismal he was lying low on his rawside laying siege to goblin castle…how hyenesmeal he was laying him long on his laughside lying sack to croakpartridge:” right side, left side. In Dublin, as opposed to Paris, the right bank is south of the river, the left bank to the north. Accordingly, Dublin (“goblin”) Castle is on the right, Croke Park (“croakpartridge”) on the left. Put together in this military context (e.g. “rawside:” Gaelic "ráth," for fort), together they surely constitute an allusion to “Bloody Sunday,” November 21, 1920 (compare 178.8), when Irishmen working for or believed to be working for “the Castle” were killed on orders of Michael Collins, Irish civilians were gunned down in Croke Park, and suspected republicans were killed in the Castle itself. Also, again: the comedy and tragedy masks of the theatre (301.12-3): on one side he’s “diesmal,” on the other, laughing: paired with “diesmal,” “hyenesmeal” incorporates “hyena,” famous for its laugh. Also, hymeneal feasts – weddings – are occasions of rejoicing. 301.26: “lying low:” to lie low, especially in conflict, is to stay below the line of fire. 301.28-9: “how hyenesmeal he was laying him long on his laughside:” expression: laughing like a hyena 302.2-3: “If you could me lendtill my pascol’s kondyl, sahib:” this version of FW’s letter turns out to be a begging letter, specifying that the recipient will be paid back on Easter, at the end of Lent. “Sahib” was a term of – sometimes obsequious – deference used by native Indians addressing English colonials. 302.4: “plate of poultice:” plate of “pulse” (peas): minimal nutrition for hermits and beggars. (Compare Lenehan in “Two Gallants.”) Also, after the beating he’s taken, poultice to be applied to a wound 302.5-8: “Punked. With best apolojigs and merrymoney thanks to self for all the clerricals and again begs guerdon for bistrispissing on bunificence:" I take “Punked” as the sound of the money being (a slang saying of the time) plunked down. (“Plunk” was also American slang for “dollar,” when dollars were heavy silver coins.) That’s why he’s suddenly so happy – dancing a jig, rattling merry money in his pocket. (Compare Boylan in “Wandering Rocks," who also "rattled merry money" in his pockets.) Also why he gives thanks (qualified: he’s also pissing on it) for his benefactor’s munificence. 302.4: “apolojigs:” helps identify the writer as a Shem type: compare 414.22. 302.6: LM 1: “Ensouling Female Sustains Agonising Overman:” taking into account the exalted rhetoric of the left margin notes since p. 293, this one makes sense if the benefactor was a woman. (Perhaps the “Agonising Overman” is James Joyce, with his history of patronesses.) The language resembles the Blavatskied theosophic blather parodied in “Scylla and Charybdis.” 302.8-10: “With a capital Tea for Thirst. From here Buvard to dear Picuchet. Blott:” teastain and blot, from blotting paper, are both regular features of the end of FW’s letter. Also: now that he’s got the money, he’s got a Thirst-with-a-capital-T: he can’t wait to go and spend the money on drink. (Compare Farrington in “Counterparts,” or Hynes in “Cyclops:” I’ve a thirst on me I wouldn’t sell for half a crown.”) Drinking strain here is probably why “Bouvard” got changed to “Buvard,” putting it closer to French buver, and “Blot” to “Blotto,” slang for “drunk.” 302.9: “capital tea:” excellent tea 302.11: RM 1: “Leman” in Mediaeval sense of love interest, sweetheart – she’ll be the “answerer” to this letter. 302.11: (“peel your eyes, my gins:” eye operation. Jim Joyce, whose eyes were quite literally peeled in his operations for glaucoma. 302.12-3: “son of a Butt:” Isaac Butt; Jacob and Esau were sons of Isaac. 302.13: “She’s mine, Jow low jure:” “she” is Issy, here as the girl the twins are competing for. (Fn. 1, linked to “jure,” is Issy saying how much she enjoys seeing the boys fight over her.) What follows will be a second missive, this one a love letter, either written by Shem, Cyrano-like (compare 288.2 and note) on behalf of his rival, or as a collaboration between the two. 302.13-5: “be Skibbering’s eagles…watch him:” in “Aeolus,” the Skibbereen Eagle is sarcastically called “our watchful friend.” To quote Gifford, its name had become “a laughing-stock phrase for the obscure provincial newspaper that overreached itself in political bluster, as the Eagle had portentously informed the prime minister of England and the emperor of Russia that it ‘had got its eyes’ on them.” 302.14: “sweet tart of Whiteknees Archway:” “tart” is pejorative term for loose young woman. Latin for “archway” is “fornix,” where prostitutes used to hang out; hence “fornicate.” This one is provocatively dressed, displaying her “Whiteknees” (.14). 302.15-6: “bifurking calamum:” the nib of a pen is split in bifurcated. A “forked tongue” is synonymous with duplicity; therefore, a forked pen would be the writing equivalent. (See note to .13.) The fact that it’s “onelike” (.16) just adds to the dishonesty. 302.16-7: “the onelike underworp he had ever funnet without difficultads:” given context (Shem/Joyce, writing), this may describe the writer’s recurring search for the mot juste, the one right word. Joyce once described himself, as a writer, as someone stumbling ahead until the perfect word showed up at his feet. (Actually, his notebooks make clear that it was hardly without difficulty: he revised incessantly.) 302.19: LM 2: “The Key signature:” eye operation: again (see 293.1-15 and note), a glaucoma operation leaves a mark in the eye that looks exactly like a keyhole. 302.19-20: “Exquisite Game of inspiration:” given context (writing-reading as aleatory “ad lib” (.22-3) inspiration), I suggest this alludes to “Exquisite Corpse,” a favorite game of the Surrealists. The idea was to randomly generate unexpected, perhaps inspired connections. 302.20: “I always adored your hand:” either/both: 1. the letter-writer complimenting the recipient on her elegant hand (Iseult is sometimes “Iseult of the White Hands;” see, e.g., 527.20-1); 2. Shaun complimenting Shem on his handwriting - a faint-praise issue-dodging way of not complimenting him on what he writes 302.21: “without the scrope of a pen:” the second sentence of LM 2, “The Key Signature,” would seem to go with “pen” as writing implement, making a scraping sound while writing a signature, especially if with (303.5) “Bould strokes.” Pen probably doubles with surgeon's lancet (compare "Telemachus," lines 152-3) - again, the operation for glaucoma leaves what looks exactly like a keyhole. 302.21-3: “Ohr for oral, key for crib, olchedolche and a lunge ad lib:” Another variation on the Arrah na Pogue key-in-kiss theme: the key orally delivered, perhaps by way of (“lunge:” lingua: tongue) tongue and/or (“lib) lip; for the latter compare 628.15. “Illpogue” shows up on the next page (303.3). 302.23-4: “Smith-Jones-Orbison:” Smith, Jones, and Robinson are approximately the British Isles equivalent of “Tom, Dick, and Harry.” 302.24-5: “jirryalimpaloop:” compare Cyril Sargent’s pathetic signature in “Nestor:” “a crooked signature with blind loops and a blot.” (The FW letter always includes a blot.) This signature comes from Jerry, a type of Kev, Shem, etc. 302.26: “To fallthere at bare feet:” Expression: “to fall at [his, hers, your, their] feet” as a sign of devotion or submission. Compare 628.11. 302.26: “Unds alws my thts:” McHugh has “always my thoughts;” I suggest a more extensive “You are always in my thoughts.” 302.28: “Outstamp:” aside from putting a stamp on the letter, “stamp out” 302.30: “Anon:” in Shakespeare, means something like: coming soon, next, just a minute…another way in which this passage forecasts the last uncompleted page of FW. 302.31-2: “charictures:” characters – both written and dramatic: at 303.5-8 the writing lesson will include some famous names, all Irish and literary. Fn. 1: “I loved to see the Macbeths Jerseys knacking spots of the Plumpduffs Pants:” Jersey and pants: top and bottom of outfit. Sounds like account of a football (soccer) match. Given “Pants,” “knacking” probably includes “kicking:” the Macbeth team kicked the Plumpduffs team in the pants – i.e. as an American might say, whupped their ass. As noted at 301.9-10, “knickers” are footballers’ shorts. For link, see note to .13. 303.3: “missa vellatooth:” Oxford editors have “Ole Missa Yellowtruth.” Idiom sounds like a combination of Joel Chandler Harris of the Uncle Remus stories (perhaps with “Ole Miss,” popular nickname for the University of Mississippi) with (see McHugh) Queen Victoria. In general: some remembered schoolmarm who taught him penmanship 303.5-8: “Tip…Doubblinnbbayyates:” “Tip,” recalling Kate from the Waterloo Museum of I.1, signals that we are in the vicinity of historical or cultural monuments, and in fact all the names to follow will qualify. (The degree of their correlation with the yogic chakras (see McHugh) of LM 1 seems, as best I can tell, uneven.) “Barke”/Burke, famous orator, as bark: “throat:” fair enough. “Spleen” for (“Swhipt”) Swift is a perfect fit, and the embedded “whip” an almost perfect one. I’m betting that “sacral” as sacrum, a bone in the back at the base of the spine, connects to (“Wiles”) Wilde (a man of wiles, for sure, but as it happened not enough) by way of anal intercourse; compare Wilde’s later appearance, as played by – ye gods – “Butt,” at 350.10-5. Shaw as “Pshaw,” being airily dismissive of what he considers others’ rubbish, is just right (compare 37.25-30), but (“fontanella”) the fontanelle? Maybe just because it has to do with the head and Shaw had a big one. “Intertemporal eye,” the “third eye” of much occult mumbo-jumbo, is perfect for “Doubblinnbbayyates;” the stretched-out spelling may go with a certain self-seriousness not never found in those who want to be addressed by three names, two of them initials. (Also, this, from Allen Wade, editor of The Letters of W. B. Yeats (1935), p. 17: “Yeats almost invariably signed his name in full, ‘W B Yeats’…the signature was always run together without stops after the initial letters.”) Still, your annotator remains mystified as to why Steele should be called “Steal” and paired with “heart,” or Sterne “Starn,” paired with “navel.” (Perhaps just because Sterne, especially in A Sentimental Journey, is an introspective writer? Perhaps.) 303.8-9: “This is brave Danny weeping his spache for the popers:” “Danny Boy” is probably the number-one tearjerker in the Irish musical repertoire (see next entry); Daniel O’Connell’s speeches, on behalf of emancipation for Irish Catholics – “popers” - brought many in his audience to tears. (Being a politician, he is also playing it up for the papers.) See next entry. 303.9: “popers:” also “pipers:” “Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes…” 303.12: “between:” chronologically, Parnell shows up (i.e. he goes) between O’Connell and Connolly. (Obvious?) 303.13: “Upanishadem!:” given that “the earliest known mention of chakras is found in the later Upanishads” (www.hinduwebsite.com/hinduism/concepts/chakras.asp), this clearly relates to LM 1, which, as McHugh notes, lists all six chakras. 303.13-4: “Spoken hath L’arty Magory. Eregobragh. Prouf!” As McHugh notes, Lady Gregory, the last Irish notable of the paragraph, here masculinized, delivering a de haut en bas diktat. The attendant footnote (Fn. 3) types him/her as a snooty sort. So (although “Larry McGory” should probably send opposite signals) does “L’arty” – arty as pretentious, “L’a” as “La,” sometimes used sarcastically to take some female down a peg: not “Miss Hepburn” but “La Hepburn.” Note echo of “Ergo” in “Eregobragh,” immediately followed by “Proof” in “Prouf!:” more diktat. (So, Mr. or Miss or Mrs. Hoity-Toity, where’s the Q.E.D.? Well, actually, on the next page (304.5), we will get a (“Pointcarried”) Point carried.) A “pouf” is an arty, pretentious male, probably homosexual. A north-of-the-Liffey man, Joyce resented Ascendancy literati. 303.15: “And Kev was wreathed with his bother:” see previous note. He’s wroth with his brother for being such an arty little snot. 303.15: RM 2: “TROTHBLOWERS,” followed by (“PIG AND THISTLE”), a typical pub name, then a parody of such a name. Compare “frothblowers,” “Frothblower”s of 227.32, 270.13, pubgoers blowing the froth off the top of their beers. Probably a scrambled klang association to the adjacent main-text “wreathed with his pother” (.15) – with “wreathed” as “wroth,” “brother” as “broth”er 303.16-304.4: “But…Slutningsbane:” again, Shaun/Mike/Kev loses his temper and throws a fit which winds up with him knocking his brother out, and, again, the frenzied, semi-coherent syntax reflects the action. Imbedded in the paragraph is the tradition that Charles I was beheaded by Cornet George Joyce: see note to 517.19. Thus: “my Georgeous” (.17), “do[ing] for the blessted selfchuruls” (.23-4) of the “firstlings” (.26): George finishing off the blessed/wounded saintly Charles the First, who will duly become the sainted “Charles the Martyr” of Anglican liturgy. Other possible related language: “By mercystroke” (.27-8): unlike many other beheadings, this one was professionally accomplished in one clean, relatively merciful stroke. “And his countinghands rose” (304.1-2): head on the block, Charles signaled the moment by raising his hands. Joyce’s son was named Giorgio, and as first-born he was a (“firstings” (.26)), firstling, and (see McHugh for “firstings”) Abel sacrificed the firstling of his herd to win favor with God. So: along with the usual brother battlers (Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau) a father-son conflict is underway as well: it is a son who is sick and tired of his erudite father’s “autocratic writings of paraboles” (.19), and all the talk about “thee faroots hof cullchaw end ate citrawn” (.21-2) – a high-toned drawing-room way of going on about the fruits of culture and etcetera – and who seems quite happy to pronounce (“Rip!” (304.1)) his father’s R. I. P. 303.20: “meddlied muddlingisms:” mixed metaphors; mottlied mongolism 303.22: “triperforator awlrite:” awl-like trephine, used to punch, as with an awl, through skull in trephination; here also – eye operation – the eye doctor’s scalpel 303.26: “hairydary:” given context (churls, dukes), “hereditary” – kings, for instance. Also, Esau, as opposed to “Jacoby” (.16), was a hairy man. Fn. 2: “When the dander rattles how the peacocks prance!:” Joyce’s Notebook VI.B.45 records the superstition that thunder makes peacocks dance. Rationale for link to Yeats? Perhaps because he could, certainly, be a bit of a peacock. Fn. 3: “The Brownes de Browne – Browne of Castlehacknolan.” the “e” added to “Brown,” the “de,” the hyphen in the doubled “Browne – Browne,” the doubling itself, the advertising of the fact that their place of origin bears their name, the castle in “Castlehacknolan” and also the “-nolan,” which as Brenan O Hehir notes comes from Gaelic for “noble:” all in all, superogatory snobbisme. For link, see note to .13-4. 304.1-2: “wan's won! Rip! And his countinghands rose.:” a counting-hand would be a boxing referee’s, raising the winner’s hand after counting his adversary out. (I think the last ten or so lines have returned to the intermittent prizefight theme and brought it to a close.) “Wan’s won!” "He’s won!” Or “[number] one’s won!” “Rip!:” R.I.P.: the loser is either dead or dead to the world (see .4 and note). In any case, he’s definitely unconscious: the linked footnote says that he's gone "byebye," at least for a while. 304.3: RM 1: “WITH EBONISER.:” ebona, or henbane – poison given to Hamlet’s father. (Compare adjacent main text, “deatthow simple!” (.3).) Also, eye operation. Henbane is the principal ingredient of scopolamine, a hypnotic that dilates the pupils and induces a “twilight sleep” state liberating the patient’s free-association; hence its reputation as a truth serum. It was used in some of Joyce’s ten eye operations. The trance induced is often preceded by a state of mental excitation. Joyce wrote a poem saying it would make “staid Tutankamen / Laugh and leap like a salmon.” (As “scoppialamina” (183.1), it makes a I.6 appearance in a passage about Joyce’s health problems, his eyes included.) RM 3: “MIND WHO YOU’RE PUCKING, FLEBBY:” compare “puckers,” “pucking” in “Wandering Rocks:” blows in boxing. Adjacent to main-text testimony of “seeing…rings round me” as a result of having been struck, presumably in the eye (.5-9). See note to .1-2. 304.4: “Slutningsbane:” Christiani: end of the line, in the sense of death. Probably connects with (see previous entry) the henbane of RM 1. 304.5-306.7: “Thanks…ends:” it’s important to keep in mind that, as before, this is a spell of cross-talk between the two, and that Joyce, as always averse to quotation marks, isn’t giving many clues as to who’s speaking when. For instance, it begins with Shem/Nick, the one who’s been struck and is seeing rainbows (.5-9); then Shaun/Mike responds by congratulating him on his scholarly achievements (.9-11). Later points of changeover can be more problematic. 304.5: LM 1: goes with “Thanks eversore much” (.5). “Eversore:” always in pain. Also, eye operation. Given the glaucoma operation in progress, eyesore as well. (Joyce once joked that he had become an “international eyesore.”) 304.6-7: "weight...redmass:" see note to .16. 304.7: “red mass:” 1. the triangular red shape of 293 (Bass Ale insignia) – like the mesmerized Bloom of “Oxen of the Sun,” he has been (.7) “looking at” it intently, going into the trance now over; 2. a mass celebrated for judges, attorneys, legal officials – named for the red vestments worn 304.8-9: “I’m seeing rayingbogeys rings round me:” see note to 303.3: RM 1. Henbane is a psychoactive drug inducing hallucinations. Also, in a contest such as the one just completed, to "run rings" around someone is to completely outmatch them. 304.11: “exhibitiveness:” still more boxing: Google Books confirms that “exhibition” was a common term for boxing matches in Joyce’s time. (Also, in the context oppositely, a school prize; Joyce won a number of them.) 304.11-4: “I'd love to take you for a bugaboo ride and play funfer all if you'd only sit and be the ballasted bottle in the porker barrel:” “bugaboo:” buggy: here, an early automobile. Also, a continuation of what McHugh calls the “mechanics” (weight, mass, momentum, potential energy) being calculated earlier (.6-8) – here, anyway, for a buggy ride: someone will need to sit in the rumble seat, as ballast, to keep the weight evenly distributed. 304.12: “funfer all:” as in the “all for one, one for all” of The Three Musketeers. After all the fighting, he wishes they could just get along. 304.13-4: “ballasted bottle in the porker barrel:” Huckleberry Finn’s father lives in a hogshead – a barrel. In III.1-2, Shaun will be a barrel. Also, see note to .16. 304.14: “rolypoly:” a tart-like pastry 304.16: "drift bombs and bottom trailers:" identified by Ian MacArthur and Viviana-Mirela Braslasu (Genetic Joyce Studies 2022): glass bottles put to sea to study sea currents. "Drift bombs" floated on the surface; "bottom trailers" were weighted to float along the sea bottom, and contained a postcard for finders to report locations. I suggest that the "ballasted bottle" of .13 is a bottom trailer. The sequence here begins with attention drawn to the "red mass" triangle on a bottle of Bass Ale, said to have a "weight" (.6-7). 304.16-7: “If my maily was bag enough I’d send you a toxis” is Shaun/Mike (the “maily…bag” mail bag is the tipoff); “By Saxon Chromaticus…” (.18-9) is Shem/Nick, the erudite one who’s seeing chromatic rings. 304.21: “Endsland’s daylast:” England’s dynast – e.g., given context, Arthur. Also, in this westernmost part of England – Land’s End (Arthur territory) – where day ends last. 304.26: “As I was saying,” Shem/Nick speaking 304.29: “For I’ve:” Shaun/Mike speaking; at .31 he manages to get even Descartes “Cogito” (cf. 304.21-5 and note) wrong. 304.26-7: LM 2 goes with “We’re offals boys ambows” (.28). 304.27-8: “reborn of the cards:” new pope, elected by the cardinals? 304.28: LM 3 goes with “He prophets most who bilks the best” (305.2-3). 304.29: “crambs:” intense studying for exams: cramming. 304.31: “cog it out, here goes sum:” “cog:” Anglo-Irish for “crib:” the student has copied someone else’s sum. 305.1: “must book:” Mass-book 305.3-4: “that salubrated sickenagiaour of yaours have teaspilled:” in FW’s letter, for instance from 619.16 to 628.16 (remembering that thé is French for tea), the tea stain always follows the signature. “Salubrated,” probably, because tea was often promoted as a healthful, salubrious alternative to alcohol. 305.3: RM 1: See McHugh. Clearly, this comments on “hazeydency” (.4). Richard Piggott’s misspelling of “hesitancy” as “hesitency” was the pivotal item which exonerated Parnell. Upping the ante, the challenge now is to spell the Latin equivalent, “cunctatio,” for indecision (that is hesitancy), and, like Pigott, he makes a hash of it – to begin with, mishearing or mistranslating it as the non-existent “CUNCTITITITILATIO.” Since by this point in II.2, RM commentary is by the scapegrace Dolph, the exercise becomes a matter of schoolboyish off-color double-entendres, for which “CUNCT-” is just the beginning; in fact it may be that the “-TITITITILATIO” was all his addition. So, besides “cunct,” we have excursions into titillate, tits, thighs, legs, fellatio. Behind it all, I suggest, we can still discern the hapless writer, sounding it out (but how does “cunctatio” sound?) and trying to eke out or fake out the right spelling: cunc, conk, or cunk? t or th? one or two l’s?, etc. Oxford editors have “CUNCTITITILLITATIO? CONKERYCUNK, THIGHTHIGHTICKELLYTHIGH, LIGGERYLAG, TITTERYTOT.” Not, I venture, a substantial change in meaning, but it does recall the Reverend Spooner’s best-known Spoonerism (see 37.2, 167.16) “Kinkering Congs.” 305.3-6: “And that salubrated sickenagiaour of yaours have teaspilled all my hazeydency…Bleating Goad…Eyeinstye!:” eye operation. Again, the pen/sword/axe was also a scalpel (the surgeon’s signature is his incision), the bloodletting “goad” whose cutting penetration has (temporarily and – bleeding God! – painfully) dispelled some of the haziness. “Salubrated:” salubrious, conducive to health. The surgeon’s signature 305.5: “Sunny Sim:” Shem the son plus Sunny Jim. Introduced in 1902, Sunny Jim was a popular cartoon character for a brand of breakfast cereal named Force; eating it, he was transformed, Popeye-like, from having been the dreary "Jim Dumps;" before then both Jims were characters in a farce entitled The Lamentable Tragedy of Omelet and Oatmealia, around at the time of (Jim) Joyce’s birth. 305.5-6: “it is the least of things:” i.e. it’s nothing; think nothing of it 305.6: “Eyeinstye:” stye in eye. Also, possibly history's first instance of someone sarcastically addressing someone else as "Einstein," meaning, You think you're so smart, don't you? (Compare 262, fn.1.) 305.6-7: “Imagine it, my deep dartry dullard!:” although who’s speaking is not always clear in this sequence, these words are probably Dolph's/Shem’s. If so, a comeback: at least I'm smarter than you, you deeply dull dullard. 305.8: “celebridging:” bridging (the (.9)) gap 305.11: “hellbent:” hellbound 305.12: LM 1: "The twofold Truth and the Conjunctive Appetites of Oppositional Orexes:" goes with 305.12: “woolfell merger” (.12). As recorded in Joyce's Notebook VI.B.17.085, the phrase "twofold truth" appears in J. Lewis McIntyre's Giordano Bruno. (Note that Bruno's ("Trianfante di bestia!" (.15)) Lo Spaccio della Bestia Trionfante appears three lines later.) In general, it designates Bruno's formula for denying charges of heresy on the grounds that either a former statement was only one side of his argument or that he had changed his mind later. The link to "merger" surely indicates that Bruno's "coinciding contraries" are in play as well. Also, OED: “conjunctiva: The mucous membrane which lines the inner surface of the eyelids and is reflected over the front of the eyeball, thus conjoining this with the lids.” Shem’s sight in the faulty eye has been (partially) restored, so he can now (sometimes) see three-dimensionally, that is with merged ("Orexes") axes. The conjunctiva is where (.6) styes develop. Again, eye operation 305.12-15: “In effect I could engage in an energument over you till you were republicly royally toobally prussic blue in the shirt after:” begins by saying that he’s so fond of Shem that he’d get into an argument if he ever heard anyone disparaging him; ends with the idea that the other side of the argument would be “you,” Shem himself. (Again, it can sometimes be difficult to tell these two cross-talk parties apart.) 305.14: “republicly royally:” coinciding contraries 305.14: “toobally:” again, includes English expression “bally.” (Compare 285.25-6.) One of several points in this passage to establish Shaun as an English sympathizer. 305.14-5: “prussic blue:” Prussian blue 305.15: “blue in the shirt:” the main idea is that Shaun would argue in defense of or against Shem until he was “blue in the face.” As noted above, by the end it’s Shem who’s doing the arguing. Given that we’ve got the Ireland’s fascist Blueshirts in here and that they took their orders from Berlin, the Hitlerian/militarist overtones of (“prussic” (.14)) “Prussia” are probably also part of the package. 305.15: “blue:” Also in the sense of “true blue,” meaning hardcore Protestant. The phrase occurs in Butler’s Hudibras and other works, including Ulysses, where Mr Deasy is an adherent of the “true blue bible.” Later down the page (.31), we get “To book alone belongs the lobe,” i.e. the Bible alone determines love and law, and its words are the only ones you should listen to with your (ear)lobe – a Protestant sentiment. In this context, the “must book” of line 1 is the Bible, the book whose word you must follow. Combining it with “mass-book” is a classic FW convergence of contraries. 305.15: “Trionfante di bestia:” everything I’ve read of Bruno’s, including this, is pugnacious – that is, highly argumentative. The right tone for the Irish Blueshirts. 305.16: “bloater’s kipper:” kippered herring. With some leeway, “bloater” and “kipper” are synonyms – both are herrings. 305.19-20: “Biddy’s hair, mine lubber:” given what I think is the Nazi presence in this passage: “hair” also includes “Herr,” that is, master (see 84.23 and note) and “Hail!” (heil!); “mine lubber” includes “mein führer” (leader). See .12-5 and note. 305.22-3: “solver up your sleep:” a card up the sleeve, for purposes of cheating in a magic show or game of poker. Perhaps “solver” in the sense that it would conveniently solve the performer’s/player’s dilemma. Also, echo of “silver tongue:” Shem is the wordsmith, a gift Shaun admires and resents. 305.23: LM 2: goes with “Thou in shanty” (.23)! 305.23: “shanty:” “Shanty Irish:” a derogatory term for lower-class Irish, including (or especially) Irish-American immigrants, as differentiated from “lace-curtain Irish” 305.23-4: “shanty…scanty shanty…slanty scanty shanty:” compare Joyce’s parody of the end of The Wasteland: (“Shan’t we? Shan’t we? Shan’t we?” (Ellmann biography, p. 572): “shan’t” as idiom of stuffily upper-class English.) 305.27: “chinarpot:” china (chamber) pot? 305.27-8: “Ave! And…Vale:” Ave atque vale: hail and farewell – as McHugh notes, the title of a book by George Moore. Here, coincidentally or not, it happens to be right next to a line from a poem by another Moore, Thomas. 305.28: “Ovocation:” evocation 305.28-9: “Ovocation of maiding waters:” avocation of pissing. The footnote protests that he’s not guilty of this charge. Probably relates to the scandal in the park 305.30: “champ:” champion, chant 305.31: “Foremaster’s:” a four-master ship, perhaps carrying the (.33) pilgrims to Ireland Fn. 1: “From three shellings. A bluedye sacrifice:” link is to “blue in the shirt after.” The price of the blue-dyed shirt has been marked down from three shillings, and, speaking as the seller in question, It’s a bloody sacrifice! “Bluedye:” bloody eye: eye operation, and, again, Joyce’s eyes were blue. “Blue,” as in “I’m going for blue” in Portrait, chapter five: blue soap powder, used for washing shirts Fn. 2: “Not Kilty. But the manajar was. He! He! Ho! Ho! Ho!:” that is, not guilty of the park crime recalled in lines 28-9. “He! He! Ho! Ho! Ho!:” he, the man/ager, was the guilty one, Ha Ha! Link, to “maiding waters,” goes to the ever-present question of just who, in the park, was the one making water. Fn. 3: “Giglamps, Soapy Geyser, The Smell and Gory M Gusty:” linked to “Foremaster’s Meed” (.32), the Four Masters, this sounds like the four old men, in the usual order. “Soapy Geyser” is the Munster of the Blarney Stone, “the soapstone of silvry speech” (140.27). (“Soapy” by itself – as when Bloom is called a “soapy sneak” in “Circe” – means unctuous, dishonestly smoothtalking: what the Irish call “cute.” J.V. Kelleher once told me that people from Cork were known for being cute. Approximate American equivalent is “soft-soaping.”) “The Smell” is Leinster’s dear dirty Dublin, “the gush off the mon like Ballybock manure works on a tradewinds day” (95.2-3). “Gory M Gusty” perhaps because Irish winds are typically from the west – Connacht. Don’t know quite what to do with “Giglamps,” except to note that they were lights on either side of a one-horse carriage. 306.1: “staff…wallet:” together, staff and wallet were/are the traditional accompaniments of a pilgrim. 306.1-2: “our aureoles round our neckkandcropfs:” haloes around our heads 306.2-4: “when Heavysciusgardaddy, parent who offers sweetmeats, will gift uns his Noblett’s surprize:” Joyce never did receive the Nobel Prize for literature. (As of the time he wrote this, Shaw, Yeats (303.6-7), and Eliot, whose Wasteland obviously owed something to the previously-published chapters of Ulysses, all had. Joyce was not the man not to notice.) 306.3: “Heavysciusgardaddy, parent who offers sweetmeats:” “Sugar Daddy,” imbedded in the “H…” word here, is 1. an American expression for a rich old man latched onto by a sweet young thing, e.g. Daddy Browning with Peaches; 2. the name of a brand of candy (“sweetmeat,” in the British Isles). It was around in Joyce’s time. 306.5: “loud ability:” laudability 306.5-6: “let us be singulfied:” 1. Let it be signified. (In the English translation, Pope Adrian’s Laudabiliter reads, at one point: “Now, most dear Son in Christ, you have signified to us that you propose to enter the island of Ireland”) 2. Let us be made one. 306.5: LM 2 goes with “laudable purpose” (.5). Given “laudibiliter” allusion, perhaps a sardonic comment on Irish complicity with conquerors 306.7: “Mizpah:” as Gifford notes about “Mizpah” in “Ithaca” (17.1781), it is shorthand for a well-wishing verse from Genesis 31:49: “And Mizpah; for he said, The Lord watch between me and thee, when we are absent from one another.” Gifford adds that as a salutation it works only when taken out of its brother-feud context. 306.8: RM 1: “AND HOW:” an American expression signifying something exceptional, definitive, extreme. “She told him off, and how!” 306.10: “Impostolopulos:” presumably from Latin impostus, past particle of imponere, to impose or tax. Addressing Shaun as taxman – who, according to the footnote, wants a share, a “divvy,” of your land, including its babbling brook. 306.15: LM 2: “Cato:” synonymous with stern republican virtues – hence adjacent to “Duty” (.15) 306.18-19: “Is the Pen Mightier than the Sword?:” goes with LM 2 “Julius Caesar,” may be obvious: pen = The Gallic Wars. Caesar was accomplished at using both, the pen and the sword. 306.24: “the Indulgence of Portiuncula:” Portiuncula is a church built by Saint Francis, at which Jesus appeared and granted his request of a papal indulgence for all sinners who visited. The church became a popular pilgrimage destination. Wikipedia: “The Porziuncola indulgence could at first be gained only in the Porziuncola chapel between the afternoon of 1 August and sunset on 2 August,” the date of “the feast of Our Lady of the Angels of the Porzioncula.” (No idea what any of this has to do with Socrates, in LM 2, in the slot to which it ought to correspond.) 306.25: “The Dublin Metropolitan Police Sports at Ballsbridge:” goes with LM 2 “Ajax,” the musclebound lunkhead. “Grace,” “Lestrygonians,” and FW (e.g. 186.19-22) all reflect this view of the DMP. Mink confirms that Ballsbridge was/is a site for athletic events. On the other hand, it was Ajax the Lesser (no relation) who was outraced by Odysseus in the funeral games held for Patroclus. This Ajax apparently combines both. 306.27: “What morals, if any, can be drawn from Diarmuid and Grania?:” LM 2 Marcus Aurelius goes with this question, and one moral he, like King Mark, might have learned from the story would have been not to trust his young wife with other men. Marcus’ wife Faustina was, according to tradition, notoriously promiscuous; her son and future emperor Commodus, the beginning of the end for the empire (see 3.2 and note), was, according to Gibbon, not her husband’s. Fn. 1: "The divvy wants that babbling brook. Dear Auntie Emma Emma Eates:" Digger Dialects (see 321.20 and note): a "babbling brook" is an army cook. With ("Eates") eats, slang for food, probably referring to the "mugs and grubs" over which they are ("doodling") dawdling (.8-9) Also, "Dear Auntie:" a "phrase signifying utter weariness and disgust." The editors also have "Emma Emma Eates" as "From the signal alphabet, MMS, Men may smoke." Fn. 3: “R. C., disengaged, good character, would help, no salary:” linked to “A Successful Career in the Civil Service” (306.19-20). A want ad, typical of those in Irish newspapers of the time, either seeking a position in service (here, “Civil Service”) or advertising for one – given “no salary,” probably the latter. Also, perhaps, “No salary” because Athenian statesmen, e.g. the LM 2 Pericles corresponding to the “Civil Service” to which this note is, again, linked, were usually unpaid. Fn. 4: “Where Lily is a Lady found the nettle rash:” linked to “The Voice of Nature in the Forest” (.20-1). 1. Hyacinth is a kind of lily. In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, the lily-like Hyacinth is changed into the flower of that name. 2. Nettle rash, like Poison Ivy, is most likely to be picked up in forests or other uncultivated areas. Hooray for “Nature” and its “Voice”s and all that, but there are drawbacks. Fn. 6: “Able seaman’s caution:” “Able Bodied Seaman:” as in “Eumaeus,” “A. B. S.” for short: certificate of competence for a British sailor. For one such, “the Wreck of the Hesperus” (.26-7), to which this is linked, would be a “caution”ary tale. Also, Odysseus, linked by way of this note to the title of the poem corresponding to the Odyssey, by the LM 2-corresponding “Homer,” was a seaman, was wrecked, and was cautious. 307.5-7: “Since our Brother Johnathan Signed the Pledge or the Meditations of Two Young Spinsters:” “Johnathan” is Jonathan Swift, stringing along the two spinster Esthers, and, as someone in lifelong battle against saying “the thing which is not,” goes with LM 1’s “Diogenes,” the Cynic, looking for an honest man. Also, for most of the FW years, the United States, popularly called “Brother Jonathan” in Britain, was under Prohibition – as the Irish would put it, had signed the pledge against drinking. 307.8: “Hengler’s Circus Entertainment:” goes with LM “Nestor:” see McHugh, and add this, from The Royal Magazine (1907), Vol 18, p. 310: “At one time London boasted of three permanent equestrian houses – Astley’s, Hengler’s, and the Holborn Amphitheatre.” 307.8-9: “On Thrift:” goes with LM 1 “Cincinnatus:” perhaps because Cincinnatus, financially ruined in court, was forced to make his living on a small farm. 307.13: “Our Allies the Hills:” goes with LM 1 “Samson:” a real poser, this. The Bible is no help, but Googling around comes up with the information that Samson was of the tribe of Dan, which was (biblehub.com) “restricted to the hills by Amorites.” 307.16-7: "The Shame of Slumdom:" possible allusion to Lincoln Steffans, The Shame of the Cities 307.17-8: “The Roman Pontiffs and the Orthodox Churches:” goes with LM 1 names “Pompeius Magnus” and Miltiades Strategos.” Apparently the point is that the former was a Roman general (hence the connection to the Roman pope), the latter a Greek general (the Greek Orthodox counterpart). 307.26-7: “Proper and Regular Diet Necessity For:” long shot: link to Fn. 9 (“Ere we hit the hay, brothers, let’s have that response to prayer!”) may reflect the fact that American campaigns for healthy (usually meaning vegetarian, bland, anaphrodisiac) diets often had an evangelical side. The best-known proponent, Harvey Kellogg, was a proselytizing Seventh Day Adventist. 307.27-308.1: “If You Do It Do It Now. Delays are Dangerous. Vitavite!:” Oxford editors replace the period after “Now” with a comma, making this one unit, corresponding to the last LM item, “Darius. Xenophon.” The Darius in question is probably not the Persian leader defeated at Marathon but rather Darius III, whose losses to Alexander, in some accounts anyway, were in part owing to his hesitating to engage. As for Xenophon, there was nothing hesitant about him. 307. Fn. 1: “Jests and the Beastalk with a little rude hiding rod:” the latter is the clitoris. Compare 296.27, 296.28, above. Jack’s “Beastalk” – Being-stalk – is its counterpart, the erect penis. Link is to a coeducational “Animus” – “Anima,” mixed-sex male-female, with a probable glance at Jung. For all this, of course, the matching LM 1 entry, “Tiresias,” is perfect. Fn. 2: “Wherry like the whaled prophet in a spookeerie:” linked to a segment about Jonathan Swift and the two Esthers (.5-7). I suggest this alludes to Yeats’ Words Upon the Windowpane, in which Swift and the two Esthers are summoned by a Dublin séance. “Spookeerie” = eeriness, or a show featuring eeriness; a spook is, of course, a ghost. Fn. 3: “What sins is pim money sans Paris?:” what’s the use of having spending money if we can’t go to Paris and spend it there? Link is to “On Thrift:” not spending money, pin or otherwise, would be an example. From an Irish point of view, at least (compare Little Chandler with Gallaher in “A Little Cloud”), Paris would be a center of sin. Fn. 4: “I’ve lost the place, where was I?” Me too. Not surprising at this point, mainly because the LM item corresponding to “Since…Spinsters” (.5-7) uniquely gives three names - “Tiresias, Procne, Philomela” – making it easy to lose track, and the next five items are, by the standards of this exercise, exceptionally obscure. (“Travelling in the Olden Times” is “Jacob?” Really? It could apply as well to easily half the names on the list.) For this reader anyway the “Theocritus” – “American Lake Poetry” – not coincidentally linked to the plaintive Fn. 4 – marks the point where the correspondences once again become relatively straightforward. Fn. 5: “Something happened that time I was asleep:” linked to “the Strangest Dream that was ever Halfdreamt” (.11-2), by “Joseph” – clearly, a likely spell for losing one’s bearings 308.2: “Mox:” given context, perhaps an overtone of Nox, night 308.5, 1.5: RM 1, RM 2: beef tea (“BEEFTAY’S”) and (“KAKAO-“) cocoa before going to bed. As best I can find, the Ann Lynch brand (.2) sold neither. 308.16-25: “NIGHTLETTER…too):” Western Union introduced night letters in 1910. Word by word, they cost one tenth as much as the usual telegram, provided that the number of words did not exceed fifty. From “With” to “too,” the count here comes to forty-eight – forty-nine if “NIGHTLETTER” is included, fifty if it is read, as it normally would be, as two separate words. (Some of FW’s typical portmanteau words – “youlldied,” “preprosperousness” – may be doing double duty, compressed to stay under the word-count limit.) Night letters had to be entered before midnight to qualify, and would be sent overnight, when the telegraph lines were much less busy than during the day. This one seems to be variant on the traditional “Christmas letter,” sent by Irish Americans who had prospered enough as “new yonks” to be able to send money or valuables to their families back home, in the “land of the livvey.” It may have a connection with the FW letter of 111.5-23, which includes a “thankyou” for a “beautiful present” (111.13-4), but that letter specifically comes from Boston, not New York. Transatlantic night letters would have traveled by way of the Atlantic Cable, and at 434.31 Boston’s Oliver Wendell Holmes is witnessed by someone with “eyes darkled on the autocart of the bringfast cable.” 308.18: “old folkers:” old fuckers 308.20: “land of the livvey:” land of the living; Ireland, land of the Liffey 308.20-22: “plenty of preprosperousness through their coming new yonks:” that they will grow rich upon emigrating to America – or have grown rich already - and becoming new Yanks in New York. 308.24-5: “jake, jack and little sousoucie (the babes that mean too):” Jake as short for Jacob: James. Jack as informal equivalent of John. James and John (Stanislaus) Joyce: biographical origin of FW’s brother battles. According to Ellmann, the last of John Joyce’s children, Mabel Josephine Anne Joyce, was called “Baby.” Second picture in left margin: an X: the “mark” made by an illiterate, one of the X’s with which FW’s letter always ends. Also the “X” of (Merry) Xmas, to be sure compromised by the “skool” of skull and crossbones, as “Yuletide greetings” are also “Youlldied greedings” (.18). 309.1: “It may not or maybe a no concern of the Guinnesses but:” It may not matter to the toffs (such as the Guinness family), but… Also, Genesis 309.3: "deaf:" because deafened by thunder at ending of previous chapter 309.4-5: "man that means a mountain barring his distance:" he's mountainous in size if you don't take into account that he's much closer than the nearest mountain. Matter of perspective – in this case, either (“a bride’s eye” (.4)) a bird’s or a bride’s eye view - on the bridal night, presumably as close as possible 309.5: “a lymph that plays the lazy:” a nymph who plays the lady – pretends to be respectable. (On the other hand, poetically, lymph is pure, sometimes sacred water, as in a mountain stream.) 309.9: “Grander Suburbia:” by analogy to, for instance, “Greater London” 309.10: “ruric or cospolite:” rural (country) or cosmopolitan (city) 308.11: “it is:” instead of “the:” an Irish formula 309.12: “birth of an otion…sweatoslaves:” the movie The Birth of a Nation is about the Confederacy – slave-sweaters. (It sides with the sweaters.) 309.14-310.22: “tolvtubular…life.:” the catalogue doesn’t always seem to add up, but through at least parts of this sequence the host’s body is being described, with special attention to the senses. “Supershielded umbrella antennas” (309.17-8) are prominent ears (probably a contributor to his nonce-name of Earwicker) linked by “coupling system” (Eustachian tube, nasopharynx, etc.) to the aural cavity and mouth. “Capable of capturing” (309.20) continues the account of the ears, not (“vitaltone speaker” (309.19)) the mouth: they can pick up all kinds of sounds and deliver them to the electrically functioning brain, the “melegoturny marygoraumd” (309.23-4) and “harmonic condenser enginium” (310.1), to be filtered and processed. The brain is “worked” by the heart, the “magazine battery” (310.1-2) “tuned” by way of “twintriodic singulvalvulous pipelines” (310.4-5) back to the brain (and its skull) – the “howdrocephalous enlargement” (310.5-6) of the nervous system. Returning to the head, we get a detailed account of the workings of the inner ear. Given that the central figure is (among the usual other things) a “Vakingfar sleeper” (310.10), it makes sense that there is apparently no mention of the eyes and that the mouth is quiet: as many have remarked, and as FW repeatedly illustrates, in sleep we can close our eyes but not our ears; see also 310.10 and note. Also, this is FW’s account of the electrical apparatus that will be a major source of this chapter’s audio-visuals. Here are a number of preliminary points, some of which will be repeated later. 1. It is a radio which at times apparently doubles as a television. (Also – “key clickings” (.20-1)) telegraph.) FW was written during a period when radio was a recent technology, widely regarded as a sign of the times, and television just emerging. In Noel Coward’s 1930 Private Lives a character cites radio as an example of how “We certainly live in a marvelous age,” and then goes on to “aeroplanes…and Cosmic Atoms, and Television.” 2. In the Ireland of 1923-1938, the years of FW’s composition, some looked forward to television's eventual arrival but expected to continue lagging behind other countries, notably Britain, Germany, and the United States. In the October 16, 1931 Irish Times, a correspondant envies America, noting that “no one of my acquaintance” possesses a television set. Contrasting with an October 14, 1931 article in the New York Times, according to which there were then “8,000 working ‘televisor sets’ in England, a March 13, 1935 Irish Times reports that some people are not purchasing radio sets because they have opted to “wait for television.” Living in Paris, Joyce could have seen a television broadcast, probably in some public place, but for a Mullingar pub the time would have to be set in the future, although plausibly in the fairly near future. The “tolvtubular high fidelity daildialler” in question borders on science fiction. 3. I will be suggesting later that some of this chapter’s crackly static and its polyglot garbling of idioms and narratives has to do with the wandering (“interfairance” (504.18)) interference between adjacent stations typical of radio at the time, particularly at night. This does not and did not occur between television channels. On the other hand, as Professor Jones notes at 150.33-5, early televisions required constant “readjustments” of vertical and horizontal hold, and corrections for the prevalence of what came to be called “snow” on the screen, which may help explain some of the visual effects of the “tellavicious” (349.28) display of 349.5-350.9. Watching pre-High Definition television was essentially a Gestalt exercise, requiring the viewer to “teleframe” and connect up a “bairdboard bombardment” of myriad tiny dots, as here the image on the screen (“caoculates”) coagulates into view (349.9, 349.8, 349.17). (And, again, the subject’s brain here is a “harmonic condenser enginium.”) 4. In an informative survey of the subject (“Early Television and Joyce’s Finnegans Wake: New Technology and Flawed Power” (Broadcasting in the Modernist Era, ed. Mathew Feldman, Erik Tonning, and Henry Mead, Bloomsday Academic, 2014, 39-58, p. 41), Finn Fordham observes that “as ‘telegraphy’ gave new impulses to fantasies of ‘telekinesis’…so ‘television’ gave impulses to related fantasies of ‘teleportation.’” This was typical of new communications technology. Guglielmo Marconi believed that his wireless stations could transport the voices of the dead; members of the Society for Psychical Research liked to cite radio waves as evidence for mental telepathy; there was speculation that in the future the human nervous system could be detectable as radio waves. The sequence in question is simultaneously describing a human sensorium, an electrical contrivance, and an implement for long-distance communication, and it would not have been a very far fetch at the time to view all of them as being on the same “radiooscillating” (108.24) electro-magnetic continuum. 5. To this list, add the possibility of time travel. The sequence being explicitly televised (roughly, 337.32-355.9) is a looking-backward anecdote from the Crimean War, and – again, in the science fiction vein – there is also a (looking-forward) nuclear war. All this chapter’s “stories” (368.35) of II.3 are from the fairly distant past, and in one stretch, to be noted later, we are apparently hearing the voice of the long-dead Daniel O’Connell. Rationales for all such anachronisms are available (the O’Connell voice could be a radio actor, re-enacting one of his speeches), but “television” means, literally, vision across distance, not necessarily excluding distance in time. “Telescope” would make for an equally suitable word, and in II.2 The Shemian character Kev has this to say about Yeats’ practice of “dreaming back” to commune with the dead: “When I'm dreaming back like that I begins to see we're only all telescopes” (295.10-12). In I.1, a (“tallowscoop”) telescope accompanies the Battle of Waterloo, and it isn’t clear whether and to what degree what is transpiring is memorial, memory, re-enactment, or the original event. (Also, see 310.7-8 and note.) 6. As documented by a series of findings in the online Genetic Joyce Studies, during the mid-to-late 1930’s Joyce was taking extensive notes on the most recent technological developments in both radio and television, some of which show up in FW. These will be cited as they occur. 309.16-7: “anybody…schemed to halve the wrong type of date:” compare "Nobody appeared to have the same time of beard" (77.12). Much in this description echoes that of the submarine of pp. 76-8. (E.g. see .17 and note.) 309.16: “ruad duchy:” rude duchy: crude, uncultivated province. 309.16: “Wollinstown:” “Wollin:?” sometimes identified as the real origin of the semi-mythical Jomborg, which appears at 310.3-4. At one time a center for pirates 309.17: "supershielded:" compare "shieldplated gunwale" of 77.9. Also, as recorded by Ian MacArthur and Viviana-Mirela Braslasu in their article "Radio in Notebook VI.B.37," Genetic Joyce Studies 20 (later cited as MacArthur and Braslasu, "Radio"), a quotation from an advertisement in the December 1936-January 1937 Radio News for "THE SCOTT SUPER-SHIELD ANTENNA COUPLING SYSTEM." 309.18: “antennas for distance getting:” MacArthur and Braslasu, "Radio:" see previous entry. The advertisement reads that the system "Effectively doubles the sensitivity of distance-getting." In a letter of April 20, 1938, Joyce describes changes that enabled his radio to better receive far-off broadcasts: a worker “fixed up an antenna on the balcony out of an old walking stick…We got the two Italian songs better (very well);” other music did not come through as satisfactorily. 309.19: "vitalphone:" aside from (McHugh), "Warner Bros sound system," "Vita-Tone speakers" (MacArthur and Braslasu, "Radio") 309.20: "skybuddies:" (MacArthur and Baslasu, "Radio") "Sky Buddy" was the brand name of a radio. 309.20: “harbour craft emittences:” signals, radio or telegraphic, from boats in the harbor 309.20-1: "key clickings:" MacArthur and Baslasu, "Radio:" a Radio Times article identifies "Key clicks" as "the severest form of interference," which with new developments can be "more easily eliminated;" compare "eliminium sounds" (.24). 309.21: “vaticum cleaners:" "Viaticum:” a prayer said for the dying in Last Rites, hence a "cleaner," absolving sins. Addressed to God on a presumably supernatural circuit; hence a kind of communication analogous to e.g., wireless. A frequent Joyce conceit, for instance on the first page of Ulysses, and common in FW 309.21-2: "vaticum cleaners, due to woman formed mobile or man made static:" see McHugh. Man-made static, what FW calls "interfairance" (504.18) - interference - was a major concern with radios; as McHugh says it could be caused by, among many other things, a "woman vacuuming." MacArthur and Braslasu, "Radio" reprint an advertisement from the January 1937 issue of Radio News promoting a device that "CONQUERS 'Man-Made' Static;" the picture shows electric rays, presumably being conquered by the nearby radio, shooting out from a vacuum cleaner. Interference, which could come from telephone and telegraph communication as well household devices, is a recurring issue with FW's radio listeners. Aside from 504.18, the subject comes up at 231.10, 324.26-7, 499.34, 504.20, 528.27, 528.28-9, 528.31, and 533.33-534.2. In this chapter especially, it can provide a real-world rationale for FW's shifting blendings of languages and voices. 309.21-2: “woman formed mobile or man made static:” “mobile” is original of “mob.” Sequence contrasts erratic female mob with stable man-run state. 309.22: “bawling the whowle hamshack and wobble:” ham shanks have the shape of the pins in a game of bowling or ninepins. Some pins wobble when struck. Pubs used to frequently include games of skittles. 309.22: “hamshack:” ham hock – here, part of what’s being boiled in an aluminum saucepan. 309.23: “an eliminium sounds pound:” radio-related publications of Joyce’s time repeatedly list aluminum/aluminium as a necessary component, for instance (Radio, 1927, Volume 9, p. 54) in the housing of a “2-tube receiver.” British pronunciation of “aluminium,” with the accent on the third syllable, may here help to indicate that it serves to eliminate or minimize interference – to electrically filter out (.23) unwanted sounds. 309.24: “eclectrically filtered for allirish earths:” radio programming is censored, for the ears of Irish listeners. (De Valera's Ireland was heavily censored.) “Allirish:” all Irish, as in “Eumaeus:” “He’s Irish…All Irish” – meant as a compliment 310.1: "The Mole:" again, compare the apparatus at 76.33-4, a "mole's paradise." 310.2: "magazine battery:" preserves both original and modern sense of "battery.” The heart beats - its sound here is registered as “Mimmim Bimbim” (.2-3). In Joyce’s time it was a relatively new discovery that the heart, like the brain, functions electrically. 310.2-3: “Mimmim Bimbim:” Issy’s invariable Morse code signature: a pair of dots – or, here, two pairs, the dots over the i's in ii ii. See next entry. 310.4-5: “twintriodic singulvalvulous pipelines:” as usual, 2-3 / 3-2 is a signature of the twins. (Reversed, and ombined with "ii" as "11," just noted, a sidewise version of FW's ubiquitous "1132.") Also, twenty-three: up well into the FW years, twenty-four valves was the maximum number for a wireless set. 310.5: “pipelines:” ? Given the context, this ought to have to do with radio technology or transmission, but as best I can determine the word never shows up in any such connection. (Returns, again mysteriously, at .9: “the pip of the lin.”) On this sequence’s anatomical level, the veins/arteries between head and heart 310.6: “a howdrocephalous enlargement:” the brain in the skull, considered as evolutionarily engorged nexus of the nervous system: see .7-8 note. 310.6: “gain control:” Jon B. Hagen, “Radio-Frequency Electronics: Circuits and Applications” (1996, p. 60): “Nearly every receiver has some kind of automatic gain control (AGC) to adjust the gain of the RF and/or IF amplifiers according to the strength of the input signal.” Also, probably, control of séance, picking up signals from the long-dead: again, Marconi thought that radio waves did that. See next entry. 310.7-8: “circumcentric megacycles, ranging from the antidulibnium onto the serostaatarean:” cycle in sense of Tennyson’s “cycle of Cathay:” a very long period of time. Here, the cycles reach from antediluvian to today, time of (see McHugh) the Irish Free State, and I think, beyond, from (“anti”) ante-/before whatever to a late (“serostaatarean,” by analogy to, for instance, Devonian; “sero/serus” is Latin for “late”). The Irish Free State lasted from December 6, 1921 to December 29, 1937; the original of this passage appeared in the 1937 transition, when, apparently, Joyce did not foresee the Free State’s imminent end. The “daildialler” (309.14) reception ranges widely in time as well as in space, both backwards (it picks up a speech by Daniel O’Connell) and forward (nuclear war, first predicted by - who else? - H.G. Wells, early in the century, and a topic among some of the science fiction writings of the thirties). See note to 324.14-6. 310.10: “auricular forfickle:” see McHugh. Forficula auricularia = earwig = ear 310.10: “the Vakingfar sleeper:” 1. the Viking sleeper: Holger Danske (variously spelled), legendary Danish hero who, like Finn, Arthur, Barbarossa, etc., will one day awake from sleep to save his people in their time of peril. His home is Kronborg Castle in Helsingǿr, Hamlet’s Elsinore. 2. certainly seems to be telling us that all that follows is reaching us through the mediation of someone sleeping – or, I would venture, hypnagogically half-sleeping – with eyes closed but ears open to auditory input 310.11: “Piaras UaRhuamhaighaudhlug:” see McHugh. Long shot: the stretched-out name, including Gaelic “ruamghail,” rumbling, may signify unprocessed sound reaching the (“tympan founder” (.11)), ear, before being shaped by the brain - from sensation to perception. 310.11: ”tympan:” as ten pin, compare 309.22 and note. Also, as McHugh notes, the ear’s tympanum - see next entry. In FW, eardrums are drums: both receptacles and makers of noise. 310.11-2: “tympan founder…meatous conch culpable:” compare “Sirens:” dialogue with Ben Dollard, big-voiced and presumed to correspond in genital endowment: “—Sure, you’d burst the tympanum of her ear, man…” “’Not to mention another membrane.’” “Meatous:” urinary meatus, situated in glans penis for men, vagina for women. A conch shell (again, recalling “Sirens,” where a conch is held next to, and compared to, an ear) is a common symbol for the vagina; colpo (see 317.15 and note) is a medical prefix for vagina. 310.14: “concertiums:” compare the “concerted, mirrored, bronze with sunnier bronze” of “Sirens.” As transitive verb, to concert is (OED) to “bring into harmony or agreement.” All or almost all of the outfits listed from .14 to .17, from “Brythyc” to Yahooth o.s.v.,” are examples of organizational e pluribus unum - “the Ropemakers Reunion” in particular, since rope is made by braiding strands. 310.18: “lall the bygone dozed:” all the livelong day; all the bygone days – being recalled in the dreaming of the (dozing) sleeper 310.18: “arborized:” this seems to echo Hamlet Senior’s account of his murder: he was dozing in the garden, and as a result of the poison poured in his ear “a most instant tetter barked about” his body - "barked" like a tree - arbor - growing bark. The subject of this sequence, after all, is stuff going into the ear. See 304.3: RM 1 and note. 310.19: “corpular fruent…reuctionary buckling:” see McHugh. Popular Front to reactionary: politically, far left to far right. “Buckling” may echo “backlash.” (Google Books shows that the phrase “political backlash” was current in Joyce’s time.) 310.19: “corpular fruent:” corpulent front: one of many testimonies that the male principal is fat 310.21. “lubberendth of his otological life:” length of his natural life: prison or transport sentence, especially the latter 310.22: “House of call:” Webster’s: “a place, usually a public house, where journeymen connected with a particular trade assemble when out of work, ready for the call of employers.” 310.23: “hallucinate:” as in, light up. Compare, for instance, 266.12-3. 310.24: "a lur of Nur:" Joyce's Notebook VI.B.45.105: "Jebel Nur (Mt of Light)." A mountain near Mecca. Aida Yared notes that "it was here that Mohammed first saw the light that was to lead his people into the way of the truth" - hence, the ("lur") lure of the light. Here, probably prompted by a scene-setting picture of FW's lit-up Mullingar House at night, as witnessed from outside. Compare 310.22ff., where a similar vista is set at twilight. 310.24: "a mirage in a merror:" scrying - that is, a vision-inducing trance state reached by prolonged staring into glass, for instance a crystal ball or, here, a mirror. Compare Bloom at end of "Nausicaa." Given nearby references to Mecca and to Islam in general (e.g., the previous entry), probably the "mirage"s of the desert 310.25: “bilaws:” bylaws. Compare 589.34: “a breach in his bylaws:” presumably local ordinances pertaining to the pub. Also Bilal, early convert to Islam, identified by Aida Yared as "the first muezzin" 310.25-6: “till time jings pleas:” till the time takes place. Anticipates the pub’s last call of “Tids, genmen, plays” (371.25-6). 310.26: “host of a bottlefilled:” the bartender. A pub is filled with bottles. 310.26-7: "hunter's pink of face, an orel orioled, is in on a bout to be unbulging:” a reference to the pub’s almanac picture. “Hunter’s pink” is a shade of red used for hunting jackets; here the color evidently applies as well to the hunter, his face flushed with exercise. As usual, he is about to be indulging in the drink but has not yet. 310.27-8: “an o’connell’s:” see .36 and note. 310.28: "the true one:" another Islamic allusion: Abu Bakr, "the True," an early follower of Mohammed 310.28: "seethic:" fermenting ale is seething as it escapes from bottle; compare "foamer" at 310.32; also 310.35-311.1. 310.28-9: "pledge of the stoup:" a stoup is a vessel for holding liquid, especially liquor. As both “stoup” and “stoops,” it appears in Hamlet. A “pledge of the stoup” would be a toast promising fealty or friendship. I think that such a gesture is part of the almanac picture – the parting cup. 310.29-30: “canterberry bellseyes wink wickeding indtil the teller:” in The Canterbury Tales the Tabard Inn’s (see 265.23) publican is named Harry Bailly/Bailey – here, “bellseyes.” He begins by selecting some of the tales’ tellers. This chapter will later (368.35) be summed up as “the stories.” 310.30: “teller:” the pub’s till. (Also, see 319.24-5 and note.) Elsewhere in the chapter, the word (or one similar) can signify either/or a bar’s beerpull or a ship’s tiller. 310.31: “hubuljoynted:” Joyce was, if not double-jointed, certainly, based on accounts of his spider dance, loose-jointed. 310.31: “tug:" tugging a cork from a bottle. As recorded in "Ivy Day in the Committee Room," beer bottles in Joyce's time were sealed with corks. In the following lines (.33-4), "he pullupped the turfeycork," and there is ("foamer dispensation") a foaming dispensing of liquid. Compare .34, .35, 36. 311.1 and notes. 310.33: “moyety joyant:” his wife, his better half. “Moyety:” moiety, half 310.34: “turfeycork…gobble:” turkeys gobble. Also onomatopoeia: the bubbling sound of the drink being poured. Compare 315.10 and note. 310.35: “pressures be to our hoary frother:” beer froths out of the keg because of released pressure. 310.35-6: “the pop gave his sullen bulletaction:” a popgun went pop, releasing the sudden action of the bullet. Also, of course, the sound of the uncorking. 310.36: “sled:” like a sled going downhill on some (“slaunty” (311.1)) slanted surface. Also, see note to 311.1. 310.36: “catharic emulsipotion:” Daniel O’Connell (.27-8) brought about Catholic Emancipation for the Irish. (Catholics, on the other hand, did pretty much the opposite to the Cathars.) O’Connell’s Dublin Ale (.28) was brewed by O’Connell’s son, also named Daniel. Continuing the beer-serving story: releasing it from its pressurized container was a catharsis, beer by some definitions is an emulsion, and in "Sirens," the words "Boylan bespoke potions" means that Boylan ordered drinks. 311.1: “down the sloppery slide of a slaunty to tilted:" beer glasses are sometimes tilted – held at a slant - when being filled. It reduces the foam. (Nonetheless, some foam is still sliding sloppily down the side of this glass.) 311.2: “Allamin:” aleman – a figure in square dancing. Seems to fit with the rest of the paragraph 311.5-6: “It was long after once there was a lealand in the luffing ore it was less after lives thor a toyler in the tawn:” in other words, Once upon a time. (Compare 21.5-6.) He’s starting to tell the story. 311.5: “luffing:” OED: “luff:” “to bring the head of a ship nearer to the wind.” Too much wind can cause the sails to luff in the sense of losing tautness, flapping around. 311.8: "jerkin:" a kind of jacket 311.8-9: “buttonhaled the Norweeger’s capstan:” to haul the capstan: crew members push poles extending from a cylinder whose gears weigh anchor, hoist sails, etc. Also, to buttonhole someone is to accost and detain them, often against their will. 311.8-9: “dressing but and:" dress button: a fancy button, sometimes gold or gold-plated 311.10-14: “So…O!:” the tale-teller’s invocation 311.10-11: “sought with the lobestir claw of his propencil the clue of the wickser in his ear:” stirring the lobe (of his ear), apparently with a pencil. Echo of “Earwicker,” seconded by “lobestir”/lobster (lobsters look like huge earwigs; both are arthropods); compare 310.9-10, where something similar apparently indicates sound penetrating the ear; also 312.16, 313.17. 311.12: “Efas-Taem:” a meat safe is a cupboard or similar enclosed space for storing meat. Given backwards spelling, probably not coincidental that “O, Ana” follows: Omega to Alpha reverses the usual order, and “Ana” is a (to be sure, minimum) palindrome. The next line includes “Thenanow:” “now and then,” (approximately) backwards. (The narrative of .10-14 is likewise backwards, beginning with things that happened “not before” (.8); compare the “passencore” (pas encore) of 3.4-5, also 388.1-3.) “Efas-Taem” is mock-Egyptian, and a mummy’s sarcophagus might fairly be called a meat safe. 311.13: “Thenanow:” Thanatos: death. Lines .10-20 parody The Book of the Dead. 311.13: “temptation:” given the context, the key, to either the beer cellar or the meat safe. Here, reflects employer’s concern about pilfering by the help 311.14: “the sweeper of the threshold:” Brewer: “to sweep the threshold: To announce to all the world that the woman of the house is paramount” 311.16-7: “slake your thirdst thoughts awake with it:” compare Mulligan in “Telemachus:” “The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue of Dedalus.” The tale-teller needs a drink to get started. 311.17: “Our svalves are svalves aroon!:” Brewer: “According to Scandinavian tradition, this bird [the swallow] hovered over the cross of our Lord, crying ‘svala! svala!’ (Console! Console!!) whence it was called swallow (the bird of consolation).” 311.17-9: “We rescue thee, O Baass, from the damp earth and honour thee. O Connibell, with mouth burial!:” (Oxford editors replace the period after “thee” with a comma.) That is, we take the beer, Bass and O’Connell’s, from the cellar and drink it. “Draught” as in draught beer, “whet” as in wet (one’s whistle). Tone is jokily mock-heroic: think of frat boys, “quaffing” their “brew.” 311.21-332.9: “ – Then…wiley!:” during this sequence, the spellings of “said” indicate the speaker. “Sagd” is for the sailor; “sayd” is for the ship’s husband; “sazd” is for the tailor. 311.21: “ship’s husband:” useful to keep in mind hereafter that a ship’s husband is land-based, charged with seeing to, often supervising repairs for, a ship when it comes into port. (“Husband” because ships are traditionally female; the title of his seagoing counterpart, the boatswain (boat’s swain), which will later become prominent, beginning on p. 370, means almost the same thing.) The presence of the ship’s husband, evidently Joyce’s addition to the original story or song, turns much of the narrative into a farce of miscommunication in general, mistranslation in particular: posing as an intermediary between sailor and tailor, he repeatedly mistranslates languages in which he pretends to be fluent. 311.22: “norjankeltian:” as John K. McNulty observes, a good name for the kind of hybrid language in use when the Vikings were making settlements in Ireland. 311.22: “Hwere can a ketch or hook alive a suit and sowterkins?:” Compare the wording and rhythm of the Prankquean’s (21.18-9) “why do I am alook alike a poss of porterpease?” – in both cases answered by similar-sounding monosyllables: “Soot!” (.22) and “Shut!” (21.10). If only as a way toward learning the FW house rules, be it noted that “Soot!” follows immediately from the question without any intervening indication, punctuation-wise or otherwise, that the speaker has changed. 311.22: “ketch:” a two-masted sailing ship or sailboat 311.23: “Soot! Sayd the ship’s husband, knowing the language:” not really, and it’s not at all clear that the sailor was inquiring after a suit-maker, rather than, for instance, a place go to fishing - fishing gear was a Mullingar House specialty – or, most likely, ship supplies: see note to .28. One of many FW encounters reminiscent of the “throw it away”/”Throwaway” kerfuffle in Ulysses. See .21 and note, .25-7 and note. In any case, the soi-disant interpreter/intermediary mishears “suit” (.22) as “soot” and makes a word-association connection with (“Ashe” (.24)) ash and (“coulpure” (.26)) coal. Along the same line, “tayleren” (.26) may be coal tailings. 311.24: "Ashe and Whitehead, closechop, successor to:" phrase used when ownership of business changes hands, here presumably from Ashe and Whitehead to Kersse. At 535.26-7 a senescent HCE is “Old Whitehowth…poor whiteoath,” suggesting that the shop’s previous proprietor may have been an elderly gent whose hair had turned ash-white. A (“closechop”) closed shop is one in which all employees must be union members. 311.25: “Ahorror:” A chara: Gaelic for “My friend.” Again, the ship’s husband wants to be everyone’s friend. Compare 313.7 with McHugh’s note. 311.25: "canting:" "cant" is special language of group or profession; sometimes associated with the underworld. The ship's husband seems to function - or affect to function - as a translator, someone "knowing the language" (.23). 311.25-7: “canting around to that beddest his friend, the tayler, for finixed coulpure, chunk pulley muchy chink topside numpa one sellafella, fake an capstan make and shoot!:” as self-designated translator, he turns from the speaker to the tailor and, assuming the latter is Chinese (see second .26 note), addresses him in stage-Chinese pidgin. (Although not a likely source, compare Mrs. Plornish in Dickens’ Little Dorrit, impressing a crowd by her supposed mastery of foreign languages when she tells an Italian visitor who has injured his leg, “Me ope you leg well soon.”) Again, his pretense to polyglottery is entirely or almost entirely a sham. 311.25: “that beddest his friend:” again, not really. As a professional go-between, this kind of glad-handing would go with his position. 311.26: “finixed coulpure:” 1. During Joyce’s time, shipping was undergoing a transition from coal to oil. Beginning with the British Royal Navy, most naval vessels had changed to oil by the time Joyce started on FW, but coal-fueled ships were still at sea. 2. “Pure coal” is anthracite, relatively free of the impurities found in bituminous coal. 3. Coal mined in Ireland was, in this sense, likelier to be “pure” than the English alternative. (English resources, however, were vastly greater; Ireland was dependent on English coal throughout much of the twentieth century.) 4. One of a ship’s husband’s offices would have been refueling – obtaining either oil or coal. (Which is to say, he may actually have been inquiring about coal all along.) 5. Although there were and are a number of companies named “Phoenix Coal,” none of them seems to have been English or Irish. 311.26. "chink:" slang for Chinaman. At the time, tailors - and, of course, launderers - were conventionally, if not Jewish, Chinese. Little or nothing of the tailor's idiom seems to support this association: again, it’s probably just what the ship’s husband – who is definitely not the tailor’s best friend – assumes. 311.26: "muchy chink:" more pidgin: a lot of money. Compare “Oxen of the Sun:" "He's got the chink ad lib." 311.27: "Manning:" meaning 311.28: “sayle of clothse:” another possibility: the sailor was asking the ship’s husband where he could purchase some sail-cloth for “his lady” (.28), his ship. (See note to .21.) OED: “sailcloth:” “Canvass or other textile material such as is used for sails.” 311.28: "his lady her master:" ambiguous sexuality here probably explained by "ship's husband" moniker. Captain/sailor is "master" of female ship but the husband's "lady." Compare 312.15-6. 311.28: “whose to be precised:” 1. was, to be precise. 2. was to be priced. They are negotiating the tailor’s bill; the deal is settled at .31-2. (Very briefly: the sailor, dissatisfied, will sail off without paying.) 311.29: “peer of trouders under the pattern of a cassack:” a sewing pattern – here, of a (priest’s, presumably) cassock, which would have the advantage of accommodating almost anyone. “Under the pattern of:” in the manner of, under the category of. In accordance with the story, about a tailor who couldn’t make a suit that would fit his hunchbacked customer, trousers made from a cassock pattern would be awfully roomy and would have little in common with the wearer’s figure. 311.29: “trouders:” in line with the (“ketch or hook alive” (.22)) fishing strain: a pair of trousers to wear when fishing for trout. “Trouters” are trout-fishers. 311.30: “saving the mouthbrand from his firepool:” compare 483.15, where, as McHugh notes, “Fierappel” is Firapeel, the leopard in the “Reynard the Fox“ stories. Here, someone or something is apparently escaping the leopard. Overtone of Zechariah 3:2: “a brand plucked out of the fire” 311.33: "fringe sleeve:” French sleeve: a sleeve that comes down to about mid-forearm and is entirely or almost entirely a feature of women’s fashion. This one even has a fringe. No wonder the sailor doesn’t like it. 311.35-6: “every bit and grain:” every little detail. The suit is finished, and perfect in every way. (The sailor disagrees.) 311.36 - 312.1: "hail:" halt. Also, "hale" as in "compel:" e.g. to "hale into court." Much of this sequence echoes the Pranquean story of 21.5-23.15. 312.1: "lugger:" lubber: applied to a sailor, the ultimate insult. Perhaps also "bugger" 312.1: “come bag to Moy Eireann!:” see note to 232.16. 312.2: "out of schooling:" i.e. a fish - in this case a blowfish (or puffer), appropriate for someone yelling at top volume - that has gotten detached from its school. Echoes of “fish out of water,” "telling tales out of school" 312.3: "All lykkehud!:" All likelihood! Ironic: fat chance! 312.3-4: "broken waters:" back-formation from "breakwater?" Obstetric sense doesn't seem to apply. Anyway, a ship moving ahead is breaking water. 312.4: "made whole water:" see previous entry. Perhaps: just as water is parted by the ship’s bow, it closes back up behind its stern. Also, of course, to make water is to urinate 312.4: “bark:” boat 312.5: “And aweigh he yankered:” setting off – weighing anchor - for the land of the Yanks 312.6: “seven sailend sonnenrounders:” seven circles (sailing or otherwise) around the sun would be seven years. Any mariner who has been gone that long without notice is legally dead; his wife is entitled to re-marry. Alternatively, the sun sails by seven times, making a week; see note to .19-20. 312.6-7: “brinabath:” compare 500.21-30. Many variations; the kernel phrase is probably “bride of the brine.” 312.7: “bottoms out:” the part of a ship’s hull below the water line 312.7: "fatthoms full:" “full fathom five.” Note: two folk songs in particular are relevant to the following. In “The Sailor and the Tailor,” to quote from G. Malcolm Laws, Jr., American Balladry From British Broadsides (The American Folklore Society, 1957), p. 250, “A sailor and his girl agree to marry when he returns from the sea. After several years he arrives home to learn that the girl is about to marry a tailor. He waits for the couple in the churchyard and persuades the girl to change her mind.” In another song, “The Tailor and the Sailor,” the girl gives her reasons for preferring the sailor over the tailor. In both cases the distinction is between adventuresome male and safe, homey male. See, for instance, 320.3 and note. 312.7-8: “fram Franz José Land till Cabo Thormendoso:” from a frozen land to (Greek thermē, heat) someplace hot. Also, see McHugh: from north (Franz Josef Land, in the Arctic Ocean), to south (southern tip of Africa). But see next: Cape Tormentine is far to the north, and the “é” in “José” suggests sunny Spain, in the south. 312.8: “Cabo Thormendoso:” maybe a coincidence, but John Cabot (“Cabo T…”) would fit in with this sequence of long-distant sailings. The site of his North American landfall is uncertain, but Cape Tormentine, New Brunswick, would be in the general vicinity. 312.9: “Rivor Tanneiry:” Rio de Janeiro (which has no river), but also: India’s Ganges River is and was famously polluted by tanneries. At 196.19, one of the washerwomen complains that clothes she’s trying to clean are stained with “gangres of sin.” 312.11-12: “holey bucket, dinned he raign!:” two songs: 1. African-American spiritual about Noah’s flood: “Didn’t It Rain, Children.” (Includes the words “forty days and forty nights:” (.9-10).) 2. “There’s a Hole in the Bucket.” Also, raining buckets 312.13: "bassed:" spoke (or yelled) in the bass register. Also, given the tailoring context, perhaps baste[d]. 312.13: “- Hump! Hump!” Ha! Ha!, from the (“broaders-in-laugh”) laughers – the pub customers listening to the story. See next entry. 312.13: "broaders-in-laugh:" perhaps "in-love" rather than "in-law:" the former is Stephen's term in "Scylla and Charybdis." "Brooders" would also add a coincidence-of-contraries spin to the “laugh”ing. 312.12: “piddysnip:” compare “Snip snap snoody. Noo err historyend goody,” at 332.1. Occurring just as the Norwegian Captain story is finally completed, it is glossed by McHugh as the “formula to end fairy tales.” At this point, the story is just getting under way, and the customers may be semi-facetiously demanding that the teller either speed up or shut up, that he either snap to it or (see next entry) snip it. 312.14: "piddysnip that wee halfbit a second:” compare 250.8-9 and note. This seems to include the fact that tailors sometimes cut threads – in this case, in the sense of narrative thread - by biting them. (See 317.24-5 and note.) In “Penelope,” Molly remembers “biting off the thread of the button.” 312.15: "rigout:" rig-out: a set of clothes, a costume 312.16: “the earpicker:” compare “the lobestir claw of his propencil the clue of the wickser in his ear” (311.10-11). 312.16 “wife’s lairdship:” if a husband is lord and master of his wife, a ship’s husband has lordship over the (female) ship. “Laird-” adds a Scottish spin. 312.17-313.6: “But…bee!:” this exceptionally turgid sequence is more about the teller than the tale – no one of the story-tellers is talking. Note absence of “sagd,” “sayd,” or “sazd.” (See note to 311.21-332.9.) 312.17: “endth:” last or latest 312.17: “ryehouse reigner:” presumably the pub’s proprietor, serving alcoholic beverages made from rye. Also (see McHugh), alluding to the Ryehouse Plot. Given the proliferation of religious conspiracies and conflicts to follow (again, see McHugh), the proximity of “queen of Prancess” (.22) to “casket” (.23) almost certainly refers to the “casket letters” which implicated Mary Stuart, queen of Scots (but raised in France and married to the French Dauphin), in a Catholic plot against the Protestant Elizabeth. 312.17-8: “crimp or cramp of shore sharks:” crimp: someone who, pretending to be of service, lures sailors into clip joints and other waterfront traps, where the “shore sharks” abduct them. (Compare next entry.) “Cramp” may just be the muscle cramp feared by swimmers. 312.18: "plotsome to getsome:" besides flotsam and jetsam, plotting to get him 312.19-20: “Cape of Good Howthe:” the Flying Dutchman’s ship is perennially spotted sailing off the Cape of Good Hope. As McHugh notes of .6, he “comes ashore every 7 years.” 312.19: “godthaab:” Scandinavian: good hope 312.21: “with twy twy twinky:” compare 22.26-8: “And the prankquean picked a blank and lit out and the valleys lay twinkling.” 312.22: "Prancess:" princess (of France). Also, see note to .17. 312.23: “heart of the sweet:” sweetheart 312.24: "hows he could keep her:" i.e. the wherewithal – which would include a house – to take care of her. Mistresses, of course, are traditionally “kept.” 312.25: "wohl yeas:" always 312.28: “the three blend cupstoomerries:” according to one tradition, the nursery rhyme “Three Blind Mice” is about the three churchmen Thomas Cranmer, Hugh Latimer, and Nicholas Ridley, burned at the stake by Bloody Mary. The theme of religious dispute continues. 312.29: "customed spirits:" phrase: accustomed spirits - i.e. their usual mood, generally understood to be good. Also, selling spirits, to customers, is the custom of the establishment. 312.29: "gob:" American slang for sailor in the navy 312.30: “shaunty irish:” "shanty Irish" also has connotation of low-class, both in America and Ireland (see 305.23), as contrasted with "lace-curtain Irish." Also, a sea shanty 312.32: “jewr of a chrestend, respecting the otherdogs churchees:” garbled and turned inside-out as usual, but the initial sentiment seems to have been ecumenical: Jew or Christian, we should all respect the other guy’s religion. I hereby tentatively suggest that the “chattiry sermon” (324.26-7; see note) – charity sermon – being broadcast on the pub’s radio is contributing to the mix here; note the “low frequency amplification” of .33. It would help explain why so many religious notes are suddenly present. 312.32: "otherdogs:" underdog's 312.33: “low frequency amplification:” a contemporary radio term – apparently a means of improving reception (not volume) in the bass end of the scale. At 313.4, the customers are said to have “bassabosuned.” 312.34: "to have another:" another drink, another round 312.35-313.3: “Lorimers and leathersellers skinners and salters, pewterers and paperstainers, parishclerks fletcherbowyers, girdlers, mercers, cordwainers and first, and not last, the weavers…Innholder, upholder:” with few if any exceptions, these listed occupations range from the low to the utterly infra-dig: “plebs” (.33) or worse. An “upholder,” for one, is either a dealer in second-hand goods or an undertaker; an “Innholder,” publican, was one of the despised whom Jesus welcomed to his flock; “leathersellers, skinners and salters,” workers in animal hides, were the Untouchables of India; “pewterers” were often gypsies. A charity sermon (again, see 324.26-7 and note) urging alms for the poor and toleration for the downtrodden, might well enjoin the congregation to consider them all as God’s children. “First, and not last:” Matthew 20:16: “And the last shall be first, and the first shall be last.” Also, as McHugh notes, the “poorest refugees,” with whom Mohammed shared food. That the list comes to twelve identifies them with the pub’s customers. 313.1: “first, and not last, the weavers:” an allusion to the folk song “The Weavers:” “If it wasn’t for the weavers what would you do,” etc. Point is, basically, that you couldn’t do much without clothes. The chorus ends with “…the weavers.” 313.4-6: "Sets on sayfohrt! Go to it, agitator! They bassabosuned over the flowre of their hoose. Godeown moseys and skeep they beeble bee!:" combines addresses to sailor: Set out, seafarer! The customers, being or considering themselves to be underdogs themselves, are on the side of the sailor, the “sporty” (312.17) rebel, like Moses vis-à-vis pharaoh. On the other hand, they are addressing the manservant, the "mosey" ordered to go down to the cellar and get more beer. Also, the customers are, again, telling the teller to get on with the story: enough preliminaries! “Mosey:” a slowpoke 313.4: "bassabosuned:" contains "boatswain," pronounced "bosun,” with long o. See note to 312.33. 313.5: "the flowre of the hoose:" hooch – liquor - flowing 313.7-314.6: “- I…boob:” the logic eludes me, but for much of this section the language of law replaces the language of religion, culminating in the trial testimony of 314.1-6. In these lines we hear of (.9) “as sober as” (the expected word is “judge”), of (.9-10) “godfather” (McHugh: slang for “juryman”), of “jurily” (.10), of kissing the Bible before testifying (“keeps the book” (.13)), of “suzerain law” (.14), of “the Thing” ((.14): Christiani: Danish for Court), of the prisoner at the bar (“the pilsener had the baar” (.14-5)), of a sotto voce statement being whispered in someone’s “hairing” (.17-8 – British judges and barristers wear wigs, made of horsehair, and compare 221.28, 491.30), of derogation and discharge (.18, .20), of “point duty” (see note to .19), of being sentenced to prison or transportation (.21: see note to 310.21), of compassion for the convicted (“peripulator” (.24)) perpetrator, of someone’s (“reidey meade answer” (314.3)) ready-made answer, of a “corespondent” (314.3-4; see note), of a “conflict of” evidence, and of a witness (314.2-4). It is a rule in Joyce’s writings that trials, supposed to bring the truth objectively to light, are exceptionally garbled and corrupt, and this sequence certainly qualifies. Two possible explanations: first, it would make sense at this point in the story for the unpaid tailor to sue the sailor (he is urged to take action at .4-6, but then, by the end the main issue seems to be Finnegan’s fall); second, in lieu of a convenient courthouse, provincial trials were sometimes held in public houses; hence “pilsener had the baar” (.14-5): pilsner beer served at the bar, prisoner at the bar. 313.7-8: "piece Cod:" the Peace of God – days of non-combat declared by the medieval church. Also: “The peace of God which passeth all understanding.” Also, in the tailoring context: a peascod belly: a fashion in the men’s clothing of Shakespeare’s time 313.7-13: “- I will…book:” tailor and sailor are rivals in love. The tailor is therefore happy - "sagasfide" (.11) - to hear (it turns out incorrectly) that the sailor, having contracted pneumonia and been blown to atoms, is no more. (“Smashed to atoms” was a common expression, but “blown to [atoms] Adams” (.12) may anticipate the nuclear war of 353.23-32.) “Pnomoneya”/pneumonia (pneu - wind), an inflammation of the lungs, consorts with the conceit of the sailor being “blown” to his death. 313.8: “ructified:” OED: “ruck:” “A crease, wrinkle, or ridge, especially in fabric; (also) a fold or pleat. Also figurative…"all in a ruck (English regional): full of creases; rucked up.” Hence, here, equal opposites: the tailor’s material is being both wrinkled and smoothed out. 313.8: "nap:" soft surface of fabric 313.9-10: “as sober as the ship’s husband he was one my godfather when he told me saw:” Kersse is pledging to do something, as sure as if the ship’s husband were his own father, or, even, one of his godfathers – in any case, the ship’s husband told him so (“told me saw”), and he takes, or took, his word as the truth. 313.11: “sagasfide:” incorporates the “sagd” signalizing the sailor/captain’s speech 313.14-315.20: “Whereofter…Eavybrolly!:” another stretch with no “sagd, “sayd,” or “sazd” (although the customers “sissed” at 314.20): the narrative focus here is on the pub rather than on the tale being told there. 313.14: "the Thing:" the Great: old man of the sea in Peer Gynt 313.15-6: "call him:" as in "Call the prisoner" 313.19: “point duty:” occurs in “Cyclops.” Gifford: “the duty of a police constable stationed at a street or crossing to direct traffic” 313.27: "frameshape of hard mettles:” mettlesome friendship; Fram – Amundsen’s polar ship 313.28: "mainly well mint:" mainly well meant; coins are minted (well, one hopes) of (“hard mettles” (.27)) hard metals, from mines. The bartender is being assured that the coin is sound. 313.29: "liquid courage:" alcohol 313.29: “bullyon gauger:” the gauge on a ship’s “bullgine” – its steam engine. (Occurs in “Oxen of the Sun;” see also 316.19.) Goes with ship’s “hold” (.30) – where, as gold bullion, accumulated by gouging plutocrats (hence “fight great finnence!” – (McHugh: Fight great finance!)) it is stored. 313.30: "pengapung:" sound of coins going into cash drawer 313.30: "hold:" again - ship's hold, where cargo (here, bullion) is stored 313.31: "little bratton:" little brat. Compare 270.4. 313.32-4: “fearing for his own misshapes, should he be himpself namesakely a foully fallen dissentant from the peripulator:” general sense: there but for the grace of God goes he. (An appropriate sentiment in a courtroom.) Recalling his own mishaps/missteps, of how he himself could have fully/foully fallen - descended to the lowest depths - he experiences fellow-feeling for the accused. Also, an appropriate reflection for (see 324.26-7 and note) a charity sermon. Also, feeling for the hunchback’s misshapen form: see .34-5 and note. 313.33: "himpself:" overtone of "hump." Also, perhaps, “hemp,” for the hangman’s rope – used to hang commoners, as opposed to the silken noose reserved for peers 313.33: "dissentant:" dissident 313.34-5: "rubbing the hodden son of a pookal:" rubbing the hunchback's hump for luck 313.35: "lather be dry:" leather is dried, by tanners (compare 312.9, 312.35-6), before being delivered to tailors. 