Preliminary note: Much of this final chapter consists of ALP attempting to wake HCE, get him up, get him dressed, breakfasted, and going on a morning trip to Howth, with encouraging words about how nice he’ll look, how fine the weather is, how much they’ll enjoy themselves. The spirit is “Up and at-em!” Apparently it is all for naught. At 625.33 she is still saying, hopefully, “How glad you’ll be I waked you!,” and four pages later, as last page doubles back to first, he is still horizontally stretched out, “early in bed and later on life” (3.17-8). Despite a glimmering awareness of dawn and daylight, FW’s dreamer never completely wakes up – one reason, probably, that the writing in III.4 and IV never really changes over to what Joyce called “wideawake language, cutanddry grammar and goahead plot.” Paul Léon, Joyce’s secretary, on IV: “he is working at the aubade which ends the book.” An aubade (compare “aube” (.9)) is a poem or musical composition for early morning. Probably the musical aubade is more prevalent here. One contemporary example would be Ravel’s piano suite Miroirs, in five movements tracking the change from night (“Noctuelles”) to bells ringing at dawn (“La vallée des cloches”). At least for the first few pages, the most frequently used literary source is the Book of Revelation and other versions of the End-of-days resurrection of the dead. 593.1: “Sandhyas! Sandyhas! Sandyhas!:” certainly an overdetermined sequence. Besides the readings given in McHugh, one component may be Sandyha, according to Wikipedia “a Hindu goddess and chief consort of Surya, the Sun god.” In one manifestation she is “a swift-moving storm cloud.” Also, when read as (McHugh) samdhi, Sanscrit for peace, either an homage or a send-up to the last line of Eliot’s The Waste Land, “Shanti shanti shanti.” Joyce had written a parody ending in “Shan’t we? Shan’t we? Shan’t we?” 593.2: “Calling all downs:” “Calling All Cars!:” American radio program, running from late 1933 to 1939, which opened with these words. (Also, “downs” as towns.) As such, evidence, like FDR’s “brandnew braintrust” (FW 529.5), the Nazi regime’s “Strength Through Joy” program (FW 598.23-4), and the latest developments in thirties communications technology (see note to 123.13-4), including the television of II.3, that Joyce was incorporating late-breaking contemporary material throughout virtually all of the time he was writing FW. 593.2: “Array!” H’ray! Also, a ray! (the dawn’s first ray of sunlight). Among the many subsequent noticings of the dawn and its advancing light, see in particular 594.21-2, 594.25-6, and 595.9. Brenan O Hehir glosses “Array” as Gaelic for “rising.” 593.2-3: “Surrection!:” from Latin surgere, to rise. Begs the question, is it an insurrection or a resurrection? Though (“-ray!” (.2) may indicate the latter, compare entry for .13. 593.3: “Eireweeker:” wecker: German for alarm clock. “Eire” is Ireland. Ireland, awake! 593.3: “wohld bludyn world:” whole bloody world. (Obvious?) Also, as noted earlier (533.32, with note), some world capitals boasted radio “superstations,” promoted as capable of reaching around the world, and many radios sold at the time included spots on the dial for, for instance, Singapore. See entries for .5 and .6. 593.3: “O rally:” Orally/aurally (Again, radio communication) On waking – certainly to an alarm clock – a first or the first sensation is likely to be aural. Also, see first note to .3: since I.2, Persse O’Reilly, whose name derives from the French for earwig, has been both Earwicker’s nemesis and alter ego; his assaults, like the radio’s broadcasts, have been nothing if not oral. 593.4: “Phlenxty, O’ Rally:” “Planxty O’Reilly,” name of a tune for the harp by the blind 18th century harpist Turlough O’Connor, given words (see McHugh, line 4) and named “The Wandering Bard” in Moore’s Melodies 593.5: “Have sea east to Osseania:” HCE to Oceania! On the one hand, Oceania, the eastern sea, being about as distant as possible from Ireland, supports the claim to world-wide coverage. On the other hand, Ireland (the land of Ossian) represents the opposite. Contraries converging, or maybe just plain overweening provincialism: The Skibbereen Eagle once warned the Czar of Russia that it had its eyes on him. Compare Stephen’s sardonic “(European and Asiatic papers please copy” (P 251). 593.5-6: “Here! Here!:” as often in FW, also Hear! Hear! – specifically, the radio broadcasts to follow 593.6: “Tass, Patt, Staff, Woff, Havv, Bluvv and Rutter:” E. L Epstein, (E. L. Epstein, A Guide Through Finnegans Wake, p. 249): Russian Soviet Tass, Polish Pat, Italian Stefani, German Wolff, French Havas, “Bluvv” (?), English Reuters. Given that Berlin is slightly to the west of Rome, the direction is consistently, if jerkily, westward. (“Bluvv” ought to be coming from either Amsterdam or Brussels, but I can’t find any likely match.) 593.6: “smog:” the word was in circulation from the 1880’s at least, London being the main example. Despite the “fumes” of industry and traffic noted at 5.30-6.8, Dublin, which can certainly have fog, would not likely have qualified during Joyce’s lifetime. 593.6-7: “And already the olduman’s olduman has godden up on othertimes to litanate the bonnamours:” general sense: Sackerson has gotten up to start/re-start the fires in the hearths of his master’s establishment – a standard servant’s chore. “Olduman’s olduman” echoes “gentleman’s gentleman,” either a gentleman’s servant or a gentleman’s superior. Also, both men, man and servant, are fairly old. 593.8-9 “somme feehn avaunt!:” see McHugh: signaling republicanism, frequently of a militantly anti-establishment order, “Sinn Féin Amháin!” goes with the manservant’s usual semi-suppressed hostility towards his boss, the pub’s Protestant owner. (As McHugh notes, it means “Ourselves Alone:” compare 593.4, 595.1.) 593.9: “Guld modning:” Good golden/gilded (“aube” (.9)) morning, from the rising sun. Compare, for instance, the morning sun in Shakespeare’s Sonnet 33, “Kissing with golden face the meadows green, / Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.” 593.9-10: “have yous viewed Piers’ aube?:” see previous entry. Have you viewed this beautiful (“aube”) morning yet? (Among the first of many attempts to rouse the sleeper.) As McHugh notes, an advertising slogan – here, along with much else in the opening pages, coming in over the radio 593.10: “we have used yoors up:” the Pears’ soap, that is. Washers “using up” a bar of soap (yours) before others can get to it. The kind of thing you’d expect among boarders or hotel customers sharing a common bathroom 593.11: “fused now orther:” fused a new order. See .13 and note. As earlier in FW, one of the stations coming in on the radio is German. (Also, “orther” probably echoes King Arthur, like (“Foyn MacHooligan” (.12-3)) Finn McCool, an embodiment of traditional tribal virtues whose return is long awaited: a new Order of Arthur. A knight of the Round Table could also be called a “Thane” .10).) See 594.2 and note. 593.11: “Calling all daynes:” sounds stirring – but, really? Ireland’s history with the Danes, ended in 1014, was not a happy one. 593.12: “The old breeding:” The old breed – an expression usually applied to livestock, here to forefathers whose presumably sterling qualities need to be revived – or, equal-oppositely, to be shed by the new order. German (or Soviet) genetics, producing a “new” breed, may be in play. See next three entries. 593.12: “culminwillth of natures:” although the British “Commonwealth of Nations” – a nicer version of the British Empire – was the expression in circulation, this sounds more like the League of Nations, with its Wilsonian ideals of kindly human nature’s common will. For Joyce’s skeptical take on such prospects, compare 273.2-12 – or, come to that, consider the inconvenient fact of “Foyn MacHooligan” (.12-3). 593.12-3: “Foyn MacHooligan:” correctly or not, “hooligan” was believed to have derived from a rowdy Irish family of that name. Compare, e.g. 6.15. “Foyn” resembles an Irish pronunciation of “Fine.” 593.13: “The leader, the leader:” compare 93.25. Also, given context, it seems relevant here that führer means “leader.” Along with other notes in this sequence, for instance (see previous) hooligans, suggests (compare entry for .2-3) insurrection more than resurrection. 593.14: “clogan:” Danish: clever. An example of a clever slogan would be (.17-8) “Guinness is good for you.” Also, as McHugh notes, Gaelic clogan – “little bell or clock.” We have already heard from one alarm clock at .3, and other bells announcing the hour will soon follow. 593.16-7: “pratician pratyusers:” patrician/practicing perusers and, in sense of customers, patrons. (“Praty” is also slang for potato.) Sounds effusively complimentary; on the other hand, these would be the ones with most to fear if “genghis” (Khan) is indeed “ghoon for” them (.17-8) – the popular Guinness motto notwithstanding, not really good news in a sequence which has already given us a family of goons and will go on to Nazi broadcasts. (The sun aside, not all visitors from the east, for instance the Vikings, are cause for celebration.) FW’s Book IV corresponds to Vico’s ricorso, a descent of democracy into demagogic barbarism, for instance with the help of all those stations (.6) coming over the radio. Joseph Goebbels: “Without radio, we could not have taken Germany.” According to How Joyce Wrote Finnegans Wake: A Chapter-by-Chapter Guide, edited by Luca Crispi and Sam Slote, p. 488, all or almost all of this sequence, from 593.1 to 604.26, was written in 1937. 593.19: “A hand from the cloud emerges, holding a chart expanded:” E. L. Epstein contributes a useful addition to McHugh’s annotation here. McHugh documents that this refers to the Earwicker family crest, described as “Out of a cloud a hand erect, holding a book expanded proper.” Epstein: “It also bears the name of the author of a book on Dublin, D. M. Chart, and evokes a passage from the Book of Revelation: ‘And the heaven departed as a scroll when it is rolled together’ (6:14). Here, in Joyce’s merry apocalypse, the heavens open a scroll, revealing Dublin.” (Epstein, p. 250.) I suggest that Joyce’s change of “book expanded proper” to the scroll of Revelations reflects the fact that FW, in its “recirculation” (3.2) from first page to last, is a scroll, not a codex. 593.20: “seeds of light:” compare Stephen’s “seeds of brightness” (Ulysses 3.267 and 14.243), in the latter case with the power to impregnate. Possible sources in Virgil or Horace 593.21: “the domnatory of Defmut:” Tefnut, Egyptian goddess of moisture and rain, hence seasonal regeneration, to go with the other varieties being invoked; in some versions her story resembles that of Persephone: she fled from her father Ra to Nubia (here perhaps the “domnatory”), and later returned, bringing seasonal waters with her. (Also, certainly, deaf-mute.) From another angle, as the residence of “cowld owld sowls” (.20), cold (and cowled) old souls, the sleeping/buried dead on this Day of Judgment, “domnatory” does not sound promising. 593.21-3: “the carrying of the word of Nuahs and the night of making Mehs to cuddle up in a coddlepot:” basically, the story of Book III, just ended – Shaun (backwards) carrying the letter, Shem (backwards) left behind. Some of Joyce’s comments suggest that the progress of Book III is a mirrored reverse-order counterpart to Book I. 593.23: “coddlepot:” “Lotus Eaters:” “like a cod in a pot.” Also, codal: Gaelic for sleep 593.24: “Ntamplin:” Dublin – with Greek transliterations of “nt” for “d” and (as in 120.8) “mp” for “b” 594.1-595.29: “Vah!...here:” everything in this paragraph has to do with a “journeyon” (.7) day-journey, rising from low to up, from under to over, from inward to outward, from dark to light, from sleep to waking, from death to life, mainly but not always in Ireland, as the sun comes up. 594.1: “Suvarn Sur!...reneweller of the sky:” the sovereign sir (McHugh) being addressed is the rising sun, renewer of the sky. 594.1: “brand:” morning fires were renewed (as by “reneweller” (.1)) with smoldering “brands” of previous night’s fire. 594.2: “thou who agnitest!:” again, the morning fire-lighter, Sackerson, igniting. (He may also have contributed to the Sovereign Sir! of .1.) 594.2: “Arcthuris comeing!” Again, in some folklore traditions, King Arthur was a semi-divine figure whose triumphant return was prophesied. Also, Arcturus, depending on the season the brightest star or one of the brightest stars in the sky. In Dublin at 6:30 a.m., March 22nd, it would have still been visible above the horizon, although fading, as the sun, almost exactly due east to its position at almost exactly due west, was rising. See 621.7 and note. 594.2-3: “Be!...through the trancitive spaces!:” “Be” as a transitive verb. (But see note to .3.) Compare the “Do. But do” of Ulysses (U 9.653, 11.908). 594.2-3: “umprincipiant:” unperceived, impercipient – unseen, unseeing 594.3: “trancitive:” trance – here, probably hypnagogic. Oxford editors have “entrancitive” – trance, entranced 594.3-4: “Kilt by kelt shell kithagain with kinagain:” Scotsman and Irishman, both Celts (with a hard “C”), and as such kith and kin, will kiss and make up. (Not terribly likely, since Protestant Scots, the kilt-wearers, were among the settlers imposed by the British on Ulster.) 594.4: “We elect for thee, Tirtangel:” more Arthurian resurrectionism (see .2 with note): we pledge ourselves to you, king of Tintagel! 594.4: “Svadesia salve!:” McHugh glosses as Hindi for “self-government” and Latin for “hail.” In this sequence’s Irish millenarian context, a Sinn Fein-like celebration of Home Rule. (Compare “Sonne feine, somme feehn avaunt” (593.7-8)!) 594.5: “theeadjure:” we (Dubliners) adjure you – implore you. (The you is a sun-god, in various manifestations.) 594.5: “A way, the Margan, from our astamite, through dimdom done till light kindling light has led we hopas but hunt me the journeyon, iteritinerant, the kal his course, amid the semitary of Somnionia:” gist: half-waking up in the morning, we’re groping, dimly, through the mists of sleep, for a purchase on the daylight world. 594.5: “the Margan:” besides the morning, perhaps Temora, Ossianic equivalent of (see .4 and note) Tirtangel. In MacPherson’s Temora, its glory is reinstituted after a spell of betrayal and battle. 