313.36: “camel:” because of the humped back 314.1-6: “or when…boob:” disorder in the court: - Who the fucking fuck had the scaffolding removed? - You gave orders, babbler, was their prepared/ready-made (probably coached ahead of time by attorney) reply. In response the accused kicks at the witness. - And for whom in hell (“the dyfflun’s kiddy” (.5) the devil's city) were the planks removed? - They were wanted, bub. (An evasive, and insulting, answer) 314.3: "cutey:" cute: Irish slang for tricky - sharp and untrustworthy. Compare McHugh for “on the QT.” 314.3-4: "(the corespondent):” legally, a correspondent is the lover of an adulterous husband or wife - e.g., Parnell. Also, the courtroom reporter. I suggest that, as in “Cyclops,” parentheses here and around "missed" reflect a court reporter's practice of registering audience reaction - for instance "(laughter)" - in parentheses. 314.5: “dyfflun’s kiddy:” difficulty 314.8-9: “Bothall…turnup!:” rough translation: All the characters and chums humming in chorus gathered around in one body, musically drumming and strumming and trumpeting about the Humpty-Dumpty-ish fellow and his wall - the “-poof-“ (“pouf:” homosexual), the foolish old man who'd turned up fallen down with (“-sturnup”) his arse (stern) sticking up – which last detail helps explain “poof.” 314.9: "-waultopoof-:" waterproof - perhaps in ship context 314.9: "-sturnup:" turnip – see 517.7-8 - a blockhead 314.10: "do a dive:" to deliberately lose a boxing match 314.11: “Propellopalombarouter, based two:” revisits “peripulator” (313.33-4). Given “one” of .10 and “bimbim bimbim” of .13, probably “base two” of binary math 314.12: "rutterman:" rutting - having sex, impregnating. Also the ship's rudder man – sailor in charge of the rudder. Compare 5.9: "Hootch is for husbandman, handling his hoe." I think that there's a parallel being drawn here, between the ploughman, planting seeds in the row furrowed by his plough, and the rudder man/rutting man, planting roe in the wake furrowed by his rudder. Behind both is Shakespeare's Sonnet 3: "For where is she so fair whose uneared womb / Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?" Also: a ruddleman or reddleman marks (with red) the ewe who has been impregnated; “ramping” – being upright, on two legs – goes with impregnating either doe, (female) roe, or ewe. 314.13: "the muddies scrimm ball:" "scrimm" is also "scrimmage," a term from rugby but more familiar (to me, anyway) from American football. Unlike cricket or baseball, both games are sometimes played in heavy rain and tend to turn playing fields into mud. "Scrimm ball:" scramble. Whole phrase may = "the muddy scramble." 314.13-4: "And the maidies scream all. Himhim himhim." The maidens among the spectators are calling out for their favorite players: "Him!” “Him!" As usual, double i’s indicate the presence of Issy; probably not coincidental that the man – “rutterman” (.12) - has two t’s, Tristram’s usual signature. 314.15: "go lore:" galore - plenty 314.15: "mortar scene:" Finnegan's fall, with his hod of mortar 314.17: “luck’s leap to the lad at the top of the ladder:” the Liffey’s Leixlip: Danish for salmon-leap. Some salmon leaps are equipped with “salmon-ladders.” 314.19: “grist to our millery!:” perhaps alludes to the Liffey’s Shackleton Mill, in Lucan. 314.20: "extravent:" extra vent: either/both in sense of hydrostatics or haberdashery, with overriding sense of successful courtship and sexual consummation: he's pushing; she's yielding; the result is "intervulve coupling." In which context, the extra vent" may be the man’s trouser fly – although the word also goes for divisions in a jacket, either along the sides or in back. Also, extravagant 314.22-4: “Barthalamou, where their dutchuncler mynhosts and serves them dram well right for a boors’ interior (homereek van hohmryk) that salve that selver is to screen its auntey:” see 13.6-8 and note. Again, my candidate as the likeliest source for the pub’s almanac picture is Edwin Douglas’ Mine Host. It depicts a young woman serving a drink (on a (“selver”) salver) to a hunter on horseback, while the host, probably her father, looks contentedly on from the inn’s doorway. A dram is a drink of liquor. Swift’s Estella’s father Bartholomew Vanhomrigh (“homereek van hohmryk” (.23-4)), was Dutch in origin; hence “dutchuncler” and (“boors”) Boers. At 44.13 and 560.24-5, FW’s pubkeeper is “Barth,” “Bartholomew.” 314.24: "its auntey:“ "-s auntey:” Santé: a toast 314.24: “selver…screen:” McHugh reads as “silver screen.” Be it noted that this was a popular expression for the cinema. See next entry, plus, in the remainder of the paragraph, “futurepip feature” (.25), “pastcast” (.26), “flash” (.26) - movies were “flicks” because of the flickering/flashing quality of the early projections; see, e.g. 267.16-7 - “substittles” (subtitles (.26)); perhaps also “sohns of a blitzh call the tuone tuone” (.28) – talkies, by way of electronically produced sounds. 314.24-5: "ringround as worldwise:" back in the day, movie newsreels opened with a sequence showing the world turning round. (Universal Pictures still has something similar.) 314.25: "(pip pip pip):" three dots = "S" in Morse code. (Note Morse in .27: "noirse-made-earsy.") Probably relevant - it is elsewhere - that it’s the beginning of "S O S" signal. 314.25: "futurepip feature apip footloose pastcast:" future feature, that is, preview of coming attractions. Also, the pub’s apparatus is, in some cases, a time machine: see note to 310.7-8. 314.26: "pastcast:" broadcast, perhaps including understanding - included in "Ithaca" - that all broadcasts, delivered with the speed of light, arrive from the past. 314.26: "flash:" at sea, Morse code messages at night were/are often conveyed with flashers. 314.27: "noirse-made-earsy:" among the usual other things, a noise that has made its way to the (“earsy") ears. Also, younger readers may not know of the popular books of the time with titles like German Made Easy. Also, probably relevant that the (“substittles”) subtitles of line .26 were for foreign films, for instance in (Norse) Norwegian 314.27: "nephew:" usually Tristram/Tristan, Mark’s nephew, who sometimes communicates with Iseult via Morse code 314.28-9: "so long as those sohns of a blitzh call the tuone tuone and thunder alout makes the thurd:" loud thunder – from “blitzh,” lightning - supplies the sound of a third (long, compared to a dot) dash. Three dashes = "O," perhaps, as suggested above (note to .25), belatedly completing the "S O S" message. (There have been another three dots in lines .25-6). Also: a “thunderbox” was a portable toilet, so named because it amplified the sounds of the interior goings-on, (“makes the thurd”) turd-making and all. (OED’s first entry is 1939, but according to Google Books it goes back as far as 1909.) The sounds of a (“blitzh”) blitz, lightning, are of course cracks of “thunder.” Also, as long as those two sons of bitches are calling the tune, what are you going to do? As always or almost always, (“tuone”) two and (“third”) third/three signals the presence of the twins, the “Blitzenkopfs” (272.16-7); as often, there is a borderline “thurd” in the vicinity. With a modicum of creative math, one could probably get an 1132 out of the mix here as well. 314.28: "sohns of a blitzh:" lightning songs/sounds. Before wireless, messages in Morse were by telegraph - that is, electric. (Wireless’s Hertzian waves were also electric; see 232.10-1.) 314.28: "tuone tuone:" here as elsewhere, Tristram's Morse replies are dash and dash, that is two t's, for the two t's in his name. "Tuone" perhaps includes "to one,” which would assimilate his correspondent Issy/Iseult, who always or almost always answers with Morse’s two I’s, that is, two 1’s, that is, two ones. 314.31: "ungkerls:" uncles (echoing .22 and "aunty" of .24); young churls. Given recurring androgyny theme, maybe young girls, too 314.33: "rice assatiated with their wetting:" may be obvious: rice is traditionally thrown at newlywed couple. Somebody’s – HCE’s? – marriage is being remembered here. 314.33-4: “The lappel of his size:” the size of the lapel of his suit: another feature that the tailor didn’t get right. Also, the (“dopter” (.30)) daughter is the apple of his eye. Also, Lewis Carroll’s Alice Pleasance Liddell, as a.p.l.: sometimes, as apple of discord, ALP’s diminutive daughter or younger self 314.34-5: "sicckumed of homnis terrars:” perhaps: sick of all sailors (tars); second in/of all the world. In latter case, the daughter is, after his wife, second in his affections 314.35: "slalpers:" slip-slapping slippers. (“Circe” has “woman’s slipperslappers.” Compare today’s flip-flops.) See next entry: she had to walk to school in her slippers; he, by contrast, rode in a (“roalls davors” (315.1)) Rolls Royce. 314.35-316.1: “There were no peanats in her famalgia so no wumble she tumbled for his famas roalls davors:” gist: given how much higher his station was than hers (see previous entry), no wonder she fell for him. For “famalgia” see McHugh: a family with no servants, presumably because it couldn’t afford them. “Roalls davors:” echo of Rolls Royce (compare 5.30-1, 205.29, in the latter case contrasted with a conspicuously less expensive product of Morris Motors), symbol of wealth. (See 376.3 and note.) Semi-long shot: “peanats” may echo piano(s): one in the parlor was evidence of middle-class respectability. Also in (“roalls davors”) A Royal Divorce, Josephine, a commoner, loses out to the royal Maria-Louisa. 315.1: "davors:" favors 315.1-2: “A butcheler artsed out of Cullege Trainity:” both a bachelor of arts at Trinity College – yet another upper-class signifier – and, equally-oppositely, someone kicked (in the arse) out of it. The "butcher" in "butcheler" suggests lowborn antecedents, B.A. or no B.A. (Compare the “butcher's daughter,” Mrs. Mooney, in “The Boarding House.”) Also, of course, still a bachelor – unmarried 315.2-3: "Diddled he daddle a drop of the cradler on delight mebold laddy was stetched:" more wedding-night insinuation. His (“laddy) lady was (“stetched”) stretched, to his and perhaps her delight, when he deflowered her. A "drop of the cradler" would be semen, filling the cradle, thus making him a (“daddle”) dad. 315.2: "Diddle he daddle:" in “The Night before Larry Was Stretched” (McHugh), the condemned man, Larry, threatens to “scuttle your nob with my daddle!” For “daddle,” OED has “fist” for the noun, “dawdle” for the verb. 315.3: "Knit wear:" see preceding two entries. Knitwear can also be stretched. (Or stitched) 315.4: "the cry of their tongues could be uptied dead:" The clappers of, for instance, church bells are called "tongues:" they are tied up when the bells are not in use. I suggest that this fits with the bell-ringing sense of "tailor" in the old joke (in play at 317.26 and 327.3) that "nine tailors make a man." (Because three tailors are rung for a child’s funeral, six for a woman’s, nine for a man’s.) Equal-oppositely, "uptied" can also be "untied," for instance to be rung for the dead. 315.6-7: "be these same tokens, forgiving a brass rap:" general sense is that they want more drink for the money they've handed over, even though one of the coins turned out to be brass (perhaps determined by rapping it on the counter). “Brass farthing” is proverbial expression for something worthless. “Don’t give a rap” probably also contributes. 315.9-20: “Burniface…Eavybrolly:” among other things, a sailing race, with “Burniface” the winner. From behind, his boat “came up” with his competitors, “shot” (.11) by them – leaving them as (“tailors” (.11)) tailers, tailing him; as (“skibber” (.14)) skipper he “breezed in” (.14) to the finish, dripping with brine, his “sheets [sails] in the wind” (.14-5) taut to the maximum extent, bellying in a way (but then, HCE is always fat) resembling a (his) hunchback’s hump, then circled around to greet the losers following up behind, to “show them none ill feeling” (.17). Seems to suggest that holding on to the (“stickup” (.17)) tiller after the race is over would constitute a friendly gesture. I can’t find confirmation. 315.9: "Burniface:" hot-faced, red-faced, from drink. As confirmed later, he has the bad habit of sampling his own wares. 315.10: "brabble brabble and brabble:" onomatopoeia, surely: the sound of drinks being poured 315.10: “hostily:” hastily 315.11: "three tailors:" see note to .4, above, although I can't see how it fits here. 315.13: “the diluv’s own deluge:” compare 51.21: “the Lord’s own day for damp.” Here, the devil’s own deluge 315.15-6: "his rubmelucky truss rehorsing the pouffed skirts of his overhawl:" see 314.34-5 and note. General sense: the lumpy shape framed by his hump resembles (rehearses) the inflated "skirts" of his overalls, puffed up by the winds. Unclear what "overalls" meant at the time (OED’s second definition says they’re trousers going over the regular clothes, used in the military especially), but it used to be common for "skirts" to designate the edges of a man's jacket or coat: Victorian gentlemen taking a seat are sometimes described as "gathering up" their "skirts" before lowering pants onto chair. "Overhaul" is a nautical term for slackening a line or separating the blocks of a tackle - the sort of thing that's done as a ship comes into dock. 315.16-8: "He'd left his stickup in his hand to show them none ill feeling. Whatthough for all appentices it had a mushroom on it:" there are a number of sticks in FW, some of them menacing, but this one, capped with a “mushroom” – the outline being --), only vertical (please envision the dashes here as continuous, intersecting the arc) - is an umbrella (or, in better weather , a parasol: compare “paraseuls” in .19, the “brolly” in “Eavybrolly” (.20)) - and therefore harmless. (Though, to be sure, “stickup,” as in “This is a stick-up,” contradicts.) An early indication that a storm is underway outside. According to legend the traditional military salute began as a similar gesture, showing that the right hand held no weapon. 315.20: "cools:" see previous entry. Parasols are for cooling - especially, one imagines, when whirled around. 315.22: “bierhiven:” a pub is, in a manner of speaking, a beer haven. 315.22: “caboodle:” as in “kit and caboodle.” OED says it can mean “cargo.” Also, a caboose is the “cook room or kitchen” of a merchant ship. 315.23: “made straks for that oerasound the snarsty weg:” made straight for Oresund by the quickest way 315.24-5: “horenpipe lug in the lee off their mouths organs:” pipes in their mouths, proverbial for sailors. Also mouth organs. A “hornpipe” is a dance stereotypically danced by sailors. Think of Popeye: dancing the hornpipe, blowing toot-toot! out of his pipe. Also, since “horenpipe” echoes the Danish and German for “hearing” and a “lug” is an ear, he has his ear next to their mouth(s); compare 313.17. 315.25: “tilt too taut for his tammy all a slaunter and his wigger on a wagger with its tag tucked. Up.:” imitative form: the rhythm mimicking verse and dance. “tilt” = kilt. Scottish, it goes with “Tam O’ Shanter” in the same line. Also, the kilt is too tight/taut for his tummy. May refer back to “truss” of .16: a truss is a tight-fitting garment around the midsection (sometimes prescribed for abdominal ruptures). Gist: as usual, nothing in his outfit fits, not even his wig. 315.26: “wagger:” tail. Perhaps the pigtail common to sailors of the time, here tucked up into a hat or cap 315.27-33: “And he asked…Posh:” returning home, he asks after his old friends, especially Sackerson. 315.27-29: “how the hitch…where the hatch:” curse-dodging: “How the aitch,” “Where the aitch,” “aitch” being “h,” for hell. For now, he’s in a genial mood and doesn’t want to offend. 315.29-30: “suttonly…penincular:” Sutton Peninsula 315.30-1: “fraimd of mine:” frame of mind 315.30: “sutchenson:” so and so 315.31: “clown toff, tye hug fliorten:” telephone numbers which used to be registered in a three-letter, four-number code, e.g. BUTterfield 8 - - -. (This one would begin with C-L-O, for either Clo[ntarf] (an Irish exchange, one assumes), or, for the tailor, Clo[thes].) Goes with telegraph cable, on same line: he’s trying to contact old friends by all means possible. (Also via telegraph: “Clifftop” (.32) cues Clifden site of Marconi wireless station; also pneumatic (“pounautique”).) Irish telephones in Joyce’s time would have been rare, installed mainly in business and government offices. “Clown toff:” an overdressed, ill-dressed bumpkin, trying to pass of as a swell. 315.32: “Shelvling:” shelving: sloping gradually, as on a beach. Compare Stephen in “Proteus:” “the shelving shore.” 315.33: “Ware cobbles:” beware of the stones when coming ashore. “Cobble:” a water-worn rounded stone. In “Nausicaa,” Gerty, getting up, has to be careful of beach’s “stones.” 315.33: “Posh:” also “Stop” – end of telegram 315.34: “Skibbereen has common in:” Skibbereen – the skipper – has come in. Also, OED says “commons” can be either the meal served at an inn or the inn itself. (Legally, a “common inn” is one with overnight accommodations.) If the sailor is coming into Cork, he is being directed to food and lodging for the night, in nearby Skibbereen. 315.35: “pokeway paw:” the ship’s prow 315.35: “shinshanks:” compare “spareshins” (314.26). 315.35: “raven:” Viking raven flag – see 480.1. 315.36-316.1: “through the medium of gallic [new paragraph] –-Pukkelsen:” Brendan O Hehir has “Pukkelsen” as a Gaelic portmanteau word combining hobgoblin and boy. Two hypotheses: 1. The word thus serves as an example of (“gallic”) Gaelic; 2. The speaker is the ship’s husband, who routinely presents himself as intermediary and translator. 316.1-5: “Pukkelsen, tilltold. [New paragraph] That with some our prowed invisors how their ulstravoliance led them infroraids, striking down and landing alow, against our aerian insulation resistance, two boards that beached ast one, widness thane and tysk and hanry:” seems to support Viking scenario. “Pukkelsen” is a Norwegian name; he is a proud invader whose dragon prow features sharp teeth (incisors); he leads an ultra-violent raid, striking down everyone in his path and beating back all resistance from Erin’s isle (“insul”). The three witnesses are Scandinavian: “thane” (Norwegian for Dane), “tysk” (Norwegian for German) and “hanrei” (Norwegian for cuckold). 316.4: “two boards:” this has also been a storm wind from the sea, inadequately resisted by the pub’s shutters. 316.5: “Prepatrickularly:” all this happened before St. Patrick arrived. 316.5: “Prepatrickularly all, they summed. Kish met. Bound to:” gist: almost (practically) all the islanders united as one against the invader. They kissed when they met, they became oath-bound, they (.8) swore oaths and spliced and embraced as men (.8-9), declaring themselves the worthy heirs (or, depending on the era being called to mind, forerunners) of Brian Boru (.9). 316.6-7: “And for landlord, noting, nodding, a coast to moor was cause to mear:” minor departure from McHugh here. McHugh reads the last eight words as “customer was customer:” I’d say the article “a” is important: “A customer is a customer.” While his homeland was being invaded by murderous marauders and his countrymen are battling to repel them, he’s blandly calculating how to make a profit: well, if the marauders win, they’re going to have to go somewhere to eat and sleep, aren’t they? And, after all, a customer is a customer! As a long-occupied country, Ireland has had its own bitter experience of what some would call collaborators and others – like the ship’s husband – sensible mediators. 316.6-7: “a coast to moor:” finding moorage on the coast 316.9: “spluiced the menbrace:” spliced the main brace: nautical slang: served the crew liquor; followed, accordingly, by “Heirs at you, Brewinbaroon! Wet a whistle for methanks:” Here’s to you!, thanks to Baron Ardilaun, heir (“Heirs”) of the Guinness Brewery, and an all-round wetting of whistles. 316.14-5: “and that they did overlive the hot air of Montybunkum upon the coal blasts:” see 319.31 and note. Seems to be describing an oast house 316.14: “hot air:” hauteur 316.14: “bunkum” (“Montybunkum” (.14), with an overlay of “mountebank”) essentially means windy nonsense – i.e. hot air 316.15-6: “hiberniating after seven oak ages:” probably refers back to the sailor, being addressed by the ship’s husband (here as “good mothers gossip” (.11-2)): after all that time away, we thought you might be dead, not just hibernating 316.16-8: “fearsome where they were he had gone dump in the doomering this tide where the peixies would pickle down to the button of his seat:” that is, afraid he had drowned, in the process becoming pickled by the brine, at the bottom of the sea 316.17: “peixies would pickle:” “pixilated” and “pickled” both mean “drunk.” 316.18: “down to the button of his seat:” some carriage seats, for instance the one in “Hades,” have buttons. 316.20: “Ran’s cattle of fish:” see McHugh. The Norse Neptune’s kettle of fish: a kenning for the ocean, worthy of Beowulf 316.21: “Mortimor:” Joyce translated “Mortimer” as “death by water.” Compare 210.23-4. 316.21: “Allapalla overus:” ALP, here as the Liffey. A Muslim-like prayer to have her, and/or Allah, fly or flow over us 316.21-2: \ “Howoft had the ballshee tried:” see McHugh. A banshee’s cry traditionally signals a death in the family. 316.22: “home gang:” Danish holmgang” a duel, customarily fought on a (“holme”) island 316.23: “pauper’s patch:” a plot in Potter’s Field 316.24: “bum end:” bad finish 316.27: “bliakings:” Christiani says “kings from E. Sweden.” 316.29: “slave to trade:” among other things, a slaver – a ship transporting slaves 316.29: “vassal of spices:” a vessel bringing spices from the Indies 316.30: “dragon-the-market:” probably alludes to dragon-head prow of Viking ships 316.30: “be turbot:” compare 21.13. 316.31: “soused:” drunk 316.32: “open handlegs:” welcoming natives open their arms and spread their legs 316.32: “old faulker:” old fucker 316.34: “warry posthumour’s expletion:” he is now out of humor, feeling war-like 316.35: “that slob:” probably the manservant 316.36: “this jantar:” “-tar:” sailor – therefore the captain/sailor, speaking of himself – but also, as janitor/doorkeeper/porter/Porter, the proprietor. 316.36-317.1: “and let the dobblins roast perus:” let the devil take the hindmost. (“Dobblins:” devil’s; “roast:” rest, as in remainder; “perus:” perish; “roast” goes with burning in hell) 317.3-4: “when I’m soured to the tipple you can think me lead:” when I’ve become sick of drinking (tippling), you can consider me dead. Sailors in port are of course famous for their consumption of alcohol. Compare next entry. Also, compare note to .11. Also, “sink me lead:” lead sinker 317.4-5: “if I get can, sagd he, a pusspull of tomtartarum:” no one seems to have plausibly glossed “tomtartarum,” but the context strongly suggests alcohol of some sort. A pussful (see McHugh) is, like “skinful,” a personal overload of drink. I suggest that “pusspull” (.5) also describes the push-pull action of the beerpull (which will become prominent later) when pumping the drinks. (Also, “pushpull” is a term from radio mechanics.) 317.7: “could tolk sealer’s solder into tankar’s tolder:” again, the ship's husband is advertising his talents as a translator. Also, tinkers solder. 317.11: “Cloth be laid!:” table cloth, being spread for meal service. A note in Joyce's Ulysses notebook VIII.A.5 reads "Appetite of homing sailors." Along with his prodigious thirst for drink, this returning sailor is also very hungry for some decent non-shipboard food. Items from the pub's bill of "fare" (.20) - oysters, fishballs, ham, "food" in general - follow in the next few lines. They'd better feed him, or "this ogry Osler will oxmaul us all" (.16). "Ogry:" compare Bloom in "Lestrygonians:" "Hungry man is an angry man." Compare next entry and entry for .15-6. 317.12: “osturs:” oysters, which, for those like me who think that some FW particulars can be worked out in considerable and consistent detail, would mean that we’re in an “r” month (the rule is mentioned in Ulysses), thus excluding May, June, July, and August. (Again, your annotator’s candidate is March.) Also, oysters, being coastal, would be near the top of the list of foods not available on board an ocean-going ship. Also, of course, they were considered to be aphrodisiacs. Along with food and drink, the returning sailor is looking for a woman - will in fact soon be a suitor, pursuing his "suit" with tailor and tailor's daughter. 317.12: “swanker:” almost all of FW’s ten variations on “swank” signify swankiness; I suggest that here, in a manner typical of the ship’s husband, he is simultaneously groveling to his prospective patron/customer while hoping that the others recognize his performance as a form of heavy irony, apparent to all but the one being flattered. Compare Ulysses 12.1558-1620, and Lenehan in “Two Gallants:” “A shade of mockery relieved the servility of his manner. To save himself he had the habit of leaving his flattery open to the interpretation of raillery.” Nesting of “-wanker” in “swanker” may be a signal of that semi-liminal mockery here; same, later, with the “jibed” in “apullajibed” (.30). 317.13: “sand:” grit, fortitude under pressure 317.14: “ven:” Cornish for woman 317.15-6: “Ekspedient sayd he, sonnur mine, Shackleton Sulten! Opvarts and at ham, or this ogry Osler will oxmaul us all:” speed it up, Sackerson, and serve him, or this hungry/angry Viking will maul us all. Christiani notes that “Sulten” is Norwegian for hungry and that the explorer Shackleton failed to reach the South Pole “for want of food.” Accordingly, “Shackleton Sulten!” may be less direct address than an expression of alarm, as in: This is Shackleton we’re dealing with here, and he’s hungry! Step on it! "Oxmaul" probably draws on a common expression, then and now: I'm so hungry I could eat an ox. 317.19-20: “waiting for the tow of his turn:” some ocean-going ships have to be towed (by, for instance, tugboats) into port. 317.20: “fare:” that is, the pub’s offerings 317.22: “solder skins:” sooterkins – sweethearts 317.23-5: “first breachesmaker…secondsnipped cutter the curter:” evidently two employees in the tailor’s shop - a breeches-maker and a cutter 317.24-5: “munchantman, secondsnipped cutter the curter:” again (see 312.14 and note): tailors sometimes cut threads by biting them. Munch: to eat, with one’s teeth. 317.28: “himshemp:” a hempen rope was traditionally used in hanging commoners. (A silk noose was for the gentry: see 154.9-10.) Goes with “throats” in the same line 317.28: “throats fill:” full-throated 317.29: “repeat of the unium!:” repeal of the union – the 1800 Act of Union. See 320.19. 317.29-30: “Place the scaurs wore on your groot big bailey bill:” score a scar on your belly – an initiation rite. Also, score a tally on the bar bill (again, including both food and drink), which is apparently sizeable enough to evoke thoughts of the ("bailey") bailiff. Also, see 310.29-30 and note. 317.30-3: “big baily bill, he apullajibed, the O’Colonel Power, latterly distended from the O’Conner Dan, so promonitory himself that he was obliffious of the headth of hosth that rosed before him:” 1. his big belly is so prominently distended (being descended from that of the portly Daniel O’Connell) that – is he horizontal? supine? - it blots out the sight of his host, the head of the house (no wraith himself). Perhaps - although not clear - this has to do with the recent consumption of food. 2. Approaching Bailey Light, high on a Howth promontory, he is oblivious to the Head of Howth behind, with its “moultain haares” (.34-5) – what “Nausicaa” calls its “fell of ferns.” Also, like the Joyces, he claims to be ("distended") descended from Daniel O'Connell, therefore endowed with a degree of ("promonitory") prominence that puts his host, whoever he is, in the the shade. 317.31: “promonitory:” again, prominent. Also, “monitory,” adjective meaning “warning.” (What a lighthouse is for, after all: see preceding entry.) 317.32-3: “that rosed before him, from Sheeroskouro:” emerged up and out of the (chiaroscuro) shadows. Possible echo of "oscura," obscure, as in camera obscura. 317.32-3: “under its zembliance of mardal mansk:” its semblance of/resemblance to a mortal man. If only because of its name, Howth Head gets anthropomorphized a good deal, not least in FW. 317.34: “mansk:” Manx – Isle of Man: general sense is that the sailor is or was looking for landmarks – furze-covered mountains or promontories, for instance – and at first is not sure whether he’s approaching Howth or the Isle of Man. 317.34: “dullemitter:” delimiter. Can’t explain what it did, but a “frame delimiter” was part of the apparatus of wireless communications 317.34: “moultain:” molten mountain – a volcano 317.35: “plostures:” plasters: his hair is (imperfectly) plastered down. 317.35: “yon peak:” again, Howth Head 317.36: “acape:” 1. Daniel O’Connell with his signature cape, especially in the “hugecloaked” Dublin statue; 2. A cape is a (“promonitory” (.31)) promontory – for instance, Howth. 318.1-2: “that proud grace to her, in gait a movely water, of smile a coolsome cup, with that rarefied air of a Montmalency:” for “grace…cup,” compare 561.14-5: the daughter’s “gracecup full of bitterness.” Overall, I take this as yet another noticing of the almanac picture: we just had the mounted hunter (“do you kend yon peak?” (317.35)) of the “John Peele” song, now followed by the young woman of the picture, with her stirrup cup. Waiting girl or not, she’s distinguished here by her regal bearing. “Montmalency:” in Vanity Fair, Becky Sharp likes to claim descent from the Montmorencys, understood to be French aristocrats; in “Circe,” one of the prostitutes claims to be related to a Montmorency. 318.1: “in gait:” ingate – an entrance, that which enters. In context, seems to be about canal gates, with Issy as streamlet canalized from her mother the river. 318.3: “climbing colour:” that is, the color is mounting to her cheeks, under the influence of the romantic encounter. “Quick little breaths” come from the same influence. 318.3-4: “Take thee live will save thee wive? I’ll think uplon, lilady:” Will I marry you? Let me think about that. 318.4: “I’ll think uplon, lilady:” see previous entry. Also, I’ll drink to that, lady. 318.4-5: “Should anerous enthroproise call homovirtue, dumnafear:” a Dido-and-Aeneas subplot: Should onerous enterprise call me away from you to serve the virtues of my homeland, do not fear. 318.5-6: “The ghem’s to the ghoom be she nere so zma:” Given that “ghoom,” whatever it means, seems to be female here, an engagement ring, with gem – diamond. “Zo zma” – so small - seems to confirm that the woman is a child bride. 318.6-7: “her ancient of rights regaining:” “ancient rights:” a number of possible sources; the likeliest is from England’s 1689 “Bill of Rights:” “ancient rights and liberties,” being reclaimed after the reign of James II. 318.7: “yester yidd:” former Jew. At times, the wedding will require the captain to change religions. Rehearsing FW’s Shem-to-Shaun chronology 318.8: “mouse:” muse? 318.8-9: “a mere tittle, trots off with the whole panoromacron picture:” in FW, the male lover often signals his arrival or presence with two macrons – for instance the horizontals in T T. “Mere tittle,” at the beginning of this line, may be an example of the female opposite – two microns. Quantitatively, line 10-11’s “jilt the spin of a curl and jolt the breadth of buoy” certainly seems to follow suit: “breadth,” in particular, is a commonly cited example of a syllabic macron, as compared to words like “spin.” As elsewhere, short syllables are female and long syllables male. 318.9-10: “her youngfree yoke stilling his wandercursus:” his connection – yoke, as in “marriage yoke” – with the woman has put a stop to his wandering. Also, given (Bonheim) “youngfree” as German “Jungfrau,” maiden, a chastity belt, stopping his advances 318.10-11: “jilt the spin of a curl and joke the broadth of a buoy:” a “jilt” was a tease, a woman who flirted with men only to reject them. Also, Jack and Jill, who went up the hill 318.12: “Ethna Prettyplume:” given (McHugh) “Ethna” as Mount Aetna, the pretty plume would be smoke from its volcanic crater, doubling as a feather in a lady’s hat. (Long shot: paired with this, “Hooghly Spaight” (.12) may be the man as exploded volcano, wholly spent. See 319.6 and note.) 318.13: “for ditcher for plower:” sexual innuendo, once again referable to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 3. Vagina = ditch; penis = plow. Compare, for instance, 549.27: “I took my plowshare sadly, feeling pity for my sored.” Also, as part of his domestication, the sailor quits the sea and becomes a farmer, ditching and plowing. 318.13: “till deltas twoport:” as terminal of outflowing river, FW’s delta can signal both the source of life and (with echo of “till death us do part”) its end. 318.13-4: “While this glowworld’s lump is gloaming off:” in the context of a wedding’s first fine flush, the sobering observation that love and passion will inevitably fade – glow to glowworm, daylight to gloaming. Probably pertinent that this echoes the song, Moore’s “The Young May Moon,” that Molly Bloom and Blazes Boylan sing together on the night when they agree to cuckold Molly’s husband, who is in their presence. 318.14: “han in hende:” besides “hand in hand,” han is Norwegian for “he” and henne is Norwegian for “her.” Again, probably a sexual innuendo 318.15-6: ”the lowcasts have aten of amilikan honey:” compare Tom Kernan, in “Wandering Rocks,” on America: “The sweepings of every country including our own.” “Lowcasts” are low-caste Irish gone off to America, for them the land of milk and honey (and, for some anti-Irish, anti-Catholic, anti-immigrant Americans, breeding and marauding like locusts). Also, though the other way around, this seems to refer to John the Baptist’s diet of locusts and wild honey, mentioned at end of Portrait. 318.17: “O wanderness be wondernest:” the wandering rover has been domesticated in a wonderful homey love nest. 318.17-8: “Listeneath:” listeneth 318.19-20: “I oldways did me walsh and preechup ere we set to sope and fash:” see next entry. Gist: being old-fashioned, I always said grace before sitting down to dinner. Grace here is pretty impressive, featuring an archbishop (Walsh), preaching. Note that eating (and munching) follow in the next sentence. 318.20: “sope and fash:” soup and fish, traditionally the first two courses of a dinner, at least a formal one – which is why the term became synonymous with a gentleman’s dinner dress. “Fash” may suggest “fashion.” 318.21: “sad slow munch for backonham:” “munch:” eat, especially when eating slowly. Fits the context (soup and fish: first courses). May signal that the new (old) bridegroom, older and missing most or all of his teeth (compare, for instance, 270 Fn. 2), has to eat in this way. 318.20-1: “Yet never shet it the brood of aurowoch:” despite Richard III’s reign of terror (see McHugh), Earwicker blood was never shed. 318.21: “slow munch for backonham:” “So much for Buckingham!:” a line from Colley Cibber’s revision of Richard III, often thought to be in the original. “Circe” has “So much for M’Intosh.” 318.22: “not for legions of donours of Gamuels:” part of Middle East/biblical patch: in fact we wouldn’t shed his blood no matter how many camels you offered us in exchange. “Gamuels:” As rabbi, Gamaliel counseled against executing Peter and other apostles. 318.23-4: “Taif Alif:” “Taif” is “Fiat” spelled backwards. Let there be (a) lif(e)? Or, (also reversed) fila/“phila,” as in “Philadelphia:” beloved? Either would fit wedding context. 318.24: “I have held out my hand for the holder of my heart:” this combination - (two) hand(s) holding (crowned) heart - usually signals Galway's Claddagh ring. It often accompanies a reconciliation between FW's twins. It was once an unofficial engagement or wedding ring, apparently its significance here. Occurs frequently in FW, perhaps because of tradition that the original artisan was a Joyce. 318.25: “Annapolis:” Ann’s city 318.26-7: “gentlemeants agreement:” a gentleman’s agreement is oral – no legal contract – relying on the honor of the parties 318.28-30: “If the flowers of speech valed the springs of me rising the hiker I hilltapped the murk I mist my blezzard way:” flowers and freshwater springs down in the (“valed”) vale, mist and blizzard as one hikes to the top, above the snow line. Also, the increasingly bleak course of one individual life, especially a literary one (compare Yeats’ “The Circus Animals’ Desertion”), now having reached the (cold, murky) end, “hilltapped:” heeltaps = dregs 318.30: “knocker:” knock = Gaelic for “hill.” See, for instance, 3.22. Goes with “hilltapped” and overall climbing thread. Also, a knock on the head 318.31: “coldtbrundt:” extreme cold feels like burning – one of Bruno’s examples of the coincidence of contraries. Also, a cold front, arriving with the “natteldster” Nor’easter. 318.32:” “Alpyssinia:” Embedded “Alp” accounts for the cold. On the other hand, Abysinnia is hot. Again: Brunonian coinciding contraries 318.32-3: “wooving nihilnulls rom Memoland:” more “natteldster” gloom: “mummery failend” (535.30) – memory failing. Possible allusion to Winsor McCay’s Little Nemo in Slumberland, a comics-page series about hallucinatory dreams. (Note “Nemon” at .6.) 318.33: “spectrem:” spectre and spectrum, the latter accounting for the (“irised:” .34) rainbow 318.34-6: “plight, calvitousness loss, nngnr, gliddinyss, unwill and snorth:” at least some of these versions of the seven deadly sins seem specific to old age: “calvitousness” (baldness), “loss” (of, among other things, lust), “nngnr” (ringing in the ears?), “gliddinyss” (the elderly often suffer from loss of balance: hence giddiness), “unwill” (again, in general: being unwell, losing one’s will), “snorth” (perhaps snoring: elderly drowsiness). 318.36: “what you call your change of my life:” again, more signs of aging: male equivalent of menopause, “change of life” 319.1: “Hillyhollow, valleylow! With the sounds and the scents in the morning:” returns to reversed-conceit version of “John Anderson, my jo” (318.28): having climbed to the cold mountain height, looking down on the (318.18) valley below, he calls back to his point of origin as dawn breaks: “night” is “lifting” (319.1). So: the “his spectrem” emerging from the Irish Sea (318.33-4) was himself-as-sun, rising in the east: he was the one (“ringing rinbus” (.5)) bringing rainbows. 319.1-2: “the sounds and the sense:” pounds and pence. Also, sound matching sense – onomatopoeia or, more generally, imitative form. Compare 121.15. 319.4: “ersewild:” formerly (erst) wild; wild Irish. (Again: once landed, the sailor is being domesticated.) 319.4: “aleconner:” according to one legend, Shakespeare’s father was an aleconner. 319.4-5: “bringing briars to Bembracken:” similar to “bring coals to Newcastle.” (Bracken can contain briars.) Probably not a coincidence that “Bembracken” is within memory distance of “spectrem” (318.33). The Specter of the Brocken was a gigantic mirror image of, it turned out, yourself. 319.4: “Bembracken:” Ben Breacon. The Breacon Beacons are a series of peaks in Wales. Also spelled Brecon 319.5-6: “as you wrinkle wryghtly:” expression: as you rightly think 319.6: “bully bluedomer:” compare 317.30: “groot big bailey bill.” Throughout, versions of the name are applied to the proprietor; see 310.29-30 and note. 319.6: “it’s a suirsite’s stircus haunting hesteries round old volcanoes:” rough translation: it’s a mug’s game trying to recover one’s vivid yesterdays/histories in the places where they were lived out. Echo of FW’s Esthers (“hesteries”), Swift’s two Esthers, sounds a note of (yesterday’s) youthful passions. Probable relation to expression “exploded volcano” (appears in “Cyclops”), meaning someone formerly turbulent, now played out. O Hehir has “stircus” as based on the Gaelic for “the corpse of one who dies upright.” 319.9: “talerman:” tailor; sailor manning tiller; man at the till, with – at times, anyway – a beerpull doubling as the sailor’s ship’s tiller. (One of many places where the principals merge.) 319.9: “tasting his tap:” tasting drink from a tap. Follow-through certainly makes the drink sound like hard liquor of some sort, not beer: “three swallows” (.11), as McHugh notes, signals a brand of whiskey. (In “Sirens,” the Ormond has whiskey on tap.) 319.10-15: “He…Plumped:” follows through on whiskey-drinking of .9 319.11: “like he was muzzling Moselems:” like a muezzin summoning Muslims to prayer. Perhaps “muzzling” because the prayers are silent. In context, surely pertinent that Muslims eschew alcohol 319.11-2: “torched up as the faery pangeant fluwed down his hisophenguts:” he lit up when fiery drink hit his stomach. 319.13: “quicklining:” quicklime is highly caustic and generates heat. (Joyce remembered the quicklime thrown in Parnell’s eyes – it can cause blindness.) So the drink in question is indeed fiery, tickling the “tube” of his esophagus. (Compare 171.13: “firewater or firstserved firstshot or gulletburn gin.” Gin, for the record, is especially likely to induce heartburn.) Also/oppositely, according to Riverside Shakespeare note to Henry IV, II, 4, 124, lime “was sometimes used as an addition to wine to increase its sparkle.” 319.13-4: “the twobble of his fable, O:” fabliau: a French tale, therefore (“fibbing”) a fib, or lie. (“Twobble:” twaddle.) There follows the “Once upon a time” conventional beginning for such stories – the drink may have loosened his tongue, prompting him, sailor-wise, tailor-wise, to spin a (320.35) yarn. 319.16-7: “Ampsterdampster that had rheumaniscences in his netherlumbs:” damp was believed to exacerbate rheumatism – here, in the nether limbs, the legs, or (see next note) groin, the nether lands. (See A Comedy of Errors, III.2, line 123.) There would be a lot of damp in the Netherlands – or, for that matter, Ireland. Also, as a returned traveler, the sailor is feeling reminiscent: see .6 and second note, and .18: “we were heretofore” – we were here before. 319.18: “By the drope in his groin:” dropsy in the groin? (Today called “genital lymphedema”) 319.19: “plumbing his liners:” plumb line – used by sailors to measure water depth 319.21: “buckseaseilers:” Christiani: Danish bukseseler, trouser suspenders. Compare next entry. 319.22: “courtin troopsers:” courting trousers: dress pants, to be worn for courting. See .29 and note. Also, cotton trousers. See 321.25 and note: nankeen is made of cotton, and sailors traditionally wore nankeen. (Testimony on the material will shift: mohair at .29, wool at 320.10-1.) 319.23: “sagd Pukkelsen:” interesting that this seems to identify the sailor with the manservant, whose origins are distinctively Scandinavian. 319.24-5: “tuning round on the teller:” rounding angrily on the tale-teller; turning his back toward the beerpull (and toward the slate), which resembles a ship’s tiller, probably to start chalking tallies 319.24: “appeased to the cue:” one theory of the origin of the expression “Mind your p’s and q’s” is that it refers to the tally of pints and quarts on a pub’s slate. 319.25: “Tarra water:” tara water: a perfume produced in India, but the likelier sense is Irish (Tara) “uisge,” meaning both water and whiskey – here, the latter. The pub-keeper is complaining that the double-dealing customer is “wallowing awash” (.25) in the stuff without paying for it. 319.28: “weare or not at weare:” whether he wears them or not. Echoes “to be or not to be,” not just in rhythm but in sense: “We are or we are not” 319.29: “goat in trotthers:” again, courting trousers: see .22 and note. (Presumably the sailor is wearing a different, non-dressy, pair – given “goat,” of mohair.) 319.29-30: “newbucklenoosers:” something in the order of: new knee buckles, for knickerbockers 319.30 “Hops!:” the hops of an oast house. See entry for .31. 319.31-36: “– Smoke…ground:” gist: everyone (that is, the “loafers” (.32), the customers) laughed at the chaotic turn of events (see next entry), except for the (“sheep’s whosepants” (.31)) ship’s husband, and the “starer” (.33) hearing his story, who was afraid that the consequences would be disastrous. This last consideration indicates that he has a personal investment in the property, either as host or as host’s representative. 319.31: “Smoke and coke choke:” topography here is hard to work out – where, exactly, is the “oasthouse,” in relation to the main setting? – but it does make sense that things should become smoky after a drenched pair of pants is added to a fire somewhere in the vicinity. Eyes are watering; one customer feels that he’s been pushed toward the fiery furnace; at 320.6 we hear about “smooking publics,” i.e. smoky public house. The Wikipedia entry specifies that oast houses featured a “kiln” for drying hops over a charcoal (hence “coke choke” (.31)) furnace (“fierifornax” (.34) fiery furnace), and a “cowl in the roof which turned in the wind,” through which “heat” (and, presumably, smoke) can escape – perhaps explanation enough, what with the blustery weather, for how the smoke gets into the pub. Long shot: the “Hops!” “Hopy dope!” (319.310, 320.1), besides referring to the hops in the oast house (see McHugh on .23), may owe something to Mephistopheles’ repeated “Hop!” in the climactic scene, set amidst the fire and smoke of hell, of Berlioz’s The Damnation of Faust. 319.32-3: “sheep’s whosepants wished to the lord he hadn’t:” the ship’s husband (always the one trying to reconcile differences) who wished to God that he – the pants-burner, whose story makes everyone else laugh - hadn’t done that. 319.33: “starer his story was talled to:” The staring fellow to whom the story was told; at 320.1-2 he will have become deeply hypnotized. 319.34: “fierifornax:” overtone of forfex, Latin for scissors – standard tailor equipment, useful if this story by his antagonist the captain is to be cut short: compare 332.1,and see note to 320.3. Because of its scissors-like extremities, an earwig is (again, Latin) a Forficula auricularia. 319.34-5: “motophosically, as Omar sometime notes:” besides (McHugh) metaphysically, metaphorically. Omar, besides (again, McHugh) Omar Khayyam, is perhaps an orientalized Homer, here describing one warrior (“thurst” (.34)) thrusting the weapon (by way of Pope’s mock-heroic “glittering forfex”) either onto or into another. 319.35: “satuation, debauchly:” what with all the rain, saturation. Given the “debauch” in “debauchly,” “sate” is also in play. 320.1-18: “—And…clouth!:” the repeated “sagd”s establish this as the sailor speaking. Gist: he’s indignant that his rival the tailor can cut such a fashionable figure in his own fancy clothes, presumably made and fitted for himself, as contrasted with the botched job he did for the sailor. 320.1-2: “- And hopy dope! sagd he, anded the enderer, now dyply hypnotised or hopeseys doper:” the sailor (again, identified by “sagd”), the one telling and (“enderer”) now ending his story, is as blotto – deeply/doubly hypnotized – as the other, the “starer” to whom the story was being told. “Dope:” dopey, like one drugged; compare “Oxen of the Sun:” “Dope is my only hope.” 320.3: “tarrapoulling:” “tarpaulin” is slang for sailor. (Sailor’s hats are or were made of tarpaulin. “Tar” is the short version.) In the song “The Sailor and the Tailor” (see note to 312.7) the sailor is “a brisk young Tarpolian whose name it was John.” 320.3: “the shines he cuts:” to “cut a shine” is to show off. Also, “tailor” means cutter. 320.4-5: “nosestorsioms in his budinholder:” the groom traditionally wears a flower in his buttonhole. In general, a sign of dandyism. (Nasturtiums, in the language of flowers, signify heroism, patriotism.) The sailor, speaking here, is furious that his rival the tailor has the unfair advantage of being able to outfit himself fashionably. (A (“nosestorsioms”) twisted nose probably encompasses the sense of nose-in-the-air, stuck-up, equal-oppositely paired with the sense of nose-up-the-butt – brown-nosing.) 320.7: “thelitest:” the most elite 320.7: “dubblebrasterd:” in movies of the thirties, fashionably wealthy men are sometimes identified by (presumably blue) double-breasted jackets, perhaps because of the association of such outfits with yachting. See next entry. 320.7: “navvygaiterd:” Navy gaiters. (Classy in its way, but, as in “Circe,” a “navvy” can be a low-order laborer.) 320.10-11: “I will put his fleas of wood in the flour, and he sagd, behunt on the oatshus:” “flour” = fire. Threatened payback for the pants put in the oast house ire. (Wool) fleece in fire would reverse God’s blessing on Gideon (314.14 and note). 320.11: “not wellmade:” not well-met 320.13-4:"scaldedhim all the shimps names in the gitter!:" "scald" is an Elizabethan term of contempt, implying dirt and disease. 320.12: “unmentionablest:” unmentionables: euphemism for underwear 320.14: “gusset sewer:” sewer of gussets: tailor. Nothing disreputable about that, but the overtone of “gutter,” next to “sewer,” (pronounced "soo-er") insinuates otherwise: the sailor is casting about for avenues of insult. 320.16: “kirtle:” a man’s tunic or coat; a woman’s gown, skirt, or outer petticoat 320.16-7: “that woe worstered wastended shootmaker:” West End or not, as a tailor he’s the worst shirtmaker who ever worked at the trade. “Waste ends,” meaning the waste ends of threads, is a weaving term. 320.17: “wastended:” in context, the West End as the fashionable part of London 320.17: “poked a noodle in a clouth:” “clouth” = clout, a scrap of cloth used to patch up clothing. Also, a cruise through Google Books confirms that a clout can serve as makeshift headgear. For example in Hamlet (of which there is a good deal in the vicinity), according to a player, Hecuba, in extremis, wore “a clout upon that head / Where late the diadem stood,” and in “Oxen of the Sun” men caught in the rain “make shelter for their straws [straw hats] with a clout or kerchief.” So to poke “a noodle” (head) in a clout would be to cover one’s head. For another instance of “noodle” as head, see 143.9. 320.19-20: “How he hised his bungle oar his shourter and cut the pinter off his pourer and lay off for Fellagulphia in the farning:” this sounds like Odysseus, going inland with an oar over his shoulder until someone thinks it’s a farmer's winnowing fan. Cutting his “pinter” – ship’s painter, the rope attaching it to the harbor – would signal his intention not to go sailing again (also, see next entry); “farning” echoes farming – the agricultural interior, where people tend crops and don’t think of the sea. (See note to 318.13.) As usual, the opposite is also implicit: he’s cutting the painter in order to set sail again; “Fellagulphia” signals an inland city but also some blue-water “gulf” or other; “farning” echoes both farming and foreign. 320.19: “cut the pinter:” Brewer: “A common expression in 19th and early 20th century for Ireland’s proposed separation from England” 320.21: “Brighten-pon-the-Baltic:” considering spelling of “Brighten:” compared to Brighton (or Ireland), the sun comes up earlier in the east (e.g. in the Baltic: compare 319.1 and note), the sailor’s origin. 320.22: “threathy hoeres a wuke:” thirty houris/whores at his disposal: a Muslim man’s (or martyr’s: “hoeres” is an anagram of “heroes”) paradise; presumably thirty rather than seventy-two in this case to accommodate FW’s 28-29-30 leap-year girls. In addition to settling down to a regular day job, he will have to give us his sailor’s girl-in-every-port history. 320.23: “Stuff, Taaffe, stuff:” “stuff!:” nonsense! Note that the ship’s husband is, as always, doing his best to split the difference, addressing “the boath of them consistently” (.23-4): faults on both sides and all that, but it’s really time for you two to knock off the bickering. Also, an echo of “Stop, thief, stop!” – a motif from the prankquean episode of I.1 320.27: “the eyewinker on his masttop:” some navigational lights flash on and off, winking. Also, this would seem to have to do with, or with whatever is behind, what is sometimes called the “creepy eyeball” on top of the pyramid on the obverse of “The Great Seal of the United States,” on the American one-dollar bill – usually taken to be a Masonic symbol. “Masttop:” mastaba (see 6.10), an Egyptian proto-pyramid 320.27-8: “from Afferik Arena…till Blawland Bearring:” from Africa to the Bering Sea: hot to cold. Also, Christiani has “Blawland” as ”Blaaland,” “a name for Africa in the sagas." (Compare "Alpyssinia" (318.32) and note.) 320.30-1: “soaking scupper, didn’t he drain:” a boat’s scuppers are for draining off water. Also, given “he,” skipper: the captain, soaked. Oxford editors put an exclamation mark after “drain.” 320.33: “Bullysacre, dig care a dig:” a French phone number? (Prefix) “deux quarante deux - that is 2402? Compare 501.8-9. Also: “Bullysacre:” backward-scrambled “Sacre Bleu!,” curse of a cartoon Frenchman 320.34: “passed the buck:” I’m not sure if this expression is familiar outside America. It means to shirk an assignment or decision by passing it on to someone else. 320.35-6: “baffling yarn sailed in circles it was now high tide for the reminding pair of snipers:” OED: the original sense of “to baffle” is “To subject to public disgrace or infamy” – here, courtesy of snipers. The language applies to both tale-telling (a sailor’s “yarn”) and a sewing or knitting circle, proverbially gossipy, including a pair of scissors for snipping the thread. See 319.34 and note, 332.1. 321.1: “powers:” given the “three swallows” of 319.11, this may signal Powers whiskey. 321.2-14: “Ignorinsers’ bliss…highway:” “Ignorinsers’ bliss” seems to be the subject of this sentence. The pub’s rinser – bottle-washer – is the manservant, who is certainly ignorant. He’s often the butt or target of people’s comments (.2-3); he’s none too wise – in fact as a “poor fish” he’s outright stupid (.3). He’s the torchbearer signaling customers after dark (.4-5: 221.7 has him as “torchbearing supperaape);” he enters the pub (or “bar” (.7)) from the direction of his alternate location in this chapter, the “outback” behind the oast house. 321.3: “poor fish:” a dullard 321.5-6: “the corollas he has saved gainst the virus he has thus injected!:” since the 19th century, cholera has been treated with (injected) vaccine. This passage seems to think of it as inoculation, in turn a form of homeopathy – inject the virus to reject the virus. (Not true, and cholera is a bacterium, not a virus.) Cholera was and is a disease of the poor. 321.6: “discoastedself:” disclosed himself, with results even he finds disgusting 321.7: "kipsie:" from Digger Dialects – A Collection of Slang Phrases used by the Australian Soldiers on Active Service, compiled by W.H. Downing, as recorded in Genetic Joyce Studies, Issue 18, by Ian MacArthur and Geert Lernout, hereinafter designated Digger Dialects: "Lean-to; shelter, house; dugout." The Australian origin of the term is probably confirmed by "outback's" (.8). 321.7-8: “breaking and entering, from the outback’s dead heart:” mention of crime may cue the appearance of (“astraylians” (.9)) Australians, as transported convicts - hence all the Australian slang in the vicinity. 321.9: “wattsismade or bianconi:” he is (“discoastedself” (.6)) disclosing himself by electric light (measured in “watts-”) and/or ship-to-shore radio, invented by (“bianconi”) Marconi. 321.9: “astraylians in island:” Australia-in-Ireland, after the model of Turkey-in-Europe. Also, astray in Ireland/the island 321.13-4: “elegant central highway:” given setting, midway between Dublin’s North and South Circular Roads (according to McHugh; I suggest the canals may be an alternative), presumably the Liffey, toward which an incoming ship should steer 321.14: “Open, ‘tis luck will have it!:” it’s open, as luck would have it. 321.18: “Slumber Deep:” deep slumber, of course, but perhaps also Sunda Deep, the deepest point of the Indian Ocean; compare “Ithaca:” water’s “unplumbed profundity in the Sundam trench of the Pacific.” (Joyce gets the ocean wrong, and at the time may have thought that this was the lowest point on the planet.) 321.18-9: “courting daylight in saving darkness:” compare “saving daylight” (30.13). Both seem to refer to Daylight Savings Time, which had been around in Britain and elsewhere since World War I. 321.21: “Contrescene:” French, but Larousse doesn’t have it. My translation of a Spanish source reads, “staged comedy within an argument” [presumably in sense of the course of the whole production]. The very important people are the servants.” Some of the next paragraph seems to go with this Saturnalian turn-around, for instance “what’s yours as [is] minest [mine]” (.22). 321.25: “bow on the hapence:” bow? In fact it would have been a sow, with piglets – going along with the other coinage animals listed in .26-7. (McHugh does list “sow” as one of them, but apparently out of place; your annotator is baffled.) Be that as it may, Oxford editors have nothing on “bow” but do insert “as the strong waters were rising, with” after it. “Strong waters” is (as in “Aeolus”) a term for liquor. 321.27: “covethand:” covetous hand – scooping up money 321.27-8: \“saved from the drohnings they might oncounter:” saved from getting drowned where they had lain, on the counter. Noah’s animals, of course, but this is also one of many indications that the inside of the pub has been wet by various events letting the storm in. 321.28: “cubid:” given Noah vein here, it’s pertinent that his ark was measured in cubits. 321.28-9: “to hide in dry:” the animals are taking refuge in the dry ark. 321.29: “tin:” slang for money 321.29: “topple:” tipple: a drink or to drink 321.32: “desert roses:” “Many a rose is born to blush unseen / And waste its sweetness on the desert air.” 321.33: “scrub:” Australian slang for a wooded area 321.34: “Reenter Ashe Junior:” the first appearance was at 311.24. 321.34: “Peiwei:” Peewee: American nickname indicating small stature. Would go with traditional image of tailor 321.34: “Peiwei toptip:” pea coat: typical sailor’s coat, here, along with the nankeen trousers (see next entry), the top half of the ensemble 321.35: “nankeen” trousers: as at 319.22, customary wear for sailors 321.35: “Cheroot:” a cigar. He’s smoking one. 322.1: “- Take off thatch whitehat:” in accordance with the rest of his getup (see notes to 321.34 and 321.35), a sailor’s hat is typically white. Why is the group, or at least some of it, outraged? The charge seems to be that he is not a real sailor, that, being a tailor, he’s simply made himself a sailor costume. 322.2: “stuumplecheats:” stable cheats – those who get inside tips from the stable 322.3: “Conan:” Brendan O Hehir reports that Conan is the companion of Finn McCool. 322.3: “dangieling his old Conan over his top gallant shouldier:” the kind of rakish pose typical of gallants. (In “Two Gallants,” Lenehan has his “light waterproof…slung over one shoulder in toreador fashion.”) Also, soldiers (“shouldier”) are supposed to be gallant. Also, the cape in the Dublin statue of Daniel O’Connell is noticeably off-center. 322.4: “lao yiu shao:” once again, the tailor is stage-Chinese. Also in lines .6, .12 322.4: “nevay:" Neva, river of St. Petersburg, headquarters for Russian’s Baltic (naval) Fleet 322.5: “Tape off that whilehot:” take out that wallet. (At line 8 he’ll be called a “welsher.”) 322.7: “the costume of the country:” phrase: the custom of the country 322.8-9: “you suck of a thick:” you son of a bitch 322.8: “saw foull and sew wrong:” so foul and so wrong. Also, again: he, the tailor, is a lousy sewer. Probable echo of “so and so.” 322.9: “confiteor yourself:” note “fit” in “confiteor:” in the story, the tailor is accused of not being able to make a suit that fits the sailor; here, the charge is that he probably couldn’t even make one to fit himself. 322.10: “cuttered up:” cut up – to misbehave flamboyantly. Around since 1927. Also, a cutter is a kind of naval vessel. Also, of course, tailor means cutter. 322.10: “misfutthered:” in context, fucked up. Also, probably “misfitted:” see .9 and note. 322.10-11: “in the most multiplest manner:” in every conceivable way 322.11-3: “for that poor old bridge’s masthard slouch a shook of cloakses…his own fitther couldn’t nose him).:” gist: you’ve misfitted that poor old ("bridge's masthard") bitch’s bastard so badly that his own father wouldn’t know him. (“Bitch’s bastard” occurs in “Wandering Rocks.”) “Bridge’s masthard:” the (misfitted) ship’s captain: master of the bridge; the bridge is a ship’s command center. So: this is someone speaking up on behalf of the captain, not the captain himself. 322.14-5: “And the pounds that he pawned from the burning:” confusing, this. One, you don’t pawn (English) pounds; you receive them in exchange for pawning property. Two, what burning? May still be referring to the oast house business: see note to 319.31. Also, possible echo of the phrase “a brand saved from the fire,” for salvaged souls 322.16: “do:” to “do” someone is to cheat them successfully. 322.17: “horsey dorksey gentryman:” A “horsey” gentleman is fashionably upper-class, i.e. gentry, and dressed accordingly – which, here, is how you can tell. Incongruously or not, a sailor – a captain, say - dressed in what looked like yachting regalia would count as a member of the horsey set. So: “there is always something racy about, say, a sailor on a horse” (606.34-5). (On the other hand, the expression "sailor on a horse" signifies someone incongruously out of place - a fish out of water.) 322.17: “Serge Mee, suit:” serge suit 322.19: “blazy raze:” bloody race; fiery razing (of ship?) 322.20: “from spark to phoenish:” from beginning to end of (phoenix-like) fire 322.21: “tig for tager:” little doubt that “tig…tager” is here because tigers are (“kyat” (.22)) cats, with “stripe”s (.22). Less certain: allusion to Tigger of the Pooh stories? See note to 244.10. 322.21-2: “strop for stripe:” flogging with a strop, producing stripes on the back. Probably also refers to jockeys whipping horses: see next entry. 322.22: “as long as there’s a lyasher on a kyat:” as long there’s a lash on a cat-o-nine-tails – which, so the sea novels of Patrick O’Brian taught me, was often abbreviated to “cat.” So: as long as one of its nine (“strop”s) lashes (and (cat) nine lives) remains 322.25: “Same capman no nothing horces:” in view of exchange (see .17 and note), probably an abbreviation of something like: this same captain seems to know nothing about horses. 322.25-6: “two…three:” in proximity to each other, two and three always or almost always signal the twins. 322.27: "knockingshop:" Digger Dialects (see 321.20 and note): a squalid place, possibly a brothel 322.28…31: “impedance,” “mhos for mhos” (see McHugh), “dielectrick” and, I suggest, “point” all recall the presence of the pub radio. The (usually triangular) indicator on a (usually round) radio (“dielectrick”) dial was called a dial pointer, because it pointed to the number of the frequency on the band which had been chosen for broadcast. 323.25ff. will confirm that the radio has been noising away, sometimes quite boisterously. 322.29: “malttreating themselves to their health’s contempt:” Irish pub custom: a group of two (or three, usually more) may “treat” one another to drinks indefinitely: one buys a round for the group, from which point on it is understood that every other member must follow suit, after which the default, more likely than not, is to start another round…definitely a tradition practiced in contempt for one’s health; there were Irish “antitreating leagues” (mentioned in “Cyclops”) campaigning against the practice. McHugh has “malt” being whiskey; it can also be beer. 322.30: “fag:” faggot, for a fire 322.33: “millestones:” millstones – oppressive incumbrances. In the New Testament. Also, of course milestones, measuring the distance from Nelson’s Pillar (.32), traditionally Dublin’s center, from which such measurements are taken 322.33-4: “millestones of Ovlergroamlius:” see 73.33-4 and McHugh’s note. Oliver Cromwell’s lambs – that is, soldiers - have, combining and reversing the stories of Cadmus and Deucalion, turned into Dublin (mile)stones, here grouped with two other local stone edifices, Nelson’s Pillar and King William’s statue. 322.34: “libitate nos, Domnial:” “libitate:” plural present indicative for Latin libare, to pour; hence Latin “nos,” not “us.” Pour us more drinks. Also, liberate us!, addressed to Daniel O’Connell, the Liberator. (For a combination of both, O’Connell-themed libation-liberation, see note to 310.36; also, see next item.) Also, see 323.26 and note: in the background, the radio has been either a kind of time machine (see note to 310.7-8), broadcasting the voice of the pre-electric O’Connell or, just possibly, a radio actor reciting one of his more fiery speeches. 322.35: “ham muncipated:” O’Connell was also called the Emancipator. 322.35: “szed:” a fourth, and new, version of “said;” see note to 311.29-322.9. 322.36-323.1: “beau on the bummell:” the bow (of his ship) on the river 323.1: “on the bummel:” possible allusion to Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men on the Bummel, in which a “bummel” is a journey without a purpose 323.1: “bugganeering wanderducken:” Ibsen’s The Wild Duck includes a reference to the legend of the Flying Dutchman. In “Circe,” Bloom excoriates “buccaneering Vanderdeckens” as, among other things, his imagined romantic rivals; he is probably thinking of Wagner’s version of the story, in which Van der Decken steals Senta, the female lead, from her landlubber boyfriend Erik. “Bugganeering” sounds “buggering;” “wanderducken” sounds “Wandervögl” (see 419.14), the German youth movement which by the time this passage was being written had been co-opted by the Nazis. (Vögel: German for bird; Joyce probably chooses duck because like the rival captain it is waterborne (at .13 it becomes a goose) and because of the Ibsen connection.) 323.2: “his pumps may ship:” pump ship. (For equal-opposite, see next entry.) 323.2: “ship:” “ship water,” or “ship a sea” – expressions: when a ship takes on water, in the latter case, a lot of water – which would require (see previous) using the pumps. 323.2: “shandymound of the dussard:” see McHugh, and compare .23: thought of camels is probably prompted by the captain’s hump. 323.3: “highsaydighsayman:” includes seaman, with likely overtone of semen 323.4: “tugs:” togs – clothes 323.4-5: “the bloedaxe bloodooth baltxebec:” compare 167.13-5. An out-of-control imprecation, being propelled by alliteration 323.6: “hawsehole:” a hole in the deck of a ship through which an anchor cable passes – here, as a potential point of entry for the alien captain’s infiltration 323.6: “donconfounder:” ship's founder 323.6-7: “donconfounder him, voyaging after maidens, belly jonah hunting the polly joans:” Don Juan, chasing after women, for instance (see note to .1) Senta. In “Circe,” prostitutes are “jolly girls.” 323.7: “belly jonah:” Billy Joe, a typical male name in the American south. Also, a (bally) “jonah:” a ship’s passenger who brings bad luck. Also, possible overtone of “bullgine:” see 313.29 and note. 323.8: “spit in his flags:” spit on his flag. May also mean to spit in the fireplace, with its flagstones, commonly called flags 323.9: “after Donnerbruch fire:” we’ll fight after the manner of those at Donnybrook Fair (origin of “donnybrook” as brawl) 323.10: “Reefer was a wenchman:” probably obvious: a wenchman is a man given to wenching. Again, the charge is that he is a philanderer. 323.10-1: “One can smell of his wetsments how he is coming from a beach of promisck:” low-tide smell coming off the vestments of the (supposed) sailor. “Promisck” may include “dilisk,” the seaweed gathered on Ireland’s west coast seasides to make ice cream. Breach of promise suits, in which a man was accused of seducing a woman with a false promise of marriage, would be the kind of thing a "wenchman" would have to worry about. The speaker here is the tailor, fuming about how his philandering rival the sailor has lied in order to win over the woman. 323.12: “Free kicks:” Scotland’s Free Kirk. See 325.33-326.3 and note. 323.12-3: “Free kicks he will have from me, turncoats, in Bar Bartley if I wars a fewd years ago:” if I were younger, I’d kick him. Confusing, because sometimes the tailor is the father, sometimes the suitor, of the woman being wooed. (On reason for her refusal is that marrying him would just be the same-old same-old.) 323.14: “salestrimmer:” a reefer (.10) would be in charge of trimming – and reefing - the topsails. By analogy, a “trimmer” is an opportunist – someone who always bends with the prevailing winds. 323.14: “soampling me ledder:” “ladder” is nautical language for stairs. Soaping a (my) ladder to make it slippery would be sabotage. 323.15: “fell the fall of:” fall afoul of 323.16: “goragorridgorballyed pushkalsson:” gorbellied: fat. (Fallstaff uses the word in Henry IV, Part One, Stephen in “Scylla and Charybdis.”) “Pushkalsson” is almost certainly the manservant, who usually goes by some variant of “Sackerson.” Also in play is “fullbellied,” also in “Scylla in Charybdis” (and, as “fully bellied,” 324.2), where it describes a ship’s sails when filled with wind – probably the same idea here, for the captain’s ship, its sails ballooning like “bellows pockets” (.17), to the point that (.14 and note) they require trimming. 323.17: “potchtatos:” compare to Annotations note on 240.36 – 241.1: “his portemanteau priamed full potatowards.” May indicate that the sailor is accused of intending to take over the country by corrupt politics, just as he corrupted the daughter. 323.17-8: “fox in a stomach:” refers to the story of the Spartan boy who stole a fox, hid it under his tunic, and, rather than give himself away, let it gnaw him to death through his stomach. More generally, very hungry, which is why he was (“soampling me ledder” (.14)) grabbing samples from his larder and filling his “pockets fulled of potchtatos” (.17), potatoes. 323.18: “ramskew:” brand new 323.18: “coddlelecherskithers’:” a leather-skinner is a kind of knife. Also, of course, Don Juan is a lecher. 323.19: “teilwrmans:” tillerman 323.21-2: “could milk a colt in thrushes:” could make a coat and trousers 323.23-4: “Fadgestfudgist!:” compare 17.32: “Fuitfiat!” 323.25ff.: “Upon…:” Appearance of the (real, not pretend) captain, who, up to 324.14, is given a much friendlier greeting 323.25: “selenium cell:” out of my technological depth here, but an article in a 1914 issue of The Wireless Age (Vol 1, p. 337), entitled “Apparatus to Photograph Wireless Waves,” outlines how to do just that with a selenium cell. (And, again: the subject here is, in part, the pub’s wireless.) 323.26ff.: “with its doomed crack…:” as if the voice were coming from someone inside the radio: a natural enough illusion, in radio’s early days. Later in the sequence (.35-6) it will become the ghost in the machine. 323.26: “crack:” with “ukonnen,” crack of thunder 323.26: “the old damn ukonnen:” Glasheen says this combines Daniel O’Connell with Don O’Conor, 19th century Irish nationalist and M.P. under Parnell. “The” indicates that he’s the current head of the clan. 323.27: “saloom:” saloon. In nautical context, a public room on a passenger ship 323.30: “uppletoned layir:” the Appleton Layer (see McHugh) is, in the words of one source, “most useful for long-range radio transmission.” 323.30: "bunch of palers:" "bunch in sense (Digger Dialects) of military unit, for instance a company. Here applied to the police - see next. 323.30-1: “palers on their round:” Peelers (police) take rounds patrolling (“petrolling” (.31)) the streets. 323.31: “timemarching:” marching in time; the march of time: aside from being a common expression, it was the title of a radio program of the thirties. 323.31: “timemarching and petrolling:” marching and patrolling; walking and driving (with petrol) 323.35-6: “ghustorily spoeking…spuk:” as in a ghost story, about a spook 323.36: “gen and gang:” Christiani says: walking (which is what ghosts traditionally do) again. Also, Gengangere, the title of Ibsen’s play; in English translated as Ghosts 323.36-324.1: “dud spuk of his first foetotype:” spitting image 324.1: “foetotype:” phototype: compare “selenium cell” of 323.25. Selenium cells are or were used in photography, to measure brightness. 324.1: “Trolldedroll:” trop droll. The speaker behind the bar has, I think, been trying to deflect the hostility toward the captain by making fun of the accusations of 322.35-323.24. 324.1: “fillibustered:” not just fully bellied (see next item), with its sails swollen by wind, but also full-busted. Ships are female, as are, usually, their figureheads, which tend to be bare-breasted and big-breasted. Also, in nautical context, a filibusterer is a pirate. 324.2: “fully bellied:” sails filled with wind to the maximum are sometimes described as full-bellied. (In “Scylla and Charybdis,” Stephen uses the word in this sense.) Compare Titania in A Midsummer’s Night Dream: “When we have laughed to see the sails conceive / And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind” (II.1, 128-9). 324.3: “new satin:” “News at ten?” Definitely a long shot, but see note to .14-6. (On the other hand, see note to .18.) 324.3-4: “erning his breadth to the swelt of his proud:” ern: High German for to plow, so “proud” echoes “plow.” (Adam, sweating and sweltering at earning his bread, is typically depicted as ploughing a field.) Compare 21.5, 549.27. Also, as sailor, his prow is ploughing the waves. 324.4: “emberose:” embers. “Rose” goes along with all the redness in this sequence. And, of course (more about the fire) embers are red. Also, see note to .6. 324.4: “lizod:” variant of Issy, the female object of desire; compare 203.9. 324.4-5: “his tail toiled of spume and spawn:” like a spawning salmon, his tail full of sperm, churning up spume 324.6: “reddled a ruad to riddle a rede:” given main story line here – a sailor, heading into port – this and “emberose” (.4) recall the sailing formula “red right returning:” an incoming boat should keep red buoys to the right. 324.7: “ere love a side issue:” presumably, love was the main story before Adam and Eve’s fall, after which lust muscled in. 324.8: “encient:” ancient – standard-bearer or ensign. Example: Iago 324.9: “ye seal that lubs you lassers:” the sailor who loves you lasses. Also, seal, paired with (“wallruse” (.9)), walrus, the marine mammal – like salmon (.4-5), returns to breeding grounds to mate. 324.11: “Heave, coves, emptybloddy!:” “Heave Ho” - a cliché of naval stories. The speaker is evidently the (real) captain, greeting his old pals in the pub. “Coves” is an informal term of affection, roughly the equivalent of “fellows” or “mates.” Also, a shoreline inlet 324.12: “catch or hook or line to suit their saussyskins:” OED is no help here, and Google Books would be impossible, but American movies dating back to at least the early 1940’s show that a “line” was what Lily of “The Dead” would have called a man’s palaver, to entice women. “Saussyskins” are, again, sooterkins, (saucy) sweethearts, the natural company of such men. “Catch,” by analogy to fishing, has long designated the partner one wants to entice and secure. That the women are a willing part of the game is confirmed by the fact that they are saucily showing off their skin. Again: the sailor is a Don Juan. 324.13: “overraskelled:” rathskeller: translates as rat cellar – an underground beerhall. Exactly where the Nazis started 324.14: “Sot!:” slang for drunkard, directed at the captain. Also, yet another variant for “said,” this time apparently signalling two “tailors,” both Ashe and Whitehead (311.24), not happy with the turn of events. They demand that the wireless program/programme be changed, and it is. 324.14-6: “Sot…opsits…set…shet…set…set’s:” the radio set. Herein a preliminary note, based on “Broadcasting” listings for The Irish Times of April 2, 1930. Nine stations, six from the British Isles and three from abroad, are listed. As their dials show, some radios of the time could pick up many more stations; Joyce, in Paris, tuned in to programs coming live from America. In That Neutral Island (Faber and Faber: 2007, p. 190), Clair Wills reports that even during the war years, despite the government’s posture of hostility toward Britain, “there were persistent worries that ‘foreign stations’ were generally more entertaining than Radio Éireann, and that most citizens listened ‘for nine-tenths of the time to a British station.’” Nazi propaganda from Germany – the voices of Hitler and, later (not during Joyce’s lifetime), Lord Haw-Haw – was a frequent presence on the dial. The six domestic stations are listed as Dublin (Radio Éireann: 2 RN), Belfast, National Programme, London Regional, Midland Regional, and Manchester; the three foreign are Copenhagen, Rome, and Hamburg. Most began early in the afternoon and signed off at 10:30, but some stayed on the air until midnight. Weather forecasts, depending on the station, could be scheduled at 10:30 a.m., 6:15 p.m., 9:00 p.m., 10:15 p.m., or 10:30 p.m. (One or other of the last two seems likeliest for the “Welter focussed” of 324.24.) The day typically began with a religious program; some stations featured re-broadcasts later in the day. Concert music was the mainstay. There were also operas, “light music,” radio dramas, lectures, and topical discussions. “News” is nowhere listed as such (this was to change: see .18 and note), although some unspecified “programme”s presumably featured it, and according to several reminiscences available on Google Books the BBC’s “news at ten,” going by that phrase, was a fixture for many listeners. (II.3’s news program is at 345.35-346.13, thirty-plus pages before last call shortly before eleven, and see 324.3 and note.) The “National Programme” ran an “Experimental Television by the Baird Process” from 10:30 to 11:00 a.m. As others have noted, there were no televisions in Ireland during Joyce’s lifetime, and few in either London, which he last visited in 1932, four years before the first regular BBC broadcasts, or Paris. Still, the 1936 Berlin Olympics were televised to anyone who had a set available, and 349.6-35, especially 349.17-9 (see note) seems to show that the author had seen at least one broadcast. (Most if not all of the details of FW’s TV come from a 1938 notebook.) The television set that shows up at 349.6, like the nuclear war newscast at 353.23-32, is a case of dystopic science fiction, one of FW’s many jostling genres. Again, apparently it doubles as a time machine - see note to 310.7-8 - and, again, a more or less plausible explanation was available: Marconi had believed that his radio waves carried the voices of the dead, and if radio, why not television? And if signals from the past, why not the future, too? (Two occurrences of the word "television" (150.32-3 and 254.22) may be suggesting as much. Television is tele-vision, vision across distance, not necessarily excluding temporal distances.) 324.14: “gabbalots:” they talk – gab - a lot. Compare 213.8. 324.17: “And they poured him behoiled on the fire. Scald!:” the sound of oil being poured on a fire approximates the sound of a radio changing stations, with the static that results. (Someone has been demanding the station be changed, and someone else obliges, changing to Radio Athlone.) Also, of course, a scald was a Viking minstrel/poet. 324.18: “Rowdiose wodhalooing:” according to Brendan O Hehir, Radio Athlone, the unofficial (later official) name for Radio Éireann after it began broadcasting from Athlone in 1932. According to a random sample from the Irish Times for Tuesday, July 3, 1934, it went on the air at 6:00 p.m. with news, weather, and stock market report, followed by news at 6:45 and “Time, News and Weather” at 10:30; “Close down” was 11:00. Most of the programming was musical, with an emphasis on Irish music. 324.19: “Will any persent bereaved to be passent:” for a long time now, “passed away,” or yet more euphemistically, “passed,” has been a polite term for “died.” “Passed away” runs through Bloom’s mind in “Hades.” “Bereaved” obviously goes along with this. 324.21: “Callen home:” calling home, or, here a request that the person described call home at the given telephone number. See note to .18: Radio Éireann’s refrain was “Come back to Erin.” 324.24: “Welter focussed:” both focus and forecast, a report on both today’s weather, just past, and tomorrow’s, in a book where one day will cycle into the other. Accordingly, accurate both ways, for example with “faugh”/fog (.28), eventually followed with “brider”/brighter (.34) skies: it’s foggy in I.3 and III.1, cleared up in I.8, following the "Lull" at (see next entry) around 4:00 p.m. and IV. 324.25: “muffinbell:” compare 121.36. A muffin bell was rung by street merchants (boys, according to Google Books accounts) selling fresh muffins, usually at 4:00 p.m., teatime. In both FW occurrences, the term signals a certain time of the day - in Book I, corresponding to the "Lull" in weather leading up to the dusk of I.8. 324.26-7: “As our revelant Colunnfiller predicted in last mount’s chattiry sermon:” last month’s/moment’s chattery/chatty sermon – chatty in the informal manner often, or stereotypically, favored by sermons, Anglican or Catholic, of the sort on show at the end of “Grace.” Given that “predicted” can mean pre-dicted, just-said, we may attend to, at least, .18-22, words just heard over the wireless: “lessonless missage…good and truesirs…passent…one love, one fears…greeter glossary of code…callen hom…Finucane-Lee, Finucane-Law:” ear-garbled picked-up-from-white-noise decoctions of something like: eternal message, good men and true, passing through this world, love God and fear him, the greater glory of God, we keep his peace who follow his law. (The sermon’s conclusion corresponds to 324.23-325.3.) The radio’s sermon has blended with the simultaneous “Welter focussed” – probably the “interference” of two adjoining stations, their broadcasts overlapping, in my memory a common experience when listening to radio in the 50s and 60s (when stations were located with knobs, not buttons) especially at night: “When (pip!) a message interfering intermitting interskips from them (pet!) on herzian waves” (232.9-11). (Especially busy at night because night, as Bloom reflects in “Nausicaa,” is a “good conductor:” all kinds of far-flung broadcasts suddenly crowd the dial.) A major real-world rationale, I propose, for this chapter’s exceptional concentration of polysemically overdetermined language. 324.26-7: “chattiry sermon:” A “charity sermon” is mentioned in Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest. It was an annual (sometimes semi-annual or quarterly) sermon requesting donations for the poor, usually for one particular institution, such as an orphanage or hospital. The Irish Times of March 15, 1938 announces an "Annual Charity Sermon" to be given after 12:00 o'clock Mass on behalf of the St. Vincent de Paul Male Orphanage, Glasnevin. 324.27: “allexpected:” also, unexpected 324.27: “depression:” in light of what follows, the Great Depression of the thirties. Also, psychologically depressed. Also, see next entry. 324.29: “(hear kokkenhovens ekstras!):” again, see note to .16: broadcasts from Copenhagen (whence news of the atmospheric (“low pleasure” (.32) low-pressure “depression from Schiumdinebbia” (.27), Scandinavia, which, “on its wage wealthwards” (.31), way westward, duly arrived later in Ireland) were on the dial. Such weather depressions are in fact, as reported (.28-33), frequently accompanied by fog and precipitation. 324.29: “ekstras!:” cry of newspaper boys, at least in the movies: “Extra! Extra! Read all about it!” 324.30: “filthered:” “filth,” embedded here, emphasizes the lowness of this guy’s career so far. (What’s more, the Oxford editors replace “filthered through” with “filtered trough.”) Later: he’s gorged, he’s behaved like a dog in a kennel (or, again, pig at a trough) in order to get more wealth, as result of which, the sot, he’s retched off – vomited – away his food and drink and accumulated capital; some may have regretted his fall and missed the old self, but certainly not many. (In a charity sermon, an example/exemplum of how not to be.) But he may be (actually, he isn’t) turning over a new leaf, marrying an unrich seamstress, willing to live a humble life, a change which has already improved his health and well-being. The sailor/captain is the main target here; he was greeted warmly at first, but changing the station has changed the story. 324.32: “missed in some parts:” Oxford editors have “ports” for “parts.” So: some harbors are fogged in. 324.33: “tomarry (Streamstress Mandig):” Christiani has Mandig as Danish for Monday. Controversially, your annotator contends that FW’s default date is Monday, March 21, 1938. See note to .24: Möbius-strip-wise, tomorrow will also be today, but also see 325.6 and note. 324.34: “his ability good:” visibility good: weather report for tomorrow, plus, at least figuratively, he’s seeing more clearly now, should therefore do the right thing.. 324.35: “What hopends do they?:” more news: what happened today? Also, the exemplum-like story of our sodden wretch continues: he fell and was buried, thank God: it was an act of (“Devine’s Previdence” (325.1)) Divine Providence; before that the approaching nuptials were (“abbroaching” (.36)) broken off when he flew the coop, and good (“R.I.D.” (325.1)) riddance – all the moreso if “Devine’s” incorporates “Dev,” popular abbreviation for de Valera, no Joyce favorite: see, e.g., 473.8. 325.1: “Lifetenant-Groevener:” common, here somewhat exaggerated British pronunciation of “lieutenant;” Grosvenor, at the time a luxe midtown hotel, presumably patronized by the power elite 325.2: “Previdence:” an archaic word: God foreseeing evil events and preventing them 325.4-12: “Art…finnisch:” more on the radio: ads for Guinness stout and Anne Lynch tea, followed by a preview of the rest of the night’s programming: a horse race, a string quartet, sign-off. (The race broadcast, or re-broadcast or pre-broadcast, will duly take up 341.18-342.32; as best I can determine the music will not, perhaps because the station is, once again, changed.) 325.5: “even many offered:” see McHugh: a 50-50 bet 325.6: “auspicable:” auspicious, perhaps with equal-opposites combination with “despicable.” Since “auspicious” comes from auspes, divining by observing birds, I suggest it goes with “stork,” later in the line: the return of storks was considered a sign of good luck. 325.6-11: “auspicable thievesdayte…Sunnuntaj:” see McHugh, also 324.33 (and note), where tomorrow is Monday. Here it’s Tuesday, beginning a listing of the “auspicable” (future, foreseeably) coming days of the week in order (“Kiskiviikko” to “Sunnuntaj” (.10-1)), ending with Sunday. So: an apparent contradiction. Solution? Again, “the / riverrun:” tomorrow is also today. 325.6: “stork dyrby:" the Stork Derby, a Toronto "baby marathon," with cash prize awarded to the mother "who has the most babies during the 10 years ending" on October 31. (Source: Ian MacArthur and Viviana-Mirela Braslasu, Genetic Joyce Studies 2021) 325.7: “soon to bet:” soon to bed: the married couple will hurry to bed on their honeymoon night. Also, of course, betting at the horse race 325.8: “troth:” a reference to the wedding: I plight my troth 325.8: “hipsalewd prudity:” beside purity (i.e. both bride and groom are sexually pure), this echoes prudishness, it being generally assumed throughout Joyce’s works that prudes (such as Shaun in III.2) are exceptionally lewd at heart. Also, the newlyweds are optimistically predicted (see next entry) to keep their troth and to be prudent, pure, honest, and lucky. 325.8-9: “With hapsalap troth, hipsalewd prudity, hopesalot honnessy, hoopsaloop luck:” given horse-race setting (note “lap” in “hapsalap”), probably an echo of “Half a league, half a league / Half a league onward,” from “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” The Crimean War will become prominent in about ten pages. 325.10: “fourposter:” the wedding-night bed. Compare 31-2: “quadrupede island,” as marked by the four old men, who will later show up voyeuristically observing the sexual consummation of II.4. 325.10: “quartetto:” tetto: Italian tetto coniugale = the roof (home) of a married couple 325.12: “this pullover his finnisch:” this palaver is Finnish. (See McHugh: a number of Finnish words in the vicinity.) Also, the/his palaver (compare Lily in “The Dead:” “The men that is now is only all palaver and what they can get out of you”) is finished. 325.15: “till I’ve fined you a faulter-in-law:” till I’ve fined you for defaulting, for faltering, for breaking the law – presumably his reluctance to go through with the marriage 325.16: “gentlemens tealer:” gentleman stealer – a Raffles type 325.17: “jonjemsums:” John and James. John and Mary Joyce’s first child, who died soon after birth, was named John. Stanislaus’ first name was John. John and James are Jesus’s Boanerges, sons of thunder. 325.17: “sailsmanship:” like many words in the sequence, can apply to both tailor and sailor: merchant (salesman), seaman (sails-man) 325.18: “sayd the ships gospfather:” again, "sayd” establishes this character as the ship’s husband – as usual, acting as go-between. “Gospfather,” combining gospel with (god)father, suggests he is adopting a priestly role for the wedding. 325.19: “either you does or he musts:” one or the other, sailor or tailor, must marry her. Compare the refrain of the folk song "Take Her Out of Pity," in which someone, "a rich man, a poor man, a tinker or a tailor, / a soldier, a sailor,..." etc. has to marry sister Sarah. Compare "soilers and toilers" of .24. 325.20: “and this moment same:” at this same moment 325.21: “one fisk and one flesk:” from expression “neither fish nor flesh nor good red herring.” Occurs in “Cyclops.” Also, the marriage: man and wife is/are “one flesh.” 325.22: “iron slides:” I’m afraid I’m not up to describing an iron slide, but it was definitely around in Joyce’s time, having apparently been invented about 1900. The best I can do is to say that it seems to be a contraption made out of cast iron which, yes, slides, and is used in the opening or closing, and perhaps locking, of gates and windows. Pictures are on Google Images. Also, given seagoing context, Old Ironsides, famously durable warship of the American Revolution 325.23: “Paddley Mac Namara:” Brendan O Hehir has “hound of the sea” for “Mac Namara.” So, the sailor: compare “merrytime marelupe” (.30-1), “wolf of the sea” (202.24). 325.24: "the two breasts of Banba are her soilers and her toilers:" Joyce's Notebook VI.B.22.160, an excerpt from E. Trogan, Les Mots Historique due Pays de France: "Labourage et pâturage sont les deux mamelles de la France." 325.26: “swallen blooders:” swollen bladders. Also, compare the “Cyclops” account of an erection as a localized congestion of blood – which in turn suggests that “blooders” may be blood sausages. 325.27: “nowedding captain:” the captain/sailor, that wretch, doesn’t want to be married. 325.30: “comeether:” comether: come hither, as a woman’s sexual overture. (Occurs in this sense in “Scylla and Charybdis.”) Also, “Come meet her.” Again, “sayd” means that the ship’s husband is talking here, trying to get things going. 325.31: “shipfolds:” sheepfolds: In other words, come ashore and be tamed to go with the herd, like the rest of Ireland’s defeated (male) (married) (“quadrupede” (.31-2), four-footed, like corralled cattle) citizenry. 325.31-2: “quadrupede island, bless madhugh, mardyk, luusk and cong!:” see note to .10. The (“quadrupede”) fourposter wedding bed prompts the child’s bedtime prayer, “Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, / Bless the bed that I lie on!” - each apostle’s name being addressed, clockwise, to one of the four bedposts. As McHugh notes, the four are, as usual, followed by their ass, Ned, braying. 325.31: “wutan whaal:” long shot: white whale? Glasheen tentatively includes Captain Ahab in her Third Census, and, less tentatively, Billy Budd. 325.33-326.3: “And…myself:” the gist is that, as part of the marriage, he’s being told to convert to Catholicism. It’s time to stop bowing down to false gods and phony ceremonies, time to stop reading all manner of books (“every tome” (.34)) with their different creeds, and to listen only to the infallible words (“staying” (.36) = sayings) of the pope. If you don’t do this I’ll teach you the commandments and then murder you. (Iron fist is definitely out of velvet glove.) 325.33: “maimed acts:” compare Hamlet’s “maimed rites” – Ophelia’s funeral. Here, from a certain point of view, a wedding 326.1: “hooley tabell:” holy tables/tablets – on which the Ten Commandments are said to have been inscribed 326.1-2: “hooley tabell, as Horrocks Toler:” tolling the (holy) bell – probably the sanctus bell, rung during mass at the elevation of the host 326.2: “mardhyr:” Petr Ŝkrabánek says this is Czech for “fuck her.” 326.3-4: “As puck as that Paddeus picked the pun and left the lollies off the foiled:” “lollies:” Lollards? They were early Protestants; Patrick would have disapproved. See next entry. 326.4: “foiled:” McHugh notes that lines .3-4 are about Patrick and the shamrock; a shamrock is a trefoil. (He adds that “trifoliorum” (.8) is Latin for “shamrocks.”) 326.4: “A Trinity judge will crux your boom:” cross your bosom, making the sign of the cross. The Trinity judge would be a priest – representing the trinity – marrying him and blessing him. 326.4: “Pat:” Saint Patrick 326.5-20: “And…Spickinusand:” I suggest that elements of this passage incorporate the annual ceremony of Venice’s marriage to the sea – the marriage itself, to “Ocean” (also a baptism and confirmation), the ritualistic pouring of water, the “streameress mastress to the sea.” 326.5-6: “And he pured him beheild of the ouishguss, mingling a sign of the cruisk: I was once an acolyte (Episcopal Church). One of my jobs was to pour wine and water into the priest’s chalice. Each was kept in a cruet. Suggest “pured” (pored), “ouishguss” (water), “mingling,” and “cruisk” (cruet) fit the pattern. 326.6-7: “I popetithes thee, Ocean, sayd he, Oscarvaughther:” water also goes with baptism. Near the end of his life, Oscar Wilde converted to Catholicism. (“Osker” appears at .16.) 326.7: “Erievikkingr:” Eric the Viking (king), but also, once again, as in I.2, the male principal being named Earwicker 326.8-9: “forfor furst of gielgaulgalls:” stuttering is usually an HCE signature; here, it may be an imitation. (As McHugh notes, “streameress” (.10) should perhaps be “steamerer’s.”) 326.10: “mastress:” both master and mistress, in either case marrying the sea. 326.11: “wholly apuzzler’s:” holy apostle’s 326.11: “all the pukkaleens to the wakes of you:” Pukkelsen’s children, following in his wake. Hence not capitalized. Also, from the marriage service: forsaking all others, leaving them in your wake 326.12: “hellsinky:” given heathens in the next line, hell - perhaps the sink of hell. Gist: in marrying and joining the church, he’s being rescued from the heathens’ hell. 326.13: “danned:” Norwegian for educated 326.13-4: “into our roomyo connellic relation:” into our (roomy: a rough translation of “catholic”) Roman Catholic religion. Also, the Joyces prided themselves on being related to Daniel O’Connell. Also, O’Connell had a reputation as something of a Romeo. 326.14: “from which our this pledge is given: from which hour this pledge is given. Possible overtone of “witching hour” 326.17: “gooden diggin:” good diggings, that is, a nice house. (And even better insurance: he’s settled down.) 326.20: “Spickinusand:” spitting on the hand is done before shaking hands on a deal. 326.21-5: “Nansense, you snorsted? He was haltid considerable agenst all religions overtrow so hworefore the thokkurs pokker the bigbug miklamanded storstore exploder would he be whulesalesolde daadooped by Priest Gudfodren of the sacredhaunt suit in Diaeblen-Balkley at Domnkirk Saint Petricksburg?:” no “sagd,” but this is clearly the Norwegian Captain: hence the allusion to Nansen, and all the Scandinavian vocabulary. Gist: he’s not happy with the ceremony – marriage, plus, at the end, sentence of death – just completed. Opposed to the superstitions of religion, he won’t accept that he’s been baptized, etc. by any priest, let alone an Irish one from “Saint Petricksburg,” Saint Patrick’s city of Dublin. Scandinavia is/was predominantly Protestant. Paraphrase: since he’s against all religions, why the hell would he have allowed himself to be duped by this silly priest in his second-hand suit? 326.22: “all religions overtrow:” more coincidence of contraries – against religious superstition, but also against overthrowing any religion, superstitious or not 326.23: “exploder:” also explorer, like Nansen 326.24: “sacredhaunt suit:” second-hand suit: again, there were two suitors. He thinks they got the wrong one (him). 326.25: “But ear this:” echoes the shipboard proclamation “Now hear this.” 326.27: “secondnamed sutor:” compare .24 and note. 326.28: “comesend round that wine and lift your horn:” send the wine around the table and lift your (“horn”) Viking drinking vessel, in a toast to the marriage. 326.28: “lift your horn:” get an erection. (The ship’s husband is doing his best to persuade the captain to stay put by talking up all the newlywed’s fun he’s going to have in bed; for a while, it seems to work.) 326.29-30: “we brought your summer with us:” like Chaucer’s “somnour”/summoner, an enforcer of ecclesiastical law. Just in case you’re thinking of anything, we’ve got an enforcer on the premises. “Your” in sense of: ready to summon you. 326.31: “americle:” a miracle. (Maybe obvious) 326.31: “rolling forties”/roaring forties: like the roaring twenties 326.33: “crismion:” chrism, in Catholicism used for baptism and confirmation, both of which have just been performed 326.33: “ninethest pork of a man:” again, the old joke that it take nine tailors to make a man. (See 315.4 and note.) This man’s nicest part is his (pork) sausage-like penis. For the female counterpart, see 327.3. 326.35-6: “Lucky Swayn:” lucky swain – the sailor, who is (supposedly) the lucky one of the two suitors because he gets the girl 326.36: “his icebox:” the Norwegian captain comes from a cold region, and Nansen explored the Arctic. 327.1: “smukklers he would behave in juteyfrieze:” snuggles he would be having – in bed, presumably. Compare “smugging” – sex play – in the first chapter of Portrait. Also, in nautical context: smuggling is one way to acquire duty-free (“juteyfrieze”) goods; here, the goods in question will be, once he’s married, sexual. 327.1: “juteyfrieze:” probably “freeze” is in there: he’s gotten cold (or a cold – 326.16-7); there’s “winter” at 326.29 and “icebox” at 326.36. Again, Scandinavia is a cold place. 327.1: “forelooper:” Bonheim has verloben, engage to marry. 327.2: “praties peel:” potato peels: garbage 327.3: “nittlewoman:” the “little woman” is a popular phrase by which a husband refers to his wife. Again: they’re married now. 327.3-4: “in the house:” see preceding entry, and compare Corny Kelleher in “Circe,” on being married: “Thanks be to God we have it in the house, what, eh, do you follow me? Hah, hah, hah!” 327.4: “la chato:” French: chat – cat. (The gender can be male or female depending on associations.) May insinuate “pussy, “the nicesth part of a nittlewoman” (.3), vagina as the nicest part of a woman (compare 326.33 and note); “pussy” in this sense was definitely in circulation. 327.4: “Tina-bat-Talur:” “bat” = Hebrew for daughter, as in Bat Mitzvah; “…bat-Talur:” tailor’s daughter 327.5-6: “eslucylamp aswhen the surge seas sombren:” like a lighthouse, shining seas after dark 327.5: “eslucylamp:” Joyce’s daughter was named Lucia – light, as from a lamp. (Also, patron saint of those who suffer from eye ailments.) As McHugh notes, the girl’s father was a tailor (hence, the “needle” in “Needlesswoman” (165.16, echoed in “nittlewoman” (.3), and see previous entry, also 626.8-16)), bringing an Electra complex into the courtship equation; here the ship’s husband is expatiating on how her father doted on her: she was his treasure, the light of his life, etc. How to trace the permutations connecting tailor’s daughter to, as Issy, publican’s daughter? No idea, but “child and foster” (.7), foster child, may be a clue. 327.5: “aswhen:” given the surging seas (.5-6), probably the Nile’s Assuan Dam (compare 332.30) 227.5: “to child and foster:” echo of marriage vows, e.g. “to have and hold,” “love, cherish” 327.8: “two titty too at win winnie won:” contains at least the ingredients for yet another 1132. 327.8: “win winnie won:” again, Winnie Widger, the winner: 39.11, 40.3-4, 38.31-3, 610.36. 327.8-9: “tramity…fare:” tram fare 327.9-10: “with a grit as hard as the trent of the thimes but a touch as saft as the dee in flooing:” England’s Trent River has “hard water” (heavy with mineral grits); by comparison the Dee has “soft water.” The former’s hardness has made it a favorite with brewers, notably of Bass Ale, in Burton-on-Trent. “Thimes:” Thames. For “grit,” see 83.28 and note; for “touch,” see .27 and note. Also, a soft touch: someone easily imposed on, especially for a loan. 327.9: ”as hard as the trent of the thimes:” “Thames” begins with a “hard” consonant (pronounced “t,” not “th”): “trent” ought to mean something like initial or first letter; I can’t confirm (some early spellings of “thorn” may barely qualify), but (see McHugh) compare the parallel “saft as the dee in flooing” (.10) – the “soft” consonant “d,” of “flooding.” (So soft, actually, as to be unsounded.) 327.10: “flooing:” also flowing 327.10: “Hyderow Jenny:” hedgerow? She’s known as Hedgerow Jenny? Doesn’t sound complimentary. “Lightness” (.11) can insinuate easy virtue. 327.11: “at look and you leap:” at Leixlip, the Liffey’s salmon leap. Equal-opposite overtone of “look before you leap,” something spawning salmon do not do. Given context – she’s reading romance novels – probably a lover’s leap, along with the frequently remarked fact that overlooking a height can instill an impulse to jump. 327.13: “periglus glatsch:” Paradise Lost 327.14: "trickle bed:” bed trick: plot device in which a man has sex with a woman secretly substituted for the intended partner. Jacob with Rachel and Leah, Measure for Measure, many others 327.14: “a piz of fortune:” a piece of fortune: good luck; contrasted with “mallaura’s” (.15), French “malheur:” bad luck 327.16: “tubas tout tout:” tubas going toot-toot: a band in some kind of festivity. (One of them, the “blusterbuss” (.18), is overdoing it.) Also, again, the spondee signal for the Morse code T T, which stands for Tristan. See .22 and note. 327.16: “prim rossies:” in “Nausicaa,” “rossies” are forward, disreputable women. A prim rossy is either a contradiction or a hypocrite. These sound as if they’ve joined a Salvation Army parade. 327.16-7: “for the glowru of their god:” McHugh and Oxford editors both replace “glowru” with “glowry.” For the greater glory of God 327.17: “their god:” that is, each one’s boyfriend 327.18: “blusterbuss:” overtones of “Buster:” slangy, usually impolite term used to address a male, and “buss:” to kiss. The man is going too fast in his romancing. 327.19: “don’t start furlan your ladins till:” don’t go furling (rolling up) the ship’s (rope) ladder, in order to set sail, until… 327.18: “furlan your ladins:” follow the leader (of the band); follow the ladies (as an aspiring suitor) 327.20-1: “she can hear the pianutunar:” as in “Sirens,” the piano tuner’s vibrating tuning fork, here heard all the way from Wales. (See 329.32-3 and note.) 327.21-2: “sleepytalking to the Wiltsh muntons:” as in moutons: French for sheep. She’s counting sheep, trying to get to sleep. 327.22: “titting:” two i’s – and dots – in “titting.” See .16 and note. 327.23: “fly end:” on a ship’s flag, the outer edge 327.23: “touchman:” may include the (in Ireland) sexual sense of “touch,” as in “Give us a touch, Poldy” (“Hades”) 327.24-5: “pings…(pong!):” ping-pong, the sound of the bell 327.24: “saksalaisance:” salacious, sex license 327.25: “dollimonde” demimonde 327.25-6: “phantom shape:” that is, of a ghost 327.26: “Mr Fortunatus Wright:” a bit complicated here. The term “Mr Right” was around in Joyce’s time: in “Eumaeus” Bloom wonders if Stephen will meet “Miss Right.” The “Fortunatus’ purse” of folklore never runs out of money. So she wants a rich Mr Right; compare 269.8 and note. (There may also be the customary compliment that he’ll be lucky to win her.) In “Eumaeus” Stephen tells Bloom that he left home to “seek misfortune,” which may be a pun blurrily reinforcing Bloom’s idea, and statement, that he has a thing going with “Miss Ferguson,” which idea originates in Bloom’s mishearing of Stephen’s fractured recitation of Yeats’s “Who will go drive with Fergus.” In any case, at 149.21-2 we get “the fiery goodmother Miss Fortune” - "fiery" perhaps because Nora had auburn ("auburnt" (139.22) hair. 327.26: “winksome:” prone to giving come-hither winks. I suspect that, as in “Nausicaa,” “winsome” is a word she got from reading her romances. 327.27: “her wrecker:” Earwicker. Also, Welsh wreckers 327.27: ”took her to be a rover:” that is, either he thought she was a rover or he took her off to go roving with him. 327.28: “playing house:” children pretending to be grownups 327.28: “house of ivary:” given Hungarian ivar (see McHugh), a brothel 327.28: “dower of gould:” gold as a dowry 327.28: “gift you soil me:” “soil” is often used for a fallen woman – for instance “soiled dove.” If you debauch/deflower me… 327.29: “peepat:” a variant of Issy’s term of endearment: “Peppt,” “peepette,” peepet,” etc. 327.29: “which it’s a blue loogoont for her in a bleakeyed seusan:” continuing: …It would be a blue (sad) lookout for her in/and a bleak season… 327.30-1: “if she can’t work her mireiclles and give Norgeyborgey good airish timers:” …if she weren’t able to hold onto him (Georgie-Porgie, also the Norwegian captain) by working wonders to give him a really good time. “A good time,” of course, is a term for sex. 327.31: “airish timers:” this was written when Irish (Dunsink) time was different from Greenwich Mean Time. 327.31: “racy turf:” distinctively native: perhaps, with “turf,” echoing “racy of the soil.” “Kindly,” which can mean much the same thing, may reinforce this. Also “racy” means sexually suggestive. Also, “turf” is shorthand for horse-racing. 327.31: “turf is kindly kindling:” a turf fire 327.31-2: “kindling up the lovver with the flu:” throughout most of FW, HCE is convalescent: sick, in bed, sometimes overhearing sounds from elsewhere – here, from his daughter’s bedroom, connected to his by a chimney. Also, coming down with the flu would have been a serious matter in the aftermath of the 1918-1919 Spanish Flu, which killed millions. Keeping the invalid warm – in bed, with a fire in the fireplace – was a standard part of the treatment. 327.32: “lovver:” fireplace louvers, opened so the fire can go up the chimney’s flue 327.32: “flu:” chimney flue 327.32-3: “set an Eriweddyng on fire:” see McHugh: the Irawaddy is a river. A play on the expression “set the Thames on fire,” for some dramatic or exciting personality 327.32-3: “Eriweddying:” Irish wedding 327.33: “an old Humpopolamos:” HCE. See, e.g., 449.32. 327.34: “scye and dye:” death scythe, and die 327.35: “coocoo:” “coo,” as in bill and coo: she’s sweet-talking him, calling him “didulceydovely” and so on. 327.36: “cawcaws:” sound of the raven, paired with dove’s “coocoo” 327.36: “privatear:” for his ears only: strictly private messages into his ear alone 328.1: “there’s no pure rube like an ool pool roober:” see McHugh. The expression “There’s no fool like an old fool” is often applied to an old man infatuated with a young woman, a recurring FW theme and especially applicable here. 328.1-2: “pullar beer:” beerpull 328.2-3: “beat his barge into a battering pram:” that is, give up sailing and settle down in a family. Again, compare 549.27: “I took my plowshare sadly, feeling pity for my sored.” Barge/battering ram = erection, impregnating the woman (and sore from the workout); the pram is for the resulting offspring. 328.3: “wattling way:” “Tim Finnegan lived on Watling Street.” 328.4: “marriage mixter:” sounds like what is also known as a matchmaker. As usual, the ship’s husband is trying to foster conciliations – to mix and mingle. 328.4: “Kersse, Son of Joe Ashe:” which may make him the “Whitehead” of “Ashe and Whitehead,” junior member of the firm, and help account for the earlier hostility, especially on p. 322, to his real or supposed white hat. 328.5: “wiry eyes and winky hair:” would normally be the other way around. Doubly transferred epithets? Then again, consider “wyerye” (200.33) and “twinky her stone hairpins” (312.21). 328.5-6: “Andraws Meltons:” Andrew Mellon, American steel tycoon. See 327.26 and note: would certainly make for a Mr. Right. 328.6-7: “I will turn my thinks to things alove:” I will turn my thoughts to things above, that is, to “threes ones” (.7), the trinity. Also, to things of love 328.8: “poles a port and zones asunder:” poles apart, as in North Pole and South; zones, as in tropical and frigid, sundered – also apart. Unreconcilable opposites, like Irish Catholics and Protestants 328.9 “tooblue:” true blue: a usually derisive term for Protestants, especially in Ireland, where, as in “Nestor,” it often indicates Ulster. 328.10: “prodestind:” predestination is a (Protestant) Calvinist doctrine. 328.10: “arson:” given “prodestind,” Protestant, probably a parson 328.11: “though the clonk…:” begins the dependent clause of a (long) complex sentence of which the independent clause begins at .30 with “’tis,” the gist being that however depleted he (the new husband) may seem now, he’ll come through in the marriage bed, giving her a good time and siring two sons and a daughter. 328.12: “and were he laid out on that counter there like a Slavocrates amongst his skippies:” even if (“and:” “an:” Middle English for "if") he were stretched out dead like the Socrates of The Apology, surrounded by his students 328.13: “to the ride onerable:” “to” may echo “do;” in any case he will do the right, honorable thing: marry the woman with whom he has been dallying. 328.14: “Nanny Ni Sheeres:” see McHugh. As elsewhere in FW (e.g. 626.9) she’s a tailor’s daughter. 328.14: “Dinamarqueza:” “Donna:” Spanish term of respect for a woman. “Marqueza” is Spanish for marchioness. 328.16: “herberge:” auberge: French for home 328.16: “forkpiece:” given “fork” as conjunction of legs (occurs in this sense in “Cyclops,” “Circe”), a codpiece, along with (“bucklecatch”) a buckle 328.17: “pravacy:” depravity in private – in this case of (McHugh) the jus primus noctis 328.18: “meet:” right, fitting 328.19: “fyrsty annas:” first year. Also, the FW leap-year girls can add up to 28, 29 (28 + Issy) or 30 (28 + Issy + Marge). 328.19: “annas:” anna: division of Indian currency: 1/16th of a rupee 328.20: “swumped in his seachest:” jumped in his chest: the heart jumping in his ribcage, in anticipation of wedding-night sex. Also, given context, “seachest” may be Davy Jones’ locker: drowning, his life - especially the women in it - is passing before his eyes. See next item. 328.20-2: “renumber all the mallymedears’ long roll and call of sweetheart emmas that every had a port in from Coxenhagen till the brottels on the Nile):” a sailor, he’s remembering (and counting) all the women he’s had all over the world, whether other men’s wives (Nelson’s Emma Hamilton) or Egyptian prostitutes, and so on. 328.20-2 “all the mallymedears’ long roll and call of sweetheart emmas that every had a port in from Coxenhagen till the brottels on the Nile:” mal de mer – seasickness, likely to be brought on by a “long roll” of the sea. (Nelson was subject to it.) Also, Marry me, dear – something he said to entice the long roll of his conquests, such as Nelson’s “sweetheart” Emma (Hamilton). Nelson’s conquests ranged from Copenhagen to the brothels on the Nile, and he was the naval victor at both the Battle of Copenhagen (where he was supposed to have put his blind eye to the telescope) and the Battle of the Nile. 328.23: “taylight is yet slipping under their pillow:” arrival of early morning after the marriage night – hence “their” pillow. Also, yet more coinciding contraries: it’s also the sun slipping under the billow of the wave – that is, sunset. 328.23-4: “(ill omens on Kitty Cole if she’s spilling laddy’s measure!):” “spill” may recall Onan’s spilling his seed on the ground. Bad luck to her if, like Molly with Boylan (Ulysses 18.155) she’s wasting his sperm. At 38.20 we learned, approximately, what that measure was – a thimbleful or a tablespoon. See next entry. 328.25: “ringsend ringsend:” matins, like the other canonical hours, is announced with bell-ringing. Perhaps also “Rings in, rings in.” Also, Ringsend was the site of Joyce’s first date with Nora; she masturbated him, spilling his seed: see previous entry. 328.25: “bings:” brings; also onomatopoeia - the sound of the church bell, as usual being rung by ("Referinn Fuchs Gutmann" (.26)) Fox-Goodman - who, this time anyway, is apparently a ((Referinn") Reverend) member of the clergy. 328.25: “Concorant Erho:” concordant (etymologically, two hearts feeling as one) echo 328.26: “Gutmann:” perhaps Adolphe Gutmann (1819-1882), composer and concert pianist 328.27-8: “for its never dawn in the dark but the deed come to life:” because it’s never done in the dark without the deed coming to light. (Is “its” a misprint for “it’s?” So far as I know, there’s no genetic evidence.) Already, at first light, everybody is broadcasting the news of the wedding night. Allusion to Edgar in King Lear: “did the deed of darkness.” Compare “that dark deed doer:” 246.30. 328.28-9: “raptist bride is aptist breed:” the most sexually aroused bride is the likeliest to become pregnant. Follows from an old belief that female orgasm was needed for conception to occur. Plays off different senses of “rape”/“rapt”/“ravish” 328.29-30: “to buoy the hoop within us springing:” Pope: “Hope springs eternal in the human breast.” Also, in maritime context: a lifebuoy, a.k.a. ringbuoy, in the shape of a hoop 328.30: “’tis no timbertar:” don’t worry, he’s no wooden sailor (once a fixture in the offices of naval-related businesses). Point being made is that he’s a real red-blooded man – a true sailor, not a wooden one – who can be counted on to excite/impregnate her. 328.30-1: “she’ll have then in her armsbrace to doll the dallydandle:” seems to look forward to the offspring – the doll she’ll have in her arms and dandle 328.33: “oversear of the seize:” overseer of the seas: Neptune 328.34: “Horuse:” along with other things, Horus stands for life, opposite Osiris, death. Appropriate deity for either a conception or birth 328.35: “me cope:” the pope 328.35: “pluse:” plus 328.36: “bedpain:” also pain of deflowering and, especially, pain of childbirth. In which light, “Elizabeliza” (.36) may signal Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist, whose late-in-life pregnancy was to her a blessing, conferred by God 329.1: “come Bastabasco and hippychip eggs:” See McHugh: Easter eggs. Also, many egg recipes feature tabasco sauce; one is called “Tabasco Eggs.” 329.2: “suomease pair and singlette:” the Earwicker children – the two brothers, as twins, and a girl. Suffix -ette” indicates Issy. 329.2: “jodhpur:” jodhpurs: riding breeches 329.2: “smalls:” smallclothes - also, as such, clothes for children 329.3: “copener’s:” carpenter’s: If Mary and Elizabeth are in the vicinity, Joseph may be too. 329.3: “copener’s cribful:” following Glasheen: Walter A. Coppinger, bibliographer and collector of incunabula, from Latin cunae, cradle 329.4: “mimmykin:” miniature imitation - mimic - of Mommy. “Puss” can be a term, affectionate or not, for a girl. Issy is often accompanied by a cat. 329.4: “mimmykin puss:” as McHugh notes, the Mannekin-Pis, Brussels’ statue of a urinating boy; the sound of a childish urination – tinkle, wiss, etc. – is an Issy signature, often associated with FW’s park scandal. 329.4: “(hip, hip, horatia!):” hip, hip, hooray! 329.4-5: “old comrhade saltymar:” old salt. Saltymar: salt sea 329.5: “Briganteen-General:” combines Norwegian captain (of a brigantine; compare “fourmaster barquentine” of 479.29 with “good lifebark Ulivengrene” of next line) with Russian General (352.23). “Briganteen” includes brigand – the captain has always been of questionable character – but in this case a man of peace, extending an olive branch. 329.5-6: “flappernooser:” filibuster(er): see 324.1. 329.6: “the good lifebark:” “light barque:” a kind of sailing ship. Compare the common expression “the good ship…” 329.7: “homespund of her hearth:” homespun (clothes). Domestic spinning was traditionally done by the hearth. Homespun clothing would be a rival to the tailor’s business. 329.8: “norse-east:” that is, meteorologically, a north-easter, usually a powerful storm 329.8: “gluepot:” in “Oxen of the Sun,” seems to be either a garbled or a canting version of “true-heart.” Given echo of “horse” in “norse norse east” (.7-8), may be saying that his mother-mare wound up going to the glue factory. 329.9: “manowhood:” as ship, now a man-o’-war. As person, the captain/general is a case of pure manhood. Continuing the horse thread (see previous entry): Man o’ War was a famous racehorse of the early 1920’s. 329.10-11: “nappin through his doze:” napping through his doze 329.11: “blondblubber:” see McHugh. The sailor, married and settled down, has become a landlubber. Blond hair (e.g. “Yellow Whigger” (71.10)) and corpulence (blubber) are two HCE features. 329.13: “Cawcaught. Coocaged:” as a newly married man, he is caught and caged. 329.15-6: “shouters of glory:” “Shout glory!:” a popular exclamation in Evangelical services 329.18-9: “The soul of everyelsesbody rolled into its olesoleself:” In Plato’s The Symposium, Aristophanes offers an explanation for sexual love, “the pursuit of wholeness:” humans were once androgynous and spherical, rolling happily along. A god split them into two halves. Sexual desire is for a return to the original. 329.20: “her flame:” her love interest 329.20-1: “Holyryssia, what boom of bells:” probably the Kremlin’s (booming) clock chimes. Also, as at 314.23 and .22, rice at the wedding 329.21: “battle of bragues:” of brogues – dancing 329.21: “Sandgate:” given proximity of “battle,” probably an overtone of Sandhurst 329.21: “bobby:” Bobby Burns. Compare 520.26. 329.22: “ryce:” rice – again, from association with wedding: see 314.33, .20-1. 329.23: “doss and dunnage:” compare “Oxen of the Sun:” a bull in a stable can “doss and dung to his heart’s content.” 329.24: “dournailed clogs:” nailed clogs: clogs studded with nails 329.25: “Ghoststown Gate, like Pompei up to date:” Pompeii must surely count as history’s premier ghost town. Also, the scapegoat is traditionally expelled through Jerusalem’s Eastern Gate. 329.25: “like Pompei up to date:” like a reactivated volcano 329.25-6: “And some say they seen:” language typically used to describe a ghost or apparition of some mythical hero 329.27-30: “dummydeaf…Route de l’Epee:” Mink: Paris’s rue de l’Abbé de l’Epée, site of the Institut National des Sourd-Muets 329.27-8: “leaf of bronze…trooping his colour:” “bronze leaf:” military medal for meritorious service 329.29: “halfcrown jool:” a jewel costing a half crown would be pretty paltry – certainly fake. (Obviously, there are no such items among Britain's Crown Jewels.) General sense is that he’s given himself airs with cheap imitations. 329.30-1: “It was joobileejeu that All Sorts’ Jour:” the jubilee day (jour) of game (jeu)-playing (and – see next entry – drinking). Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee was in 1897; a Jewish jubilee year occurs either every forty-nine or fifty years. 329.31: “Freestouters:” free stout, offered as part of the jubilee celebration. Also used to be a common practice on election days. Also, Irish Free State 329.31: “hafts on glaives:” hats on swords (McHugh): several examples in military annals; the most celebrated was perhaps Lewis Armistead, Confederate general (therefore dressed in “grey” (.28)) in Pickett’s Charge. 329.32-3: “You could hear them swearing threaties on the Cymylaya Mountains, man:” again (see 327.1 and note), things got so boisterous (or the sense of hearing was so acute) that people in Ireland could hear the noise coming from the mountains of Wales – or, even further off, from the Himalayas. (Or vice-versa, or both.) A bit of classically Irish overstatement; compare the end of “Cyclops.” 329.32: “threaties:” also threats. Matched with “treaties,” a case of coinciding contraries 329.33-5: “And giving it out to the Ould Fathach and louthmouthing after the Healy Mealy with an enfysis to bring down the rain of Tarar:” saying the rosary (“Our Father”s and “Hail Mary”s) so loud-mouthily emphatically that it causes a thunder storm. See next entry. 329.34-5: “to bring down the rain:” compare “Cyclops” narrator on a public lunatic “bringing down the rain.” Again, the sense seems to be that something outlandish or undesirably conspicuous can bring down the rain – here, the ridiculously over-emphasized praying. 329.35: “Nevertoletta! Evertomind!:” incorporates “And never brought to mind,” from “Auld Lang Syne” 329.35: “Evertomind!:” the opposite of “Never mind” 329.36: “bethehailey:” “Hooley” is Irish for a wild party. Overtone of “ballyhoo.” “Bethe:” bethel: seaman’s chapel 329.36: “conspectrum:” conspectus 329.36-330.1: “since Scape the Goat, that gafr, ate the Suenders bible:” tradition that goats will eat anything (even a Bible). 330.1-2: “heaven’s lamps to hide us:” “Heaven’s lamps to guide us” is a common verbal sequence in devotional song and literature. Perhaps originates in an 1860 hymn by August Montagu Toplady, in which the lamps are understood to be stars, with the biblical “a lamp unto my feet” the inspiration. “Hide”/guide: coinciding contraries 330.2: “spark:” 18th century term for a beau, a lively boyfriend 330.4: “trick of her trade:” phrase: tricks of the trade. OED gives 1926 as when “trick” first designated a prostitute’s customer. In Green's Dictionary, the first entry for "rough trade," as violent and probably disresputable sex (usually homosexual), is 1929. See next entry. 330.4: “Nook’s nestle:” again, the OED: since 1928 “nookie” has designated either a sexually attractive woman or sex with such a woman. 330.5: “mow:” grimace, yes, but coming from French moue, which can be either dismissive or the opposite 330.5-6: “So that Father Matt Hughes looked taytotally threbled:” given Irish pronunciation of “tea” as “tay,” surely “teetotally;” goes with (.5) Irish temperance crusader Father Matthew, totally troubled by all the drinking going on 330.6: “Dane:” in older usage, any of the raiders from Scandinavia, including modern-day Norway. Lines from the Norwegian national anthem follow. 330.7: “hyemn:” hymen 330.9-10: “passthecupper to Our Lader’s:” Matthew 26:39: “Father, if you are willing, let this cup pass from me; however not my will, but yours be done.” 330.12: “wharves woves tales:” that is, yarns – stories told by sailors. Compare “baffling yarn” (.320.35). 330.13: “Old Vickers:” vicars, Victorians; probably London’s Old Vic Theatre as well 330.13-4: “sate down on their airs:” besides 1. (McHugh) sat down on their arses, 2. let down their hair, 3. let down – disappointed - their heirs (in their wills), and 4. the opposite of “put on airs” 330.14: “straightened the points of their lace:” OED: “point lace:” “made or trimmed with point lace” – in this case, the cuffs, being straightened 330.17: “Burke-Lees and Coyle-Finns:” hyphenated names as signs of old aristocracy 330.18: “paid full feines for their sinns:” fines and forfeits, paid for their sins 330.18: “Miss Coolie:” Finn McCool’s daughter 330.19: “roped:” as in “tying the knot” at a wedding. As McHugh notes, the “Laughing Jack” of .22 was a hangman, who tied a different kind of knot. 330.20: “Rolloraped:” at 619.17, ALP’s P.S. starts with “Soldier Rollo’s sweetheart.” A marauder, Rollo was certainly responsible for rapine, at least. 330.21-8: “With…Mae:” scrambled, but Joyce’s 1904 elopement with Nora is the main story here: “zig and zag through pool and polder [a polder is a swamp: sundry local obstacles are being dodged]…all augurs scorenning [scorning all dire predictions]…eloping [they eloped]…Finn’s Hotel [Nora was a chambermaid there when she met Joyce]…Nova Norening…kuddle…made fray [compare 239.22: “maidfree” – the deflowering transpired in Zurich, after the elopement]. 330.21: "zig for zag:" "zig-zag:" pidgin French for drunk 330.27-9: “Mae…wedst:” Mae West 330.28: “He goat a berth. And she cot a manege:” elopement or no, some differences remain: for him, a sailor, a berth on a ship; for her a homebody with a menage, household. The “goat” note (compare 240.34) is not propitious. 330.28: “cot:” short for cottage, usually in romantically domestic descriptions of poor but happy couples 330.30-2: “Knock knock. War’s where! Which war? The Twwinns. Knock knock. Woos without! Without what? An apple. Knock knock:” knock-knock jokes were a fad of the mid-thirties; the payoff was typically a pun based on a supposed misunderstanding. (Example from the fifties: “Knock-knock.” “Who’s there?” “Eisenhower.” “Eisenhower who?” “Eisenhower late for dinner but I don’t care.”) Here, “Whose” is mistaken as “wars,” “without,” meaning “outside,” mistaken as “without,” meaning “lacking.” A stretch, but it may be pertinent that at the time “the Great War” was sometimes also called “the World War.” The “apple” is a.p.l., Issy – her mother’s initials lower-cased and redistributed - in the company of her brothers the twins; see 333.27 and note. 330.33: “The kilder massed, one then and uhindred:” the children massed - first one, then a hundred (or, actually one hundred and eleven, one, ten and a hundred: McHugh): again, as in I.7, either Roman III or Arabic 111. Either/both a prophecy of their offspring or a bunch of kids unwelcomingly knocking on the honeymoon bedroom door; perhaps not accidental that the Childermas (see McHugh) is a “festival” of mass infanticide. The kids are definitely not welcome right now. See 331.1-2 and note. 330.33-4: “birdyhands:” a bird in the hand… 330.34: “herringabone:” a ring around… 330.34-5: “barneydansked a kathareen round:” a round dance is a folk dance (here, in a barn) where dancers form a circle 330.36 – 331.1: “And where was hunty, poppa the gun?” song: “Bye, baby bunting, daddy’s gone a-hunting…” 331.1-2 “Pointing up to the skyless heaven like the spoon out of a sergeantmajor’s tay:” presumably it’s the gun that’s pointing up. Typically, an HCE signature, here possibly phallic: compare 155.23-5, 567.6-9. Much of the rest of the paragraph describes sexual intercourse. (In which light, the answer to “Why [where] was you hiding, moder of moders?” (330.36) would be “Under your father, dear:” compare 555.22.) 331.2-3: “those phaymix cupplerts:” mixed couples, mixing and coupling, that famous couple/those famous couples 331.3-4: “Becoming ungoing:” coming and going. Applies to both folk dancers and copulators. The observers (children or childish) are slow to realize it isn’t the former: “Peganeen Bushe, this isn’t the polkar” (.10-11) is something like, “Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” See 330.33 and note, .10-13 and note. Also, the idiom “coming and going,” as in: caught either way 331.4-5: “their seeming sames for though that liamstone deaf do his part there’s a windtreetop whipples:” confusing, but Mink’s identification of “liamstone” as Lia Fáil, the “Stone of Destiny” in Tara (now in Westminster Abbey) which “shrieked at the coronation of rightful high kings” (Wikipedia says that it was the “Speaking Stone;” see 306.22-3) “and caused ‘black spot’ on any guilty man seated on it,” helps. I suggest that “their” is also “they’re,” that “seeming sames” echoes “singing songs,” that the “stone” in “liam stone” faces both ways – stone blind, stone deaf – and that “whipples” (in addition to conveying the tree’s branches being whipped around by the wind) sounds “whistles” and “whispers.” Still doesn’t really seem to add up, but the general idea may be that FW’s tree and stone (usually paired, usually opposites) can or cannot sing or talk, can or cannot be seen or heard. 331.5-6: “windtreetop whipples the damp off the mourning:” whiskey drop, drop of whiskey. “Finnegan’s Wake:” “He’d a drop of the craythur every morn.” It’s good for taking the damp out of the morning, for relieving mournful thoughts, for making you feel like saying “Top of the morning!” 331.6: “And the lunger it takes the swooner they tumble two:” given the sexual content of the next seven lines, I suggest this fits the pattern: the two are tumbling together (as in “Circe:” “Tumble her. Columble her;” there are two other Ulysses “tumbles” in this sense.) He’s lunging into her and she’s swooning. The longer it’s been since last time, the sooner they go to it. 331.7-8: “He knows he’s just thrilling and she’s sure she’d squeam:” “thrill” in original sense of penetrate; “squeam” as orgasmic scream, however squeamish she may ordinarily be about such things 331.8: “The threelegged man and the tulipeyed dewydress:” third leg, as in “Circe”’s “middle leg,” penis; also middle prong of male siglum E. “Tulippied dewydress:” she opens to him like a tulip to the morning dew. Again, in Joyce’s works, dew often signifies semen. Also, eyes like tulips would be exceptionally wide open. 331.9: “Lludd hillmythey, we’re brimming to hear!:” this audience is anxious to hear more about these hot happenings. Compare 205.13-5. 331.10: “durst:” dared 331.10-3: “Peganeen Bushe, this isn’t the pokar, catch as you cancan when high land fling! And you Tim Tommy Melooney, I’ll tittle your barents if you stick that pigpin upinto meh!:” the voices are those of children, given a child’s version of sexual intercourse 331.15: “ogsowearit:” Christiani: Danish for: and so it was 331.15-6: “aandt…grosskropper:” Christiani: “aand,” spirit and “krop,” body 331.16: “mokes:” “moke” was a term of derision for someone clumsy, ignorant. In different dialects, a moke can also be a donkey, mule, or horse. 331.17: “alamam alemon:” ladies and gentlemen? (All moms, all men). Also, see 311.2 and note: more square dancing 331.18, 19: “Delude:” de Lawd – name for God in 1930 play The Green Pastures, featuring all-black cast 331.19: “diublin’s:” includes French Dieu 331.22: “mensuring the megnominous as so will is the littleyest:" “megnominous:” mega-nomens: big names. Measuring big shots as well as the little people 331.23: “myrioheartzed with toroidal coil:” megahertz; a toroidal coil is used for storing or transferring electrical energy. Burst of energy paired with regulator of energy 331.24: “fin above wave after duckydowndivvy:” shark going after a sitting duck 331.26: “sommerlad and cinderenda:” in general: summer light and winter dark; bright flame and cinder, hot youth and cold old age 331.27: “Borumoter first took his gage:” measuring – gauging – the weather with a barometer 331.27: “gage:” gaze – in Portrait, chapter four, Stephen’s “gaze” at the wading girl, “gazing” back - here the “lil lolly lavvander waader.” Other echoes from the scene follow: see McHugh. 331.27: “lavvander waader:” lavender water – presumably the “feint of her smell” (.29) 331.28-9: “was it twylyd or the mount of the yare or the feint of her smell made the seomen assalt of her:” was it the twilight, or the month of the year, or her faint fragrance that made him leap (Latin saltus) for her? As usual, the suitor is a seaman from the salt sea, invading -assaulting - the freshwater Liffey. 331.29-30: “seomen assalt:” sea salt, salt sea, salty semen. Probably an overlap of saltus as leap (see previous entry), and the Latin origins of "ejaculate." 331.30: “in imageascene all:” compare 7.31-2. 331.31: “disgeneration:” this generation 331.31-2: “neuhumorisation of our kristianiasation:” cheering-up of our Christian nation 331.32: “the last liar in the earth:” overtone of Genesis: “There were giants in the earth in those days.” 331.34: “the joy of the dew on the flower of the fleets:” in “Oxen of the Sun,” the dew on Gideon’s fleece signals Theodore Purefoy’s paternity. See note to .8. 331.36: “jest come to crown:” expression: to crown the jest 332.2: “big treeskooner:” big tree (compare 136.34); three-masted schooner? (Would go with E outline of 331.8.) 332.2-3: “they made three:” married, they made three children (the twins and Issy) 332.5: “-gheallach-” Gaeltacht: Gaelic-speaking areas of Ireland. Part of FW’s eighth hundred-letter thunderword (.5-7), which has a high concentration of Gaelic, of Irish allusions, and of language related to fatherhood. 332.5-6: “-tullyaghmongan-:” compare “Tullymongan” (99.26-7). Mink: “called ‘Hill of Mongan’ by the Four Masters. Mongan was the 7th-cent reincarnation of Finn MacCool.” 332.7-10: “anruly person creeked a jest. Gestapose to parry off cheekars or frankfurters on the odor. Fine again, Cuoholson! Peace, O wiley! [New paragraph] Such was the act of goth stepping the tolk of Doolin:” gist, at least in part: no laughing allowed. When an unruly person cracked a joke, the secret police, both German and Soviet, were called in to stop his talk. “Goth:” a warlike Germanic tribe 332.12: “we’ll pull the boath to ground togutter:” the rhythm and sentiment of Burns’ “John Anderson My Jo,” e.g. “We clamb the hill thegither…And sleep thegither at the foot / John Anderson my jo!” 332.12: “touchwood:” highly combustible wood (or person); tinder. 332.14: “their roammerin over:” their roaming over. (Again, they’ve settled down.) 332.15: “reining trippetytrappety:” sound of rain; onomatopoeia 332.16: “(anit likenand pleasethee!):” if it likes thee and pleases thee. (Original sense of verb “to like” – to please) 332.17: "becamedump:" given context (lyrics from the suggestive song “What Ho! She Bumps”) became damp. Probably female sexual response: getting wet. Compare next three entries. 332.17: “lifflebed:” Liffey’s (river) bed 332.18: “allamarsch:” marsh – became damper 332.18: “gué:” gooey – even damper 332.18-9: “Jetty de Waarft:” jetty extending from river wharf 332.19: “all the weight of that mons on that little ribbeunuch:” phrase: all the weight of the world (with “mons” as “monde”); mountain (man) and woman (river) 332.19: “mons:” short for Monsieur 332.19: “ribbeunuch:” eunuch: The newly created Eve (from Adam's "-rib-"), compared to Adam, was a eunuch. (I think the last few lines remember a sexual encounter, mainly from the woman’s point of view.) 332.21-2: “the fix in her changeable eye:” a “changeable eye” is a sign of inconstancy – here, apparently, changed to a fixed gaze 332.23-4: “before that his loudship was converted to a landshop:” variant of sailor (“loudship” – lord of a ship) become tailor (running a shop on land – rover being domesticated). See note to 78.12-3. Probable echo of Napoleon’s “nation of shopkeepers” 332.24-5: “hoppy-go-jumpy:” hop, skip, and jump 332.24-5: “the cad out on the beg:” the cad of Book I was begging. 332.25: “amudst:” the meeting is often recalled as a muddy encounter. 332.26: “fiounaregal:” “regal” may indicate a conflict between the crown and Fianna rebels – especially with G. A. A. (“gaa”) included in next word. 332.26: “oathmassed:” outmatched (by rivals in games); bound into one mass by group oath 332.27: “a bridge of the piers:” Stephen’s “Nestor” jest that a pier is a disappointed bridge 332.28: “pontine:” from Latin pons, bridge. Pontoon bridge: a bridge made of boats. The most famous was Xerxes’ across the Hellespont. He – the new husband – has (.27) “forcecaused” – forced, caused, or at least forecast – a pier extended into a bridge across the Liffey, as a symbol of their union. 332.28-9: “synnbildising graters and things:” symbolizing/signifying great(er) things 332.29: “O nilly:” Only 332.29-30: “O nilly, not all, here’s the first cataraction!:” here’s the first contraction! - the "calipers" (.32) being the tongs used in difficult births, to return in the “therrble prongs” of 628.5. 332.30-1: “her harpoons sticking all out of him:” compare 317.34-5. Given “her,” “harpoons” may echo hairpins 332.31-2: “his calipers:” Excalibur 332.33: “cit:” short for citizen. Often disparaging. Occurs in “Aeolus.” Contrasts with rural “rure” of .34 332.34: “in his rure:” in his rear; echo of “rural” 332.34-5: “tucking to him like old booths:” talking to him like old boots. Bloom in “Eumaeus:” “He could spin those yarns for hours on end all night long and lie like old boots.” 332.36: “Check or slowback:” stop or back off 332.36: “Check or slowback Dvershen.” Czechoslovak version. Applies to next paragraph 333.1-335.14: “Why…general:” an interlude (or “Enterruption (333.36) interruption), leading up to the story of Buckley and the Russian general. For about the first half of its length, an unusually high percentage of the language is Slavic – Czech or Russian. Why? Perhaps it’s simply that as the action moves east, to Russia, it takes on the language of the territory being traversed. 333.1-5: “Why…slowjaneska:” confusing, for sure, but one thing reasonably clear is that the door is open (which door? Probably to the parents’ bedroom, upstairs) and that someone wants to know why. (Note “ajar” in “thingajarry” (.2). Old joke: when is a door not a door? When it is ajar.) 333.1: “wenchalows:” includes wench – the Pranquean, for instance. King - or Duke – Wenceslaus (see McHugh) was Bohemian, that is, Czech. One line earlier (332.36) a Czechoslovakian diversion was proclaimed. 333.1: “szeszame:” see 322.36 and notes. 333.3: “K?:” Spanish Que? – What? 333.3: “K?” identifies Kate, among other things reprising her role as “museyroom” (“mewseyfume” (.16)) guide 333.3: “K? an o.:” k n o: beginning of k-n-o-c-k at door 333.4: “shoehandschiner:” shining shoes was the business of an inn’s Boots – Sackerson the manservant, often paired, as here, with Kate. (It was once standard practice for hotel guests to leave out footwear to be attended to overnight.) The two sometimes embody older, debased versions of HCE and ALP. 333.4: “Pad:” Paddy 333.4-5: “anni slavey:” Anna Livvy. “Slavey,” as in “Two Gallants” – a house servant. Again (see .4 and note), Kate is often ALP in an older, lower incarnation. Etymologically, “Slav” means slave. (Also, of course, another item in the Czech – Russian strain) 333.7: “clopped, clopped, clopped:” song - “Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching” – occurs in “Oxen of the Sun.” Sound of Kate, apparently wearing clogs 333.7: “lapsing:” “lap” sometimes serves as an anagram of ALP, e.g. 199.12, 396.30. 333.8: “danzing corridor:” despite the military hostilities mounting during this sequence, the crisis over the Danzig Corridor did not occur until after FW’s publication. Still, Danzig had been a focus of increasing international tensions throughout the thirties. 333.10: “cavarnan:” cave 333.11: “corkedagains:” Lord Cardigan – led Charge of the Light Brigade. Overtones of the event are present in “corridor” (.8), “complement…of men” (.9-10), “two deathdealing allied divisions” (.10-1) “lines of readypresent fire” (.11). 333.11-2: “corkedagains upstored:” bottles (re)corked and stored upstairs. Napoleon the “Corsican upstart” (McHugh), invaded Russia. 333.12: “saloot:” saloon; loot. Salute would be a military one, given with rifles 333.12-3: “bind your heads coming out:” as in binding up wounds, presumably those received in battle 333.13: “remoltked:” two notable Von Moltkes, commonly designated as senior and junior, the first a general in the Franco-Prussian War, the second a general in WW I 333.13-4: “in her serf’s alown:” and to herself (the serf: servant) alone. Also, Ourselves Alone, common mistranslation of "Sinn Féin." (Repeated at .27 as “fain a wan:” see McHugh.) 333.14: “weerpovy willowy:” weeping (or weepy) willow; Weeping Willy 333.14: “drawly:” drawl 333.14: “patter:” quick, formulaic talk. Connotatively, close to the opposite of (see previous entry) “drawl.” Kate’s museyroom routine would be an example. Given what follows, patois may be present too. 333.14-5: “familiars, farabroads and behomeans:” three kinds of people – those nearby, those residing in foreign and faraway places, and those of no fixed address - Bohemians 333.15: “behomeans:” in context, relevant that Bohemia is Czech 333.16: “jammesons:” Mason jars for storing jam (a job for “the cook” (.17)). 333.16-7: “jammesons…juinnesses:” sons of James, daughters of June or Juno. Also, probably a variant of FW’s James – John pairing 333.18: “Bullingdong:” England’s advertisement of its “bulldog spirit” goes back well into the 19th century, but I still think Winston Churchill is in here – spiritual heir of ("Bullingdong") Wellington and in the thick of the mid-to-late 30’s international mess stewing in middle Europe – Poland and the Danzig Corridor, Czechoslovakia, Germany. (Joyce would almost certainly have disliked Churchill.) 333.18: “Bullingdong:” dong-dong – dum-dum – bullets. Compare 238.31-2. 333.18: “caught the wind up:” to “get the wind up” means, among other things, to be scared. 333.18: “Dip:” Here as later (334.6 334.9, 334.14), a reminder of Kate’s “museyroom” request for a “tip,” in its turn a reminder of Dublin’s Kate the Cleaner, with her rubbish “tip.” Also, perhaps a perfunctory curtsy. 333.19: “braught belaw:” raught – seized – by law 333.20: “agony stays:” “stays” was a common term for confining women’s undergarments. By some accounts, they could indeed be agonizing. Unless “outside” means “aside from,” she’s wearing her clothes inside-out. 333.21: “blancking her shifts for to keep up the fascion:” Fascist sympathizers in America wore white shirts. She’s whitening her shirts to be in fashion with the fascists. (Joyce anticipates “fashionista.”) Also, the “k” in “blancking,” gives us the Italian blackshirts as well: more equal-opposites. She’s been fascistically fashion-conscious ever since the king kissed her hand: .21-2. (Note (“licture”) lictor at .35, with McHugh gloss.) 333.22: “beeswixed hand:” beeswax was/is used as ingredient in cosmetic emollients. Equal-oppositely, see 141.30-1: one of Kate’s jobs is beeswaxing the floors, which would presumably get the stuff stuck to her hands. 333.23-4: “her fize like a tubtail of mondayne clothes:” her face like a tub of laundry. This can hardly be complimentary. (The prematurely aged W. H. Auden said of himself that he had “a face like an unmade bed.”) This is Kate, in charge of the Monday washing, as recorded in I.8. Again, a rundown version of the still attractive ALP. Probably an allusion to Swift’s A Tale of a Tub 333.24-5: “birthright pangs:” “bring forth in pain” – woman’s birthright since the Fall. Goes with “atam” – Adam. 333.25: “split an atam:” 1. Split the atom. (See 313.12, 353.22-32.) 2. The “birthright pangs” (.24-5 – see previous entry) were of both childbirth and of Eve’s birth out of Adam – which, since it involved removing a rib, would have temporarily split him open. 333.26: “fader huncher:” the father, hunched over, as a hunchback 333.26: “howdydowdy:” best remembered today as a post-WW II TV puppet, Howdy Doody was originally used in promoting Rice Krispies breakfast cereal. More generally, a jokey salutation. Also, howdy, daddy, to "fadder huncher," father H[umphrey] C.E.). Mr. Layne Farmen points out the echo of 299 Fn. 4: "Hoodle doodle, fam.?" - following a listing of the "lozenge"-like sigla for, mainly, the FW family. There addressed to the family as a whole, the "Howdy" here is for the head of the house.. 333.27: “amnest plein language:” a. p. l.: Again (see note to 313.33-4), signifies Issy as Alice Pleasance Liddell. Also, of course, apple 333.27: “plein language:” plain speaking 333.27: “from his fain a wan, his hot and tot lass:” the message, delivered by Kate, is from ALP, “his” – HCE’s – lass. 333.27: “hot and tot lass:” I don’t know when it originated, but for at least the last fifty years a woman who is “hot to trot” is in the mood for canoodling. (At 334.5 she is “wanton for De Marera to take her genial glow to bed.”) 333.29: “sowns of his loins:” sons of his loins, sown by his loins: the twins 333.30: “hush lillabilla lullaby:“ traditional beginning of lullaby: “Hush, little baby, don’t you cry…” Lilly, often paired with Rose, is one of Issy’s incarnations. 333.30: “lead us not into reformication with the poors:” a nighttime prayer for Issy: whatever you do, don’t fornicate with down-and-outs. Essentially the same hard-headed marriage-market advice given by the mother/nurse in II.2, by Shaun in III.2 333.31: “thingdom of gory, O moan!:” kingdom of glory, amen! My tentative reading here is that the bedtime lullaby is accompanied by prayers. See first entry for .30. 333.31: “once after males:” once after meals, as if for a prescription. (Other indications in the paragraph that the recipient is an invalid: “medicals” (.24); “caudal” (.35), traditionally given to the ailing; “chesty chach” (.35): cough, in the chest; Teplitz and Marienbad (“toplots…morrienbaths” (.36)), spas for the infirm; “cure” (334.1) for lethargy.) 333.34: “epsut the pfot:” more Kate talk: compare 142.5. Kate is the servant in charge of the establishment's chamberpots. 333.35: “licture her caudal:” lick her tail. Also, see second entry for .31: drink her caudle. Also, see McHugh, also Gifford on “caudlectures” as the term appears in “Scylla and Charybids:” a nightly henpecking, delivered behind the curtains of the couple’s fourposter bed. 334.1: “parrotsprate’s:” the parish priest is a prating parrot. 334.1-2: “spick’s my spoon:” phrase: spick and span. Also, lick my spoon (of the caudle, presumably). 334.3: “ensallycopodium:” lycopodium was/is frequently prescribed in homeopathic medicine for, among other ailments, constipation. 334.5: “De Marera:” Marera sugar is brown sugar. (Hence “’Gladstone Browne’” of .6-7, also “browen” of .14: as McHugh notes, “Gladstone’s father was a slaveowner” by way of his inheritance of Demerara, which was a sugar plantation.) Also, a possible overtone of de Valera. Aside from being a fellow head of state, he would seem to have little in common with Gladstone, but Joyce disliked both. 334.6-10: “Mr ‘Gladstone Browne’…Mr ‘Bonaparte Nolan’:” reappearance of “Glasthule Bourne or Boehernapark Nolagh” of 321.8. Also, “toll hut” (.7) repeats “tall hat” (321.10) and “natecup” (.10) repeats “nightcap” (321.10). 334.6-10: “tubble…natecup:” tipple, nightcap: two words for an alcoholic drink, the latter taken before bed 334.7: “toll hut:” another name for a toll booth. The character called HCE begins (31.1) as a turnpike-keeper – that is, a toll collector. 334.9: “vulcanite smoking:” Vulcan, god of fire; smoking volcano. As for (see McHugh) the material itself, accounts of vulcanization sometimes mention “smoking” as part of the process, especially in its early days. (That said, I still have no idea what the object in question might be. Neither Gladstone nor Napoleon, the two main figures in the vicinity, were smokers.) 334.10-11: “reekignites:” re-ignites. Presumably goes with the smoking volcano 334.11: “ground old mahonagyan:” Gladstone as mahogany: perhaps by way of his publicized chopping down of trees; see, for instance, 42.20. 334.13-4: “with this glance dowon his browen and that born appalled noodlum:” with a worried look, a furrowed brow. “Noodlum:” noodle: slang for head 334.14-5: “panellite pair’s:” “’Gladstone Browne’” (.6-7) and “’Bonaparte Nolan’” (.9-10) are the pair. To Joyce, Gladstone was no (“panellite”) Parnellite – rather the reverse. 334.14: “his browen:” Wellington’s (“willingtoned” (.13)) horse was chestnut, a shade of brown. Its name, Copenhagen, goes with “Danelagh” (.13), the Danelaw of Denmark. (Copenhagen’s counterpart, Napoleon’s white horse, shows up at .16, as “his speak quite hoarse.”) 334.15: “delimitator:” delimiter. See 317.34 and note. 334.15: “Oliver White:” preliminary variant of Oscar Wilde: the initials, plus “Great White Caterpillar:” see 351.11 and note. 334.15-6: “he’s as stiff as she’s tight:” an old joke, or at least one I heard a long time ago. Couple goes out drinking, come home to bed, and find to their dismay that he’s tight and she’s stiff, rather than the other way around. 334.16: “his speak quite hoarse:” he speaks quite hoarsely. 334.17: “her midgetsy:” Joyce, on seeing Queen Victoria during her 1900 visit to Dublin: “a tiny lady, almost a dwarf.” See next entry. 334.18: “our own one’s goff stature:” the equestrian statue in question (see McHugh) was mounted on a pedestal and was more than life-sized; its “stature” is probably being contrasted with the midget queen (see previous), whose empire Gough served, perhaps also contrasted with her other soldiers: in his essay on Victoria’s visit, Joyce remarks on “the little English soldiers” guarding her, and his note to the essay (“Explain why the soldiers were English”) presumably refers to the fact that the Irish troops were not trusted with the job. Gough, by contrast, mounted and magnified in his monument, was of long-standing Irish ancestry, a point, inscribed on the statue’s pedestal, which did not prevent its being blown up by the I.R.A. 334.20: “rum…punchey:” rum punch. Sometimes (.23) made with sugar 334.22: “Stay where you’re dummy!:” Stay where you are, dummy! Here, the “dummy” would seem to be the bartender. 334.23: “the scoop:” presumably for the sugar (.23), used in the rum punch (.20). 334.25: “holdmenag’s:” hold my nag (horse) 334.25: “holdmenag’s asses:” horse’s asses. (American insult) 334.25: “sat by:” mounted by 334.25-6: “Allmeneck’s:” “neck-or-nothing:” that is, all-out, regardless of risk – expression often used in horse races (or, in the succeeding words, of a hunt, or of the charge of the Light Brigade.) Allmack’s – perhaps the most prestigious of London’s clubs - would have had a lot of what Bloom calls the “horsey” set. Despite “asses sat by Allmeneck’s men,” it’s next to impossible to imagine them being seen mounted on donkeys. Probably that's the point. 334.27-8: “woollied and flundered:” scared and flustered. (“woollied:” having the willies – being scared; compare 180.32-3: “Positive it woolies one to think over it.”) 334.29-30: “duft the. Duras:“ deoch an dorais: subject of the almanac picture: this commences yet another account of the picture. Also, since (McHugh) “dunneth…Duras” means “Shut the door,” and silence (“Silents” (.31)) follows, the next sequence – a song plus a commercial – may come from the radio, now clearly audible. 334.32-3: “thon print in its gloss so gay how it came from Finndlader’s Yule to the day and it’s Hey Tallaght Hoe on the king’s highway with his hounds on the home at a turning:” compare the “Christmas almanac” picture of “Nausicaa,” sent by “Mr Tunney the grocer’s” (here, the grocery is Findlater’s), with its romantic picture in “lovely” “colours.” Here, the often-remarked almanac picture displayed on the pub's wall: a parting cup being offered to a hunter on horseback: hence the ad: “When visiting at Izd-la-Chapelle taste the lipe of the waters from Carlowman’s Cup” (.35-6). 335.1: “tellyhows:” according to the OED, the first recorded use of “telly” for television was 1930. 335.1: “a six of hearts, a twelve-eyed man:” makes at least arithmetical sense that six bodies equal six hearts and twelve eyes. These are probably the customers, usually twelve men but sometimes six. Perhaps pertinent that in Ireland and elsewhere juries, usually twelve in number, can sometimes be six. (Googling fortune-telling websites for the six of hearts is no help - readings are all over the map – but see McHugh: as “Grace’s card,” it was the playing card on which a supporter of James II wrote his defiance of William of Orange.) 335.2: “who since is dyed drown:” who since has died of drowning; he was introduced at 31.11 as the “sailor king.” “Dyed [drown] brown” continues the brown sugar (334.5) strain. 335.5: “stage to set:” “stage to let” – that is, available for performance. Gabriel uses the term in “The Dead.” 335.5: “grimm grimm tales:” two "grimm"s, probably, because there were two Grimm brothers, with their (fairy) tales 335.6: “deafeeled carp:” deified fish: Jesus 335.6: “bugler’s dozen:” thirteen cards in one suit 335.7: “Holispolis went to Parkland:” see McHugh. When Tim Healy was Governor-General of the Irish Free State, his official residence was in Phoenix Park. 335.10: “pipe a skirl:” see McHugh, and next item. The Landseer painting depicts an incident on the border between England and Scotland. 335.10: “the hundt called a halt on the chivvychace:” allusion to Edwin Landseer’s painting The Hunting of Chevy Chase, depicting a hunting party with hounds (“hundt”) attacking a deer. Probably prompted by almanac picture: such pictures, as hunting prints, were often one of a series, typically four or six in number, beginning with The Stirrup Cup and ending with In for the Kill; a typical name for number two or three in the series would be Tally Ho!, and at .1 we get “It tellyhows its story to their six of hearts.” I.2, I believe, is in part patterned after such a series of hunting prints. 335.13: “oltrigger some:” Olaf Tryggvasson, 10th century Norwegian king, worked to convert Norway to Christianity. Given (see McHugh) that this is part of a patch of Maori, “oltrigger” may also be “outrigger.” 335.13: “Bullyclubber:” a smiter (clubber) of bullies, for instance of the Russian general. Equal-oppositely, one who likes to club with bullies. 335.13: “Bullyclubber burgherly:” probably a nickname, like Buck Mulligan: Balaclava Buckley. In Vanity Fair, the cowardly Jos Sedley, who happened to be in the vicinity of the Battle of Waterloo, manages to get himself known as “Waterloo Sedley.” 335.15: “Let us propel us for the frey of the fray!:” considering what follows - .16-20 – let us charge ahead into the struggle! 335.15: “Us, us, beraddy!:” (Let us) be ready! Also, “Us, us” may be a re-sounding of the (supposed) Sinn Féin motto: see 333.13-4, 333.27. 335.17-8: “The Wullingthund sturm is breaking. The sound of maormaoring:” The Duke of Wellington was apparently never in New Zealand, but, as McHugh notes, its capital city is named Wellington for all that. Wellington did have a major part to play in the annexation of India, thus assuring that the sun would never set on the British Empire; New Zealand’s natives, its Maoris, displaced by the dawning imperium, had cause for “maormaoring” the fact of its rising sun. New Zealand in general is about as far from Britain as any land mass can get, just on the wrong side of the Greenwich-established dateline: when the sun is setting in one it is rising in the other. What follows will be a David-and-Goliath story: Russia’s land mass the hegemonic counterpart to Britannia’s ruling of the waves; Buckley, the reluctantly recruited Irish aboriginal islander, is the natural enemy of both. 335.16-20: “Ko…wana!:” many of the words are from a haka, Maori dance-and-chant before battle or, here, a rugby match. 335.16, 17: “A lala,” “Ala lala:” Allah 335.20: “rawshorn generand:” here, at the outset of the Buckley-Russian general story, this account is pertinent: “’Who struck Buckley.’ Common phrase used to irritate Irishmen. The story is that an Englishman, having struck an Irishman named Buckley, the latter made a great outcry…Who struck Buckley?’ ‘I did, said the Englishman, preparing for the apparently inevitable combat. ‘Then,’ said the ferocious Hibernian…’then, serve him right.’” (John Camden Hotten, The Slang Dictionary: Etymological, Historical, and Anecdotal (London: 1903), p. 99)) 335.24ff.: “—Paud the roosky…:” much of the following, for about forty lines, takes us back to a number of beginnings, including Adam in the garden and FW’s first chapter - to (336.17-8) “a wold made fresh” (Eden as new world, as uncultivated upland (creation)), and word made flesh (incarnation). 335.24-5: “they all of them then each in his different way of saying calling on the one in the same time:” each was calling to God in his own way. 335.25: “one in the same:” phrase: one and the same 335.26: “hibernian knights underthaner:” Arabian Nights Entertainment 335.27: “doesend end:” doesn’t end 335.28: “wished:” washed, from the (washing) (“tublin”) tub 335.28: “olives:” Noah’s dove’s olive branch 335.29: “Nowhare’s yarcht:” New York? 335.30: “when Aimee stood for Arthurduke:” a mare “stands for” a stallion when she allows him to mount her. Here, the stallion is Wellington, the big white horseman of FW’s Waterloo, who once (apocryphally: see 10.17-18 and note) said that being born in Ireland no more made him Irish than being born in a stable would have made him a horse – an insult to Ireland for which he is paid back in I.1 by being turned into a horseman/horse/horse’s arse. In the next line she, Aimee, will also “fall,” madly, for “the flatter fellows” (flatterers, among other things), thus falling from grace. As a duke, Wellington was “his grace,” far above any “fellow,” which once signified insignificance. Again, the story is starting before the fall. 335.32: “the lang in the shirt:” the lad in the shirt? Mark 14:51-2: young man wearing only a shirt-like garment when Jesus is taken; the shirt is seized and he runs away naked. 335.34: “on the make:” American expression: diligently pursuing some dishonest or dishonorable course for profit 335.34: “make…merry:” expression: to make merry. Compare 197.10. 336.2: “corse:” corpse 336.2: “want to mess on him:” given “corse” (see previous entry), his designs on the corpse were to eat it, as mess (meal). (Compare “cropse” (55.8).) Some of the language in the vicinity (“wholed bould shoulderedboy’s” (shoulder, boiled), “measures for messieurs” (portions, for guests), “messer’s massed” (“Messer,” German knife, and, again, mass as meal)) indicate the venerable anti-Catholic version of the mass as cannibalism, which shows up in “Lestrygonians” and several other places in FW. 336.6-7: “the louthly meathers, the loudly meaders, the lously measlers:” the (London) Lord Mayor; in context (see previous item) the Lord Mayor’s Feast, an annual banquet for London’s high and mighty 336.9-10: “when a tale tarries shome shunter shove on:” get on with the story. 336.11. “Pray:” please 336.12: “Mr A:” probably, Adam 336.12-3: “wasch woman (dapplehued):” their own clothes are dappled from having been splattered by the wash. 336.12-3: “(dapplehued):” again, Issy = a. p. l. (Alice Pleasance Liddell) = apple; younger ALP. She and her looking-glass double Marge have distinctively different hues: Marge is darker. The reintroduction of “Mr A” (.12) and these two, in a park or garden, takes us back to the original fall that preoccupied FW’s first chapters. 336.14: “spindlesong:” poem: “The Spindle Song,” by Sir Walter Scott. It prophesizes the fortunes of a newborn child. 336.15: “sere Sahara:” Sarah was barren (sere) into old age, until…see .15-6 and note. 336.15: “oakleaves:” symbolize distinction in politics and public life 336.15-6: “And then. Be old:” …and then, behold: though old, she was pregnant… But also, what follows in life’s “awebrume hour” (.15) – to quote from Philip Larkin’s “Dockery and Son:” “And age, and then the only end of age.” Still, the following lines seem to suggest reincarnation after death. 336.16-8: “We are once amore as babes awondering in a wold made fresh where with the hen in the storyaboot we start from scratch:” the world was made new, as if starting from scratch. 336.17-8: “with the hen in the storyaboot we start from scratch:” best-known storybook hen is The Little Red Hen, who does indeed start from scratch – while scratching around for food she finds a wheat seed, and, starting there, step by step produces a loaf of bread, which she refuses to share with those who wouldn’t help her. (Forecasts III.1's story of the Ondt and the Gracehoper.) Also, ALP’s/Kate’s frequent identification with Biddy the hen probably relates to the Roman Livia and the literally auspicious event on the occasion of her marriage to Augustus: “An eagle, swooping down over where she was sitting, dropped a white chicken into her lap…An awesome portent,” the bird was “duly removed for safekeeping to a Claudian estate” where it “produced a brood of chickens” officially under her protection. (Tom Holland, Dynasty: The Rise and Fall of the House of Caesar (New York: 2015) p. 113.) Also, the (“storyaboot”) story-book is FW, as scratched up and patched together by ALP-incarnation Biddy the hen, introduced at 10.31 (where – back to the Little Red Hen - she is twelve different kinds of “little;” compare 111.33: “lookmelittle likemelong hen”) and, in I.5, reviewed as one of the party’s most responsible for the letter, which is to say for FW. 336.20: “Drouth is stronger than faction:” that is, a condition of universal deprivation can reconcile inherited antagonisms, thus leading to “truce” (.19). “Faction” as in Irish faction-fighter 336.21-32: “It was…nullatinenties:” Gladstone is present throughout this paragraph: Grand Old Man, elections, candidacy, Liberal (“liberaloider” (.24)) Party, practice of (according to Joyce) hypocritically seeking out young prostitutes, only supposedly (again, in Joyce’s version) for purposes of conversion or, on Parliamentary “second wreathing” (.27-8) – second reading, second look - as prey for his (“plow” (.29)) penis. 336.21: “golden meddlist:” golden medlar, apple-like fruit of the medlar tree; compare Atalanta’s golden apples (.27). Also, compare 111.5: Biddy’s medal as the prize hen in a local poultry competition. See note to .26. 336.22: “his place is his poster:” a soldier’s place is where he’s posted. Also, takeoff on “her face was her fortune:” in this case it’s his face, on a poster, which for some reason is so disagreeable that we’re going to “mark it” (up), with charcoal (“carbon”) or ink (“caustick”) - .23-4. 336.23: “sore:” sir 336.23-4: “carbon caustic:” carbon copy? The term was definitely around. 336.24-5: “bequother the liberaloider at his petty corporelezzo that hung caughtnapping from his baited breath:” both McHugh and Oxford editors have “bequothed.” The corporal was hanging on his every word. 336.24-5: “corporelezzo:” Italian: corpore lezzo: stinking body 336.25: “caughtnapping:” caught napping: something the posted soldier (see .22 and note) should not have allowed to happen 336.25: “caughtnapping with his baited breath:” a classic misprision, similar to a mondegreen. Properly “bated breath” – that is, abating, holding, one’s breath – but in this case “baited” does go with “caught” breath baited with ("caughtnapping") catnip. Compare the “throw it away” – “Throwaway” confusion of Ulysses. 336.26: “younging fruits:” the fruits that lured Atalanta, in the next line, were golden apples. Golden apples are to be found in Breasil, also in the next line. 336.27: “breastswells:” Breasil, Brendan’s island utopia in the Atlantic. The Irish Atlantis. In light of the above note, I think that Atalanta’s swelling breasts = young fruits = golden apples. It sounds as if she’s sticking the apples under her tunic to make things look swellier. Also, the (Atlantic) ocean’s undulations, tidally swelling, and “shimmeryshaking” (.28) under the gravitation and illumination of the moon. (Compare, among others, Wordsworth: “this sea that bears her bosom to the moon.”) 336.27-8: “second wreathing:” second reading: in Parliament, the second presentation of a bill 336.28: “bight:” bay, inlet. Used in this sense in “Ithaca.” As with (see .27 and note) “breastswells:” sexually anthropomorphized: it is (“taught”) taut (and “shimmeryshaking”) shaking “for the welt of his plow” (.28-9). 336.28: “shimmeryshaking:” song: “I wish that I could shimmy like my sister Kate.” (“She shakes it like jelly on a plate.”) Dates from 1922 336.29-31: “And where the peckadillies at his wristsends meeting be lovely so lightly dovessoild the candidacy, me wipin eye sinks, of his softboiled bosom:” essentially, an evaluation of the whiteness (“candidacy”) of his linen, often taken as the mark of a man’s claim to be a gentleman: granted that his collars and cuffs may not be quite spotless, still my wife and I agree that his white shirt is pristine. By extension, an extenuation of his character: whatever his peccadillos, he’s pure at heart. (Among other things, they are evaluating the candidacy of a politician, in this case Gladstone.) 336.29: “peckadillies at his wristsends:” Piccadilly Circus is in London’s West End. 336.29-30: “wristsends meetings:” West End meetings are just where such things as the condition of one’s collars and cuffs are likely to matter most. Also, the wrist-ends of shirts, meeting at just the precise right point with the wrist-ends of jacket or coat, are signs that one can afford the right class of tailor. At least once, Jeeves points this out to Bertie Wooster. 336.30: “me wipin eye sinks:” me wife and I thinks. (Compare .26.) (The speaker’s language is lower-ordersy – apparently they are the ones who are the “illicterate…nullatinenties” (.31-2).) 336.30: “wipin eye:” the speaker is so moved by affection for the subject that he and his wife are crying. 336.31: “softboiled bosom:” Lenehan, in “Wandering Rocks,” about a classy occasion: “boiled shirt affair.” Minus collars and cuffs, dress shirts were cleaned by boiling. 336.33: “snapped:” to snap at someone is to respond curtly. The speaker here is "incensed" (.35). Also, as we would say today, to snap is to lose it. Notebook VI.B.5.078 note: "I am afraid I snapped" 336.33-337.3: “All…Dupe.:” essentially, I think, a riposte to the worshipful account (“paregoric” (.36) panegyric) of the central character (Adam, HCE) just given. 336.34: “by this sum taken:” has a sup taken: Irish euphemism for “has been drinking.” Appears in “Ivy Day in the Committee Room.” The new speaker is at least a little drunk; in addition (see first entry for .36) perhaps drugged as well – see second note to .36. 336.34: “whilom eweheart photognomist:” “whilom:” the former speaker. “Eweheart:” contrast with “lionheart.” “Photognomist:” because this was a snap(shot) judgment (photographic) based on appearances (as by a physiognamist) – for instance that bit about how the subject’s white shirt showed a clean bosom and by extension a soft heart – see note to .29-31. Also: whilom protagonist: former hero: the snap judgment was wrong. (“Who” (.34): antecedent is “The Nolan:” most authors probably would have inserted a comma.) 336.35-6: “as that what he had consummed was his own panegoric:” as they say in Hollywood, he started to believe his own press clippings. Again: “panegoric:” panegyric. Perhaps pertinent as well that paregoric, an opiode, can induce euphoria 336.36: “panegoric:” paregoric is used against diarrhea – perhaps a response to (“apparient” (.31)) aperient, which has the opposite effect. (The word appears in this sense in “Eumaeus.”) 336.36: “what a lout about it:” so what? 337.1: “pippappoff pigeon shoot:” the sound of the guns popping off while shooting pigeons 337.1: “gracesold:” grizzled 337.1: “gracesold getrunner:” echoes/parodies “Grant, old gardener” of 336.21, which in turn mocked, besides Adam, the “Grand Old Man” – again, Gladstone. 337.3: “witchbefooled legate:” an old man bewitched by a young temptress. A papal legate would as a rule be an old man. “Calypso:” “laughing witch” 337.4-14: “His…night:” gist: calm down, be quiet, leave well enough alone. (So that we can hear the story) 337.4: “His almonence:” “His Eminence:” a cardinal 337.5-6: “providencer’s divine cow:” sounds like a variant on the Norse “Imperishable Sow,” which kept supplying pork no matter how much you ate. Collaterally, a cow that never stops giving milk, thus showing that God will always provide 337.6: “what matter:” again: so what? So: 6-7: “what matter what all his freudzay:” no matter what all his friends say 337.7: “holds his hat to harm him:” proverbial: someone who will willingly hold your hat and stand by if you get into a fight. A false friend 337.7: “let hutch just keep on under at being a vanished consinent:” with “hutch” continuing a string of “h- words (“who holds his hat to harm him”), let "h" remain a vanished consonant – linguistically, a consonant (“h” is the standard example) which has ceased to be sounded, sometimes ceased to be written. An example might be “oldher” (.5), pronounced "older." Gist: let the man (“hutch,” HCE) continue being submerged/silent /absent while ALP ("annapal livibel prettily” (.9)) keeps prettily prattling on. 337.9: “lude:” lute 337.10: “solemonly angled:” as Yeats says in, among other poems, “Solomon and the Witch,” Solomon was angled for and caught by the witch Sheba – that is, he was “witchbefooled” (.3). A variant on the major FW theme of old men foolishly falling for young girls: "'Tis life that lies if woman's eyes have been our old undoing" (509.26-7). 337.11-3: “Leave the letter that never begins to go find the latter that ever comes to end:” perhaps FW itself 337.13-4: “signed of solitude, sealed:” Sign/Seal of Solomon. Compare .13-4 and note. 337.15ff: “Simply…:” yet again, we return to the beginning, the scandal in the park. 337.15: “the mug in the middle:” the "tertium quid" (526.12) who sometimes appears between the twins, here between Brian and Nolan. 337.15-6: “ney billy ney boney:” McHugh has Gladstone for “billy;” I’d say Wellington, by way of “Willingdone”/William, is at least as likely. 337.16: “twee:” overly quaint, precious in derogatory sense. Current in Joyce’s time 337.16: “wosen:” women. Maybe overtone of hosen, ME for leggings or stockings. “Twee” can be “two” (legs) as well as “three;” “cream hose” is a Googleable phrase for off-white stockings, Ulysses twice features “cream” as a color for a woman’s article of clothing; variously colored stockings repeatedly figure in memories of the park temptresses; later in the paragraph the girls are dancers in tutus doing a “gay feeters dance” with their “dainty daulimbs,” dainty limbs. If this convinces, I’d add about “Suppwose” (.16) that “Sup-hose” was at the time and still is a patented name for what are more commonly called support stockings. Equally-oppositely, they would most likely be purchased by older women. 337.18: “stotterer:” the stutterer is always or almost always HCE. 337.19-20: “(tutu the font and tritt on the bokswoods like gay feeters’s dance):” dancing instructions (note “tutu”): to the front and then, trippingly, backwards. Probably an echo of “foot it featly here and there,” from The Tempest 337.21: “lobstarts:” upstarts. Also, as the three park soldiers, ready to respond to Wellington’s “Up guards, and at them!” (Upstarts: Wellington called his troops "scum" and disapproved of any signs of soldierly spontaneity, including cheers for him.) Perhaps overtone (compare 333.11-2) of (Corsican) upstart (in the “waterloose” sequence of I.1 there are between one and “three lipoleums” (8.30)), Wellington’s opposite; here we have “up to three longly lurking lobstarts.” 337.22: “pink him:” pink: to puncture, as with a rapier (or bayonet). Occurs in Romeo and Juliet 337.22-3: “She will nod amproperly smile:” she will not smile improperly; she will nod and smile properly; she will nod and/or smile appropriately (and inappropriately). 337.23-4: “They are as piractical jukersmen sure:” most authors would probably have set off the prepositional phrase with commas. 337.24: “paltipsypote:” tipsy = drunk. Goes with “pote,” from Latin potare, to drink 337.24-5: “Feel the wollies drippeling out of your fingathumbs:” “Circe,” Bloom to Bella: “Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully’s cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb.” 337.25-6: “floweers have ears, heahear!:” doubling (hear hear) because there are two ears? Also, as McHugh notes, “Walls have ears” – by way of “wallflowers,” flowered wallpaper 337.27: “So peached:” in context, a reminder of the I.3’s Peaches and Daddy Browning: old man falling for young girl(s) 337.29-30: “oodlum hoodlum doodlum:” compare 333.26: “howdydowdy.” Oodles of howdy-do’s. Also, probable overtone of “A hundred thousand welcomes” 337.30: “to yes:” yez: slang for “you;” indicates lower-class origins – consistent with the kind of greeting noted just above 337.31: “how the hillocks:” Hill of Howth 337.32: “We want Bud:” prompted by (.26) “Budlim.” 338.1: “Milster Malster in the chair:” a public-house chairman is the member of a group chosen, usually jocularly, to preside over fun and festivities. (My impression, but only that, is that such groupings are/were not usually spontaneous – that they consisted of regulars who came together at fixed intervals.) Here, the man at the bar, the master Malster, is the one chosen as chairman. 338.2-3: “How Burghley shuck the rackushant Germanon:” for “Burghley,” Glasheen has a tentative identification of William Cecil, 1st Baron Burghley. In suppressing recusants, Burghley was ready to use the rack. Also, Rakusan is Czech for “Austrian.” By far the best-known Austrian German at the time of this chapter’s writing was Hitler, who certainly had some affinities with Burghley, rack and all, especially, one would think, as the latter would have looked in the eyes of an Irish Catholic. In his letters Joyce quotes from Parisian newspapers referring to Hitler as “l’Autriche,” the Austrian. I think that Hitler and his regime are significant presences throughout this chapter, most of it composed and written in the mid-thirties. 338.2-3: “For Ehren, boys, gobrawl!:” “Erin go Bragh!:” pretty much guarantees that the ensuing narrative will pander to nativist vainglory at its stupidest. “Gobrawl:” Go brawl! - yet another incitement to the “fighting Irish” to go over the top and get themselves massacred. The next line (“Citizen soldiers” (.4)) recalls the citizen of “Cyclops;” of course he shows up to the sound of public applause. No words are adequate, I think, to express Joyce’s bottomless well of contempt for such sentiments. 338.4: “plouse:” applause blended with (public) house: the chairman is getting a hand. 338.5-10: “Taff…often?:” your annotator thinks that a lot of what follows is in response to cues in the immediate here-and-now, or from apparitions or aftereffects tracing sequentially back to the here-and-now. Here, the rainstorm is a “Circe"-like imaginative transformation of the background sound of clapping hands. At the same time, there is what Eugene Jolas, in Remembering James Joyce, called a "radio yarn" going on - the pub radio introduced at this chapter's outset is broadcasting a drama, with many of the visual effects being induced by what Orson Welles, a specialist in such productions, called "the theatre of the mind." 338.5: “smart:” in sense of sharply dressed. Butt, on his first appearance, will be hoping to match him in “tifftaff toffiness” (.12) tiptop fashionableness. 338.5: “of the peat freers:” of the pied brothers. Why pied? Because, according to the story being told, there’s a hole in the roof (.6) – hence his hoisting of an emergency umbrella – through which rain is falling. See .11-2 and note. 338.5: “thirty two eleven:” besides 1132, possibly thirty to eleven, that is, 10:30 p.m. Last call will be in about thirty pages. 338.6: “relevution of the karmalife order privious:” metempsychotically recalling his past life. One way of explaining the Shem-Shaun equal-opposites figure-ground reversals. Also, revolution: the karma carried into the next life 338.7: “in byway of:” by way of 338.7: “emergency umberolum:” emergency umbrella:” can mean a number of things – covering one’s head with a newspaper, for instance – but in Joyce’s time it was often a cheap one-use-only umbrella. See next entry. 338.7-8: “paraguastical solation:” the umbrella (note “para…sol”) is a solution (“emergency” (.7) in the sense of makeshift, temporary) to a problem, that problem being a rainstorm, plus being caught in a dwelling with a "roof" you can look "through" (.5-6). 338.9: “blurty moriartsky:” bloody murder: his reaction to the “flashing and krashning” (.8) of the rainstorm’s lightning and thunder, which has gotten so bad that it seems to be (rhyttel in his hedd” (.8)) rattling around inside his head. 338.9: “buttywalch:” bottle-washer 338.11: “mottledged:” he’s mottled (and “pied” (.11)) because it’s been raining on his clothes. Compare “Oxen of the Sun,” where Mulligan has been caught in the rain, and his clothes in consequence are “somewhat piebald.” Also, see 250.36 and note to 250.23ff. 338.11: “mottledged youth, clergical appealance:” a model youth – so much so that one might take him for a member of the clergy 338.11: “clergical appealance:” phrase: appeal to clergy. Perhaps Butt’s clothes (black?) give or gave him the appearance of a clergyman; when rained on they become “pied:” see note to .11-2. 338.11: “pied:” French for foot, as in the repeated presentation of Shaun and Shem/Jacob and Esau as head and foot – Hamlet’s “cap-a-pied” 338.11-2: “pied friar:” the Pied Friars, or Fratres de Pica, were an English religious order of the Middle Ages, so named because their habits were black and white. Also, see second note to .5. 338.11-3: “supposing to motto the sorry dejester in tifftaff toffiness or to be digarced from ever and a daye in his accounts:” general sense: he’s trying to live up to his brother’s high sartorial standards; if he doesn’t he’ll be disgraced. Also, of course, he’s failing in the attempt. 338.11: “tifftaff:” tiptop. Complements pied as foot 338.12: “motto:” a pretty weak echo, but in context: match. He "supposing to motto") supposedly supposed to match his first-class brother, but being the "pied" and ("mottledged" (.11)) mottled of the two, he hasn't a chance. At this juncture, the relationship of Shaun to Shem (here "Taff" to "Butt") resembles that of Issy to her looking-glass double Marge: real butter to imitation margarine, pure pearl to maculate opal. 338.12: “the sorry dejester:”jester in the sense of (comical) imitator - Shem/Butt is the one who tells jokes. Also, as a heavy drinker, he's prone to problems with his digestion. 