594.5: “astamite:” estaminet. A drab and dingy dwelling, now being replaced by cleansing sunlight 594.8: “semitary of Somnionia:” abode of (“semitary”/cemetery) dead signs; compare Stephen, in Portrait, chapter five, passing between walls covered with wall posters, “heaps of dead language.” Here, what meaning one might hope to make out of the fading bits of remembrance from the dream just passed. Again: the convention (and fact) that dream memories evaporate very quickly 594.8: “Even unto Heliotropolis:” compare “Healyopolis” (24.18). This dawning new age will brighten and enlighten everywhere, even Chapelizod (see entry for 7.28-9), inhabited by that time-serving political trollop Tim Healy – according to Joyce, Parnell’s Judas. 594.9: “Now if soomone felched a twoel and soomonelses warmet watter we could, while you was saying Morkret Miry or Smud, Brunt and Rubbinsen, make sunlike sylp om this warful dune’s battam:” “before you could say Jack Robinson” meant “in almost no time.” (“Smith, Brown, and Robinson” is the British version of “Tom, Dick, and Harry.”) In general, a proposal to clean and brighten things up in a jiffy, with the help of the rising sun, then as now known to be a disinfectant. Of course soap – Sunlight Soap (“sunlike sylp”) was a popular brand in Joyce’s time – would help. “Saying Morkret Miry” is perhaps a prayer to Margaret Mary Alacoque, for help in getting rid of the murk and the mire. “Smud:” mud; smut in sense of dirt. For (“make…sylp”) making soap, see next entry. “Warful dune’s battam,” a version of, for one, “Woovil Doon Botham” (369.12) is, says Mink, “a motif in FW, but still a mystery.” Your annotator’s best guess is that is has the same meaning here as the “bodom fundus” of the last chapter, “a depression called Hollow,” whose “wellbooming wolvertones” are “Ulvos! Ulvos!” (564.34-5, 565.5) – that is, the sleeper’s anus. Cleaning-up-wise, as great a challenge as the local estaminets or, even, Tim Healy’s dwellings (.5, .8), but with the help of a towel, or maybe (“twoel”) two towels, and warm water and someone (or actually, more than one someone), and a prayer to the proper saint and some pretty vigorous rubbing, in the current hopeful state of affairs even that may be possible. Long shot: “See but” (.13)! – possibly in the sense of See butt!, according to FW what Ham did with Noah. 594.12: “clarify:” 1. a process in the production of soap. 2. in one meaning, to cleanse, for instance with soap 594.13-4: “Take in:” as in, comprehend. Compare 294.6. 594.14: “Respassers:” McHugh: Swedish respass = ticket or travel; “Respassers” accordingly should mean something like travelers. See next. 594.14: “Respassers should be pursaccoutred:” carrying money – accoutered with a purse; something travelers should be 594.15-6: “Our shades of minglings mengle them:” “shades” as shadows (with dawn) and as the dead (at the Second Coming), trying to get sorted out, prior to (one hopes) ascent, into heaven. Compare Bloom, in “Hades,” on Judgment Day: “Last day! Then every fellow mousing around for his liver and his lights and the rest of his traps. Find damn all of himself that morning” (U 6.680-1). Also, later, FW on the same scenario: “And it's high tigh tigh. Titley hi ti ti. That my dig pressed in your dag si. Gnug of old Gnig. Ni, gnid mig brawly! I bag your burden. Mees is thees knees. Thi is Mi” (607.17-9). Is immediately followed by Pascal (Easter) “flasch,” “as hearth by hearth leaps live” (.16-7), towards heaven. 594.16-7: “A flasch and, rasch, it shall come to pasch, as hearth by hearth leaps live:” again, the house’s fires are being re-lit, one after another, hearth by hearth, flames leaping to life. “Pasch” may encompass: 1. Patrick’s lighting of the Paschal fire, and/or: 2. the Paschal candle, lit every year at Easter – in both cases the resurrection of Jesus as precedent for “Revelation”s resurrection of the dead. Also, compare “Oxen of the Sun:” “in an instant (fiat!) light shall flood the world. Did heart leap to heart?” The latter passage is comparing orgasm to lightning. 594.18: “the tanderest stock:” a stock tender. OED: “a tender offer is officially defined as a public solicitation of the shareholders of a corporation to tender their shares to the offeror at a specified price.” 594.19: “rosinost top Ahlen Hill’s:” Hill of Allen, legendary seat and grave of Finn McCool – here, its top being reddened - made rosy - by the rising sun. (Compare the same effect elsewhere: .21-2 and entry.) Located about thirty miles to west of Dublin. Another prospective site of resurrection 594.19-20: “clubpubber, in general stores:” again, the Mullingar House would have included both a pub and a general store. As before, everyone is welcome to this “truly catholic assemblage” (32.25), ordinary pub blokes and high-class clubmen. 594.20-1: ‘sparks out of his teiny ones:” teine is Gaelic for fire – sparks as tiny fires. 594.21-2: “The spearspid of dawnfire totouches ain the tablestoan ath the centre of the great circle of the macroliths of Helusbelus:” “Sunlight shining off the tip of Athena’s spear [from her statue in the Parthenon] could be seen by mariners off the Sunium coast, the southernmost point of Attica” – Mother Nectaria McLees, “The Christian Parthenon and St. Paul,” published in Road to Emmaus. Other sources confirm. (No doubt that, as McHugh says, this also encompasses Stonehenge, and perhaps other such structures, but the Parthenon’s pillars are also macroliths, and “isthmians” (.23: Isthmian Games) and “Helusbelus” (.25: Hellas) both sound Greek notes.) Also, Epstein (cited above), p. 250, notes that “Stonehenge is only about one hundred miles east of Dublin, on Salisbury Plain, so the sun is rapidly approaching the Irish coast.” Compare next entry. 594.23: “boshiman brush:” bushman, a native of, in this case, the Melanesian island of New Ireland, hunting in the “brush.” As with the Oceania of 593.5, a case of equal-opposites: about as far away from Ireland as one can imagine, but also “New” Ireland. Like the missionaries of an earlier age, the broadcasts are reaching into the most remote regions – “Overwhere” (.25)/everywhere. Ecumenically, the same sunlight touching the tip of Athena’s spear in the Parthenon (.21-2) also lights up the spear point of this aborigine, hunting with his dog (.27-30). As far as I can tell, there are no cairns, horned or otherwise, on New Ireland. 594.23: “peneplain:” “evokes a British toyshop image…[for] “children’s paper theatres, you could buy either ‘penny plain’ or ‘tuppence coloured’ figures. Here the Dublin ‘penny plain is mainly pale and monochrome, since the sunlight is not yet strong enough to bring out the colors in the landscape. Soon, however, the rainbow colors will color the land” – Epstein (cited above), pp. 250-1. In fact the scene will gradually change from “Gaunt grey ghostly gossips” (.24-5) to the dawn’s “yellowmeat” expelling “blackth” (.32-3), to what Joyce described as the gradual illumination of a church’s stained glass windows. 594.25: “Overwhere:” Everywhere 594.25-6: “Gaunt grey ghostly gossips growing grubber in the glow:” with the dawn come long shadows – here, probably, from the “horned cairns” (.24). “Growing grubber” is an FW equal-opposite: the brighter the day, the darker the shadows. 594.28: “impursuant to byelegs:” pursuant to byelaws; running with hind legs; perhaps, as sniffing bloodhound, in pursuit of blacklegs 594.28: “chuckal humuristic:” the subject being a dog, perhaps this presents it as a jackal. Joyce disliked dogs. 594.31-2: “Once for the chantermale, twoce for the pother and once twoce threece for the waither” - once for the chambermaid (Nora was one), twice for the porter, and once twice thrice for the waiter.” Sounds like house bells rung for servants. (Vide Downton Abbey.) In fact it is the numbered crowings of “duan Gallus.” 594.31: “chantermale:” Chanticleer, rooster of fable. The idea may be that his first crow (“Once for the chantermale”) is for himself, the chanting male. 594.32: “inedible:” indelible – egg yolk (“yellowmeat”) stains are notoriously hard to expunge. 594.32: “yellowmeat:” egg’s yolk. Anticipates breakfast; also, the sun replacing the “blackth” (.33) of night 594.33: “invasable:” invisible 594.33: “invasable blackth:” “Invisible Black:” character in a burlesque of Robinson Crusoe 594.33-595.1: “Kwhat…one?:” an exceptionally difficult sentence, I think, but one thing relatively clear is that a series of individuals or groups is being surveyed: German or Germans (“Alliman” (.34) French “Allemagne”), “saelior,” “pierrotettes,” Punch and Judy, ” “tailour,” “boys.” The person addressed is (“you’ve” (.35)) you, who is apparently being told that he’s made some kind of wrong choice – again, it’s not clear what – with his life. 594.34-6: “Alliman, saelior, a turnkeyed trot to Seapoint, pierrotettes, means Noel’s Bar and Julepunsch, by Joge, if you’ve tippertaps in your head or starting kursses:” a run of dance moves: alleman (left, in square dancing); turkey trot (noted by McHugh); pirouettes; tap dance and tiptoe en pointe; curtsies to partner. Included are the main characters of the Norwegian Captain story told in II.3 – the (“saelior” (.34)) sailor, (“kursses” (.36)) Kersse, as (“tailour” (.36)) tailor. Showing up later is the woman whose favor is in dispute, “the bride of the Bryne,” as “dotter” dancing with her father (595.5-6). Compare first note to 595.5: it seems that, as usual, sailor will win out over tailor. “Whake” (596.3) may suggest dancing at a wake, daughter dancing with father suggests a wedding, and the tailor-sailor-“dotter” romantic triangle just noted may add dancing as courtship ritual. 594.36: “you’re silenced at:” Oxford editors insert “right to” after “you’re.” The “right to silence,” a British-Isles version of America’s Fifth Amendment “right to remain silent,” has a long judicial history. 595.1: “Ostbys for ost, boys, each and one?:” another variant on “Ourselves alone.” Compare, for example, 514.36 and note. 595.1-2: “But life wends and the dombs spake:” compare, as McHugh suggests, 193.29 (“He points the deathbone and the quick are still”) and 195.5 (“He lifts his lifewand and the dumb speak.”) As McHugh notes for the 193.29 “deathbone,” this refers to a practice among aborigines, such as the one just introduced at 594.23-9. One reason the tombs speak is that, on this day of resurrection, initiated by the Christ who rose from the dead and, before that (Mark 7.31) made the dumb speak, the tombs are opened and the dead are coming back to life, and speaking. 595.2: “dombs:” tombs; to speak (or spoke, speaking, etc.) from the tomb: a fairly common expression 595.3-4: “giving relief to the langscape:” as in “relief map:” by making for a prominent elevation, he gives the landscape the qualities of such a map, showing elevations, for instance (see McHugh) of the Hill of Howth, and hills and “knocks” (again, hills) in general. Compare 476.33 and note. Otherwise, a “langscape” could be the noisy result of all those resurrected, no-longer dumb speakers. One consequence is something like the Tower of Babel – there are, for instance, twenty-nine ways to say good-bye (.27-8). 595.4: “strauches his lamusong untoupon gazelle channel:” stretch limousine, an exceptionally long car and a sign of conspicuous wealth. Animated cartoons of the time showed plutocrats being driven in preposterously long limousines, their lengths snaking around corners and reaching from one end of the city to the other, and this passage may be in that line: McHugh has “Gazelle Channel, New Ireland” – pretty much as far as away as one can reach. 595.5: “the bride of the Brine:” a phrase repeatedly associated with Issy or the young ALP. Also, of course, brine would be a feature of an ocean channel. Variants of “brine” – “Brian,” for instance – usually refer to Issy/ALP’s wild sailor lover. 595.5: “shin high:” she only comes up to his shin. Compare next entry. 595.5-6: “dotter than evar for a damse wed her farther:” continuing the logic of 595.4, the father’s show of wealth makes his daughter, even if only up to his shin, even more eager to dance with him, perhaps as a damsel at her own wedding – the traditional father-daughter dance. Echo of “dottier,” as in crazier (a version occurs in “Telemachus;” also, see 373.3)) - either crazier in general or crazed with enthusiasm. Lucia Joyce was a dancer and increasingly unstable mentally. One way of reading this, that the damsel weds her father, brings in what is probably FW’s main taboo. 595.6-7: “We may plesently heal Geoglyphy’s twentynine ways:” “heal” as mispronounced “hear.” In II.2, Issy is studying geography. “Plesent-“ (as in Alice Pleasance Liddell) and twenty-nine (her retinue of girls) are Issy signatures. The spelling of “Geoglyphy’s” brings in geology, “glyph,” language – another area of study in II.2. 595.8: “wassing seoossoon:” washing season: can refer to mining, fruit harvest, or sheep; also perhaps “spring cleaning” of early spring 595.8: “liv:” aside from ALP, as Roman numeral for 54 would seem to belong with “twentynine” (.7) and “forty” (.8.). Pertinent that they add up to 123? Your annotator believes that, as of the FW default date of March 21, 1938, ALP, like Nora Barnacle, is 54 years old 595.8: “forty wonks:” both Partridge and Green’s Dictionary of Slang list “wonk” as a variant of wank,” masturbate, as in the “wankyrious” thoughts aroused at 565.3. Issy is a flirt, sometimes a tease. Compare next entry. 