338.13: “digarced:” possibly "discalced," a word for some mendicant friars who go barefoot 338.14: “Till even so aften:” eleven p.m.? Christiani has “evening” for “aften.” See third note to .5. 338.16: “puts up his furry furzed hare:” to “put up” your hair is the opposite of “letting your hair down.” 338.17: “Conscribe:” as in military conscription. The sequence commencing here is loaded with military language, much of it from WW I. 338.18: “groundsapper:” a “sapper” is a soldier whose business is battlefield (“ground,” in “groundsapper”) fortifications. An equal-opposite word, it can mean either someone who tends and repairs such works or (more commonly) someone who undermines them. 338.18: “soilday:” soldier. Again, “soil” goes with “ground.” 338.20: “amaltheouse:” malt house 338.20: “leporty hole:” leper’s hole; Liberty Hall in sense of ruleless free-for-all 338.20: “Endues:” endures – here, suffering through the speeches of parliamentary blowhards 338.20: “paramilintary:” paramilitary, parliamentary 338.21: “urdlesh:” Urdish. Urban Dictionary: “Urdish, a blending of the words ‘Urdu’ and ‘English,’ is a hybrid of English and the south Asian languages and basically means to combine both types of words in one sentence.” OED doesn’t have it. 338.22: “Sling Stranaslang:” Saint Stanislaus, patron saint of Poland 338.23: “Setanik:” satanic 338.24: “Siranouche:” Scaramouche: fast-talking clown of Commedia del’arte 338.24: “gunshop:” in context, gunship. (See McHugh note to “leporty hole” (.21).) 338.24: “monowards:“ man-words. Assumption is that these will be simpler and more straightforward than woman-words. 338.25-7: “They did oak hay doe fou Chang-li-meng when that man d’airain was big top tom saw tip side bum boss pageantfiller:” a proliferation of one-syllable words, after the demand for (“manosymples” (.25)) monosyllables 338.26: “Chang-li-meng…big top tom…”etc.: Charlemagne reformed orthography with what is called “Carolingian minuscule.” 338.26: “big top:” the main-event tent in P.T. Barnum’s “three-ring [note “rings” in “glowrings” (.28)] circus.” The eight one-syllable words in this sequence, beginning with “big,” have a predominantly American flavor. (So does (“oak hay” (.25)) OK.) 338.26: “man d’airain:” Robert Flaherty’s 1934 film Man of Aran 338.28: “Bryant the Bref:” that is, another exemplary speaker of brief words. Given proximity to Charlemagne (.26), perhaps a sideways allusion to Pepin le Bref, his father 338.30: “our dreams which we foregot at wiking:” common observation that dreams are forgotten almost immediately. Freud, whose (“intrepidation of our dreams” (.29-30)) The Interpretation of Dreams is present, told his patients to write down their dreams on waking; see .30-1 and note. 338.30: “wiking:” Viking 338.30-1: “the morn hath razed out limpalove:” waking-up (raised) erection. Oxford editors have “our” for “out.” “Razed:” – the erotic dream is being obliterated; compare Stephen in Portrait, chapter five, trying to record his wet dream before it vanishes. Another equal-opposite: in “Scylla and Charybdis,” a “lamp of love” is an Elizabethan prostitute. 338.32: “Sing:” Saint 338.35: “minkerstary:” ministry 338.35-6: “gorsecopper’s fling weitoheito langthorn:” a dark lantern, as used by the police (“-coppers”) before flashlights were invented; one appears in “Circe.” See 339.1 and note. 338.36: “fed up the grain oils of Aerin:” lanterns of the 19th century, dark and otherwise, were sometimes fueled by oil. 339.1: “flashermind’s rays:” from the dark lantern 339.1: “his lipponease longuewedge wambles:” “lip:” lip. “Longuewedge:” wedge-shaped – langue – tongue; language. “Wambles:” see Gifford on “Aeolus’” “ANNE WIMBLES, FLOW WANGLES:” combined, something like: o move giddily, unsteadily. Gist: his command of Japanese is dodgy. First example – “Ullahbluh! Sehyoh narar,” etc. (.2) – certainly seems to confirm. 339.1ff: “lipponease…:” Taff has ended in stage Chinese; Butt answers in stage Japanese. Since 1931 the two countries had been at war, with Japan, the aggressor, prevailing. ("Sehyoh narar“ (.2)) Sayonara was probably the one Japanese word that westerners would have recognized. 339.2. “Manhead:” manhood. Given context, probably penis 339.5: “pitschobed!:” McHugh: pissabed; repeated at 397.25, 600.8. Literally a bed-wetter; more generally, a contemptible person or thing 339.6: “belaburt:” Czech for Wurst. See next entry. 339.6: “pentschmyaso:” according to Petr Ŝkrabánek, a compound of Russian words for bake and meat – perhaps something like the contemporary expression “dead meat.” (Note that McHugh traces “pitschobed” (.5) to “theme of eating the god.”) 339.8: “bays:” bay horses, as in “Campdown Races:” “I bet my money on the bobtailed nag / Somebody bet on the bay.” 339.8-9: “bell the warning:” warning bell 339.9-10: “Chromean fastion:” as “Crimean fashion,” refers to the fashions coming out of the Crimean War: Balaclava hats, Raglan coats, Cardigan sweaters. Sequence following lists some. Also, “fastion” = fustian, meaning pompous and vapid speech (war speeches, for instance), originally meaning clothing made of coarse material. O Hehir notes that “roscians” (.11) signifies “inflated speech” – I’m presuming because of the famous ("Chromean") Roman actor Roscius’s declamations. Also, “Chromean” recalls the (“chromo” (334.24)) chromolithograph of the hunter of the pub's almanac picture – here as there cuing a recitation from “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” this time around stressing the colors of his outfit. (As the name suggests, colors were what chromolithographs were known for.) McHugh has “seven items [of clothing]: colours of rainbow,” which would be par for the course, but I can find only (“blousejagged” (.12)) blue, ("scarlett” (.12)) red, and (“treecoloured” (.12-3)) green. (“Gaelstorms” (.13) may sound Italian gialla, yellow, and there may just possibly be redundant blue and green in “bulbsbyg” and “roscian,” but still… See note to .12-3. 339.12: “manchokuffs:” handkerchief(s) 339.12-3: “treecoloured camiflag:” in some terrains - forest, jungle - wearing green, tree-colored camouflage would make sense. Also, the French tricolor. So: really only three colors, not seven? (If so, and if - see note to .9-10 - "Gael-" includes gialla, yellow, Ireland's green-white-and-gold might be discernible.) Apparently, in Joyce’s day there was no red-blue-green flag. 339.15: “Seval shimars pleasant time payings:” you can pay on the installment plan. 339.15: “Tenter and likelings:” tender looks of liking from (see McHugh) the mademoiselles who find his new clothes fetching 339.18-21: “(all Perssiasterssias shookatnaratatattar at his waggonhorchers, his bulgeglarying stargapers razzledazzlingly full of eyes, full of balls, full of holes, full of buttons, full of stains, full of medals, bull of blickblackblobs):” the “flashermind’s rays” (339.1) of the lantern have dazzled and half-blinded him; his eyes are bulging/glaring/staring ahead; the darkened afterimages of the dazzle swim before his eyes in the seven kinds of blotches – eyes, balls, holes, buttons, stains, medals, black blobs – that have constellated the general’s uniform. (See note for .27.) Compare Stephen’s vision after the drunken whirl in “Circe:” “Stars all around suns turn roundabout. Bright midges dance on walls.” Also, Ellmann on the original version of the Russian General story: “when he [Buckley] drew a bead on a Russian general…when he observed his splendid epaulettes and decorations he could not bring himself to shoot.” 339.22: “Insects:” the earwig (“Here weeks” (.13-4)) is an insect. 339.24: “(if that he hids:” as if he had (or has) 339.24: “nate of glozery:" native glossary 339.25: “spent fish’s:” spendthrift’s. Also see .28 below. 339.25: “allasundery:” all asunder. Also, Alexander II was czar during the last year of the Crimean War. 339.26: “bumfit:” a bad – bum - job of fitting. (American sense of the word; English – arse – may also be in play.) (Perhaps a flashback to the Norwegian Captain story: compare 340.19 and note.) Also, bunfight: Britishism for grand formal dinner 339.27-9: “a bear raigning in his heavenspawn consomation robes:” the “constellated” figure noted above is the constellation Ursa Major, with its seven stars. Russia-as-bear also figures in. Alexander II (.25) was, of course, wearing (“Erminia’s” (.29)) ermine ("consomation robes" (.28)) coronation robes during the ceremony. 339.27: “heavenspawn:” heaven-spanning, as in a rainbow. Goes with “raigning” (.27), raining: precipitation, as at 627.7-11, is spawned in the heavens. This time around (“Rent…voluant” (.28-9)), all seven colors are clearly present, as contrasted with .9-10. Also, as czar, Alexander II was the “Anointed of God.” 339.28: “consomation:” constellation. Also “consummation:” he has consummated his spawning, which is why he has (.25) a “spent fish’s” smile. 339.30: “The he st stoo stoopt:” possibly a comment on Alexander II’s (relatively) liberal, democratizing innovations as czar. (“Stupid” may be in there too.) After his assassination, some reactionaries concluded that that was what you got if you conceded - stooped - too much. 339.33: “minkst:” In Europe, minks came mainly from Russia. 339.34: “barn:” bairn, child 340.1: “Scutterer of guld:” Scourge of God: epithet for Attila, just cited (339.32) 340.2: “lyewdsky…fitchid:” according to King Lear IV.6.122-3, the fitchet is an exceptionally lewd animal. 340.2: “so so:” so and so – a derogatory term (So is "so-so.") 340.3: “walshbrushup:” to “welshcomb” one’s hair is comb with one’s fingers. Appears in “Aeolus” 340.3: “boney bogey braggs:” “you bonnie braes” (hillsides) – in “The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond.” "Boney" as Napoleon, noted by McHugh, brings Waterloo into the action. 340.4: “pinkpoker:” his tongue, poking at the inside of his cheek (i.e. “tongue in cheek”) as a sign of skepticism. 340.6: “Hoofd Ribeiro:” Howth Riviera? 340.8: “bloasted tree:” blasted tree, as by lightning 340.8: “the felled:” those felled in battle. Also, a “felled” tree – perhaps another glance at Gladstone, whose hobby was chopping down trees 340.9: “Oghrem:” battle of Aughrim, not the Boyne, marked final defeat of native Irish forces against the Williamites. It was the bloodiest battle in Irish history. 340.11: “prink the pranks:” break the ranks (in battle); break the bank 340.12: “Allahblah!:” All blah! Again, he’s had his tongue in his cheek (.4) and is feeling pretty jaundiced about such heroics. Also, compare 235.6-7: his comment on the Muslim call to prayer 340.13: “a blackseer:” perhaps a reference to Joyce’s wretched vision, especially the (black) eyepatch. Compare 16.29, 182.33, 465.12. In any case, he’s a back-seer, a "retrospectioner" (265.5-6) striving to recollect events of the past. 340.13-4: “the straggles for wife in the rut of the past:” given context, “rut” is sexual: in evolution, the male struggle for wives is driven by the desire to rut and reproduce. 340.14-5: “widnows in effigies keening after the blank sheets in their faminy:” the male struggle for wives/life produces war, which produces widows, who keen over the blank spaces where the men of the family used to be – a devastating loss resembling that left by the (“faminy”) Famine. Winding sheets, for the dead, are ("blank") blanc, white. 340.17-9: “Bernessson Mac Mahahon from Osro, bearing nose easger for sweeth prolettas on his swooth prowl!:” as part of the recollections, the Norwegian Captain (from (“Osro”) Oslo) reappears, as the black sheep of the family, on the prowl. 340.17: “Osro:” orso is Italian for bear, as in Russian bear, as in Ursa Major. 340.17-8: “bearing nose easger:” bears find honey by smelling it. The honey-smelling bear might be said to have an eager nose. Also, bearing northeast – reversing the direction of the weather front (and Norwegian Captain) reported/predicted at 324.25-34 340.18: “sweeth prolettas:” “Sweet Loretta:” title (or part of the refrain) of several sentimental songs of Joyce’s time and before 340.19: “peatrol and paump:” petrol and (petrol) pump 340.19-20: “no more applehooley:” applesauce: Americanism for hogwash. Again, Butt is the jaundiced one, tired of all the ("Allahblah" (.12)) blah-blah-blah. 340.20-1: “hooneymoonger:” aside from bearishly mooning after honey, as Norwegian Captain he is the one who, however reluctantly, married the girl. 340.21: “grizzliest:” as in grizzly bear 340.21: “Meideveide:” Maida Vale (McHugh) has long been an exceptionally ritzy London neighborhood. Someone like the (bearishly coarse) man in question would have stood out there, not favorably. 340.22: “For he devoused the lelias:” in some accounts, Samson divorced Delilah, and no wonder. 340.23: “conforted:” converted 340.23: “samp, tramp and marchint:” song: “Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching.” Compare 78.21-2. Marching is sometimes done to the sound of a drum, beat by a drumstick, or, here, (“drumbume”) drum-bone. (“Drumbume of a narse” raises the question – never I think, definitely resolved – of whether Joyce was familiar with American “ass” as being the equivalent of British “arse.”) “Samp:” Sampson 340.26: “psuckofumbers:” thumb-suckers. Would seem to go with “pollex,” Latin for thumb, of .28. 340.26: “beholden the fair:” “fair” in sense of pretty, the pulchritudinous (“bulchrichudes” (.26-7)) “Miss Horizon” (.28-9): a beauty contest name, like "Miss Maryland." (Joyce's Notebook VI.B.10.115 has an entry for "Miss America.") "All our fannacies daintied her" (.29)) fancies painted her (McHugh), ("unsheathing a showlaced limbaloft to the great consternations" (.30), displaying a lovely leg to great effect among the viewers. Joyce’s notes have her lacing a shoe, but “unsheathing” (.30) suggests she may be removing a stocking - which would, not incongruously, combine a beauty pageant with a strip tease. Compare female “limbaloft" with male “limpalove” (338.31). 340.28-30: “Miss Horizon, just so all our fannacies daintied her, on the curve of the camber:” the horizon is a cambered curve. 340.31: “Hyededye, kittyls:” Howdydo, girls! – compare “Howdydowdy” (333.26), “gigls” (341.7). 340.31: “pan:” Slavic for gentleman or sir. Here, paired with girls – see previous entry. 340.32: “soll…dargman:” since (McHugh) “dargman” = “darkman” = night, “soll” = sol = sun. (“Luna” will follow on the same line.) 341.1: “polecad:” polecat. Notoriously malodorous, and at .12 Butt will have a “wallowing olfact,” will stink like a pig. (And “Butt” means arse.) Also, as a Shem type, Butt should share some affinities with the “cad” of I.2. 341.1-2: "Bang on the booche:" expression: bang the bush: surpass anything that has gone before 341.1-2: “Bang on the booche, gurg in the gorge, rap on the roof and your flap is unbu…” clearly an imitation of phonetic mouthage similar to, for instance, 223.9-11. Make a “b” sound with the lips of your mouth, a guttural “u” sound deep in your throat, a “ck” against the roof of the mouth. “Flap?” Uncertain, but does contain an “l,” and Butt takes the whole as spelling out “Buckily” (.5). (“Gurg,” suggesting as it does “gurgle” in the throat, would produce “ur” rather than “u,” giving us not Buckley but Berkeley, who in IV will face off with a different authority figure.) 341.2-3: “unbu…[new paragraph]…(at the signal of his act which seems to sharpnel his innermals menody:” compare “Circe,” where the “Bip!” sound of a button popping off his suspenders rouses Bloom from his revery. Here, a similar sound sharpens Butt’s memory. (Also, of course, “unbu…” cues both “BUTT” and “Buckley.”) 341.4: “innermals menody:” innermost memory/melody. Also “menody” = monody. Echo of “unheard melodies” from Keats’ “Ode on a Grecian Urn” 341.4-5: “playing the spool of the little brown jog round the wheel of her whang goes the millner:” “his act” here is a dance. “You Should See Me Dance the Polka” (.1: see McHugh) was a popular one-man music hall act. (YouTube has an example.) There were also polkas for ("little brown jog" (.4)) “Little Brown Jug” and ("whang goes the millner" (.5)) “Pop Goes the Weasel." 341.6: “snapper was shot:” snapshot: before photography, a snapshot was a gunshot fired without taking aim. 341.6: "Rumjar:" according to Digger Dialects, "rum jar" is WW I slang for a "Minenwerfer shell," getting its new name from "the shell's shape." 341.7: “Why the gigls he lubbed beeyed him:” because of the picture, and the performance, the girls be-eyed him (as with, for instance, “belabored”) and giggled. 341.8-9: “TAFF (obliges with a twostop yogacoga sumphoty on the bones for ivory girl and ebony boy). The balacleivka! Tovatarovitch! I trumble!:” Taff obliges by contributing musical accompaniment on “bones” (see next entry) and, possibly, piano. 341.8: “bones:” were a staple of minstrel shows, which almost or almost always included a player called “Mistah Bones.” Hence “ivory girl and ebony boy” (.8-9). Much of the Butt and Taff sequence mimics a cross-talk music hall routine. For instance, “at the signal of his act” (.3) – a signal to begin his performance 341.9: “I trumble!” Ivan the Terrible. Compare 353.24: “ivanmorinthortorumble.” Also, of course, I tremble. 341.12: “olfact:” effect 341.12: “Mortar martar tartar wartar!:” given context, it seems relevant that a mortar is a battlefield weapon and a Tartar, synonymous with ferocity, one of the peoples of Russia. 341.15-6: “what betwinks the scimitar star and ashen moon:” twinkling star. “Ashen moon” is a fairly common poeticism of Joyce’s time. 341.16: “By their lights shalthow throw him!:” the original quotation, “By their fruits ye shall know them:” salvation through good works. The revision: salvation through “lights:” “inner light,” of the kind Stephen, in “Scylla and Charybdis,” imagines guiding the Quaker Lyster. A major theological divide, with Catholics on one side and (some) Protestants on the other. May go with the Protestant agitation elsewhere in the vicinity 341.17: “pife:” again, aligns Butt with the cad with the pipe 341.18-20: “[Up to this curkscraw bind an admirable verbivocovisual presenment of the worldrenownced Caerholme Event has been being given by The Irish Race and World:” apparently telling us that up to this point a radio broadcast of the day’s horse race has been in the background. Compare 340.31-341.2: “strait a way” (340.32), “folly me line” (340.33), “post is goang” (340.33), “the sur of all Russers” (340.34-5), “my farst is near to hear and my sackend” (.35-6). (“Sur of all the Russers:” sire of all the racers?”) On p. 342 we encounter “Buckily buckily” (.5), “snapper” (photo finish?), a (reportedly bad) “investment” (.13), “gambling” (.17), and the (“pife” (.17)) pipe which will reappear in the broadcast’s “burning briar” (.24). For the proliferation of priests involved in the betting. see 39.1-2 and note. 341.20: “stablecrashers:” like gatecrashers 341.21 “worldrenownced Caerholme Event:” see McHugh. The Lincoln Races at Carholme/Caerholme, beginning in March, signaled the beginning of the racing season. The following is from the On the Wireless radio schedule for Regional Radio Eireann, appearing in the Irish Times, March 23, 1938.: "2:35. “'The Lincoln.'” A running commentary on the Lincolnshire Handicap by R.C. Lyle at the Grand Stand, and Richard North with J. L. Topham near the Four Furlong Post, from the Caerholme, Lincoln." Up to at least 342.32, the commentary is still continuing in the background. At 342.33-5 we will be told that we have heard (“a saggind spurts flash”) second sports flash, following the first from (“Loundin Reginald”) London Regional, after which the sport reporting seems to have disappeared or faded out. Google Books shows that “sports flash” meant something like the athletic equivalent of “late-breaking development.” (Compare the mimic broadcasts of Orson Welles’ 1938 War of the Worlds.) 341.22: “combing ground:” compare 190.29: “combed the grass.” A “grasscomber” is a landlubber. 341.23: “winsor:” the royal family’s name was officially Windsor; horseracing is traditionally the “sport of kings;” ceremonially prominent races (again, this is the first of the season) often featured one or more horses backed by the monarch. 341.24: “burning briar:” a (briar) pipe – as with .17, we get overtones of the park meeting. 341.25: “purport:” purlieus 341.25: “common contribe:” are they both Cambridge old boys? “Cantab” would signify that. (One of them is one of the “scholarist’s.” (.29).) 341.28: “Backlegs:” a blackleg is a scab – someone who continues work when the union is on strike. 341.31: “chestnut’s:” chestnut: as with “bay,” a horse. Wellington’s horse Copenhagen was chestnut in color. See next item. 341.31: “once again, Wittingtom!”: I suggest that the “once again” is enough to identify Wittingtom here with the winning jockey, Winny Widger (39.11, 327.8). (Also – see previous entry – with Wellington) 341.32: “romptyhompty:” “rumpty-humpty” in Victorian-Edwardian times signified a catchy, thumping, familiar or overfamiliar refrain, comparable to “Funiculi Funicula.” Apparently it came from a music hall song. Also, having sex 341.34: “but fresh and blued:” Two clergymen gossiping at a race course: recalls 38.9-39.13. Here, they’re discussing the young beggars: even though they’re illegitimate, they’re still our flesh and blood, so let’s give them some coins. Also, blue, mentioned in Portrait, chapter five, is used to improve the appearance of the laundry. The children are fresh because they’ve been cleaned and blued. 341.36: “hard by:” heard by. Also, nearby 342.1: “slooching:” Lewis Carroll-like portmanteau word: slouching plus sloothering. “Sloothering” is Anglo-Irish term for soft-soaping. See 195.3. In “Penelope,” Molly acerbically recalls Bloom’s “half sloothering smile.” 342.1-2: “knavish diamonds:” in fortune-telling, the knave of diamonds is a false friend. Also, possible echo of: knavish demands 342.2: “Dmuggies:” a mug is what Americans would call a sucker – the natural victim of cardsharps. 342.3: “turffers:” fans of the turf: followers of horse races 342.3: “to deck the ace of duds:” a card trick, beginning with giving them the ace of clubs and asking them to put it back in the deck when he isn’t looking. Aim is to get their money. 342.3: “Tomtinker Tim:” Operators like Slippery Sam (341.36) usually work in pairs; Tim is Sam’s accomplice. 342.5-6: “Boozer’s Gloom:” one of the “tents” (.6) set up at racing events for serving liquor. Gloomy because patronized by bet-losers, drowning their sorrows – “soalken” and “sulken,” soaking and sulking, cursing the baleful day (.6-7). 342.6: “soalken:” he’s getting soaked – that is, drunk – in the tent. 342.6: “soalken…tents:” like Homer’s Achilles, sulking in his tent 342.7-8: “And the frocks of shick sheeples in their shummering insamples:” like most such reports, includes accounts of the fashionable crowd in attendance. See McHugh. Also, some gloomster, probably one of the tent-dwellers, is comparing them to (sick) sheep; he may be complaining about his horse as well. 342.8: “You see:” U.C., Upper Class? The list following the colon seems to qualify. 342.9: “semperal:” besides “semper” and “several,” sempiternal: lasting or seeming to last forever. Some “semperal scandal stinkmakers” always seem to be getting in the news. 342.11: “Dominical Brayers:” Dominicans commonly portrayed as “Domini Cane,” hounds of God, in part because of their zealous participation in the Spanish Inquisition, mentioned in the previous line; hence the brief spell of Spanish (.10) and the allusion to de Valera (.11), whose father was Spanish. (Again, Joyce disliked de Valera’s regime, presumably, among other things, for its religiously-oriented censorship.) “Brayers:” prayers. Long shot: this may be yet one more sardonic comment on the loser’s bet. When asked how his horse did, a disgruntled loser in one of P. G. Wodehouse’s stories answers, “If you could call it a horse” – as opposed to, say, a (braying) donkey. 342.13: “dustungwashed poltronage of the lost Gabbarnaur-Jaggarnath:” given “Jaggarnath” – Juggernaut – and what follows, the Governor-General of India is in here as well. British rulers of India were titled Governor-General until 1858, when they kept the old title but added “Viceroy.” When Joyce was writing there had not as yet been a last one. I.1 conflates Wellington with the Earl of Willingdon, Governor-General from 1931 to 1936. “Dustungwashed poltronage” – dingy, dungy unwashed poltroon, with echo of “great unwashed” – is probably more a comment on him than on the Indians. 342.14-5: “Gross Jumpiter, whud was thud:” hyperbolized version of “by Jove,” stage-English expostulation. Toffs observing a horse race, one of them commenting on the impressive jump. 342.14-5: “Luckluckluckluckluckluckluck…Thousand to One:” as McHugh notes, seven (lucky number) “lucks.” The next race has started and, because hope springs eternal, the loser of the last race is hoping for better luck this time around, even though the “thousand to one” odds are overwhelmingly against. 342.16-7: “Pitsy Riley:” aside from Persse O’Reilly, also, for instance, “Parkes O’Rarelys” (354.14) in a conspicuously stage-Irish context: Patsy (O’) Riley is the favorite because of his ostentatiously Irish name (compare Kathleen Kearney in “A Mother,” “The Dead,” and “Penelope;” Myler Keogh in “Cyclops”) – of course he is the popular favorite; of course he will lose. 342.18: “hross:” horse 342.19: “Bumchub:” bumshow, as in “Oxen of the Sun:” a girly show where bottoms are displayed. Paired with “Excramation” (.19): probably the first time that the Russian General drops his pants, displaying his excrementious bum 342.19-32: “Emancipator…World... pairofhids:” This sequence includes a sexual/excremental story that recalls the park scandal. Emancipator (compare 239.21, where “amanseprated” means “deflowered”) is “reproducing the form of famous sires on the scene of the formers triumphs” (.21-2) by reproducing, as they did - or they wouldn’t be sires – on the sites, the mares they covered. (The variant "Immensipater" (.26) robs it in: a stallion, he's immense, and a father.) He is being watched by three eunuchs – out of the game – and two girls, who are displaying something of themselves to him. The whole scene is shocking – such a thing to happen here! - sufficiently to scandalize the Lord Mayor, and for him or someone else to call off the rest of the show. Changes recommended by Oxford editors: “Cremean” for “Creman,” “formers’” for “formers,” “tasting” for "tasing.” 342.20: “Creman hunter:” again, Oxford editors have “Cremean.” A hunter is a breed of horse. Its color here is cream. (Compare the “cream colt” of 39.7.) 342.24-26: “while Furstin II and the Other Girl (Mrs ‘Boss’ Waters, Leavybrink) too early spring dabbles, are showing a clean pairofhids to Immensipater:” to show a clean pair of heels is to escape from someone. Here, the ones showing the heels are two (female) horses – which is to say, they are outrunning “Emancipator”/“Immensipater,” the horse owned by HCE (.20). (On very much the other hand, they're also exposing their rears to him. See next entry.) “Furstin II:” first and second, probably their (leading) position in the race. The owner (of both?) sounds like one of those horsey dominatrices who fascinate Leopold Bloom. Emancipator is of course named for Daniel O’Connell, if only because of his memorial obelisk in Glasnevin Cemetery, a recurring phallic figure throughout FW. Aside from the fairly obvious reminder of the park scandal, compare also 204.1-20. 342.26: "pairofhids:" Paravid. Name of a magical Persian well (appears frequently in works of George Meredith) - but, most pertinently here: 1. name of a racehorse in English races of the early 1910's, 2. The Princess Paravid, a ballet of the 1920's, about a romantic Persian heroine who escapes an obnoxious suitor and joins her true love. (Probably the horse was named for the princess.) Paradise, of the Muslim variety, with virgins, is probably also in play - here, only ("a clean pairofhid"s) two in number, but "golden of evens," in the next line, with its echo of "heavens," probably also sounds "seven," adding up to the allotted seventy-two. 342.26: “Immensipater:” "-pater" = father. Big Daddy. Probable echo of “piss:” not only male, but equipped with an immense pisser 342.27: “virgin tuft:” virgin turf: part of the racetrack not yet run on. Also, the two "spring dabbles" are, for the nonce, virgins. 342.29: “schayns:” the Lord Mayor wears a chain. (If he’s amused as well as annoyed, or perhaps just – pro forma – pretending to be annoyed while actually laughing, the laughter is what’s shaking his chain.) 342.30: “effered you:” F.U.: fuck you 342.30: “Bett and Tipp:" ”betting and giving tips are two things that go on at race courses. 342.31: “swapstick:” recalls stick featured in fight of pp. 81-2. (Also, I think, a swastika) 342.35-343.2:” “takes the dipperend direction and…after the pognency of orangultonia, orients by way of Sagittarius towards Draco on the Lour:” from Polaris, the Northern Star, at the tip of the Little Dipper, through Draco to Sagittarius is a straight line, with Lyra (“Lour”) being passed on the right. “Orients” is problematical. It means, of course, turning eastward, but in old British and European maps, because Jerusalem (as McHugh notes, prominent in this paragraph) was at the center of the world, it was placed at the top, and to orient from, for instance, Dublin was to move upward – that is, in what is now conventionally northward. The North Star is part of the Little Dipper and is traditionally located by following the “pointers” of the Big Dipper – again, in the north. (As Ursa Major and Minor, they prefigure the Russian General as bear.) “Orangultonia,” as McHugh notes, sounds both orange and Ulster – Ireland’s north. I may also note that, in Dublin, between 10 and 11 p.m. on March 21, 1938, the line from the pointers, “by way of” Sagittarius (below the horizon) to Draco would have been almost due north. 343.1: “malaise after the pognency of orangultonia:” apple, orange. Sense seems to be that the latter is tangier. 343.2: “And:” "an," in Middle English sense of "if" 343.3: “gogemble:” go gambol; that is, he’ll dance on his grave 343.6: “boys all marshaled:” “boys are marching,” from “Tramp Tramp Tramp” 343.6: “giant’s hail:” stones at Giant’s Causeway might be taken to be giant hailstones; also: this is a familiar FW trope: the big man’s attacker throws stones and leaves a trail of pebbles, (melting) hail, etc. behind him. Compare, for instance, 73.33-6. 343.7-8: “fellowed along the route by the stenchions of the corpse:” they were able to track him by the stench of the corpse, the smell of his rotting body - compare notes to .14-5, 15-6. (The Russian General has already exposed himself.) 343.13-4: “slinking his coatsleeves surdout over his squad mutton shoulder so as to loop more life the jauntlyman:” compare 322.3 and note. He wants to look jaunty. 343.14-5: “scents the aggregate yup behound:” takes up from Taff at .7-8: they’ve tracked their prey by his scent, with the help of hounds. 343.15-6: “anggreget yup behound their whole scoopchina’s desperate noy’s totalage:” he’s able to discern the main – aggregate - strain behind the total cacophony of noise (“noy’s”) made by the hounds’ yawping. See note to 222.1-3. Also, “totalage” = tutelage 343.16: “aposteriorly:” because he is following, in the rear; because of the scent from his target’s posterior. Again, the general has lowered his pants. 343.17: “greak esthate phophiar:” great Greek esthetic philosopher 343.17-9: “an erixtion on the soseptuple side of him made spoil apriori his popoporportiums”): Oxford editors have “apriopi,” possible bringing in “apropos” and “priapic.” His erection spoiled the symmetry of his proportions. Also, the Erechtheion, on the Acropolis, across from the Parthenon. (Both buildings were designed by Phidias. The Parthenon was sometimes held to be an example of ideal proportion based on the Golden Ratio.) 343.19: “Yass:” minstrel show dialect 343.20: “scout:” as verb, to scorn, mock 343.23-4: “soun of a gunnong:” sound of gunnery. (Following testimony indicates that it’s probably really the sound of thunder.) 343.24: “sabaothsopolettes:” "sabot:" French for sandal. Goes with “scandleloose” (.24) 343.24-5: “smooking…at botthends of him:” smoking with his mouth, farting with his rear 343.25: “bottends:” botte = French for boot 343.25: “grandthinked…obras:” grand opera 343.26: “legging:” dancing. Compare Bloom in “Circe,” dancing Highland Fling: “Leg it, ye devils!” 343.27-8: “stooleazy:” speakeasy. Given context, also a w.c.: “house of ease” was a common euphemism, and Bloom in “Calypso” is “at stool.” (One would dearly like to know just how one does this “allafranka” (.28), à la français.) 343.30: “allaverred:” besides Oliver Cromwell, Oliver Wendell Holmes, at his breakfast – “brokeforths” (.33) – table. Compare p. 124, where Holmes and Harvard Yard double with Sherlock Holmes and Scotland Yard. 343.31: “lewdbrogue:” Brendan O Hehir lists this as Irish for speech defect – i.e. HCE’s stammer. “Cheap cheater” is an example; perhaps also “sintry”/”sentry”/”sentry”/”suntry,” “haftara having.” 343.32: “cheateary gospeds:” Russian: chetyre gospoda: four gentlemen – here, presumably, the four gospellers: note that it’s followed by four versions of “sundry” (.32). 343.33: “only haftara having:” only after having: “after” in this formulation is a typical Irish idiom. 343.33-4: “be the homely Churopodvas:” by the holy (Polish for) jockstrap – certainly one of Christendom’s more recondite relics 343.34: “aghist:” aghast at seeing a ghost 343.34-5: “frighteousness:” frightening righteousness 343.35: “off fooling:” offering 343.35: “fifth foot:” given “versets,” probably the fifth foot of a line of iambic pentameter; the first line of Paradise Lost, which follows immediately, is a prominent example. 344.1-7: “TAFF…last!:” in response to Butt’s “bibbering,” a blubbery stage-Irish performance remindful of Bloom’s more abject moments in “Circe,” when he’s trying to fit in – here, as victim of the (“unglucksarsoon”) Anglo-Saxons. To be sure, incoherent: he accuses Butt of being both a Papist and a Jew – “Papaist” and “Gambanman” (compare Ulysses 10.890). 344.2-3: “pique...cue:” as earlier, minding p’s and q’s 344.5: “song of sorrowmon:” man of sorrows, from passage in Isaiah 53:3 traditionally taken by Christians as a prophecy of Jesus. Don’t know if it’s relevant, but Rehoboam was the oldest son of Solomon; his harsh reign led to civil war. 344.5-6: “goatheye and sheepskeer:” expression: telling the sheep from the goats. 344.7: “cawraidd’s:” cow-raids, also cattle-raids, figure often in ancient Irish chronology. 344.8: “scimmianised twinge:” given proximity of Solomon (.5), as in The Judgment Of, I suggest this recalls a baby to be cut in half by a (Samurai) sword – or, as Siamese twins, two conjoined babies cut asunder by the same means. Compare 354.24 and note. Dumas’ Corsican Brothers, one of the sources behind FW’s twins, were conjoined at birth and separated by a scalpel. 344.8: “acknuckledownedgment:” to knuckle under is to surrender; to buckle down is to address a task in earnest; a knuckle to the forehead signals submission. Having been given the coward’s blow (.7: see McHugh), he submits, completely, abjectly. Compare note to 335.20. 344.9-10: “satoniseels:” perhaps “sat on his heels,” as opposed to charging ahead: he’s in a WW I trench, being strafed, with bullets flying and bodies dropping all around him. See next entry. 344.10: “ouchyotchy:” Ouch! Ouch! (No wonder) 344.10: “changecors induniforms:” changes course and uniforms: a turncoat. Also, compare 177.6-7: “His cheeks and trousers changing colour every time a gat croaked.” Here, his blue eyes turn brown to match the new color of his newly beshat “induniforms” (.10), uniform plus undies, the “suite his cultic twalette” (.12), his suit now a toilet. (Cul: French for anus; “twat” embedded in “twalette” may mean that he’s been unmanned.) 344.11: “his face glows green:” compare 193.9-10. 344.11: “his hair greys white:” proverbially a result of sudden shock or fright 344.12: “to suite:” to suit 344.13: “in his oneship fetch along with hail:” one ship, now within hail. Again, the Russian General intermittently reverts to the Norwegian Captain. 344.13: ”that tourrible tall:” at times the Russian General seems more dragon than bear – e.g. “Saur of all the Haurousians” (.33). Given Miltonic strain, perhaps an echo here of “Swinges the scaly horrour of his folded tale.” 344.15: “lugging up and laiding down his livepelts:” apparently, either he’s having trouble with his pants (pulling them back up, then letting them down again) or the state of his bowels is uncertain; at .34-5 we hear of “the travaillings of his tommuck,” stomach. A pelt can be either an animal’s fur, a piece of old clothing, or (as in “Circe”) a person’s bare skin. Possible overtone of “belt” 344.16: “cruschinly:” crushingly, Russianly 344.17: “skinful:” as much alcohol as a body can hold. Goes with “brandylogged” of .14: a body saturated with brandy as a ship can be by water 344.17: “manurevring:” as in 3.1, the root of “-revring” is French rever, to dream 344.17-8: “manurevring...renewmurature:” manuring…remanure(ature) 344.18: “cowruads:” again, cow-raids/cattle-raids 344.20: “I couldn’t erver nerver to tell a liard story:” I couldn’t tell a lie. (I wouldn’t have the nerve.) Rhythm of “to make a long story short” 344.20-1: “not of I knew:” not if I knew 344.21-2: “inoccupation:” an “occultation” (sometimes occultation) occurs when one celestial body passes in front of another - e.g., the transit of Venus. Given context, it also seems to be an ocular perception, that is the sight, of something. Perhaps inoculation as well 344.23: “veereyed lights of the stormtroopering clouds:” lightning 344.23: “stormtrooping:” Stormtroopers: German advance troops in WW I, later revived by Hitler 344.24: “sheenflare of the battleaxes of the heroim:” probably echoes Byron’s “The Destruction of Sennacherib:” “The sheen on their spears was like stars on the sea.” See also 350.25. “Heroim” = heroes, as with “sorafim” in the next line. (There are a number of poets in this stretch: Milton, Dante, Goethe, Shakespeare, Solomon.) 344.25: “sorafim:” suffering. They are wailing, in bitter accents, at the battle’s carnage. Also, seraphim: with Milton in play, much of this passage echoes the War in Heaven from Paradise Lost. 344.26: “tsmell:” mimicking spelling of “tsar.” 344.29-30: “me marrues me shkewers me gnaas me fiet, tob tob tob beat it:” “beat it:” run away. He’s telling his (“fiet” (.30)) feet etc. to take him away. May be version of “Feets, do yo’ stuff,” from movie comedies of the time; compare .31 and note. 344.30: “solongopatom:” So long! 344.31: “must used you now:” still addressing his feet: I have to make use of you now, even if you’re (“Clummensy” .30)) clumsy. 344.32: “Deer Dirouchy:” dear dirty Dublin 344.33: “Saur:” Greek sauros: lizard 344.34: “arge:” Armenian for bear. Also, arse 344.35: “tommuck:” Tommy, as in Tommy Atkins 344.35: “rueckenased the fates of a bosser:” recognized the common fate we share, like brothers: either mortality (the weight of his age full upon him (.34)) or identity (his face was my face (.34)) 344.35: “bosser:” a boss is a raised circle in the middle of a shield. “Arge” of .34 may also be targe – shield. 344.36-345.3: “and it was heavy he was for me then the way I immingled my Irmenial hairmaierians ammongled his Gospolis fomiliours till, achaura moucreas, I adn’t the arts to:” I imagined my own prayers – Hail Mary’s – mingling with his own – (McHugh: the Russian's “Gospodi pomiluiny”) – and hadn’t the heart to shoot him. 345.4: “prepensing:” pre-pensing, fore-thinking. Before “he,” the Russian General, “doze soze” (.9), does so, Taff is “preposing” (.5) that he be preventively murdered: “pluggy well moidered” (bloody well murdered, plugged with a bullet, by someone, apparently, with a Brooklyn accent, at the time the sign of a tough customer). Before he does what? Before he will have “seduced country clowns” (.5). Compare 344.17-8, where according to Butt he was remunerating – paying off - the Irish peasantry, either to be cowards or to participate in cow raids. (“Clowns” here in the sense of rustic yokel) 345.11: “falseleep:” pretend sleep? “Doze,” aside from “does,” was also dozing – sleep. Campbell and Robinson propose that the FW “Dreamer” almost wakes up here - if so, a conceit strikingly similar to one in Flann O’Brien’s At Swim-Two-Birds, which Joyce read with pleasure but which came out after FW. Either way, a Matrix-like conundrum: murdering the sleeper would certainly prevent the predicted misdeeds, but then wouldn’t it also put an end to Butt and Taff, as parts of his dream? In any case, “somrother” seems about to awake but then goes back to sleep “without asking for pepeace” (.12) – that is, without, as McHugh notes, requesting a parish priest, presumably for Last Rites. So he’s not in danger of dying just yet. The p-p stutter (also “waitawhishts” (.11)) indicates some version of HCE. (So does “erewaken” (.5).) For “somrother,” compare 255.5-6: “Why wilt thou erewaken him from his earth, O summonorother?” – addressed to someone about to awake what is pretty clearly FW’s sleeper – “Old Joe, the Java Jane” (254.24-5), “Longabed” (.254.35), the sleeping Arthur, etc. The next chapter, III.4, willl begin the sleeper's waking up. 345.13: “I met with whom it was too late:” along with Wilde to Douglas (see McHugh) the young Joyce’s words to Yeats - in one version, “We have met too late.” (See also 37.13.) Also, “I met with Napper Tandy / And he took me by the hand,” from “The Wearing of the Green,” which as McHugh says shows up in the next line (“Fearwealing of the groan!”), and with echoes at .17 (“stoccan his hand”), .21 (“naperied”), and .24 (“nipper dandy”). In the song, “They’re hanging men and women there [Ireland] / For the wearing of the green;” Butt had a glowing green face at 344.11, and here is bewailing his “fate! O hate!” (.13-4). 345.15: “smugs:” in Portrait, chapter one, “smugging” is childish sex-play. 345.16: “meanwhilome:” meanwhile 345.16: “at yarn’s [arm’s] length:” tradition that the length of a yard was originally the distance between Henry I’s nose to his thumb, along his outstretched arm. 345.17: “poestcher:” picture. Also poet. (Poetaster?) 345.17-8: “rooma makin ber getting umptyums gatherumed off the by skattert:” gist: making space by clearing the table of crumbs with his hand. The “skattert” (.18), tablecloth (McHugh) is clearly the altar cloth as well: he is preparing to celebrate communion. 345.18: “umptyums gatherumed off the skattert:” compare 12.12. “Umpty” is slang for a very large number. Humpty Dumpty broke into umpty pieces, scattered everywhere, but is nonetheless being gathered up in an effort to put him together. I think this is being compared to the act of stepping back – at arm’s length – from a painting, in order to see it whole. (Joyce was in Paris during the heyday of the Impressionists and Pointillists.) 345.19: "words of silent power:” “words of power” are magic words like Abracadabra; the likeliest reference here is to The Book of the Dead. Words of silent power: silent prayer – the “momstchance ministring” of .22. The Latin mass includes a “secreta” (silent) prayer. (In “A Painful Case” and “Ithaca,” the word is “secreto.”) “Susu glouglou biribiri gongos” (.19-20) are presumably examples from a different rite or religion. They are also the sound of a Guinness being poured, supplied by a bartender who did not need to be told that the silent (“speechsalver’s”) customer needed repleting (.20). Oxford editors insert “golden” before “silent.” 345.21: “nonobstaclant:” notwithstanding 345.23-4: “Shumpum for Pa-li-di and oukosouso for the dipper dandy:” something substantial (Guinness) for the father and something disagreeable (vinegar) for the kid. ("Shumpum,” something, refers to “guidness” (Guinness (.22-3)); “oukosouso” (see McHugh) is from “uksus,” Romanian for vinegar. “Nipper” is slang for child. 345.23: “Trink off this scup and be bladdy orafferteed:” Jesus in Matthew 20:22: “Are ye able to drink of the cup that I shall drink of?” Also, Anglican communion service: “Likewise, after supper, he took the cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of this; for this is my Blood of the New Testament, which is shed for you, and for many, for the remission of sins. Do this, as oft as she shall drink it, in remembrance of me.’” 345.25: “bladdy orafferteed:” bloody – in context, transubstantiated blood in communion cup. See .27, below. “Orafferteed:” offertory 345.26: “he whipedof’s his chimbley phot:” sense seems to be that the Guinness drinker is wiping his mouth before taking a drink. In movies of the time and afterward this gesture would identify him as uncouth. 345.26: “chimbley phot:” chamber pot. May be relevant that chamber pots were often in the form of giant tea cups handle and all: in the next line he “takecups” the proffered drink; the cup, in question, I’m hazarding, is simultaneously the drinker’s (as in “in his cups,” drunk), the communicant’s, and the chambermaid’s. Such a conjunction would hail all the way back to Chamber Music. In the Anglican Communion, in which communicants drink from the cup, the priest repeatedly wipes off the Communion cup with a napkin. 345.27: “as lips lovecurling to the tongueopener:” he really enjoys wrapping his lips around the new glass of Guinness. Alcohol proverbially loosens the tongue. 345.27: “takecups:” tea cups. On the other hand, the “communion” cup would hold wine. So would that of a drinker, “in his cups,” making a toast 345.27: “the communions of sins:” “the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins:” from the Apostle’s Creed, as recited in Anglican services at which Communion is performed 345.28: “the foregiver of trosstpassers:” forgive us our trespasses. (Obvious?) Jesus is the forgiver. 345.28: ”centelinnates:” aside from centellare (see McHugh: to sip) and “celebrates,” something like “celestinates:” lifts towards the celestial regions. The elevation of the host, perhaps combined with the Communion cup. At the same time, the drinker is raising his glass in appreciation of his host – the bartender – and his exemplary hospitality. 345.29: “potifex:” pot au feu 345.29: “miximhost:” host: the Communion wafer. Maybe “mixim” signals mixing of material and sacred in transubstantiation. 345.30: “pawses:” paws: hands. The “potifex miximhost” is “proferring” “salt bacon” into his hands. Best guess: salvation, the Communion wafer, being put in his outstretched hands by the priest – which, again, would make this an Anglican, not a Catholic, communion. (Anglican or not, a similar religious gesture may mark the conclusion of “Two Gallants.”) 345.31: “svend:” Norwegian for apprentice. (I can’t see how it fits here.) 345.33: “very ample solvent:” very humble servant 345.35-346.13: “The other…roselixion:” apparently all the customers except for the Guinness drinker just heard from are fixated on the television programming, which is continuing where it left off, reporting the doings of the “fictionable [fashionable] world.” 345.35: “foregotthened:” foregathered 346.1-2: “loading off heavy furses and affubling themselves with muckinstushes:” not, I hope, to belabor, but spring – for instance March, my candidate for FW's month - would, especially in Ireland, be the time to stop wearing fur coats and start wearing raincoats instead. 346.1: “heavy furses:” heavy furs. 346.3: “spinach ruddocks:” the Reds – Republicans – of the Spanish Civil War. (The war began in July of 1936; this passage first appeared in transition in 1937.) Equal-opposites: spinach is green (compare 611.36), the color-wheel opposite of red. (A frequent FW trope – although if these colors are supposed to be coming through on the television, we are definitely ahead of the time.) Also, “ruddocks” = Czech rudoch, Red Indian – known for tattooing 346.3: “tatoovatted:” in context, this may mean drawn up in military order, as in a military tattoo. 346.4: “antigreenst:” again: red: see first note to .3. 346.4: “Hebeneros for Aromal Peace:” more commonly spelled “habanero:” a hot chili pepper thought to have originated in Havana. Presumably cooking with it would produce a distinctive (“Aromal”) aroma. 346.4: “Hebeneros for Aromal Peace:” Iberians for World Peace. “Iberians” because of Spanish Civil War: see first note to .3. Nested "-roma” may identify this as the Franco-led Catholic side, as opposed to the (“antigreenst” (.4)) Antichrist side. 346.5: “wisheths Bella Suora:” he wishes “Bella sera:” good/beautiful evening 346.5: “holy cryptmahs:” the holiest crypt in Christendom is Jerusalem’s Church of the Holy Sepulchre, also called the Church of the Resurrection, supposed to be the site of Christ’s entombment and resurrection. (Note “roselixion” at .13.) After the Muslim conquest of Jerusalem, its recapture was a major goal of the Crusades. Later, in 1847, a brawl within its precincts between Catholic and Orthodox clergy was one of the supposed causes of the Crimean War. 346.5-6: “the Arumbian Knives Riders axecutes devilances round the jehumispheure.” Arabian Knights, with knives, axes and lances, accompanied by dervishes doing devilish dances (at least according to legend, dervishes often appeared in Muslim conquests) ride menacingly around the Church of the Resurrection, rather like Hollywood Indians around a wagon train. I suggest that “jehumispheure” incorporates “Jesus fire” – the sacred fire lit every Easter at the site of Jesus’ entombment. In any case, the church itself has a dome roof – a hemisphere. Probable echo of “Jehu:” a king of Israel whose name later came to signify (according to Merriam-Webster) “a fast or reckless coachman” – here, yet another speedy mover. It probably helps to know (examples on YouTube) that a dervish not only rotates (on, so to speak, his own axis) but orbits around some central location. 346.6: “Knives Riders:” night riders: vigilantes who terrorize groups considered undesirable. Best-known American example is the Ku Klux Klan. What with their knives, axes, and lances, this gang is out to axe/execute “devilances” (.6). Together, “Alibey Ibrahim” (.5 - see McHugh) and the riders constitute a good-cop/bad-cop pairing. 346.7: “Learn the Nunsturk:” given context, the Nunsturk here sounds like the name of a dance, here as transition from the whirling dervishes to some modern dance craze. (May be relevant that the “Turkey Trot” was popular early in the century.) Also recalls “noonstruck” at 261.26; sounds like “nonesuch.” And, of course, the headquarters of Muslim conquerors was Istanbul, in Turkey. 346.7: “Old Yales boys:” “old boys:” alumni, here of Yale University 346.8: “making rebolutions for the cunning new yirls:” Yale keys will enter and revolve in the female counterparts, here signaled by “cunning.” (Compare “Ithaca:” “inserting the barrel of an arruginated male key in the hole of an unstable female lock.”) 346.8: “New Yirls:” the New Girl, young version of the “New Woman,” much talked about at the time and presumed to be more forward than her predecessors. Also, girls from New York, then and now within an easy day trip of Yale - although it wouldn't amaze me if Joyce thought that Yale was in New York. 346.9: “begidding:” beginning 346.9: “never to ate selleries:” probably because celery is considered a health food (celery tonic was a popular elixir of the time) and, being determined to misbehave, they will have none of it. In “The Dead,” celery is reserved for the abstemious Gabriel and the convalescent Freddy, who has been told that it is “a capital thing for the blood.” 346.10: “ant sulleries:” in Huckleberry Finn, Aunt Sally epitomizes those forces trying to “sivilize” Huck. Again, these old boys are in rebellion against such influences. 346.12: “ructiongetherall:” “Finnegan’s Wake:” “A row and a ruction soon began.” “Row” is embedded in “sucharow” in the previous line. 346.12: “Phineal:” given context, a patent-medicine hangover cure. “Phineal” may owe something to Phineas T. Barnum, famous American huckster. 346.12: “aftermorn:” phrase: “the morning after,” meaning after a night of heavy drinking. Was around in Joyce’s time. With the patent medicine being advertised, “your phumeral’s a roselixion” (.11-2) – your funeral becomes a resurrection: you go from wishing you were dead to feeling like a new man. 346.14: “past the buckthurnstock:” compare the “swapstick” of 342.31; also Yawn’s “stick-pass-on” (474.4). “To pass the stick” is to hand off the baton in a relay race. 346.15-7: “whiles they all are bealting pots to dubrin din for old daddam dombstom to tomb and wamb humbs lumbs agamb, glance agen, rise up road and hive up hill:” I suspect this draws on the story that the infant Zeus was protected from Kronos by Kouretes banging out loud sounds to cover the noise of his crying. Zeus was born in a cave on the side of Mount Ida. 346.16: “tomb and wamb humbs lumbs agamb:” come and wamble (wobble) – that is, arise and start moving (uncertainly at first, like an infant or old man.) Also: turn and warm his limbs again. “Agamb” includes “gams,” slang for legs. As at 345.10-3, this seems to be referring to the sleeper upstairs – in which case he’s being told, provocatively, that his missus is downstairs in the parlor, socializing and perhaps flirting. See next entry. 346.17-8: “glimpse agam, glance agen, rise up road and hive up hill, and find your pollyvoulley foncey pitchin ingles in the parler:” revisits reincarnation (or Rip Van Winkle) theme sounded in I.1 and elsewhere: he is seeing these old sights again, after long absence; at the end of the return journey he finds his old fiancée speaking/speeching/spitching (“pitchin”) English/pidgin English in the parlor; presumably their shared language had once been something else – Gaelic, say. Also, “Inglese” is Italian for English; the Joyce family spoke Italian at home. “Fiancée,” of course, was originally a French word; “fancy” is English slang for boyfriend or girlfriend. To “glimpse agam” is to catch a glimpse of someone’s bared leg, after which one would naturally glance again. Possible overtone of contemporary "pitching woo:" flirting, courting 346.18: “pitchin ingles:” speaking English, with pidgin overtone, as in “spikka Englis.” 346.18: “ingles:” ingleside: the hearth 346.19: “Since you are on:” that is, it’s your turn on stage. (Compare “Turn Now On” in “Wandering Rocks.”) 346.18-9: “Since you are on for versingrhetorish:” versing (versified) rhetoric. Butt’s last turn ended with some versified rhetoric – Moore’s “The Meeting of the Waters;” Taff will reciprocate with a (“ballet”) ballad. 346.20: “rosing girnirilles:” blushing girls 346.20: “ballet:” ballad, bullet 346.20: “A hoy:” “hoy” = shout. “Ahoy” is a variant. 346.21: “and az ov:” and I’s off. Oxford editors have “a zov.” 346.21: “And don’t live out the sad of tearfs:” and don’t forget to include something sentimental – tear-jerkingly sad. 346.22-3: “Ath yetheredayth noth endeth, hay?:” from "Trojan," Les Mots Historique du Pays du France, excerpted in Joyce's Notebook VI.B.46.051: the Dauphin (Louis XVII) to Marie Antoinette: "Maman, est-ce qu'hier n'est pas encore fini?" Has yesterday (also, today) not ended? 346.23: “Sayyessik:” say yes - that is, Amen 346.26-7: “wholst somwom shimwhir tinkledinkledelled:” someone somewhere urinated (tinkled: all other FW “tinkle”s carry this sense), apparently on a shamrock: both reintroduces the park scandal and prepares for the ultimate insult with the (“sad of tearfs” (.21)), sod of turf. 346.27-8: “stod op to slog:” stood up to slog – to go to bat in cricket 346.28: “free:” three 346.28: “bond men:” bondsmen: slaves 346.29: “Fore:” before. That is, come home before the storm arrives 346.30: “come it:” Partridge has “to cut a dash,” though there are many variants depending on the activity. In sports, it generally means to win impressively. Also: Come in – out of the storm, into the fireside. 346.31: “cushlows of his goodsforseeking hearth:” follows up on journey to the ingle of .20. The hearth proves to be a good place to have sought. “Cushy,” meaning easy and comfortable, was around in the early 20th century; compare 562.31, where it combines with American money in a “cashy job.” From this point until at least 347.33, Butt is a veteran, relaxing by the fire (he was urged to do that at .16-7, 28-30) and – loquaciously and sometimes digressively - recalling old war stories. The fireside fire will be intermittently noticed during the next few pages. 346.32: “spurk:” also spark, in the hearth 346.33: “babybell in his baggutstract upper going off:” a version, I venture, of .26: “somwom shimwhir tinkledinkledelled.” (Also, compare 88.10-11.) 346.34-5: “Horrasure, toff! As said as would:” for sure, Taff! Just as I said I would. (Also, at least comparatively, Taff is usually the more toffish of the two.) 346.35: “Hittit:” Hittite; a stammered “It” 347.1-3: “a white horsday where the midril met the bulg, sbogom, roughnow about the first equinarx in the cholonder:” in 1938, Saint Patrick’s Day, March 17 (compare .16-7), four days before the first equinox, fell on (“-te horsday”) Thursday – in FW the day of Finnegan’s fall and much else. “Cholonder:” in “Hades,” Bloom thinks of a shower as being “Like through a colander,” and as usual in FW the day in question was one of “wraimy wetter” (.7), rainy weather. 347.1-3: “a white horsday:” McHugh identifies as July 12, in Ulster the celebration of the Battle of the Boyne. Combining this date with Saint Patrick’s Day (see previous entry) would be a surefire recipe for strife. 347.2: “along about:” approximately 347.3: “plain of Khorason:” at one point part of the Hittite empire. (See 346.35.) It is in fact a plain. 347.5: “end in deed:” and indeed. Also, end in death: a follow-up at .7-8 calls it the most mournful death-day ever. 347.5: “after a power of skimiskes:” after many skirmishes 347.6: “blodidens and godinats:” bloody days and good nights 347.7: “whatlk of wraimy wetter!) moist moonful date:” connects with witness testimony at end of I.4 and interrogation of III.3, especially with 519.18-25: “D'yu mean to tall grand jurors…that yur moon was shining on the tors and on the cresties and winblowing night after night, for years and years perhaps, after you swearing to it a while back before your Corth examiner, Markwalther, that there was reen in planty all the teem?” Here as in the other two cases, the witness inconsistently reports both foul weather and a “moonful” sky. (Note: there has been speculation that this thread may owe something to a famous case in which Abraham Lincoln used an almanac to show that on the night in question the moon was not sufficiently bright for the witness to have seen what he claimed to have seen.) 347.8: “death with:” possible overtone of “death wish” 347.8: “Reilly Oirish:” really Irish. Reilly (or O’Reilly) -stereotypical Irish name, stereotypical Irish pronunciation, with a supplemental “O,” as on “O’Irish,” added for emphasis. Think of, for instance, Victor McLaglen, in a John Ford western. 347.9: “asundurst:” under 347.10: “tomkeys:” Tommies 347.10: “Crimealian wall:” since 1925, Soviet dignitaries were buried in the Kremlin Wall. 347.11: “weeping stillstumms:” early sounding of “wapping stiltstunts”/Waffenstillstand of .13 – as elsewhere, very probably the Armistice of November 11, 1918. Also, in context of Babylon’s hanging gardens (see McHugh): “By the waters of Babylon I sat down and wept.” 347.11: “freshprosts” – “prosit” – a drinking toast 347.12: “freshprosts of Eastchept:” presumably relevant that Eastcheap was the site of Falstaff’s Boar’s Head Tavern, also that it was – “freshprosts” (fleshpots) – London’s main meat market. 347.12: “Marrowbone:” In the 19th century, Marylebone was known for a heavy concentration of houses of prostitution. 347.13: “wapping stiltstunts:” “wapping” – whopping: very large, spectacular, impressive. “Stiltstunts:” stunts on stilts, presumably tending to make the performer look kind of whopping. 347.14: “And winn again:” compare “Cyclops:” --And will again, says Joe. --And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says the citizen… They have to win again or (.15) lose the day. 347.14: “blaguadargoos:” the Black Guard was an armed anarchist group that arose during the Russian Revolution. 347.14: “winn again:” contraction of “Turn again, Whittington.” Probably answer to 346.28. 347.15: “lues the day:” to “lose the day” is to be defeated in battle. 347.15: “plays goat:” plays the goat: a number of possible meanings. The three main ones: 1. Act up in a ridiculous or disreputable way, usually with the expectation that one will not be held accountable; 2. play the fool; 3; be a “judas goat,” leading other animals to the slaughter. Given context, number 1 seems to me much the most probable. 347.15: “moskats:” Moscow; Muscovites 347.18: “go Sixt of the Ninth:” given context – Saint Patrick’s Day, Irish boosterism, military – a probable allusion to “the fighting 69th,” a New York regiment of, predominantly, Irish-American soldiers. It has traditionally led New York’s Saint Patrick’s Day parade. 347.20-1: “the Bok of Alam:” the Book of Adam would presumably be Genesis, here combined with (see next entry) the Koran. 347.21: “Alam:” Allah 347.21: “Erin gone brugk:” Erin gone broke, that is, bankrupt 347.22: “lowsome:” lonesome 347.22: “dead beats:” “deadbeat” is an Americanism for someone who doesn’t pay his debts. According to Oxford editors, the “beasts” of .6 should be “beats.” 347.25: “blighty perishers:” “Blighty” was WW I Tommy term for England, or for a wound, sometimes self-inflicted, serious enough to get one sent home. (Compare 348.7-8, and note.) “Perisher” is slang for bounder, something one might expect a deadbeat (see previous entry) to be. 347.27: “Gidding up:” Giddy-up! – slangy order to a horse 347.30-1: “the topkats and his roaming cartridges:” compare II.1’s mime’s preliminary version of the Russian General story: “who wrestles for tophole…about caps or puds or tog bags or chuting rudskin gunerally” (220.14-5). Here, Butt boasts about having done his usual military exercises despite enemy fire. 347.32: “Crummwiliam wall:” during the English Civil War, Cromwell had a wall built around Linlithgow Palace in Linlithgow, Scotland. It was demolished during the Restoration. Oxford editors have “Crummwilliam,” which would conjoin Cromwell with another inveterate enemy of Ireland, William of Orange. 347.34-5: “letting his tinder and lighting be put to beheiss in the feuer:” letting tinder and lighter be put to use in the fire – probably in getting it (“beheiss:” see McHugh) hotter 347.35-6: “felicias…pressance…laddios:” again, Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s full name was Alice Pleasance Liddell. 347.36-348.1: “smolking his fulvurite turfkish in the rooking pressance of laddios:” although for the most part respecting the rules, he’s still smoking in the presence of ladies – something generally considered ill-mannered. 348.1: “Yaa hoo how how:” call-and-response answer to Butt’s “haw haw haw” (347.32-3) 348.1-2: “Whom battles joined no bottles sever! Worn’t you aid a comp?:” something of a role-reversal: Taff is the one asking for a favor – that his old battle comrade stand him a drink, on the premise that anyone who joined him in battle will surely not deny him a bottle. (In his response (.3-28), Butt will drink and drink toasts and talk jovially about drinking; I can see no sign that he grants Taff’s request.) 348.1: “col:” abbreviation for “colleague” 348.2: “comp:” chap, also abbreviation for companion 348.3: “tresdobremient:” given context, means something like “predicament:” he doesn’t want to acknowledge Taff’s request. 348.5-6: “postleadeny past:” after the Age of Lead. (Proclaimed by Pope in The Dunciad, by analogy to the Saturnian Age of Gold). If the past was post-lead, the present must be awfully debased. 348.7: “buzzim:” besides (McHugh) bosom, his mind: compare 180.22: “the buzz in his braintree.” 348.7-8: “medears:” slurred version of “my ideas:” he’s describing (and revealing) his mental condition, impaired by shell shock - probably as an excuse. (During WW I, claims or diagnoses of shell shock were widely viewed with suspicion.) 348.8: “platoonic:” platoon: army unit. Also echo of Pluto, god of the dead 348.9: “thickens they come back to one to rust:” expression: chickens come home to roost. See next entry. 348.9: “thickens:” they’re thickening, they’re coming ever more thickly 348.9: “to one to rust:” to (even) one tourist 348.9: “misenary:” Latin miserare: to deplore, lament 348.10: “old boyars:” again: old boys – fellow alums 348.10: “boomaringing:” boomeranging. Also, their voices are booming, ringingly, in the echoey walls of (“waulholler” (.10)) Valhalla, a warrior’s heaven, where there is plenty of drink for everybody. 348.11: “alma marthyrs:” certainly sounds like Alma Mahler. Joyce knew her in Paris. Why here? Perhaps because Valhalla is also well-supplied with seductively beautiful women. 348.11: “cullies:” fops; worthless men. From “cullions,” testicles – or, here, absence of same 348.11: “I dring to them, bycorn spirits fuselaiding:” overlays: let bygones be bygones. I drink to forget (them). (Old joke: “Why do you drink so much?” “I drink to forget.” “Forget what?” “I dunno: I forgot a long time ago.”) Butt is drinking to forget them while, equal-oppositely, also drinking in their (bygone) memory. Also, Napoleon wore a “bicorn” hat, and there are number of French/French Revolution/Napoleon etc. allusions coming up. 348.11: ”bycorn spirits:” corn spirits: corn liquor. Also, dead comrades - the bygone spirits in Pluto's realm (.8) to whom he is drinking 348.11: “fuselaiding:” fusillade 348.12: “adjutant:” a non-commissioned officer; usually deals with management of personnel 348.13: “absents wehrmuth:” absinthe is proverbially the drink for those seeking to change or blot out memories. (One famous habitué was Oscar Wilde, who will show up at 350.10.) Also, McHugh has “Wehrmacht”- the name for the German armed forces, as adopted by the Nazis in 1935. (“Junglemen in agleement” (.13), next, seems an apt description; “glee” probably also includes (soldiers’) songs.) II.3, all or almost all of it composed in the mid-thirties and later, has an unusual number of such contemporary references. “Junglemen” may bring in Carl Jung (compare 115.22-3) by way of the vexed question of his attitude, changing and under scrutiny at the time of this writing, toward Nazism. 348.13-6: “Junglemen in agleement I give thee…Neuilands!:” he’s proposing a (fulsome) toast to the monarch. 348.14: “Theoccupant…thrownfullvner:“ phrase: the occupant of the throne. (See note to .14-5.) Also, by analogy with Latin nuncupo (compare 432.10), Theo-cupant: the one who names/calls on/addresses God 348.14: “Rueandredful:” to me, this sounds close enough to “Russian General.” 348.14-5: “thrownfullvner:” as throne-filler, the king: note that McHugh (but not the Oxford editors) have “thronefiller” – generally, a dismissive term for an ineffectual monarch. 348.15: “our royal devouts:” our loyal devotion to royalty. Also, not a coincidence that this allusion to A Royal Divorce (see McHugh) appears within range of Napoleon, the French Revolution, the Tuileries, etc. The play is about Napoleon’s relationship with two women, one of whom, Josephine, says (historically speaking, wrongly) that he rescued her from the guillotine; two of its scenes are set in the Tuileries. 348.16: “Neuilands:” A German possession until 1918, New Ireland had been named “Neumecklenburg.” Joyce’s spelling preserves some of the first name. (Note: McHugh refers the reader to 595.26-8, probably an error for 595.10: “Newirgland’s premier.”) Also, Mink suggests “New Island,” “a pop[ular] Ir[ish] name for the US in the 19th and early twentieth cent[urie]s,” and notes the title of a 1934 book by Yeats, Letters to the New Island. (The “New Island” of the title is definitely America.) Mink also, sometimes with qualification, lists references to one or the other or both at 78.26, 392.31, 525.30, and 601.35. 348.17-8: “if they could get a kick at this time:” both 1. (McHugh) if they could get a look at the way things are now, and 2. what a kick they’d get out of it. (Compare Cole Porter’s “I Get a Kick out of You”, first performed in 1934 – perhaps another contemporary reference.) Butt’s reminiscences, his “maimeries” (.7), are extending back to school days. 348.21: “thurkmen:” turkmen – nomadic Arabs 348.21: “thurkmen three:” perhaps alludes to Kipling’s story anthology Soldiers Three. Also: three soldiers, with two (“twum” (.22)): girls – yet another flashback to the park scandal 348.22: “khakireinettes our miladies in their toileries:” khaki – soldier’s uniform material. “-Reine-:” French for queen, so “reinette” would be princess or queen-in-waiting. When she married the future Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette became the “Dauphine of France.” Given overtone of “toilet” in “toileries,” “kaka” should also probably be heard in “khakireinettes” – although “in their toileries” also sounds such expressions as “madam is at her toilet,” that is, she’s getting dressed and groomed. The best-known queen to have inhabited the Tuileries was, again, Marie Antoinette, during the revolutionary years. See next entry. 348.23: “Vjenaskayas:” Russian Ventkaya, Viennese. Marie Antoinette was Viennese by birth. 348.23-4: “old Djadja Uncken who was a great mark for jinking and junking:” compare 257.21-2: “illed Diddiddy Achin for the prize of a pease of bakin.” 348.24: ”was a great mark:” expression: was a great one 348.26: “For lispias harth a burm in eye:” probably not accidental that, ten lines after this lisping lady, we are re-introduced to the lisping “ohosililesvienne” (.36) Sylvia Silence of 61.1. (McHugh and Oxford editors have “khosililesvienne.”) Also, “burning eye” is a fairly frequent poetic epithet for the sun. 348.26-7: “harth…burm…fire…screeneth:” hearth, burn, fire screen 348.26: “harth a burm in eye:” beam in eye: Matthew 7:3: “And why beholdest thou the moat that is in thy brother’s eye but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?” 348.28: “Lancesters:” lancers: mounted British soldiers. Perhaps also Lancaster rifles. Also, as (McHugh) ancestors, the ones to whom this final toast is devoted 348.29-31: “TAFF (who still senses that heavinscent houroines that entertrained him who they were sinuorivals from the sunny Espionia but plied wopsy with his wallets in thatthack of the bustle Bakerloo:” Taff suspects the temptresses “entertrained” – robbed him of his wallet while pretending to entertain him. (Robbed or not, he still senses – scents – the heavenly scent of their lingering perfumes.) Given context, military sense of “entrain” – to board a train – is pertinent as well: Bakerloo underground cars are sometimes called trains. (A contemporary synonym for “entrained” would be “railroaded.”) Bakerloo is so named because the line serves Baker Street and Waterloo; Waterloo Station is for both tube and train. 348.31: “thatthack of the bustle Bakerloo (11.32):” the back of the 11:32 Bakerloo bus. Bakerloo station bustles. 348.32-3: “passing the uninational truthbosh in smoothing irony over the multinotcheralled infructuosities of his grinner set:” Taff exemplifying British phlegm: he’s smoothing away all unpleasantness with a pose of cool irony. “Bosh” would be a useful word for the purpose. A smoothing iron is for ironing clothes. 348.32-3: “uninational truthbosh in smoothing irony over the multinotcheralled infructuosities of his grinner set:” compare to the guillotine of the French Revolution, called “the national razor.” The blade was made of smooth iron and could be counted on to wipe any smile off your face and cancel out your multiple infractions against – well, whatever. (In the vicinity: Marie Antoinette, Tuileries, tyranny, freedom, queen, cockades.) Since “bosh” is the opposite of truth - Stephen uses the word in this sense in “Scylla and Charybdis – “truthbosh” constitutes a case of coinciding contraries. 348.32: “truthbosh:” toothbrush moustache. (Compare 443.25.) He’s smoothing his moustache down over his grinning mouth in order to hide his unsightly teeth. See next two entries. 348.33: “multinotcheralled infructuosities:” again, the teeth, anfractuous – twisted – and full of notches, cavities. Multinational (“multinotcheralled”) counterpoints “uninational” (.32). 348.33: “grinner set:” dinner set; set grin – what with (see above) those teeth, pretty grim. May be a rictus; the word is present in “Circe.” 348.33-4: “The rib, the rib, the quean of oldbyrdes:” “king” or not, in the song the wren is sometimes referred to as “she.” 348.34: “the quean of oldbyrdes:” as in “tough old bird:” a weathered but resilient old man or woman – here, the latter: not only queen but prankquean, whose appearance in I.1 is echoed (.35) with “Rhoda Cockardes” (cf. “redcocks” (22.3)),”embrace” (cf. “brace: (21.32)), and “inflamtry” (cf. “flamend” (23.10)). That she is ready to embrace the whole bloody infantry (.35-6) recalls that a “quean” is a prostitute. 348.34-5: "Your Rhoda Cockardes that are raday to embrace our ruddy inflamtry world!:" under the Russian influence (e.g. "Sinya Sonyavitches!" (.34)) the tricolor French cockade that (see McHugh) would "go round the world" is now ("Rhoda," "rad-," "ruddy") all-red and, in the name of revolution, ready to set the world on fire. 348.35: “inflamtry:” inflammable; inflaming; more fire talk 349.1: “kinks in their tringers and boils on their taws:” the wear and tear of their exuberant exercise has given them kinks in their fingers and boils on their toes. 349.1: “tringers:” trigger fingers 349.1: “taws:” as in “Lotus-Eaters,” a “taw” is the marble used to shoot at other marbles. Besides toes, may also mean the thumb, launching the marble, here paired with fingers. 349.2: “Pencho:” European name; occurs in both Spanish and Bulgarian settings 349.2: “Ist:” Is’t: Is it 349.2: “Ist dramhead countmortial or gonorrhal stab:” compare John Wilkes’ famous comeback to an antagonist who had said he was bound to die either of the pox or from being hanged, but he didn’t know which: “That depends, my lord, on whether I embrace your mistress or your principles.” "Embrace" showed up at 348.35; "gonorrhal" is in this line; hanging could well be one result of a drumhead courtmartial.. 349.3: “if you piggots:” if you please 349.3-4: "Do the nut, dingbut!:" the relevance to the context eludes me, but the editors of Digger Dialects (see 321.20 and note) gloss this as: Lose your head, batman! - with "batman" as an officer's servant. 349.3 “piggots, marsh!” Pickett’s Charge, so called (actually more of a march) at the Battle of Gettysburg: a famous assault which ended in disaster but, like the Charge of the Light Brigade, was later romanticized. Also, pickets (soldiers), march! 349.6-350.9: “[In the…dtin!]:” a transformation scene of the sort popular in the pantomime of Joyce’s youth: essentially, adjusting the relative brightness of light on both sides – “fade” on one side (349.6), “reglow” on the other (349.7) - of a stage scrim (here “screen” (349.8)), then raising the scrim, causing the stage display to transform, as if by magic, into a glittering, enchanting tableau. See J. S. Atherton, “Finnegans Wake: The Gist of the Pantomime,” Accent xv, 14-26. Also, this commences another kind of magical/fururist transformation scene - the pub's radio becoming a television set. (As noted elsewhere, there were no television sets in Ireland during Joyce's lifetime, although (see 324.14-6 and note), as of 1930, one Irish radio station was regularly broadcasting a program on "Experimental Television by the Baird Process.") For a detailed account of the technology, see, besides McHugh, the online article by Ian MacArthur and Viviana-Mirela Braslasu, "Television in Notebook VI.B.46," Genetic Joyce Studies, Issue 20, which draws on earlier research by, among others, Danis Rose and David Hayman. MacArthur and Braslasu: "Having earlier given the hostelry a radio, Joyce then added a television. The source of most of the notes that Joyce made...come from the December 25th 1937 edition of Popular Wireless & Television Times" - that is, at or near the very end of Joyce's fifteen-plus years of FW composition, and about as up to date as possible. 349.8. “if:” of 349.9: "guranium satin:" MacArthur and Braslasu suggest a combination of "Uranium Satin" and "geranium satin." The first was, in their words, a "mildly radioactive" "type of glass," popular at the time, with "green fluorescent properties." The second was a "geranium-coloured" "luxury material" sometimes used in ball gowns. 349.9: “step up to:” stand up to. In other words, they will bravely defend their flimsy barricade when attacked. Also, WW I soldiers preparing to fire from their trench would step up to the “firestep.” Compare 16.2: “Lets we overstep his fire defences.” 349.11: “bitts bugtwug their teffs:” tails between their legs 349.12-3: “Spraygun rakes and splits them from a double focus:” a description of crossfire, a military maneuver prominent in WW I and later. Two batteries, usually of automatic weapons (hence “Spraygun”), fire on the enemy from points separated by an angle of approximately 90 degrees. 349.13: “grenadite:” grenadier 349.14: “alextronite:“ electrolyte 349.14: “firespot:” OED for “firepot:” “An earthenware pot containing combustibles or explosives, used as a missile.” 349.15: “illustred:” illustrious; ill-starred. Another equal-opposite formulation 349.15: “sunksundered:” sunk-under: WW I trenches; also the sunken trench of Hugo’s account of Waterloo - the “living detch” of 8.22 349.16: “Shlossh! A gaspel truce: more WW I lore, in this case a ("gaspel") gas attack. “Truce” may look forward to the 1918 Armistice – a ghastly/ghostly truce, since it came only after the death of millions – or just to the fact that normal battlefield action came to a halt when gas had been released. 349.16-9: "gaspel...spectracular...ghast:" from an article in the Popular Wireless of December 25, 1937, from which Joyce took notes, reprinted by Ian MacArthur and Viviana-Mirela Braslasu, "Television in NotebookVI.B.46," Genetic Joyce Studies 20. "Have you ever noticed when looking at television pictures a sort of shadow or ghost outline...?" "The ghost effect represents the second and weaker reception of the signal." 349.16: “caesine coatings:” cheese cuttings – acts of cutting a cheese. The “gaspel” “mephiticism” is a noxious odor being compared or attributed to the smell which arrives when someone cuts certain smelly cheeses. In my childhood, going back at least to 1957, “cutting the cheese” was a jokey term for farting. The internet is no help in determining when the expression became current, but at 163.5-6 the cheesy “Caseous” is gassy (gaseous) and smelly. Also, cheese “casings” – the waxy packagings of some cheeses. The smell “leaks out” from a cut in the casing. 349.17-8: “caoculates through the inconoscope stealdily a still:” the image forming on the television screen. Few readers are likely to remember that the picture once took its time emerging and forming after the set was turned on. The “caoculates” coagulation is a double gestalt process – the dots (pixels, later) emerging on the screen to make a composite image, the viewer participating in the process. (Another thing most people today won’t know is that the pre-HDD medium itself was granular – lines of tiny black or white light-points.) Also, a “still” is a single frame taken from a film and blown up, often circulated for publicity. Also, given context, “caoculates” probably includes “cloaca,” a prophetic description of most television fare. Oxford editors replace “inconoscope” with “iconoscope.” 349.17: “spectracular:” spectre: ghost. Among other things, this is a séance. 349.19-20: “jesuneral of the russuates:” general of the Russians: Russian general 349.21: “starre of the Sun of Heaven:” Lucifer, the morning star fallen from heaven 349.25: “castomercies mudwake surveice:” midweek religious services were and are customarily held on Wednesdays. 349.25-6: “Pleace to notnoys speech above your dreadths:” please speak under your breaths (especially about death), so as not to make annoying noise 349.26: “doughboys:” American WW I soldiers. (Nobody seems to know why.) May be part of the vicar’s admonishment: “Please do, boys.” 349.28-350.9: “He blocks…dtin!:” this program of sensory self-mortification recalls Portrait’s Stephen, who in chapter four goes through the five senses, one at a time, seeking some way to abase each. As with Stephen, the penis – the “tree of livings in the middenst of the garerden” (.2), center of the sense of touch - turns out to be the most recalcitrant. 349.28: “nosoes:” nose’s nostrils 349.28-30: “He blocks his nosoes because that he confesses to everywheres he was always putting up his latest faengers:” he blocks his nostrils because he used to pick his nose with his fingers. 349.30: “faengers:” Bonheim has “catcher” (in McHugh) and “hunting knife;” the latter seems likelier. 349.30: “sword of tusk:” ivory toothpick, Brobdinagian variety. Mohammed had an ivory toothpick. Also, perhaps, sort of tusk. 349.31: “howonton:” how wanton. (Oxford editors have “her and howonton.”) I can’t find anything to do with the sense of taste in this entry; rather the sin connected with the mouth was that he spoke lewdly to women. 349.32-3: “boundles alltogotter his manucupes and his pedarrests:” I think that the expression behind this entry is “bound hand and foot.” He has sinned with these extremities and is submitting to have them incapacitated. Compare next four entries. 349.32: “manucupes:” manuscripts, manacles 349.32: “pedarrests:” foot rests. Also, as feet-arrests, counterpart to handcuffs 349.34: “handcomplishies:” accomplishments, with the hand: the manuscripts and lewdness just noted may implicate the Joyce who, perhaps remembering King Lear, rejected someone who wanted to “kiss the hand that wrote Ulysses” with the words “No, it did lots of other things too.” Also, overtone of “handcuffs” – more self-restraint 349.34: “comfoderacies:” includes fod, Scandinavian for “foot.” So: “hand…” plus foot 349.34-350.6: “And…shop: “This last entry ought to be the sense of hearing, but I can’t find it. 350.2: “middenst:” includes midden, as at 19.8. 350.5: “now he come to think of it:” now that he comes to think of it. Should probably be read as if set off by commas 350.6: “Pugger:” pucker: prizefighter. Occurs in “Wandering Rocks.” 350.8: “field of Hanar:” field of honor – meeting place for duels 350.8-9: “looties and gengstermen!:” looters and gangsters. Recalls aftermath of Waterloo, as in Les Miserables and I.1: the looters, both women and men, scavenging the bodies of the dead 350.11: “beautonhole:” butt-hole 350.11-2: mailbag mundaynism:” strict Victorian Sabbatarians campaigned against mail delivery on Sundays. 350.13-5: “when he was fast marking his first lord for cremation the whyfe of his bothem was the very lad’s thing to elter his mehind:” gist: at the moment he was about to bugger Lord Douglas for the first time, the wife of his bosom was the last thing on his mind. 350.13-4: “marking his first lord:” Alfred Douglas was a lord; his father was a marquis. (In “Scylla and Charydis,” Eglinton’s “he loved a lord” refers to speculation about Shakespeare’s sexuality.) 350.14-5: “lad’s thing to elter his mehind:” in court, Wilde was charged with having hired rent boys – here (see note to .13-5: turnabout) to penetrate his behind. (Whether he was guilty is still controversial.) Note the “pedarrests” (arrested for pederasty) of 349.32. See next entry. 350.15: “Prostatates:” the rent boys were prostitutes; also scheduled to be testators – witnesses – for the prosecution. “Testifying” derives from “testes” and “prostate” is of course the name of the gland which produces seminal fluid. A prostate exam also involves entering the patient’s behind. (Remember you read it here first.) Also, the concluding lines of Taff’s last testimony were a defense against charges of consorting with prostitutes. 350.16: “Defense in every circumstancias of deboutcheries:” at his last trial, Wilde was the defendant. Here, he’s denying accusations of (“deboutcheries” (.16)) debaucheries. “Defense” also in French sense of “defense de” (appears in “Circe”): debaucheries are forbidden. 350.16: “circumstancias:” circumstantial evidence – inadmissible in court 350.17: “pickets:” another famous trial: in court at the Parnell trial, Richard Piggott was exposed as a forger because of his misspelling of (“hissindensity” (.12)) “hesitency.” Piggott has been mentioned at 349.3. 350.19: ”pleatze commando:” verbal formula for polite deference: please command me. Also, commando in military sense 350.19: “hother prace:” Hamlet’s language for hell: “seek him i’the other place yourself.” 350.20: “cossakes:” because, in service to the (Russian) czar, Cossacks were, like ("basquibezigues") Bashi-bazouks (.20), irregulars. 350.20-1: “pole aprican:” poor African. Also, the Poles, sometimes subject to invasion from the (“basquibezigues” (.20)) Bashi-bazouks 350.21-2: “I had my billyfell of duckish delights the whole pukny time on rawmeots and juliannes:” accused of debauchery, he’s saying that, however that may have once been, he’s had enough of the whole Romeo-and-Juliet business. Perhaps pertinent that Turks were supposed to be outlandishly lecherous 350.22: “duckish:” “ducky” is an (ironic) term of endearment. As (see McHugh) Turkish, goes with Bashi-bazouks of .20. Any Pole would certainly have had his (“billyfell” (.21)) belly-full of them. (See note to .20-1.) 350.22: “juliannes:” julienne: OED says vegetable soup. Would complement “rawmeots” (.22) raw meat, with which he has filled his belly 350.25-6: “and we preying players:” and we praying prayers. Irish idiom, as used by Mulligan in “Scylla and Charybdis:” “And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece.” Also, perhaps, playing for Players (cigarettes): soldiers sometimes used cigarettes as currency when playing cards. 350.26: “pinching:” stealing 350.26: “peacesmokes:” peat smoke 350.27: “Father Petrie Spence:” shows up as part of course correction against charges of debauchery: he quotes and reads scripture, backwards, from Revelation to Genesis (see .31, McHugh), reminds them of their Sunday School lessons (.34) and their obligations to make war in a civilized fashion (.36), then sends them forth to victory or death (350.36-351.1). 350.28: “the crimsend daun to shellalite on the darkumen:” the (rosy-fingered) dawn will shed light on/in the darkness. Sounds nice, but, given the soldier-at-the-front context, “shell” may signal that the light will come from a morning artillery barrage, and that the dawn is crimson because bloody. Also, the crimson dawn of the Russian revolution, one of the consequences of WW I. 350.28: “shellalite:” Shelta: language of gypsies 350.29: “huguenottes:” notte: Italian for night 350.30: “(the snuggest spalniel’s where the lieon’s time):” spaniels are conventionally timid and submissive. They would therefore prefer a lion, if present at all, to be as tame as possible. Probably owing to the popular misquoted version of Isaiah 11:6, “And the lion shall lie down with the lamb.” (To Which Woody Allen adds, “And the lamb won’t get much sleep.”) Would help explain why “lion’s” became “lieon’s” 350.30: “lieon’s tame:” lion's, mane, lion tamer 350.30-1: “raiding revolations:” red revolution 350.32: “sound as agun:” sound as a gun – a variation of “sound as a bell” 350.34-5: “every warson wearrier kaddies a komnate in his schnapsack:” see McHugh for “-schnaps.” In this case, the soldier’s friend, always carried with him, is gin. (Actually, it was usually rum, of which every soldier was given a daily ration, doubled when about to go over the top.) Largely irrelevant but, I hope, interesting fact: post WW I Prohibition, in America and other countries, came about partly due to (in the words of one source) the “diversion of alcohol to military purposes.” 350.34: “warson wearrier:” war-weary, being a worrier about war. (Natural enough, I’d say, if you’re in one.) 350.34: “komnate:” comrade – both in sense of comrade-in-arms and of Soviet comrade, for the ("crimsend daun" (.28)) crimson dawn of ("raiding revolations" (.30-1)) red revolution. Lenin swelled his ranks with war-weary Russian defectors. 