595.9: “tup:” tub, for her (“wassing” (.8)) washing, but also (compare Ulysses, 11.25, 11.707-709), fuck. 595.9: “long long ray:” sun’s rays are longest, in relation to earth’s surface, at dawn and dusk. 595.9-10: “to Newirgland’s:” New Ireland: island off Papua New Guinea – certainly a (“long long ray” (.9)) long long way away; on the other hand, as Ireland, home. Compare 593.5 and note. 595.10-17: “korps…kilalooly:” Oxford editors have “korvs” and “kilaloolyoo.” As Mink notes, this list of Ireland’s counties is missing Derry/Londonderry, Down, Dublin, Mayo (although McHugh lists “men, for” (.13) as Mayo), and Tyrone. Mink includes “korps” (again, “korvs,” according to the Oxford editors) for Cork; McHugh does not. Tipperary appears later, as “Deepereras” (.28), completing the (“It’s a long long ray to…”) “It’s a long way to” (Tipperary) of .9. “Leekses” (.13) is Leix, an alternate name for County Laois. Your annotator can discern no clear rationale for these inclusions and exclusions. The (non-county) items from streamfish” through “steaked pig” are about food, perhaps breakfast food; “for men” through “kilahooly” are often distinctively Irish. Some may fit the county designated: Antrim is home to Belfast, capital of Ulster, and in FW Matthew from Ulster is prone to throwing “tantrum”s. 595.18: “Tep!:” the first of this chapter’s percussive “T-“ monosyllables: compare, on the same line, “Top.” Later: “Tom.” (597.30) “Tim.” (598.27) (possibly) “Time-o-Thay!” (599.3) (Irish “tea” is pronounced “tay”), the three “Tip”s on 599.23. (There may be others, later, and more dispersed, e.g. “Tunc” (611.4).) As with “Time-o-Thay”/Timothy, it is certainly relevant that “Tim” Finnegan is waking up. 595.18: “Come lead, crom lech!:” compare 500.6: “Crum abu! Cromwell to victory!” 595.18-9: “Top. Wisely for us Old Bruton has withdrawn his theory:” The “Top” recalls the I.1 “Tip” refrain from the visit to Wellington Museum, the “vellumtomes muniment” (.22). Also, “Old Bruton” – Britain – counterpoints New Ireland (.9-10). Also, Brut – according to Geoffrey of Monmouth and later mythographers the Trojan founder of (“Brut”) Britain. Also, see McHugh: “Old Bruton” is Victorian explorer Sir Richard Burton and his “theory” was that the origin of the Nile was Lake Tanganyika, not, as it turned out, Lake Victoria, the (“Victrolia Nuancee”) Victoria Nyanza of 105.14. Some confusion: I can find no record of Burton’s ever withdrawing his theory. In fact, when his (correct) rival John Speke died in an accident (Speke was the one who had proposed Lake Victoria as the source), Burton said that it must have been suicide, because Speke was unwilling to admit that Burton was right. Also: it’s not clear what difference all this would make to the bird’s-eye survey of Ireland underway. 595.19-20: “Amsulummmm:” this sounds like a sleepy answer, from the party just coming awake, to “You are alpsulumply wrought!” (.19) The same goes for “Namantanai” (.20-1) and “Amslu!” (.21). 595.20-2: “But this is perporteroguing youpoorapps? Namantanai:” But this (these morning noises, my voice) is perturbing you, perhaps? Answer: Not at all. 595.21: “Sure it’s not revieng your? Amslu!:” Are you sure you’re not dream[rêve]ing? Absolutely! (For “revieng”) compare the opening “riverrun” (3.1), which among other things includes French “rêvrons,” we will dream. 595.21: “Good all so:” recalls the “Clear all so!” (16.7) of the Mutt and Jute exchange – another case of someone getting his bearings 595.21-2: “We seem to understand apad vellumtomes muniment:” We seem to be standing upon the Wellington Monument. That is, we have a high-up panoramic view, of the kind just recounted, over almost all of Ireland’s counties. The upward trajectory – from ground to atop a cromlech – continues. Also, vellum tomes would go with a muniment room. It may be pertinent that, originally, the Wellington Monument had an interior space, available to visitors for the price of admission: in the next entry it seems to include historical artifacts. 595.23-9: “among hoseshoes, cheriotiers…Rest here:” museum perspective turns archaeological-paleontological, inspecting artifacts of battle – horseshoes, chariots, etc. - proceeding backward and downward, by degrees, to aborigines (here, the natives of both New Ireland and Ireland) – to “mudden research” (an archaeologists’ dig), to simian (“Mankaylands” (.26)) and piscine (“picalava” (.27)) layers of development, to the “deep deep deeps of Deepereras” – that is, even deeper eras. (“Hoseshoes” may also be hose, shoes.) Drilling down has been like the subconscious excavations of the dream just past, in turn tracking, reverse-evolutionarily, to the origin of the race, then the species. The “Oxen of the Sun” chapter of Ulysses sometimes incorporates the “biogenetic law,” that “ontogeny replicates phylogeny,” and a similar set of parallels is in play here. 595.23-4: “bargainboutbarrows:” barrows – burial mounds – as archaeological sites; compare 477.36. “Bout” may echo boat – boats were sometimes uncovered from barrows. (Sutton Hoo, too late for FW, is the best-known example, but not the first.) The phrase “bargain basement” was current in Joyce’s time. 595.24-5: “double preposition as in triple conjunction:” an example of a double preposition: “out of” (.21-2). “Atop” would also qualify, and at .22 “apad” apparently has that meaning. Grammatically, a triple conjunction seems to be the author’s invention, but “evenif or although” (.24) might count. Astronomically, according to Wikipedia, a “triple conjunction” occurs “when two planets or a planet and a star meet each other three times in a short period.” 595.25: “mudden:” midden, as at 19.8, 503.8 595.27: “maramara melma:” “effluent from volcanoes” (McHugh), in this case an (mare) ocean of it, brings in archaeological digs such as those at Pompeii. On the same line, note “lava” in “picalava.” 595.28: “in the deep deep deeps of Deepereras:” compare 67.23: “You are deepknee in error, sir.” Gist: like primitive peoples today, our ancestors were deplorably superstitious. Also (see .23-9 and note), archaeology digging down deeper, to more remote, more ancient eras. Opposite counterpart to “Tiers, tiers, and tiers” (590.26) – one reaching up high by degrees, the other digging down low by degrees. The dream just completed was a submergence, going deeper and deeper into the errors and eras of the past. 595.30: “Conk a dook:” as at 388.1, refers to the prominent nose (“conk”) of the Duke of Wellington, sometimes called “Old Conky.” Again, the site is the Wellington Monument. (As McHugh says, the “Aran Duhkha” of .22 sounds another Wellington note, as the “iron duke.”) 595.31: “So let him slap, the sap!” rooster or no rooster (Conk a dook he’ll doo” (.30)), the sleeper is still sleeping. Well, let him. 595.31-2: “Till they take down his shatter from his shap:” taking down the shop shutters will let in all the daylight and finally wake him up - or should, if only temporarily. They will in fact come down around pages 611-2, but it still won’t do the trick. 595.33: “faraclacks:” “cackling” sound of friarbird (see next entry); crackling of newly lit fire in fireplace 595.33: “friarbird:” firebird: phoenix 595.34ff. “The child…” apparently a (rather abrupt, it seems to me) re-introduction of Shaun/Kevin, who will almost immediately become the (“rinascenent; fincarnate” (596.3)) re-born Finn/egan, conjured “by slide at hand” (596.36-596.1) by sleight of hand. 595.34: “natural child:” illegitimate 595.36-596.1: “conjured himself from seight by slide at hand:” made himself invisible by a magic-like trick: so maybe he wasn’t kidnapped, as a child or earlier, after all. 596.1: “lemoronage:” lemon or orange, perhaps as a drink, as in the “lemon squash” of Portrait, chapter one 596.2: “in full dogdhis:” Brendan O Hehir: Dághdha, “god or hero surnamed Ollathair (“All father”). 596.2-3: “the hundering blundering dunderfunder of plundersundered manhood:” onomatopoetic instance of Vico’s theory of origin of language and civilization 596.4-5: “still foretold around the hearthside; at matin a fact:” that is, his eventual return/resurrection, in fact at (this) morning, is and was the stuff of folklore. 596.5: “foe purmanant:” for ever 595.5: “hailed chimers’ ersekind:” besides (McHugh) Erskine Childers, his cousin Hugh Cullings Eardley Childers (1827-96), labeled “Here Comes Everybody” by Punch. (See Glasheen, p. 56.) Compare next entry. 596.5: “ersekind:” naturally Irish. Also, kind to the Irish: a committee chaired by H. C. E. Childers announced that Ireland was disproportionately overtaxed. It was well received by Irish nationalists. 596.6: “wave resurging into chrest:” wave cresting at highest – surging – point. Also, overtone of Christ, resurrecting – one of several such notes in this sequence 596.7: “fram:” Mink lists this as possibly referring to the Norwegian ship used in explorations of both north and south poles. “Fram” means “Onward.” 596.7-8: “wiles with warmen and sogns:” wine(s), women, and song 596.7-8: “warmen and sogns:” women and sons 596.8-10: “under articles thirtynine of the reconstitution; by the lord’s order of the canon consecrandable: “ see McHugh. C of E’s Article 39 permits using the Lord’s name in solemn and legal oaths – for instance, “by the lord’s order.” Cranmer, originator of the 39 Articles, may be nested in “consecrandable.” 596.10: “earthlost that we thought him:” we thought he was done for when he was buried; we were wrong. 596.12: “forebe all the rassias:” father/czar of all the Russias. (As a sound-alike, “forebe” for “father” is pretty weak, but to my ear the additional overtone of “forebearer,” not to mention Russian “bear,” moves it into the zone of the almost-certain, especially given the proximity of (“pesternost”) paternoster (.10)) pater, and (“leery” (.12)) Lir/King Lear – father father father.) 596.12: “rassias:” rossies: wandering women. Has derogatory connotations 596.12-3: “the Diggins, Woodenhenge:” Woodhenge was site of an archaeological dig. Also, the formula here has the sound of a typical – quaint, maybe a bit twee - British suburban address, something like “The Elms, Wodenhose-on-Merle, Hamps.” 596.13-4: “with spawnish oel full his angalach:” the soon-to-spawn salmon, full of milt. See second note to .14. Also, Finn’s Angalach, here full of Spanish ale, was a drinking horn given to him by the daughter of the king of Greece. 596.14: “sousenugh:” following previous entry, soused (drunk) enough, with Spanish ale. (Compare the “Jean Souselevin” of 222.9 – a soused John Sullivan) 596.14: “gnomeosulphidosalamermauderman:” Oxford editors have “gnomeosulphidosalmermanderman,” which would add a merman to the Solomon - salamander - salmon composite. 596.14-5: “the big brucer, fert in fort:” the big bruiser, first in strength – a fair description of Finn 596.15-6: “Gunnar, of the Gunning, Gund:” see note to .12-3. Same thing 596.16: “forefivest:” Ireland has four provinces plus a legendary fifth, Meath. 596.17: “benedicted be the barrel:” Benedictine, made by monks of the order of St. Benedict, is aged in barrels. (And in the next entry, we get “kilderkins [McHugh: a cask] lids off,” and the following entry includes “vintivat” (.18).) Recalls the Shaun of III.1-2 – a monk, a barrel 596.17: “kilderkins, lids off:” children, hats off! Also, compare 471.12-3: Shaun is a barrel floating in the river, its lid (his hat) blows off, and he starts to sink. 596.17-8: “a roache, an oxmaster, a sort of heaps:” a rug, an Axminister carpet, assorted (or ill-assorted) heaps, presumably on the floor 596.19-20: “a hygienic contrivance socalled from the editor:” a squeamish editor has replaced “toilet” or something similar with a politer term. 596.20-1: “joy and ruth:” compare Joyce’s “Ecce Puer:” “With joy and grief my heart is torn.” 596.22-3: “upout to speak his lay:” about to have (speak) his say; “lay” can be a kind of song 596.23: “gygantogyres:” following “without links” (in chains) and “without impediments,” gyves for a giant, the absence of which leaves him (see next) free 596.24: “freeflawforms:” considering “gygantogyres” (.23), the “fee-fi-fo-fum” of the giant in “Jack and the Beanstalk.” Occurs in “Proteus” 596.24: “parasama:” Sanskrit for pre-eminently similar to 596.24: “atman:” Hindu: world soul 596.25: “no puler as of old but as of young a palatin:” a puling child; perhaps also, oppositely, pillar (of strength) – he was far from stalwart when younger (“of old”), but now, older (grown to a “young” man) he has “palatin” – (paladin: knightly, with possible overtone of “paragon”) – virtues. Mirroring reverse-imaging of young-old here is just one example of FW’s innumerable equal-opposites. 596.27-8: “quite a big bug after the dahlias:” quite a one for the ladies. (Earwicker as earwig is a bug.) 596.28-9: “hullow chyst excavement:” pectum excavatum, a medical condition often translated as “hollow chest” 596.28-9: “excavement:” (or “ex-cavement,” although, since Joyce eschews hyphens, the dash may come by way of a line break) ex-cavemen. In any case, according to Vico (the “Jambudvispa Vipra”of .29), this would correspond to the second stage of history. 596.31: “sorensplit and paddypatched:” divided by the devil and patched back up by Saint Patrick 596.31-2: “and pfor to pfinish our pfor of a pfan coalding the keddle mickwhite:” and, to finish our tale of a tub (note Swift at .33) pot/pan calling kettle white; “pf” probably from 18th-century “f” for “s;” the (black) coal under the pan/kettle produces steam, which is, at least comparatively, white. Also, see next entry. 596.32: “coalding the keddle mickwhite:” scalding the kettle. (In “Calypso,” Bloom scalds the teapot with steaming water from the kettle, heated on a coal fire; here, with (McHugh) “pot calling the kettle black” in play, what’s white for one is also white for the other, and, equally- oppositely, coal (black) can make either, black or not, white.) 596.32-3: “sure…swift:” seven words in this list – seven is the HCE number. 596.34: “antar of Yasas:” McHugh has altar of Jesus; given Gideon note in next two lines, this may also include the altar Gideon built at the Lord’s command – but the likeliest candidate is Jacob (“Ruse made him worthily achieve inherited wish” (.34-5)): “And he built there an altar, and called the place Elbethel: because God appeared unto him, when he fled from the face of his brother” (Genesis 35:7). “Yasas:” Jesus perhaps - but also Yahweh. 596.36-597.1: “Loughlin’s Salts, Will, make a newman if anyworn:” a commercial (back to the radio announcer) for a brand of salts – usually a laxative, as with the “Glauber’s Salts” of “Circe” – which will make a new man or (“anyworn”) woman of you. Usually to be taken in the morning: see 613.24-5. Oxford editors replace the comma after “Salts” with a period and delete the comma after “Will.” (Makes much more sense this way, grammatically and otherwise.) 