350.35: “unlist:” opposite of enlist: to de-enlist, i.e. defect 350.35: “foegutfulls:” forgetful of the foe – again, referring to defectors. The most popular pro-war poem to emerge from WW I, John McCrae’s “In Flanders’ Fields,” urges battle survivors and new recruits to “Take up our quarrel with the foe” and goes on to say that the fallen will not sleep “if ye forget.” This Tommy is on the verge of forgetting his (“rugiments” (.35-6)), regiment. Also, “gutful’s” recycles the (“billyfell”) belly-full of .21. 350.36: “gamefellow:” a game fellow: one up to the task - here, of combat 350.36-351.1: “send us victorias:” that is, Victoria Crosses – the highest of British military medals 351.1: "dumm:” dumdum bullet – banned during WW I, though sometimes used 351.3: “wearing abarrel:” besides (McHugh) wearing apparel, a man wearing a barrel was a cartoon signature for poverty. 351.6: “loyal leibsters:” “loyal” to the (royal) English monarch – but then again, Leinster is an Irish, not an English, province. Confusedly, they are both (.7) Irish Paddies and English Tommies. 351.6: “redugout:” redcoat: English soldier. Also dugout, which OED defines as “roofed shelter used in trench warfare.” Also redoubt, any fortification behind defensive lines. Both were features of WW I. Also, although not in use in WW I days, redingote – riding coats – had been part of fancy-dress English uniforms around the time of the Napoleonic Wars. 351.7: “praddies three and prettish too:” 3-2: an almost invariable signature of the twins; here with (“prettish”), the pretties, it half-changes the scene to the park scandal, with its soldiers and girls. (BTW, the Oscar Wilde story, so prominent at the start of this long paragraph, seems to have sunk from sight at about 350.20. The transition has been by way of the rent boys becoming soldier boys.) 351.7: “a wheeze:” always. Given (“waynward islands” (.7)) Windward Islands (McHugh), probably also a portmanteau word for something like “windy breeze.” 351.8: “engrish:” angry English – in context, another amalgam of Irish (Ireland as angry ire-land/anger-land) and English. 351.9: “jisty:” relates to “jist” as “pithy” to “pith” 351.9-10: “Homard Kayenne:” “Homard” continues the redcoat – lobster thread (.6). Also, some lobster recipes, including the popular Lobster Newburg, include cayenne pepper. 351.11: “our woos with the wenches:” our ways of wooing wenches. Echo of “the way of a man with a maid” 351.11: “for a song:” phrase: for very little (money) 351.12: “zyngarettes:” Zingari: gypsy. Maybe part of the preceding “tsingirillies’” as well. In “Penelope” Molly remembers the “Zingari colours” of a muffler Bloom once wore. I suggest that the complex here of gypsies, temptresses, cigarettes, and song should remind us of Carmen. 351.12-3: “popiular with the poppyrossies:” poppies as symbols of the WW I dead – a tradition inspired by “In Flanders’ Fields.” See 17.18-29, 350.35 and notes. 351.13: “our Chorney Choplain:” chaplain. As McHugh notes, “Woodbine Willy” (same line) was a clergyman. Woodbines, a popular cigarette brand, were associated with WW I tommies. 351.13: “blued the air:” sang the blues, over the air (waves). Also, the “one long blue streak” of .9 351.14-5: “And we all tuned in to hear the topmast noviality:” we all tuned into the radio to hear the newest most-popular song. 351.15-6: “Up the revels drown the rinks:” Up the rebels! Down the drinks! (A toast to – presumably Irish – rebels against the crown) 351.16: “almistips:” given context, armistice referred to is that of Nov. 11, 1918. 351.17: “droomodose:” dramatized 351.17: “Y loved you:” I O U. (McHugh and Oxford editors have “I” instead of “Y.”) 351.17: “abover:” Latin ab ove: from the beginning 351.18: “all the strest:” all the rest 351.18: "Blowhole:" Digger Dialects (see 321.20 and note): a garrulous person 351.18-9: "boy with his boots off:" Digger Dialects: a "shell which bursts before the sound of its passage through the air is heard" 351.19: “butch:” a conspicuously masculine man (or woman) – that is, like the “heavybuilt Abelbody” who wears a “butcherblue blouse” (63.15-6) 351.19-20: "It was buckoo bonzer, beleeme:" see McHugh. It was beaucoup good, believe me. 351.20: "a bare prive:" only a private 351.20: "doglegs:" dogtags: slang for identification worn by soldiers 351.22: “thusengaged:” “thusen:” thousand 351.22: “slavey:” Slavic 351.23: “very flank movemens:” very frank movements – salacious movements with their flanks – moving men to lust. Compare Portrait, chapter two: “He read the meaning of her movements in her frank uplifted eyes.” 351.24: “sunpictorsbosk:” sun-picture = photo-graph. (“Sun picture” was an early term.) 351.24-352.12: "I could…aceupper:” along with the story of the Russian general’s defecation is one of the private’s outrage at discovering hypocrisy in the upper ranks – two different instances of unwelcome exposure. He was proud of how he and his mates maintained their purity, despite being stationed near one red-light district after another. He thought he was following the command and example of the general, who, posing as a religious man working in cooperation with the Salvation Army, had enjoined him to “upleave the fallener as is greatly to be petted” (252.3-4) – to pity and lift up the fallen woman of the streets. Then one day (351.33-352.8) he inadvertently discovered the general casually making his way to a whorehouse, then in bed with a prostitute. (Joyce’s suspicions about Gladstone’s practice of picking up prostitutes from the streets in order to reform them is surely in play here. Compare 336.21-32.) 351.24-5: “take good cover:” take cover – what soldiers in combat often have to do 351.25: “eyedulls or earwakers:” going to sleep or waking up 351.27: “feelings:” also fearings 351.27: “lifeprivates:” privates: both genitals and soldiers 351.27-8: “reptrograd leanins:” retrograde plus Lenin: coinciding contraries 351.28-9: “respectables soeurs:” in French, a plural noun takes a plural adjective, both signified by a terminal "s." “Respectable” is French as well as English. 351.29: “assistershood:” charitable nuns – they assist others 351.30: “angurr:” she’s angry, therefore going “Grrrr…” 351.33: “as the aimees of servation:” as they aim for/love salvation – that is, as they hope to be saved, they would never forswear themselves. Also (see McHugh) the Salvation Army strives to rescue women from prostitution. The setting in this passage is a red-light district – actually, several. 351.34: “touters:” tutors. Also, a “tout” noisily promotes or advertises some business – gambling, or, here, prostitution. 351.34: “No peeping:” in sense of “not a peep out of” – that is, no talking 351.34: “pimpadoors:” Madame de Pompadour, mistress to Louis XV, quoted at 352.12. Note “pimp.” 351.35: “by Jova:” “by Jove” is stage-English, like “jolly good.” 351.36: “Stumblebum:” Oliver Cromwell’s son Richard was called “Tumbledown Dick.” Compare 481.27-8. 352.1-2: “scutt’s rudes unreformed:” Scottish Reformed Church, a.k.a. Church of Scotland. Its liturgy might be called “rude” in the sense of plain, unadorned. Would have been on Cromwell’s side. (Also, pretty severe, especially in matters of sexual misbehavior.) Here seems to refer to style of general’s clothes – or, at this point, underclothes: he’s undressed or undressing for purposes of 1. sex with a prostitute and/or 2. defecation. 352.2: “nemcon:” non-com: a non-commissioned officer. (As best I can determine, at least in most times in most militaries, it would have been impossible or virtually impossible for a general to be one.) 352.3: “domstoole:” as in “Calypso,” “at stool” means: sitting on the toilet 352.3-4: “upleave the fallener as is greatly to be petted:” lift up the (fig) leaf on the fallen woman (Eve), the better to pet her, in (is this still around? OED puts the earliest usage at 1921; also, see McHugh) sense of (very) heavy petting; Joyce's Notebook VI.B.064 includes the phrase "petting parties." Also, see note to 351.24-352.14, and compare 438.3-5. 352.5: “brichashert offensive:” offensive display of britches and shirt: he’s removed any outer garments and is proceeding with the rest. 352.6: “scharlot runners:” red stockings. In FW, frequently connected with young temptresses. Also, scarlet as in scarlet women. Also, in “Calypso,” Bloom passes a bed of scarlet runners on his way to the outhouse. Also, according to Digger Dialects, a "runner" is a "1914-1915 war ribbon." 352.7-8: “fly fly flurtation…mairmaid maddeling:” stammering is usually an HCE signature – here, perhaps, as indignant father. 352.8: “mairmaid:” a marred maid would be an ex-virgin. See next entry. 352.8: “maddeling:” meddling. Also, the name “Madeline” derives from Mary Magdalene. 352.9: “oreland:” Ireland. Perhaps also something like gold mine 352.9. “sord:” sir. Goes with (“messger” (.10)) messieurs and “missus” (.14). Also, sword 352.9-10: “the splunthers of colt and bung goes the enemay:” compare Bello in “Circe,” “uncork”ing herself in order to fart: “This bung’s about burst.” “Colt” echoes “cork;” “splunthers” may have overtone of “sphincter.” In any case, an explosive evacuation, thanks to the ("enemay") enema. “Bung goes the enemay:” “Pop goes the weasel” 352.10: “the enemay the Percy rally got me:” see the end of I.2: Persse O’Reilly’s ballad and the rally it addressed certainly made HCE some enemies. (Again, the stammering of .7-8 would seem to signal his presence.) Also, Percy Wyndham Lewis, who styled himself “The Enemy” – of, among others, Joyce. Since Lewis hated his first name, this is probably a dig – not to mention changing “enemy” to “enemay.” (Joyce rubs it in at .14: “parrylewis,” Percy Lewis.) See next item. 352.10-1: “as true as theirs an Almagnian Gothabobus!:” a stretch, perhaps, but, as McHugh notes, “Almagnian” includes Allemagne, Germany, and Lewis’s 1931 Hitler gave a basically positive version of his subject. (A later book, some thought too late, reversed course.) This passage was written after Hitler came to power. Again, II.3, produced in the mid to late thirties, is, I think, the most topical of FW’s chapters. 352.12: “Thistake it’s meest! And after meath:” a version of FW’s “mishe mishe” motif; see, especially 87.23-4: “because they could not say meace, (mute and daft) meathe.” In such passages, it is apparently a shibboleth and/or password. (It makes a kind of sideways sense that the Irish shibboleth should be the name of its legendary, vanished province.) 352.13: “hory synnotts:” the Holy Synod: governing head of the Georgian Orthodox Church. Also, hoary (whitehaired) senators 352.14: “pullyirragun:” “Pull your gun:” sounds like challenge in Westerner stand-off: e.g. “Fill your hand.” Typically fought with ("colt" (.9)) Colt revolvers. Here, paired with “parrylewis” – parrying, which is something you do with a sword, not a gun. 352.14: “I shuttm, missus:” I shot (at) him, missed (this time) 352.15: “Hump to dump! Tumbleheaver!:” Here’s to ___! (A tumbler is for drinking – here, a toast.) Also, Humpty Dumpty had a tumble. 352.16: “sonce:” once 352.16: ”bron a nuhlan:” Bruno of Nola. Also, Brian O’Nolan? It’s uncertain when Joyce first came to know of him. 352.17: “volkar boastsung:” vulgar boatswain/bosun; vulgar boasting – presumably a comment on Butt’s bragging. “Volkar:” "volk," "volkische" – as opposed to Taff’s “wellbred”ness (.18). The prole-vs.-toff distinction between the two has reasserted itself. 352.17: “volkar…is heading to sea:” the Volga runs into the (Caspian) sea 352.17: “sea vermelhion:” see red (that is, become uncontrollably angry); Red Sea. Perhaps Macbeth’s “multitudinous seas incarnadine” is in the background. 352.18: “rifal’s:” rival in coinciding-contraries sense: opposite, partner 352.19: “effaces himself:” self-effacing 352.19: “idiology:” ideology of idiots 352.20: “alwise behounding:” always behind, in sense of intellectual or ideological premise: behind his professed socialism is another, presumably sinister, motive. (Here, that motive would seem to be parricidal.) Also - see previous entry - always behind in his mental processes 352.20: “behounding:” be hounding: Irish construction 352.20: “hump:” follows from camel in “camelsensing” (.16) 352.20: “homosodalism:” given “ideology” (.19), socialism. Also (see McHugh): with a sodality of homosexuals, the Oscar Wilde element is coming back; at .24 (“grand ohold spider!”) Wilde will return as Great White Caterpillar (350.10: see McHugh), combined, wickedly, with Gladstone as Grand Old Man. (It’s not clear to me whether “his” and “he” (.20, .21, .22) refers to father or son(s) or both or all three.) 352.21: “lolly…pops:” lollypops, apparently used to lure the “young one” (.22), a common charge against the father-figure 352.21: “pops:” poppies again, plus a slurred or clipped “perhaps” 352.21-2: “he may pops lilly a young one to his herth:” may perhaps lure a girl to his hearth. (With that – see first .21 and note – lollipop.) The two paired FW girls are sometimes paired as lily and rose. “Pops,” slang for father, emphasizes his age, compared to hers. 352.22-3: “rasher…liever…bullyclaver:” bacon, liver, bully beef; “-claver:” cleaver, for meat. 352.23-4: “And Oho bullyclaver of ye, bragadore-gunneral! The grand ohold spider! It is a name to call to him Umsturdum Vonn!:” A characteristically FW-ish case of mishearing. What Butt actually (or “actually”) said was ”to blow the grand off his aceupper” (.10-11). (See fourth note to .20.) Regardless, Taff is congratulating him on his very clever choice of epithets; probably he (projectively) welcomes slurs on Wilde and Gladstone. 352.23: “bragadore-gunneral:” braggart; compare .17, “boastsung.” Again, unclear whether addressed to target or Butt or both (but then, one’s butt is the target of the other): one is the (here, brigadier, though at .33 he’s been promoted to “fourstar”) general, the other is the braggart with the rifle. 352.24: “Umsturdum Vonn:” for some reason, HCE is often associated with Amsterdam; at 532.6 his concluding monologue will begin as a radio broadcast from Amsterdam. 352.24: “Umsturdum:” “-turd-” goes with “mot de Cambronne” of 2-3 lines earlier; continues practice of insults nested in supposed compliments. 352.25: “shutter reshottus:” repeating “I shuttm, missus,” I shot him and missed, of .14. If he missed him the first time, it makes sense that he should re-shoot. Also, Carlyle’s Sartor Resartus (McHugh) means “The Tailor Re-tailored,” here paired with “sieger besieged.” Also, the shitter re-shat; compare “The buckbeshottered” (.30). 352.25-6: “Aha race of fiercemarchands counterination oho of shorpshoopers:” combines two Napoleon quotations, both previously heard from: “Every French soldier carries a field marshal’s baton in his knapsack” (350.34-5: see McHugh), and, as McHugh notes, “The English are a nation of shopkeepers” (several places, and see next). FW equal-opposites: the merchants/shopkeepers are also fierce sharpshooters. Overtones, I think, of Agincourt and other Mediaeval English-French encounters, where English bowmen (sharpshooters) defeated charging French cavalry. 352.26: “counterination:” “counter,” as in shopkeeper’s counter 352.27: “Dann Deafir warcry:” as McHugh notes, Kipling’s poem “Danny Deever.” Probably pertinent that Deever is being hanged for having shot a fellow soldier: again, shooter and shot-at are, often or always, plexed. Also, the war-cry is deafening. 352.28: “jittinju:” ju jitsu 352.28: “pet:” fart. (See 375.18 and note.) Seems to follow, given the sequence. Also, “pet” as in “peevishness” 352.28-9: “he shouts his thump and fee fauh foul finngures up the heighohs of their ahs!:” this and much else in the sequence seems to continue the buggery/prostate exam of 350.15 ff. On the most literal level, he (here, the Russian general) is simply being witnessed vigorously wiping his arse; as in the original story, it is the last straw. 352.30: “buckbeshottered:” besotted by the sight of the (beshittened) backside of the male in question 352.30-1: “He’ll umbozzle no more graves:” another charge: that he’s been in the habit of opening graves in order to have sex with corpses. (A scenario entertained in “Hades.”) Also, the charge of embezzlement will return at 375.25-6. 352.31: “nor horne nor haunder…gayl geselles in dead men’s hills!:” nor harm nor hinder. Also, hound and horn, hunting insignia: he won’t be doing any more gazelle-hunting in those hills. Also, the usual charge that he was stalking girls. Probable allusion to Moore’s line “I never nursed a dear gazelle,” long synonymous with ludicrously sentimental poetry. See next entry. 352.31: “haunder:” wander, haunt, hinder (with both long and short “i”), hound, hunter 352.32: “(backsights to his bared!):” my backside to his beard; i.e. my arse to his face 352.33:: "frustate fourstar Russkakruscam:” I can’t make out the symbolism, but Google Books shows that “four stars” occurs frequently in Rosicrucian emblemata. Oxford editors have “Russkakruscan.” 352.33-4: “Dom Allaf O’Khorwan:” Dom(inus) – God – Allah of the Koran: an Irishing of Islam 352.35-6: “asbestas can, wiz the healps of gosh and his bluzzid maikar, has been sulphuring to himsalves:” asbestos prevents burns to the skin; salves treat them. Gushes of water and the ice (from a blizzard) would also help. 352.36-353.1: “has been sulphuring to himsalves all the pungataries of sin praktice in failing to furrow theogonies of the dommed:” sulphur is brimstone. Gone to Purgatory (he’s lucky it’s not hell: God and his blessed mother have, relatively speaking, taken pity on him), he has literally been (but only temporarily) suffering the agonies of the damned (fire and brimstone) for his sinful practice of failing to faithfully follow the theology of (again – see note to 252.33 - Theo and Dominus) God or Gods or gods – rather understandably, perhaps, since that theology must accommodate both Christian and Muslim deities at least. 352.36: “sulphuring:” sulphur gas (properly sulphur dioxide) is known for its noxious smell, not unlike that of (see .28 and note) a fart; King Lear compares a woman’s regions beneath the girdle to a “sulphurous pit” of “stench.” 353.2: “Trisseme, the mangoat!” Tristram/Tristan, the mangod! Jesus as (“triste”) man-God “man of sorrows” 353.3: “sobber:” sobbing 353.4: “the dirtiment of the curtailment of his all of man:” 1. the dirt (euphemism for shit) at his tail. 2. the tradition that the Isle of Man is made from the gigantic sod of turf scooped out by Finn McCool in his creation of Lough Neagh; at .26 the land is Ireland and the sod of turf requires “beheaving.” 353.6: “maomant scoffin but apoxyomenously deturbaned:” miming – pretending – to be scoffing, but in fact disturbed. Oxford editors have “maoment.” 353.6…8: “deturbaned…diademmed:” he doffs a turban and dons a diadem. 353.7: “thems bleachin banes will be after making:” combines African-American and Irish idioms. (Anti-Irish cartoons frequently equated the two peoples.) Song: “Dem Bones, Dem Bones, Dem Dry Bones” is traditional Negro spiritual based on Ezekiel 37.1-14. As at 343.33, “after making” is Irish idiom. 353.7: “bleachin banes:” bones bleaching in the desert sun – again, as in Ezekiel 37.1-14 (see preceding entry); as white bones, dice; compare singular “die” of .8. 353.7: “bashman’s:” bushman – a black African 353.8: “die and be diademmed:” die and be damned. According to Ellmann, a drunken John Joyce yelled “Die and be damned to you!” to his dying wife. 353.9: ”Yastsar!” continues traditional Negro idiom: Yassuh! Also, Mohammed’s disciple Ammar ibn Yasir; according to Wikipedia “he occupies a position of the highest importance in Islam.” Response to “Notsoh?” of .5. 353.9: “in sabre tooth and sobre saviles:” response to .3-4. McHugh and Oxford editors both have "sombre" for "sobre." A Savile Row suit has long stood for the height of British establishment respectability. 539.9: “Senonnevero!:” it is true; it isn’t true; it will always (ever) be true; it will never be true 353.9-10: “that he leaves nyet:” that he leaves nothing – as an inheritance. “Nyet” is equal-oppositely both not and yet: he lives yet; he doesn’t live. Also, of course, more Russian – here meaning “No:" I grieve that he's not living. 353.11-3: “as Cocksnark of Killtork can tell and Ussur Ursussen of the viktaurious onrush with all the rattles in his arctic!” as these two witnesses will testify 353.11: “Cocksnark:” to cock a snook (McHugh) is to thumb one’s nose at someone. A picture is on page 308. 353.11: “Killtork:” as (McHugh) Kilturk/Killturk/kill-Turk – the conflict is, among other things, an anti-Muslim crusade; see second note to .14. 353.12: “tell:” William Tell apple-shooting story is part of the mix here – for instance with the crossbow - “crozzier” of .20 and, with, according to Oxford editors, “bow” on the same line replacing “how,” a “bow and armer” – bow and arrow. 353.13: “rattles:” riddles. Also, “rattles in his arctic:” bats in his belfry; compare 180.27. 353.14: “Knout Knittrick Kinkypeard!:” his final name for the general – probably made up and deliberately ridiculous 353.14: “Knout:” traditional weapon of Russian tyrants. “Knout” may be (approximate) anagram of Count 353.14: “Olefoh:” along with “Oliver” and (perhaps “old foe”), the olifant – horn made from elephant tusk – which figures prominently in The Song of Roland. Oliver refuses to blow it to request help; Roland blows it with such force that he dies. 353.16: “ourloud’s lande:” Our Lord’s land, either Palestine or Christendom in general: The Song of Roland is centered on the Reconquista of Spain from the Muslims. 353.16-7: “beheaving up that sob of tunf for to claimhis:” as always among other things, the would-be tyrant claims possession of the land by grabbing and displaying the sod of turf. Perhaps this owes something to the legend of Ulster’s red hand – that the land would belong to the first claimant whose hand touched it. 353.17: “puddywhuck:” Gaelic: Pat, my boy 353.17-8: “untuoning this culothone in an exitous erseroyal Deo Jupto:” this scene has got to include “Le Pétomane” (whom, Michael O’Shea has suggested, may have inspired the end of “Sirens”), a turn-of-the-century French performer who farted musically. McHugh and Oxford editors both say that “untuoning his culothone” should be “intuoning his culophone” – tuning/intoning his anus-noise. Note cul, French for anus, péto, French for fart, and “erse-,” arse. “Exitous” because the wind is exiting. 353.19: “dobblenotch:” second notch on a pants’ belt. Again, apt for both general (dropping his trousers) and shooter (cocking his weapon): Google Books has hits for “double-notch” applying to rifles and archery. In the latter case, it seems to refer to a bow with two notches at either end, the farther-apart notches presumably producing a more powerful shot. Given context, it may also be pertinent that the “Ku Klux Klan” is supposed to have taken its name from the sound of a rifle being cocked; we got a “Knot Knittrick Kinkypeard” at .14. 353.22-32: “[The abnihilisation – Aira.]:” the first Google Books hit for splitting the atom is 1925. Under different names, it had been a subject of science and science fiction since early in the century. (Bloom speculates about atomic particles – x-rays – in “Lestrygonians,” set in 1904.) This passage first appeared in 1937. 353.22: “abnihilisation:” ab nihil: out of nothing. The ultimate FW equal-opposite: the creation of everything, the annihilation of everything. 353.22: “abnihilisation of the etym:” that is, in the beginning was the word, the “etym” coming out of nothing 353.22-3: “the grisning of the grosning of the grinder of the grunder:” compare 345.11. I suggest that this is another reference to the sleeper, grinding his teeth in sleep. (A common practice, called bruxism; In “Nausicaa,” Bloom remembers Molly “gnashing her teeth” in sleep.) Also – again, on the verge of waking, he calls out a word or words; apparently we never learn what. (In “Finnegan’s Wake,” it’s “Thanam o’n Dhoul! D’ye think I’m dead?”) 353.24: “Parsuralia:” given context of loud noises, explosions, etc. perhaps pertinent that Lucan’s Pharsalia, a Virgil-inspired account of the civil war between Caesar and Pompey, is noted for its blood-and-thunder battle scenes. See next entry. 353.24: “ivanmorinthortorumble:” note “Thor” and “rumble:” either an account of a thunderstorm or comparison to a thunderstorm. (Both are present in the Pharsalia.) 353.25: "fragoromboassity:” includes (sarcastic) “fragrant.” The noisy evacuation, of course, but in context perhaps also a blast of extremely bad breath; ten pages earlier (343.24-5) he was accused of smoking scandalously at both ends, and in general bad smell is one of the father’s distinguishing features; see, for instance, 95.2-3. (As noted earlier, the young Joyce was similarly malodorous.) Also, along with (McHugh) “fragor-,” loud noise, frangere, Latin for: to break 353.25: “general uttermosts confussion:” general confession: confessing all the sins of one’s life, not just since last time. Appropriate for Last Rites, or the end of the world. Oxford editors have “generaluttermost.” 353.27: “moletons skaping with mulicules:” another fundamental equal-opposite: the splitting of the atom results in new molecules being generated out of atomic particles: fission and fusion. (“Skaping,” as McHugh notes, includes Norwegian skape, to create.) 353.27-8: “coventry plumpkins fairlygosmotherthemselves in the Landaunelegants of Pinkadindy:” probably a reference to Lady Godiva story, set in Coventry: plump country-bumpkin Coventry wenches run off to London where, from one extreme to the other, they virtually become the opposite of naked, smothering themselves in fashionable (Piccadilly) clothes. A Landau (see McHugh) was a sign of conspicuous wealth. More at home: everyone is running away and stifling themselves in order to not smell his evacuation. 353.27: “plumpkins:” as pumpkins, goes with (see McHugh) Cinderella’s carriage, the (“Landaunelegants”) elegant landau of the same line. Compare 623.23-4. 353.28: “projectilised:” projected by movie projector; perhaps also by the television’s “Spraygun” (349.12) 353.28-9: “Hullulullu, Bawlawayo, empyreal Raum and mordern Atems:” hollering/hullaballoo; bawling; “rumour” as noise (“Oxen of the Sun:” "the rumour of that storm”); “etym” as word (compare .22 and second note). Again, see note to .22-3. Oxford editors have “Hullollulu” for “Hullulullu.” 353.31: “At someseat of Oldanelang’s Konguerrig, by dawnybreak in Aira:” at sunset of old Danelaw’s kingdom, by break of dawn in Eire. 353.31: “Konguerrig:” war-king 353.31-2: “dawnybreak:” a “donnybrook” is a free-for-all fight 353.36: “crackery:” sound of breaking crockery; also crack! sound of (“fivefirearms”) gunfire: Taff is ("wools gathering" (.33) woolied – given the willies (compare 180.32) - by the sound of Butt’s gunshot. Compare Stephen’s “Nestor” evocation of the End of Days: “ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.” 354.1: “domdom chumbers:” chambers of gun for dumdum bullets 354.1: “thubulbs uptheaires:” as McHugh says, the hubbub upstairs: the father’s noisemaking (see 353.22-3 and note) comes from his bedroom upstairs. 354.3: “daniel:” in context of dogs in almanac picture (“doog at doorak:” Deoch an Dorais), spaniel. Compare 30.29, 194.8. (Again, my leading candidate for the almanac picture is Edwin Douglas’ Mine Host, where the host is standing in a doorway.) 354.5: “vility of vilities, he becomes allasvitally, faint:” velleity of velleities: a low-level desire, here diminishing into something fainter and fainter 354.5: “Shurenoff:” typically Russian – or parody of Russian - name. One example: Souvorov, name of famous father and son Russian generals, the latter killed in the war against Napoleon 354.7-21: “Butt…cococancancacacenotioun):” I suggest that the key passage here is “umbraged by the shadow” (.10) – that in joining together, tottering, and falling, the two are either the shadow of or the shadow-makers of the falling father/general. 354.7: “foeman feodal:” the wage slave’s natural (feudal) foe 354.7-8: “unsheckled:” lacking shekels, i.e. bankrupt 354.8: “fight upheld to right:” compare “Nestor:” "for Ulster will fight, and Ulster will be right.” 354.8-9: “their fight upheld to right for a wee while being baffled and tottered:” returns to thread of brother-battle prize fight. Referee is breaking up a clinch – both fighters hugging one another, tottering in exhaustion. The clinch may be what makes them appear as “one and the same person” (.8). Question: if Joyce had been more liberal with commas, would he have put one after “wee?” Or “while?” Here as elsewhere, he seems to be leaving that up to us. 354.9: “umbraged:” embraced. Goes with “embaraced” (.17). 354.10: “Old Erssia’s:” old Ireland’s; Old Russia’s. Here and elsewhere, there are shared elements of the Irish Troubles and the Russian Revolution. 354.10: “mulattomilitiaman:” “mulatto” because a mix of (typically) white Taff and black Butt, now “one and the same person” (.8). Perhaps as well a reference to the British Empire’s – and its armed forces’ – mix of races, something emphasized in the “museyroom” sequence of 8.9-10.23. Given context, probably Black and Tans, too 354.10-11: “living by owning:” the propertied classes, living off the revenue from their ownings, at the expense of – see next entry – their oppressed tenantry 354.11: “surfers of the globe:” sufferers, from global exploitation. Also, as “surf,” an allusion to Britannia, ruling the waves, equally-oppositely including serfs 354.11: “minnions:” millions 354.12: “too foul for hell:” sounds like a scrambling of “hell was too full” 354.12-3: “under boiling Mauses burning brand:” automatic and semi-automatic weapons are prone to overheat. Also, Mauser is a brand; originally, brands were burned in. 354.12: “Mauses:” in 1916 and after, the Mausers were specifically used by Irish rebels, not the English. (They had been smuggled in from Germany.) 354.13: “he:” conventionally, as stage direction, should refer to whoever is about to speak – in this case, Butt and/or Taff. In context, seems to refer to the Russian General. See note to .7-21. 354.13-4: “keenhearted by the circuminsistence:” fallen, he’s encouraged – egged on insistently, in fact - to get up again, by his supporters, circling the boxing ring 354.13-4: “the circuminsistence of the Parkes O’Rarelys:” circumference of the park railings. Probably a sidewise allusion to Ireland’s English Pale 354.14: “Parkes O’Rarelys:” either/both Phoenix Park and Phoenix Park Ranger. A “phoenix” can be a rare event, person, etc. 354.15: “Cicilian:” reference to “Sicilian Vespers” uprising, in which Italian for “chickpea,” “ciceri,” unpronounceable by the French occupiers, was the rebels’ shibboleth. See 21.18-9 and note. 354.15: “barney brawl:” blarney brogue. See preceding entry: here, is to Irish uprising against British what “ciceri” was to Sicilian uprising against French. 354.15-6: “shaken everybothy’s hands:” the result, I suggest, of disoriented vision – seeing double or more than double. Also: eager to ingratiate, he’s shaking everybody by both hands. 354.18: “without falter or mormor or blathrehoot sophsterliness:” gist: he’s a good loser. He gets up and congratulates his victorious opponent without hesitating, grumbling, bullshitting, or fudging. (Also: without father or mother or brother or sister.) Oxford editors have “blatherhoot.” 354.19: “pugnate the pledge of fiannaship, dook to dook:” to further show what a good sport he is, he touches gloves with his opponent, duke to duke, as in “duking it out.” Touching gloves is the boxing signal for peace and mutual respect – it’s supposed to occur before every bout and can sometimes signal a momentary truce during the bout. I haven’t located any account of its happening after a decision, but it is, or was, not uncommon for opponents to congratulate one another at the end. “Pugnate” fits because its Latin root means “fist,” which is in effect what boxers are touching when they touch gloves. (Thus “fest [fist] man and best man” of the next line – opponent in ring and best friend at wedding coming together. Also, boxing expression: May the best man win. Or, later, The best man won.) So too for “fiannaship” – friendship, plus fact that “fianna” originally meant “band of hunters.” As I’ve noted earlier, the hand-to-hand motif is an insignia of the Claddagh ring, also signaling amity. 354.20: “oudchd:” ouch. Friendly or not, a punch is a punch, from (“fest man”) a fist 354.21: “commodity tokens:” standard text-book definition of money. That he “palms it off” (.20-1) suggests that it may be spurious. 354.22: “When old the wormd was a gadden:” the snake (worm) in the garden (of Eden). Overtone of golden world, or of world in the age of gold, with Satan as the old worm. Obvious? In any event, less obviously, there’s also this, an 1899 quote chosen at random from a large number of Google Books hits: “Straight fences are fast taking the place of the old worm fences.” A worm fence was zig-zag. Gardens usually have fences. Compare second note to .13-4. 354.22: “gadden:” gadding, as in gadding about: fancy-free 354.22: “unfoiled:” unfurled 354.23: “limbs wanderloot:” again, most writers would probably have inserted a comma between these two words. 354.23: “wanderloot:” wanderlust; loot from after battle of Waterloo 354.23: “the way the wood wagged:” “how the world wags,” from As You Like It, set in the Forest of Arden 354.24: “samuraised:” same-raised. Also, another FW equal-opposite: they’re Siamese twins (conjoined) but also cut-apart twins (by a Samurai sword). Possible allusion to story of King Solomon and the two women with one baby. Compare next entry. Solomon himself will show up at 355.21. 354.24: “twimbs:” two limbs. According to the Solomon story (see previous entry), each of the two women claiming to be the mother would, when the baby in question was cut in two by a sword, have received two limbs apiece. In the next entry, "mutthering" and "murdhering" may include overtones of "murdering mother." 354.24-28: “They had their mutthering ivies and their murdhering idies and their mouldhering iries in that muskat grove but there’ll be bright plinnyflowers in Calomella’s cool bowers when the magpyre’s babble towers scorching and screeching from the ravenindove:” this sounds Viconian, especially given the Quinet overlay: source (mothering), combat (murdering, in battles for mates), decay (moldering), Phoenix ricorso. It also continues the “mulatto” thread - see .10 and note. Magpies are black and white (mulatto), and a magpie’s nest would be apt for the Tower of Babel, from which a single language became shreds and patches of multiple languages when struck, therefore scorched, by lightning. As elsewhere in FW, doves and ravens (Babel’s tower doubling with Noah’s ark) have, along with their contrasting colors (again, white and black) their contrasting calls: cooing (“cool”) for the former, “screeching” for the latter. 354.25: “iries:” aeries: sets scene for phoenix nest to follow 354.26: “muskat:” musket, for the “mouldhering iries” (.25), murdering Irish 354.27: “magpyre’s:” phoenix, from pyre 354.28-9: “the sex of his head:”phrase: "the set of his head;" comparable to "the cut of his jib" 354.30: “figgies in the spittle side and shoving outs the sword:” given the spindle (“spittle”) side, it’s probably pertinent that the fig is a familiar symbol of the vagina. Pairs with phallic sword, shoving. “Figgies” may be slang for girls. Also, the side – front, with its mouth – from which one spits 354.30: “shoving outs the soord:” to show someone the sword is to impose discipline by threat of force. 354.32: “lancifer:” “lance de feu:” French weapon, described in military dictionary as (my translation) “a species of squib which is used by the garrison of a besieged town against a scaling party.” 354.32: “lucifug:” ladybug. Luce (light) because it’s also a lightning bug. Lucia Joyce. Paired, equal-oppositely, with (“bettle” (.33)) beetle, as in blackbeetle 354.32: “myandthys:” I suggest that one way to read this is as if an apostrophe were before the “s.” 354.33-4: “makes coy cosyn corollaries’ moues weeter to wee:” his romantic routine, including the fancy gifts he hands out, makes coy cousin Caroline’s mouth water. Also, probably, makes her get wet in the sexual sense; double “wee” is a pretty reliable FW sign of female sexuality, infantile or otherwise. Also, to make a moue, sometimes a sign of flirtatiousness. Also, “wee,” as we, concludes the run of pronouns: “thees” (.28), “mees” (.29), “he’s” (.29), “myandthys” (.32), and “usses” (.33). 354.33-4: “budly shoots:” budding shoots: goes with “rising germinal” (.34-5), the seeds of early spring. (French Republican calendar’s Germinal begins March 20 or 21.) 355.1-6: “[The pump…Blunk.]:” the end of the Butt-and-Taff routine which began on 338.5. What I’ve suggested is its sci-fi time-machine component (see notes to 310.7-8, 314.25, 322.34, and 323.26) is now ended: “All the presents are determining as regards for the future the howabouts of their past absences” (.3-4). So are its forays into synesthesia: “which they might see on at hearing could they once smell of tastes from touch” (.4-5). The split-up atoms are now “reconstituted” (.1) – they were already starting to reform into ("mulicuules" (353.27) molecules. Like the solved-out equation of Portrait, chapter three (“The equation…began to spread out a widening tail…and, when the eyes and stars of its indices had been eliminated, began slowly to fold itself together again”), “values for” settled and “ought,” “ex,” resolved, apparently to (“Blunk”) nothing (.5-7), it has been factored out back to that from which it started, from a song “sung thousandtimes” (338.2) to something “sung dumb” (.8). 355.1-2: “The putther and bowls are peterpecked up:” compare the end of Vanity Fair: “come, children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out.” 355.2: “putther:” pother 355.2: “peterpecked:” Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers 355.4: “smell:” tell 355.5-6: “The must overlistingness:” the most everlastingest 355.6: “ex…ad:” in Latin, counterpoint one another 355.8: “sung dumb in his glass:” to sing dumb is to be completely silent. (Bloom “sang dumb” in “Sirens.”) To do it conspicuously in a public place while staring into one’s drink would constitute what the Irish mean when they say “Himself is having a brood.” Continuation may suggest that he perks up and joins the conversation when he hears voices and looks around him. 355.9: “darkly speech:” it helps to imagine a comma-like pause between the two words 355.10: "Abdul:" Digger Dialects (see 321.20 and note): generic name for Turkish soldier 355.12: “Hercushiccups’:” Glasheen and McHugh identify as Hegesippus, an early convert to Christianity who, according to Wikipedia, “wrote against the heresies of the Gnostics and of Marcion;” later in the paragraph we hear how “the Hersey Hunt,” the heresy hunters, “harrow the hill” (.15-6). One theological issue at stake is the identity of “the major guiltfeather” (.11-2), the “allfaulters” (.35), the man guilty of everything gone wrong. For the orthodox, it was Adam; for Joyce, it was (“allfaulters:” Our Father) God the Father. (For the Pride of Pride’s Purge (.13), it was Charles I.) 355.13: “Beauty’s bath she’s bound:” the beauty Bathsheba, who was first beheld by David while taking a bath 355.13-15: “she’s bound to bind beholders and pride, his purge, has place appoint in penance and the law’s own libel lifts and lames the low with the lofty:” at least some of this sequence fits the follow-through of the David and Bathsheba story: see previous entry. David was bound to her the moment he beheld her; his pride (and lust) led to the acts which eventually brought about his penance; his penance began when Nathan compared his sin to theft from a poor shepherd, thus applying the law equally to the low and the lofty. 355.14-5: “the law’s own libel lifts and lames the low with the lofty:” with the Interregnum on the horizon (e.g. Pride’s Purge (.13)), levelling sentiments; the "levellers" were an extreme wing of Cromwell's republicans, very much in favor of lowering the lofty. A monarch – a czar - has just been killed. When the father-figure reappears at .21, his testimony will be defensive: yes, like the Russian general, he’s just defecated, but in private, while perusing edifying literature, and the girls of the story were really just pictures in his (high-class: erotic, not pornographic) book. 355.15-9: “Hersy Hunt they harrow the hill for to rout them rollicking rogues from, rule those racketeer romps from, rule those racketeer romps from, rein their rockery rides from. Rambling:” the horsey (aristocratic) set, hunting down lowlifes – rogues, racketeers, and, perhaps, ramblers. “Harrow” may refer to the English public school, routinely paired with Eton as a bastion of privilege. Also, see next entry. In the context, equal-opposites: levelers and aristocrats, each out to purge and harrow the other 355.19-20: “Nightclothesed, arooned, the conquerods sway. After their battle thy fair bosom:” the gist: only the brave deserve the fair. The conquering hero returns to the bed of his ardent beloved. Suggestion, I think, that the horsey women of .15-9, pretending disdain for rogues and ramblers, were really seeking them out for their beds. Compare Bloom on “horsey women” (“Lestrygonians”) and the reappearance of those women in “Circe.” Also, for good measure, Alfred Noyes’ “The Highwayman.” “Rod” in “conquerods:” ruler’s, (male) lover’s. “Arooned:” Gaelic: my beloved 355.21: “too tootrue:” as usual, the stammer indicates HCE. Oxford editors replace “tootrue” with too true.” See next entry. 255.22: “tootrue enough:” true enough. Again, according to Oxford editors, "too true" 355.21: “Solidan’s:” given the preceding and the allusion to the Solomon Islands, probably Solomon, the son of David and Bathsheba 355.21-2: “Solidan’s Island as in Moltern Giaourmany:” from most primitive to most progressive (Solomon Islanders being presumed to be the most backward of peoples, modern Germans the most advanced – and, as usual, the reverse, from Solomon’s faithful to Muslim’s outcasts. The molten/modern Germany of the time was, of course, Hitler’s; perhaps Third Reich’s “molten” recalls Second Reich’s “blood and iron.” See next entry.) 355.22-3: “Moltern Giaourmany and from the Amelakins off to date back to land of engined Egypsians:” a parallel contrast between primitive and progressive, likewise mined with contradictions: up-to-date Americans (“goahead America,” in Bloom’s “Eumaeus” words), but also the Amalekites of today. In Jewish lore the Amalekites were lawless, primordial people. They were also invariably hostile to Jews; Haman was traditionally an Amalekite. The same goes for the Egyptians and, of course, modern Germany. “Engined Egypsians” tells us that the most ancient of civilizations was also, paradoxically, technologically far ahead of the time – probably a thought prompted by the old question of how it built the pyramids. (Spelling comes from tradition that gipsies/gypsies originated in Egypt – the outcasts of today were once the masters of the Mediterranean.) 355.23: “his opening:” the door of his inn. Regular feature of the almanac picture (and, again, of Mine Host) and one reason why I persist in believing that the ground-level name for the protagonist and his family is Porter 355.24: “in” in “inlookers:” also inn 355.24: “oxmanstongue:” ox tongue, usually just called “tongue,” used to be a standard item on English and American menus. May be also the “tongue” of an ox cart. 355.24-5: “an oxmanstongue stalled stabled:” a “stalled ox” is one fattened (in a stall) for slaughter. “The well-nourished one” (.24-5) may refer to either eater or eaten. HCE is routinely represented as overweight. 355.24-5: “the well-nourished one, lord of the seven days, overlord of sats and suns:” difficult to imagine Joyce putting Saturn and “suns” in the same verbal unit without including the story of Saturn devouring his sons. “Well-nourished” fits the story, as does “childerness” (Childermass: slaughter of the innocents) at .34. 355.25: “lord of the seven days:” because Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath, is named after Saturn. “The seven days” probably also sounds “the seven seas,” thus making him the lord of both time and space. 355.26: “the sat:” the seat 355.26: “the sat of all the suns which are in the ring of his system:” I have suggested elsewhere that this is an example of the nebular hypothesis, influential during Joyce’s time, which discerned the shape of Saturn, rings included, in all fundamental units of matter, from atoms to galaxies, as determined by the same physical laws. Here, we’re reminded that our galaxy has the same shape as our solar system, which in turn looks like Saturn. (What we call the Milky Way is “all the suns” visible to us in our portion of the outer “ring” of our galaxy.) 355.27: “god of the scuffeldfallen skillfilledfelon:” Charles I died on a scaffold. (One tradition, familiar to Joyce, had it that the headsman was Cornet George Joyce; see 516.19 and note, .29 and note.) 355.28: “contaimns:” contemns 355.28: “hangsters…hersirrs:” Major Sirr hanged many Irishmen. 355.28: “hangsters:” hanged gangsters (or, simply those who have been hanged: as the lowest members of society, paired with upper-class “hersirrs”). The scaffold” of “scuffeldfallen” was a gallows, dispatching (“skillfilledfelon”) criminals who were skilled in their crimes, although clearly not skilled enough. 355.29: “heavy on shirts:” for his execution, Charles I wore two shirts. 355.29: “lucky with shifts:” a success with the ladies. Probably owing to the uproar over “shifts” in The Playboy of the Western World. Shifts paired with masculine “shirts” 355.29-30: “the topside humpup stummock atween this showdows fellah:” again, HCE is fat, so fat that his stomach blocks out the sight of his shadow. Compare Hal to Falstaff in Henry IV, Part One: “How long is’t ago, Jack, since thou last sawest thine own knee?” 355.30: “showdows:” given “fellah,” next, “dows” probably incorporates “dhows.” (Compare 29.22.) 355.30: “shadows fellah:” shadow fella, a kind of doppelganger: in my reading, the manservant Sackerson 350.32: “warmer of his couch:” applied, as here, to a woman: a bedwarmer, a sex partner 355.33: “We all…” speech resumes here 355.33: “is lepers:” sleepers; slippers; sinners. (Arguing that we’re all equally sinners in the eyes of God is an obvious course of action for someone worried about being singled out as the main or only culprit.) 355.33: “nobbut:” distinctively north-of-England idiom 355.34: “chill childerness:” HCE’s trademark stammer, here perhaps also from shivering because of the cold. The Childermass commemorates Herod’s slaughter of the innocents. The Catholic Church designates December 28 – when the weather would have been chilly at least – as the date. The day of Charles’ execution was cold; that was why (see .29 and note) he wore two shirts, so that spectators wouldn’t think that he was shivering from fear. 355.35: “allfaulters (mug’s luck to em!):” combines “Alfader” (McHugh: Odin) with “Our father” with Anglican version of “mea culpa” penance: “by my fault, by my own fault, by my own most grievous fault.” Both God and humankind (“em:” him and them) are sinners. 355.36: “venuvarities:” various venues 355.36: “drugs truth:” the “truth drug,” supposed to be scopolamine, which Joyce was given during some of his eye operations; cited at 183.1 as “scoppialamina.” Goes with (“lie detectors in venuvarities” (.35-6)) lie detector and in-vino-veritas 356.1: “iota:” phrase: “iota of truth,” always or almost always used in denial of any truth to accusations. Goes with “truth” in 355.36 356.2: “overthrew:” overview, ever-true 356.2: “ilkermann:” Johann Eckermann, author of Conversations with Goethe. (Aside from “-mann” spelling, there’s “faust” in the preceding line. Glasheen identifies him here and at 71.8-9.) 356.3-4: “kopfinpot astrode on these is my boardsoldereds:” coffin boards: boards from which coffins are made, although here it seems to suggest the planks on which, in some services, the coffin rests before being lowered into the grave. “Boardsoldereds:” shoulderboards. OED definition: “each of the two stiffened pieces of material worn at the shoulders of military uniform and bearing the insignia of rank.” May be pertinent that they are especially prominent in Russian uniforms: is he (unwisely, under the circumstances), identifying himself with or as the Russian General? Given this context, the “kopfinpot” of .3 is probably a military helmet – a pot for the head – though perhaps a Quixotic one, paired with military shoulderboards. (No genetic evidence, but “or” would work better than “on.”) 356.5-15: “It sollecited...Soup’s on!:” even by FW standards, an exceptionally choppy and garbled passage, probably because the setting is a courtroom, in Joyce typically a site of maximum confusion. 356.5-6: “roundhouse of seven orofaces, of all, guiltshouters or crimemummers:” following the trial lead, I take this as a jury of six men (not uncommon in some places, including, in certain cases, Ireland), plus the judge. (The verdict of 358.36 to 359.20 will come in six parts.) The accused sees himself as surrounded by seven hostile faces, all with mouths (“-oro-”) open, all making evident (either shouting or mumming) that they consider him guilty of crime. Pertinent that a “roundhouse” is a term for a prison cell, as if he were already found guilty – in Joyce’s work, the usual fate of the accused, innocent or not. 356.6: “to be sayd by:” one last return of the ship’s husband? (Note “husband” at .9.) To “be said by” usually means to follow someone’s orders, directions, or counsel. 356.7: “free of gracies:” free or gratis 356.8-9: “competitioning:” petitioning, as in a courtroom; challenging, as in a competition 356.9: “wifebetter:” besides wifebeater, “better half” – a complimentary term for one’s wife. (Compare 506.3, 540.32.) Following courtroom premise, I suggest this may relate to the classic cross-examiner’s ploy, “Have you stopped beating your wife?” (Goes back to 1909.) The prosecution is posing another damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don’t choice: if he’s a husband, he’s perforce a wife-beater; if he’s a bachelor (“botchalover” (.9-10)), it’s evidence of narcissism, of excessive self-love (.9-10). 356.9: “bestman:” best man, groom’s second at a wedding 356.10: “taylorised:” made industrially efficient according to the procedures promoted by F. W. Taylor 356.11: “selve out:” “solve out” is a common direction in calculus. See next entry. 356.11-2: “whither it gives a primeum nobilees for our notomise or naught:” whether the solved-out answer is a prime number or nothing 356.14-5: “byspills:” bible(s) – either plural or possessive. More courtroom confusion: it’s not even clear which Bible we should be swearing by. 356.15: “And sicsecs to provim hurtig.” The jury has six seconds to prove him (see McHugh) guilty of heresy. German prufung: examination. Scandinavian “hurtig” can mean “quick” or “quickly:” again, six seconds. To repeat: all trials in Joyce are farces, with guilt presumed. 356.15: “sicsecs:” success – as in a toast: Success to… 356.15: “Soup’s on!” quick verdict followed by dinner. Compare Pope in The Rape of the Lock: “And wretches hang that jurymen may dine.” 356.15-6: “on! [New paragraph] A time:” “upon a time” 356.16-9: “- A time. And a find time. Whenin aye was a kiddling. And the tarikies held sowansopper. Let there beam a frishfrey. And they sodhe gudhe rudhe brodhe wedhe swedhe medhe in the kanddledrum:” “Soup’s on!” prompts this memory, or pretend memory: the defendant wants to cultivate the court’s sympathy with reminiscences of his humble origins and childhood. (Bloom tries the same tactic in the trial scene of “Circe.”) The spelling parodies ancient Irish: again (see 353.7 and note), Irish and African-American caricatures sometimes intermingle. 356.17: “Let there beam:” let there be light (beam) 356.18: “sodhe gudhe rudhe brodhe wedhe swedhe medhe:” parody of Irish spelling: again (see 353.7), Irish and African-American caricatures become interchangeable. 356.19: “(let us suppraise):” let us praise ("gaudeamus"), let us suppress. Equal-opposites 356.20: “meassures:” Messieurs. A French publisher, therefore 1. lewd, but 2. refined: erotica, not pornography. (One example: Ulysses.) Wilde’s Salomé was originally published in France; Beardsley (357.2) illustrated the first English edition. 356.21-4: “the letterpress is eminently legligible and the paper, so he eagerly seized upon, has scarsely been buttered in works of previous publicity wholebeit in keener notcase would I turf aside for pastureuration. Packen paper paineth:” book’s pages being compared with turf for use as toilet paper. In an emergency, he would have resorted to, for instance, grass or leaves from the pasture. Compare 79.16: “when a frond was a friend inneed” – that is, when you would have been grateful to find a leaf employable as toilet paper. See entry for .24. 356.22-3: “buttered in works of previous publicity:” “buttering up” is part of publicist’s job 356.23: “in keener notcase:” on keener notice: on sharper reexamination. (The non-publishers of Dubliners were suspicious of double or hidden meanings; Joyce unwisely directed their attention to insinuations they might have missed the first time.) 356.24: “Packen paper paineth:” as toilet paper, packing paper would probably be painful. 356.25-6: “Who straps it scraps it that might, if ashed, have healped:” incorporates phrases “scrap heap,” “ash heap.” At one point or other, manuscripts of Dubliners were burnt or chopped up. 356.30-3: “ambullished with expurgative plates, replete in information and accampaigning the action passiom, slopbang, whizzcrash, boomarattling from burst to past:” “ambush” in “ambullished” inaugurates battle sequence: (military) “campaign” in “accampaigning,” whizbang (WW I shell) in “slopbang, whizzcrash,” booming and bursting explosions. Also, sex, as what came to be called a "Wham, bam, thank-you Ma'am" experience. 356.30-1: “expurgative:” given context, may allude to Judge Woolsey’s description of Ulysses as “emetic.” (In any case, the reading is taking place in an outhouse.) Also, of course, expurgated – thus making it safe for “pious hands” (.29) 356.31-2: “action passiom:” active-passive. Also, act of passion 1. Extenuating-circumstances defense plea in murder case. 2. Sex. Compare King Lear, “hysterica passio:” impulses from the seat of emotion. 356.32: “boomarattling:” onomatopoeia. Boom of bomb, followed by rattling sound of descending debris 356.34: “timmersome townside upthecountrylifer:” Burns’ “wee timorous beastie,” combined with Aesop’s story of country mouse vs. city mouse 356.34: “upthecountrylifer:” hurray for Country Life, another (and, in spirit, opposite) publication, celebrating rural English values. Implication seems to be that a copy is available for reading in the jakes. 356.34-5: (“Guard place the town!):” God bless the crown! Good place, the town! God please the crown! Guard, please, the town! Etcetera 356.35: “allthose:” although 356.35: “blank seat:” toilet seat 356.36: “wordcraft of this early woodcutter:” Beardsley apparently didn’t do any himself, but his style was fashioned after Japanese woodcuts. 357.1: “findest:” finest 357.1. “orefices:” compare 356.6. Also, offices 357.2: “shukar in chowder:” “chukkar,” a 7 ½ minute interval in polo, is a signifier of aristocratic pursuits; compare “Circe” (15.1063); goes with stage-English presentation of Beardsley as (see next entry) splendidly English. Modern polo began in India; “chukkar” is Hindi in origin. “Chowda” or “choda” is an obscene Hindi term of abuse – sources differ on its meaning, but “fucker” is the leading candidate. 357.2: “splunderdly English:” plundering English. Seems to fit the colonial context 357.2: “Aubeyron:” includes Byron 357.3: “Birdslay:” bird’s lay: birdsong. At 359.22-360.16 the radio broadcast resurfaces to inform us that its programs have been 1. an excerpt from a serial drama based on the Carlyle’s account of Louis XVI’s abortive flight, ending at Varennes; and 2. a series of birdsongs. Up until 358.33 I find the former difficult to discern (although “king” appears at .17, not much else seems to apply), but birds and their songs do crop up, from this point, with increasing frequency. Candidates will be noted as they appear. Your annotator is no birder, and sound-to-text transcription can be problematic in the best of cases. Some of the following identifications are certainly open to question, but, again, one thing that does seem reasonably clear is that the incidence increases near the end. 357.3: “Chubgoodchob, arsoncheep and wellwillworth:” HCE’s stammer, but also birdsong, probably beginning with the nightingale, whose call is (as in "The Wasteland,” and see 360.9-10 with McHugh’s commentary) often represented as a string of “jug”s combined with “cheep”s. We first hear of the radio’s birdsong program at 359.31, apparently being picked up in media res; I speculate that it has been intermittently breaking through from an adjacent spot on the dial, in what will later be called “interfairance” (504.18), a common occurrence in pre-digital days. 357.5: “sad pour sad:” “cent pour cent: ”a hundred percent 357.5: “sad pour sad…dastychappy dustyrust!” I’m (very) tentatively suggesting that these might be bird calls. “Sad” would go with poetic impressions of the nightingale’s song. 357.6. “Chaichairs:” stammered “Cheers!” Compare 53.36. Again, a possible birdsong: a number are rendered in print as “chee-chee…,” including, in some sources, the woodlark’s. 357.7-8: “did he have but Hugh de Brassey’s beardslie:” Beardsley was beardless. Also, again: bird(s)-like 357.8: “wear mine:” in “Ivy Day in the Committee Room” “vermin” is slang for “ermine,” which in turn signifies sumptuous clothing. 357.9-10: “dard of pene:” dab of paint 357.10: “among other pleasons:” among other reasons 357.10: “pleasons:” pleasures 357.11: “pushed my finker in:” according to OED, fink is German and Old Norse for finch. To “pull a finch” is to seduce a woman or to swindle anyone, and of course a finch is a bird. 357.12-3: “she is highly catatheristic and there is another which I have fombly fongered freequuntly:” compare Mulligan’s song in “Scylla and Charybdis:” “First he tickled her / Then he patted her / Then he passed the female catheter…” A fond, frequently fumbling fondler and fingerer 357.14-5: “signet…sign…sangnificant:” note variations on “sing.” 357.15: “Culpo:” “colpo” is medical prefix, means “vagina” 357.15: “Ars:” arse. Although not especially noticeable in Salomé, in others of his illustrations Beardsley’s women are sometimes steatopygic. 357.16: “Kunstful:” artistic pornography: German: kunst, English: full of cunts 357.16-358.1: “ravening…dovely…cawcaw…coocoo:” raven and dove going caw-caw and coo-coo respectively: more birdsong. 357.17: “eyefeast:” phrase: feast your eyes 357.18: “oreillental:” orientalized O’Reilly, presumably Persse. (True story: I once ate at a Chinese restaurant in Dublin named “O’Riental.”) Also, again: Beardsley was influenced by Japanese art and sometimes depicted oriental scenes. Also, “oreillental longuardness:” languid language for the (oreille) ear. Also, again: oriole – yet another bird 357.18: “nightjoys:” nightjar: a nocturnal bird. 357.19: “shahrryar:” includes “shah” – fits oriental cast. Possibly a (“shir”/”shirring”) birdsong 357.20-358.26: “And…altoogooder:” gist: I am pleased with what I behold. (What he beholds is, variously, the world he created (as in Genesis: “And God saw that it was good”), a battlefield, pretty girls, a garden, the garden, himself, and his penis.) 357.20: “sliding panel:” privy doubles as confession box. Compare Portrait, chapter three: “The slide clicked back.” 357.20: “cawcaw:” caca. Remembered scene is an outhouse. Also, birdsong - raven or crow, caw-cawing 357.21-2: “have been idylly turmbing over the loose looves leaflets jaggled casuallty on the lamatory:” like Bloom in “Calypso,” he has been reading “at stool” – turning over the pages of his Beardsley book, using the loose leaves of discarded books or magazines (again, compare Bloom in “Calypso”) for lavatory paper – an old insult among rival writers. (And, for the Beardsley edition, very extravagant – perhaps he’s lying.) Love stories, too (like “Matcham’s Masterstroke”): the lavatory is also a “lamatory.” The word “lavatory” was applied to both indoor and outdoor venues. 357.21: “loose looves leaflefts:” leaves (of books) left behind. Loose loves: etymologically, pornography is the writings of prostitutes. 357.26: “stone his throne’s fruit’s fall:” as in “Aeolus,” pits of fruit are called stones. As marker of possessive case, “his” came before “’s.” 357.29: “natural sins liggen gobelimned:” “natural signs:” semiological term for spontaneous gestures and facial expressions revealing moods and thoughts. “Gobelimned:” “Cor blimey!” - slang expression of surprise; euphemism for “God blind me” - so it’s probably pertinent that natural signs are of special concern in studies of the blind. In any case, the general sense is that when he drops his pants he is perked up (“enlivened” (.28)) by the sight of his own private parts, created by God, the “Author of Nature” (.28) and thus evidence – signs – that the creator himself (Atherton has this as FW’s foundational heresy, and I concur) was the first sinner. (After all, he created this! Hooray!) Again with “gobelimned:” stories (Peeping Tom probably the most prominent in FW) of watchers going blind or being otherwise afflicted when they see someone – even, it seems here, themselves - naked. In this and much of what follows, the speaker is in the line of the Russian general, defending against charges not of murder but of self-exposure, even if it’s just to himself. 357.29-30: “(how differended with the manmade Eonochs Cunstuntonopolies!):” Wikipedia informs me that eunuchs were a major feature of the Constantinople court. Imbedded ("Cunst-") “cunt” and “-stunt-” - as in "stunted" - would seem to confirm. Eunuch nether parts are of course “manmade,” as opposed to the natural original just witnessed, “liggen” (.29) in front of him when he removes his pants. Compare the Kama Sutra's word for penis, "ligham," included in "Circe.") How different from the manmade eunuchs of the East am I! Hooray for me! 357.30-2: “weathered they be of a general golf stature, assasserted, or blossomly emblushing thems elves underneed of some howthern folleys:” General Gough’s equestrian statue was large in stature; the female counterpart, “blossomly…folleys,” gives us blushing blossoms underneath a ferny covering, in a valley. Extremes of male vs. female, with at least some degree of anatomical innuendo; see .33 and note. 357.32: “howthern folleys:” compare “Sirens:” “blackbird I heard in the hawthorn valley. Taking my motives he twined and turned them.” More bird sounds 357.33: “naked I:” his erect penis, in front of him. An important equation in “Cyclops.” Also "Penelope," where Molly remembers of a penis that it had "a kind of eye," the urethra. Also, naked eye: without benefit of I.1’s Waterloo “tallowscoop” (erection); this is still, in part, a battlefield setting. 357.34: "relieving purposes:" again: defecation 357.34: "virvir vergitabale:" stutter, plus Latin man-man, from contemplating his own manliness. Veritable. “Virvir ver-:” may be relevant that Virgil, whose Aeneid begins "Arma virumque cano,” is just as often spelled "Vergil.” 357.33-4: “I sometimes, maybe, what has justly said of old Flannagan, a wake:” Like old Finnegan, I sometimes awake. (More conventional writing would have either been “was” instead of “has” or have put “been” after “justly.”) At 358.19, we will hear that “win a gain was in again.” 358.1: “I ope my shylight window and I see coocoo:” as McHugh notes, mimics the song “I Lift up My Finger & I Say Tweet Tweet” – one birdsong substituting for another 358.2: "involuptary:" an unwilling voluptuary - stimulated by pictures of voluptuous women 358.2: "hapsnots:" accidental (hap), unintended snapshots, with "shylight window" doubling as shutter 358.3: "murmurrandoms:" myrmidons of different nations. Given military context (shell-shock (.357.36), “dugouts” (.4)), may, owe something to the expression “wars and rumours of war” – murmurings, random 358.3: "ficsimilar phases:" facsimiles (of) faces 358.4: “dugouts in the behindscenes of our earthwork:” militarily, a dugout located behind the lines would be a latrine. 358.5-6: "at no spatial time processly which regards to concrude chronology:” at no special, precise time with regard to conclusive, concrete, crude chronology. Also, at no space or time 358.7-8: "at spite of I having belittled myself to my gay giftname of insectarian:" refers back to p. 31, when he was given the "insectarian" name of Earwigger - Earwicker. He’s not happy about that: it belittled him, from what your annotator maintains was his original or at least previous name of Porter. (Named John Gordon, I would not welcome being renamed “John Weevil.”) “Gay giftname” gives his stutter, likeliest to show up when he’s feeling put upon. 358.7: "gay giftname:" perhaps another stutter. "Giftname" is Scandinavian for married name; "gift" is German for poison. 358.8: “happy burgages:” happy birthday(s)? Happy bird-days? (The latter is a weak echo, but on the other hand in the next line we get “hopeygoalucrey,” to which compare the “gallicry” – morning birdsong in general, rooster’s crowing in particular - of 143.17.) 358.10: "highly pelaged and deeply gluttened:" highly pleased and deeply gladdened. Also, "pelaged:" like the Pelagians, he believes himself to be free of original sin, which is why he can conclude that he is "altoogooder" (.16), altogether all-good. (Pelagianism was current in Ireland when Patrick arrived; obviously, it didn’t last.) Gluttony (apparently, not a sin after all) is consistent with the usual picture of him as fat. 358.10-1: "to mind hindmoist hearts:" to my hindmost parts, i.e. penis and arse, the natural destinations of a glutton's consumption. 358.11: "reports:" sound of fart, from (see previous entry) his hindmost parts; perhaps sounds from other parts of body as well: "(shsh!)” could be, as in "Proteus," the sound of urination. 358.12: "threespawn bottery parts:" like other (“insectarian” (.8)), insects, earwigs have three body parts - head, thorax, abdomen. See .35-6 and note. 358.12: "colombophile:" Columbus took his name as divinely prophetic: his voyages were like the dove (another bird) released from Noah's ark. 358.12-3: "corvinophobe:" perhaps means priest-hater, counterpointing Columbus' piety. Because of their black habits, priests are sometimes derogatively called (another bird) crows – in France, “corbeilles.” 358.13: "remassed:" that is, condensed, gone from vapor (or stardust, “from Magellanic clouds” (.13-4)) to solider state. In a parallel operation, he has pulled himself together, like a second-act Humpty Dumpty. Integral to this has been the simultaneous reception of signals from different loci in the body as well as limbs: their presence and coordination assures him that he is once again "altoogooder" (.16) all together. See next entry. 358.14: "contractual expenditures:" his recent excretions 358.15: “the perofficies of merelimb:” although he can’t be exact as to chronology (.6), he’s happy to report that his arrival fulfilled Merlin’s (famously abstruse) prophecies. 358.16: “altoogooder:” all in all, all to the good 358.17-359.19: "He beached….rogue:” in this sequence, I suggest that the following may be birdcalls: “Meschiameschianah” (.19), “Amick amack amock in a mucktub” (.21-2), “Quith the tou loulous” (.22), “gryffygryffygryffs” (.22), “O cara” (.31), “didhithim self” (.36), “lumbojumbo” (359.4), “tink fors tank” (359.11), “chirpsies” (359.18), and “singaloo sweecheeriode” (359.19). 358.17: "and set to husband and vine:" like Noah after the flood, becoming farmer (husbandman) and vineyard-tender. His family will appear in .20-1. 358.19: "Meschiameschianah:" Hebrew Messiah; in Gaelic, sounding of FW’s “mishe mishe” (3.8) "Misch misch" motif 358.20: "Flying the Perseoroyal:" sounds like a flag, but a "royal" is a kind of sail. 358.21: "duchtars:" Dutch tars, i.e. sailors. The Dutch were famous as sailors, especially in the 17th century, when they were rivaling England on the sea. 358.22: "Qith the tou loulous:" compare lilt in Ulysses: "with my toolaroom toolaroom toolaroom." (Oxford editors have “With” for “Qith.”) Expressive of happiness, so "gryffygryffygryffs" (.22) may, contrapuntally, signal grief: Hilary and Tristopher. Presumably this is still the (musical) report of the "harpermaster" (.18). 358.23: "Washed up whight:" equal-opposites: as a washed-up wight (man), he's at the end of his career; as someone washed white, he's been cleansed of his sins. 358.23-4: “Loud lauds to his luckhump and bejetties on jonahs!:” oppositional parallel between good luck from rubbing a hunchback’s hump (see McHugh) and a “jonah,” bad luck at sea. I can’t see how, but “bejetties” ought to mean something like “curses.” 358.23-4: "deliveried rhight:" wearing the right livery 358.25: "wanxed like billybeacons:" wanked, waxed like - to the size of - the Bailey Lighthouse 358.26: "woksed up oldermen:" waxed up (grew) to old age; woke up. (Also, and alderman (McHugh) is a man in authority.) Paired with the "Wildemanns" of .23. Either/both a sped-up review of the course of life or an old man waking up from dreams of wild youth 358.28: "werenighn on thaurity:" thirty-nine articles - the church is Anglican - but also echo of "four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie" 358.28: "thaurity:" authority, connected with Haroun al-Raschid 358.28: "herouns:" herons symbolize, among other things, longevity. (Here, they’ve taken the place of the blackbirds of the song: see first note to .28.) More birds 358.29: “arthouducks draken:” ducks and drakes: more birds 358.30: "nonbar one:" "bar one" is racing term, offering odds on all horses except for (bar) one; "nonbar one" would accordingly mean something like "without exception." 358.30: “with bears’ respects:” with bare respect 358.32-359.20: “The two…rogue:” at 359.22-29 we will learn that we have been listening to a radio drama based on an excerpt from Thomas Carlyle’s The French Revolution, called “The Coach With The Six Insides.” The Carlyle passage narrates Louis XVI’s failed effort to escape to a friendly country. He and his family were recognized and stopped at Varennes, and the ultimate consequence was his beheading. In this sequence, we get an inquest/autopsy/inquisition report on the relics and the issues arising therefrom. 358.32: “The two Gemuas and Jane Agrah and Judy Tombuys:” Latin geminus, twin. Hence, probably the twins, plus Issy, plus the looking-glass Marge, as tomboy - always the less refined and dainty of the two. 358.33: "disassembling and taking him apart:" reverses contractive (“remassed” (358.12)) remassing earlier 354.34: “rub in:” robin? If so, yet another bird 358.35-6: "frons, fesces and frithstool:" back to (.36) "beetle" anatomy. The frons is an insect's forehead. The "fauces" is the gullet; it applies to a wide variety of species, including human, but at 418.11 it's the part of a grasshopper. A "frithstool" is a stone royal seat. If we count the gullet as reaching to the stomach, this repeats the three-part body of an earwig. 358.36: “He had to die it, the beetle:” the first and most obvious judgment on the dead king: he had it coming. The others (358.36-359.15) go like this: 2. He had only himself to blame; 3. He was a bloodthirsty tyrant; 4. He was a reactionary, behind his time; 5. He was just plain inferior as a person; 6. In any event, he sure is dead. (At the same time, the sequence of memories will occasionally admit some positive thoughts, in spite of itself.) As noted earlier, earwigs are not, strictly speaking, beetles, but FW seems to think otherwise. 358.36: "die it:" diet. Again: he's fat. (As was Louis XVI.) And, again, dead: he died. Perhaps also: as a beetle, he had to die to dye: the tradition that carmine, an ingredient in makeup, is made from crushed beetles. (Complication: for the Egyptians, the scarab beetle, emblem of the sun rising, meant resurrection as well.) 359.1 "hod's fush:" Odd's fish! A Restoration imprecation - the kind of thing Charles II was often represented as saying I'm guessing, but can't confirm, that it's a euphemism for "God's flesh:" see next entry. Also, Finnegan's hod 359.1: "pelican:" publican. Also, another bird, one that can signal Christ-like self-sacrifice. (This item is largely laudatory; the general trend thereafter is downhill.) 359.2: “his toork:” stork. Yet another bird 359.2-3: "personal low outhired his taratoryism:" his personal, self-declared rule of law "outhired" (antique word for hired out) the territory. General sense seems to be that, as king, he was, or thought he was, above courts and government, even to (.2) the “toork[ing],” taking, of “human life.” A (taratoryism” (.3)) Tara Tory would presumably be an Ascendancy conservative. Brendan O Hehir has "robbers" for "-toryism.” 359.3-4: "the orenore under the selfhide of his bessermettle:" the true (probably golden) ore hidden under his covering (hide) of baser metal. "Orenore:" honor. He was hiding his light under a bushel; beneath his rough exterior he had a heart of gold. (Again: some positives occasionally leak through the litany of indictments.) "Bessermettle" includes the Bessemer process for making steel; "mettle" signals its toughness. 359.4: "forsake in his chiltern:" equal-opposite: either forsaking his children or for the sake of his children. In the latter reading, his children would be the common people to whom he was the first (Tory) father figure. Main sense of this item is that, although his rule may have been brutal at times - he took human life - it was, on the whole, good for the commons. 359.4-6: "he was like Fintan fore flood and after sometimes too damned merely often on the saved side, saw he was:" before-and-after turning point in his chronology. Fintan mac Bocrah was a heroic before he survived Noah's flood but after that - in a life of 5500 years - lived his life on the safe side, as wise-man courtier to those in power. 359.6-9: "regarding to prussyattes or quazzyverzing he wassand no better than he would have been before he could have been better than what he warrant after:" how he's remembered after his reign and death by bards: whether in prosy or quasi-verse compositions, the verdict is that he sure could have done better. 359.8: "warrant:" rustic American idiom: "waren't," meaning "wasn't." 359.9-20: "6)…rogue:" basic sense is that he's dead and being reduced to his rudiments, both physically and in memory. 359.9-10: "as coked, diamoned or penceloid:" carbon is the element essential for life, and this gives us three different forms: coke, diamond, and pencil lead - that is, graphite, which would be the softest of the three. 359.10: "bleaching him naclenude from all cohlorine matter:" chlorine is used for bleaching. To bleach something is to remove coloring matter; also dark matter such as ("cohl") coal. 359.11: "bittstoff:" includes "stuff." 359.11-2: "old dustamount:" Old Testament; old dust mound (“mount”). As in Dickens' Our Mutual Friend, dust mounds consisted of all kinds of materials, including the organic ("dust" was a Victorian euphemism for excrement); they were picked over by scavengers. 359.12: "tincoverdull baubleclass:" a tin bauble - that is, cheap. Tin is dull as opposed to shiny. "Bauble" is Parliament’s sceptre, by way of Cromwell's "Remove that bauble!" Also, a Bible class, managing to make the Old Testament into something dull and dusty 359.13: "fitting tyres:" in the tiring (dressing) room of a theatre. Used to be spelled "tyring" 359.15: "touchant Arser:" touching on - is the sense of "speaking of" - Arthur. The subject here and to the end is the memories/legends/lies left over from the man's life. Arthurian legends exemplify memories of dubious origin. 359.17: "all saults:" paired with "all sallies,” assaults 359.18: "woods:" words. Also, nightingales, as according to Keats and others, are inhabitants of the woods. More birds and – see next item – bird calls. 359.18-9: “what we warn to hear, jeff, is the woods of chirpsies cries to singaloo sweecheeriode:” again, this sequence is determined by the nightingale birdsong coming over the radio (.32). 359.19: "sock him up:" sack him up 359.19: "oldcant:" old cant: stale blarney 359.22: "a ham:" a performer who overacts 359.23: “haulted:” halted: because (.26) to be continued 359.26: "Goes Tory:" saying: give an Irishman a horse and he'll vote Tory. Also: that the name of the serial is “Ghost Story” suggests that in some future episode the king, like Finnegan, will come back from the dead. (Something like that will happen in the last pages of III.3.) 359.27: "Tintinued:" The comic strip Tintin first appeared as a newspaper supplement serial in 1929. Individual episodes of such series often ended with the words “To be Continued.” 359.27: "Fearson's Nightly:" according to Carlyle's account of Louis XVI's flight, stopped at Varennes, the driver of the first of two coaches was Axel Count Fersen. The trip was at night. The "Axel" doubtless contributes to "John Whiston's fiveaxled production" (.23). Joyce's notes identify John Whiston as employed in the manufacture of carriages. (Your annotator has unsuccessfully looked far and wide for a record of a radio drama like the one being heard here. Still such dramas, enacting historical events, were frequent in BBC broadcasts.of the 1930's.) 359.28: “Brickfaced:” according to the Urban Dictionary (no dates given), very drunk. Also, brick facing, on building 359.30: "With tirra lirra rondinelles, atantivy we go:” echoes “Heigh-ho, the derry-o / A-hunting we will go.” (Compare 233.8) “Tantivy” is a hunting cry. Also, more birdsong 359.30: “Attention! Stand at!! Ease!!!:” Attention! Stand at ease! 359.32: "dewfolded:" nightingales sing at dusk, when the dew is falling. (Compare "duskfoil" (.35.)) Also, twofold: again, compare this from "Sirens:" "Two notes in one there. Blackbird I heard in the hawthorn valley. Taking my motives he twined and turned them." (Also: "twittwin twosingwoolow" (360.2-3.)) 359.32-3: "(Alys! Alysaloe!):" call and response? Birdsong is after all a mating call. Also, (Lewis Carroll’s) Alice, alas, a lass. Compare 270.20-1. 359.34: “the heather side:” a random example of this phrase: “the heather side of the mountain as distinguished from the copse.” (From an article in The Oriental Sporting Magazine, 1872) 359.34: "heather:" hither 359.34: "waldalure:" wald: forest. Also Waterloo 359.35: "duskfoil:" nightfall. Also, Napoleon's forces were foiled at dusk. Wellington's words, "Blucher, or darkness," are a familiar part of the narrative. French association may account for spelling of "Mooreparque." 359.36: "swift sanctuary seeking:" chimney swift, another bird. Presumably a chimney would make for a good sanctuary. 359.36: “(Oiboe!:” yet another birdsong - from the hoopoe, whose name is onomatopoeically derived from its call. 360.1: “Almost dotty! I must dash!:” again, FW’s lovers, especially when manifested as Tristan and Iseult, frequently communicate via Morse code. Also again: bird calls are love calls. 360.1: "pour their peace:" their pees: they're urinating. With the jinnies, we harken back to the park scandal. 360.2: "sweetishsad:" music of sweet sadness. Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind:" "Sweet though in sadness." Counterpointed with the light and gay of "lightandgayle." The twining/twinning of these two opposite strains exemplifies the music's "dewfolded"ness (359.32). 360.4: "jemcrow, jackdaw:" both crows and jackdaws (actually, the jackdaw is a kind of crow) have harsh voices; for the former, it's proverbial. Also, "jack" is familiar version of "John," so we have a recurrence of the James-John motif. 360.4-5: "with their terce that woe betwides them:" echoes "the girl he left behind him" 360.5-6: “when we press of pedal (sof!) pick out and vowelise your name:” like pianos, some harps have pedals, and it makes musical sense for the voices to take over when the instrumental music is being soft-pedaled. 360.6-7: "pere…mere…Bill Heeny…Smirky Dainty:" mother, father, son ("Bill" is a man's name) and the smirking, dainty daughter, as in "dainty daulimbs" (337.26). In fiction of the time and before, smirking can signify a vulgar attempt at flirtation. 360.7: "A mum:" also, a moment, short for something like "Give me a moment, please." There's a break in the performance here. 360.7-9: "Bill Heeny, and you Smirky Dainty and, more beethoken, you wheckfoolthenairyans with all your badchthumpered peanas!:" a patch of Irish raucousness interrupting the concert decorum. "Heeny" is an Irish name; a smirking girl is one who has not been well brought up; "more beethoken:" is “more betoken,” a bit of distinctively Irish dialect, indicating rural or low-class origins; and of course "wheckfoolthenairyans," is from the chorus of a riotous Irish song. To top it off, "badchthumpered" is that rare thing in FW, an unpronounceable word - the verbal equivalent of dissonance, as heard from an untuned piano. O Hehir says that "peanas" comes from Gaelic for malicious. 360.9-13: “We are…queen:” gist: a frustrated conductor remarks, hyperbolically sarcastically, that at least they’re lucky that the dogs and foxes have stopped “bark”ing and “bay”ing, and that the church bell tower has stopped tolling, so for a moment they can actually hear themselves think and make their (“sweetmoztheart” 9.12)) sweet music, mainly Mozartian, above all Eine Kleine Nachtmuzik. 360.10: "bark and bay duol:" as best I can determine, Bach wrote two compositions in B sharp: "Prelude and Fugue in B Sharp Major;" "Prelude and Fugue in B Sharp Minor." Both are in The Well-Tempered Clavier, cited – see McHugh – in the previous line. I am a musical ignoramus and have no idea what that might signify. 360.11: “so allow:” swallow 360.11-2: "so allow the clinkars:" please overlook the clinkers - that is, the wrong notes being struck on the keyboard, which in any case is out of tune. 360.12: "nocturnefield, night's sweetmoztheart:" "Nocturnefield" is, one, another nightingale, and two, another way of saying that it's getting dark (in the setting represented or reported on the radio). Mozart composed both nocturnes and suites. 360.13-4: "Lou must wail to cool me airly:" you must wait to call me early. Equal-opposite, and an Irish bull. (Actually, the whole equal-opposite component of FW’s language may owe a great deal to the convention of the Irish bull – stage-Irish stuff like “Pair up in threes.” “Oxen of the Sun” includes a lengthy disquisition on the subject. In America, its main exemplar was the decidedly non-Irish Yogi Berra, renowned for such sayings as “It gets late early there.” Also, when hearing that Dublin had elected a Jewish mayor: "Only in America.") 360.14: “Coil me curly, warbler dear!:” asking the bird (warbler) to wake him early with its (276.19) “dawnsong” bird call 360.15: "underwood:" nightingales inhabit the woods but stay close to the ground - one reason they're famously hard to see. "Underwood" is also a typewriter brand. Like a piano, a typewriter has a keyboard. Also, given Book of the Dead presence noted by McHugh, underworld 360.15-6: "(in the Nut in the Nutsky) till thorush! Secret Hookup:" "Nut:" night. "Thorush:" the nightingale is a thrush. (See previous entry.) "Nutsky" and "Secret Hookup!:" although it seems out of context, I can't help hearing "Nazi" and "Sieg Heil!" here. “Nutsy” was a commonplace joke word for “Nazi.” As for “Secret Hookup,” Compare the Ondt in an abusively authoritarian mood: "Suckit Hotup!" (415.35). My explanation would go as follows: 1. This is all coming over the radio; 2. Radios at the time could pick up far-flung frequencies (Joyce, in Paris, liked to listen to American radio) from what were called “superstations;”* 3. Hitler is on one of the stations - as he was, often, in the thirties - Joyce tired of hearing his voice; 4. As noted before, radio reception, especially at night, can or could sometimes wander from station to station, "picking up" one broadcast and then another, sometimes mixing the two – a nice real-world model of FW’s polyglot portmanteaus, and one which might help explain how those bird calls kept breaking into “The Coach With the Six Insides.” "Hookup" is a term used for connections by radio or television. *See 533.32: “reicherout of superstation.” A “superstation” was an exceptionally high-wattage radio station whose range exceeded that of most. Berlin had one. (Also, as noted at 324.14-6, Hamburg, which in the years this chapter was written would have sometimes relayed or re-broadcast propaganda from Berlin, was a fixture of the Irish radio dial.) “Reich” as in Third Reich. Pronounced “rike,” it makes the rest of “reicherout” sound like “Kraut.” “Super” – über – would have likely been a favorite word of such propaganda, on behalf of the broadcasting “übermenschen.” An advertisement in the December 1936-January 1937 issue of Radio News promises that with its product, reception “from Germany, over 4,000 miles away…came in as crystal clear, strong and enjoyable as a local station.” (MacArthur & Braslasu, “Radio”). 360.22: “ripprippripplying:” sound of the pub’s telephone ringing 360.23-361.17: “- Bulbul…gels!:” at least through most of its length, the sound of a telephone conversation. It’s entirely or almost entirely one-way (that is, the listener at this end seems to never say anything himself), and the voice is mostly that of Issy/Iseult, on the other end of the line. (Occasional birdsongs will continue to be heard.) The pub has at least two telephones, one for the public room and one for the quarters upstairs, and the two are on what was called a “party line” (not discontinued until the 1960s), on which a call to one phone might accidentally-on-purpose be picked up by someone besides the person intended, certainly including those in other residences. Eavesdropping, whether intended or not, was reportedly rampant. Issy is talking to or about a sweetheart, real or imagined, while simultaneously playing with her cat; the two sometimes become combined. At the end, what was implicit becomes explicit: another case of an old man (“a nossowl buzzard!” (361.16)) voyeuristically spying on (“ung gels” (3611.17)) young girls. 360.23: “I will shally. Thou shalt willy:” I will surely. Thou shalt really. 360.23-4: “You wouldnt should as youd remesmer:” stage hypnotist telling the subject that he won’t remember the session on waking 360.24: “golden sickle’s hour:” Druids cut down mistletoe with their golden sickles on the sixth night after the new moon, when it was in crescent – i.e. a golden sickle. The hour was midnight. (It isn’t now: closing time is still ahead; nor, if I’m right about the date, is the moon in crescent.) May be relevant that the origin of the park scandal was centered at another twelve o’clock, noon. 360.25: “Holy moon priestess, we’d love our grappes of mistellose!:” given context, an allusion to Yeats’ 1919 poem “The Cat and The Moon.” The cat of the poem is “Minneloushe,” named for a cat owned by Iseult (the speaker here is Issy/Iseult: “Holy moon priestess” is an appositive) Gonne; the poem includes the lines “from round to crescent, from crescent to round” (compare “golden sickle’s hour” (.24)) and represents the cat as being something like a high priestess to the moon. Mistletoe berries (“grappes”) are poisonous but in small doses were believed, by the Druids and others, to cure a variety of ailments. 360.25: “Moths:” like cats, moths are nocturnal, proverbially attracted to light, e.g. moonlight. 360.27: “Salam, salms, salaum!:” Greeting typically – or stereotypically – accompanied by a bow and a folded-hands gesture of submission. 360.28: “I soared from the peach, onto three and away:” given context, peach tree. (A pear tree, on line .29, is next; meanwhile, oak trees are being felled (.26-7).) Again, birds are still part of the picture, and this time they’re in uncomfortable proximity to their nemesis, a cat, which can climb trees. Hence, an escape: I soared away from the peach tree: one, two, three and away! 360.29: “shoed her pear too:” should appear to/too 360.29-30: “Whet the bee as to deflowret:” as in, birds and bees: a bee is a flower as a man to a maid: he wants to deflower her and move on to another. (This is the gist of (see McHugh) the Moore song.) 360.30: “yellowhorse:” Annotations is perhaps a bit confusing here: “The Yellow Horse” is the English translation of the title of an Irish air to which Moore’s poem was later set. The poem itself has nothing to do with horses. 