597.1-22: “You mean…me:” much of this reflects the ex-dreamer’s uncertainty about whether he should either get up or roll over (“rolywholyover” (.3)) and go back to sleep, and his partner’s uncertainty about whether she ought to rouse him. See .24 and note. 597.3: “It is just, it is just about to, it is just about to rolywholyover:” to be precise, at 628.16-3.1 597.3: “rolywholyover:” “With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach, / Hey ho! Says Anthony Rowley” – “The Frog He Would A-wooing Go.” (Also at 152.20-1) 597.5: “hundrund and badst:” speaking of decimally-delimited story collections, Boccaccio’ s Decameron actually includes 101. Typically for FW, badst” can be either/both best or worst, first or last. See next entry. 597.5: “badst:” McHugh has “best” – but given the Arabian Night’s reputation for licentiousness, can also be baddest - worst. Note “wonst,” later in line. See next entry. 597.5: “pageans:” McHugh notes “pagans” – presumably because The 1001 Nights (“the hundrund and badst pageans of unthowsent and wonst nice” (.4-5)) is a pagan work. “Pageant” may also be present: plenty of pageantry in that book. 597.6: “tomb, dyke, and hollow:” all are, in some way, holes in the earth. Probably relates to conventional ideas of “falling” asleep and waking “up.” See .12 and note. 597.7-8: “The untireties of livesliving being the one substrance of a streamsbecoming:” “substratum” is Aristotle’s word, usually translated as “substance;” the difference between “substance” and “accidents” is the basis of his, as we would say today, essentialist philosophy. “Streamsbecoming” sounds a lot like Heraclitus (or Blake, or others) and points toward a more fluid understanding of reality. My (tentative) reading here is that Joyce contrives to have it both ways: the entirety of our past, lived lives – deposited as substratum - is the source/basis of our present/future – still becoming, uncertain (hence, in Aristotle’s sense, inessential, accidental) - lives, with “being” poised here between noun and verb. Also, our lived lives, remembered, become dreams. 597.8: “Totalled in toldteld and teldtold:” “told” as in, for example, untold – uncounted – wealth. See first note to .5: both the Decameron and the Arabian Nights are “told” in this sense, and both exceed, by one, their decimally determined limit. Compare, for instance, Joyce’s collection of thirteen poems, Twelve and a Tilly, the “Tilly” being one extra – the Irish equivalent of a “bakereen’s dusind” (212.20). 597.8-9: “tittletell tattle:” tattletale. Oxford editors have “tittletelltatle.” 597.9: “graced be Gad:” in Hebrew, “Gad” means good luck. Jacob’s seventh son, founder of one of the twelve tribes of Israel. See entry for .10-11. 597.10: “in whose words were the beginnings:” the pluralized version both incorporates and contradicts the gist of “In the beginning was the word.” 597.10-11: “there are two sighs to turn to, the yest and the ist, the wright side and the wronged side:” Wikipedia, on Gad: “In the biblical account, Gad’s presence on the east of the Jordan is explained as a matter of the tribe desiring the land as soon as they saw it…Classical rabbinical literature regards this selection as something for which they should be blamed,” although other commentators defend the action. 597.12: “feeling aslip and wauking up:” again (see .6 and note), when beset by admonitions to rise and shine, going back to sleep will feel like backsliding – a slip. 597.12-5: “On the sourdsite we have the Moskiosk Djinpalast with its twin adjacencies, the bathouse and the bazaar, allahallahallah, and on the sponthesite:” swordside and spindleside: respectively male and female lines of lineage. That both of these supposedly opposite sides are in the east, relative to Ireland, is owing to the ongoing preeminent fact of the sun’s rise. (The same fact at least partially accounts for all the Islam, Sanskrit, Hinduism, and Buddhism in the vicinity – compare what Brewster Ghiselin first described as the eastering tropisms of Dubliners stories, for example the title of “Araby.”) 597.13-4: “Moskiosk Djinpalast…the bathouse and the bazaar:” see previous note. In traditional Islam, these are all predominantly or exclusively male preserves. (Same, in the west, once upon a time, for the (“Djinpalast”) gin palace.) Compare .15-6 and note. 597.14: “allahallahallah:” as McHugh says, a muezzin’s call – to say prayers to (“allah-“) Allah 597.15-6: “the alcovan and the rosegarden, boony noughty, all puraputhry:” see notes to .12-3 and .13-4. The corresponding female domain: the alcove (of Arabic origin, meaning either bedroom or recessed part of bedroom containing beds), garden, purity and pure poetry (as in “la poesie pure”). Occidental version: women’s place is in the home, with the sugar and the spice and the everything nice. The male-female east-west pairing in this sequence seems also to be between day and night, at the moment of dawn, in FW’s “swigswag, systomy dystomy” (.21) between the two. 597.16-8: “One’s apurr apuss a story about brid and breakfedes and parricombating and coushcouch but other is of tholes and oubworn buyings, dolings and chafferings in heat, contest and enmity:” seems to be a chiastic reversal of previous male-female sequence: in FW Issy is the one with the cat (“apurr apuss”), “decoying more nesters [birds] to fall down the flue” (28.9: “coushcouch” is FW’s dove-sound), and women, reversing Ulysses, serve “breakfedes” (and, repeating Ulysses, break faith), whereas men are stuck with the rigors and sorrows of the outdoor rough-and-tumble of, for one, the bazaar, with its “oubworn buyings, dolings and chafferings.” (Complications: in “Penelope,” Molly contemplates being the one to serve breakfast in bed, wearing harem pants, no less, and at 199.10-27, a passage including the suggestive “she’d cook him up blooms,” ALP is remembered as, minus the pants, having done just that.) 597.20: “all-a-dreams perhapsing under lucksloop:” Leixlip has a bridge over the Liffey. (Remembering, for instance, “stream of consciousness,” “all-a-dreams” may be an overtone of (dreamy) “streams.”) Shaun was re-christened as (“johnajeams” (399.34) a John-a-dreams on the verge of his becoming a barrel, floating down the Liffey. See next entry. 597.20: “perhapsing:” compare Stephen in “Proteus:” “I am almosting it.” 597.20-1: “under lucksloop at last are through. Why? It is a sot of a swigswag, systomy dystomy:” Leixlip is where the Liffey’s salt tide meets the freshwater flow from upstream. Presumably, the two alternate degrees of influx and outflow, depending on the moon, etc. 597.21-2: “everabody…doze:” everybody knows 597.22-3: “doze…howpsadrowsay:” still dozing, still drowsy 597.24: “Lok! A shaft of shivery in the act, anilancinant:” “The expressions: ‘Lokke (Lokki) sår havre i dag’ (Lokke (Lokki) sows oats today),…[is] used in several regions of Jutland,… and stand[s] for the sight in the springtime, when the sunshine generates vapour from the ground, which can be seen as fluttering or shimmering air in the horizon of the flat landscape, similar to the hot steam over a kettle or a burning fire.” (Axel Olrik, “Loki in younger tradition,” 1909). Here, “shaft,” “lance” and perhaps “shiv” advance the traditional idea of a beam of light as spearlike (e.g. 594.21), however shivery/shimmery. Since the light has apparently hit him in the small of the back (.27), it would seem that he had turned away from the window, baring “the smalls of” his “back” (.27) to the cold air. 597.26: “risy fever:” see previous entry. Heat rises. 597.26: ”sleeper awakening:” especially given the following “flash from a future” (.28), this seems almost certainly an allusion to H.G. Wells’ dystopian-future novel The Sleeper Awakes. 597.27: “gip, and again, geip:” several birdcalls, including those of finches, are described in birdwatching books as “gip-gip.” Note “coranto of aria” (.26), “warbl” (.30), and (see next) “jaladaew.” Birds, heard from outside the window, are singing with the sunrise – although, as McHugh notes, the jackdaw is still silent. 597.30: “Tom:” will be followed by “Tim!” (598.27), followed by a head’s-up to listen for the (“thuds trokes” (598.30)), third stroke, then – the third stroke - “Tip” (599.23), then, eventually, a “whole clangalied. Oh!” (601.21) of church bells from all over town (601.21-8). 597.31: “jaladaew still stilleth:” jilldaw, by analogy to (see McHugh) jackdaw? If so, it’s still asleep, unlike the birds of Chaucer’s “General Prologue,” awake all night because it’s April. Also, according to B. P. Misra, Sanskrit for “the spirit of water” 597.31-2: “Cloud lay but mackrel are: compare last night’s “Welter focussed” (forecast: 324.24-34), which predicted “low pleasure” (pressure: 324.32) at dawn; as McHugh notes, a mackerel sky “heralds depression.” A mackerel sky would also go with this sequence’s sleep/underwater – waking/surfacing interface: compare entry for .36. (As with Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind," the opening anenomes of .32 may include the underwater kind.) 597.32-3: “Anemone activescent, the torporature is returning to mornal:” Rising temperature is activating the anemones. Anemones are early-spring flowers. (Again, your annotator thinks that the FW month is March.) Their blooms remain closed until sunrise. “Torpid,” echoed in “torporature,” hints that they have been, as Wordsworth puts it, “like sleeping flowers.” Also, the temperature is rising, from the chill of night to what would be (“mornal”) normal for morning. 597.33-4: “Humid nature is feeling itself freely at ease with the all fresco.” When the air is too humid, humans feel bloaty and sweaty. When it’s not humid enough, human skin gets raw and rashy. Right now, it’s just right: human nature is in sync with humid nature, and being in the open air feels great. It seems like a fine day for a picnic, al fresco, but see entry for 599.27-8. 597.35-6: “You have eaden fruit…snakked:” perhaps obvious: it was the snake which got them to eat the Eden fruit. 597.35-6: “eaden fruit:” Edom fruit, a.k.a. Dead Sea fruit, which, though initially enticing, turns to ashes in the mouth. Bloom in “Calypso:” “the cities of the plain: Sodom, Gomorrah, Edom. All dead names. A dead sea in a dead land, grey and old.” As the Dead Sea, Edom is famously inhospitable to life in general and fatal to fish; hence “Sickfish Bellyup. Edomite” (72.11). 597.36: “snakked mid telle wish:” Danish: talked with. This sequence seems to cover elements of the forepassed dream, raising the (admittedly recherché) question, did the sleeper ever think he was talking to a fish? And if so, which one? (Perhaps during III.3, much of which he spent underwater, at times, in fact (e.g. 525.20-526.2) as a fish himself: in any case, he certainly, so to speak, slept among them.) 597.36: “Telle whish:” television; compare 489.21. (Again: in Joyce’s time, television would not have been available in Ireland, or for that matter almost anywhere else. Still, in a II.3 transformation scene starting at 349.5, the pub radio will turn into a television, and something similar may be happening here – the ear-wicking dreamer, up to now living through his ears, is, with morning’s light, adding vision to the mix.) 598.1-14: “Every…Adya:” saying goodbye to the dream – the “dromo of todos” (598.2) - just past 598.1: “Every those personal place objects if nonthings:” (Oxford editors replace “if” with “is.”) As in I.1, in re-orienting, begin with things. A noun is the name of a person, place, or object (thing). Except now – still - the nouns are “nonthings,” probably just because he’s poised between dreamworld and real world. 598.3 “to be your trowers:” Oxford editors replace with “to be by. You hild them, the upples, in your trowers.” Your annotator doesn’t know what to make of the addition, but compare 436.5-6: “And is that any place to be smuggling his madam’s apples up?” (Which doesn’t really help, does it?) Best guess: something like (.3-4) you had it on the tip of the tongue – the “dromo of todos” dream of everything, but, like all dreams, it vanished before you could pin it down. 598.3: “trowers:” probably in sense of trow – believe 598.3: “Forswundled:” Christiani: both vanished and swindled away (McHugh has “disappeared”) – the fleeting dream vision, that is. 598.3-4: “You hald him by the tip of the tang. Not a salutary sellable sound is since:” again, a well-known fact about dreams is that they start to disappear from memory the moment they’re over. The forepassed visions and words, when it was or anyway seemed that “soundsense and sensesound” were “kin again” (121.15-6), are now just beyond reach, like a not-quite-retrievable word, or even (“sellable”) syllable, on the tip of the tongue: in fact not a syllable, not a sound, correlates with sense. Also, tang: Christiani identifies as Danish for tongs. Best guess: tip-of-tongue right-word recollection being compared to touch-and-go forceps (tongs) delivery, a theme sounded several times in FW, especially (“Save me from those therrble prongs!” (628.5)) in the transition from end to beginning. 598.4-6: “Insteed for asteer, adrift with adraft. Nuctumbulumbumus wandering towards the Nil:” Phonemic shiftings here replicate mental drift, as all becomes cumulus-cloudy and recedes into nil, nothing. Probably pertinent that this and the next few lines recall a motif of the most recent phase of the dream, the search for the origins of the Nile. (See 558.27-8 and 595.18-9 with McHugh’s note, and next entry. Nile and Nil, together, certainly suggest The Book of the Dead.) The best-known example of someone who let his steed steer him is Don Quixote. “Adrift,” “wandering,” and cloud-talk may recall another aleatory peripatetic, Wordsworth, given to wandering lonely as a cloud, who begins The Prelude as traveler on Quixote’s horse. 598.7: “very dark:” as in “darkest Africa,” where their explorations are tending 598.7: “allburt:” Lake Albert: another note from the Nile theme: see 595.18-9. Originating in Lake Victoria, the Nile then flows into Lake Albert. 598.7: “allburt inend:” all but unending 598.8: “somenwhat:” includes Latin somnus, sleep; perhaps echoes “somnolent;” certainly echoes “somewhat” 598.9: “Endee he sendee:” McHugh: yesterday is today. I suggest that this sounds like one of FW’s spells of music-hall China-talk (“No tickee, no washee”) appropriate for a sunrise, in the east. 598.10: “Greets to ghastern, hie to morgning:” As in Hamlet, ghosts, like dreams, proverbially flee (hie) at dawn. Also, equal-oppositely: Greetings, as guests, ghosts! Hi, morning! 598.10-1: “Dormity, destady:” along with McHugh’s gloss of “Dormity” as “sleep ye!,” overtone of “today” in “destady” – sleeping last night, awaking today 598.11: “Doom is the faste:” Done is the fast. Well, yes: coming up soon is the meal called break-fast. 598.11: “Well down, good other!:” Well done, good author! Also, good riddance to that “other” realm of dreams, now finally done, now that it’s daytime. (Oxford editors have “dawn” for “down.”) 598.12: “Padma:” in Hindu creation myth, the padma (lotus) is the first to bud. 598.13: “flower that bells:” bellflower, so called because it resembles a bell, its pistil a bell’s clapper. The conceit is continued at 601.16: “Sicut campanulae petalliferentes,” for which see McHugh. (Bellflowers are of the Campanulaceae family and are called Campanula, from Latin campanis, bells, but aside from books about Finnegans Wake I can find no mention of the a “petalliferentes” variety.) The Irish bellflower can grow to over a yard in height. See entry after next. 598.13-4: “risings…Lotus spray:” lotus here doubles with bell-flower. The lotus is typically submerged in ponds – often described as dense or muddy – until it rises with the dawn, to continue a cycle of sinking at night and rising at sunlight. For ancient Egypt, it was a symbol of the sun rising; in India and other Asian countries it is the soul or divine creation emerging triumphant and untainted by materiality. Many cultures consider it sacred. Blossom times vary, from early spring to late summer, according to variety and location. 598.14: “Tickle, tickle:” possibly 1. imagined tinkle of bellflower; 2. sleeper being tickled, in an effort to wake him up 598.14: “Adya:” following on “Diu!” (.9), adieu 598.15: “Take thanks:” response to prayer (“Lotus spray:” let us pray (.14)), which traditionally “gives thanks” 598.15: “thankstum, Thamas:” besides (McHugh) tamas as Sanskrit for darkness, my thanks to Thomas, the “Tom” (re)introduced at the start of this latest waking-up phase (597.30) 598.15: “In that earopean end meets Ind:” Ireland is at the end of the Eurasian continent, if not in fact an exiguous “wart on Europe” (137.8), across the ocean from what Columbus thought was India. (And there are still “the West Indies.”) The lotus (.13-4), sacred to India, may have prepared for its appearance here. 598.15: “that earopean:” open ears. As some have observed, sleep shuts down the eyes but not the ears – probably one reason for the dreamer’s having been renamed Earwicker, that is, Ear-alive, in his Shem incarnation “all ears” (169.15). 598.19: “without tares:” in biblical usages, “tares” are weeds. Possible allusion to one of Jesus’ best-known parables, of the wheat and the tares. 598.19: “but simplysoley they are they:” no more tedious translations (as in a book like (“Tamal without tares” (.19)) Tamil Without Tears) – for instance of translating the bread-bread and wine-wine of “Panpan and vinvin” of one language into the “”vanvan and pinpin” of another (.18) - we are (or were) back to Adamic language, where everything has exactly the right, one, and only one, name, where every “Thisutter”ance follows naturally from “that” real-world “fellow,” however “odd” (.19-20). For instance, bread and wine, whatever they’re called, are everywhere the same, throughout the world, in the Mass, and, no matter what language, transubstantiated into the divine, pre-verbal fact of Jesus’s flesh and blood. (Before Vatican II, of course, the universal language used was still (“Panpan and vinvin”) Latin’s panem and vinum. 598.19: “simplysoley:” what Bloom in “Eumaeus” calls a simple soul – childishly impressionable, if not in fact retarded. Such a sensibility is called for at this moment of seeing things, simply and solely, for what they just are. Note “sol,” sun, at this sun-rising. 598.20-1: “Old yeasterloaves:” bakeries sometimes sold “day-old bread” at a discount. In “Calypso,” Bloom reflects that Molly prefers “yesterday’s loaves” to fresh. Also, former loves, now “stale,” their pictures turned toward the wall (.20-22). 598.21: “pitchers…to the wall:” turning around someone’s picture to face the wall when they have fallen into disgrace 598.21: “pitcher go to aftoms:” a (canvas, for instance) picture that had decayed down to its atoms would have been around for an extremely long time – as, in the previous Book III, were Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, all senescent. See next entry. (As with the allusion to Wells’ The Sleeper Awakes (597.26), there is preliminary uncertainty about just how long the sleeper has been sleeping.) 598.22: “Mildew, murk, leak and yarn now want the bad that they lied on:” a morning-after, dawn’s early light version of the bed, from whose posts the four apostles once peered down, especially in II.4. (See McHugh. The children’s prayer addressed the four bedposts as, in order, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.) Either they or it or both are now, it turns out, in pretty bad shape. Accordingly, they want their (“bad”) bed, however mildewed, murk-shrouded, leaked on (compare 145.13, 563.6), and threadbare, back, to lie on – so please vacate it, Mr. Dreamer. 598.23-6: “And your last words:” McHugh and Oxford editors both replace “your last” with “the four last.” For Catholics, as taught in Portrait, chapter three, the four last things (and words) are Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell. 598.23-5: “camparative accoustomology are going to tell stretch of a fancy through strength towards joyance:” “Strength Through Joy” was a Nazi motto for its holiday (“camparative:” my underlining) camps. Not impossible that this is a radio broadcast, heard with the “earopean” (.15), coming from a German station. According to a 1937 notice in Radio News, German broadcasts could be heard “crystal clear” in the British Isles; in II.3 one of the voices intermittently being heard over the pub’s radio is Hitler’s, from Germany. 598.23-4: “camparative accoustomology:” given context (see, e.g., next three entries; also 601.16 with McHugh’s note), a stretched-out “campanology,” the art of bell-ringing, to which knowledge of “comparative acoustics” would certainly be useful; the phrase can also apply to the study of hearing. 598.25-6: “a threat for a throat:” long shot, comparing entry for 23-5: At the same time (1933) that the Nazis were instituting “Strength Through Joy” camps, they were also building Dachau, the first of another kind of camp. (How Joyce Wrote Finnegans Wake, edited by Luca Crispi and Sam Slote, has this line added in the late 1930’s.) This version of (McHugh) “Allay for allay,” an eye for an eye, would certainly fit in such a camp. (Come to think, even the holiday camps are “stretch of a fancy.”) Your annotator is elsewhere on record as saying that, aside from the Joyces themselves and possibly John McCormack, the 20th century figure appearing most frequently in FW is Adolf Hitler, accompanied by swastikas, “heil”s, and other Nazi signs and tokens. 598.27: “Tim!:” whether from bellflower or some other source (again, possibly the radio), a waking-up bell-sound. See 597.30 and note, and compare .14, .20. 598.28: “The urb it orbs:” a stretch, but in Latin this would be a pun: orbis means “ring” in the sense of circle, not sound, but the city is starting to ring with bell-sounds, culminating in 601.20-8. 598.28-9: “Then’s now with now’s then in tense continuant:” present continuous tense is used for what is happening at the time – that is, (“now’s”) now. Also, Wikipedia: “a continuant is a speech sound produced without a complete closure in the oral cavity, namely fricatives, approximants, and vowels” - “now…now’s” (.28-9) would exemplify. More grandly, God’s version of time, “now” and “then” being experienced as the same, to accompany the God’s-eye view of space – “Ysat Loka. Hearing” (28) – as McHugh says, Chapelizod, Lucan, Erin, being one and the same with (again, McHugh) Sanskrit “Loka,” “the universe or any division of it.” As Lidia Szczepanik writes (“Sandhyas Sandhyas Sandhyas! Indian Thought in Finnegans Wake,” Studia Litteraria Universitatis Iagellonicae Cracoviensis 9 (2014), 303-310, p. 308), this page, 598, “is full of Sanskrit references,” probably because the waking-up being enacted is a search for origins (of the Nile, for instance) including of language, and Sanskrit was/is often considered the origin of the Indo-European languages, including English and, certainly, Wake-ese. 598.30: “thuds trokes truck:” third stroke struck, not coincidentally as three strong stresses. Compare “The Sisters:” “There was no hope for him this time: it was the third stroke.” The “stroke” in question is a medical episode, but with connotations of a “funeral toll” – the third ringing, after the “passing bell” and “death knell.” Also mimicked with this sequence’s attention to tenses: “Hearing…Heard…he shall have had. Hear!” (.28-30). 598.30: “chim:” chime, chum 598.31-599.2: “it will be…theirs:” among other things, being brought to waking consciousness by a stage hypnotist: at such-and-such count, you will recognize your home, your children, your neighbors, etc. – that is, you will stop dreaming. 598.31-2: “the ope of the diurn:” the opening of the day, at sun-up, that is, now 598.32: “sennight:” sennet: Elizabethan instrument (cornet or bugle) used for stage entrances; occurs in this sense in “Circe” 598.32: “the maaned of the yere:” Time Magazine began choosing a “Man of the Year” in its 1927 issue. (Joyce was to be on the magazine’s cover on May 18, 1939; in 1932, during an interview, Dwight MacDonald found that Joyce was familiar with some of the personnel of Henry Luce’s publications.) 599.1: “is be will was:” the confusion, or combination, of tenses continues – see 598.28-9, 599.30 and notes. 599.3: “Much obliged, Time-o’-Thay! But wherth, O clerk?:” That is, thanks for telling me about the when, but what about the where? The next few pages, in response, will supply him with a bird’s-eye survey. (Actually, he’s also still asking for the time – the o’clock – as well: a frequent question in FW, never satisfactorily answered. For all the recent talk (598.17-599.2) about today, yesterday, dates, bell-strokes, hours and minutes, no actual time of day was given. Unhelpfully, the respondent will go on to say that, “beyond indicating the locality,” he can’t be more specific (.32-4.).) 599.4-5: “See you not soo the pfath they pfunded:” still an elevated bird’s-eye view of the terrain. Here, the (“pfath”) path, visible for some distance, has been, over the years, trampled into existence by both people and animals, some of them – this is how far back it goes - wild. See entry after next. For the human contingent, these are our ancestors, what they founded (and not incidentally, through inheritance, funded) for us. 599.5: “oura vatars tha arred in Himmal:” the flip side of FW’s Augustinian watchword, Felix Culpa. It was God our Father, not Adam, who erred (in Heaven), creating a Creation that was flawed and unavoidably sinful from the get-go. The happy fall was His. J. S. Atherton calls this the foundational heresy of FW, and I agree. 599.6-8: “the gow, the stiar, the tigara, the liofant, when even thurst was athar vetals, mid trefoils slipped the sable rampant, hoof, hoof, hoof, padapodopudupedding on fattafottafutt:” the various animals – some wild, some cattle - who have trampled out the path. The last words are surely onomatopoeic. They were thirsty, they were going after their vittles, in quest of drink and food they hoofed-hoofed-hoofed on floot-foot-foot, beating down, among other things, Ireland’s native fields of shamrocks. 599.6-7: “mid trefoils slipped the sable rampant:” compare Waugh’s 1938 Scoop: “Feather-footed through the plashy fen passes the questing vole.” (Probably too late for FW, but the two authors might be thinking of the same kind of journalistic afflatus. See entry for .18.) In heraldry, a “sable” – something – “rampant” would be an animal, colored black, in a posture of attack. The sound supposedly following, “hoof, hoof, hoof, hoof,” would, of the animals listed, fit only the “gow” or “stiar” (.6), cow or steer, neither of which it is easy to imagine “rampant.” 599.8-9: “Ere we are!: an FW equal-opposite: 1. Before (ere) we were, 2. Here we are. Christmas pantomimes traditionally begin with a clown announcing, “Here we are again!” 599.9-10: “emplacement of solid and fluid:” surveyed landscape 599.13: “providential divining:” with all the water around, some of it underground, a divining rod for, for instance, “secret waters” (.26) 599.14: “haves and havenots:” usually, of course, describes the well-fixed and the not-so well-fixed, but at 295 LM 2 it’s men and women, genitally defined 599.14: “circumformation:” if “reformation” means forming again, this means forming again and again and again. 599.17-8: “equonomic ecolube equalobe equilibbrium:” as at the end of I.1 (24.16-29.36), the (semi)awakened sleeper is being told that things are much as they were: there may have been some torrents and dry spells, and rivers and lakes may have changed courses or shapes, but the relative proportionality of solid and liquid (for “equ-,” “aqu-“ can substitute) is pretty much the same as ever. Also, the iteration here and earlier in the sequence signals HCE, with his stutter. (So does (“has a tense” (.14)) “hesitency” (.14).) 599.18: “Gam on, George!:” Come on, George! That is, knock off the gammon, the fancy talk. “George,” from Latin for farmer, connotes rustic simplicity; here until .24 the talk seems bluntly soldierly (or (“Seaworthy” (.21)) sailor-like, ending in a comradely trip to a pub. 599.18-9: “Nomomorphemy for me!:” again – see McHugh – wake up! No more of the Morpheus business! (As elsewhere, it’s not clear who the “me” is, the sleeper or someone who’s fed up with him; it is immediately followed by “us,” as in (“Lessnatbe” (.19)) Let’s not be.) 599.19: “angardsmanlake:” “angar” - ME for “arrogant.” Possible overtone of military guardsman 599.19-20: “a tache of army on the stumuk:” Napoleon: “An army travels on its stomach.” Here, the stomach seems to be suffering from what is sometimes called “a touch of” something disagreeable, for which the remedy will be (see note to .23) some medicinal tea. 599.20: “To the Angar at Anker:” if I’m right that, starting at about .18, a couple of “military” (.16) chums have met and set out for a pub, this would be a likely destination. Pub names with “Anchor” in them were/are ubiquitous in the British Isles, especially those catering to sailors. 