360.30: “greendy grassies:” Burns’ “Green Grow the Grasses O!” - another song celebrating the ways of love-and-leave-em lads 360.31-3: “Did you aye did you eye, did you everysee suchaway, suchawhy, eeriewhigg airywhugger? Even to the extremity of the world?” Samuel Butler’s Erewhon (also mentioned at 213.17 and 588.34), at the extremity of the world, is apparently the name being groped for here; “airywhugger” is a prodigy from a land of, at least in one way, giants. 360.31: “aye…eye:” Issy’s double-i signature. Also, as eyes, goes with “everysee” (.31) 360.32: “airywhugger:” in keeping with the spirit, a lot of what follows consists of phallic innuendo, especially in a pre-puberty playing-doctor vein. I think Issy is addressing her cat, mainly his tail, wagging in the air, with a penis in mind, and that the listener picks up on the probably deliberate insinuations. Also, earwigs have wings. 360.33: “enormanous his, our littlest little!:” insinuation is pretty obvious; note “man” nested in “enormanous.” Perhaps the “!” is yet another dash-dot, this time as a (literally graphic) sexual conceit, the man’s long vertical pointing towards her dot. As elsewhere, “enormousness his” vis-à-vis “littlest little” reflects long versus short feet of scansion in syllabic verse; in all or almost all such FW exercises macrons are male and microns female. 360.33: “Wee wee:” more of the same. “Wee” is little; “wee-wee” is little-girl talk for urine, originating from where his long lance (.34) wants to go. Also, of course, remembering Molly Bloom’s “yes,” and see 184.1-2, oui oui, yes yes. 360.34-361.1: “Let sit on this anthill for our frilldress talk after this day of making blithe inveiled the heart before our groatsupper serves to us Panchomaster and let harleqwind play peeptomine up all our colombinations!:” more naughtiness: as showgirls in a pantomime, they will wear frilly clothes so that the wind can blow up their skirts and reveal their underthings to the customers. (Compare Marilyn Monroe in The Seven Year Itch.) See next, and note to 361.1. 360.34: “Let sit on this anthill for our frilldress talk:” compare 623.24-5. Sitting atop a hill, Howth for instance, would increase the chances of dresses being blown upwards. 360.35: “making blithe inveiled the heart:” making happiness invade the heart. As it is for the Blooms, a picnic atop Howth is a treasured memory for FW's couple, especially the wife, especially at book's end. 360.36: “groatsupper:” a very cheap (groatsworth) supper – probably all the “groatsupper”/grasshopper can afford, in the end 360.36: “Panchomaster:” master of pantomime; Panther monster (compare 244.35, perhaps also 565.19): the Panthera said to have been the true father of Jesus 361.1: “colombinations:” “combinations” was euphemism for female underwear. (According to OED, “a close-fitting under-garment worn mostly by women and children, consisting of combined chemise or undershirt and drawers.” Compare Virag in “Circe:” “those complicated combinations, camiknickers.”) So the wind is blowing up women’s flouncy underthings (under their frilly dresses (360.35)) to give the peepers a treat. Such exposures were a staple of the music hall and probably of the notoriously outré pantomime as well. Traditionally white, the underclothes when ruffled might give the impression of flustered doves. 361.3…6: “Arthur…Big Seat:” Arthur’s Seat, overlooking Edinburgh. Joyce never visited it, but he wouldn’t have had to in order to know of its legendary connections with King Arthur and his awaited return, or of its famous view of the city (“There’s lovely the sight!” (.5)), or that Edinburgh was the home of Scotland’s (“reformed” (.4)) Reformed Church. 361.3: “againus:” both: he’s again with us, and he comes against us. “Again,” usually spelled “agen” or “agin,” is rustic American term for “against.” 361.4: “pose him together a pace:” we’ll (“reformed”) re-form him, putting him back together, piece by piece. Like Humpty Dumpty, Patrick had a fall. 361.5: “Shares in guineases! There’s lovely the sight!”: shares of profits will be paid in guineas, better than pounds! – the sight of them is lovely. (Also, stockholder’s shares: compare “Circe:” “Guinness’s preference shares are at sixteen three quarters.”) 361.5: “There’s lovely the sight!:” Again, see 360.34 and compare 623.24-5. In general, up to .31, a reminiscent, sometimes catty, survey, as between girl chums, of what turns out to be, among other things, the park scandal, as seen from the perspective of the two girls involved. (As per usual, the soldiers will show up at .23-4.) 361.5-6: “man weepful:” man of sorrows: Jesus 361.6-8: “And teach him twisters in tongue Irish:” If the newly arrived Patrick is going to fit in, he’ll have to learn to speak Irish like a native – so let’s give him a workout with some Gaelic tonguetwisters. A continuation of the shibboleth thread (354.15) 361.7-8: “Quicken, aspen, ash and yew; willow, broom with oak for you:“ Don’t know what to do with the “Quicken”-as-L (see McHugh), which spoils the “ISOLDE” anagram. Lenisod (sometimes Lenisos) was apparently a brand name of skin cream – at least that’s what emerges from a Google Books search. Anyway, this Irish tree alphabet is part of the language lesson. (See previous entry.) 361.7: “goh too:” Go to: dismissive expression, common in Shakespeare 361.8: “And move your tellabout:” to cat: move your tail about. Addressed to human, it would be the equivalent of “Get cracking.” Compare Bloom in “Circe:” “Wriggle it, girls!” 361.9: “promissly:” given the following “Love all,” a shortened version of “promiscuously.” We’re still in Liberty Hall vein, as in 79.15-26 and elsewhere. Also, pro-miss: we’re all in favor of young women. 361.10: “Naytellmeknot:” variation of “(S)he loves me, (s)he loves me not…” What with “Love” of the preceding line, the traditional “lover’s knot” may be in the picture. 361.11: “Mr Eustache:” Eustachian tubes, leading to the ears - as in Earwicker, for whom this Mr. E. is a stand-in. Hence “has to hear” (.11) – again, as in Earwicker, hearing with his wakened ears. “But do now say to Mr Eustache” = something on the order of, So after this latest exchange of flirtiness, what do you now have to whisper into my (shell-like (“hear”)) ear? As elsewhere, father and daughter have a way of overhearing one another – via, I think, the chimney connecting their rooms. 361.11: “mingen:” Latin “mingere,” to piss – hearkens back to girls-pissing-in-park story. Also, O Hehir says Gaelic “sea-shell:” compare the shell-listening scene in “Sirens.” Both sound of ocean and sound of pissing are, of course, liquid; in “Proteus” (Ulysses 3.457-63) Stephen mixes up the one with the other. 361.12: “heavilybody’s evillyboldy’s:” equal-opposite: everybody’s feeling heavenly; the heavenly angels have fallen into evil. Also, as answer to preceding question (“Whose joint is out of jealousy now” (.11-2))? – that is, Whose nose is out of joint, out of jealousy? - Why, everybody’s, that’s whose. 361.12-3: “Hopping Gracius, onthy ovful!:” something on the order of: Goodness gracious, aren’t they awful! 361.13: “What a nerve!:” expression: What nerve!, used of someone who’s being too fresh or too forward 361.13-4: “How a mans in his armor:” a man in love (amore); also, compare Stephen in “Circe:” “Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in their shirts.” 361.15: “Poddy:" O Hehir says this means penis – which would seem pretty clear from the context. 361.15: “petty pullet:” pretty pullet. In “Wandering Rocks,” Boylan assesses a shopgirl as “a young pullet.” 361.15-6: “Call Kitty Kelly! Kissykitty Killykelly!:” Issy’s cat again, but also Kate, as in the early pages of I.1 the voice of licensed authority. As the concierge-like “marrer of mirth” (.27), she will be among those who will be censoriously re-introducing the subject of the father and his transgressions; beginning at 363.20 he will respond defensively. 361.16: “Kissykitty:“ as in English (see McHugh), the Swedish word for “pussy” is slang for cunt. (Same for “kissmiss,” as at 624.06: “kissmiss coming.”) Issy’s kitty, too 361.16-7: “But what a neats ung gels:” What a nice young girl/gal; what nice young girls/gals. 361.18-31: “Here all…too!:” much of this paragraph comes out of the “talking flowers” section of Through the Looking Glass. (“Carolus” was at 360.27; “littlest little” (Alice’s last name was Liddell) at 360.33.) McHugh notes Isa Bowman (friend of Carroll who played Alice), and the Dutch for “Lewis” at 361.22, 21. 361.20: “Ignorant invincibles:” in “Wandering Rocks,” Father Conmee reflects that Protestants suffer from “Invincible ignorance” – according to Gifford the “inability to see the truth of the Roman Catholic Church in spite of the employment of moral diligence.” Here mixed with “immutant” (unchanging) innocence (.20-1) 361.21: “onangonamed:” given follow-up in .24-5, I hear an overtone here of “orange,” for the Dutchman, William of Orange. 361.23: “Dandeliond:” Dandelion-land. Again (see .18-31 and note) – flower-land 361.23: “a gorsedd shame:” a goddam shame. (See next entry.) Also, gorse is part of the landscape. 361.23-4: “godoms:” in wars against the French the English were called “goddams” (from, of course, their favorite curse) – which would account for the “m,” rather than “n,” at the end. (Also, see previous entry, also 530.17 and note.) Spelling seems to prefigure “condom” in 362.3. 361.24: “lark:” in sense of spree, carefree outing. Also, a “larkspur” is one of the talking flowers in Through the Looking Glass. (See .18-31 and note.) 361.24: “limonladies:” a “leman,” variously spelled, is ME for, approximately, girlfriend. 361.24: “limonladies:” lemonade 361.24: “orangetawneymen:” up until the last two syllables, a pretty clear echo of “orangutan.“ “Orang Asli:” Malay for “original men.” Malays – not to mention orangutangs – are, by British-Isle standards, tawny. 361.25: “backleg…bester:” both words are slang for a cheat. 361.25: “backleg wounted:” given that he just shot a general, the ones he’s badly wanted by are probably the police. 361.27-8: “till their came the marrer of mirth…and they were as were they never ere:” in Burton’s translation of the Arabian Nights, noted by McHugh, this language always refers to death. 361.27-8: “jangtherapper:” sound of phone being hung up. A “rapper,” according to the OED, is a clapper – the unit which hits the bell to make a ringing noise. Google Books confirms that such an apparatus was featured on early-century telephones. (People used to “ring off” as well as “ring on.”) “Jang-” – probably the whole word - is onomatopoeic. (Also, as (Jack the) ripper/rapper, the figure here personifies death.) 361.28: ”as were they never ere:” as though they never were 361.30: “merry was the times:” many was the (merry) time 361.30: “the times when so grant:” the times were so grand. (But not anymore) 361.31: “Cease, prayce, storywalkering:” at 368.34-5, we will get a synopsis of Book II’s four chapters, in order: “Andoring the games, induring the studies, undaring the stories, end all.” II.3 has been, mainly, a sequence of pub stories, the ones about the Norwegian Captain and Russian General being the most salient, and now, finally, they’re finished, which means that everything since, probably, 358.16 has been a matter of coda or aftermath or overlap or wrap-up or to-be-continued. Your annotator is inclined to think that such transitional patches – here, 358.16 to 362.20 – because lacking, so to speak, any one tonic key, tend to account for most of FW’s most bouleversé pages. In any case, someone – I think Kate, as a Mrs. Grundy sort – is hereby proclaiming that the fun, the story-telling, is over. (Indictment and self-defense will, as usual, follow.) This particular scene resembles the arrival at 255.25-6 of another killjoy, putting a stop to the games. 361.33: “swinking about:” swink: to work. Also, swanking about – goes with “storywalkering” (.32) 361.33: “is they think and plan:” as they think and plan. If this reading is right, “unrawil what” (.33-4) would probably mean something like “who knows what.” 361.35: “Back to Droughty:” compare phrase “Back to Blighty” – England. Here, Blighty is, in general, home. With closing time upon them, the bonafides will have to leave off drinking and return, feeling dry -droughty - to their homes. 361.35: “The water of the face has flowed:” the waiter of the place has flown – that is, there’s no one tending the bar, which is why they’re feeling “Droughty.” (Which is also why they’re crying, water flowing down their faces.) They want him to stop “storywalkering” (.32) – caught up in the story, like a dreaming sleepwalker – and get back to serving drinks. 361.35: “the water of the face:” the face of the waters, from Genesis, as in 3.14. 361.36: “blottyeyed:” blotto – slang for drunk. Also, Blighty. (See first entry for .35, also 347.35.) Also, besides blue-eyed, bloody-eyed, a sign of heavy drinking. Equal-opposite: the reverse image from “blue-eyed boy” 361.36-362.21: “The all…heart:” gist of this sentence is that he should snap out of it and return to solid-citizen reality, including domestic obligations. 362.1: “sixdigitarian:” sexagenarian. Also, six fingers on each hand equals twelve, the number of customers. 362.1: "sixdigitarian legion:" a legion officially numbered 6666. 362.1: “legion on druid circle:” an example of a Druid circle – or at least believed to be at the time - would be Stonehenge, in an area once occupied by Roman legions. Jesus’ “their number is legion” is in the background. 362.2: “Clandibblon clam cartel:” “clam:” clan. Three hard C’s, plus echo of “Klan,” brings in K.K.K., which will returns at .9-10. (A significant presence in this chapter: see also entries for 346.6, 353.19.) O Hehir has “race of Dublin” for “Clandibblon.” 362.2: “pulled out and came off:” coitus interruptus. (Also, in 408-9 A.D. the Roman legions “pulled out” of the occupied territory in England.) Compare Molly in “Penelope:” “I made him pull out and do it on me.” To pull someone (male) off is to give him what is generally known as a hand job. (Nora did it for Joyce on June 16.) In line 3, the condom in “condomnation” reinforces the onanist charge. (Onan's sin was actually withdrawal, not masturbation.) As elsewhere, the accusation is that as a contraceptive-practicing/pedaling Protestant (a Cromwellian Nonconformist (.5)) he is not doing his bit for the nation’s “repepulation” (.4) – a major concern at the time, especially in Ireland, depopulated since the Famine. (In other countries, notably France, the concern was military: the purpose of families was to produce future soldiers.) 362.3-4: “condomnation of his totomptation:” during 363.23–364.25 he was yielding to temptation; now he’s being condemned for it. 362.4: “for the duration:” conscripts for WW I and other wars were enlisted “for the duration” 362.5: “nollcromforemost ironsides:” religiously, Cromwell was a Nonconformist. 362.5: “old nollcromforemost ironsides, camnabel chieftain:” Oxford editors change “camnabel” to “cainnable.” Still, the pairing with "chief-" keeps the "cannibal" in play. As cannibal chieftain: makes use of cartoon versions of African chiefs as cannibals. Also an allusion to Milton’s sonnet beginning “Cromwell, our chief of men” 362.6: “Sammon:” possible allusion to the chief guillotiner of the Terror – generally spelled “Sannon;” in The French Revolution Carlyle has it as “Sampson.” 362.7: “contracted out of islands empire:” as suggested for line .2, this describes the Roman’s Empire’s 5th Century contraction as it pulls its legions out of the empire’s island, England. Up to line .21, sometimes also paired with England’s withdrawal from its own empire’s island (“John Bull’s Other Island,” in Shaw’s words), Ireland. (Rome, as we are reminded in “Aeolus,” never occupied Ireland, but England did.) 362.7: “rolled:” enrolled, as in school 362.8: “school:” given what follows, mainly in the sense of “school of fish.” The departing legions are imagined as such a school, swimming rather than marching home – hence (“tarponturboy, grampurpoise” (.18)) – tarpon, turbot, porpoise. 362.8: “tarponturboy:” “tar” or “tarp:” slang for sailor; original full-length version was “tarpaulin.” 362.8-9: “tarponturboy, a grampurpoise, the manyfathom brinegroom with the fortyinch bride:” includes boy, grandfather, young man, young woman 362.9: “brinegroom:” many times in FW (e.g. 110.1-2, 201.19-2, 331.27-8), the male suitor is presented as a briny, salty invader from the salt sea, invading the freshwater Liffey. 362.9: “fortyinch bride:” depth as well as width: he’s deep as the ocean; she’s “showshallow” (152.5) – the Liffey near its source. Forty inches is three and a third (3.333333.etc) feet, and ALP’s deltaic number is three. 362.9-10: “cuptin klanclord kettle:” again (see .2 and note) a side-glance at the Ku Klux Klan. In the aftermath of the stories we’ve just heard, revolution and regicide are still in the air. (Minor correction to McHugh: the author of Captain Kettle is C. J. Cutcliffe Hyne.) 362.9-10: “like the soldr of a britsh he was bound to be and become till the sea got him:” he was a British soldier, happy on solid land (solider than the sea, anyhow), but then the sea “got him” and made him a sailor. Sounds romantic, but “bound” etc. may hint at a shanghaiing. The rest of the sentence, ending at .11, stresses his wife’s land-based hominess. Also, a backward glance at this chapter's story of the sailor and the tailor’s daughter. 362.10-11: “bound to be and become:” to be read as one syntactic unit, “become” in parallel structure with “be” 362.12: “what he gave as a pattern:” modern idiom would be something like “he was a role model to us all.” 362.12: ”hun of a horde:” Huns and other barbarian mobs proverbially come in hordes. Not coincidental that Rome’s withdrawal from Britain corresponded with barbarian invasions back home. Compare next three entries. 362.12-3: “finn as she, his tent wife, is a lap:” Lapp – traditional name for northern people resident in, among other places, Finland. Probably ironically pertinent that Lapps, like Huns, were among the hordes invading the Roman Empire. 362.13: “at home on a steed:” homestead. Equal-oppositely, the Huns, like Mongols and other nomadic tribes, were said to virtually live on horseback. 362.13: “tent wife:” barbarian hordes are typically depicted as camping in tents, where their wives would be kept. Also, tenth wife: the Huns practiced polygamy. Atilla was generally presumed to have had a large number of wives. 362.14-5: “to say nothing of him having done whatyouknow howyousaw whenyouheard whereyouwot:” compare 196.1-7. Washerwoman gossip about HCE’s sin. 362.16: “greediguss:” considering extra “e” in preceding “cocke,” perhaps egregious 362.17: “most umbrasive:” abrasive, but also un-abrasive - a typical FW equal-opposite 362.18: “spit:” spied 362.18: “howsoever’s:” after this, Oxford editors insert “profocation it was anybody’s beastness and she was noboddy’s fondling saving her” 362.19: “mould:” see next entry. Mould is a major concern when storing, for instance, wine in barrels. 362.20: “peg in his pantry to hold the heavyache off his heart:” expression: he/she couldn’t find a pig in a pantry. (First Google Books citation is 1932.) Also, when stored on their sides, barrels are often held in place by pegs, to keep them from rolling and falling – on someone, for instance. This is clearly what Shaun/Yaun, speaking as a barrel, has in mind when declaring that he will be true to his word “so long as…there is a peg under me” (412.36-413.2). It is in that sense that she “hould[s] the wine that wakes the barley” (.19-20): both wine and (barley) beer or whiskey are stored in barrels. Metaphorically, the man here is saying that his woman keeps him steady. 362.21: “win:” given preceding entry, probably wine, aging - see next entry. 362.22-3: “yearin out yearin:” expression: year in, year out. Also “out” as in aut, Latin for “or” 362.22: “Thamamahalla:” according to Francis O’Neill, Irish Folk Music, this originates from an Irish melody “Ta me I mo codladh ‘s na duishigh,” which means “I’m Asleep and Don’t Wake Me.” Later simplified and shortened, by Moore and others, to “Thamama Halla,” which would translate as simply “I’m Sleeping” 362.23-4: “Auspicably suspectable but in expectancy of respectable respectableness:” present evidence to the contrary, the household is in hope of coming up in the world, of eventually achieving respectability. (The dismal truth, however, is that most of what’s on show seems along the line of what Bloom in “Hades” calls “relics of old decency.” Comparisons to the declining fortunes of Joyce’s father’s family, as chronicled in Portrait, seem fairly obvious.) 362.25-6: “evacuan cleansers:” viaticum confessors – part of Last Rites 362.26: “single box and pair of chairs:” compare 559.1-2: “Boxed. Ordinary bedroom set.” McHugh note to that passage: “Box scene (theatre): one made of flats, as opposed to a back cloth & wings” 362.32: “payono, still playing off:” still paying off, on installment plan. (Also, still playing off-key.) A piano in the parlor was a sign of bourgeois respectability. Compare Molly, in “Penelope,” being impressed by Matt Dillon: “well now Miss Tweedy or Miss Gillespie theres the piannyer.” (Another token of respectability, even when – “albeit”- threadbare and stuffed with horsehair (31-2), was a “sofa.”) 362.36-363.16: "And…Howlong!:” exceptionally mixed-up potpourri of the charges against HCE: trial testimony, the Persse O’Reilly “rann,” yellow-press headlines with incriminating snapshot, the report of a (hostile) detective on his home life 362.36…363.3: “you...he:” I suggest that HCE is the antecedent of both pronouns: first addressed as in a deposition, then, after being induced to incriminate himself (“There you are!” (363.2)) the object of a public accusation. 363.2: “were you know where?:” were you, you know where? Or are you claiming to have been nowhere? – a courtroom cross-examination of the have-you-stopped-beating-your-wife sort 363.3: “upsadaisying:” perhaps obvious: “Oops-a-daisy!” If you’re playing (“hitch a cock eye” (.2-3)) Ride a cock horse with a child, it’s not uncommon at some points to hoist him/her off your knee with the words “Oops-a-daisy!” 363.3: “cock eye, he was snapped on the sly:” originally, to be cock-eyed was to be cross-eyed. To “cock an eye” is to view intently, as he is accused of doing – male-gazing at “cora pearls” (.3): the courtesan Cora Pearl, chorus girls. Taking a snapshot usually involves gazing with one eye. (So, in the Waterloo scene of I.1, did looking at the “jinnies” with a telescope.) “On the sly” here can probably refer to both gazer and the photographer taking an incriminating snapshot of his gazing. At 98.19 and elsewhere, “snap” signals the punishment – being blinded in one eye – for illicit voyeurism, e.g. Peeping Tom. Joyce, with his eyepatch, is certainly part of the story here. 363.3-4: “coras pearls out of the pie:” along with the other nursery rhymes, this incorporates “the birds began to sing,” from “Sing a Song of Sixpence.” Here, also “sing” in the sense of “inform on.” Also, so help me, in some recipes a string of pearls is pressed around the edge of the dough to properly crimp the crust. 363.4: “perts:” other FW occurrences of “pert” or derivatives (e.g. 157.30) go with forward young girls. 363.4…31: “princer street…newnesboys…armsworths…papelboy…bonnick lass…thud of surf…trisspass…minxmingled…emptied a pan of backslop down drain by whiles of dodging a rere from the middenprivet appurtenant…board of wumps and pumps:” an unusually extensive cluster, having to do with the exposure of HCE for misbehavior related to excrement. Lord Harmsworth was a sensationalist newspaper baron, born in Chapelizod, who began his career in Edinburgh, the main thoroughfare of which is Princes Street, the first European city whose inhabitants lived in what are now called apartments, from whose windows it was common practice to empty slops, including the contents of chamber pots, into the public streets. Remembrance of the sod of turf (“thud of surf”) recalls the Russian General’s offense; the “board of wumps and pumps” has to do with public sanitation; overtones of “piss,” “mingere,” “midden,” “privy” and so on are clear enough; the (“bonnick lass”) bonnie lass is presumably Scottish, from Edinburgh. 363.6-7: “the boss made doves and draves out of his bucknesst:” to “make ducks and drakes” out of something is to foul it up. Gist: the boss squandered the proceeds from his business. 363.7-8: “while herself wears the bowler’s hat in her bath:” “herself” is female variation of “himself” - an Irishism, generally ironic, for a self-important someone. (Have heard “herself” used, in Dublin, by a mother, talking, albeit affectionately, about her daughter.) Here, it seems to be a version of: She wears, or thinks she does, the pants in the family. 363.10: “heat wives:” heat waves 363.8: “Deductive:” detectives deduce. 363.8-11: “Deductive Almayne Rogers disguides his voice, shetters behind hoax chestnote from exexive. Heat wives rasing. They jest keeps rosing. He jumps leaps rizing. Howlong!:” a “chest-note” (occurs in “Sirens”) is the lowest note within the singer’s normal range. It would certainly be called for in a rendition of “Old Man River,” whose best-known exponent was the deep baritone Paul Robeson. Oxford editors have “shelters” for “shetters.” 363.9: “behind hoax chestnote:” also, he lurking – hiding behind a horse chestnut tree. 363.9: “exexive:” xxiv = Roman numerals for 24. Not sure what to make of this: 24 is not one of FW’s signature numbers. Double of the 12? 363.11: “Howlong:” how long can the man hold that note? Also, “How long, Oh Lord?” (Psalm 13) 363.12-6: “You…owe:” Green Pastures is a comical American play with an all-black cast. The dialect of this paragraph consistently reflects that fact. In this, it follows the idiom of “Old Man River” (.10-1), traditionally sung by an African-American male – again (.8-11 and note) like Paul Robeson. See next entry. 363.12: “tom:” perhaps Uncle Tom – sentimental black character (from Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin) who, at least as far back as I can remember, had come to stand for the African-American version of a stage Irishman. 363.12-3: “bann bothstiesed:” both baptized and married. The banns having been proclaimed, both are tied together in wedlock. 363.14: “buy the papelboy:” see note to .4…31. Lord Harmsworth bought papers and the paperboys that went with them. 363.17: “He sprit in his phiz:” aside from (McHugh) sealing a deal, can also mean that he spat in some other man’s face. 363.20: “fellows culpows:” culpa(s), from “mea culpa.” “Fellows culpas” would signify “fellow sinners,” the whole sentence something like “I’m guilty, but then, aren’t we all?” The Anglican General Confession – HCE is Anglican - includes the words “we have erred.” 363.21: “submerged:” I.3 had HCE submerged in Ireland’s Lough Neagh. 363.22: “athome’s health:” Adam hearth (at home). In the account of the bedroom at page 559 (which I trust) the fireplace has an “Adam’s mantle” (559.2) – that is, in the style of Robert Adam, influential 18th century interior decorator. The gist of the passage is that he and they, like Odysseus or (“sindeade” (.20)) Sinbad, have undergone all kinds of travails at sea in order to reach hearth and home. “Adam” also conveys the sense of home base – where we all started from. 363.22-3: “wild whips:” probably echo of “wind-whipped,“ as at sea. Compare 626.6-7. 363.23: “wind ship:” sailing ship 363.23: “wonderlost for world hips:” “The World Well Lost:” subtitle of Dryden’s All for Love, a revision of Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra. Given that Cleopatra is the one for whom the world is lost, “hips” may possibly have erotic connotations; certainly Bloom is a devoté of woman’s hips seen from behind, as was Joyce. 363.25: “turtled around:” a ship turns turtle when it’s flipped upside-down. On the other hand, the context suggests something more like a “wind ship” (.23) reversal. In any case, the sailing is rough. 363.25: “thud of surf:” one way or another, home from the sea: either he hears the surf pounding on the shore or the prow of his boat has thudded into the surf-covered sand. 363.27: “hawked:” sold. Also, hocked, as in pawned. See note to .32. 363.28: “theactrisscalls:” In “Hades,” we hear of a “callboy’s warning” – the notice to actors and actresses that the (theatrical) show is about to start. 363.30-1: “appurtenant thereof:” appertaining thereto 363.32: “release of prisonals properly:” personal property, released from pawnshop. In general, in this sequence he is pleading poverty – his “imprecurious [impecunious] position” (.28). Also, returning an inmate's personal effects on release from prison 363.33: “unlifting upfallen girls:” a scrambling of something like: upliftingly lifting up fallen women of the street. Double-negatively at least: if he was “incalpable” (.32) of (“un-“) not doing that, it was something he just had to do. As before, when his private morals are under attack, he channels Gladstone – according to Joyce an example of sanctimonious “angelsexonism” (.35). See 336.21-32 and note. 363.33: “wherein dangered:” were endangered 363.34: “unadulteratous:” root word: unadulterated 363.34: “bowery:” Bowery: at the time, a run-down district of lower Manhattan associated with alcoholics and drug addicts; here a likely haunt of women of the street. Equal-oppositely: poetically, bowers are places of pastoral romance and repose. 363.34: “in thereupon:” in the open. Oxford editors have “in there open.” 363.36: “Missaunderstaid. Meggy Guggy’s giggag:” as Glasheen notes, Miss Anders, among other things, “sometimes the sender of the letter;” as introduced on page 111, the letter mentions “Muggy” and “Maggy” (111.15-6), and the next 38 lines include multiple allusions to the letter, its retrieval, and the controversy surrounding it: “leathermail” (364.5), “hostpost” (364.6), “post puzzles deparkment” (364.6-7), “parchels’ of presents” (364.7), “Dear and” (365.11), “reeds” (364.21), “cackling…sally berd” (364.30-1), “gleaner” (364.34), “boastonmess” (364.35), “hunsbend” (364.36), “further oil mircles” (365.1), and “parson of caves” (365.2). 364.1-2: “bare whiteness against me I dismissem:” I dismiss (but also miss) the misses who tempted me by baring their white bodies and then testified falsely, bore false witness, about what happened. 364.3: “tell such as story to the Twelfth Maligns:” expression: “Tell it to the Marines.” Modern equivalent: Give me a break. 364.3: “as story:” a story 364.3-4: “my first was a nurssmaid and her fellower’s a willbe perambulatrix:” according to Ellmann’s biography, Joyce’s “first sexual experience” was overhearing the urination of “the family nanny.” A nursemaid would naturally be accompanied by a (“perambulatrix” (.4)) perambulator. Also, another case of unconscious self-accusation, confirming the charge of having done something untoward with two related (very) under-age females: a nursing (“-maid and”) maiden, followed by her fellow in a pram – almost literally robbing the cradle, twice. That she will be a “perambulatrix” suggests a future as a street-walker. 364.4-5: “twingty to twangty too thews and:” numerically, can be read several different ways (XXII XXII? 20 to 22? Twenty-two housand?), but two verticals, whether as Arabic number 11 or as Roman numeral II, is a recurring Issy signature. 364.5: “thews:” of mailmen, built up from constant walking 364.9: “he is amustering in the groves while his shool:” given up-the-Irish context, a hedge school, where Gaelic was taught in defiance of British law. Compare 430.1-2. 364.10: “Want I put myself in their kirtlies:” Once I (wanting to)…put myself in your shoes/“kirtlies:” kirtles can be both woman’s undergarment and man’s coat. In the former sense, refers to the schoolgirls in Shaun’s “shool” (.9) 364.10-1: “ayearn to leap:” leap year, here referring to Issy’s companions, the leap year girls – the “month of budsome misses” (.13) 364.11: "bisextine:” wearing girls’ undergarments could bring out what is later called “bisectualism” (524.12). 364.12: “Attemption!:” the girls are tempting. 364.13: “budsome misses:” misses with budding bosoms 364.14: “Attonsure!:” a tonsure would signal the emerging monkish Shaun, mentioned at .8. 364.14-9: “The skall…Kinahaun:” anathematizing a Shem type – a poet (skald) of foreign origin; a noisy (you could park a car in his open mouth) nuisance 364.15: “yawpens:” yawp: a loud yelp-like sound. “Scylla and Charybdis” has “yankee yawp,” probably indicating Walt Whitman, who celebrated his own “barbaric yawp.” Along with “dime” and “ford,” this passage seems to be implying American origin or destination – the latter, I think, since that’s where Shaun eventually heads, although an admixture of letter elements (from Boston, not to) complicates the issue. General sense: every time he opens his mouth, he broadcasts his origin. 364.17: “inside man:” in language of crime or espionage, someone pretending to be a regular member of the outfit to be robbed of its money or secrets. See next entry. 364.17: “hocksheat:” according to Green’s Dictionary of Slang, a “hock sheet” is a police term for “a list of stolen goods that may have been pawned.” 364.17-8: “avragetopeace of parchment:” average (sized) piece of paper? (Compare 111.8-9.) In any case, more about the letter 364.18: “cooking his lenses to be my apoclogypst:” Joyce’s cataract operations were each preceded by an iridectomy, which involved the application of a solution including cocaine to his (eye) lenses. Cook = coke = cook = coking. The phrase “coked up,” meaning high on cocaine, occurs as early as 1921. (Also, see next entry.) Explains why what follows is a revelation – the removal of the veil between heaven and earth, the removal of the cataract. Similar sequences, drawing on Joyce’s eye troubles and the treatment for them, can be found at 247.17-248.2 and in pp. 292-305, including, as outlined in my notes to those pages, an operation for glaucoma. 364.18: “cooking up his lenses:" Cooke Optics, manufacturer of Cooke lenses. Various uses, including astronomical (“starvision” (.17)); here enables a prophetic vision of the apocalypse (“apoclogypst” (.18)) – etymologically, the uncovering of everything 364.19: “recreuter of conscraptions:” both Joyce/Shem as scissors-and-paste man – as Joyce called himself - and Joyce/Shaun as mailman, picking up and delivering the scraps of others 364.19: “asservent:“ asseverate – to declare boldly; asseverant, declaring boldly; Latin asseverant, third person pluperfect, either to free from slavery, or, equally-oppositely, enslave 364.21-2: “I have placed my reeds intectis before the Registower of the perception of tribute in the hall of the city of Analbe:” general sense: he has submitted to the proscriptions of his native land. “Reeds intectis:” by analogy with virgo intacta, comprises his pen, the subject (res) of his pen, his penis, his readings, and his testicles ("intectis:" testis), therefore his testimony. On behalf of peace, he has surrendered all this to the censor, the Register of Perception. The submission also seems to involve either buggering or rimming: placing his intact reed in the hole of “Analbe.” 364.22-4: “How concerns any merryaunt and hworsoever gravesobbers it is perensempry sex of fun to help a dazzle of the othour:” it’s a matter of indifference whether people find this cheering or depressing. 364.23: “gravesobbers:” those who cry a lot at funerals. “Mutes” for this purpose used to be hired out. Compare Mulligan in “Telemachus:” “whinge like some hired mute.” 364.26: “knightmayers nest:” a "mare’s nest:" used in same sense as in “Circe” – not just a muddle, but a spuriously incriminating muddle. Like Bloom, he’s dismissing all accusations as ridiculous, including (see McHugh) those implicating him in the Gunpowder Plot. 364.26: “plotch:” Yiddish plotz – to fall or burst from extreme excitement. At 81.2, “plotsch” seems to be the remains of such an explosion. 364.28: “merkins:” Annotations has “merken,” slang for cunt; Oxford editors leave as is. Spelled “merkin,” the definition is pubic wig. Must admit I can’t see how either reading works in the context 364.29: “lyst:” with "l" read as “1” the number, first. Read as “l” the letter, last. Equal opposites. In this case, the first (“turpidump”) torpedo would presumably also be the last. 364.29: “Basast!:” also, probably, Italian "Basta!" 364.29-30: “my litigimate:” my legitimate spouse (compare 47.14), the litigious one. (Much of the rest of the sentence will be a defense against charges originating, deliberately or otherwise, from wife/Kate/hen’s gossip – and, after all, the language does raise questions about whether there were any partners of the non-legitimate variety.) 364.31-2: “(I shall call upon my first among my lost:” Matthew 20:16: “So the last shall be first, and the first last: for many are called, but few are chosen.” 364.32: ”lyrars:” lyrists – players of lyres 364.33-4: “all the riflings of her victuum gleaner:” hearkens back to Kate (p. 11) as one of the looters scavenging the corpses of Waterloo: gathering gleanings of all the rifled – killed (anachronistically) by rifles – victims. (Rifles were not around in 1815, so as usual this includes other battles, other aftermaths.) Probably relevant that some looters were known to have killed the wounded. Hoovering up the loot, her vacuum cleaner, an updated version of her “nabsack” (11.19), marks her as a domestic. Also, as viaticum gleaner/cleaner, leagued with Father Michael and his (“oil mircles” (365.1)) miracle oil for Extreme Unction, she presides as he both (“reanouncing” (365.1-2)) renounces and re-announces all his past sins. 364.33: “the riflings:” triflings. Compare next entry. 364.34: “druck:” dreck. Yiddishism for worthless stuff. Occurs in “Circe” 364.35: “well:” generally first word (after salutation) of FW’s letter; elsewhere an ALP signature 364.35: “gay at ninety:” Gay Nineties 364.35: “shoving off a boastonmess:” “à” in French sense: to or towards. She – and/or the letter – is shoving off to Boston. (Possible echo: the American “shuffle off to Buffalo” – Buffalo being the city in New York state. The song of that title, from a popular Broadway musical, first appeared in 1933.) 365.1: “herwayferer gods:” Oxford editors separate “her” and “wayfarer.” Both Jesus and Mercury have been called “wayfarer god”s. Mercury would fit the letter context (here signaled by, for instance, “boastonmess” (364.35, and see 363.36 and note)), Jesus more the religious context. 365.1-2: “reanouncing:” both renouncing and announcing all over again. Another equal-opposite: having gathered all the dirt, she’s publicly denouncing him, until (.2-3) he gets a “purchase on her” – either buys her silence or gets a (“firmforhold” (.3)) firm hold in some other way. Rather lamely, he goes on to argue that there was no need for such scandal since he was already loudly confessing his sins. 365.2: “locally parson:” either the local parson or one holding the position in locum tenens 365.2-3: “person of caves: “caveman" – that is, primitive, unregenerate – what, according to her, he was, in his original state. (As the “Mutt and Jute” routine of I.1 shows, cavemen were familiar fictional figures at the time; the popular comic strip Ally Oop dated from 1932.) With “parson,” makes for equal-opposite 365.2-3: “got my purchase on her firmforhold:” came into possession, by purchase, of her farmhold - maybe her firm, too. (Compare 547.14.) 365.3-4: “sacreligion of diamond cap daimond:” sounds like a thumbnail version of Manichaeism – the (to Christians) sacrilegious doctrine that the world is a struggle between two equally powerful supernatural forces. "Diamond cut diamond" describes too equally obdurate substances. 365.5: “ladiest day:” last day; goes with “bourne,” as in Hamlet’s “bourn” of the “undiscover’d country;” as McHugh notes, another Hamlet bit has just appeared. 365.7: “any old cerpaintime:” equal-opposite combination of “any old time” with “certain time” 365.6-7: “(allsole we are not amusical):” although we are not musical…still, at .11 he claims to have vocalized “with gladyst tone.” (And, of course, being “not amusical” can also mean not unmusical.) 365.7: “peaching:” aside from preaching, peaching, that is, telling on someone, as in first chapter of Portrait. He is peaching – the very worst (“warry warst”) against myself – (.8) in his sermon. 365.7-8: “peaching…the warry warst against myself:” I am myself preaching the very worst stuff said about me, in effect “peaching” (see previous entry) on myself. 365.9: “lieberretter:” love letter (German liebe – plus Gaelic’s l/r exchange – letter) 365.9-10: “of the first virginial water:“ phrase: "of the first water:" highest quality of diamond - a diamond of the most translucent, water-like purity 365.10-2: “without an auction of biasement from my part, with gladyst tone ahquickyessed in it, overhowe and under where, the totty lolly poppy flossy conny dollymaukins:” general sense: without any prodding from me, the girls happily went along with what I had to say. They acquiesced in the gladdest tones, and their acquiescence – “Ah! Quick! Yes!” – was enthusiastically erotic, the sweet little dears. Also, yet again: another dig at ("gladyst") Gladstone (see McHugh), once again with the insinuation of sexual misconduct: his sobriquet “Grand Old Man” and renowned powers as a public speaker make an especially neat fit for someone orating about his way with the girls. 365.10: “auction of biasement:” Google Books shows “action of bias” as both a legal and electrical term; I haven’t been able to track down either definition. 365.10: “biasement:” bias (i.e. favoritism). Also, baisement: either kissing or fucking. (Compare 203.33-4, third note to .12. Uncertainty as to which meaning applies when has sometimes been a cause of embarrassments.) Probably, abasement, too 365.11-2: “overhowe and underwhere:” variant of up hill and down dale 365.12: “lolly:" lollipop 365.12: “poppy:” opium poppy 365.12: “flossy conny:” con = cunt in French. Possibly, “flossy” describes early stage of pubic hair; compare 204.7-8. 365.12: “dollymaukins:” given context, perhaps demimond(ings); compare 327.25. In “Cyclops,” the village of Dollymount becomes a woman named Dolly Mount. 365.13: “heave a coald on my bauck:” heaving coal on his back would make him a coal porter - in my reading, one of many indications that the real family name is Porter. 365.13: “eres:” given context, arse as well as ears – a ME spelling 365.14-5: “I used alltides to be aswarmer for the meekst and the graced:” continues sexual thread, I think: though old and cold (now, or sometimes) I used to be – perhaps sometimes still am - like a bee, warm and swarming after the meek and gracious objects of my affection. 365.14: “alltides:" besides always, at times. Coinciding contraries 365.15ff.: “You…:” commences the tu quoque part of the defense: I may be guilty, but you would have done the same in my place. 365.15: “threeabreasted:” compare the “soldiers free” [three] – 58.24-5 – as witnesses for the prosecution. Also, the six passengers in Louis XVI’s flight to Varennes would have been sitting three abreast. (This sequence is certainly confusing enough, but up to 366.30 one of its threads is the indictment and execution of a ruler (Caesar, for instance) – sometimes the monarch of “The Coach With the Six Insides” (see 359.24).) 365.16: “wholenosing:” witnessing, knowing the whole thing 365.16: “whallhoarding:” i.e. hoardings – posters – pasted on a wall 365.16-7: “villayets:” compare “villagettes” (8.3) of the Waterloo sequence of I.1. 365.18: “uncounthest:” uncounted 365.20: “Marx and their Groups:” probably the Marx Brothers – a group, and certainly part of the cultural landscape during the years of FW’s composition – but then it was after all Marxists who ended the reign of the czars, and thus the Russian General’s sovereign, as signaled, for instance, by Butt’s “sickle” and “hummer” (341.10). (With the fall of the Soviet Union, Czechoslovakia issued a stamp commemorating Marxist-Lennonists (Groucho) Marx and (John) Lennon; Joyce got there (halfway) first.) 365.21: “dhamnk:” thank. Also, damn. Equal opposites 365.21: “dhumnk you:” again: thank you, damn you; perhaps overtone of dummkopf. (General sense here and hereafter is that, in spite of what they’ve seen and heard about the speaker, they’re cut from the same cloth as him.) 365.22: “Skunk.:” as direct address: again: You’re at least as bad as me. 365.23-4: “By where dauvening shedders down whose rovely lanes:” an example of where they’ll “fare” together – roving down ravishing vistas of country lanes while the shades of night are falling, etc. His continuing (submerged) fixation on young, perhaps underage women is adumbrated by the echo of “What ravening shadow! What dovely line!” (357.16-7), originally initiated by the sight of Beardsley’s erotic etchings. 365.23: “yose…yese:” variant of “dose and dese,” proverbial signs of lower-class urban American accent (e.g. from Brooklyn or New Jersey) 365.26: “Would you nods? Mom mom:” Again, he’s saying that those he’s addressing would have done the same. So: Would you not? Also, Would you nod (if I’m right)? To which the answer, real or mimicked, is a murmured assent something like “M-hm.” (Contrast with “N.,” “Nn.,” Nnn.,” “Nnnn.” negatives of 16.6-7.) 365.27: “rod:” in sense of schoolmaster’s cane, enforcing discipline 365.27: “pud a stub to the lurch of amotion:” complicated equal-opposite: “stub” as in “stub your toe,” which would normally cause a “lurch” – an interruption, but also a precipitously forward motion. “Pud” = "pod" = foot 365.29-30: “I had a reyal devouts yet was it marly lowease or just a feel:" see McHugh. Not for the only time in FW, in lines .25-30, Swift’s two-woman problem (Vanessa and Estella) is virtually interchangeable with Napoleon’s (Marie Louise and Josephine). 365.30: “Alwayswelly he is showing ot the fullnights:” in addition to (see McHugh) W. G. Wills and William Wallace Kelly, author and producer of A Royal Divorce, Arthur Wellesley, Napoleon’s counterpart in its climactic scene, representing the Battle of Waterloo in the pageant being staged at the beginning of I.2. A “full night” is theatre talk for a sold-out performance, testimony to the play’s enduring popularity. Also, All’s Well That Ends Well 365.31: “fullnights:” Phoenix – presumably the same “Phoenix Playhouse” of 209.2. 365.31-2: “my palmspread was gav to a parsleysprig:” Oxford editors replace “to a” with “to the.” My hand was (already) given (in marriage or in love) to a young parlormaid. (Nora was a chambermaid in Dublin's Finn’s Hotel.) Opposite-extremes contrast between palm (and hand’s palm) leaf and parsley sprig, big male hand and dainty female hand. (Joyce himself, by his own account, had unusually small hands, but then see 621.20-1, where once again the man’s “great bearspaw” contrasts with the woman’s “miny tiny.”) 365.33: “tear to the thrusty:” given context, probably sexual innuendo: thrust of penis, tear in hymen – she’s been deflowered 365.33: “salthorse…tear:” tears are salty. 365.34: “aftabournes:” afterwards – post-coital 365.35: “chilled…by my tide impracing:” an inlet chilled by the inracing tide. Again, male lover as (“old ocean” (.32)) ocean’s tidal current, entering the Liffey; compare “my cold mad feary father” (628.1). 365.35: “Oh sard!:” Oh Sir! 365.36: “colories:” calories, in sense of heat measurement. After the heat of the moment, she looks to him like a “chilled” child, lying beside him crying for her parents, and he feels chilled as well, at least partly out of guilt. He has just deflowered someone who either is or (“like”) seems (now, in the aftermath), underage, perhaps very underage. (Compare Lolita: “and her sobs in the night – every night, every night – the moment I feigned sleep.”) All in all, this strikes me as one of the creepiest bits in the book, outdone only by 561.23-6. 365.36: “folced:” false 365.36: “cheek:” put-on (forced) audacity or forwardness, now drained away 366.2: “Wickedgapers:” not to belabor, but, aside from malignant voyeurs, a wicketkeeper (or gatekeeper) – in the sense of “wicket” as “small door” – would be a porter. Also, he is protesting that the witnesses were peeping Toms. 366.2-3: “a nexistence of vividence:” Oxford editors replace “of” with “o.” No evidence in a murder case, due to the victim’s being dead (no “vividence,” no sign of life) and unable to testify 366.3-4: “ballet, girls, suppline thrown tights:” apparently, as opposed to the panto boys, ballerinas are obliged to supply their own tights. “Looser” (.3) would seem to counterpoint “tights.” 366.4-5: “I have wanted to thank you a long time so much now:” again, Joyce’s aversion to commas. I suggest this can be read as “I have wanted to thank you for such a long time, so must now.” Alternatively or also, I have wanted to thank you...so much. 366.4-30: “I…stuff.” After the last sordid recital, he needs all the friends he can get, so he lavishes flattery on all and sundry, especially the witnesses against him. To me, this passage recalls Bloom in “Circe” when on the defensive. See next entry. 366.7: “me dare beautiful young soldier:” again, he’s really ladling it on. (See note to .4-30.) The soldiers were the chief witnesses against him. 366.8: “go to mats:” go to the mat: pursue a fight to the bitter end, like a boxer finally knocked to the mat 366.8-11: “you who have watched your share with your sockboule sodalists on your buntad nogs at our love tennis squats regatts, suckpump, when on with the balls did disserve the fain, my goldrush gainst her silvernetss:” beneath the fulsome flattery, a not-so-subliminal accusation in the spirit of Joyce’s “The Holy Office:” while I was having sex, however flagitiously, you and your mates were down on your bended knees, watching the action. Oh, and by the way I was (obviously) the one with the balls (as we would say today, ballsy) which was why I was the one making my moves while you were on the sidelines, tut-tutting. Completely in sync with (McHugh) Dryden’s “None but the brave deserve the fair.” (Also, of course, tennis balls) 366.10: “fain:” a willing (lass) 366.11: “my goldrush gainst her silvernetss:” common tennis maneuver: rushing the net for position against opponent. Gold and silver confirm that all the sports cited – tennis, squash, regatta sailing – are high-class, for the well-off. Given context, also probably the Liffey’s fishing nets, being – a ubiquitous FW trope – “assalt”ed (331.30) by the sailor/suitor’s briny tide. 366.12: “for the love of goddess and perthanow:” expressions: for the love of God; for the love of goodness. (He’s imploring them to let him off the hook.) Also, Athena and her temple, the Parthenon. Also, echo of Parthenope, a siren and daughter (“deepseep daughter” (.14)) of Achelous, god of all water. 366.14-6: “my deepseep daughter which was bourne up pridely out of medsdreams unclouthed:” combination of wet dream (in two senses at least) - Athena born from Zeus’s head, and the birth of Venus. Also, compare 620.16-7. “Deepseep:” deep sea. See note to .12. 366.15-6: “Saturnay Eve:” both the traditional time for weekly (or yearly: Saturnalia) debauchery and the usual time for Catholics to go to confession. Equal-opposites 366.16: "woren’t we’t:” weren’t we wet? McHugh and Oxford editors both have “weren’t.” 366.17: “in re Milcho Melekmans increaminated:” see McHugh. An allusion to Saint Patrick and, what with the legal language, probably to his unrevealed sin. 366.17-8: “strong ground you have ever taken up:” the ground from which the sod of turf (.18) was taken 366.18: “upon…: “ returns to appeal to “soldier” first made explicit at .7; hard to pinpoint where it fades out 366.20: “barrakraval:” barrage (of grapeshot); probably onomatopoeic 366.20-1: “e’en tho Jambuwel’s defecalties is Terry Shimmyrag’s upperturnity:” 1. John Bull’s difficulties are Ireland’s opportunities. (Brendan O Hehir glosses “Shimmyrag” as “Land of the Shamrock.”) 2. A bowel defecation (.e.g. the Russian General’s) is good news for an arse-wiper (e.g. the sod of turf) – a chance to, so to speak, pick something up. (“Things will turn up” is in the mix as well.) 366.21: “Terry Shimmyrag’s:” Terrycloth – product and name both around since mid-19th century. Shammy: from chamois – a cloth for cleaning 366.22-4: “that I am the catasthmatic old ruffin sippahsedly improctor to be seducint trovatellas:” Oxford editors replace “seducint” with “seducing.” Double denial: 1. You don’t suppose that’s me, do you? 2. Even if it were me, would anyone as decrepit as you describe be capable of the offense? 366.23: “catasthmatic:” catamitic: pertaining to an asthmatic pederast 366.24: “daffy:” American slang for silly, bordering on crazy 366.25: “sootheesinger:” soothing singer 366.25: “the lilliths oft I feldt:” as in 365.30, “felt” is sexual. The apocryphal Lilith is Adam’s second wife, voraciously sexual (equal-oppositely counterpointing the usual connotations of “lilies”). The two i’s in her name are, again, an Issy signature. Mixture of veldt (traditional domain of African wildlife) into lily field is another equal-opposite. 366.25-30: “and…Fall stuff:” general sense: if that’s the way things are, I’m ready to die. Compare “Fall stuff” with Shakespeare’s Caesar: “Then fall, Caesar!” (McHugh notes the presence of another line from the play, also “Fall stuff” as Falstaff.) 366.25: “booboob:” HCE’s stammers generally occur when he is feeling especially guilty. 366.27: “Houtes, Blymey and Torrenation:” stereotypically Scottish (“Hoots, mon!”), English, (“Blimey!”) and American (“Tarnation:” occurs in “Scylla and Charybdis” as coming from a “yankee interviewer”) expressions. 366.27: “scotchem:” scotch: to wound 366.28: “tall tale:” Americanism: fantastic story 366.28: “sowill:” according to Christiani, as well as 366.28: "nuggets and nippers:" Digger Dialects (see 321.20 and note): "nuggets" are short soldiers. Here paired with ("nippers") children 366.29-30: “thides or marse…dayle:” (daily) marsh tides 366.30: “shattat. Fall stuff:” given “shat,” the stuff falling is probably shit: a reprise of the Russian General story. 366.31: “rote in ear:” roaring of the sea, heard in the ear 366.32: “bombtomb of the warr:” bottom of the water. Possibly also Humpty Dumpty’s wall 366.36: “Joseph’s:“ Nora’s middle name was Joseph. 366.36-367.1: “Brow, tell nun; eye, feign sad; mouth, sing mim:” instructions to mourners at funeral. A nun’s brow would be expressionless, if only because covered by a snood; “sing mim” probably brings in the expressions “mum’s the word” and “sing dumb.” Also, according to Robert Bringhurst, “the shapes of the Arabic letters mūn, sād, and mīn correspond pleasantly with schematic drawings of brow, eye, and mouth respectively.” 367.2: “And he grew back into his grossery baseness:” again, the Mullingar Inn ran something like a grocery business. (See 78.12-3 and note.) As for echoes of "grossly base:" he didn’t help his cause by concluding that his accusers were just singling out “the oggog hogs in the humand” (366.26), the pig in everyone. 367.3: “grand remonstrance:” see McHugh. Again, Charles I is included among the catalogue of monarchs deposed, often violently, in the last few pages. Also, see 516.19 and note: not a coincidence that Charles’ headsman, according to a tradition known to Joyce, who named his son Giorgio, was one Cornet George Joyce. Nor, with that datum in mind, is it likely a coincidence that in “Scylla and Charybdis,” identifying with his own grievance-nurturing version of Shakespeare, Stephen quite incorrectly has Robert Greene calling Shakespeare “a deathsman of the soul” and goes on to describe Shakespeare as a butcher’s son…wielding the sledded poleaxe.” 367.3: “and there you are:” a meaningless expression, stereotypically upper-class Brit-twit, intended to end discussion – which, for a bit here, it does. 367.4: “Here endeth chinchinatibus with have speak finish:” Cincinnatus memorably gave up power when his work was done and returned to his farm. 367.4: “have speak finish:” combines Jesus’ last words (according to the Gospel of John) “It is finished” with Robert Emmet’s “I have done.” 367.4-7: “With a haygue for a halt on a pouncefoot panse. Pink, pleas pink, two pleas pink, how to pleas pink. [New paragraph] Punk:” Oxford editors replace “panse” with “pause.” Finishing off the letter (FW’s letter, also the Grand Remonstrance): “pouncefoot” includes pounce - powder scattered on a just-completed letter to prevent the ink from smearing. “Pink” = stab or jab – the marks that always conclude the letter. Here, as usual, there are four of them (concluding with “Punk” – also, this introduces the four old men, who will reappear, in many guises and at least usually in order, up to the end of the chapter.) Also: compare the FW version of “D’ye ken John Peel:” “And it’s Hey Tallaght Hoe on the king’s highway” (334.33-4), introduced in the context (compare .2: “grossery baseness”) of a hunting picture sent from a grocery. As for “pink,” see “hunter’s pink" (310.26-7), and note. 367.10: “Tutty Comyn!:” everybody come in! (Also, another possible candidate for Joyce's "Come in!," as taken down by his amanuensis, Samuel Becket) 367.11: “Kullykeg!:” Tullybeg 367.13: “lymphing:” leaving 367.14: “avunculusts:” that is, dirty – lusting – old men. “Cul” signals what they lust after – the next page will corroborate. 367.20: “Jukoleon:” Napoleon combined with his nemesis, the Duke of Wellington 367.22-3: “the fionnling the dun and the fire, sending them one by other:” dove and raven. “Fionnling” and dubhlet:” the former sounds the Gaelic original of “Phoenix” Park, the second, Dublin. “Dubhlet:” doublet, being sent “one by other:” Noah sending the pairs of animals to his ark. (See .24 and note.) “Plumage” in this context would mean “fancy clothes” and probably hearkens back to Greene on Shakespeare, the upstart crow beautified with the feathers of others. (In Ovid, the crow is a denuded dove.) “Fionnling,” to fit, should accordingly signal some kind of clothing, but I can’t spot any. “One by other:” one after the other; both, side by side – equal-opposites 367.24: “residuance:” residual, in the sense of that which is left behind. Perhaps residence, as well 367.24: “delugion:” given the imperial(ist) theme, the idea is that the Roman legions left behind the (residual) delusions of grandeur which later re-emerged in the British imperium. Also, comparison to the earth left for Noah when the flood had subsided 367.25-6: “thalassocrats of invinsible empores, maskers of the waterworld:” the British Empire, supposedly invincible ruler of the seas 367.25-7: “thalassocrats of invinsible empores, maskers of the waterworld, facing one way to another way and this way on that way:” incorporates “Did you ever see a lassie (“thalassocrats”) / Go this way and that way…” The song goes with a circle dance whose participants would be “facing” one another. If the circle consisted of four dancers, they would correlate with four dimensions – “fourdimmansions.” (The mansions are presumably the residences of the four old men.) This conceit – circle, dance - sets up the Viconian sequence which follows. Also, considering the phantom fifth province of Irish history (Meath, the “middle” province, usually represented, I think, by the ass), it’s probably pertinent that the circle dance is around one dancer, standing in the middle. 367.25: “maskers:” given the dance, they are also masquers, participants at a masked ball. 367.27: “severalled their fourdimmansions: ” Jesus: “In my Father’s house are many mansions.” Oxford editors have “four dimmansions.” 367.28: “cawld:” caul: both a woman’s headdress and the membrane of some newborns 367.29: “solied bodies:” echoes Hamlet’s “solid flesh.” (Or – an editorial issue of the time – “sullied.”) Goes with “bourne” in “whereinbourne.” (Compare 365.5, above.) “Solied bodies,” in Vico’s third stage: bodies buried in the soil 367.31: “Wringlings upon wronglings:” wranglings upon wranglings: as soon as Noah settles down, and, later, as soon as Jesus is crucified, the fights start all over again, the latter over which of his gospellers is really infallible. Also, probably a play on the ongoing Vico thread: the Ringling Brothers' Barnum and Bailey show was a three-ring circus, and Vico's history is three intersecting cycles, following by Ricorso. P. T. Barnum appears both in Ulysses ("Circe") and FW. 367.31-2: “incomputables about an uncomeoutable:” echoes Wilde on fox hunting: “the unspeakable in pursuit of the inedible” (sometimes quoted as “uneatable”). 367.32: “uncomeoutable:” incomestible. (See previous entry.) Also, “Fox come out of your den” (176.5), from the children’s game of the same name: the hunted fox won’t (“-comeout-“) come out. 367.32: “kingcorrier of beheasts?:” king of beasts; brave in “cor”) heart. Also, king’s courier, like Davy Stephens of “Aeolus,” a “king’s courier” 367.34: “halifskin:” halif: Arabic for an ally, not a member of the tribe. Overtone of “halfskin” suggests that this hybrid status is reflected in his race. 367.34-5: “boomomouths from their dupest dupes:” given “deepest deeps” and “blowing,” the behemoths here are probably whales. (Echoes “in the lowest deep a lower deep,” from Paradise Lost, Book Four) 367.36-368.1: “blowing…[New paragraph] Guns:” “blowing great guns” is a maritime expression for heavy weather 368.1ff: “Guns…:” the party is almost over – it’s closing time, at 371.25-6 to be proclaimed with the (McHugh) usual (“Tids, genmen, plays”) “It’s time, gentlemen, please” by the pub’s (“Boumce! It is polisignstunter. The Sockerson boy.” (370.30)) bouncer and part-time policer, Sackerson. Despite appeals, no (“extinsion” (371.29)) extension of hours is permitted, although in one reading the bonafides, the Mamalujo four as contrasted with the twelve “sullivans” (142.26), get to hang around after hours, and in fact will linger on as the main presence of II.4. Your annotator interprets “Guns” as, primarily, the sound of the storm which has been heard from, intermittently, throughout the chapter, and one additional reason why the customers are reluctant to go outside. (See note to 367.36-368.1.) It is also Vico’s thunder (see .7 and note), scaring humanity into obedience to authority, as first evinced by .7-26’s series of Thou shalt nots. 368.2: "no good to gundy:" Digger Dialects (see 321.20 and note): of no advantage 368.3: “never underrupt greatgrandgosterfosters:” speaking of authority (see previous) – here, in one word, are four different kinds of father – great-grandfather, grandfather, ghost father (e.g. Hamlet, Senior), foster father - none of them under any circumstances ever to be interrupted. 368.5: “the fourlings:” the four old men, a.k.a. Mamalujo – a logorrheic lot who are, regardless, never to be interrupted 368.7: “Not to pad them behaunt in the fear:” not to pad themselves behind in the rear. Compare, in “Scylla and Charybdis,” Mulligan to Stephen when insinuating that Bloom lusts after him: “Get thee a breechpad!” Here, the message is the opposite: don’t pad yourself in the rear out of fear - misleading advice given by old lechers trying to disarm potential young objects of desire. As the next chapter will make clear, the Mamalujo four can be pretty creepy when it comes to sex. 368.7-8: "Not to go, tonnerwatter, and bungley well chute the rising gianerant:” the problem being that someone, (“bungley”) Buckley, already did just that, shot the Russian general, earlier in the chapter. On the one hand, it was an overtly parricidal act. On the other hand, equally-oppositely, “rising gianerant” is also the rising generation. (David and the giant Goliath may be part of the mix.) 368.7: “tonnerwatter:” German "Donnerwetter:” thunderstorm – see .1 and note. 368.8-9: “wandly be woking:” walking wanderingly, waking wonderingly 368.9: “jerumsalemdo:” the first “m,” setting “salem” apart, may serve to recall that Salem was once another name for Jerusalem. 368.10: “okey boney, this little figgy:” boner = erection; fig = vagina. Although the prohibitions being proclaimed (.7-24) are, what with the convolutions, double negatives, fractured syntax, etc., notably hard to comprehend - that’s probably part of the point - sexual transgression seems to be the main one. 368.12: “out of:” hailing from, as in “Circe:” “out of Maynooth” 368.13: “cullebuone:” again, an insinuation, building on .10: anus/boner, going together 368.13: “perperusual of the petpubblicities:” reading the newspaper 368.15-6: “treeing unselves up with one excite:” equivalent of painting themselves into a corner 368.16: “exite:” exit 368.16: “not to never be caving:” a double negative. In other words, do be caving. Possible reference to Vico, for whom civilization begins when thunder scares people into caves 368.18: “yesayenolly:” yea or nay 368.19: “Never to weaken up in place of the broths:” don’t water the soup. 368.20: “pleece of the poots:” poot = slang for fart. Also, French putain, prostitute; follows from “broths” (.19), brothels. Don’t let yourself get found waking up in brothels. 368.20-1: “never to ate the sour deans:” don’t hate Swift, the sour dean? In any case, recalls that at 35.35 HCE hurt his cause by speaking with “smoked sardinish breath,” presumably as a result of having (“ate”) eaten smoked sardines. 368.21: “anysin on their consients:” due to a printer’s error, the “Sin On” Bible read “sin on more” instead of “sin no more.” 368.22-3: “finely ending:” final end 368.23: “K.C. jowls:” likeliest reading of “K.C.” is probably King’s Council – a member of the king’s court (in two senses; see .25, 28 and note) or administration. Jowls as sign of advanced age 368.24: “the tavern’s secret booth:” also called the (“snugged then and cosied” (.36)) snug 368.25-28: “Just has bid to jab The punch of quaram on the mug of truth. [New paragraph] K.C. jowls, they’re sodden in the secret. K.C. jowls, they sure are wise. K.C. jowls, the justicestjobbers:” Justice in sense of judge or magistrate. The four old men as judges, as often in FW, drinking and bloviating together. (Also in “Lestrygonians:” Bloom envisions them “cracking a magnum” while bragging about the severity of their sentencings.) 368.25: “sip the tested sooth:” sift the tested (testified to) truth. Also, sip – sample the truth sparingly, as they sip their wine. 368.28-9: “they’ll find another faller:” regardless, the law will always find a fall guy. (As noted elsewhere, Joyce’s view of court trials is always jaundiced.) 368.30: “There is to see:” that is to say 368.30: “Squarish:” queerish 368.30-2: “Squarish large face with the atlas jacket. Brights, brownie eyes in bluesackin shoeings. Peaky booky nose over a lousiany shirt. Ruddy stackle hair besides a strawcamel belt:” face to shoes: high to low. Shirt to belt: depending on the shirt, the belt would be lower than or on a level with. All Google hits for (“lousiany”) louisine shirts are of shirtwaists, invariably worn by fashionable women (see also next entry) and cinched with a belt. In other words, a plausible sequence of up-down-left-right, the standard order for Mathew-Mark-Luke-John / Belfast-Cork-Dublin-Galway / crossing oneself in the Western rite 368.31: “bluesackin shoeings:” sacking/satin: coarse, lower-grade cloth (compare 116.35). On the other hand, blue satin shoes – according to the internet, invariably worn by women – were a sign of elegance and extravagance. 368.33: “Yea but:” You bet 368.34: “And was theys stare all atime?:” aside from talking, staring is pretty much all that the four old men will be doing in the next chapter. 368.36: “one percepted nought:” no one saw anything 369.1: “waywords:” waywards 369.2: “hinterhand:” Joyce punned on “hinterland” as “Hitlerland.” 369.2-3: “splane splication:” Byron on Coleridge: “I wish he would explain his Explanation.” 369.3: “That host that hast one on the hoose:” the host who hastened the house – that is, hurried the customers to leave. Again, it’s closing time. 369.4: “none none:” no one. Perhaps recalls 86.34-5: “Nullnull, Medical Square.” 0 0, on a door, signaled a privy. 369.5: “nose well down:” aviation term: keep the airplane’s nose well down, particularly in landings. Especially good advice during high winds – see 368ff. and note. Also, in Digger Dialects (see 321.20 and note): in a hurry 369.6-7: “With however what sublation of compensation in the radification of interpretation by the byeboys?:” the jurors – now six (see 356.5-6 with note, although “ontowhom” may include “and so on,” and the “tout” (.13) that follows numbers six more, as counted), going-to-Saint-Ives-wise, by verbs ending in “-ed” – are also textual exegetes, sifting and revising the subject’s testimony. 369.6-7: “radification:” radical ratification 369.7-8: “Mr G. B. W. Ashburner, S. Bruno’s Toboggan Drive:” includes Giordano Bruno. Bruno was, of course, “horribly burned” (Portrait, chapter five), leaving only ashes; “Toboggan” adds tobacco as another example of something burned and reduced to ashes. George Bernard ("W. Ash-") Shaw is also present. 369.7-8: “G.B.W. Ashburner:” God Be With…and the “Ashburner” would be the person or persons responsible for Bruno’s fate. 369.8-9: “Mr Faixgood, Bellchimbers:” a man of good faith who proves his piety by being a church bell-ringer. See next entry. Also a “bonafide” traveler. 369.9: “Carolan:” carillon 369.9: “Mr I. I. Chattaway:” someone who talks a lot, especially – I, I, etc - about himself 369.10: “Poplar Park:” see 33.27, where “the people’s park,” according to Mink, is Phoenix Park. (McHugh, however, has “People’s Park, Dún Laoghaire.”) 369.11: “T.T.:” teetotaler. (Appears in this sense in “Lestrygonians.”) Teetotaling – and prohibition – were important religious causes at the time. 369.11: “Multiple Lodge:” probably a play on “Unity Lodge,” a chapter name popular with Freemasons and other fraternal organizations 369.12: “ontowhom:” and so on 369.12-3:” ontowhom adding:” unto whom, adding: that is, in addition to whom, there were 369.15: “that lapped at the hoose that Joax pilled:” that lapped up the hootch (liquor; compare 5.9) that Joyce/Noah spilled: essentially what will happen at the end of the chapter, 380.7-382.30. 369.18: “kingcomed:” “thy kingdom come” 369.18-22: “That..story on?” a re-telling of HCE’s “nominigentilisation” (31.34), as first narrated in I.2, to be followed, from 369.23 to 370.14, by a six-point review of FW’s letter. Why? I suggest that the customers, told to leave, are dragging their feet – that it’s all to the good, for them, that this will “stunt the story on” (.22), that in particular the subject of the letter is by now so tangled that discussing it will be like looking for a needle in a haystack (.24-5) – it might go on forever. (Scheherazade would have approved.) 369.18: “inn court:” Inns of Court: London associations of barristers. Also, a reminder that the Mullingar House, through much of its history, was an inn. 369.19: “perchypole with a loovahgloovah on it:” echoes 31.2-3: “a high perch atop of which a flowerpot was fixed.” A glove on a pole, displayed or authorized by an official (here, the king), signaled the opening of a fair: see 567.31-3 and note. 369.23-370.14: “So…floon:” again, this paragraph reprises I.4 – the scrutiny of the letter. It begins by observing that trying to figure it out is like looking, not for one needle in a haystack, but for “needles” among “noodles” (.23). See next entry. Briefly, the stages are about “(a)” the writing and finding of the letter; “(b)” the much-anticipated reception of the letter; “(c)” the mishandled delivery of the letter; “(d)” gratitude at having received the letter at all, albeit in mangled form; “(e)” and “(f)” wondering whether the reading of the letter will go on forever or finally come to a (“Fool step” (370.13)) full stop. (As FW, it won’t – there is no full stop at 628.16.) 369.24: “noddling all about it:” compare “noddle,” in the much-quoted passage (120.11-4) generally taken to be about trying to read FW. 369.25: “secretary bird:” the secretary bird gets its name because of the quills sticking out from its head – like a harried secretary with pens and pencils stuck in the hair. Illustrates .23’s “needles…as many noodles,” with “noodles” as slang for “heads.” Also, compare 317.34-5. 369.25-6: “secretary bird, better known as Pandoria Paullabucca:” see McHugh: Biddy the hen (“Paulla-:” French poule, hen), whose unearthing of the letter with its (“-bucca,” "-bec" (.29)) beak opened a Pandora’s box. 369.27: “made belief:” make-believe. ALP is especially good at make-believe: see 625.5. 369.27: “authorsagastions:” authorizations. (The solicitor general (.26) has the power to authorize or the reverse.) Also, sagacity. Also, author’s suggestions. Also, “autosuggestions” (McHugh) would be from the subconscious, by way of hypnosis or hypnagogy. 369.28: “somewords:” both homewards and somewhere-wards: equal-opposites 369.28: “somewords to Senders:” one of many indications in FW that the letter, like the book, will boomerang – that it is bound to return to its sender. Glasheen includes this passage under “Anders”/”Enders,” “Miss,” noting that she is “sometimes the sender of the letter from Boston, Mass.” 369.28-9: “about her chilikin puck, laughing that Poulebec would be the death of her:” she’s writing affectionately about her scamp of a child (“chilikin”), joking – as parents still do – that he’ll be the death of her yet. (“Puck” probably includes the fairy-tale character of that name, as a type of Shem.) Also, speaking of something being the death of her, chicken pox (compare 371.12) – very much around in Joyce’s time and, with no vaccine yet available, sometimes fatal, especially to adults; a child might get off lightly but fatally infect its parent. (The letter was dug up by a (“Poulebec” (see .25-6 and note)) chicken. There is no consensus on how the disease got its name, but one theory was that it originated with chickens.) According to the letter as presented on page 111, an adult - Father Michael - has recently died, though everyone else is in good health. 369.30: “Madges Tighe:” the “Madge” or “Marge” or “Maggy” that Issy is always talking to; Tighe is Gaelic for poet. “Majesty” (McHugh), sometimes (as at 111.10-11) Maggy, is the usual addressee. 369.30-1: “when her daremood’s a grownian, is always on the who goes where:” when she’s in a certain mood (probably romantic) she’s on the alert. See next two entries. 369.31: “on the who goes where:” compare “Eumaeus:” “on the qui vive:” that is, on the watch, like a sentry asking “Who goes there?” 369.31-2: “hoping to Michal for the latter to turn up:” she’s on the alert for either a letter from Michael or for Michael himself (“the latter” – and “Michal” is the most recently named) to show up. Since, according to the letter, he’s been buried in a “funferall” (111.15) – here, “ephumeral” (.33) - this is unlikely, except perhaps in FW’s “wake” sense. Still, there’s still the letter. Compare Molly in “Penelope,” remembering how she yearned for letters when a girl and how Milly does now: “I wish somebody would write me a loveletter.” 369.32: “Michal:” the letter’s Father Michael has been feminized. “Michal” was David’s first wife; her death cleared the way for Bathsheba. 369.32: “capital tea:” as noted before, Tristram (Dermot) is often signaled by the “–“ of Morse code, usually doubled; it’s probably not coincidental that “capital tea” has two t’s. When capitalized, the horizontal line in T becomes the crossbar on Jesus’ cross. Also, the letter of page 111 ends with a tea stain. 369.33: “ephemeral:” OED on “ephemeris:” “a record of daily occurrences, a diary.” She hopes the letter shows up before the day is over (or before tea time) and it’s time to write in her diary. Overtone of “funeral” may express adolescent girl’s feeling that she’ll just die if it doesn’t. 369.33..35: “father…mickle:” again, Father Michael, from the letter. (The name is a sound-alike to Finn McCool, whose latter-day incarnation is to some degree the wake’s Finnegan, who, like Father Michael, died.) 369.34: “parcel…postoppage:” parcel post 369.35: “whence blows weather helping mickle:” variant on “It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good.” No matter where the wind blows, it will help many. Compare 28.10. 369.36: “that leader may twaddle out with a cubital lull:” “twaddle:” waddle. Also, critical commentary on the substance of most newspaper “leader”s – that is, editorials. (“Leader” occurs in this sense in “Aeolus.”) This one, contrary to its spelling here, was or should be printed with a capital L. 369.36-370.1: “hopes soon to ear, comprong?:” hoping soon to hear from you, understand? Compare the letter, 111.16: “hopes soon to hear.” “Prong” probably anticipates the fork-jabbings which will conclude the letter (124.8-12, 628.5). 370.1-10: “becakes….postcrapped:” item (c) corresponds to Shaun, the (“goatsman” (.1)) postman, the “bumbler” (.2), who somehow misdistributed the letter(s) – either the individual pieces of mail, pieces of the letter, or letters of the alphabet. Also, post-crapped: having devoured (.5) and digested the contents, he scattered the excreta in the “Dungbin” (.9). 370.1: “becakes:” it was a tradition to send a piece of the wedding cake to friends and family who did not attend the ceremony. This helps to account, I suggest, for the present of cake, regularly mentioned in the letter. See next entry. 370.5: “nirshe persent:” letter motif: basically, a nice present of cake(s) – compare 111.13-4. 370.5: “minstress:” minister/mistress - in Joyce’s time the British Postmaster General was a member of the cabinet, therefore a minister. 370.6-10: “skittered…postscrapped:” he carelessly scattered the letters he was supposed to deliver all over the place, for finders and keepers to later pick up, here and there. A version of the Sybil’s wind-scattered leaves of prophecy 370.7: “cavalierly:” cavalier – that is, contemptuously careless 370.7: “for ungeborn yenkelmen:” that is, for future (unborn, young) generations 370.8-9: “any olde howe and any old then:” now and then 370.9: “Dearthy:” suffering from dearth 370.10: “postscrapt:” the letter’s (111.18) “pee ess.” 370.11-2: “after it’s so long till I thanked you about I do so much now thank you so very much as you introduced me to fourks:” this seems to be ALP’s section. “Fourks” = fucks: the addressee deflowered her, for which she’s thankful. Compare 124.8-12, 626.12-3, 628.5. Also, you eat cake with a fork. (Probable source: the pits and scratchings in the letter paper, usually attributed to Biddy the hen.) Also - again (see 369.36-370.1 and note) those prongs. 370.12: “fourks:” fork-jabs at end of letter: see above item. 370.13: “will,:” well, - an ALP signature. As running water, a river; as still water, a well 370.15: “Nut it out:” to figure or calculate something out. Given context, something like “Get with it, soldiers!” 370.15: “peeby eye:” pebbled eyes. Compare 463.27. Pebbled eyes (or glasses) would make it harder to figure out what’s on the page. By Joyce’s time, the term “cobblestone” was current in ophthalmology for a kind of distortion in the field of vision. 370.16: “But. Top.:” from the bottom – butt – of the letter back to the top, comparable to FW’s last-page-to-first-page 370.16: “Top:” stop – as in a telegram; presumably different sense than ("Fool step") Full stop of .13 370.17: “Getobodoff:” go (or get) to bed? (Or Get out of or off of the bed.) Compare “Circe:” “cometobed hat.” The next item includes a dream. 370.19: “milisk:” O Hehir has “sweet, desire” – something, that is, in a “Treamplasurin,” a pleasurable dream. 370.19-20: “but dribble, a drob went down your rothole:” rathole – mouth. “Down the rathole” signifies money wasted, often more than once, in the same way. 370.22: “Gilligan-Goll:” compare 354.13: “he falls by Goll’s gillie.” 370.23-4: “What soresen’s head:” Christiani calls this “an untranslatable expletive” and adds that that the nearest equivalent would be “What the devil is this head that…” (At 245.33 he was “Watsy Lyke.”) See .25-6 and note. This marks the (re)appearance of the manservant in his capacity as pub bouncer. Again: closing time. 370.23: “bluebleeding:” blueblooded 370.23: “boarhorse:” warhorse 370.24: “rumpumplikun:” Rumpelstiltskin; probably not coincidental that, as with Work in Progress, the challenge was to guess his name. Also, republican. The Invincibles (see McHugh) were presumably anti-monarchy – that is, republicans. 370.25-6: “we cannot say whom we are looking like through his nowface:” again: earlier (245.33) the manservant is “Watsy Lyke.” 370.26: “It is of Noggens whilk dusts the bothsides of the seats of bigslaps of the bogchaps:” that is, one of his jobs is dusting the customer’s seats of the bar stools. Christiani suggests “someone who” for “Noggens whilk.” 370.28-9: “forfummed She-le-Zoyd:” farfamed Chapelizod, as the setting begins its transformation scene-like change into a ship. 370.30-1: “To pump the fire of the lewd into those soulths:” as is typical at closing time, the drinkers are guzzling their last drinks – their fire water – in a hurry. Compare 371.15-6: “capturing the last dropes of summour down through their grooves of blarneying.” 370.31: “those soulths of bauchees:” debauchés. “soulths of bauchees:” would then be “soul of debauchery,” which, probably coincidently, is a phrase applied by one George Watterston to the work of Thomas Moore. 370.31: “havsousedovers:” a souse is a drunk. Compare 222.8. As (McHugh) “half seas over,” it fits both pub and seagoing context. 370.33: “rancing there smutsy floskons nodunder:“ again, the manservant is the pub’s bottle-washer, charged with rinsing out (“there”) their ("smutsy”) smutty/dirty flasks and flagons. “Nodunder” – (McHugh: down under) – probably because the washing/rinsing is usually done below the level of the counter 370.33-371.1: “ycholerd for their poopishers, ahull onem Fyre maynoother endnow! Shatten up ship! Bouououmce! Nomo clandoilskins cheakinlevers! All ashored for Capolic Gizzards! Stowlaway there glutany of stainks! Porterfillyers and spirituous suncksters oooom oooom!:” heavy with anti-Catholic sentiment – the owner is C of E and the manservant, of Scandinavian origin, is presumably Protestant. (Kate, like the Maria of “Clay,” is Catholic and unhappy about being stuck in a Protestant establishment.) “Ycholerd:” choleric 370.34: “poopishers, ahull:” a ship has a poop and a hull. 370.34-5: “Shatten up ship:” shutting up the shop (McHugh) combined with battening down a ship 370.35: “clandoilskins:” Clondalkin is site of St. Brigit’s well. “Oilskins” is a common term for sea-going raingear. 370.35: “cheakinlevers:” to be chicken-livered is to be cowardly. Compare “Cyclops:” "whitelivered Saxons.” 370.35: “Bouououmce!:” again, the manservant is the pub’s bouncer. 370.36: “Stowlaway:” stowaway: again, goes with ship 371:1: “Porterfillyers and spirituous suncksters:” Paterfamilias…youngsters. Also, the tenacious customers are being ordered either to stop filling themselves with the pub’s porter and sucking up its spirits or to finish up both in a hurry. 371.1: “Spirituous suncksters:” spiritual suckers – that is, those taken in by a false religion. An insult, delivered by someone feeling (“vitupetards”) vituperous 371.2: “vitupetards in his boasum:” the Zurich Böög, (a.k.a. Bogge) burned at 6:00 p.m. on the first Monday of spring, stuffed with petards whose explosions signal what in some traditions is the new year; in this version, with its (“strongleholder” (.2)) strangling, “nobblynape” neck (.3), and “sunkentrunk” (.3) (“swinglyswanglers” (.3)) swinging, it’s apparently being hanged as well. (In the chapter’s concluding pages, the host will be hanging, or re-hanging, above a cheering mob; e.g. “Isn’t it great he is swaying above us” (377.36).) The Zwingli echoed in “swinglyswanglers” reinforces the Zurich connection, and William Tell (see McHugh on “sunkentrunk”) of course goes with Switzerland in general. As for the overtone of vituperation, “in his bosom” (compare “Ill nature” in Pope’s The Rape of the Lock, “her bosom [filled] with lampoons”), the manservant is frequently presented as harboring a store of resentments. 371.3. “swinglyswanglers:” given this sequence’s trajectory from brows to trunk, I suggest “swinglyswanglers” are the arms. In other words, a knuckledragger: goes with usually primitive (e.g. “bushbrows” (.3) bushy-browed) appearance of manservant 371.3: “sunkentrunk:” sunken chest 371.3-4: “that from tin of this clucken hadded runced slapottleslup:” the manservant has been rinsing up bottles since ten o’clock – almost certainly a.m., not p.m. Irish pub opening and closing times varied throughout the twentieth century, but a typical Irish Times report from 1908 Dublin has the hours as extending “from 10 a.m. to 11 p.m. daily,” with different times for Saturdays and Sundays. 371.4: “tin of this clucken:” din of the clucking chickens – as in the expression (waking) “up with the chickens” 371.4: “slapottleslup:” pottle: a vessel for drinks. Also, onomatopoetic rendering of his bottle-rinsing 371.4-5: “For him had hord from fard a piping:” he had heard the sound of piping from afar. 371.5: “piping:” boatswains signal orders by “piping.” 371.5: “As? Of?:” Alpha Omega 371.6: “Dour douchy:” among the English, the Dutch have or had a reputation for being dour. One notable example was William of Orange. 371.6-7: “He cud that loud nor he was young:” The period after “young” is anomalous. From here to 373.11, all other line breaks in the song will be signaled by a capital letter for the beginning of the next line, with no intervening punctuation. A misprint? Apparently, no genetic evidence, either way. 371.6-7: “He cooed that loud nor he was young. He cud bad caw nor he was gray:” Corvus the crow was turned from white to black (“gray” is presumably in between) and given a hoarse voice in place of a soft one, by Apollo. 371.7-8: “Like wather parted from the say:” in the original song, from Thomas Arne’s Artaxerxes, “water parted from the sea” is sea water washing inland and upriver. In tempo (slow, drawn-out) and spirit (it is sung by someone lamenting, although freed from prison, that he will never return to his true home) it seems strikingly at odds with its presentation here. “Say” is an Irish pronunciation of “sea.” 371.9: “Ostia, lift it:” in the mass, the host is lifted at the moment of consecration. The “Himhim. Himhim” of the next line may be the sound of the sacring bell, which accompanies the elevation. (In “Proteus,” Stephen remembers the sound as “Dringdring!”) Also, pub closings are sometimes announced with the ringing of a bell. See next entry. 371.10: “Himhim. Himhim:” in FW, this and similar sounds frequently signal a bell’s being rung – here, I suggest, the Mullingar’s version of what Bloom in “Calypso” calls a “shopbell,” sounding automatically as the door is shut. Shooing out the customers, Sackerson is (“Shatten up ship!”) shutting up shop. 371.11: “himmed:” hymned 371.12: “chuckinpucks:” chicken pox 371.12: “chayney:” at 213.5, “chayney" = China. 371.15-6: “grooves of blarneying:” that is, their throats, where the blarney comes from 371.16: “ere the sockson locked at the dure:” before the manservant Sackerson locked them out; overtone of Saxon invasion, knocking at the door. 371.17: “shuttinshure:” the manservant will also be shutting up the shutters: see, e.g. 23.5, 372.5. 371.17: “sture:” stare, as in the expression “left him staring” 371.18-9: “For be all rules of sport ‘tis right That youth bedower’d to charm the night Whilst age is dumped to mind the day:” like much else in these last pages, this anticipates the next chapter, III.4, in which a young couple in bed makes love while four displaced geezers look jealously on. 371.21: “The humming, it’s coming. Insway onsway:” see 378.1 and note. Again, in no way does this sound like Arne's languid and melancholy aria. 371.22-4: “Fingool MacKishgmard Obesume Burgearse Benefice, He was bowen hem and scrapin him in recolcitrantament to the rightabout:” while Sackerson is kicking them out, the publican himself is bowing and scraping to the departing customers: a good cop – bad cop act. 371.22: “Burgearse:” burgess; also barge-arse, fat-ass 371.23: “in recolcitrantament to the rightabout:” in “Lestrygonians,” to send someone to the rightabout is to force a reversal of position, figuratively or literally. This expulsion (see note to .22-4) is tantamount to that. 371.24: “probenopubblicoes clamatising for an extinsion:” given the context, "probenopubblicoes" are bonafides. The whole point of being a bonafide (see 368.1ff) is to get around the pub’s regular hours, but in this case their pleas – their (“clamatising”) clamoring for an (“extinsion”) extension, is denied. 371.25: “hostillery:” distillery – recalling Chapelizod’s “disused distillery,” mentioned in “A Painful Case.” Also, followed by “chargehand” and “bombing” (.25), overtone of artillery, not to mention hostility – the customers, bonafides or not, are not happy about being shown the door. 371.25: “chargehand:” sergeant? “Sergeant” originally meant a servant carrying out official orders. 371.26: “she been:” shebeen. Also, she (the boat) has been about to set off at any minute. Again, there’s been a ship-arriving-and-departing theme building since at least 370.17 (“in the same boat”) – the general idea seems to be that the customers, or some of them, will go home by water. (The Mullingar House is a short distance from the Liffey.) 371.26-7: “onawares:” unawares 371.28: “You here nort?:” you don’t hear (the calling of the roster for the departing?) 371.28: “rouster:” roster (of passengers) 371.30: “From Dancingtree till Suttonstone:” dancing tree, set-in-stone: the former traces to Mark 8:24 on the blind man given sight: “I see men as trees, walking” (compare 505.16), the second (set in stone) is a phrase indicating something for someone fixed and unchangeable. 371.31: “mull their sack:” sack = a sherry-like wine. Mulled sack would be a kind of punch. 371.34-5: “marshalsing:” marching and singing; overtone of Marseillaise 371.35: “perked on hollowy hill:” obvious? The Phoenix Park Wellington Monument is “parked” on a hillock. 371.36: “Dook:” according to Fritz Senn, “Dook” is Slavic for soul, spirit, or ghost. 372.1: “hircomed:” here comes(d) 372.2: “mausers:” Dick Whittington’s cat (see McHugh) made his owner’s fortune by being the best mouser (and ratter) in London. Also: again (see 354.12-3, 354.12 and notes) Irish rebels were the ones who used Mausers in the 1916 uprising. 372.2-3: “londmear of Dublin!...ples the dotter of his eyes:” Swift’s Vanessa Vanhomrigh was a daughter of the Lord Mayor of Dublin. 372.3-6: “And off coursse the toller, ples the dotter of his eyes with her: Moke the Wanst, whye doe we aime alike a pose of poeter peaced? While the dumb he shoots the shopper rope. And they all pour forth:” as reprise of 21.5-23.15: the “toller” is the father as turnpike keeper (31.1), that is “toll of the road” (127.1) porter, a.k.a “poeter.” The “dotter” is the prankquean-daughter, with her usual two-dot signature, in the initial telling signaled by her repeated questions about dot-shaped peas in a pod. (Also, as dotter of his eyes, the pupils. Joyce’s daughter Lucia was named for the patron saint of those with eye afflictions.) “Whye doe we aime alike,” combines “ye,” “we,” the “i” in “aime,” culminating in a portmanteau-word for “are,” “am,” and French for “love:” as in the prankquean episode, the issue being raised and dodged is the consanguinity of questioner and questioned, father and daughter. The “dumb” is the “dummy” (21.12), in this case tracing to the manservant Sackerson, tasked with putting up the shop’s shutters, especially in case of (“pour forth”) rain, like that which recurs in the “rain, rain, rain” refrains of the prankquean sequence. 372.3: “off course the toller:” the tiller has directed the ship off course 372.3: “toller:” toller of (“belles bows” (.1)), the Bow bells calling Whittington back to London 372.3: “dotter of his eyes:” Whittington’s marriage to his master’s daughter is part of the legend. Also, again, Issy is represented by the dots in two lower-case I’s, a.k.a. the Morse code for “I.” 372.3-4: “eyes…doe:” does’ eyes - soft, innocent and appealing. May, like the “sheep’s eyes” of “Circe,” go with flirtation 372.4: “Moke:” either donkey or donkey-like person – slow and slow-witted 372.4-5: “whye doe we aime like a pose of poeter peaced?:” Why do we seem alike, posed in the picture, please? Overtones of Porter, two peas in a pod; also, as in the Prankquean sequence of I.1, the right, suppressed answer is that we look alike because we are father and daughter - we both look like Porters because we both are, because I’m your daughter. 372.5: “while the dumb he shoots the shopper rope:” also: he shoots up the shop. In this retelling, anyway, the “dummy” of the Prankquean episode of I.1 is Sackerson, who at times, for whatever reasons, would like to shoot up the place. 372.6: “butly:” Buckley, Butt 372.6-7: “the rouged engenerand:” the Russian general 372.7-8: "benjamin liefest, sometime frankling to thise citye:” our likeliest candidate for postmaster; he once franked our mail. (In fact, Franklin was America’s first Postmaster General, which continues to be a cabinet position, if only because he started it.) In American iconography, Benjamin Franklin is, I was taught, its closest equivalent to Dick Whittington, at least before Abraham Lincoln came along: humble origins, bootstraps; luck and pluck; his decisive moment was leaving home (Boston) to find success in the bigger city of Philadelphia. Compare 375.9 and note. 372.8: “whereas bigrented him a piers half supporters for his arms:” who for his services was granted a pair of half supporters. (I can’t tell the difference between “supporter” and “half supporter,” but the latter does crop up in books of heraldry.) 372.9-12: “subporters…scenictutors:” eight names, from “Josiah Pipkin” to “Sequin Pettit,” followed by “the snug saloon seanad,” the four old men: the twelve customers, of whom the four are sometimes a subset. They are all subordinate (sometime) supporters of Porter. “Snug” and “saloon” can both refer to a preferred area in a pub; the former has that sense in “Cyclops.” In this sequence, anyway, the idea seems to be that the four will stay behind, as the old men of II.4. Again, the Mullingar House had a history of being an overnight inn. 372.9-10: “Raoul Le Febber:” Raoul the fibber 372.15: “savebeck:” sail back 372.16: “dinnasdoolins:” O Hehir says this means the people of Dublin 372.16-7: “swensewn snewwesner:” swan-sown: swans frequent the Liffey; Chapelizod is to the west of Dublin. 372.17: “weastinghome:” both westering and eastering, to get home. (The usual FW equal-opposites aside, this may raise the possibility that some of the customers hail from upriver rather than from Dublin.) 372.18-9: “after rainydraining fountybuckets (chalkem up, hemptyempty!):” before leaving the pub, they’ve drunk forty buckets worth of liquor, ordering the bartender to chalk the orders up on the slate – that is, without paying. (Questions of nonpayment have cropped up throughout; at .14 the departing customers were collectively “Wobbleton Whiteleg Welshers” – wobbling (from drink) blackleg (swindlers) welshers.) 372.19-20: “rockers on the roads:” song: “The Rocky Road to Dublin.” Also: all the walkers on the roads 372.19-20: “caught the wind:” that is, with a ship’s sail 372.20: “alley loafers:” Ally Sloper(s): cartoon drunken ne’er-do-well; appears in “Circe.” 372.21: “alley loafers passinggeering:” perhaps stowaways 372.24-5: “mirification:” mirification: making merry. Goes with “lutification,” a variant of “laetification” (compare 160.21), causing happiness. The latter is in OED. 372.24: “paludination:” given context, compare “peloothered,” in “Grace,” meaning drunk. 372.26: “roll in clover:” chorus to popular interwar song: “Roll me over / In the clover / Roll me over, lay me down and do it again.” See next entry. 372.26: “in clover:” well-off, especially when rolling in it 372.26: “his clay:” as with the title of “Clay,” his grave, the site of his death. They’ll be dancing – or rolling happily – on the grave of someone who has just suffered a violent death. See next entry. 372.26: “By wather:” by-water or bywater: nautical equivalent of a byway. Also, given context (see previous entry), the similarity to “Bywaters” – name of a famous 1923 case of wife and lover murdering her husband (see pp. 232, 243 with McHugh’s notes and mine) – seems more than coincidental. 372.28-9: “corry awen and glowry!:” here, as in “Cyclops,” it is probably pertinent that “Garryowen and Glory” celebrates a gang of lawless ruffians. 372.29: “Brownaboy Fuinnninuinn’s:” “Barnaby Finnegan:” see McHugh. Some other allusions to this song which do not appear in Annotations: “I’m a decent gay labouring youth:” compare 6.23: “dacent gaylabouring youth.” “I married but once in my life / But I’ll never commit such a sin again.” Compare “Handmarried but once in my Life and I’ll never commit such a Sin again.” (176.13-4) (Also, compare Mulligan in “Scylla and Charybdis:” “A Honeymoon in the Hand.” “His father had cabins of mud:” compare 244.5-6: “mud cabins,” also 380.36-381.1 “Which caused her to cry and grin again:" “to Finnegan, to sin again and to make grim grandma grunt and grin again” (580.10-20). 372.31-2: “Rantinroarin Batteries Dorans. And that whistling thief, O’Ryne O’Rann:” no doubt among other things, an account of the weather: as throughout most if not all of the chapter, there is a storm (with the expected result “muchrooms, come up during the night” (625.19-20)), anthropomorphically ranting and roaring and battering down the doors, whistling through chinks and cracks, in a way that recalls (or originated) the rann of I.2, “to the rose of the winds and the blew of the gaels” (43.27). 372.31: “that whistling thief:” “The Whistling Thief:” folk song 372.32: “O’ Ryne:” Orion, hibernicized 372.32: “catch:” song 372.34: “wetsend:” West End: fashionable London district 372.35: “Hide! Seek!:” children’s game: “Hide and Seek” 373.1: “digged:” digs – slang for residence 373.1: “Soother:” sooth (to say) 373.4: “sailalloyd donggie:” compare the “celluloid doll” of “Circe.” Celluloid dolls were popular in the early 20th century. 373.6: “hoompsydoompsy:” as at 363.3, either “Upsa-daisy!” or “Hoops-adaisy!” Given setting of up-and-down waves, would seem at least as pertinent as Humpty Dumpty’s one-way fall. 373.9: “rares:” rears, raises. (Latter goes with “hoist” in “Hoisty.”) 373.12: “Horkus:” Hark! (Compare 245.14: “horker,” from Greek horchen, to listen.) 373.13: “hempshelves:” hemp – from which nooses for hanging commoners are made. Among other things, there is a lynching in prospect or progress; see 374.4-5, later 377ff. 373.13-4: “hiding that shepe in his goat:” A play on the expression “to separate the sheep from the goats,” only here with the usual sense reversed: he’s a sheep hiding as a goat, not the other way around. Also, hiding that shape in his coat (McHugh) returns us to the story of the hunchbacked captain negotiating with the tailor. (Also to the hunchbacked Richard III: see note to .15-6.) 373.14: "bearfellsed:” bear’s fell: bear’s hide, probably with fur attached. “Fell” occurs in this sense in “Nausicaa.” 373.14-6: “And for rassembling so bearfellsed the magreedy prince of Roger…Heigh hohse, heigh hohse, our kindom from an orse!” Oxford editors insert “Thutthud” after “Roger,” completing an overtone of “Richard the Third.” One of (see McHugh) W.C. Macready’s most celebrated performances was as Richard III, here represented by “My kingdom for a horse!” and, later, by “the hunk in his trunk” (.18) and “pigstrough” (.19): Richard’s insignia was the boar; hence, for instance, this, from Richard III, V.2.7-10: "The wretched, bloody and usurping boar, That spoils your summer fields and fruitful vines Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough In your inbowelled bosoms, this foul swine…" “Bearfellsed:” barefaced 373.16: “orse:” orts: minimal meal made of fragments. Pretty much what Esau trades his birthright for; the story continues with “Bruni Lanno’s woollies on Brani Lonni’s hairyparts” (.16-7) – the (Latin lana) wool that Jacob used to counterfeit Esau’s hairiness. Used in this sense – “orts and offals” – in “Scylla and Charybdis,” continuing from “Telemachus:” You have eaten all we left, I suppose.” 373.17: “insalt foul:” foul insult 373.17: “foul:” for 373.18: “Stop his laysense:” he’s a publican. Cancel his liquor license – that’ll show him. 373.19: “Ink him!:” take down his name! Compare 99.16-8. 373.20: “puncheon:” in sense of short post 373.20: “Deblinity devined:” a highly sarcastic “Divinity defined,” as in, That’s what he thinks of himself. Also, Dublin defined/divined; we just heard, also sarcastically, that he thought of himself as (“Alddaublin” (.19)) All Dublin. 373.21: “methylogical mission:” methodical Methodist mission. As elsewhere, he’s looking for girls under the guise of rescuing them from sin. Also, looking for metheglin – a kind of mead, made from fermented honey. (See also 374.1 and note.) Being sought by the (honey-loving) bear-self present throughout this passage (“bearfellsed” (.14), “orse” (ursa (.16)), “Bruni” (.16)) 373.21: “imberillas:” McHugh has imber, Latin for rain. Combined with approximation of female suffix “ella,” as with the “cloudy” “Nuvoletta” (159.10, .7) of I.6, or “Nubilina” (304.19) or (see next) “Reinette,” signifies Issy & co. As elsewhere, he’s on the lookout for young girls. 373.21-2: “And calling Rina Roner Reinette:” he’s flattering her: “Reinette Ronayne” just simply sounds fancier than “Rina Roner.” (With ”To what mine answer is a lemans” (see McHugh), she repels the advance, although the archaic sense of “leman” (see McHugh) complicates things. ) Also, play on “rain;” compare 627.11-2. 373.23: “Arderleys, beedles and postbillers heard him:” the three witnesses of the park scene. Usually soldiers, and in this case still in stations of authority: a military orderly, a beadle, and someone officially authorized to post bills. 373.23-4: “Three points to one:” that is, all three of the people just named are pointing him out as guilty. 373.24: “Ericus Vericus corrupted into ware eggs:” “corrupted” in sense of (OED) linguistic “corruption:” “Change of language, a text, word, etc. from its correct or original condition to one of incorrectness, deterioration, etc.” “Ware eggs” is a corruption of Earwig, in turn a corruption of Earwicker, in turn a corruption of the Latin original “Ericus Vericus.” (Which, to be sure, would itself have been a grammatically messed-up derivation of “Ericus Verus.”) This top-down version of Earwicker’s naming is pretty much the opposite of the one given in I.2. Christiani suggests that “ware eggs” may come from Swedish varig, purulent – more corruption. 373.24-5: “Dummy up:” be quiet. 373.25: “distillery:” again: Chapelizod’s (“A Painful Case”) “disused distillery?” 373.25-6: “Run him a johnsgate down jameseslane:” James and John – Jesus’ “sons of thunder” and, recurringly, a variant of the Shem-Shaun faceoff. John was the name of both the child who was born and died before James Joyce and of the next in line, John Stanislaus Joyce. 373.26: “Begetting a wife which begame his niece:” on one possible level, a Freudian-displacement way of saying that he married his daughter, dream-censored to niece. In I.1, the prankquean, wanting to know why the two of them look so much alike, is “the niece-of-his-in-law” (21.14-5). 373.27: “youngthings into skintighs:” young things: attractive young women. “Skintighs:" skin-tight tights. Also, scanties: minimal woman’s underwear 373.27: “dizzy spells:” Isabelle(s) 373.28: “Gladstools:” that is, Happy Turds – a (made up, to be sure) brand name for digestive complaint. One of many signs that Joyce loathed Gladstone. Not a coincidence that “dizzy” Disraeli, Gladstone’s perennial opposite, shows up in the previous line. 373.29: “huedobrass:” brass-colored – that is, gold 373.30: “Rorke relly!:” compare “the rock o’ralereality” (289.3-4) 373.31-2: “Pass out your cheeks:” “Hand in your checks/cheques:” slang for: to die. Later, the dying ALP is “passing out” (627.34). 373.33: “parssed:” pierced 373.33: “warder barded:” John Taylor, Elizabethan “water bard” or “water poet.” He was a waterman: his job was to ferry customers across the Thames to, among other places, the Globe Theatre. First to mention Shakespeare in print 373.33: “bollhead…alley:” Bull Alley, Dublin 373.33-5: “We just are upsidedown singing what ever the dimkims mummer allalilty she pulls inner out heads:” a classic case of what today would be called an earworm. (Compare 623.19 and note.) Some won't-go-away song, probably “Water Parted From the Sea” renditions (371.6-32, with later follow-ups), originated with a tune they overheard ALP humming. 373.34: “upsidedown:” that is, head over heels. 373.35-6: “This is not the end of this by no manners means:” in other words, menacingly: We’re not done with you yet. 373.36: “crops:” as in “cropse” (55.9) – dying/renewing vegetation god 374.1: “how your mead of, mard, is made of:” mead is made from fermented honey. 374.2: “conning:” learning by heart. Compare “Proteus:” “a delicate Siamese conned a handbook of strategy.” 374.3: “flaunt to the fair:” from Irish expression “take to the fair:” display/parade in public, here in showy way 374.3: “trancedone:” traced-on; learned – conned – in a trance. Also as (see McHugh) the Boston Transcript, the letter from Boston 374.3-4: “boyscript:” junior of a manuscript 374.4: “tittivits:” titivating (alternate form of “titillate”) titles – the newspaper’s headlines 374.4-5: “You’ll read it tomorrow, marn, when the curds on the table:” compare 124.1-27. Evening Transcript or not, like Oliver Wendell Holmes he is reading a Boston paper, presumably specified as such because FW’s letter comes from Boston, at (“marn”)ing breakfast, with a dish of curds on the breakfast table. In a confused way the substance is hostile – see, especially, .6, .7, and notes. 374.5: “curds on the table:” putting cards on the table: when secrets are revealed 374.5: “A nigg for a nogg:” nig nog: Yorkshire term for fool. Also, tit for tat 374.5-6: “a thrate for a throat:” hangman’s rope – certainly a threat for a throat. Again, the import of what he is reading is menacing. 374.6: “The auditor learns:” sounds like some gossip columnist’s tag line: your correspondent has just heard… 374.6: “In preplays to Anonymay’s left hinted palinode:” what he is reading is framed as a (“preplays”) reply to some (anonymous) previous item in the paper. Oxford editors have “preplay” for “preplays.” 374.6: “left hinted palinode:” like left-handed compliment, a left-handed retraction: the opposite of what it pretends to be 374.7: “inspiterebbed:” inspired/in spite/in spit/interrupted/inspissated: the last of these word occurs once in FW, applied to Shem (179.25). Gist: a suspicion that the “palinode,” evidently malicious, was “obviously” inspired by a “sibspecious” – "suspicious” – “connexion.” Equal-oppositely, both suspicious and beneath (sub) suspicion – but then, as in “Circe,” “beneath suspicion” is a curiously double-edged term, on one level the same as “above suspicion,” on one level the opposite. 374.7-10: “Note …farce!:” the Boston Evening Transcript was a relatively staid production. Still, these are all the marks of some sensationalist tabloid. (“Notes of admiration!” (.8) are probably exclamation marks.) 374.9-10: “invented gommas, quoites puntlost, forced to farce!:” compare 108.33-6. Though not unique, Joyce is unusual among English (as opposed to French) writers in eschewing inverted commas, which he called an “eyesore” and here dismisses as (“quoites puntlost”) quite pointless. For “forced to farce,” compare the typographic mirror-image F-(reverse)-F faceoff of 18.36: the idea may be that the first and second set (“vs.”) are also reverse reflections of one another. 374.10: “pipette:” words like this always or almost always signify Issy. She is, at times, a non-stop talker, and here “pipette will say anything.” 374.11-2: “And you know what aglove means in the Murdrus dueluct:” i.e. throwing down a glove (or gage) can instigate a “dueluct” (etymologically, due-luct, two people wrestling) between those of murderous bent. Also, O Hehir glosses as “eagla:” Gaelic for fear; compare 475.1,13. 374.12-3: “rompant culotticism, fugle for the gleemen and save, sit and sew:” the French sans-culottes were revolutionary radicals; therefore the opposite, rampant culotticism, especially as endorsed by (“rompant culotticism”) Roman Catholicism, is the opposite: conservative and domestic. Better to stay at home by the hearth, sewing and saving. The prescription will soon (.16) be summed up as “lawanorder on lovinardor:” law-and-order constraints on the disruptive passions, as enjoined by the regular (“reeling”) in church of the (”postoral lector”) pastoral letter (374.17). 374.15: “Dougherty’s:” doughboy’s 374.15: “duckboard:” planks used in WW I trenches, by (see previous entry) doughboys 374.16: “Boy of Biskop:” boy bishop: Medieval custom of appointing a chorister or other boy to take the place of the bishop from December 6 to December 28 374.17: “reeling around:” apparently the letter is, super-traditionally, inscribed in a scroll, not a codex; compare, for instance, 14.17-8. Some have suggested that FW be considered as a scroll or a Möbius strip. 374.17: “around:” aloud 374.17: “postoral:” posted 374.17-8: “Epistlemadethemology for deep dorfy doubtlings:” the subject of the pastoral epistle/letter, especially directed at those mired in religious doubt. “Dorfy” (see McHugh) implies provinciality. 374.19: “Our Island, Rome and duty:” Ireland, the Catholic Church, and duty to the British Empire: the three “masters” to which Stephen is a servant (“Telemachus”) 374.20: “the breach contact:” given proximity of culottes (.13), pants and sewing (.14), batting, hide and sack (.19-21), “breach” includes “breeches.” 374.20: “the vendoror, the buylawyer:” the seller, the buyer 374.21: “Finnish Make goal!:” Finish off Finn McCool/Finnegan, making him a (dead) ghoul! This sequence revisits the last pages of I.1, where the resuscitated Finnegan is told to lie back down and die for good. 374.22-3: “Numah:” pneuma - breath 374.23: “Nomon:” gnomon; Noman: Odysseus’ name with the Cyclops – given that Odysseus was, through most of the Odyssey, a wanderer, the list, beginning with “Nomad” (.22), may here come full circle. Also, a threat or prophecy of death: soon you’ll be no more, no man. 374.23: “Hence counsels Ecclesiast:” given the message just delivered (.22-3), the Ecclesiastes “counsel” is probably “To everything there is a season,” etc., especially “a time to die.” 374.24: “resumption” – presumption – i.e. given context, presumption of guilt 374.25: “dossier:” the (“forgein offils” (.24)) Foreign Office’s dossier on him. Also, boxing slang: “to send to dorse:” to lay an opponent on his back 374.25-7: “Darby’s in the yard, planning it on you, plot and edgings, the whispering peeler after cooks wearing an illformation:” See McHugh: in “The Peeler & the Goat” an Irish policeman arrests a goat for treason, threatens him with handcuffs, and vows to testify (falsely) against him, having him transported. “Darby’s:” darbies = handcuffs. (Occurs in “Circe.”) “Peeler:” English policeman. “Cooks wearing:” cook’s swearing (testimony against you, this time from Kate). “Illformation:” false and incriminating testimony 374.25-6: “plot and edgings:” both plot against you and your burial plot, trimmed at the edges 374.27-8: “And dirt cheap at a sovereign a skull!:” a “sovereign” was one pound sterling. Compare the hangman Rumbold in “Circe:” “Five guineas a jugular” - one pound per beheading would indeed be a bargain. I suggest that this also reflects the tradition, known to Joyce (see 516.19 and note), that one George Joyce was the beheader of Charles I, his sovereign. 374.29-32: “Ascare winde is rifling again about nice boys going native. You know who was wrote about in the Orange Book of Estchapel? Basil and the two other men from King’s Avenance.” "Orange Book:” the “nice boys” are presumably [“Ascare winde”’s] Oscar Wilde’s rent boys. Basil Hallward is the – eventually – erstwhile friend of The Picture of Dorian Gray. Three men, Basil and two others, are going to testify for the prosecution, giving King’s Evidence. The three soldiers of the park scandal are usually the first of HCE’s accusers. 374.32: “cold brand:” cold branding, a.k.a. freeze branding: a frozen, as opposed to heated, brand applied to cattle. Around in Joyce’s time, as it is now. Among its advantages, it is presumed to be less painful. Also, compare 486.14ff. 374.33: “brow…sinus:” sinuses extend to area above eyebrows. Also, given following stage-Chinese, Sino- 374.33: “Cainfully!:” he has been branded with the mark of Cain, on his “brow” (.33). Also with (“sinus the curse”) the sign of the cross – together, an emblematic felix culpa 374.34-5: “Hung Chung Egglyfella now speak he tell numptywumpty topsawys belongahim pidgin:” aside from (see .33 and note) sinus-Sino connection, the pronunciation here may be from someone with a cold or other sinus congestion. 374.34: “Egglyfella:” ugly fellow 374.36-375.1: “How you fell from story to story like a sagasand to lie:” in sense of floors of building: he’s falling from one to the next like a sandbag, a sack of sand. Also, his testimony didn’t hold up in court: he kept falling back from one lie to the one behind it. 375.1-2: “having a finger a fudding in pudding and pie:” expression: having a finger in every pie – describes someone with many financial connections, some of them probably shady 375.3: “Bottom anchor:” secures and grounds the bottom of some structure. 375.5: “cruces:” curses 375.5-6: “old Hunphydunphyville’ll be blasted to bumboards by the youthful herald:” since the outset (4.32, 30.2), (“herald”) Harold has been an alternate version of HCE’s first name. As predicted, he is being replaced by a younger version of himself. (Of the available candidates listed by Glasheen, Harold Bluetooth, “Danish king whose baptism marked Denmark’s conversion to Christianity,” seems the likeliest.) “Bumboards:” besides “bombards,” compare the “bedboards” of 98.6, lining HCE’s underwater retreat. 375.7: “who would once you were:” common tombstone inscription: “As you are now, so once was I.” (Compare 535.3-4.) 375.8: “Brittas:” Brutus – mythical Trojan founder of Britain 375.8: “anarthur:” that is, they’d rather have him, “[H]erald” or, perhaps (see previous) Brutus, in any case not King Arthur, to be remembered as the proper founder of Britain. 375.9: “poor riches:” Poor Richard – pseudonym for Benjamin Franklin of Poor Richard’s Almanac, popular source of proverbs, including advice on how to get rich. (Compare 372.7-8 and note; see next entry.) 375.9-10: “Two cents, two mills and two myrds:” in American currency, a cent is a penny (but also short for hundred); a mill is a tenth of a penny (but also short for million). “Two cents” is/was an American expression for something of negligible value, e.g. “I wouldn’t given two cents for…” “Myrds” – merds – presumably devalues things even more. (Also, see McHugh.) 375.10: “us rangers:” strangers. Also, probably the soldiers of the park scene 375.14-5: “Hired in cameras, extra!” given that the trial, as usual, is rigged (e.g. by “His Honour Surpacker on the binge:” see McHugh), the implication is probably that the judge charges extra for testimony delivered in camera. Also, a newsboy’s shout about the latest from a sensational trial 375.15-6: “So yelp your guilt and kitz the buck:” to the defendant: you might as well just save time by proclaiming -yelping - your guilt from the outset and kicking the bucket. Again: all trials in Joyce are bogus. 375.16: “buck:” American slang for dollar 375.16-7: “You’ll have loss of fame from Wimmegame’s fake:” compare 192.19-20, in the midst of a densely autobiographical sequence: “(fame would come to you twixt a sleep and a wake)” – the celebrity that descended on Joyce in 1922, after the completion and publication of Ulysses, with Molly’s somnolent “yes,” before the beginning of FW. Now, in the years of writing FW, and publishing occasional excerpts, the dismay and disappointment of his former allies and boosters. Loss of fame. 375.17: “fake. Forwards!:” fateful words 375.18: “read out by the Nazi Priers:” to read someone out of something is to dismiss them, for cause, from a group. Also, aside from (McHugh) the legal term “nisi prius,” this and cognate terms throughout FW sometimes designate a forceps delivery. 375.19: “crucket…wecker your earse:” cricket as insect, next to earwig, with syllables in reverse order. Also, cricket the game is played with wickets. 375.19: “It will wecker your earse:” Bonheim says “wecker” is German for alarm clock. Makes sense if “earse” = ears. 375.21: “Richmond Rovers:” Auckland rugby league. (Thank you, internet.) See next entry. 375.21-2: “Scrum around:” in rugby, to form a scrum around the ball 375.24: “sporting the insides of a Rhutian Jhanaral:” expression often found in P.G. Wodehouse - which generally means that it was in the air - about some angry antagonist: “he wanted to see the colour of my insides.” 375.25-6: “Mrs Ex-Skaerer-Sissers is bribing halfpricers to pay for the widower:” the tradition of paying for prayers to be said or masses performed for the “repose of the soul” of the (usually recently) dead. “Widower” in the sense of the husband who, by dying, made her a widow. 375.27: “marrimont:” marriage. Also, as usual in FW, merriment at the wake, including (“jigses” (.27)) the dancing of jigs 375.27-8: “stolen mace and anvil:” stolen/store-bought lace and veil (for marriage) 375.28: “Magnes:” probably addressed to Margaret/Marge, as usual paired with Issy: the one is wearing stolen clothes, the other (“Berkness cirrchus clouthses” (.28-9)) borrowed clothes, apparently also bridal in appearance: they make her (elsewhere frequently represented as a cloud) look white and diaphanous, like a cirrus cloud. Also: Maigneis, Finn McCool’s first wife 375.29-30: “Playing down the slavey touch:” like Farrington’s date, the “slavey” in “Two Gallants,” a sexually available woman of the lower orders. “Playing down:” downplaying: we’re going to minimize that part of her past. “Touch:” Irish slang for sex 375.30: “fancy cutter:” both fashionable tailor and luxury yacht – sailor and tailor, together at last 375.31: “espied her aseesaw:” it takes two to play on a see-saw: again, Issy and Marge. As elsewhere, the suspicion arises that, if that’s what the girls were doing when he first “espied” them, they must have been awfully young. 375.31: “on a fern:” from afar 375.31-2: “So nimb, he said, a dat of dew:” see note to .28, first note to .31. It gets worse: “nimb” as incipient “nimbus,” Latin for cloud, distilled to a dot of dew; daughter. Dots are Issy insignia. Also, in Joyce, "dew" is usually semen. 375.31: “nimb:” nimble – something evident either from her tree-climbing or see-sawing 375.32: “dat:” again, daughter, dot. Dot of dew: like the little cloud – Nuvoletta – of p. 159, who comes from and returns to dew, dripping into the river 375.32: “Bree:” O Hehir: hillside or headland 375.33: “Vikloe:” Wicklow (203.1) was the site of Issy/ALP’s seriatim deflowering. 375.34: “caulking trudgers:” cork trousers – based on belief that artificial legs were made of cork (supposedly because invented by one John Cork). Compare “cork legs” in “Aeolus." 375.35: “Address deceitfold of wovens weard:” address/a dress as deceitful as a woman’s word. Also, of course, dresses are for wearing; some are woven. 375.35-6: “The wonder of the women of the world together, moya!” the most wonderful of all women, supposedly! 376.2-3: “Be moving abog:” be moving along: standard order given by police to itinerants 376.3: “You cannot make a limousine lady out of a hillman minx:” The Hillman Minx was an inexpensive (and, speaking from personal experience, pretty lousy) car, here contrasted with luxury “limousine.” (See 314.35-315.1 and note.) Also, as McHugh notes, the Minx was exceptionally small, as contrasted with the stretched-out limousine: you cannot make something bigger out of something smaller. “Minx” is also a term (occurs in “Nausicaa”) for a forward young woman, as opposed to a lady. 376.4: “Listun till you’ll hear the Mudquirt accent. This is a bulgen:” Compare 9.9: “This is Bode Belchum.” Kate’s low-class accent is evidently the “Mudquirt accent” demonstrating that the woman in question is not a lady after all. 376.7: “Rosairette’s egg:” rosary egg: egg-shaped container for holding rosary. Most if not all of the items in the catalogue of Kate’s possessions (.5-9) reflect her belligerent pietism; even the “trimmings” were “off the [Christmas] tree” (.7-8). 376.8: “voterloost:” Waterloo loot. (Again: Kate.) Also, voter list: list of registered voters, presumably for contest between “MacBruiser” and “Norris Nobnut” (.9). As a suburb of Dublin, Clontarf holds City Council elections. 376.10: “Becracking his cucconut between his kknneess. Umpthump:” this is how MacBruiser beat the man whose nob – knob – head – was a nut, by squeezing his head between his knees until it cracked. (Also, see McHugh.) “Kknneess. Umpthump” is presumably onomatopoetic. 376.10-3: “Here Inkeeper, it’s the doatereen’s wedness morn! Delphin dringing! Grusham undergang! And the Real Hymernians strenging strong at knocker knocker! Holy and massalltolled!:” this may represent a charivari – to quote from Wikipedia, “Charivari (or shivaree or chivaree, also called 'rough music'), is the term for a French folk custom in which the community gave a noisy, discordant mock serenade, also pounding on pots and pans, at the home of newlyweds” – that is, the “doatereen’s wedness morn.” 376.11: “stringing strong:” singing song, loudly 376.13-6: “You ought to tak a dos of frut…twelve stone hoovier…scurves you right:” Two reasons for taking a dose of fruit: 1. to move his bowels, thus reducing his (excessive) weight (also, see .29 and note); 2. to prevent or treat scurvy 376.13: “Holy and massalltolled:” tolling the church bell for (holy) mass, in this case apparently a nuptial mass 376.14: “You’re getting hoovier:” you’re feeling [or your eyes are feeling] heavier: stage-hypnotist patter 376.14: “twelve stone:” 168 pounds - presumably (see previous entry) heavier than he felt before 376.14: “fullends:” fully 376.15: “corpus entis:” (non) compos mentis? 376.16: “Aunt as unclish am they make oom:” expression: And as [something] as they make ‘em. Given context (“Aunt,” niece, nephew, Dutch for “uncle” (see McHugh)), “unclish” probably means uncle-like. Dermot and Grainne are in the vicinity, and Dermot is Finn’s nephew. 376.17: “you bound not to loose’s:” you bet it’s – that is, you’re bound not to lose if you bet that she’s gone on him 376.17: “gone on:” she’s fallen for 376.19: “clapped her charmer:” clapped her (charming) eyes on. (Can work both ways – she was charmed when her eyes first saw him; he was smitten when she flashed her eyes at him.) 376.19: “The eitch is in her blood:” The itch is in her blood: she lusts after him. 376.20: “lupsqueezer:” a puckerer, for purposes of kissing. See next item. 376.21: “And she shows how he’ll pick him the lock of her fancy:” she shows him how to pick a lock – open it without a key. In context, may be lock of chastity belt. Also, probably, taking a lock of the hair of the one she fancies, Dermot. As usual in FW, the allusion to Arrah-na-Pogue (.21) fuses two stories: 1. of Arrah passing a written message to her lover by way of a kiss; 2. of some woman (the likeliest candidate, I think, is Houdini’s wife, in some accounts) passing a key to her husband by way of a kiss. See note to 279.fn. 9, line 278). 376.23-4: “kiss…couddled…Huggins:” kissing, cuddling, and hugging 376.24-5: “Sparkes is the footer to hance off nancies:” nance or nancy: an effeminate, foppish man, often assumed to be homosexual – not a sort to be welcomed in most Irish pubs of Joyce’s time. Given this context, the “footer” is a pub’s kicker-outer (Sackerson, by whom “foottreats [are] given to malafides” (141.12-3)). “Footer” is perhaps owing to French foutre, fuck. 376.25-6: “bunkledoodle down:” bunk down – that is, go to bed 376.25: “Scaldhead, pursue!:” mixes up two Finn McCool episodes: 1. his pursuit, as an aged (“Scaldhead”) cuckold, of Dermot and Grainne. 2. an early disease which caused him to go temporarily bald. (Despite that episode, Finn is usually pictured with a full head of hair.) See next entry. 376.25: “Scaldhead:” Erasmus Darwin: a “contagious eruption [that] affects the roots of the hair.” 376.27: “time, drink, and hurry:” closing of pub: Time, please! Drink up! Hurry up! 376.27-30: “your own club…the finest of companies:” Finn’s Fenians 376.28-9: “fistful of burryberries were for the massus for to feed you living in dying:” some berries would be an effective treatment against both scurvy (.25; see note to .13-6) and beriberi. 376.28: “massus:” missus, as master – she wears the pants 376.28-9: “for to feed you living in dying:” compare “Cyclops:” “he’d try to downface you that dying was living.” In “Circe,” Stephen is remembered as having said – like the young Joyce – that “death is the highest form of life.” 376.29: “Buy bran biscuits and you’ll never say dog:” 1. dog biscuits frequently contain bran. 2. Bran bread is recommended for beriberi (.29). 3. Bran is/was considered a key ingredient of health foods, partly because 4. it is a remedy for constipation. 376.31: “Slick of the trick:” “Slick” is apparently the name of one of the Fianna listed here, making six in all. 376.33: ”Deaf to the winds:” deaf to the world 376.35: “softing what rushes:” in some versions, the reeds that hear Midas’ secret are rushes. Compare this with “The siss of the whisp of the sigh of the softzing at the stir of the ver grose O arundo of a long one in midias reeds” (158.6-7) – in Midas’ reeds 376.35: “Merryvirgin forbed:” maybe obvious, but the Virgin Mary forbidding something, and a virgin going merrily to (presumably marriage) bed, certainly qualify as an equal-opposite. 376.36: “soullfriede:“ fried sole – as an ingredient in fish-and-chips 376.36: “ating it now:” they’re eating it and hating it. Wedding or not, it seems like a Lenten meal. 377.1: “Angus!:” lamb (Latin agnus) is traditional Easter (or Passover) meal. 377.4-5: “Head of a helo, chesth of champgnon, eye of a gull!:” three equal-opposites: head of a hero/helot; chest of a champion/mushroom (OED definition 2b: “a contemptible person”); sharp eye of a seagull/dull eye of a fool 377.5-6: “The groom is in the greenhouse, gattling out his. Gun!:” given one meaning of “greenhouse” (in Ulysses, a public urinal) the gun he’s getting out is his penis. 377.6: “That lad’s the style for Lannigan’s ball!:” given the story of the song “Lannigan’s Ball” (McHugh), this probably means that he knows how to dance. 377.8-9: “draw the nosebag on your head:” 1. Dinner: to eat is to “put on the nosebag.” 2. Hanging: as noosebag: the hood placed over the condemned man’s head. 3. Marriage: in “A Little Cloud,” Little Chandler tells Gallaher that, like it or not, “You’ll put your head in the sack.” 377.9-10: “Nobody will know or heed you, Postumus:” compare 627.35-6. Also, as the story of an eminent man reincarnated as a pauper, 98.7-14, where his new “physical body” will be “Cornelius Magrath’s (badoldkarakter…” (98.9-10)); here it seems to be “Mawgraw” (.4). Glasheen describes “Magrath” as “HCE’s…enemy…traducer, Anna Livia’s…special hate,” although - or in consequence - in an access of lust (584.5-6) Anna will apparently be imagining him in place of her husband. 377.11: “one of the shavers’ sailorsuits:” as an early picture of Joyce shows, sailor suits were popular for young boys. “Shaver” as in “little shaver,” an affection term for boys 377.12: “garb of nine:” “Circe:” an “elected knight of nine” – one of the Knights’ Templar. The “garb” is the outfit. 377.12: “We’ll split:” we’ll split our sides laughing. (Occurs in this sense in “Nausicaa;” note also Bloom, in “Calypso,” on a circus crowd: “Break your neck and we’ll break our sides;” also see 454.8.) Here, the entertainment is being supplied by the hanging. 377.13-4: “Well spat, witty wagtail!:” a spermatozoan, being ejaculated – drawing on the tradition, cited in both “Cyclops” and “Circe,” that hanging induces an erection and ejaculation. As at 40.3, the w-w alliteration recalls Winny (or Willy) Widger (39.11), winning jockey (see 327.8, 341.31 and notes); “witty” perhaps has the original sense of all-around intelligent. 377.14: “A wing for oldboy Welsey Wandrer!:” as McHugh notes, “wing” is slang for penny – here as a donation to a beggar. Again, sic transit: this pauper may be the reincarnation of the rich and powerful Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington; for a similar reincarnational transformation, compare 98.3-14. “Old boy” is an affectionate term for a fellow alumnus. (Also, compare 624.23.) 377.14: “piawn to bishop’s forthe! Moove:” as an opening, this move is known as the Queen’s Gambit. (Compare 559.34.) Oxford editors insert an exclamation mark after “Moove.” In chess annotation, an exclamation mark means that the move was an exceptionally good one. (For chess context, see McHugh.) As continuation of Queen’s Gambit: “Queena” (.19), “diamindwaiting” (.20), “Dovlen are out for it” (.22), “here’s the hearse and the four horses” (.23-4). Three years after her Diamond Jubilee, Queen Victoria visited Ireland. She was to die within a year. Her procession through Dublin was in a carriage drawn by four horses. One of the Dubliners out to see it was the eighteen-year-old James Joyce, who later wrote about it. See 344.17 and note, 567.14-5 and note. 377.15-6: “the hornemoonium. Drawg us out Ivy Eve in the Hall of Alum!:” compare “the long drawn out” musical “harmony” of “L’Allegro.” “Ivy Eve” etc. is presumably the name of a song, being played on the harmonium. 377.15-6: “hornemoonium:” probably includes “horny,” meaning sexually aroused; see 290.22 and note. 377.16: “finnecies:” fineries 377.17: “wed:” as in, marry 377.17: “Feeling the jitters?:” conventional state of man about to be married – or, presumably, hanged: see notes to .8-9, .9-10, .18. 377.18: “knotted on:” also, to “tie the knot” in getting married – or, again, hanged 377.18: “Now’s your never!” as (McHugh) “now or never,” his last chance to escape marriage. Also, “never” as the extinction awaiting the man being hanged 377.18-9: “Peena and Queena are duetting a giggle-for-giggle:” the bridesmaids, giggling 377.19: “brideen Alannah is lost in her diamindwaiting:” “Brideen:” Irish woman’s name; subject of love song “Gentle Brideen.” Equal-opposite: she’s both an old married woman, celebrating her diamond wedding, or a diminutive not-quite bride (compare “squireen”) still waiting for her diamond ring. Compare 433.14-5: “Never lose your heart away till you win his diamond back.” 377.21: “this gallus day. Clean and easy, be the hooker!:” “hornemoonium” or not, a gallus is a priest of the Roman goddess Cybele who has castrated himself. Gives an ominous overtone to “hooker,” possibly the implement by which the operation was accomplished, but on the other hand, there’s Bloom’s meditation on a rank of apparently contented geldings: “One way out of it.” 377.21: “gallus:” gallows; chicken 377.21-2: “hooker…croaks:” by hook or by crook. Compare 127.17, 245.8-9, 549.19. Sometimes – given the action, probably here - the language echoes German Hakenkreuz, the Nazi swastika. 377.23-4: “interprovincial:” interpretational; provisional (i.e. I.R.A. Provisionals) 377.24: “crucifixioners throwing lots insides:” the centurions, in charge of the crucifixion, casting lots at the foot of Christ’s cross 377.25: “brake the news to morhor:” see McHugh. The news to mother is that her son is dead. 377.25-6: “How our myterbilder his fullen aslip:” at the end of Ibsen’s The Master Builder, Solness falls to his death. “Fullen:” Scandinavian for intoxicated 377.26: “fullen aslip:” full of sleep – perhaps from Yeats’ “When You are Old and Grey.” Compare 170.17-8. 377.26: “who will wager:” again (see note to .24), the crucifixioners/interpreters are wagering on the garments of the crucified one. 377.27: “fleshlumpfleeter:” flesh-eater. Would put him with Esau and perhaps Abel 377.28: “sobsconcious:” conscious of sobs: Jesus was the “man of sorrows.” 377.28: “inklings shadowed on soulskin:” tattoos? 377.28: “segnet yores:” seven years; signed yours, then sealed with signet ring 377.29: “the strake of a hin:” hen: hen’s scratching on letter 377.29: “laying the cloth:” preparatory to a formal dinner 377.30: “And thanking the fish, in core of them:” saying grace before the first course (fish, in this case). Also, fish = Jesus, especially for the early Christians. 377.30: “To pass the grace for Gard sake! Ahmohn:” Amen: grace, mixed up with boarding-house reaches after the food 377.33: “aaskart:” Asgaard, home of Norse gods 377.34: “Four ghools to nail! Cut it down, mates, look slippy:” although it should probably have taken only three deathsmen (“ghools” – ghouls) not four, to nail Jesus to the cross, this certainly sounds like the same outfit, the same gang just playing dice at the foot of the cross - starting to bring him down. 377.34: “Cut it down, mates:” directions to hanging/crucifixion crew: now that he's dead, we can cut him down. 377.36: “swaying:” again: simultaneously crucifixion and hanging – an equivalence rooted in Christian lore, which sometimes refers to Jesus “hanging on the tree.” 378.2: “And Annie Delap is free!:” hooray! With his death, his wife is free of him, to remarry or not. 378.2-5: “We could ate you, par Buccas, and imbabe through you, reassuranced in the wild lac of gotliness. One fledge, one brood till hulm culms evurdyburdy:” Real-Presence Eucharist – eating and drinking Jesus, ("pledge...brood") flesh and blood, until His second coming – that is, until the bearer of all our burdens comes back home. “Lac of gotliness” may be the intervening period of his absence from earth - lack of his Godliness. 378.6-9: “Arrorsure, he’s the mannork of Arrahland oversense he horrhorrd his name in thuthunder. Rrrwwwkkkrrr! And seen it rudden up in fusefiressence on the flashmurket. P.R.C.R.L.L. Royloy Of the rollorrish rattillary:” accounts of dramatic seismic and other events at Jesus’ death mix with Vico’s first stage – people being scared by thunder and lightning back into religion and respectability. 378.6-7: “he horrhorrd his name in thuthunder. Rrrwwwkkkrrr!:” we heard “Earwicker” in this sound, the sound of thunder. (Yet another version of how he got his name, each one inconsistent with the others) 378.8: “rudden up:” written up in red, like rubrics in the New Testament. Perhaps also, given the (“flashmurket”) flesh market, the ruddling or reddling marks on sheep (see Hardy’s The Return of the Native) – specifically, on ewes who have been impregnated 378.8: “rudden up in fusefiressence on the flashmurket:” long shot: in Cecil B. DeMille’s 1923 The Ten Commandments, the first commandments are written in fire, amid a scene of murk lit by flashes of lightning. Other depictions of the scene sometimes include the same or similar features. Also, three of the four Gospels say that a darkening of the sky accompanied the crucifixion; here FW may be supplying a thunderstorm to account for it. Note that (see McHugh) whereas the name he hears in the thunder is “Earwicker,” the name he sees spelled out in the lightning is “Persse O’Reilly,” the equal-opposite accuser of I.2. 378.9-10: “The lewdningbluebolteredallucktruckalltraumconductor!:” I suggest that this is telling us that both thunder-sound and lightning-flash come from, fuse with, or simply resemble memories of a night-time tram: the “rollorrish rattillary” (.9) of its rolling, rattling movement, the “fusefiressence on the flashmurket” (.8) – light in darkness - the sparking connection of “trolley pole” with overhead wire. As Ulysses testifies, Dublin had one of Europe’s most extensive tram systems, including a route to Lucan; at 80.36, one of its conductors can be heard addressing passengers at the Chapelizod stop. The word “trolley” comes from Old French “troll,” meaning “roll,” as in, again, “rollorrish.” As for “-bluebolt-:” Google Books picks up, for instance, this: “A trolley bus whirred by, popping blue bolts.” (Clarence Cooper Jr., The Scene (Norton: 1996), p. 115) 378.10: “-blueboltered-:” compare “Scylla and Charbydis:” “the bloodboltered shambles in act five.” Originally “the blood-boltered Banquo,” in Macbeth 378.11. “Greenislender:” that is, an Irishman. On acquiring his name, the previously “unnamed” (.10) became, as the saying goes, more Irish than the Irish. 378.13: “Rix.:” besides (McHugh) rex, king, the Chi-rho, combining Greek equivalents of X and R (the latter, in Greek, a close approximation of the Latin “P”) as a symbol for Christ: in some versions, the sign in the sky that appeared to Constantine at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, converting him, and with him the Roman Empire, to Christianity (note next line: “There’s a great conversion, myn!”) – yet another dimension to the “fusefiressence” initials of .9, which begin with the letters “P.R.” 378.17: “He’s alight there still:” along with hanging and crucifixion, burning at the stake has now been added to the proceedings. 378.17: “Loose afore!” lucifer match 378.17-9: “Bung!...Bang!...Bang!...Putsch!:”… and, again, the Böög of p. 371, its petards exploding. Possible allusion to Hitler’s Putsch, which certainly included some firearms going off 378.19: “Brystal Palace:“ combines London’s Crystal Palace with Brighton Pavilion – gaudy orientalist mansion in Brighton established by Prince Regent, proverbially associated with the excesses of that age – and possibly, “Bristol Palace:” Bristol is a cathedral city, with a bishop, and bishop’s residences are traditionally called “palaces.” 378.20-1: “The playgue…rats!:” Elizabethan, Jacobean, and Carolingean theatres – the “play” in “playgue” - were sometimes closed down for fear of the plague, spread by rats. Also, “Rats!” is an expression of disgust; as such it appears in “Circe.” 378.22: “sassad:” sassed 378.21-22: “Let sin! Geh tont!…We dinned unnerstunned why you sassad about thurteen to aloafen:” Both McHugh and Oxford editors have “tout!” for “tont!.” Probably a last contretemps between patrons and publican: they want back in for one more drink; he tells them to go away or get out, they plead (ridiculously) that they didn’t understand his earlier announcement that closing time – eleven – was approaching, their excuse being that some loud noise (din), perhaps of the thunder, had made them temporarily hard of hearing. 378.22-3: “thurteen to aloafen:” there were thirteen men present at the Last Supper, at which Jesus distributed bread, presumably from a loaf. 378.23: “Or ledn us alones of your lungorge:” lend us a loan of your language; lend us some loan words. Equal-opposite: leave us alone, with your (presumably offensive) language 378.23: “lungorge:” lung+gorge: two parts of the upper body necessary for language 378.23-4: “Shaw and Shea are lorning obsen:” reference to Shaw’s essay “The Quintessence of Ibsenism.” Also, Shem and Shaun, though in this case probably in the other order 378.24-36: “parsonifier propounde…ha!:” addressed to the publican, the gist is defiantly Babelian: we didn’t understand what you said, but then, why should we bother? You’re a personified, parsonified propounder of language, and it’s time – like, for instance Shaw learning to read the foreign-language Ibsen – that we should learn to speak in other tongues. The next 10-12 lines extend the theme: you can’t impose on us any more; we’re (“frayshouters” (.26)) free-shouters; every one of us speaks in his own way, so there; we reject “coersion,” including, for instance, any grammarian’s “laws;” we’ve joined the (“gayleague” (.28)) Gaelic League to learn our own tongue, not yours; after that we’re returning to gestural origins of all languages, not just yours; in fact we’re getting back to the animalistic-aboriginal “Pawpaw, wowow!” (.33) roots of all communication – what Jespersen called the “pooh-pooh” theory. Anything further you have to say on the subject is quite immaterial, as far as we’re concerned. The atavistically ratcheting-down logic here recalls the growl-heavy poem of the citizen’s dog in “Cyclops.” (BTW, apparently Shaw, unlike Joyce, did not in fact learn to read Ibsen in the original Norwegian.) 378.26-7: “Every tub here spucks his own fat:” every tub on its own bottom: motto for organizations in which each department is responsible for its own budget. In context, sounds like the cantons of Switzerland, each maintaining its freedom with its own company of “frayshouters” (.27). Again, a rejection of any central authority, especially in matters of language. (Switzerland is trilingual.) Also, rendered fat was stored in barrels or tubs; “spucks” has each one of them speaking on his own: a parliament of examples of what Simon Dedalus in Portrait, chapter one calls a “tub of guts.” If “spucks” echoes “sparks,” a reminder that fat, as in “the fat’s in the fire” – is highly inflammable. 378.27-8: “smotthermock Gramm’s laws!:” Basically, down with imposed rules of language, whether by linguists (the Grimms), the older generation (grandma – compare 267.17-8) or grammar in general. “Smotthermock:” compare “Circe” – “mothersmothered” 378.28-9: “drippindhrue gayleague all at ones:” tried-and-true members of the Gaelic League, dedicated to replacing or at least supplementing English with native Gaelic. Also/alternatively: tripping through gaily, all together. (Would go with dance of next sentence.) 378.29-30: “in the buginning is the woid, in the muddle is the sounddance:” “sounddance” encapsulates Marcel Jousse’s theories of language as gesture. Compare notes to .31, 468.5-6. Also, not only (McHugh) “In the beginning was the word;” the beginning was from out of the (“woid”) void, that is, ab nihilo. 378.29: “woid:” Brooklynese version of “word” – and why not? Who’s to say it’s not as good as any other pronunciation? That, in fact, God’s In-the-beginning “word” wasn’t pronounced that way: In the beginning was the woid. Compare 180.7-8; see .33 and note. 378.29-30: “sounddance:” sundance: elaborate ceremony practiced by North American Plains Indians. Suppressed by American and Canadian governments 378.31: “vulsyvolsy:” waltzy waltz. Compare 248.12. Also, see note to .29-30: Marcel Jousse demonstrated his theory of language at a performance of children’s dances attended by Joyce (who approved). 378.32: “Spreach!:” speech & preach 378.33: “anartful of outer nocense:” an outfit. Also, unartful – probably intended to be adopted disingenuously: the natives should play dumb 378.33: “Pawpaw, wowow!:” for example, they should talk like this – like Indians in a Hollywood western. E. g. “How!,” “Pow-wow.” (Not the only time Joyce compares English vis-à-vis Irish to white vis-à-vis Indians. In Ulysses the narrator of “Wandering Rocks” calls English tourists “palefaces.”) 378.34: “quite a material:” quite immaterial 378.35: “May farther…Mighty:” (my italics: compare 180.35: “with a haccent on it when Mynfadher.” Here, a declaration of independence from such class-based distinctions of pronunciation.) 378.36: “aped to foul a delfian:” apt to fool a Delphian – that is a denizen of Delphi, center of ancient prophetic wisdom, therefore, presumably, especially hard to fool. (But then, of course, can mean exact opposite, if one believes, as Joyce likely did, that the oracle was all rubbish.) In comparison, the person being addressed is very easily gulled – like Paddy Blake: see note to 378.36-379.1. 378.35-6: “it’s aped to foul a delfian in the Mahnung:” in the morning: time when people are proverbially especially hard to fool: “You have to get up awfully early in the morning if you want to fool…” (See note to 229.26-7.) 378.36-379.1: “Talk of Paddybarke’s echo!:” Paddy Blake’s echo informs him that he is being deceived by his wife and cuckolded by the priest. 379.1-2: “And if you’ll nose it, O you’ll nose it, without warnward from we:” compare Hamlet: “But indeed, if you find him [Polonius] not this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.” See next entry, and .17, where we’re told that he (“sthings like a rheinbok”) stinks like a he-goat. 379.2: “warnward:” windward: in one sense (there are others, seemingly contradictory) facing the wind, that is downwind – which would help one to “nose” (see previous entry) any smell. Also, warning word, warrant 379.3-5: “But you’ll find Chiggenchugger’s taking the Treaclyshortcake with Bugle and the Bitch pairsadrawsing and Horssmayres Prosession tyghting up under the threes:” this time it’s a piece of cake instead of a cup of wine, but most of the rest reprises the recurring hunting-print scene of the almanac picture. (Also, perhaps, the opening of I.2, which sometimes overlaps with the almanac picture.) 379.3: “Chiggenchugger’s:” sounds like pet name between sweethearts; compare “Sirens:” “From Chickabiddy’s Owny Mumpsypum.” 379.4. “Treaclyshortcake:” treacle shortcake would be the right refreshment for such a sweetheart’s meeting; in context, “treacly” suggests that things might get a bit icky. (See previous entry.) 379.6-7: “Stop. Press stop. To press stop. All to press stop:” orders to stop the press, because a new sensational story has arrived to replace the old one. In this case it seems to be the scandal of the “Chiggenchugger’s” affair. Also echoes “stop…stop,” etc. sequence of 124.3-5, which in turn comes from a supposed seduction sequence: “Stop!!!! Please stop!!! Do please stop!! O do please stop! O do please!! O do!!! O!!!!” 379.7: “hosetanzies:” hosentansy: comical German dance in which each dancer has one leg of black hose, one of white hose. Hard to describe the result, but can be seen on YouTube 379.7: “sullibrated:” both celebrated and sullied by the influence of “Sully…the blackhand…wreuter of annoyimgmost letters and skirriless ballets” (495.1-3) 379.8: “Saxolooter, for congesters are salders’ prey:” from here until 380.5, the main action is of a mob assault on the proprietor and his status and property. In this line, for instance, Saxon looters are collecting (“salders prey”) soldiers’ pay/prey, that being whatever they can loot; based on the Latin original, a “congester” would be someone who saves or heaps up supplies - natural prey for looters. Oxford editors have “Saxolooter! For” 379.8-9: “Snap it up in the loose:” Grab the loot while it’s free 379.8ff: “Snap…” from here and for about the next ten lines, Joyce’s eye problems are part of the mix, symptomatic of the sufferings of the victim. The next five entries include examples. 379.8: “Snap it up:” Compare “An infamous private ailment…closed his vicious circle, snap” (98.19-20). 379.10: “patchy the blank:” Joyce’s bad, blank eye, with its eyepatch 379.10-11: “Woes to the wormquashed, aye:” for warmwashed eye, see next two entries. 379.13: “His lights not all out yet, the liverpooser!:” his eyes are not all out yet. (Also, of course, his kidneys, as in “liver and lights” – he’s being beaten up all over.) 379.13: “Boohoohoo it oose:” as described by Joyce (“My left eye is awash and his neighbour full of water, man”) glaucoma symptoms include watery exudations which – “Boohoohoo” – resemble (oozy) tears. 379.14ff: “With seven hores always in the home of his thinkingthings:” at this point the scope widens – from the eyes - to include the head’s other five orifices. His head is, of course, the home of his brain, thinking things. Also, in some versions, Muslim paradise includes “seven houris,” not seventy-two. See next entry. 379.15: “nodsloddledome of his noiselisslesoughts:” skull as mosque, dome of noiseless prayers. “-soughts:” sighs, thoughts, things sought, soughs. Echo of “noodle,” as elsewhere in FW (for instance 320.17) meaning head 379.15: “Two Idas:” two eyes 379.15: “Evas:” perhaps ears are “Evas” because Eve listened to the serpent. 379.16: “Rubyjuby:” lips. Compare “red jujubes” and “gumjelly lips” of “Lestrygonians.” 379.16: “Phook!:” following (“Rubyjuby”) lips, this is probably a (rude) sound issuing from them; the following lines include several comments about the noise he is making. 379.17-8: “delysiums that they were all queens mobbing him:” the houris of .14, in a (delusional) Mahommedan Elysium 379.18: “Fell stiff:” perhaps, also, “felt stiff.” Multiple implications available 379.18-9: “Oh, ho, ho, ho, ah, he, he!:” seven notes, on a rising scale. Again, he is, among other things, a singer, who “sthings” (.17). 379.19: “Abedicate yourself:” go to bed – here as intermittently later, a direct address to the publican, (probably with a reminder of the aroused Finnegan: compare 27.17ff.), interspersed with semi-jocular commentary, of the sort sometimes used to humor either the very young or very old: What a handful you are! 379.19: “gegs:” in “Circe,” a goat sound 379.20: “samblind:” sandblind, i.e. half-blind 379.21: “Yes, woll:” Yes, sir, faith, you will 379.21: “putty our wraughther:” petty (?) old rotter. Elide the “r” in “our” with “wr” and it can sound something like “Pity our author.” 379.22: “Whyfore we come agooding?” Do you ask why we came? 379.23-4: “You keep that henayearn and her fortycantle glim lookbehinder:” compare the hen of 10.26-9: with “the lamp of Jig-a-Lanthern… a candlelittle houthse of a month and one windies.” “Fortycantle glim look” may echo J. M. Barrie’s The Twelve-Pound Look, which figures elsewhere in FW. The general sense, probably sarcastic, seems to be that he needn’t worry about them abducting that wife of his, or for that matter (compare “Chiggenchugger’s” (.3)) choking his chickens. 379.25-6: “send us out your peppydecked ales and you’ll not be such a bad lot:” resembles Molly in “Penelope:” “then if he gives me that well he wont be too bad.” The customers, expelled from the pub, are willing to forgive and forget if he’ll only send out some drinks. A Google search for “pepper ale” (also called “capsicum ale”) scores many hits: it is, no surprise, ale with pepper in it. (Still around, but not as popular as it used to be) 379.26: “The rye is well for whose amind:” rye (whiskey, presumably) for who has a mind for it – that is, if they have a taste for it. (Contrasted with “wheateny one” (same line), which is apparently the favorite.) 379.27: “BENK!” etc: certainly, sounds of Finnegan falling from his ladder and of the pubkeeper stumbling around, but also seems to bring back the drunken (“sloop” (.30)) boat, in which some of the passengers were departing, lurching from shore to shore. Also, for a while there’s an American football game going on – another case of lurching from one collision to another – see .32 and note. 379.28: “sweet Gorteen:” sweet fourteen. (Compare “sweet seventeen” of “Nausicaa.”) 379.29: “least tittles:” as in “least tittle or jot.” We hope that the wife and kids haven’t been disturbed even one little bit. 379.30: “And we greesiously augur for your Meggers a BENK BANK BONK to sloop in:” And we graciously/greedily offer/predict for your Majesty a bunk to sleep in. Compare (.19) “Abedicate yourself,” with note. “Augur:” auger – tool for boring holes, for instance in a ship, for instance a sloop: maybe, as elsewhere in FW, the plan is to drown him, or at least submerge him permanently. (“Bunk” is the usual term for a shipboard sleeping place, and in the next line they’ll be wishing him bon voyage on the Titanic.) “Your Meggers:” see McHugh. A tag from FW’s letter, derived from “Majesty.” 379.32: “refergee’s:” referee: officiator in American football. “pass:” also, in American football, to throw the ball; see also .34 and note. 379.33: “all in white:“ typical description of a banshee 379.33-4: “purgad:” Oxford editors have “burgad” - by gad, bigad 379.34: “Right toe:” Righto! Big toe of right foot foremost in punting a football 379.35: “bournes:” from Hamlet: “the undiscovered country from whose bourne / No traveller returns” – that is, death: goes with banshees. (See .33 and note.) 379.36-380.1: “Keyhoe, Danelly and Pykemhyme, the three muskrateers:” another incarnation of the three soldiers of the park, who as earlier will (“tells all of befell” (380.4)) tell all that befell relating to the two girls, “Blashwhite and Blushred” (380.3). “Muskrateers” may include “rat” in sense of snitch; compare 615.16-7. 380.5: “Malincurred:” Malin: northernmost point of Ireland. Also, given context, “mal-incurred:” ill-met. 380.7-382.30: “So…Starloe!:” anticipating the next chapter, II.4, with the language of the four old men 380.7: “hoose uncommons:” American slang “hootch,” for liquor; here, the hootch they have in common, that they’re sharing 380.9: “thanksbetogiving day:” Joyce enjoyed celebrating Thanksgiving with his American friends. 380.10: “commulion:” chameleon 380.10: “same barbecue:“ Saint Barbara. Feast day (“beanfeast” (.10-1)) is December 4. “Barbecue” because Barbara is the patron saint of, among others, munitions manufacturers, burners of (human) meat: in “Circe” a cataclysm of universal slaughter is accompanied by a black mass being celebrated on a “fieldaltar of Saint Barbara.” 380.11: “all over poor:” should probably be read as if with pause after “over” 380.11: “hospitable corn and eggfactor:” as noted previously, the (“Malincurred Mansion” (.5)) Mullingar House had at one point been a hotel; during HCE’s time it would have also served as a general store, including the selling of groceries. 380.12-3: “preelectric:” prelatic. Also, “pre-electric” was a fairly familiar term in the 20’s and 30’s for old-fashioned technology. Also, pre-elected: kings are from the days before elections. 380.13-4: “between fiftyodd and fiftyeven:” no such thing as a non-odd, non-even number, but fifty-six goes between fifty-five (an odd number) and (“fiftyeven”) fifty-seven. For several reasons, fifty-six seems the likeliest candidate for HCE’s age; see, for instance, 443.22. Among other things, it might help explain why, according to C.P. Curran’s James Joyce Remembered (UCD Press, 2022, p. 91) Joyce’s fifty-seventh birthday, celebrated to commemorate the publication of FW, included a cake with fifty-six candles. 380.15-6: “house of the hundred bottles:” popular American drinking song: “A hundred bottles of beer on the wall, a hundred bottles of beer / You take one down and pass it around; ninetynine bottles of beer on the wall./ Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer…”etc, down to zero bottles of beer on the wall. Compare the drinking song “Drunk Last Night,” which appears at 98.31-2, also with the four old men: “One keg of beer for the four of us / And glory be there ain’t no more of us / ‘Cause one of us can drink it all alone.” 380.16: “radio beamer tower:” for radio reception, but, again, and although at times they seem to have a way of fusing into or combining with one another, the Mullingar apparently has both a radio and a television set. Again: in the early days of television (Joyce, dying in 1941, never knew anything else), radio had been around for a while but television sets were expensive, crude, rare, and, in Ireland, nonexistent. Then as now, some pubs installed the latest in electronic entertainment to attract customers. Radio broadcasts continued throughout the day and evening (see 324.14-6 and note); television on the other hand was a “nightlife instrument” (150.33) – broadcasts were only at night – which “needs still some subtractional betterment in the readjustment of the more refrangible angles to the squeals” (150.33-5), that is, continuous adjustment to get the sound and, especially, picture right – not news to anyone who remembers the days of rabbit ears, “snow,” and Vertical and Horizontal Hold. See 324.18-6 and note. 380.21: “whilom:” some time ago 380.22: “Koughenough:” joke name: Cough enough. Also coffin. Apparently whatever caused his coughing led to his death. Compare 444.14. 380.24-5: “that put a poached fowl in the poor man’s pot:” like Robin Hood: poaching from rich, giving to poor. Also, as both king and poacher (for instance in the king’s forest), a case of coinciding contraries 380.25: “weeping eczema:” second stage of eczema – name comes from “serous exudations” which accompany the condition 380.26: “under the grass quilt:” dead. Also, compare the sleeper’s “Flagpatch quilt” (559.13). 380.27-8: “and we to lather and shave and frizzle him, like a bald surging buoy:” barbers were once also (“surging”) surgeons. 380.29-30: “and himself down to three cows:” “himself” is an Irish term, usually or always ironic, for some self-important individual. For a “King” (.22), former or otherwise, to have his holdings reduced to three cows would be a drastic sign of reduced circumstances. 380.35: “in his grand old handwedown pile:” mainly, “pile” in sense (OED) of “stronghold, or castle;” note that “all of them” – the ones who have left him alone – have “gone off with themselves to their castles” (.36). Also, a pile of hand-me-down clothes, another sign (compare .29-30 and note, 381.15 and note) of how far down in the world he has gone. 380.36-381.1: “castles of mud:” mock-heroic description of mud huts, the dwellings of ancient (and, later, impoverished) Irish 381.1: “footback:” derivative of “horseback” – on foot, because they’re lacking the mare: “owing to the leak of McCarthy’s mare” (.1-2: see McHugh). 381.4: “vinnage on the brain:” wine (vintage) on the brain, therefore drunk; by analogy to “water on the brain” 381.8: “ostensible mouth:” extensible mouth – found in some fish; would be useful (as here) for sucking up fluid from floor or furniture 381.9: “winespilth:” portmanteau word for spilt wine and filth 381.10: “weevily popcorks:” corks infested by weevils. Also, maize weevils infest what in America is called corn, from which popcorn is made. 381.11-5: “with his…poncho:” as usual for HCE, seven articles of clothing 381.13: “Ghenter’s gaunts:” gloves ("gants") for a gent 381.14: “Macclefield’s swash:” Macclesfield was the center of the English silk business. “Swash:” perhaps swatch? Sash? 381.15: “the body you’d pity him:” most or all of the clothes he’s wearing are hand-me-downs (see 380.35) originally belonging to someone else. (We’re given the names.) He accordingly looks like a down-and-out. 381.17-8: “a sponge out of water:” that is, dry – slang term for wanting liquor but not having any available 381.18-9: “allocutioning in bellcantos…Dreams of Ergen Adams:” a poetical not a musical recital – an elocutionary performance in the cantos of poetry. Thomas Hood’s poem “The Dream of Eugene Aram,” is about a solitary fugitive, haunted by the crime that has made him an outcast. The reciter may be identifying with the poem's subject. 381.20: “diversed tonguesed:” a tongue-twister here - try pronouncing it - perhaps a symptom of his thick-tongued woebegone state 381.20: “old tears:” “oh, dear,” as in “Oh, dear, what can the matter be?” Compare 225.32-3. 381.21: “his old plaised drawl:” see McHugh. The old (plaid and/or paisley) shawl: again – see .15 and note - second-hand clothes. 381.21: “starkened:” startled 381.21-2: “the most regal of belches:” compare 625.4: “You certainly make the most royal of noises.” 381.25: “Exuberant:” ex-über, once on top, but not any more – again, his decline and fall 381.26: “woolly throat:” dry throat. “Woolly” and “cottony” mouth/throat are hangover symptoms, but here it mainly means that he feels the need for a drink to undry it. 381.26-7: “the wonderful midnight thirst was on him:” since it’s about 11 p.m., this sounds like hyperbole. Then again, if the pubs had, as usual, closed an hour ago, midnight would be about the time when a serious drinker would be feeling the need of another round. As for “wonderful,” compare the speaker of “Cyclops:” “I’ve a thirst on me I wouldn’t sell for half a crown.” 381.28: “what did he ale:” what ailed him 381.29: “leave it, what the Irish, boys, can do:” leave it to the Irish, especially when it comes to drinking 381.30-2: “sliggymaglooral reemyround and suck up, sure enough, like a Trojan, in some particular cases with the assistance of his venerated tongue:” here and to follow, an imitative evocation of alcoholic semi-delirium. The first two words are a compressed rendering of someone sliding and reeling around while in a grandiose frame of mind; “suck up” is what he is doing to the liquor; after that the overly formal, overly particularized language of a drunk trying too hard to sound sober. The following is my attempt at a version, not me: Sometimes, to be sure, in some particular cases, his sucking up of aforesaid liquor involved using his tongue, but be it noted that that was not always, in point of fact, the case… (Compare W.C. Fields, or Stephen near the end of “Circe.”) 381.33: “maltknights and beerchurls:” given context – extra-large containers of liquor (see .35-6: hogshead and (see McHugh) firkin) – maltkins and barrels. A maltkin (also “malte-kylne,” “malt kiln,” etc.) is for storing and drying malt before making it into liquor. Also, of course, social opposites, knight and churl, perhaps coinciding by way of the ironic expression “beer knight” (compare “beer baron”) for brewers elevated to the peerage because of their wealth; Sir Arthur Guinness is FW’s main example. 381.35: “that whole hogsheaded firkin family:” see 31.17 and note. Huckleberry Finn’s alcoholic father sleeps in a hogshead. 381.36: “firkin:” given context (see previous entry), probably: “fucking.” In sum: “that whole horrible/pig-headed fucking family.” 381.36-382.1: “slygrogging:” grog: liquor 382.2: “suburbanites:” Chapelizod is a suburb. 382.3-4: “chateaubottled Guiness’s or Phoenix brewery stout:” compare 38.4-5: another parody of a wine snob’s pretenses when applied to a bottle of beer. Also, 310.36: O’Connell’s ale was made at the Phoenix Brewery. 382.5: “Roob Coccola:” roob = rube = provincial = American, drinker of the quintessentially American confection Coca Cola, which stands out from the other beverages as the non-alcoholic product of (from 1919 to 1933) a prohibitionist country. “Roob” probably also encompasses root beer, another temperance-promoted substitute at the time. 382.6: “halibut oil:” according to Google Books, a commercially profitable form of fish oil, extracted from the head and bones of halibut. Many uses 382.9: “imperial:” as in “imperial pint” 382.10-4: “till the rising of the morn, till that hen of Kaven’s shows her beaconegg, and Chapwellswendows stain our horyhistoricold and Father MacMichael stamps for aitch o’clerk mess and the Litvian Newestlatter is seen, sold and delivered and all’s wet for restart after the silence:” a capsule prefiguring of Book IV, raising the interesting possibility that the “restart” of “riverrun” (3.1) should be read as coming after a “silence” following the “the” of 628.16. 382.10: “welcome be from us here:” don’t know quite how it would fit, but the rhythm imitates “hallowéd be thy name.” 382.11: “beaconegg:” beckoning 382.12: “stain:” the (“-wendows” (.11)) windows are stained-glass. Some Protestant controversialists considered such ornamentations as signs of idolatry, therefore of (stained) sin. 382.12: “Father MacMichael stamps for aitch o’clerk mess:” perhaps he’s stamping his feet because at such an hour it’s likely to be (“horyhistoricold” (.12)) cold. In the secular world, it could also be an hour for day-shift workers to stamp time-cards. 382.13. “Litvian:” Livian, as in Anna Livia – her letter, plus a Dublin (Liffey) newspaper. Perhaps, to widen the range temporally, a history by Livy, and, geographically, a bulletin from Latvia 382.16: “cowery:” cowering. In context, this should be the acolyte or altar boy. 382.17: “staregaze of the cathering candled:” the star(s)-like appearance of a congregation holding candles, presumably during a service in either the dark or the dim light of early dawn – from the officiating priest’s perspective, it looks as if they are all staring/gazing at him. See next entry. 382.17: “cathering candled:” the fireworks device known as a Catherine Wheel – a spinning wheel fixed with blazing lights. Again, the common denominator is points of bright light, seen in the dark. 382.18: “that adornment of his album and folkenfather of familyans:” the family album, of which, since he’s the father, his picture is the adored adornment 382.19: “came acrash a crupper:” both to come a crash and to come a cropper: to fail suddenly and dramatically. The term comes from the language of horsemanship, and in “Eumaeus” “crupper” means, basically, a horse’s ass – which would seem to connect with “sort of a sate [seat] on” (.19), someone whose “seat” on a horse is only “sort of” is liable to come a cropper. See next entry. 382.19: “sort of a sate on accomondation:” “accommodation seat:” a kind of seat featured in coaches, carriages, and railroad carriages. Descriptions vary, but as a rule it seems to have been an undesirable (because precarious; the person in question here is falling over) choice. Perhaps in contrast to “box” seat (.20); see next entry - although on coaches a "box seat" was also a cheap seat - one of the "outsides." 382.20: “the very boxst in all his composs:” the very best in all his circle or company; the very best seat 382.22: “Faugh MacHugh:” Father Matthew, Irish temperance crusader 382.24: “fol the dee oll the doo:” fiddle-dee-dee 382.24-5: “the doo on the flure of his feats on the feels:” Jehovah’s sign to Gideon: the fleece is drenched with (“doo”) dew, while the ground (“flure”/floor) is dry. Occurs at the end of “Oxen of the Sun” and at several points in FW. Also, and perhaps oppositely, the dew on the flower(s); also on the floor (sole(s)) of his feet 382.25: “wakes of his ears:” ear wax. Compare 238.31. II.4