599.21: “Lots thankyouful, polite pointsins!:” I (or we) have lots to thank you for, polite persons! (Overtone of “poisons,” which may have something to do with the stomach trouble, contradicts.) 599.21-2: “There’s a tavarn in the tarn:” no idea how a tavern gets into a tarn, but in its continuing en haute survey of the landscape the text is turning its attention to a local body of water - .26, 600.5ff. Also, “There’s a tavern in the town” is from the chorus of a popular drinking song 599.23: “Tip. Take Tamotimo’s topical:” compare “Time-o’-Thay” (.3). “Tropical Tea” is a ubiquitous variety (and brand) today, but in Joyce’s time it was rare; in one instance it is listed among “pharmaceuticals,” along with liver pills and other patent medicines; hence, perhaps, “Advert” (.24) - another radio advertisement. (Either there is a radio in the sleeper’s bedroom or he is hearing this from downstairs.) Also, a proposal to take – meaning to drink - morning tea, as opposed to (.21-2) tavern fare 599.25-600.4: “Where…Hence:” mixes Vico with contemporary hypotheses about life’s origins: for Vico civilization begins with humanity’s reaction to lightning and thunder; for science, according to one popular theory, life began when lightning struck a just-right oceanic soup. See next three entries. 599.25: “Cumulonubulocirrhonimbant:” a cirrus cloud in the middle, but the main unit is “Cumulonimbus,” a storm cloud, which accordingly sends lightning (“the dart of desire” (.25-6), negative charge seeking positive charge) into the body of water; “Cumulo…” etc. is surely an onomatopoetic imitation of the sound of rolling thunder – imitation, not enactment: the weather is fine and the only clouds in the sky are “mackrel” (597.30-1). Possibly this is a recollection of the last (and, later, this) day’s weather. 599.25-6: “the dart of desire has gored the heart of secret waters:” a cosmic-mythical-topographical-meteorological version of Cupid’s arrow. “Secret waters:” the water may be underground. See next entry. 599.26-7: “of secret waters and the poplarest wood:” literary and mythical tradition, including Homer, associate poplar groves with springs and fountains – “secret waters.” Sometimes, in poetry, the water is underground and hidden (e.g. Coleridge’s “sunless sea”) and can stand for the soul. 599.27-8: “being grown at present, eminently adapted for the requirements of pacnincstricken humanity:” Vico’s humans, terrified by the thunder, will welcome a newgrown grove of trees from which to hide from the lightning-filled angry sky. (This is not smart of them.) “Pacnincstricken:” the same bad idea might occur to (panicking) picnickers caught in the rain. FW’s couple was wishfully planning a picnic at or near where Bloom and Molly had theirs, but as Kate spitefully hoped (141.36), the Irish weather spoiled it. 599.31: “bomb the thing’s to be domb:” more thunder, this time as a crack, not a rumble. Although in opposite order, the thunder heard in “Oxen of the Sun” also comes as “crack,” then “rumblingly.” (Again: this is all probably a matter of retrospective speculation: the morning weather at the time in question is sunny.) 599.32-3: “beyond indicating the locality, it is felt that one cannot with advantage add a very great deal to he aforegoing by what, such as it is to be, follows, just mentioning however:” gist: not much to add to the foregoing, but of course we’re going to blither away anyway. 599.35: “the old woman in the sky:” presumably Hecate 599.35-6: “if they don’t say nothings about it they don’t tell us lie:” like the Kern-Hammerstein “Old Man River” noted by McHugh, an imitation of African-American dialect, for instance in Joel Chandler Harris’s Uncle Remus stories: “Brer Fox, he wink his eye slow and lay low, and the Tar Baby, she’ ain’t saying nothing.” 599.35: “they don’t say nothings:” for “Old Man River” echo, noted by McHugh, compare 363.11-2. 600.1: “cannibal king” a fixture of pantomimes, for instance in productions based on Robinson Crusoe 600.1: “property horse:” compare 219.7, 221.26. Either a horse skilled at tricks or a stage model of a (usually giant) horse, in either case popular with circuses, pantomimes, etc. 600.2-3: “Father Times and Mother Spacies:” Many Google hits on “Father Time” – as pantomime figure, as title of a pantomime – but none on “Mother Space,” and almost none on “Father Space.” (“Mother Time,” as for instance played by Lillian Gish in the 1916 epic Intolerance, is fairly frequent.) 600.3: “boil their kettle with their crutch:” OED definition 7 for “crutch:” “Soap-boiling: A staff with a perforated piece of wood or iron at the end, used to stir the ingredients.” So this would mean that, putting their kettle on to boil (soap), they have a crutch with them, for stirring. 600.5: Polycarp pool: question: how is a church father named Polycarp like a (McHugh) “a pool with many carp?” Perhaps because one of Saint Polycarp’s distinctions was that, according to some versions, he was one of the first Christians to be baptized, with water, at birth. In any case, this introduces, for about the next twenty lines, various bodies of water with supernatural properties, for instance of “regenerations of incarnations” (.9). 600.5: “Saras:” Hindu: with water. There is a heavy concentration of Indian allusions in this sequence. 600.6: “meadewy marge:” more landscape/waterscape: at the edge of a dewy meadow 600.6-7: “atween Deltas Piscium and Sagittariastrion:” B. P. Misra: “Between the zodiacal sign Piscium and Sagittarius, i.e. between November 22 and February 20, the time when the Hindu year ends. This is the appropriate time for ringing out the old and ringing in the new world.” See note to 600.9-10, below. “Delta Piscium” is a specific star – the fourth brightest - in Pisces, as, with some leeway, “Sagittariastrion” could be (“-astrion”) in Sagittarius. 600.7: “whereinn:” a nod to the Mullingar House in its days as a hotel or inn, HCE’s “innkempt house” (13.8). 600.7: “when once we lave ‘tis alve and vale:” see entries for .5. Getting “lave”d at baptism means saying farewell to one’s old life; the hope is that henceforth all will be well. 600.7: “minnyhahing:” compare 204.18-9: the infantine ALP laughed innocefree with her limbs aloft.” 600.8: “hiarwather:” higher water. As in I.8, this is tracking the course of a stream, from higher up to ground level. 600.8: “a poddlebridges in a passabed:” compare I.1’s introduction of the young ALP: “lovelittle Anna Rayiny, when unda her brella, mid piddle med puddle, she ninnygoes nannygoes nancing by” (7.26-7). “Passabed,” as McHugh notes, is pissabed, dandelion, renowned for inducing urination. (“Piddle,” of course, is in the same ballpark.) One reason for the name of ALP’s daughter/younger self of “Issy” is that it off-rhymes with “pissing,” something she and her friends are repeatedly overheard or witnessed or remembered doing. (As in many other cases, FW takes the Adamic-language position that “Issy”/”pissy” etc. sound like the action they describe.) 600.8: “poddlebridges:” Dublin’s Poddle River, mostly underground – perhaps an example of the “secret waters” of 599.26. 600.9-10: “regenerations of incarnations of the emanations of the apparentations of Funn and Nin in Cleethabala:” “emanations” here seems to bear the theological/theosophical sense of incorporeal progressions (as in the Apostle’s Creed) from a divine source. “Apparentations:” Latin apparentatio: funeral obsequies for a parent or parents. In general, stages in reincarnation, clearly prompted by the water scene – Ganges, Jordan, baptism, Liffey as Water of Life. “Funn and Nin” as a version of Father and Mother: Finn and Nana 600.11: “the Alieni, an accorsaired race, infester of Libnud Ocean:” the Alans, one of the barbarian tribes perpetually at war with Rome, originated north of the Caucasus, on the edge of the Black Sea; “Libnud” (Dublin) means “black pool.” Also: given “corsair” (pirate) and the Egyptian theme already in play, this may also include the “Sea People,” 12th century B.C. sea-going invaders of Egypt. 600.11-2: “Moylamore:” great sea 600.12-3: “Where Allbroggt Neanddser tracking Viggynette Neeinser gladsighted her Linfian Fall:” back to Lake Albert and Lake Victoria, this time remembering Prince Albert and Victoria in their youthful courtship days: he’s pursuing (“Viggynette”) little Vicky and delighted at her eventual response to his appeals. She falls for him, maybe lets her hair fall down too; compare I.8: ALP as Livia/Liffey “let her hair fal and down it flussed to her feet its teviots winding coils” (206.29-30). As already noted, much else in this aquatic sequence recalls I.8, the chapter tracking ALP’s course of life, e.g. “Was it waterlows year, after Grattan or Flood, or when maids were in Arc or when three stood hosting? Fidaris will find where the Doubt arises like Nieman from Nirgends found the Nihil. Worry you sighin foh, Albern, O Anser? Untie the gemman's fistiknots, Qvic and Nuancee! She can't put her hand on him for the moment” (202.16-21). Here as there (see McHugh), “Neeinser”/“Nuancee!,” is according to Brendan O Hehir, ní ha-annsa, meaning not hard - a Gaelic formula for answering riddles. In this case the question is a proposal of marriage and the answer is a yes; there will follow (.15-20) a breathless society-page report of a (very) high-class wedding. 600.13: “her Linfian Fall:” before being dammed, the Liffey had two major waterfalls, Poulaphouca and Golden Falls. Compare 214.31; see .14 and note. 600.13-4: “a teamdiggingharrow turned the first sod:” continuing topographical-anthropological-historical survey, we note the spot where soil was first turned, by plough (“blow” (.14)) and a team drawing a harrow. (As with, for instance, the Nile, land on a river margin would have been an obvious choice for this, the beginning of agriculture.) Nested in its courtship-and-marriage scenario, this may also be the first in a series of double-entendres about wedding-night deflowering, including (.14) “Caughterect!” caught erect, situated on a “booty spotch” (.16). (Sex as seed-sowing automatically goes with the word “husband,” as in Shakespeare’s Sonnet Three’s “the tillage of thy husbandry:” compare 198.5-6, 314.12, 318.3, 535.2). Overtone of “Tom, Dick, and Harry” certainly seem to insinuate suspicions about the bride’s virginity. 600.14: “Sluce! Caughterect!:” sluice, cataract, referring to 1. river and waterfall; and 2. possibly to artesian spring -more “secret waters” (599.26) - spurting from earth as a result – see previous note - of “blow” from plough and harrow. (And/or lightning; see notes to 599.25-6, 26-7.) 3. as in the previous chapter, someone has been caught with an erection. This and the next ten or so lines, I think, follow on from “the dart of desire has gored the heart of secret waters” (599.25-6): a violent, violating intersection of one element with another, producing life. Also, the opening of a sluice releases a cataract; according to legend, Ys (601.4ff.) was thus inundated by way of the king’s daughter. 600.15: “harpened:” echo of “harpoon” continues, I suggest, the thread of violent penetration. 600.15: “before Gage’s Fane:” before (King) George’s reign. Almost all of FW was written during one or other of the Georges. The most recent pre-George king had been Edward VII. Also, “before” in sense of “in front of” – a fane is a building, a temple. 600.16: “booty spotch:” booty in sense of plunder. Also, in context, it may be relevant that according to Green’s Dictionary of Slang, “booty” as (mainly American) slang for vagina goes back to 1908. 600.17: “ex-Colonel House’s preterpost heiress:” no idea what Woodrow Wilson’s emissary Colonel House is doing in here, but the bride is definitely a super-duper heiress. 600.18: “outstretcheds:” outstretched arms, certainly, but the following words (“loinsprung..blunterbusted pikehead which his had hewn in hers” (.18-9)) confirm the phallic/sexual innuendo of “Caughterect!” (.14). Gist, I think: they had sex, she conceived, she returns, sentimentally, to the “booty spotch” (.16) of their lovemaking and the birth of the resulting girl embodied/incarnated by “loveseat” (.21), elm tree, its “white bloomkins” (.24). Issy is frequently associated with FW’s elm (in your annotator’s FW topography, her room’s window opens onto its upper branches, just now beginning (.20-1) “to green” and blossom (and “screen” (McHugh and Oxford replacement for “soreen”) the “loveseat” beneath (.20-1)), and several other cues in the vicinity may go with her, with Lucia Joyce, or with daughters in general:” “Sluce!” (.14), “booty spotch” (.16 – compare “Miss Butys Pott” (220.7)), “little white bloomkins” (.24), as in Bloom’s daughter Milly. For a (possible, tentative) version of this scenario, see 620.24-7. 600.18-9: “Dweyr O’Michael’s:” Michael O’Dwyer: Irish-born Lieutenant-Governor of Punjab, held responsible for the Amritsar Massacre of 1919, one of the main causes of Gandhi’s Independence Movement. In later years a prominent supporter of Oswald Mosely’s British Union of Fascists. Here, his presence is accompanied by “blunterbusted pikehead” (.19) in a notably assaultive copulation. At 116.15-6 he may be paired with the fighting Bishop O’Dwyer of an Irish patriotic song. 600.19-20: “prolonged laughter words:” as from the transcript of a court or parliamentary proceeding. They are laughing at the account of her pregnancy and labor: that in giving birth she “return”ed into the father’s arms the “blunterbusted pikehead which his had hewn in hers” (.19-20). (If – see previous entry – the father was Michael O’Dwyer, this makes only too much sense.) Old smoking-room joke: that the father of a newborn of whatever birth weight only “got his bait back.” 600.20: “alomdree:” elm “A” in Gaelic tree-alphabet; “dree:” draoi is Gaelic for druid. 600.21: “soreen seen:” again (see .18 and note), McHugh and Oxford editors both change “soreen” to “screen.” The screened “seen:” also scene - The “booty spotch,” mark of violation, has grown into a grove (compare 599.26-8) for lovers, on the elm tree-screened “loveseat.” 620.22: “It is scainted to Vitalba:” goes with both (see previous) tree-screened loveseat and its “little white bloomkins” (.24). According to legend the flowering Clematis Vitalba, a.k.a. Virgin’s Bower, sheltered Mary and Jesus during their flight to Egypt – hence, sainted. It is white, scented, native to the British Isles, and (see next) has little white blossoms. 600.24-5: “her little white bloomkins, twittersky trimmed, are hobdoblins’ hankypanks:” according to Google Images, elm blossoms come in various colors, although white seems fairly infrequent; almond blossoms are almost always white. Here they look like handkerchiefs, perhaps – an old stage etc. convention – to be dropped by the flirting “bloomkins,” to lure naïve young men, Dublin’s hobbledehoys, into a loveseat dalliance. 600.25-6: “Saxenslyke our anscessers thought so darely on now they’re going soever to Anglesen, free of juties, dyrt chapes:” rough rendition: however bravely our ancestors fought for this land (and however dearly they thought of it), now they’re going overseas to England, land of the Sassenachs, forgetting their duty to their homeland and selling themselves (dirt) cheap. (Also, such a trip would indeed be duty-free, therefore cheaper than to other countries; in “Ithaca” Bloom, who has made one excursion to England, reflects that it “was not so dear.”) Holyhead, point of disembarkation for travelers from Dublin, is on the island of Anglesey. For the whole passage, compare Miss Ivors, on Gabriel’s foreign trips: “And haven’t you your own land to visit?” 600.26: “There too a slab slobs, immermemorial:” back to the landscape: “sloblands” is a Dublin term for tidal flats, with connotations close to the modern meaning of “slob.” Immemorial because it is marked by a stone monument, here identified closely with Sackerson, spotted in 430.12-3 as “the log who looked stuck to the sod.” Mainly, this is another recapitulation of I.8 – the tree (with its “bloomkins” (.24) and stone (“boulder” (.27)) on which the washerwomen hang their washing. 600.27-36: “But so bare…beatend:” both McHugh and Oxford editors add text which would have this sequence, in its entirety, read as follows: “But so bare, so boulder, brag sagging such a brr bll bmm show that, of Barindens, the white alfred, it owed to have at leased some butchup's upperon. Homos Circas Elochlannensis! His showplace at Leeambye. Old Wommany Wyes. Pfif! But, while gleam with gloom swan here and there, this shame rock and that whispy planter tell Paudheen Steel-the-Poghue and his perty Molly Vardant, in goodbroomirish, arrah, this place is a proper and his feist a ferial, if so be hwo hwo would celibrate curdnal, the holy mystery upon or that the pirigrim from Mainylands beatend,…” For “hwo hwo,” compare, again, the washerwomen at the end of I.8, with their percussive run of “Ho,” “My ho head halls,” etc. (215.27-36). In this return to I.8’s riverside tree and rock (“boulder”), the rock will be used as an altar and the apron, still “suety” with butchery (.213.16; compare first entry for .29) as an altar cloth, notwithstanding the (priestly) celibate in “celibrate,” for a (curdnal communial” – carnal communion?) wedding. As elsewhere in FW, it is pertinent that the Catholic Church is founded on Peter, the rock (or stone) and, with the butcher’s/bishop’s apron, all too pertinent that, through transubstantiation, the altar ceremony features blood and flesh. The (“feist is ferial”) feast is feral. 600.27-9: But so bare, so boulder, brag sagging such a brr bll bmm show that, of Barindens, the white alfred, it owed to have at leased some butchup's upperon.:” as at 85.14-5 (“bare by Butts”) this makes use of but/butt as an Americanism for arse. The boulder, sticking up, so resembles a bare butt that it might be mistaken for “brr bll bmm show,” the variety of burlesque anathematized by Ulysses’ Reverend Dowie (in “Circe”) as a “bumshow.” “Brr” probably signifies that, being so bare and exposed, it must be cold. So: it ought to be covered, at least by the butcher’s apron that was taken away at 158.30. (Thus linking it to the riverside stone of 213.16.) 600.28: “brag sagging:” a stretch, maybe, but in context it would make sense for “brag” to signify trousers. “Braggs” seems to include that meaning at 340.3. 600.29: “butchup’s upperon:” more recollection from the Liffey washerwomen, first, in I.6, with the Mookse as “the holy sacred solem and poshup spit of her boshop's apron” (158.29-30), then in I.8 as her “suety” “bishop’s apron” (213.26), in both cases combining a butcher’s apron with the ceremonial apron traditionally worn by bishops 600.29: “Homo Circus Elochlannensis!:” McHugh notes “Lochlann,” Scandinavian, here: as usual, Sackerson’s Viking origins are emphasized. Also, compare, again, the washerwomen at the end of bishop’s I.8: “Hircus Civis Eblenensis!” (215.27). 600.30: “Old Wommany Wyes: Pfif!:” old womany ways: to call a man an old woman is to charge him with being silly and flibbertygibbety. “Pfif!” follows as an expression of contemptuous dismissal. 600.30-31: “while gleam with gloom swan here and there:” again, another recollection from I.8, the twilight chapter where sun’s gleam is succumbing to night’s gloom, and ALP is introduced as playing “catched and mythed with the gleam of her shadda” (197.22-3). Introduced with Shem’s duck sounds (195.6), the Liffey is better known for its swans. 600.31-2: “this shame rock and that whispy planter:” the butt/rock, shameful because indecently exposed (see notes to .27-9, .27-35), is once again paired with an example of organic growth; it’s unclear of what sort, but I’m proposing the usual elm, with “whispy” perhaps the sound of the wind in its branches, accompanying the (bird call?) “twittersky” of .23. FW’s trees often have birds in them. 600.32: “Paudheen Steel-the-Pogue:” as in, for instance, Yeats’ poem of the name, Paudeen/Paudheen can be a condescending term for a lower-order Irish type – here, a bumpkin stealing a kiss. Also, Speed the Plough, a popular play by Thomas Morton 600.32: “perty:” pretty and pert: both apt descriptions of Dickens’ flirty Dolly Varden (McHugh), a popular stage figure throughout the 19th century. A blacksmith’s daughter, she would probably be on about the same social level as “Paudheen.” (See previous entry.) 600.33: “Vardant:” given context, probable overtone of verdant 600.36: “glaum:” gleam 601.1-2: “a naked yogpriest, clothed of sundust:” naked or not, the morning sunlight simulates the saffron outfit (note “samphire” – saffron/sun-fire - at .11) traditionally worn by a yogi, here the eastern manifestation of the sunlit Kevin. 601.2: “oakey doaked with frondest leoves:” decked with fronds of oak leaves: a Druid priest, to go, ecumenically, with yogi and saint 601.4-5: “Bring about it to be brought about and it will be…Is is issuant:” more playing with tenses, more variations on the theme of: What time is it? The answer may be something like: All times 601.4-5: “loke, our lake lemanted:” in I.3, HCE was submerged in Ireland’s Lough Neagh. Now, some version of him is resurfacing. A “greyt lack” of “the wasseres of Erie,” Eire (.4, .5), it is also Lake Erie, one of America’s Great Lakes. 601.5: “the citye of Is is issuant:” “an ancient Breton myth in which a cathedral, submerged underwater off the coast of the island of Ys, rises up from the sea on clear mornings when the water is transparent. Sounds can be heard of priests chanting, bells chiming, and the organ playing, from across the sea:” Wikipedia quotation from Ernst Hutcheson, The Literature of the Piano, 1948. (The basis of Debussy’s La Cathèdral Engloutie.) Hence the churchly singing and bell-ringing, from .12 (“O sosay! A family, a band, a school, a clanagirls”) to .31 (“The meidinogues have tingued togethering”). Anticipated at 526.34-527.1; see also 293.26-30. “Tinged,” coming from the girls, problem includes “tingled,” as in “tingled [tinkled] in your pants” (152.10), the kind of music FW’s girls are always making. Also, in Mummeries of Resurrection, Mark L. Troy argues persuasively that much of 600.5-601.7 relates to the construction of Egypt’s Assuan Dam in 1902-1907: Philae, the “citye of” (“Is is”) Isis, was first submerged by dammed-up Nile water presenting, according to one account, “the appearance of a great lake” (cf. 601.5). Troy: “It was only when the sluices of the dam opened…that the city was visible,” from “loosing the waters dammed up in the cataract region: ‘Sluce! Caughterect!’” (600.14.) 601.6: “through seep:” again (see notes to 600.13, 600.13-4), the body of water, growing ever vaster, seems to have begun with an abrasion of earth crust, through which it continues to seep, then flow, then flood. 601.7: “Lough!:” besides (see entry for .5), an Irish “lough”/lake, probably Lough Neagh, Look! (A panoramic vista will follow.) 601.8-9: “Earthsigh to is heavened:” prayers from the earth reach heaven as much as prayers from the waters. In fact, in the next paragraph, we will hear the prayers of “the daughters of the cliffs” (.10), reaching to “Keavn! Keavn!” (.18), the heavenly Kevin. 601.10: “Hillsengals, the daughters of the cliffs, responsen:” girls (daughters) of the hills, called to (“Hwo! Hey, dairmaidens” (.8)) echo in answer – at .13-5 they will be “a clanagirls,” FW’s leap-year girls. O Hehir has “daughters of the cliffs” as deriving from Gaelic for son of a cliff or son of a rock – again, meaning echo. Echoic effects follow (601.11-2). 601.10-11: “Longsome the samphire coast:” Compare “those loes on coast of amethyst; arcglow's seafire siemens lure and wextward warnerforth's hookercrookers” (245.7-9). Long shot: Dover, whose coastal cliffs (as in “daughters of the cliff” (.11) are/were frequented by gatherers of samphire, as attested to by Michael Drayton in Poly-Olbion and Shakespeare in King Lear; the cliffs, of course, also face (approximately) east, toward the rising sun. 601.15-6: “Whose every has herdifferent from the similies:” Oxford editors separate “her” and “different.” Whether as chorale, carol, or carillon (see next entry), the voices harmonize by virtue of each having an adjacent but still distinctively different note, as earlier illustrated by “From thee to thee, thou art it thoo,” etc. (.11). In figurative language, the equivalent is a simile – similar, but not identical. Also, compare 215.17, with its quotation (“And each sack had seven cats,” etc.) from “As I was Going to St. Ives.” 601.17: “caroll:” given the “dose innocent dirly dirls,” little girls (.17-18), a possible allusion to Lewis Carroll. (Glasheen gives it a question mark.) See note to .17-8. Also, as bells (and belles), a clanging “clanagirls” (.13), they are simultaneously carolling (singing) and a carilloning (bell-ringing): as at 588.23-4 (see note), “campanulae” (.16 - little bells) and “clangalied” (.20 - tone-song, onomatopoeically rendered as bell-sound), the ringing of church-bells continues to be part of the soundscape. 601.17: “Botany Bay:” presumably because they are (botanical) flowers, “campanulae petalliferentes” (.16). Botany Bay was so named because of its “great quantity of plants.” 601.17-8: “A dweam of dose innocent dirly dirls:” allusion to Tennyson’s “A Dream of Fair Women.” “Dirly dirls” may point to Carroll’s stammer, overtone of “dirty girls” to contemporary suspicions about his relations with young girls. (And, certainly, innocent girly girls, like most of the FW temptresses, would definitely be too young.) “Dose:” doze. Alice’s adventures in Wonderland turn out to have been a dream. 601.18: “Keavn! Keavn!:” Kevin embodies the “heavened” (.9) vision invoked. The bad news is that a previous female infatuation for Saint Kevin, Cathleen,’s led to her drowning. 601.19-20: “Ah!...Oh!:” one of FW’s many Alpha…Omega’s 601.20: “clangalied:” lied: German for song 601.21-8: “S. Wilhelmina’s…S. Loellisotoelles:” according to changes recommended by both McHugh and Oxford editors, this should read as follows: S. Wilhelmina’s, S. Gardenia’s, S. Phibia’s, S. Veslandrua’s, S. Clarinda’s, S. Immecula’s, S. Dolores Delphin’s, S. Perlanthroa’s, S. Errands Gay’s, S. Eddaminiva’s, S. Rhodamena’s, S Ruadagara’s, S. Drimicumtra’s, S. Una Vestity’s, S. Mintargisia’s, S. Misha-La-Valse’s, S. Churstry’s, S. Innocycora’s, S. Aungiel Calzaata’s, S. Clovinturta’s, S. Clouonaskiey’s, S. Bellavistura’s, S. Santamonta’s, S. Ringsingsund’s, S. Heddadin Drade’s, S. Glacianivia’s, S. Waidafrira’s, S Thomassabbess’s, and (trema! unloud!! pepet!!! S. Loellisotoelles!” This would bring the total number to the expected 29 – the leap year girls, plus Issy. Perhaps in accordance with the singing of these “dirly dirls,” most of the church names in the list have been feminized. (Possible exceptions: “S. Errands Gay’s,” “S. Churstry’s,” “S. Clouonaskieym’s,” and “S. Ringsingsund’s”) 601.24: “Una Vestry’s:” Italian una vesta: a dress – female article of clothing 601.25-6: “Heddadin Drade’s:” female name Hedda 601.26: “Ringsingsund’s:” Ring-sing-songs/sounds 601.27: “S. Thomassabbess’s:” Thomas (a Becket) feminized to Thomasa, an abbess. As elsewhere in FW, paired with Lawrence O’ Toole – see next entry. 601.28: “Loellisotoelles:” again, ends with feminine “elles” 601.29: “Prayfulness! Prayfulness:” Pray for us! Pray for us! 601.30: “Euh! Thaet is seu whaet shaell one naeme it!:” stage French. (Imagine Peter Sellers as Inspector Clouseau, for instance pronouncing “monkey” as “minkey:” “ Eh! Thet is sew – comment on dire?” Probably cued by (“Loellisotoelles” (.28)) mention of St. Lawrence O’ Toole, buried in Eu: compare 370, fn. 8, with McHugh note. 601.31: “tingued:” Oxford editors have “tongued.” Either way, tongues of church bells (OED definition 14d), of singing girls. 601.31-2: “Ascend out of your bed, cavern of a trunk, and shrine!:” Rise and shine!: happy-talk injunction to someone still in bed. On one level, ALP, whose voice will eventually take over, to her husband. It’s still not working. 601.32: “cavern:” given all the Kevin/Cathleen notes around here, this is probably the cave in which Kevin lived, from which he pushed Cathleen to her death. 