Some preliminaries: II.4 is a continuation of the end of II.3. On that chapter’s last page, the protagonist was falling-down drunk (in fact, literally falling down), feeling his age and then some, and his head was swimming to the extent that in the last lines he felt like a passenger on a sailing ship. He imagined himself the reincarnation or return of Roderick O’Connor, the last high king of all Ireland, before it was invaded, plundered, and dismembered by the English. (380.14-5 has him as “between fiftyodd and fiftyeven years of age;” O’Connor was in his mid-fifties when the English took over.) The four principals of II.4 are among other things Ireland’s four (disunited) provinces, communicating imperfectly through various media, including radio and telephone. As at the end of II.3, they are on board a ship that is rolling with the waves and are consequently frequently nauseous, a condition also tracing to alcohol and its aftereffects. As at the end of II.3, their heads are swimming, or spinning (again, alcohol); everything, especially their thoughts, goes in circles. As at the end of II.3, they are woozily trying to make sense of things, especially of their memories of the distant past, both personal and historical, with results similar to those undergoing what is sometimes called “second childhood” – or, perhaps more frequently, a re-enactment of their vigorous youths. On pages 394-6, their reminiscing makes them into voyeurs of what was evidently the first sexual experience of one of them or a collective memory of all four. 383.2. “Sure he hasn’t got much of a bark:” expression: his bark is worse than his bite. 383.4: “Wreneagle:” “'Tis the man who with a man / Is an equal, be he King, / Or poorest of the beggar-clan / Or any other wonderous thing / A man may be 'twixt ape and Plato; / 'Tis the man who with a bird, / Wren or Eagle, finds his way to / All its instincts…:” John Keats, “Where’s the Poet?” 383.4: “a sky of a lark:” the phrase being altered here is probably “a bit of a lark” – a fun thing to do. Probably not coincidental that “sky…lark” is in the same line with an allusion to the author of “To a Nightingale:” birds aside, Keats and Shelley (author of “To a Skylark”) were commonly paired together. 383.5: “whooping:” given all the birds in the vicinity, probably a whooping crane 383.9-10: “the rummest old rooster ever flopped out of a Noah’s ark / And you think you’re the cock of the wark:” “rooster” as opposed to the usual raven and dove. Presumably, this being the ark, he’s abandoning his mate – in FW, Biddy the hen, one of ALP’s avatars. “Flopped:” a tired version of “flapped.” Long shot here: a sark (“’s ark”) is a nightshirt. A rooster is a cock, and it’s clear (in Portrait, chapter one, “Circe,” and, for instance, FW 26.4) that Joyce was familiar with “cock” as slang for penis. Noah got drunk and exposed himself to his sons; the charge against HCE typically involves something similar. I suggest that this describes an old man, through some vent in or disarrangement of his nightshirt, revealing his antiquated organ, in contrast to his pretensions to being cock of the walk, when the real deal is “Tristy’s, the spry young spark” (.11). 383.10: “cock of the wark:” a “cock of the walk” (McHugh) is an exceptionally important or self-important male. 383.11: “Foul’s up!:” coming right after a full stop, a full stop, both literally as an expression of finality; an American equivalent might be something like, “That is the way it’s going to be, period.” Also, prior to the 1940’s, “foul up” was a predominantly maritime term describing conditions that could make a ship’s machinery malfunction. Also, given context, overtone of fowl, up: bird, flying. Also, probably, owl: another bird 383.11: “Tristy’s:” possible overtone of Christy – i.e. Christ – ushering in the new order. If so, doubling – or tripling - with “Christy Columb” (496.30), Columbus’ and Noah’s dove. Columbus considered his name to be prophetic: he was the new Noah and the bearer of Christ’s word. 383.11: “spark:” archaic term for ladies’ man 383.12: “red her:” deflower her, causing red mark on bedsheets. This happens later in the chapter. 383.13: “Without ever winking the tail of a feather:” without once showing the white (tail) feather – that is, without running from or otherwise funking a fight, because of cowardice. Derives from tradition that a rooster (or cock) reveals its white tail feathers when running away from an antagonist. During WW I, when Joyce was draft-dodging in Zurich, English women on street corners handed out white feathers to men of military age who were not in uniform. Here, what he’s not funking is his sexual initiation. 383.14: “mark:” again, a red spot, from having “tread her and wed her and bed her and red her” (.12). 383.15: “shrillgleescreaming:” here and hereafter, I think that the overactivated blood rushing through the principal’s ears is a symptom of the hangover earned on the previous page. In any case, certainly onomatopoetic 383.15: “sang seaswans:” swan song 383.15: “seaswans:” the singing seaswans here are probably the daughters of the Irish sea-god Lir. Many variations; in Padraic Colum’s “The Sea Maiden Who became a Sea-Swan,” included in the 1934 anthology The Boy Who Knew What the Birds Said, the sea-king’s daughter voluntarily changes into a “sea-swan” in order to avoid being married to a land-dweller. The best-known source (giving a different version) would have been Thomas Moore’s “Silent O Moyle,” cited in “Two Gallants” and “Scylla and Charybdis,” and a presence in FW’s last pages. 383.16-7: “Seahawk, seagull, curlew and plover, kestrel and capercallzie. All the birds of the sea:” the first four birds listed qualify, more or less, as “birds of the sea,” but the fifth, the kestrel, is highly dubious, and the last, the capercallzie, is ridiculous. (Typical Joycean license: in “Circe,” “barnacle geese” are included in a list of “birds of prey.” Joyce’s lists tend to get less connected to the literal as they go along.) 383.17: “trolled out rightbold:” to troll is to sing in a robust, boisterous way. 383.18: “Trustan with Usolde:” was Tristan right to trust Isolde? Not the second one, Isolde of the White Hands, whose lie brought about his death. Also, compare 500.20-1: “Sold! I am sold!...I am sold!” – echoing a version of Parnell’s “When you sell, get my price.” 383.19-20: “whilest wildcaps was circling:” another hangover symptom – what a friend of mine once call “whirlybed:” the sensation of lying flat on a bed after a night of drinking, trying to hold on to it to keep it from spinning around. The bed’s four posters will come to conjure up the four old men, spinning around. In which regard, I’d point that although elsewhere the gospellers are usually in the order of Matthew (north), Mark (south), Luke (east), and John (west), in this chapter it goes John (386.12), Mark (388.10), Luke (390.34), and Matthew (393.4) – that is, west-south-east-north. The usual Mamalujo order, imposed on the map of Ireland, traces the traditional Catholic sequence of crossing oneself: up, down, left, right. (In the Orthodox churches it is up, down, right, left.) In this chapter, on the contrary, the order is counter-clockwise, or widdershins – traditionally bad luck. (By contrast, “Oxen of the Sun” is mined throughout with clockwise, “deshil” rotations, propitious for the birth of its new baby.) 383.19: “And there they were too:” from the children’s counting rhyme “Ten Little Indians:” “Three little Indians out on a canoe, / One tumbled overboard and then there were two.” 383.19: “when it was dark:” as it is throughout the chapter. II.3 ended at the 11:00 p.m. closing time; III.1 will begin at midnight. 383.19-20: “the wildcaps was circling:” overtone of wildcats; a cat (or cats), probably Issy’s, real, remembered, or imagined, will be intermittently part of the scene throughout. Cats circling around would be bad news for the birds. 383.20-2: “as slow their ship, the winds aslight, upborne the fates, the wardorse moved, by courtesy of Mr Deaubaleau Kaempersally:” general sense: a sailing ship, it moves slowly when the wind is slight; that it moves at all is due to ocean currents, in the waters, deep blue and down below. “Upborne the fates:” overtone of “borne upon the waves,” which are bearing it, and the four men, up (and down), as recorded for instance at 385.12-4. As a stage production (see next entry), its special effects – here of the set as the deck of a ship, rolling with the waves – would be the work of the manager, W.W. Kelly. (Typically, the effect would be assayed by having the actors lurching and sliding back and forth together, accompanied by “noises-off” cries of seagulls and such – “quark!”) 383.21: “wardorse:” given the theatrical context, including the “by courtesy” of W.W. Kelly (“Kaempersally:” Semper Kelly), this should be some kind of stage property. (Compare 221.18-222.2.) Wardrobe? Or “war horse?” In the theatre, the latter can designate an old reliable from the repertoire: something like Arsenic and Old Lace. Kelly’s A Royal Divorce, a perennial Dublin favorite, certainly would have qualified. (Also, as recalled in I.2, its best-known scene, the Battle of Waterloo, featured a war horse, Wellington’s “big wide harse” (8.21). On the other hand, the play has no scene set on shipboard.) 383.21: “Deaubaleau:” deep blue water (eau). Again, because of it, the boat is being “moved” (.21). Also, a “blue water sailor” sails in deep waters, beyond the continental shelf. 383.22: “listening in:” compare 304.20. Again, wireless sets in pubs were called “listening in” sets. Also: grammatically, this continues the sentence “And there they were…” (.19). 383.24: ”kemin in:” long shot: could this be from Beckett’s famous “Come in?” (See Ellmann (1984), p. 649.) No one seems to be sure where it is. 383.2-384.1: “(only a quartebuck askull for the last acts):” In other words, those who show up for the performance when it’s more than half over are given special rates. 384.1: “quartebuck:” a strange conflation of American idioms: in currency, a quarter (see McHugh) of a buck (dollar); in sport, as quarterback, a position in American (but not English) football: see also 384.26, 396.1, and 396.4, with notes. 384.3: "mistlethrushes:” Wikipedia tells me that northern and eastern missile thrushes migrate south for the winter; the rest do not. Problematic for this list of “migratories,” but then again see note to 383.16-7. 384.3-4: “rockbysuckerassousyoceanal sea:” compare “polyfizzyboisterous seas” (547.24) – a mock-English translation of a Homeric tag. Otherwise, this portmanteau word comes mainly from Emma Willard’s 1832 song “Rocked in the cradle of the deep,” mentioned in “Eumaeus.” “Rockby-” contracts “Rockabye;” “sucker” was American slang for a baby. (Or, as for P.T. Barnum, a grownup who was as clueless as a baby.) So: “Rockabye baby,” the best-known lullaby in English. 384.5: “listening. Moykle ahoykling!:” 1. Not sure what to make of “Moykle,” but they are listening in to the radio (see 383.22 and note), and BBC broadcasts of the thirties and later regularly began with “This is London calling.” 2. They are on a ship, as McHugh says the Sea of Moyle is a name for the Irish Sea, and “Ahoy!” is a standard sailor-to-sailor greeting. 384.6: “four maaster:” a four-masted ship, for example the “fourmaster barquentine” of 47.29; the four posts on the bed; the four masters (in McHugh); the four old men 384.15: “pass the fish:” evidently, fish – not soup - is either the first, main, or only course. In any case, the meal is neither formal nor luxurious. If fish is the main course, it would be appropriate for Lent. (March 21, 1938, like all days on that date, fell in Lent.) Compare next entry. 385.15-6: “they used to be saying their grace before fish, repeating itself:” both pronouns have the same antecedent: the four old men. Pronouns throughout this chapter are sometimes inconsistent – often, apparently, random - especially when it comes to number (for instance, “dissimulating themself” (384.34) and gender. 384.17: “for auld lang syne:” aptly for the chapter’s valedictory mood, snatches from this song will recur throughout. Other songs sounded will be mostly sentimental and nostalgic. 384.17-386.12: “And…water.:” mostly memories of early stages of courtship, probably with his/their first love interest: a lot of cuddling and kissing, at one point graduating to tongue kissing, some fooling around involving the hands that goes only so far, much lovey-dovey talk. The concluding words, “and all their mouths making water,” recalls Molly herself, telling a friend about her courtship with Bloom: “I used to tell her a good bit of what went on between us not all but just enough to make her mouth water.” Mouth-watering is in fact a feature of erotic arousal. 384.18: “palms in their hands, like the pulchrum’s:” palmers are pilgrims – usually to Jerusalem – carrying palms. 384.21: “colleen bawn:” Gaelic for fair (meaning either white or pretty) girl 384.22: “Oscar sister:” Oscar Wilde’s sister Isola – included in “Isolamisola” (.31) – died at the age of nine. (Wilde wrote “Requiescat” in her memory.) She was named after the Gaelic Iseult. 384.22: “fifteen inch loveseat:” a tight fit, especially since loveseats are designed (see McHugh) for two people. An extreme version of the main idea, which was to encourage close contact between his and her bottoms for purposes of encouraging mutual attraction; hence the name. OED gives one version which may accord with FW’s liking for equal-opposites: “a pair of chairs connected together at the side (and sometimes set to face in opposite directions).” According to pictures available, the couple, on such a piece of furniture, viewed from above, would constitute a pretty fair facsimile of the two halves of a yin-yang mandala. Joyce's Notebook VI.B.10.118, excerpted from testimony about a loveseat as being "too large for one and not quite large enough for two," has "eighteen inch loveseat," 384.23: “the chieftaness stewardesses cubin:” the word “stewardess” was around in Joyce’s time. It designated a female ship’s steward whose role was to care for the women passengers – here, including “an oscar sister” (.22). “Stewardesses cubin” as stewardess’s cabin – her room. 384.23: “cubin:" echo of “cubit” again brings in Noah’s ark, in Genesis measured in cubits. 384.23: “Gaelic champion:” “Oscar” is Gaelic for champion. See .22, above, and next note. 384.24: “bleaueyedeal of a girl’s friend:” “blue-eyed boy:” usually dismissive term for a popular favorite. Also, Oscar Wilde had a pash for blue eyes (and blond hair) - Dorian Gray, Lord Alfred Douglas. “Girl’s friend” can also be read as girlfriend, in either the sense of one woman who’s friendly with another woman or of a man’s romantic interest. On the (perhaps) main level, the “Gaelic champion” (.23) in question is the blue-eyed boy who would be the ideal candidate to make her his girlfriend. 384.25: “smallnice:” “nice” in sense of fastidious - fussy or too fussy 384.26: “with his sinister dexterity:” left hand and right hand, with which he was, as Molly says of Lenehan, who was using both hands to feel her up while pretending otherwise, “making free.” See next five entries, also note to .29. 384.26-30: “with his sinister dexterity, light and rufthandling, vicemversem her ragbags and assaucyetiams, fore and aft, on and offsides, the brueburnt sexfutter, handson and huntsem, that was palpably wrong and bulbubly improper, and cuddling her and kissing her:” this running parallel between physical courtship and the rules and regulations of some sport or other would be familiar to Americans of my generation: getting to “first base,” “second base,” etc. on a date. Here, for instance the man’s hands are getting “offsides.” See third note to .27. 384.26: “rufthandling:” roughhousing. In American football the penalty would be for “unnecessary roughness.” In courtship, so went the rules, the man’s advances should be aggressive but not too aggressive. 384.27: “ragbags:” according to OED; “ragbag” is colloquial for a slovenly or slatternly woman. 384.27: “assaucyetiams:” saucy: pertly flirtatious 384.27: “fore and aft:” again, compare “Wandering Rocks,” Lenehan with Molly: “I was tucking the rug under her and settling her boa all the time.” 384.28: “handson and huntsem:” Hengist and Horsa? “-son” and “-sem:” Shaun and Shem 384.29: “palpably wrong:” again, as we’d say in America, he’s feeling her up (palping her), kinda-sorta over her objections 384.30: “ensemble of maidenna blue, with an overdress of net, tickled with goldies:” Issy/Iseult/Isola as fish pond. “Goldies” are goldfish. As before (see .24 and note), the dominant colors are blue and blond. 384.30: “maidenna:” Blessed Virgin Mary as both maiden and Madonna. Traditionally, her clothing is white (“bawn” (see .21 and note) and “blue” (.31) – also, conventionally the colors of the sea, of foam and water. As sea deity, this “maidenna” comes equipped (.31) with fish and fishing nets. 384.31: “overdress:” here, in the sense of ornamental overlay, made of for instance lace or brocade 384.31: “net:” first Google Books occurrence of “fishnet stockings” is 1933; the entry makes clear that the term had been around before. They have always been a sign of seductive intent. (But then, equal-oppositely, it could also be fishnet-patterned veil, a fairly common accessory to women’s hats during the FW years.) 384.31: "goldies:" from Digger Dialects – A Collection of Slang Phrases used by the Australian Soldiers on Active Service, compiled by W.H. Downing, as recorded in Genetic Joyce Studies, Issue 18, by Ian MacArthur and Geert Lernout: teeth 384.32: “lisping her:” men in the business of courtship or seduction are conventionally described as “lisping” into their beloved’s ear. 384.32: “Trisolanisans:” I hear an overtone of the Tristan-and-Iseult locale Lyonesse in this. That Lyonesse eventually sank beneath the waves, I think, only enforces the connection. (See 393.26-30 and note.) And, of course, “Isola” (Wilde: see note to.22; also, Italian for island) is in here too. 384.35: “remembored:” as elsewhere in the chapter, “remembored” can carry the sense of drilling – boring - back through layers of the distant past, in this case, to the first catechism lesson of their youth. 384.36: “vulgar ear:” the vulgar era would be Vico’s third stage – perhaps the same as the “the bygone days” of the vulgar but entertaining Dion Boucicault (385.3). Also, counterpart to a vulgar tongue, of the sort using words like “cuddling and kiddling” (385.1) 385.1: “kiddling:” kidding her – joking with her – and kindling her desire 385.1: “oyster supper in Cullen’s barn:” presumably because oysters are supposed to be aphrodisiacs. (On the other hand, according to Google Books, in Joyce’s day they were most likely to be held by churches and church-related organizations, and the “Cullen” of FW, according to Glasheen, is usually or always Dublin’s arch-conservative Cardinal Cullen; his “barn” bay be Dublin’s Pro-Cathedral.) 385.2: “under her mistlethrush and kissing:” tradition that standing under the mistletoe invites a kiss 385.3-4: “Dion Boucicault, the elder, in Arra-na-pogue:” see next entry and entry for .4-5. Not accidental that Arrah’s first appearance in this chapter corresponds to the moment when the two lovers get down to their (“Two-tongue Common” (.4-5)) two-tongue-kissing. 385.4: “passing of the key:” a passkey. In Arra-na-pogue, it's a written message. 385.4-5: “Two-tongue Common:” what is (or was) generally known of, at least in America, as a French kiss or soul kiss. Point is that tongues are involved. See Molly in “Penelope:” “it never entered my head what kissing was till he put his tongue in my mouth.” As Glasheen notes, Arrah-na-Pogue’s name is Nora. 385.4-5: “in the otherworld of the passing of the key:” compare “the keys to dreamland” (625.27-8). “Otherworld:” also underworld; prompts Book of Dead soundings to follow. As noted earlier (e.g. entry for 376.21), the Arrah-na-Pogue kiss involves no key; Joyce may be combining Arrah with Houdini’s wife, kissing him before a performance and, some have speculated, in the process passing him a key to enable his escape. 385.6: “the farback, pitchblack centuries:” compare “the dark backward and abysm of time,” from The Tempest. 385.8: “the man on the door:” that is, the porter, or – see second note to .15 – the butler 385.9: “Nodderlands Nurskery:” land of Nod: 1. Cain’s place of banishment; 2. Poem by Robert Louis Stevenson about dreamland. (Occurs in this sense in other works.) 3. Perhaps, given Tinkerbell on previous page (384.22: see McHugh), an echo of “Neverneverland,” which would go with “Nurskery” – Nursery 385.10: “tom boys:” tomboys: by the FW years had come to mean a young woman, usually pre-adolescent, imitating young-male behavior. Part of this chapter’s ubiquitous androgyny 385.11-3: “Florian’s fables and communic suctions and vellicar frictions with mixum members:” with the exception of the first entry, the four academic subjects here (see McHugh) have been turned into ribald double-entendres – the kind of thing you’d expect from college boys. 385.14: “a prime number, Totius Quotius:” compare “tertium quid’ (526.12). An extra added to the four would make five, a prime number. 385.15: “Boris O’Brien:” Brien – Bruin – Bear. The entertainment is a bear-baiting. 385.15: “the buttler:” one of a butler’s duties is answering the door, granting or denying entry. Here, the four are remembered to have bribed him for admission. 385.15-6: “two turnovers plus (one) crown:” compare “Calypso:” “she prefers yesterday's loaves turnovers crisp crowns hot” - “crown” in the bakery sense. 385.16: “mad dane:” Hamlet 385.16: “mad dane ating his vitals:” the vitals belong to the bear, being eaten by the bear-baiting (here, a Great Dane) dog 385.17: “Wulf! Wulf!:” Woof! Woof! Barking of “mad [great] dane.” Echo of “wolf,” perhaps, because in attacking the bear he is reverting to his wild, pre-domesticated origins. For Joyce, the difference between wolves and dogs was pretty marginal. 385.17: “throwing his tongue:” “throw tongue” is an expression like “give tongue” – usually applied to hunting dogs when on the scent. 385.23: “she let a cough:” then as now, a discreet signal that she is about to say something and wants to be listened to 385.23-26: “gave her firm order, if he wouldn’t please mind, for a sings to one hope a dozen of the best favourite lyrical national blooms in Luvillicit:” she asked – or, really, ordered – him to sing her some Irish love songs. Also to give her flowers. (Compare .25 and note.) The courtship is definitely two-way. As the troubadours and many others – the Wagner of Tristan, for one - have testified, love is most powerful and poignant when (“Luvillicit”) illicit. 385.25: “a dozen of the best:” Google (but not Google Books) confirms that this was common schoolboy/girl parlance for twelve strokes with the cane or birch. Perhaps one (S&M) of the ways in which the love is illicit (.26). Compare 626.6-7: “Ludegude of the Lashlanns, how he whips me cheeks!” 385.25: “though not too much:” a second-thoughts caution that the flowers shouldn’t be too expensive 385.26: “national blooms:” whatever she had in mind, the national flower of Ireland is the shamrock. 385.27-8: “drinking in draughts of purest air serene and revelling in the great outdoors:” “air” also in sense of song, specifically one of Irish songs she just requested (.23-6). Like many such songs it is about the beauties of the Irish landscape, to which it transports her – the reason that the next several lines are in the outdoors. 385.31: “he longed to be spoon:” “to spoon” once meant for two to lie together, fitted like two spoons; later it meant to make sentimental love. “Be spoon” suggests that Joyce has the earlier meaning in mind. 385.31: “plaint effect:” plain fact 385.31-2: “and now, thank God, there were no more of them:” the four old men are temporarily no longer on the scene – Thank God, because the action is getting hot and heavy. 385.32: “Moreigner:” “morion,” a helmet; derived from French morro, crown of the head – hence (.33) “crusted [crested] head” (.33) Also, given context, a mariner, perhaps a foreign one 385.33: “Tilly the Tailor’s Tugged a Tar:” harkens back to tailor-sailor sequence of II.3. The tailor’s daughter (“Tugged a Tar”) has nabbed – married – a sailor. “Tugged” as in tugboat, pulling or pushing the ship, and sailor, to port. 385.34: “Arctic Newses Dagsdogs:” the newspaper announcing the match. As Gerty McDowell could explain, it makes the wedding unofficially official. 385.35: “foremasters in the rolls:” spelling of “fore” brings in “before the mast:” sleeping quarters for sailors (as opposed to officers), the reason being that the sea is rougher – and the ship more in the ocean’s “rolls” – up front. 386.5: “yambing around with their old pentameter:” here as elsewhere in FW, especially when it comes to variants on Issy’s name, I and Y can be interchangeable; hence here (see McHugh) iambic…pentameter / (a.k.a. (“duckasaloppics” (.6)) decasyllables). (The “old pentameter” is the ass, always fifth in succession.) To me, the line in question sounds more dactylic than iambic, but on the other hand “the old connubial men of the sea” (.4-5), immediately preceding, may qualify as iambic pentameter with anapestic substitutions. 386.6: “duckasaloppics:” includes “slops:” normal seaman’s clothing, plus sailor’s standard white duck trousers; also salop, a broad-gauged French term, usually or always obscene, that can be applied to almost anything trashy or disagreeable. 386.9-10: “woman squash:” compare Stephen’s childhood memory, in Portrait, chapter one, of a woman selling “lemon platt” - here as there a first or almost-first registered experience, recalled in retrospect by someone surveying the span of his life so far. Lemon squash is a drink similar to lemonade. 386.12: “Johnny:” following this, the Oxford editors have “From the urizen of speeches:” Blake’s Urizen and Darwin’s The Origin of Species. For Blake, Urizen is a fatherly authority figure; compare (.13) “their pater familias.” 386.15-6: “four dear old heladies, so nice and bespectable:” Once or twice I’ve known a man of this type to be dismissed as “an old woman.” 386.15: “heladies:” compare 135.32-3: “when older links lock older hearts then he’ll resemble she:” that is, as men and women age, each gender tends to resemble the other. Helps account for the note of androgyny running through this chapter. 386.20-1: “darkumound:” “darkmans:” Gypsy for “night.” Occurs in “Proteus.” 386.22: “Mrs Dana O’Connell:” 1. The directions here correspond more to the statue of Thomas Moore than to O’Connell’s. 2. In Portrait, Stephen describes Moore’s statue as that of “a Firbolg in the borrowed cloak of a Milesian.” 3. Dana was a Milesian goddess; the Firbolg queen shows up five lines later. 4. Again: androgyny, androgyny, androgyny 386.24-5: “the prumisceous creaters:” McHugh: pumiceous craters. Initiates (although “horrid rudy noised locked up in nasty cubbyhole” (.2-3) and (“darkumound” (.20-1)) - dark mound - may anticipate) a string of volcano-related language lasting for about a page. I suggest that the phrase “exploded volcano,” appearing in “Cyclops” and signifying a once-rambunctious personality whose day has past, is behind these occurrences: the four are reminiscing about “the wald times” (.7) of their long-ago youth. Pumice is from lava that cooled down; compare, for instance, 385.12 and note. 386.25: “emancipated:” legal term for property redeemed from pawnbroker. The pawnbroker theme, indicative of late-life poverty, will recur throughout. 386.28: “angler:” annual 386.28: “nomads flood:” Noah’s flood 386.31: “houghers:” in Ireland, a hougher is one who hamstrings cattle 386.33-4: “as their withers conditions could not possibly have been improved upon:” Wikipedia: “The withers of the horse are considered in evaluating conformation.” 386.35: “deeseesee:” DCC – Roman-numeral seven hundred. Application? Best guess: seven hundred years between Saint Patrick’s arrival in Ireland (432) and FW’s talismanic 1132. Also, today, the Irish often say that English oppression of Ireland went on for about eight hundred years. When Joyce was born and growing up, about seven hundred years would have been closer to the mark. 386.35: “hopolopocattls:” Hopalong Cassidy: fictional cowboy hero popular in books, movies, radio and – after Joyce’s day – television. Goes, obviously, with horse/cattle/cowboy cluster. 386.36: “Judgity Yaman:” “Yamen:” Chinese official. Wikipedia says that one of a Yamen’s duties was serving as judge in civil cases. 386.36-387.1: “horses and priesthunters:” a hunter is a kind of horse. 387.3: “all over like a tiara dullfuoco:” things were (“erumping” (386.35)) erupting like a…: “Tierra del Fuego” (McHugh) means land of fire. So: something like “like a house afire.” (Clive Hart spots an echo at 621.03 – “lausafire.”) 387.4: “crimson harness:” Google Images shows that such outfitting was for horses in ceremonial processions – along with ostrich plumes, silver buckles, etc. 387.4: “leathern jib:” leather – or leathern - bib. Common article for some artisans 387.5: “cheapshein:” shininess has long been associated with cheapness in dress, either because the material was cheap – sometimes cheap and flashy - to begin with, or because worn down, like the bottom of overused pants. Google Books hits on “shiny clothes” in this pejorative sense go back well before 1900. 387.6: “(gallowglasses (how do you do, jaypee, Elevato!):” one – perhaps the first – instance of an intermittent sequence in which parenthetical asides are communications via a telephone's trunk line. Also “-glasses” in sense of spectacles, which enable the wearer to recognize the “jaypee,” J. P., Justice of the Peace. 387.7: “Dame:” Dean. Also, probably another allusion to Dame Street, which runs into (“colleges” (.7)), Trinity College 387.10-1: “yaghoodurt sweepstakings and all the horsepowers:” Swift’s Yahoos (McHugh) and Houyhnhnms – in the fourth book of Gulliver’s Travels, the powers that be. Also, the Irish Sweepstakes, where winnings were based on the results of horse racing 387.10: “sweepstakings:” compare Tom Kernan, in “Wandering Rocks,” on America: “The sweepings of every country including our own.” 387.11: “hayastdanars:” overtone of “hesitancy” 387.12: “wolkingology and how our seaborn isle came into exestuance:” Ireland as volcanically formed island. (It isn’t.) “Estuance” is heat; “ex-estuance:” after cooling off 387.13: “explutor:” as McHugh notes, exploder. A volcanically formed island (see previous) was once an exploder. 387.15: “Johnny, the patrician:” John of Patmos, of apocalypse fame. Patmos, appropriately enough, is a volcanically formed island. “Patrician” – the word itself, with overtones of pater and “Patrick,” indicates that, like the others, he has cooled off in the interim. (So would “Peter,” as rock – not molten anymore.) 387.17: “saltwater widowers:” in George Meredith’s The Adventures of Harry Richmond, a “saltwater widow” is a woman whose husband is often away at sea. The four old men – not widows but widowers: again, androgyny - are frequently presented as victims or survivors of some sea disaster, for instance at .19-20 “the wreak of Wormans’ Noe,” which McHugh lists as an allusion to Longfellow’s “The Wreck of the Hesperus.” 387.19: “Fair Margrate:” Margate: seaside resort town in southeast England. Brings overtone of “waded” to “waited.” 387.21: “Wormans’ Noe:” woman’s woe. In “Oxen of the Sun,” “woman’s woe” is childbirth. 387.21-2: “the barmaisigheds, when my heart knew no care:” In James Clarence Mangan’s “The Time of the Barmecides,” an old man remembers his wild youth, “In the time of the Barmecides” (the poem’s refrain), “When hearts could glow.” 387.21-2: “when my heart knew no care:” a note, in Joyce’s hand, in the Cornell collection, that until he became a father “my heart knew no care.” 387.22-3: “Lady Jales Casemate:” combines (see McHugh) Roger Casement with Lady Jane Grey. (More androgyny.) Both were (“Jales”) jailed and executed. 387.23: “year of the flood 1132 S.O.S.:” throughout the chapter, a given date will be followed by a familiar set of initials, presumably in imitation of the standard “B.C.” or “A.D.” (Some seem incongruous or unaccountable, but, as a signal of distress from a sinking ship, “S.O.S.” clearly goes with the flood and drownings, as, for instance, in the next entry.) 387.25: “the whate shape:” much of England’s royalty and ruling class died in the sinking of the “White Ship.” Given the overall booziness of this chapter’s proceedings (see preliminary notes), it’s apropos that, as McHugh puts it, “everyone on board was drunk.” 387.28: “merkin:” a pubic wig 387.30: "suir:" identified by Ian MacArthur as Irish for mermaid. 387.31: "Saman:" O Hehir: Samhain, the Celtic All-Hallows Day. MacArthur: Irish for "the Judge of departed souls" 387.32-3: “The arzurian deeps o’er his humbodumbones sweeps:” given all the flooding and drowning in the vicinity, “arzurian” may, again, bring in the story of Lyonesse, submerged (beneath the sea’s azure), as at 384.32. 387.33: “wreathing:” reading as well as writing (hence her murmuring (“murmoirs” (.34) sound)) – one of several places in FW that conflate the two 387.35: “gunfree:” Humphrey 388.1: “conk:” short for conqueror, as in William the Conqueror. (See 31.14.) Also the big-nosed (i.e. big-conked) Duke of Wellington (see 595.30), perhaps by the way of his “conqueror’s nose” – a prominent straight nose. (Examples, besides Wellington: Charlemagne, George Washington, Bismarck.) Also, the hacking chestnut game Stephen plays in Portrait, chapter one is called “Conkers.” 388.1: “Exeunc:” “unc:” American abbreviation for uncle. (Mark is Tristran’s uncle.) Compare 376.16 and note. 388.2: “kirked into yord:” allusion to The House by the Churchyard 388.2: “Enterest:” mock-Elizabeth stage direction. Possible overtone of "Exit, pursued by a bear." 388.2: “gink guy:” “Gink” is Anglo-Irish for small nose – counterpoints “conk” (.1), large nose. “Gink” often signifies a disagreeable old man. 388.3. “Wehpen, luftcat revol:” His weapon is a revolver. “Luftcat:” Luftkampf, German air combat. A familiar word in the interwar years 388.3: “natsirt:” Nazi (brown) shirt – the new order, weapon included, replacing the “old conk” (.1). 388.4: “Tuesy tumbles:” to tumble for someone is to become enamored of them. 388.4: “and mild aunt Liza is as loose as her neese:” take-off on the “loosening thighs” of “Leda and the Swan?” (Poem was published in 1924.) In any case, “loose…neese [knees]” is definitely a sexual innuendo. Note (“oncontinent” (.5)) incontinent of next line. 388.5: “As gent would deem oncontinent:” general sense seems to be that a man of standards – a gentleman – would judge the participants in this libidinous free-for-all to be behaving incontinently. Collaterally, he’s an English gentleman who finds such disgraceful behavior to be the sort of thing one might expect on the continent. 388.6: “Elsker woed:” Oscar Wilde 388.7: “Like the newcasters in their old plyable of A Royenne Devours:” old play with a new cast. Again (see 383.21 ) A Royal Divorce was a Dublin standby for, literally, decades. 388.7: “A Royenne:” Aryan 388.8: “Jazzaphoney:” jazz heard on the phonograph. Google Books gives one hit for “Bingo Billy’s Jazophone Band.” 388.9: "Sobbos...Sabbus:" Ian MacArthur traces to Irish "sab," for death 388.10-2: "the Flemish armada:" the Flemish Fleet ("Armada de Flandres") - operated by Spain in its 17th century campaign to suppress the Dutch rebellion 388.12-3: “the universal flood, at about aleven thirty-two was it?:” common term for Noah’s flood. Also called Sintflut; compare 590.1. According to standard biblical dating, occurred 2348 B.C. 388.13-4: “Saint Patrick, the anabaptist, and Saint Kevin, the lacustrian:” FW 605.4-606.12 will give an account of Kevin’s baptism in a bathtub/font in a lake isle in a lake. If only because he was about a thousand years too early, Patrick was no Anabaptist. 388.17: “hourse of Hunover:” English monarchs since George I have been of the German house of Hanover, a fact that became embarrassing during World War I, when Germans were “Huns;” hence the name-change to Windsor. “Cyclops” repeatedly reminds readers of the irony. 388.17: “Clunkthurf over Cabinhogan:” Copenhagen is a Scandinavian capital, and Scandinavians – Vikings – were defeated at the Battle of Clontarf. Also: primitive Irish huts – cabins – were traditionally made of native turf. A “hogan” is an American Indian hut/cabin made of logs and turf. English comparisons of one aboriginal dwelling to the other were a feature of 19th-century representations of Irish peasants. 388.18-9: "Noahsdobahs:" Digger Dialects (see 384.20 and note): Noah's doves: "reinforcements who were at sea and on their way towards a war zone at the time when the Armistice was signed" 388.19-20: “year of Notre Dame 1132 P.P.O.:” again, 1132 is a definite year. P.P.O. here is a place-marker, where A.D. would be expected. See 387.23 and note, 389.13 and note, 391.2 and note. Given context, “P.P.O.” might or might not stand for “Parcels Post Office.” "Year of Our Lady" replacing the expected "Year of Our Lords" constitutes another gender switch. 388.21: “Motham General Bonaboche (noo poopery!:” “Madame General:” honorary title of general’s wife. Also, “Madame Mère:” common term for Napoleon’s domineering mother, Madame (“Bonaboche”) Bonaparte. (Again, one of many androgynous notes in this chapter; see 395.36-396.1 and note.) For nested “-boche,” see .17 and note: “Boche” was a WW I English epithet for the Germans. “Noo poopery:” as the land of Luther, the Germans were in the vanguard of “No popery:” another embarrassing fact (see .17 and note), during WW I, for predominantly Protestant England allied with predominantly Catholic France. Like “Cyclops,” FW loses few opportunities to highlight such historical anomalies, especially when embarrassing to received wisdom. Also, although Napoleon's Catholicism was open to question, to many Englishmen his threatened invasion was to be resisted with cries such as "No Popery!" 388.23: "like a Nailscissor:" Digger Dialects (see 384.31 and note): "Nail-scissors" is Australian slang for "The crossed sword and baton worn as a badge of rank by a General." Here, the idea seems to be that his pretensions to high rank are part of his seduction routine. 388.23: “Nailscissor, poghuing her scandalous:” Narcissus, looking in the pool, was mainly interested in ("poghuing") kissing himself. “Her:” yet another of this chapter’s changes of gender: overtone of Nausicaa adds another layer. 388.27: “Brian or Bride:” one of about ten variants on “brine”-“bride;” the highest concentration is 500.21-501.3. Another instance of androgyny 388.29: “howldmoutherhibbert lectures:” according to Atherton, an allusion to H. G. Hibbert’s A Playgoer’s Memories. Glasheen has Robert Hibbert, a "19th-century radical who endowed a lectureship." Both seem to fit the context, in different ways. 388.30: “(hello, Hibernia!)…(Matt speaking!):” language here is typical of the early days of both radio and telephones. 388.30: “from sea to sea:” “from sea to shining sea:” line from “America the Beautiful” 388.33: "vicerine:" viceroy changed to vicereine - more gender-bending 388.35: “collegians green:” first-year (green) students 388.35-6: “high classes and the poor scholars:” “Poor scholars” at British universities were those who could not afford the tuition; they were, in noticeable and sometimes degrading ways, treated differently from upper-class students. 389.1: “Plymouth brethren:” Oxford editors insert “construing and glosing and droning along” after “brethren.” “Construing” in sense of construing Latin 389.3: “twelve tables:“ twelves tables: classroom list of numbers multiplied by twelve. Followed in next line by “four trinity colleges.” So: ("twelve") 1, 2, then 4, 3 389.4: “earnasyoulearning:” “Earn as you learn!” A popular come-on in ads for technical colleges, diploma mills, salesmen’s academies, correspondence courses - especially popular in U.S. 389.4-5: “Eringrowback:” play on “Come back to Erin,” directed to the millions who left in wake of famine and poverty in general; the Irish radio station 2RN took its name from the song with this title. Also, compare next note, and 367.2: “And he grew back into his grossery baseness” – return as regression. (For what they'd be coming back to, see next entry.) Oxford editors have “in Eringrowback.” 389.5: “Ulcer, Moonster, Leanstare and Cannought:” not sure about “Moonster” (Moon-starer? Lunatic?) but the other three are indicative of native poverty and despair: ulcers a sign of disease, often from malnutrition, a lean stare a sign of acute hunger (possible echo from Julius Caesar: “a lean and hungry look”), “cannot” a general lassitude. 389.7: “Killkelly-on-the-Flure:” continuing the theme of native Irish mayhem. Compare the song remembered by Bloom in “Lestrygonians:” “And the skulls we were acracking when M’Carthy took the floor.” 389.8-9: “where their rule was to rule the round roll that Rollo and Rullo rolled round:” British students were taught to rule the world in the manner of their ancestors. (William the Conqueror was a direct descendant of Rollo and forebear of English monarchs, who ruled the waves.) 389.8: “round roll:” scoundrel 389.9: “gynecollege:” a woman’s college. (In Britain the first was Girton, founded in 1873 at Cambridge.) 389.10: “(Lucas calling, hold the line!):” as if addressed over the telephone to a switchboard operator. Continued at .18: “MacDougall speaking, give me trunks, miss!” 389.10-1: “Janesdanes Lady Andersdaughter Universary:” echo of Lady Jane Grey, (very) temporary queen of England, before being beheaded – hardly a propitious name for a woman’s university, or anything else. Compare 387.22-3. 389.10-1: “Lady Andersdaughter:” instead of the standard blank-blank “…and Son.” “Wandering Rocks” has a similar variation: “Reddy and Daughter’s.” Another example of this chapter's gender role-reversal 389.11: “Universary:” university, anniversary, varsity 389.11: "unitarian:" given heavily religious setting, probably the Unitarian Church 389.13: “late No. 1132 or No. 1169:” again, a linking of these two calamitous dates in Irish history: MacMurrough’s destruction of the abbey at Kildare; Strongbow’s invasion of Ireland. If not exactly cause-and-effect, the two events each played a prominent part in what the Irish have long considered the greatest disaster of their history. See 13.33 and note, 391.2 and note. 389.13-4: “No. 1132 or No. 1169, bis, Fitzmary Round:” an address as well as a date: either one of those two numbers, Fitzwilliam Square, in Dublin - hence, ("Round") circling the square. Changing "William” to “Mary” goes with this chapter’s gender reversals (see, e.g., note to .10-1). Also, given context, William and Mary, America’s second oldest college. In “Circe,” “Bis!” means “Over again;” at .15-6 we get “repeating herself.” 389.14: “where she was seen by many and widely liked:” see previous entry: Fitzwilliam Square was a center of fashion. 389.15: “Fatimiliafamilias:” play on “paterfamilias.” More androgyny 389.15-20: “repeating….bower:” female lecturer is (repeatedly) giving a biblically-inflected lecture on the divine purpose as worked out through time, including into the future. (Probably relevant that Mary’s messages at "Fatima" (.15) were/are believed by many to predict the future.) That the Fall should be described in terms exclusively of Eve/Eva’s expulsion from the “bower” (.20) continues the androgyny/sex-reversal thread. The speaker was introduced as a “unitarian” (.11), and there is a distinctive Unitarian/Transcendentalist tone to her mixture of theology and mysticism, her “psadatepholomy” (.17), a portmanteau word echoing “pseudo,” “theophany,” and “telephone;” compare the American evangelist Alexander J. Dowie in “Circe,” with his “sunphone” to God. Not accidental that the operator of this divine switchboard is identified as female, a “miss” (.18) 389.17: “psadatepholomy:” McHugh glosses as “pseudotelephony.” I can’t find this word, but for “pseudophone” OED has “an instrument for changing the direction from which a sound seems to come, used for investigating the localization of sound.” Earliest occurrence is 1879. 389.18-20: “and present and absent and past and present and perfect arma virumque romano:” from the Latin lesson. The (“romano”) Roman is, of course, Virgil. 389.20: “eve aleaves bower:” Eva leaves (blissful) bower (of Eden). 389.22: “gagagniagnian:” continuation of stammer, induced by excitement at (remembered) sight 389.23-5: “with his peer of quinnyfears and his troad of thirstuns, so nefarious, from his elevation of one yard one handard and thartytwo lines:” the ingredients for at least one of FW's 1132’s here: a ("peer") pair, a ("troad") triad: two, three. Eleven ("elevation"), followed by "thartytwo." If "yard" could somehow mean "thousand" - apparently it can't - the following "one handard and thartytwo" would qualify this sequence for two 1132's, but no dice. Overtones of ("thirstuns") thirteen(s) or thirty/thirties, the "quin-" in "quinnyfears," the "-fears" in "quinnyfears," and the "four" (.25) immediately following all serve to further complicate the issue. FW frequently mixes up its number sets like this: some seem to fit a familiar pattern; others in the vicinity do do not. 389.23: “his peer of quinnyfears:” “quinny:” slang for vagina. Fear of ("peer of") it might be attributed to famously chaste Galahad (“galahat” (.23)), having lived his life in fear of the vagina. 389.25: “the four of us:” from drinking song “One More Drink for the Four of Us” 389.26: “deepseepeepers:” compare “fathomglasses” (386.16). Eyes/glasses are gazing into the sea’s deeps. At 393.26-30 (see note) they will seeing through Lough Neagh’s waters to its bottom. The sea is (sometimes) (sea-)green; “green” vision is a stage of glaucoma, etymologically derived from the Greek for bluish-green or bluish-gray. Joyce, going blind, had glaucoma, and since Homer, tradition has had it that those so afflicted are compensatorily endowed with powers of insight not given the sighted, of "deepseeing insight" (75.13). A major premise of this chapter, and of FW throughout 389.27: “dullokbloon:” O Hehir traces to Gaelic for “crazedness.” 389.26-8: “while his deepseepeepers gazed and sazed and dazecrazemazed into her dullokbloom rodolling eyenbowels:" dolling:” dall: Gaelic for blind. Also, compare Bloom’s “Wandering Rocks” memory of woman in orgasm: “Whites of eyes swooning up.” 389.28: “Cornelius Nepos:” following, for instance, “arma virumque romano” (.19), more of the Latin lesson; see .1, .18-20 and notes. According to Wikipedia, “His simple style of writing has made him [Cornelius Nepos], in the UK at least, a standard choice for passages of unseen translation, in Latin exams, from prep school, even up to degree level.” 389.30: “Queh? Quos?:” again, more Latin lesson. Compare 126.6. 389.31: “Bozun braceth brythe hwen gooses gandered gamen:” the gist eludes, but gamen is German for monogamous, geese – female goose and male gander – are monogamous, and a “brace” is a pair. (Compare 123.29.) Possible overtone of “embraceth” in “-un braceth” 389.33: “twice two four:” elementary math lessons – considerably earlier than times tables 389.33: “with their familiar, making the toten:" their “familiar” – the ass – is their totem. 389.36-390.1: “Senders Newslaters:” ALP – first name Ann, Anne, or Anna, sometimes present as Miss/Mrs/Lady Anders/ Andersen/Sanders, etc. – is usually the sender of the letter. Also: news, later: see 390.7 and note. 390.1: “mossacre:” Moss Acre: a place name (sometimes applied to streets, estates, homes); Google Books seems to indicate that it was originally a term for unploughed ground. 390.3: “ballest: blest 390.3-4: “Gosterstown, and his old fellow, the Lagener, in the Locklane:” Cock Lane ghost 390.4: “old fellow:” in Ulysses, term for “father” 390.4: “Locklane:” Lochlann (variously spelled) – Gaelic name for home of Northern raiders – perhaps either Scotland or Norway 390.4-5: “earing his wick with a pierce of railing:” compare 311.10-11, 312.16. If it takes a rail or railing, he must be a giant. (On the other hand, see next item.) 390.4-5: “earing his wick:” compare “Hades” description of Boylan “airing his quiff.” Also, lighthouse wicks, positioned to enable contact with circulation of air 390.5: “liggen hig:” living high 390.6: “sadderday erely cloudsing:” early closing time for pubs on Saturday. (Hence “sad.”) Also, the popular American weekly magazine The Saturday Evening Post. 390.6-7: “old croniony:” old crony 390.7: “Skelly:” variant of Scalaighe, town crier – one who as “old croniony,” would regularly announce the (chronology) time and the latest news: see 389.36-390.1 and note. 390.8: “lightweight beltts:” 404.13 has “belted lamp.” Presumably the lamp – in FW, a regular feature of the postman’s outfit - could be hung from the belt 390.10: “Oran mosque:” Oranmore, region near Galway 390.10: “the old folks at home:” like “Auld Lang Syne,” “The Old Folks at Home” is a song of sentimental nostalgia. 390.12: “cabbangers richestore, of the filest archives:” see McHugh. Coppinger's Register, which apparently has the finest files archived. (Also, at 30.12 HCE is a ("cabbaging") cabbager.) This makes for at least three FW Coppingers - besides this one, J.F.X.P. Coppinger (see Glasheen) and the one cited in my note for 55.18-9. 390.14: “wangles:” in “Aeolus:” to move unsteadily 390.17: “Deaddleconch:” sea shells, of conches for example, are by definition dead – a fact that occurs to Stephen in “Nestor” and “Proteus.” 390.17-8: “half a Roman hat, with an ancient Greek gloss on it:” Joyce’s source, Joseph Mary Flood, Ireland, Its Saints and Scholars (1917), p. 92: “It was considered good taste among the Irish scholars…to scatter Greek words through the Latin text.” 390.17-8: “hat, with an ancient Greek gloss on it:” bright gloss is sign of new hat 390.21: “to see no more:” to say nothing of; say no more 390.23: “be forgot:” continuation of “Auld Lang Syne” 390.23: “whilk:” whelk 390.27-8: “That old fellow knows milk though he’s not used to it latterly:” a snarky innuendo, to the effect that he drinks nothing but liquor 390.30-31: “Ivel…holymaid:” ivy and holly 390.32: “pesition in odvices:” position in office 390.35: “Poolland:” pool for the goldfish 390.36: “foorsitter:” four-seater 390.36: “fullbottom wig:” worn by English judges – hence “Dowager Justice Squalchman,” the “court” of 391.3 391.1 “Erminia Reginia:” sounds like dog-Latin for “ermined queen” – here perhaps the kind of vocal tribute to the monarch once required at the beginning of trials. In Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata, Erminia is a princess. 391.1: “aring or around:” “Ring around the rosie” 391.1-2: “the year of buy in disgrace:” “year of grace:” Catholic term for any given year, with emphasis on the church calendar 391.2: “1132 or 1169 or 1768 Y.W.C.A.:” have suggested (note to 11.33) that 1132, at least in part, refers to the date when Dermot Macmurroughs’s actions set in motion events that would result in the 1169 invasion. (No idea how 1768 might fit.) “Y.W.C.A” is perhaps a substitute for “A.D.”: both are centered on Christ; “W” not “M” – although of course there is a real Y.W.C.A. – is in keeping with all the gender-flipping. See 388.20, also 389.13 and note. 391.3: “Married Male Familyman’s Auctioneer’s court:” no such thing, but “Married Male” deflates the more respectful “Husband;” “Familyman’s” not “Father’s” does much the same. (At 392.7 it gets even worse: “her poor old divorced male.”) As in “Wandering Rocks,” having one’s effects auctioned off indicates poverty. In general throughout this sequence, “Poor Johnny” (.4) is in sorry shape, impoverished and in trouble with the law; at .8 he even gets “behangd.” 391.4: “Dougals:” Douglas – a traditional Scots name 391.5: “dinna:” Scots idiom 391.5-6: “so frightened…on account of her full bottom:” \feeling guilty or at least nervous, he’s frightened to be standing before a judge, with her fullbottomed wig – see 390.36. The “her,” in place of the expected “his” (Britain was not to have a woman judge until 1962) is typical of the chapter. 391.6: “(Zweep! Zweep!):” compare Blake’s “The Chimney Sweeper:” “And my father sold me ere yet my tongue / Could scarcely cry “’weep!’ ‘weep!’ ‘weep!’ ‘weep!’” 391.6-7: (“undullable attraxity!):” as with the "Ignorant invincibles" of 361.20, compare Father Conmee in “Wandering Rocks” on the “Invincible ignorance” of the Protestants. Also, his attraction toward her full bottom (transformed from her “fullbottom wig”) is incurable: like Bloom he cannot resist what Molly, in “Penelope,” after he has kissed her full bottom, calls “the place where we haven’t 1 atom of any kind of expression on us.” 391.7: “the yearl of mercies:” year of mercies: a line from the Protestant hymn “New Year’s Day.” Compare .1-2, with its overtone of “year of grace.” 391.9: “borstel:” Borstal: British school/institution for juvenile delinquents. Irish borstal was in Clonmel. 391.9: “to borstel her schoon:” “Sch,” as in “school,” probably because of association with borstal. (See previous entry.) As Dutch borstelen, to brush, he was laggard in shining her shoe(s), in context the equivalent of apple-polishing. He was neither assiduous nor intelligent – not methodically “methodist” (.11) enough in his sycophancy: for one thing, instead of “grooming” her ladyship he should have been “backscratching” the mother-in-law, who (“materfamilias”) really ran things (9-10). 391.13: “missoccurs:” misoccurrences. In this case, apparently old-age incontinence: he "forgot himself, making wind and water, and made a Neptune's mess of all of himself" (.18-9). 391.15-6: “all persecuted with ally croaker by everybody, by decree absolute:” again: the law is out to get him. 391.16: “Herrinsilde:” pertinent or not – Mink doesn’t include it – there is a Herring Island near Australia. (392.31 will have “Newhigherland,” which McHugh identifies as an “island near New Guinea.”) 391.17: “making…water:” as in “Telemachus,” urinating 391.20: “proxy morning paper:” 1. Morning (news)paper. 2. Document authorizing someone to vote on one’s behalf. 3. given context, overtone of “proxenete” – matchmaker or procurer. Compare 198.17. 391.20: “to hersute herself:” to suit herself – that is, do whatever she wants. “Herself,” like “himself,” is an ironic Irish expression for the self-important. 391.23: “Dion Cassius Poosycomb:” dying cat – because cats are proverbially unable to swim 391.26: “shingles falling off him:” given context, the skin disease, which appears as a rash and which, according to online medical sources, can feature skin “peeling” or “flaking” off 391.30: “as red as a Rosse is:” As Red as A Rose is She: popular novel by Rhoda Broughton, mentioned in “Eumaeus” and at 224.25. “Rosse:” in Gaelic, wandering woman, jilt. Compare Gerty in “Nausicaa:” “If they could run like rossies she could sit.” 391.31: “the general of the Berkeleyites:” Russian general (McHugh) paired with Buckley-ites 391.30-3: “went to confession…to Her Worship his Mother and Sister Evangelist Sweainey:” confessed to Mother Superior and one of the nuns in her convent; the name Sweeney (“Sweainey”) indicates that the site is Irish. In the Catholic Church, women in religious orders were not and are not allowed to hear confessions – especially not, one assumes, from men. (On the other hand, in Ulysses, the (male) priest’s office of hearing female confessions is represented as a source of power and voyeuristic gratification.) 391.34: “bootybutton:” the term was evidently not in wide circulation, but in Joyce’s time “Beauty Button” was the brand name of a fabric-covered button, of the kind worn on clothing. At 392.10 he has been charged with doing something improper for, when sick in the hospital, trying to count the buttons on a nurse’s uniform. See note to 392.10. 391.36: “peltry:” paltry party 391.36-392.1: “there were faults on both sides:” given context, his defensive version of the divorce 392.5: “a bad carmp:” he got a bad cramp, either while swimming or as a result of having eaten something, or both 392.5-6: “the rude ocean:” the Red Sea, where pharaoh’s soldiers drowned (387.25-7) 392.8: “Martyr:” Mother, as in Mother Superior. (Catherine Macauley (see McHugh) was addressed as “Mother,” was not a martyr.) 392.8: “MacCawley’s:” often in FW “caw” is a signal for a crow or raven paired with a dove – caw-caw vs. coo-coo. As a carrion bird, it is here uncomfortably appropriate for someone running a ("houspays for the daying" (392.7-8)) hospice for the dying. 392.9-12: “taying and toying…count the buttons…doying to remembore what doed they were byorn…who made a who a snore:” signs of second-childhood senility. In Ulysses, button-counting is the action of both the infantilized Bloom of “Circe” and the “infantile” Milly of “Ithaca.” Forgetting or struggling to ("remembore what doed they were byorn") remember one’s birthday is a standard symptom of senility. “Who made” (see 384.35) signals a return to the childhood days of learning the catechism, which begins with "Who made the world?" Dropping into snoring sleep in mid-sentence is conventionally something old people do. (At 395.8 the old men are “narcolepts.”) 392.9: “taying:” “tay” is Irish pronunciation of “tea.” 392.9: “nursetendered hand:” tender hand, tendered by the hospital’s nurse 392.10: “the poor old coax:” superannuated flirt 392.10: “count the buttons and her hand:” given “poor old coax,” an attempt at flirtation – counting the buttons on her glove (or dress, or uniform) and eventually reaching the hand. The charge was that, as another of FW’s lecherous old men, he was making clumsy advances; more likely it was a symptom of senility. 392.11: “doying:” doyenne 392.11-12: “what doed they were byorn:” again, inability to remember one’s birthday is a classic symptom of Alzheimer’s, at the time usually called dementia. Glasheen: “As far as I know, Joyce was the first artist to set senility down at length. [A later work along the same line: Gabriel Marquez’ The Autumn of the Patriarch, which in some ways resembles this chapter.] Listening to an educated man, dying of hardening of the arteries, I realized that he spoke in the manner and matter and very rhythm of the Four.” “Byorn,” as anagram of “Byron,” may constitute a flashback to the days of their romantic youth. 392.12: “a snore:” as/is now: Lord’s Prayer: “is now, and shall ever be.” (Not included in the Catholic paternoster.) Also, nodding off and snoring is another sign of old age. 392.15: “exchullard:” former scholar (as in “Emeritus:” (.14)), excellent scholar, formerly excellent scholar, in sense of student. Spelling also suggests “dullard” – a bad or lazy student 392.16: “Achoch!:” Ach! – Irish exclamation. Given context, probably also “Achoo!” 392.16: “sorgy:” soggy 392.16: “poorboir:” poor boy 392.16: “saltwater hat:” “Sou’wester hat,” large hat used by sailors during heavy weather 392.17-19: “Aran crown…heart:” a heart mounted by a crown is a feature of the Claddagh ring. (The inability to “pull…up” his overalls (.19), presumably with his hands, may complete the picture: the ring's heart is held with a pair of hands.) Aran Islands are off the coast of Galway, including the Claddagh district. 392.17-8: “too big for him, of or Mnepos and his overalls:” American expression: “too big for his britches.” Overalls are workman’s pants, secured by straps over the shoulders. As such they can be pulled up (.19). Oxford editors delete “or.” 392.18: “all falling over her in folds:” either the clothes have grown too big for him/her or he/she has shrunk 392.20: “porple blussing:” a purple bruise/wound (French: blesser) inflicted by the people. Also, blushing, purply 392.21-2: “the sole of the settlement, below ground, for an expiatory rite:” a number of religious rites feature an avatar imitating the descent of the sun (“sol[e]”) – Egyptian, Mithraic, Christian, others. 392.21: “sole:” soul 392.22: “postulation:” postulate: a candidate for admission into a religious order 392.23: “king of the Caucuses:” the best known mythical king of the Caucasus was Aeëtes, father of Medea. 392.24-5: “under geasa, Themistocles, on his multilingual tombstone:” to be under geasa is to be under taboo: one is prohibited from the action or actions specified. Possible application to Themistocles? He was banished from Athens and, as an exile, resided in several different countries. (His supposed tomb, in Piraeus, is inscribed only in Greek.) 392.25: “to kid:” to give birth (for a goat) 392.25-6: “sweetpea time:” either spring or summer, depending on climate. In Ireland, probably early summer 392.26: “face to the wall:” to “turn one’s face to the wall” is to surrender to death. 392.26: ”in view of the poorhouse:” compare “Circe:” “in sight of the whipping post.” In other words, finally realizing the likely consequences of one’s misdeeds 392.28: “the rattle of hailstorms, kalospintheochromatokreening:” onomatopoeia: sound of hail on the roof, or (.29) “hood.” 392.29: “ivyclad:” connotes antiquity, either venerable or decrepit 392.31: “Newhigherland:” Mink tentatively notes that “New Island” was a popular Irish name for America in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Also, the name of an island of Papu New Guinea. Other occurrences: possibly 348.16, more definitely 525.30 and 595.10 392.34: “merthe dirther:” curtailer of mirth, resulting in a dirth (of mirth) 392.35: “Ah ho!:” with elided h-h, alpha-omega 393.2: “alkolic:” alcoholic 393.3: "And all." End all. Compare 368.35. 393.4ff.: “Matt…:” from around here to about 395.25 the four old men often seem to take on the character of cats, probably based on Issy’s cat. Considering such earlier passages as 391.23 - “poor Dion Cassius Poosycomb, all drowned too” – the tradition that cats have nine lives (also that they are averse to water; see 391.23 and note) is probably in the background. 393.4-5: “Matt…the end….can’t…Andrew Martin Cunningham!” Given the other familiar elements, “can’t” probably figures in the Matthew Kane / Martin Cunningham complex of Ulysses – that of a drowned man: see Ellmann (1985), p. 133. 393.6: “Take breath!:” as one might say to someone who has come close to drowning 393.8: “struck coil:” struck oil – to have had a sudden stroke of luck 393.8: “Bargomuster:” besides Bürgermeister, harbourmaster – who would be, among other things, in charge of barges, of which the Liffey has many. 393.9: “Hungerford-on-Mudway:” as described in Oliver Twist, Hungerford Stairs leads down to the Thames, which at the time might aptly have been called a mudway. It was one of London's seamier areas. (Thames scavengers were “mudlarks.”) Given that, it’s probably pertinent that Dickens was born and grew up along the Medway, which feeds into the Thames. “Hungerford-on-Mudway” mocks the “X on Y” (e.g. “Burton on Trent”) names of some English settlements. 393.11-2: “acoustic pottish:” caustic potash would be highly poisonous. 393.11-2: “pottish:” pottage. Esau sold his birthright for a “mess of pottage.” 393.12-3: “he poled him up with his boccat of vuotar:” he pulled up a bucket of water (from the well). 393.13: “got big buzz for his name:” was much talked about; became famous or notorious 393.15-6: “shims and shawls week:” ’m not aware of any Saints and Souls Week, but there is an All Saints Day and an All Souls Day. Also, an equal-opposite echo of shames and shawls – in “Circe” a shawl is a prostitute. 393.18: “old Gallstonebelly:“ pain in the stomach/belly is an early symptom of gallstone trouble. Sufferers are typically senior – forty or over. 393.19-20: “the lovely mother of periwinkle buttons:” mother of pearl – another kind of “beauty button.” Compare 391.34. 393.20: “the lapper part of their anachronism:” again (compare 384.35, 392.9-12), as McHugh notes, their catechism, again remembered from childhood. Given context (e.g. “their four hosenbands…now happily married” (.16-7)), it is probably not accidental that out of the Maynooth Catechism’s thirty “lessons,” the twenty-ninth – the (“lapper”) latter part - deals with marriage. 393.22: “beautfour sisters:” four beautiful sisters; compare .17: “beautiful sister misters.” 293.24: “alum and oves:” a and o, alpha and omega 393.24: “up from under:” that is, from Australia, “down under.” Goes with “kookaburra” (.26) 393.25-30: “[1]alum…[2]garlands…[3] bell ringring all wrong inside of them [4] (come in, come on, you lazy loafs!)…[5] bellbox…[6] frightened, for the [7] dthclangavore, like [8] knockneeghs bumpsed by the [9] fisterman’s [10] straights…[11]on their mistletoes:” incorporates language of boxing – probably from memories of youth. As follows, from the above quoted excerpt: [1] Alum was/is used at ringside to close up wounds. [2] Garlands, literally or not, were traditional tokens of victory. [3] Boxing features two rings, the boxing ring and the bell signal for each round. After a while, contestants can experience ringing in the ears, here imagined as if the ringing bell had somehow and against the order of things – “all wrong” – gotten “inside” their heads. [4] Here and elsewhere the ringside crowd can be heard either jeering or cheering. [5] A Google search confirms that the bell was sometimes called a “bellbox.” [6] Naturally enough, both boxers are frightened when they are signaled to fight by the [7] “dthclangavore,” the sound made by the bell, onomatopoetically rendered – perhaps, as in “Lestrygonians,” with “-dth” conveying a hint of the fear of death. [8] You can tell they’re frightened by their knees knocking together – clearly visible (as well as audible) since they’re outfitted in trunks. For one thing, each is afraid of the other’s prowess as [9] fisterman, especially when it comes to what boxing accounts sometimes call a [10] “straight” to, for instance, the head. To avoid which, both have to be [11] “on their” “toes.” 393.26: “the kookaburra bell ringring all wrong inside of them:” goes with (see previous entry) the boxing sequence: to “ring” an opponent’s “bell” is boxing slang for delivering a blow to the head resulting in dizziness. Also, and related to the Australian notes in the vicinity, the kookaburra’s raucous morning cry has been called “the bushman’s clock,” as in alarm clock. Whether its sound (available on YouTube) resembles “come in, come on you lazy loafs!” (.27) may be a matter of judgment; in any case it is certainly a wake-up call, as “dthclangavore” (.29) is the “ringring” of an alarm clock. 393.26-30: “bell ringring…knockneeghs...fisterman’s…ys! ys!):” see McHugh, especially his quotation of the Moore song, with its story of a fisherman (here “fisterman’s”) on Lough Neagh (a return to the fishermen of 76.26-9) seeing the “round towers” beneath its waters. (Compare 76.20-32.) The legend of (“ys!”) Is, off the coast of Brittany, includes similar accounts, plus the datum that the bells of its sunken cathedral can sometimes be heard ringing. (Debussy’s 1910 La cathédrale engloutie imitates the sounds.) In Book IV, “Is” (601.5) will emerge, once again compared to Lough Neagh (601.7), once again accompanied by the sound of bells (601.13-23). 393.29-30: “fisterman’s straights:” combines boxer (see note to .25-30), a fist-man with a fist straight to the head, with fisherman; the “straights” may be fishing lines, leading down to the towers/cathedral/giant’s body on the bottom of the lake or ocean. 393.30-1: “on their mistletoes:” on their toes, as a result of the wake-up. 393.31: “Transton Postscript:” yet another version of the letter. (Trance-like, an afterthought, from Boston.) Includes Morning Post as well as Boston Transcript, or, as with T.S. Eliot, the Boston Evening Transcript. FW’s letter originates in Boston, is delivered (by Shaun) by post, ends with a postscript, has transited the ocean. Some believers in hypnotism thought that it could be practiced telepathically through inducing a trance-like state. 393.32: “oerkussens:” overcoats 393.34: “rusten:” also, simply to rust – something obviated by constant motion. The chemistry-class component of this page continues. 393.34-5: “playing their gastspiels:” praying their gospels, with “spiels” in modern sense of pat verbal routines; OED confirms that this usage was current. 393.35: “gastspiels:” cat games 393.35: “crossing their sleep:” presumably crossing themselves after prayers, before going to sleep 393.35: “the shocking silence:” perhaps by contrast with the loud “ringring” “dthclangavore” (.26, .29) that woke them up 393.36-394.8: “when…stool:” most of the actions listed here are compatible with the actions of cats, throughout this chapter a role intermittently incarnated in or adopted by the four old men: dreaming (.36 – compare the “hearthdreaming cat” of “Ithaca”), walking or sitting or circling or perching at various points in the house, (“slumper” (.4)) slumbering under the covers of the bed’s eiderdown, running away (“dadging”) from the (“talkeycook” (.7)) turkeycock/ever-talking Kate the cook. See also .13 and note. 394.3-4: “changing the one wet underdown convibrational bed:” in American English, making the bed. Joyce's notes include a reference to the recent invention of the "vibrating bed," said to induce sleep. Some may remember the regrettably named "Magic Fingers" beds that used to be a feature of American motels. Since they operated by electricity, a wet one sounds like a bad idea. 394.3-4: “convibrational:” convivial, congregational – the kind of spirit shared, presumably, by four persons (or cats) slumbering under the same bed clothes – once common practice at, for instance, inns 394.6: “panegyric:” paregoric? Was prescribed for stomach complaints, including sea-sickness. (Also as cough medicine: see note to .10 and both notes to .21.) Contained opium and was also prescribed as a soporific. 394.7: “dynast days:” days of the dynasties – in Ireland, the centuries up until the English invasion 394.10: “spirits of time:” spirits of thyme: like paregoric, prescribed as cough medicine, among other uses. Elsewhere the four old men are notably catarrhal, e.g. at .20-1. 394.11: “slooping around:“ sloping around: as in “Cyclops,” insinuating shiftlessness or delinquency. “Sloop” keeps maritime theme in play. 394.12: “griesouper bullyum:” there is, or was, such a dish as grasshopper soup, popular among food reformers. Reports say it tastes like chicken. “Bullyum:” bullion 394.13: “night tentacles:” another cat signature: night-vision eyes reaching out through the darkness. (“Tentacles” echoes “spectacles.”) At 395.7 we will hear of “a pair of green eyes” (some cats have green eyes) “peering in” through the murk. Equal-oppositely coextensive with the “fathomglasses” (386.16) of the old men; see 389.26 and note. 394.13-4: “flapping and cycling:” “flapping” as in wings – a return to the introductory birds of p. 383, soon (see next) to become an airplane, then a sailing ship in the wind 394.14: “dooing a dunloop:” doing a loop (also looping the loop): a show-off maneuver in aviation, popular in air shows of the time: turning the plane a full (vertical) circle. Perhaps “dooing,” with its two circular o’s, because in this case it’s what was called a double loop. Also, in “Cyclops” “doing the trick of the loop” equals sexual intercourse; FW’s most extended sex scene begins on the next page. (At 584.13 “dunlops” seems to mean condoms, which were manufactured by the Dunlop Rubber Company.) 394.15-6: “in the wake of their good old Foehn again:” includes the components for “Finnegan’s Wake.” One of the spots where Joyce is giving hints to the real title of Work in Progress. Also, the wind (the “Foehn:” see McHugh) has picked up since 383.20-2, moving the ship along. See next entry. 394.16-7: “windswidths in the waveslength:” “in the wind’s way” is a fairly common phrase (frequent in Swinburne); when applied figuratively it generally signifies the randomness of fate. (“In the” may be displaced, in this case from width to length – the kind of woozy slippage common in this chapter.) 394.17: “clipperbuilt:” a ship built like the streamlined Yankee clippers of the mid-19th century. Typically (see next) with three masts, not four 394.17: “five fourmasters:” one of several FW occurrences where five and four in juxtaposition signal Ireland’s four provinces plus the medieval kingdom of Meath – here as elsewhere represented by the four old men plus the ass 394.17-20: “waveslength…issle:” incorporates elements related to telegraphy – as usual, combined with communication between T(ristan) and I(sseult). “Waveslength:” wavelength. (Also, signals travel in “waves.”) “Fourmasters:” see 407.20: “marconimasts from Clifden sough open tireless.” Shipboard wireless aerials were called “Marconimasts;” “Clifden” (compare “cleftoft,” (.18)) was Marconi’s Irish station for transmission to Nova Scotia; “issle issle” is typical of the “i-i” signals telegraphed by Issy. 394.18: “Lally…Roe of the fair cheats:” Lily and Rose, with “fair cheats” conveying, equal-oppositely, both “fair” in the Elizabethan sense of pale/blonde, and “pretty cheeks,” which would, conventionally, be blush-red. 394.18: “Lally of the cleftoft bagoderts:” according to Glasheen, King Dagobert was known for wearing his clothes back to front. “Cleftoft” may recall the “left off clothes of all descriptions” of “Sirens:” at 389.33-5 this same Lally has “lost part of his half a hat and all belongings,” including (“drawbreeches” (.35)), draw-on britches. Bags can be trousers, as in “Oxford bags:” see 51.7, 288.11, and 433.27-8 and notes. If “bagoderts,” as McHugh suggests, is a bag (or bags) of dirt, the insinuation may be that he has fouled his pants, complementing the Mark who, “making wind and water,…made a Neptune’s mess of all of himself” (391.17-8). 394.18: “fair cheats:” sweet cheats: the girls as filles fatales 394.19: “fleas from host to host, with arthroposophia:” fleas, like earwigs and lobsters are (see McHugh) arthropods. “Host” as in a parasite’s carrier. Oddly, an arthroposophist would be someone who was very fond of the critters, and indeed the four seem to be sharing rather than avoiding them. Cats get fleas. 394.20: “selling him:” context strongly suggests that “selling” is also telling. At .25-30 we learn what was told. 394.21: “dephlegmatised his gutterful of throatyfrogs:” again, spirits of thyme (.10), which works as an expectorant, would be used for this purpose. Same goes for paregoric (.6). 394.21: “lungible fong:” loveable song, with breath from the lungs, just after clearing the throat? (With archaic version of “s”) 394.22: “the dear invoked to the coolun dare:” usually, “the dear” is an Irish expression for God. “Invoked” fits this sense, but the main idea is that the lover is beseeching, dear to dear, the beloved, who will reciprocate. (As usual in this chapter, the genders get mixed.) 394.23: “palpabrows lift:” a (palpably flirtatious) lift of her eyebrows. (From fellow gossip to fellow flirter: yet more in the way of gendered role-bending: the overture here “left no doubt in his minder” (.23) of his/her intentions, and within ten lines things will begin getting hot and heavy, leading to the upcoming sex scene.) Given the way things are going, the “lift” may also have been a pelvic thrust, in response to the other’s “lungible” (.21) lunge. 394.24-5: “till he was instant and he was trustin:” given (McHugh) overtone of Tristan in “trustin,” “instant” probably accommodates Iseult – again, with this chapter’s usual breakdown in gender. 394.25: “that one fresh from the cow:” first, of course, milk: the main interest (“passion grand”) of the cat(s), now returning to the foreground. Also, some kind of story or anecdote – “fresh” in the sense of new, with an undertone of “from the horse’s mouth” – that is, it’s true, or at least the latest report. “Fresh” may also suggest a level of impropriety – compare Clark Gable in It Happened One Night: “the latest one about the farmer’s daughter.” 394.33: “allimmanence of that which Itself is Itself Alone:” a metaphysical (Hegelian?) definition of God. Last two words – “Itself Alone” – may echo Jehovah’s “I Am.” 394.34: “Caller Errin!” back to the wireless – this time apparently as radio rather than telegraph: see 324.21 and note. 394.35-395.1: “solod, likeward and gushious bodies with (science, say!) perilwhitened passionpanting pugnoplangent intuitions of reunited selfdom (murky whey, abstrew adim!):” milk appears, much to the joy of the cats: gushing, white, plangent (poetical term for sound of waves and liquid) - the Milky Way, including “whey,” a milk byproduct which according to Google Images is indeed “murky.” “Solod”/solid covers the curds (for making cheese) whose removal produces whey. 394.35: “science, say!):” compare “Let’s hear what science has to say” (505.27). In this case, following (see McHugh) the parenthesized “(hear, O hear, Caller Errin!),” probably from some radio announcer, or memory of same 394.36-395.1: “intuitions of reunited selfdom:” see 395.33 and note, 329.18-9 and note. 395.1: “abstrew adim:” “abstrew” is an anagram for “star web.” Possibly “adim” = maid, as in “milkmaid.” In any case, the Milky Way – which, along with real milk, is the main subject here - is dimly lit compared to some other stars/constellations, and appears to be strewn across the sky. Not a coincidence that Yeats’s “Who Goes with Fergus,” prominent in Ulysses, includes both “dim tide” and (see second note to .3) “dishevelled wandering stars.” 395.3: “mester John, the belated dishevelled:” Johnny, from Connacht, is repeatedly the last of the four to be listed; Connacht is conventionally the least spruced-up of the provinces. 395.3: “dishevelled:” given astronomical context (see .1 and note, .4 and note), consider the last line of Yeats’s “Who Goes with Fergus:” “And all disheveled wandering stars” 395.3-4: “hacking at away at a parchment pied:” one version of the cause of the x’s at the bottom (foot) of the letter 395.4: “and all:” again: “And all dishevelled wandering stars.” Compare note to .1, second note to .3. 395.5: “ant the ladies’ foursome:” Oxford editors have “ant the women-o’-war and playing melia marmels in ocean ladies’ foursome.” Probably an ocean-going cruise-ship game of bridge, at the time proverbially popular among ladies. Again, the four old men have been feminized; same thing for the change of “man-o’-war” to “women-o”-war.” 395.5-6: “ovenfor, nedenfor, dinkety, duk, downalupping, (how long tandem!):” introduces elements of tennis, which, when played by doubles (“tandem”) can also be a “foursome” (“nedenfor”). Tennis “love” comes from French l’oeuf (“ovenfor”), a “dink” is a weak shot just over the net (“nedenfor, dinkety”), “duck” (“duk”) is or was a term for a ball hit sharply with a lot of topspin, causing its trajectory to curve downward (“downalupping”). Tennis balls were and are manufactured by Dunlop (“downalupping”). To repeat, doubles tennis is sometimes called “tandem” or “doubles tandem.” 395.5-6: “dinkety, duk, downalupping:” as in “Hickory dickory dock…down the clock” 395.6: “foreretyred:” ferret-eyed: compare “ferreteyed porkbutcher” of “Calypso.” 395.7: “green eyes:” often a FW signature of (“Coma” (.8)) glaucoma. And, of course, there’s the “green-eyed monster” of Othello. Jealousy is a form of envy, typically represented as green, and the four old men are envious of the lovers in the cabin. (Again (see 394.13), some cats have green eyes.) 395.8: “narcolepts on the lakes of Coma:” falling into a coma might be considered the next stage after narcolepsy. 395.8: “lakes of Coma:” in “Penelope,” Molly remembers Bloom’s promise to have their honeymoon in Venice or the Lake of Como. A browse through Google Books confirms that Como, along with being considered one of Europe’s main beauty spots, was a popular honeymoon resort. 395.9: “big steamadories:” big steamers, big stevedores. Steaming up windows in the honeymoon cabin would be a way of thwarting the spying of inlookers, including the old men. (In 1950’s America, steaming up car windows was, for the same reason, standard operating procedure for couples attending drive-in movies.) 395.10: “saloon:” see 323.27. Again, a public room on a passenger ship 395.10. “madorn toilet chambers:“ perhaps obvious: this plays with the double-meaning possibilities of “toilet” inherited from the 19th century, in such phrases as “Madame is at her toilet,” or, for instance, Degas’ Woman at her Toilet. A “modern” toilet would be of the plumbing kind – and the kind of thing a tourists’ steamship would advertise – and “chambers” inevitably invites “chamber pot.” At the same time, a chamber can be madame’s dressing room, here apparently an impressively adorned one. 395.11: “prawn silk:” Como (see .8 and note) began as a center specializing in the manufacture of silk after the secret had been stolen from the Chinese. Also: there is such a fabric as “prawn silk.” It shows up on Google Books and Google Images. Apparently a sign of elegance 395.11: “rub off the salty catara:” overtone of cataract goes with glaucoma-green eyes of .7. Catarrh is another proverbial symptom of old age. Wiping off the salty accretions of the honeymooners’ windows would of course help the voyeurs in their effort to follow the events. 395.12: “hee hee:” by now, it’s inevitable, and probably obvious, that this will be answered with “shee shee” (.15). (Repeated at .24, .25) 395.12: “quakers:” because old, because excited 395.13: “firstclass ladies:” as the appointments make clear, the passengers are traveling first-class. 395.14: “serious me:” either/both “deary me” or “dearest me” 395.14: “sheets:” both in sense of bed sheets (paired with “blankets” (.15) and of sails. Opening the door (.12-3) and peering through the windows, we have been vouchsafed a glimpse of the honeymoon suite, bed included; at 393.32 (see McHugh for “oerkussens”), pillows were being carried in. 395.15: “courting in blankets:” “Blanket courtship:” a form of courtship attributed to some American Indian tribes, also to the Welsh. A courting couple lies down under two separate blankets. If things go well, they change to one blanket for both of them. 395.15-6: “in a lovely mourning toilet:” OED: “toilet,” usually spelled “toilette,” can mean a gown. Also, “morning toilet” was a term for dressing and grooming on waking. 397.17: “that olive throb in his nude neck:” perhaps a nod to the contemporary fashion for Latin lovers, for instance Rudolph Valentino. On the other hand, see next entry. 395.17: “nude neck:” nudnik: Yiddish for nuisance 395.20: “suite:” as in honeymoon suite 395.22: “chambadory:” in context: a stop at the chamber pot before going to bed. Chamba (see 198.11) is Kiswahili for washing after excretion and/or a private place. 395.22-3: “going to boat with the verges of the chaptel:” going to bed (on a boat) with the virgin(s). Also, a verger is an official in a church (or chapel). 395.27: “flattering hand:” fluttering hand. Also, 4.18 has introduced “Bygmester Finnegan, of the Stuttering Hand.” 395.28: “some cook of corage might clip the lad on a poot:” 1. with “cook” as cock as chicken, a reshuffling of Henry IV’s promise of a chicken (presumably cooked) in every pot. 2. with “cook” as cock as penis, paired with “poot” as pooty as vagina, part of the account of the sexual happenings; see note to .29. (Note: OED gives first appearance of “booty” in today’s sexual sense as 1926; Urban Dictionary has “pooty” and “booty” as synonyms. May be pertinent to this chapter’s two “booty”s (391.34, 395.21) and variations on “beauty”) 395.29: “”handshut his duckhouse:” “duckhouse” is Australian slang, with a range of meanings – here, apparently, mouth. He is using his hand to muffle her orgasmic cry, her “queeleetlecree of joysis crisis” (.32), an action that is “like” (.27) putting a lid on a pot. Overtone of “ducky,” Cockney term of affection 395.33-396.2: “with ripy lepes…gullet:” perhaps as part of the chapter’s pervasive sexual ambiguity, this action may be read as either vaginal intercourse or fellatio. 395.33: “renulited their disunited:” probably from Aristophanes’ speech in The Symposium. See 329.18-9 and note. The idea – sex as a reunion of two severed halves – has been in play, with an admixture of Hegel and others, since 394.36-395.1’s “intuitions of reunited selfdom.” 395.35: “Amoricas Champius:” may be obvious, but proximity of “pigskin,” on the same line, goes with this American Champ, presumably a player of American football. 396.1: “lines of forwards:” association football – what Americans call soccer – has forwards; American football does not. 396.3: “Alris!” given next line, this may also be “All rise!” 396.4. “upright:” goal posts in American football are often called “uprights.” Google indicates that this usage rarely if ever appears in association football. 396.4: “plays be honest!:” in sporting events, just before the action begins, contestants are frequently enjoined to play fairly. 395.5-33: “And now…Plop:” the antiquated other man being sexually betrayed here is mainly King Mark, Iseult’s intended. 396.5: “manowoman:” feminized man o’ war, a military ship. According to the Oxford editors, 395.5 should include an insertion of “the women-o’-war.” (Also, in Joyce’s time, the name of a famous racing horse; at .7-9 the woman will be described in horse-trader’s language.) Also, either man or woman: in embracing, the two lovers become indistinguishable as to gender. 396.5: “Candidately:” “candidly” would fit the context 396.6: “mot:” in “Wandering Rocks,” a “mot” is a loose woman. 396.6: “Comong, meng, and douh!:” Come on, men, and do it! Encouraging the lover(s); cheering on the team 396.11-2: “eyes, of most unhomy blue:” like Joyce, Nora had blue eyes. 396.14: “Ewe:” capitalization here probably brings Eve into the picture. 396.16: “peck:” pecker – i.e., penis 396.16: “tubes:” See previous. Also, the two tubes of the vas deferens 396.16: “orangogran:” grandfather 396.17: “sheopards:” slippers 396.18: “plods:” plus. Also, the old fellow is a plodder. 396.18: “tails plus toop:” gentleman's evening wear - white tie (tails - short for tailcoat) - and top hat/toupee. Compare Fred Astaire's rendition of "Polishin' up my top hat, puttin' on my tails." 396.20: “oldivirdual:” old vir – man 396.20: “a pinge of hinge hit:” perhaps: a pledge of kinship 396.24: “the twooned togethered:” they two-oned together – they had sex. Also, they sang together in a duet. Perhaps “swooned” as well. (Apparently there’s no genetic evidence for “they” instead of “the,” but in the next line the word is “they.”) 396.24-5: “the mhost phassionable weathers:” passionate wether (castrated male sheep) as opposed to “tiresome old milkless a ram” (.15) – but, really? Perhaps not an equal-opposites so much as an opposite-equals 396.27-8: “fiveful moment for the poor old timetetters, ticktacking, in tenk the count:” referees are up to five in a boxing or wrestling ten-count: the match is almost over. See 393.25-30 and note. 396.28: “spark:” 18th century slang for stud, ladies’ man 396.29-30: “volatile volupty, how brieved are thy lunguings!:” a variation on the statement “lust is brief” – can refer to the length either of sexual infatuation or of the sexual act. Here, the latter: volatile voluptuousness, as enacted by the lunging thrusts of the man during intercourse. Also, overtone of “breathed” and “lungs” – the panting lovers. All this has just ended. 396.30-3: “they could hear like of a lisp lapsing…plipping…polped… Plop:” sorry for the indelicacy (but this is FW): pretty clearly the liquid sound, as overheard by the four old voyeurs, of his withdrawing his penis after climaxing. Sex is wet. See next entry. 396.31: “her knight of the truths thong plipping out of her chapellledeosy:” “thong:” tongue. Throughout, oral sex has been polymorphously in play as well. See next entry. 396.31-2: “chapellledeosy:” chapel of ease: 18th century slang for privy. Anal sex may also be part of the package. See next entry. 396.34: “mummurrlubejubes:” lube job: Urban Dictionary says: “the act of lubricating a vagina with semen.” No way, I think, of determining how far back this expression goes, but compare 154.29: “Culla vosellina,” an anus lubricated with vaseline. (“Vaseline,” according the OED, was current since 1891; in sense of sexual lubricant, it was part of the prosecution testimony against Wilde in 1895.) Also, of course, it designated an oil change for a car – sometimes along other services having to do with liquids. In latter sense, phrase goes back to 1920. (See McHugh for “spark that plugged” (.28) – a car’s spark plugs.) Also, the sound of contented post-coital murmurings between the lovers. (Compare similar sound effects in “Circe:” Ulysses 15.1272-4, 15.3796-3813, 15.4321.) “-Jubes,” I think, also recalls the “jujubes” of “Lestrygonians,” near the end of that chapter reprised as Molly’s “gumjelly lips.” 396.35-6: “after that they used to be so forgetful, counting motherpeributts (up one up four) to membore:” “motherpeributts:” mother of pearl, in this case buttons. After all the excitement, we return to the four senile geezers, here as throughout “forgetful” – apparently to the point of having trouble keeping count of the number of buttons on their clothing. 396.36: “mouldern:” mouldily modern: coinciding contraries 397.1-2: “the dream of woman the owneirist:” in sense of (“dreamlifeboat” (65.30)): of all the women they remember, the dreamiest dreamboat 397.1: “dream of woman:” Tennyson, “A Dream of Fair Women” 397.1-2: “From Greg and Doug on poor Greg and Mat and Mar and Lu and Jo:” more memory problems: they’re getting last names (Gregory, McDougal) mixed up with first names, and can only remember fragments of either. 397.7: “tellmastory:” tell me a story 397.10-1: “their community singing…Mamalujo:” in this case, “Mamalujo” probably signals the four blending voices of a quartet, the song being (“murther magrees” (.12)) “Mother Machree,” a sentimental Irish ballad which, as McHugh notes, was made popular by John McCormack. 397.11: “top loft:” compare 5.1-2, “hierarchitectitiptitoploftical:” Annotations glosses “-toploftical” as “haughty.” Originally, a top loft is the highest story of a building. Hence, here, the highest register of the voice: compare next entry. 397.11: “top loft of the voicebox:” proverbially, old men have high-pitched voices. McCormack’s recording of “Mother Machree” hits some impressive high notes. 397.14-5: “crowning themselves in lauraly branches:” Napoleon crowned himself. Laurel signifies victory. 397.15-6: “and their poor (up) quad rupeds:” one of those places where I wonder about a possible misprint, especially since “quad” and “rupeds” are separated by a line break. Normally, the quadruped would be the ass. On the other hand, if they’re “squatting round, two by two” (.12), each group has four feet apiece - and there is that “-peds” in “rupeds.” 397.16: “all dolled up:” all dressed up and made up, always or almost always applied to women. Here, ironic: “with their cold knees,” the old men are buttoned and muffled up against the cold (.16-7). 397.17: “plimsoles:” casual, rubber-soled shoes, generally worn in summer 397.18: “a potion a peace:” a portion apiece, of their porridge-like meal. Also, recalls the “porterpease” (21.18-9) motif of the Pranquean episode, an echoic presence throughout the sequence 397.19: “lepel alip, alup a lap:” onomatopoeia – lapping up (liquid) food. As elsewhere in the chapter, I think the Mullingar’s house cat is a presence; compare Bloom’s cat in “Calypso:” “He listened to her licking lap.” 397.19-20: “take hand and nurse:” compare 392.9. 397.21: “pinch:” in context, probably shorthand for common phrase “the pinch of hunger” 397.22-3: “to pass the teeth for choke sake:” stories and jokes about groups that have one set of teeth between them go back, says Google, to at least 1890 – for instance about the old married couple that never appears in public together for that reason. Here, the four old men are impatient to pass the false teeth around so that each gets a chance to chew. (Earlier (394.19), it was a flea or fleas.) 397.26-7: “farthing dip, their caschal pandle of magnegnousioum:” “farthing” dip candle because cheap – a sign of poverty. Notorious for weak light and bad smell. Paschal candles, by contrast, are ornate, frequently scented, and exceptionally large. A magnesium candle, at the time, as either flare or photographer’s light, would have been glaringly bright. “Caschal pandle” is an example of the P-K split, frequent in FW – e.g. 120.2. 397.26: “backscrat the poor bedsores:” bed sores are, in early stages, itchy, and, for most sleepers, likeliest to occur on the back – hence the urge to scratch the back. The bedridden are susceptible. 397.27: “magnegnousioum:” FW references to magnesium always denote medicine. Evidently taking some magnesium-based medicine is one of their nightly routines. Milk of magnesia, usually prescribed for constipation, can induce a brief spell of nausea, hence, perhaps, “magnegnousioum.” (A morning dosage of some medicine including chloride – probably potassium chloride – has the same effect: see 613.22-6.) 397.27: “a letter or two:” given context (especially “capitaletter” of .29), “letter” may signify a letter of the alphabet, either as well as or instead of a postal missive. Perhaps also a version of bedtime prayers: reading one or two of the Bible’s epistles before going to sleep; will be followed (298.7-28) by prayers. 397.28: “atrance:” in context, at once. Also, sleep is a kind of trance. 397.28: “catkin coifs:” a “catkin hat” is a woolen toque for women, quite popular today, but there are no Google hits for the phrase in Joyce’s time. In any case, this refers to the nightcaps once commonly worn at bedtime. (Also: some articles of clothing, including hats, were made from catskins.) 397.29: “a capitaletter:” see second note to .27. Also, not just a capitalized letter but a “capital” – Britishism for first-rate – letter, in this sense a letter sent through the post 397.30: “old year’s eve:” New Year’s Eve, the occasion for the “Old Lang Syne”’s echoing through this chapter. III.1 will begin at midnight. 397.31: “Shemans:” she-man. McHugh identifies as Felicia Hemans, whose poetry, in Joyce’s time, was widely considered to be insipid and child-like. The bedtime “letters” that the old are reading or having read to them are, among other things, her poems, as such appropriate for second childhood. 397.31-2: “summer seal:” summer sale. As Ulysses twice mentions, an annual event at Dublin’s Clery’s department store 397.32: “broadtail:” OED: “The skin or pelt of a young Persian lamb, having a lustrous moiré appearance.” Expensive and fashionable 397.33-4: “final buff noonmeal edition, in the regatta covers, uptenable from the orther:” Ulysses? Its author is, after all, also the resident (“orther”) author of this book. If so, equal-opposite: it would be hard to imagine a writer less like Felicia Hemans. “Regatta colours” are those worn for a regatta. The colors of the cover of Ulysses, about the reincarnation of a legendary sailor, were blue and white, traditional ocean colors. 397.34: “to regul their reves by incubation:” compare Bloom in “Ithaca,” going to bed: “It was one of his axioms that similar meditations or the automatic relation to himself of a narrative concerning himself or tranquil recollection of the past when practised habitually before retiring for the night alleviated fatigue and produced as a result sound repose and renovated vitality.” “Regul:” regale, regulate; “reves,” as McHugh notes: rêves, dreams. Their night-time reading is selected to encourage nice dreams. 397.35: “gangrene spentacles:” compare 395.7, above. In FW, green vision always signifies glaucoma. Also, equally-oppositely, it’s night, cats (again, a presence throughout the chapter) are known for their night vision, and some cats have green eyes. 397.35-6: “all the good or they did in their time:” repeats reminiscences of Simon Dedalus’ old gang in second chapter of Portrait: “Thanks be to God we lived so long and did so much good.” 398.1: “ap Mul or Lap ap Moron:” “ap” names here, according to O Hehir, are “fake Welsh.” 398.6: “Gonne:” likely an allusion to Maude Gonne; see 399.22. 398.7: “nonpenal:” nonpareil. Also, Ireland’s Penal Days 398.9-10: “busy on the touchline, due south of her western shoulder, down to death and the love embrace:” given context, the Irish sense of “touch” as sex – as in, “Give us a touch, Poldy” (“Hades”) – seems pertinent here. Anatomically, “down” to the “south” from her shoulder is heading for her vagina. In football, to go beyond the “touchline” is to be out of bounds. Compare American equivalent - getting to first base, second base, etc. That illicit sex equals death, whether from damnation or disease, is an ancient trope, present in this chapter, where the femmes and filles are often fatale. 398.11: “ran:” as in “ran[n],” in both “Cyclops” and FW, especially at the end of I.2 – an ancient Irish song 398.14: “for meter and peter:” for mother and father. “Mater” and “Pater” would have signified either aristocratic origins or pretensions to same. Children would have been expected to include them in their bedtime prayers. 398.16: "Fionnachan:" according to Ian MacArthur, Irish for ancient 398.17: “vogue awallow:” wallowing (French (vague)) wave 398.17: “fascinator:” name for fashionable lady’s hat in the early 20th century 398.18: “lovasteamadorion:” see 395.9 and note. 398.18-21: “here’s Tricks and Doelsy, delightfully ours, in her doaty ducky little blue and roll his hoop and how she ran, when wit won free, the dimply blissed and awfully bucked, right glad we never shall forget:” a spell of 20’s flapper slang, including welcome to girls name Trixie and Dulcey. (Or one girl named Trixie Dulcey) 398.20: “how she ran, when wit won free:” another echo from the pranquean episode: she repeatedly made her “wit” and (variously spelled) ran away. 398.21: “right glad we never shall forget:” yet another variant on “Auld Lang Syne” 398.29: “Tristan, sad hero:” sad because of “triste” in “Tristan” 398.29-30: “The Lambeg drum:” see McHugh. Ulster’s Lambeg drums, traditionally sounded on July 12 in celebration of the Protestant victory in the Battle of the Boyne, are huge, very loud, and often meant, and taken, to signify hostility towards the Catholic population. Of the four instruments in the list, they are definitely the largest and loudest. 398.31-399.2: “Anno…murder!:” Ulster voice: haughty, percussive, moneyed, threatening 398.35: “girleen:” little darling girl 398.36: “prank:” to dress ostentatiously. Another echo from the Pranquean episode of I.1 399.3-10: “O…gander?:” Munster voice: soft, mellifluous, ingratiating, bordering on unctuously stage-Irish. (The Blarney Stone is in Munster.) 399.10: “barnacle gander:” once more: a gender switch, from the expected “barnacle goose.” In this maritime segment, it’s relevant that according to legend the barnacle goose is hatched from ship barnacles. Also, of course, Nora Barnacle, as male 399.11-19: “You…you?:” Leinster voice: more practical than Munster, less assertive than Ulster – in fact, tending to the abject: begging; wheedling; pennies not (398.32) pounds sterling. In other words, Dublin, as presented by the author of Dubliners: think of “Two Gallants,” “Ivy Day in the Committee Room.” Plausibly the voice of the (“loutll” (.1)) lout threatened by Ulster 399.13: "sung:" this certainly reads as if the word should be "snug," but genetic evidence is apparently absent. 399.20-8: “I tossed…Bohermore:” Connacht voice: unbuttoned, gregarious, bawdy – in fact blithely promiscuous. Reflective of Galway’s Nora, the basis of the earthy Molly Bloom, whose Howth picnic with Bloom is recalled at .23-8. 399.28: “the barony of Bohermore:” not a barony, Galway’s Bohermore Road, according to Mink, was once the road to Dublin. 399.29-30: "Johnheehewheehew! [New paragraph] Haw!:" the fourth of the four, John or Johnny, is always the one followed or accompanied by the ass, whose hee-haw here blends with the sounding of his name. (At times, (e.g. "Johnny my donkeyschott" (482.14)), the two seem to be identified with one another.) The "Hark!" (403.1) beginning the next chapter is probably in response to this sound. 399.31-2: “And stiller the mermen ply their keg:” “keg” anticipates the Shaun/Jaun/Yawn barrel introduced in III.1. Until page 555, the action will take place on, in, or under water. 399.34: “johnajeams:” John and James (Joyce) |