601.32: “Kathlins is Kitchen:” from (see McHugh) St. Kevin’s Kitchen, so named from the belief that its chimney had been used for cooking. Changed here to Cathleen’s, then Kate’s - Kate, the servant, is already at work in the kitchen – at 603.1-7 we will hear about, perhaps smell, the making of breakfast: tea, bacon and eggs, toast from fresh-made bread, butter. Another hint that it’s time for him to rise and shine 601.33: “Soros cast:” besides sorrow, Yiddish tsuris: unhappiness, anxiety; perhaps urging that it be cast aside 601.33: “You must exterra acquarate to interirigate all the arkypelicans:” we have just been through an example of water (aqua) emerging ex terra. An archipelago is a stretch of water punctuated by islands (land) – here, for some unlikely reason, being irrigated. Also, yet again, urging him to extricate himself, out of bed 601.34: “arkypelicans:” as it happens, all the far-flung lands being named, including the Bismarck Archipelago, have pelicans. 601.35: “farshook our showrs:” foresaw our recent (showery) weather, presumably through astrology, not meteorology 602.1-5: “One seekings…fullfeatured:” seeking out the ideal man, who turns out to be Kevin. The sequence derives from Grainne’s selection of Dermot from among a company of warriors; Dermot, to extend McHugh’s quotation, is “that freckled sweet-worded man upon whom is the curling dusky-black hair and the two ruddy cheeks;” the man chosen here is “curling, perfect-proportioned, flowerfleckled [freckled], shapely highhued.” 602.3: “indeed and inneed:” a friend in need is a friend indeed; compare 79.15-6. 602.6: “in the air:” in sense of unspecified but widespread interest; e.g., in 1950s New York, Freudianism was in the air. (Oxford editors have “airabouts.”) 602.7: “someone imparticular who will somewherise for the whole:” my underlinings. Expression: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. 602.14: “Croona is in adestance:” in the distance; given silence thread, “Croona” may be a crooner, breaking the silence; compare, among others, 388.1. See next entry. 602.14-5: “The ass of the O’Dwyer of Greyglens is abrowtobayse afeald in his terroirs:” also breaking the silence, the terrified ass is about to bray. 602.15-6: “of the Potterton’s forecoroners:” he is afraid of dying – of coroners taking him to Potter’s Field. Ass and “forecoroners” are another manifestation of FW’s four old men, with their donkey. Also, a memory of HCE’s pre-Earwicker name, Porter 602.16: “reeks:” predominantly, the Irish word for hills or mountains 602.17: “reporter, ‘Mike’ Portlund:” reporter as re-porter, son of Porter. (Shaun sometimes doubles with Michael.) 602.17: “to burrow:” the reporter is putting a question to the ass, a.k.a. burro. Compare 480.6-7: not from the horse’s mouth, but “straight from the ass his mouth.” 602.19-20: “firstcoming issue:” first edition 602.21-7: “The Games…section:” newspaper headlines or notices 602.23-4: “The last words of Dutch Schulds:” Dutch Schultz was shot in October, 1935; his last words were a mostly opaque stream of consciousness. An unsympathetic reader might compare them to the works of James Joyce. 602.23ff: “Pipe…”etc., for about the next two pages, the reporter’s garbled account includes details from the park incident and its aftermath – for example, “Haves you the time, Hans ahike” (.15-6): compare 35.18-20. 602.25-6: “Affected Mob Follows in Religious Sullivence:” given the capitalization, Religious Surveillance, a term for monitoring the morality of citizens, as well as for hunting witches and heretics. The (“Sullivence”) Sullivans are the pub’s twelve customers, all Roman Catholics, and at times hostile to the Protestant HCE. Glasheen, who links them with ALP’s nemesis Sully, points out that “[t]here was…a ‘Sullivan Gang’ in Joyce’s Dublin.” 602.26-7: “drugged the buddhy:” dragged the body. Exceptionally execrated Romans, once executed, were publicly dragged by a hook, through a hooting crowd, and thrown into the Tiber. 602.27: “Moviefigure on in scenic section:” something like page 3 of the Sun: a pictorial of a pinup 602.27: “Moviefigure…By Patathicus:” Oxford editors have “Patethicus.” In the FW years, Movietone and Pathé were the two major suppliers of newsreels, which typically ran before the main feature and consisted of a series of brief voice-over movie clips from the latest news – here, the headline-like announcements (they were, in fact, preceded by headlines on the screen) of, for instance “The Games funeral at Valleytemple” (.21-2), going from .20 to .27. The newsreel is followed from this point on to 603.33 by the main feature, which opens with a scene-setting shot of “misty London” (.28) out of which emerges the main figure, a “Mr Hurr Hansen,” walking through the city and giving good-morning greetings to one and all. (Glasheen identifies Hansen as Clever Hans, the calculating horse, which seems unlikely in this instance, although in any case our old friend “Schoen” (.4) the mailman, back for his morning rounds, soon occupies center stage.) 602.28: “misty Londan:” besides (see previous entry) a cinematic establishing shot of foggy London, Ossian’s “misty Loda,” the Ossianic Valhalla. See next entry. 602.30: “steerner among stars:” the sailor steers by the stars, especially “touthena” – Ton-Thena – in Oxford editors’ spelling, “Tonthena” - which Mink identifies as “[t]he name of a star in Macpherson’s Temora and Cathlin of Clutha;” it guided Larthon to Ire[and].” 602.32-4: “his hopes to fall in among a merryfoule of maidens happynghome from the dance, his knyckle allaready in his knackskey fob:” “knyckle:” an American nickel. During the FW years, “five cents a dance” was the standard rate in dance halls. 602.30: “his knyckle allaready in his knackskey fob:” some watch keys were attached to the fob. 602.35: “old pairs frieze:” compare Shaun’s “mac Frieze o’coat” (404.17). 602.35: “feed up to the noxer:” fed up, to the point of ad nauseum 603.1: “he’d lust in Wooming:” what he’d lost from lust, wooing women. The nickel for the dance (602.32-4) is the least of what it’s cost him. 603.1-2: “wit that smeoil like a grace of beckoning over his egglips:” with that oily smile, with grease shining from lips still smeared with breakfast bacon and eggs, no wonder he strikes out with the ladies. Worse is that he apparently thinks it’s his ("beckoning") come-hither look. At .3 he will be rudely informed that, compared to that, wearing a mask would be “such an improofment.” 603.1-7: “smeoil like a grace of backoning…egglips…Tay…tasty, tosty, tay…oven odour! Butter butter!:” again (see 601.32 and note) morning breakfast, courtesy of Kate the cook. One of a number of places where Shaun’s presence is accompanied by food. 603.2: “egglips of the sunsoonshine:” 1. breakfast eggs, sunny side up (compare 12.15); 2. eclipse of the sun (and moon) 603.2-3: “Here’s heering you in a guessmasque, latterman!” a guessmask would be the kind worn at a masqued ball, so that others can guess at your identity. Hearing your voice would presumably be the main tip-off. Here, he is revealed to be Shaun the letterman, as usual the fat one; the exclamation marks (“Schoen! Shoan!” (.4)) signal gratification at identifying him. Also, “guessmasque” is probably a gasmask, which would be an effective, if rather alarming, disguise. 603.3: “letterman:” compare “latterman” (602.18). A letter-deliverer, postman – hence “royt as the mail” (.3-4) 603.4: “as fat as a fuddle! Schoen!:” of the two brothers, Shaun is the pudgy one – another hint as to who he is, behind the mask. 603.4-5: “Schoen! Shoan! Shoon the Puzt!:” has the rhythm and some of the sounds of the familiar Irish song (variously spelled) “Siúil, Siúil, Siúil a run,” meaning “Walk, walk, walk my love.” It would be the right song for Shaun the Post - in III.1-2 he is frequently addressed as a walker, and at .11 he and his fellow mailmen will be described as “straightwalking.” 603.4-5: “Shoon the Puzt!:” Yiddish putz” an obnoxious man. As Shaun the Post: early-morning mail deliveries were a feature of the postal system - see note to 603.18-9. As in “Calypso,” the first delivery would have arrived at or before 8 a.m. 603.5: “Puzt! A penny for your thoughts abouts!:” Penny Post. Perhaps pertinent that well into the 19th century, payment (usually of a penny) was the obligation of the recipient, not the sender. 603.6-7: “Batch is for Baker who baxters our bread:” compare, in “Oxen of the Sun,” “Bartle the Bread,” described by Joyce as “Bartle who delivers or eats the bread usually.” According to OED, “baxter” is ME for baker 603.7ff: “Bring…:” commences a string of references to bed: “frensheets” (.8): (fresh?) sheets; “from the emerald dark winterlong” (.8-9): hibernation; “doss” (.9): lodging house bed; “sengers” (.10: “senge:” Norwegian for beds); “Eilder Downes” (.9): eiderdown; “pillow” (.13); “nakeshift:” nightshirt (.14 - compare 388.3); “tuck in” (.14); “letties:” letti: Italian for beds (.17). 603.8: “frensheets:” after what by any reckoning has been a long time in bed, fresh sheets would definitely be in order. 603.10: “as singen sengers:” the song they’re singing, I suggest, is “diss is the doss for Eider Downes” (.9), a version of “This is the way we wash our clothes” (so early in the morning): compare 176.15: “This is the Way we sow the Seed of a long and lusty Morning.” 603.12: “G.M.P’s:” combines G.P.O. – Dublin’s General Post Office – with D.M.P. – Dublin Municipal Police. For post office as enforcer, see .16 and note. 603.12: “shay for shee:” compare “Tay” (.5 and elsewhere) – comment on Irish pronunciation of “tea” 603.14: “the alter girl they took in for sweepsake:” he’s dreaming of the ("alter:" Latin other) other woman – perhaps Kate, the Sweep, presumably in her youth. Also, (Irish) Sweepstakes. Non-rhetorical question: were altar boys supposed to sweep up after the service? 603.15: “his hydes of march:” McHugh has “Ides of March;” I would add: this time of March – which, again, I think is March 22, a week after the Ides. 603.16: “Heard you the crime, sonny boy?:” a swerve in subject matter at this point – from cheering on mailmen to reporting on someone’s (HCE’s, at least to some degree) sexual misbehavior. The link? Perhaps the post office as both circulator of communications, including gossip, and (literally) censor of public morals: at the time it was very much in the business of banning books, including Joyce’s. 603.16-21: “The man…kinkles:" gist: the man was giddy about the ladies, so long as they were curvaceous – “wellstocked fillerouters” (.19 – see McHugh), no matter what their color: with the exception of the first item in the list, all of the seven types, from “entrenous” to “samoans” (.18-9) indicate some degree of coloration: “midgreys,” “dagos” (southern European – olive-complexioned), “teatimes” (tea-colored, light brown), “shadows” (“shades:” slang for blacks), “nocturnes” (blacker, like night), “samoans” (Polynesian). “Entrenous,” the apparent exception, may signify something like “one of us,” us being the whites. 603.16-26: “The man…darks:” rough paraphrase: although he wasn’t inclined to kiss a girl with a face like that (McHugh glosses “pigskin” (.20) as (pig) girl; slangily, a “pig” is an unusually unattractive girl; “kinkles” (.21), by way of the P/K split, may give her pimples) if the law allowed he was willing to do it after dark, when he couldn’t see her. 603.17: “letties:” McHugh has “ladies;” I would add letters. 603.18-9: “entrenous, midgreys, dagos, teatimes, shadows, nocturnes or samoans:” In the late 19th century, British mail was delivered seven times a day at two-hour intervals, starting, as in "Calpso," at about 8 a.m. (According to Vera Brittain's Testament of Youth, in the years before WW I the number of daily deliveries in most places was down to four.) Here, “teatimes, shadows, nocturnes” clearly fit the pattern; “midgreys” may echo midday, although it seems somewhat out of place. “Samoans?” perhaps echoes “Somnionia” (594.8), i.e. sleep-time. “Entrenous” for noon? Maybe, although, again, out of order; Joyce’s lists sometimes follow in established sequence, sometimes don’t. “Dagos” eludes me. 603.20: “dopy chonks:” compare “Wandering Rocks:” “dauby cheeks.” Could be taken as a sign of sluttiness, or at least, as here, availability 603.22: “fleece:” given all the American college slang in the vicinity, “fleece” = sheepskin = diploma. 603.24-6: “so far as hanging a goobes on the precedings, it mights be anything after darks:” given the drift of the discourse, this says that at night, just as all cats are black, all women look the same, so who cares about their complexions or, in general, attractiveness? As McHugh notes, “hanging a goobes” (“goobee,” according to Oxford editors) traces to “hang a goober,” American college slang for kissing someone; “the precedings” are the types of females listed at .18-9. 603.26: “the deer alone knows they sees:” Scottish and Irish expression: The dear knows, meaning something like, Who knows? Also, deer have better night vision than humans; a deer “sees” what humans don’t. See next entry. 603.27: “the darkies they is snuffing of the wind up:” popular belief at the time that black people have a superior sense of smell. So, although the kisser won’t be able to tell what he’s doing after dark (.24-6), deer and “darkies” will. They will know what’s going on – what’s in the wind - which is apparently how the word gets out. 603.28: “Greanteavvents!:” Great events! Great heavens! 603.28: “Hyacinssies with heliotrollops!:” Male love object (Hyacinth) with trollops. Both the male Hyacinth and the female Clytie were in love with Apollo, the sun god; both were turned into flowers. In II.1, the girls heliotropically yearn for the sun-like Shaun. 603.30: “atole:” toll the bell: spread the news by tolling the church bells. See .31 and note. 603.31: “blinketey blanketer:” as in Portrait, chapter 2, “blankety” dodges swear words. 603.31: “pealer:” who peals the church bells. Throughout FW, Fox-Goodman (.32) is the bell-ringer. 603.32: “what foxes good men:” outsmarts good men 603.34-604.21: “But…what:” a suspended paragraph: everything is stilled, waiting for what is about to happen – Kevin’s advent - but hasn’t yet. Reminds me of a famous sequence in Howard Hawks’ Red River – cattle and cowboys gathered at dawn to begin a cattle drive, just before the signal is given 603.34: "Tyro a tora:" 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: Wait a bit. 603.35: “blueygreyned:” blue-green-grey. Also, in his poem “A Flower Given By My Daughter,” Joyce calls Lucia “my blueveined child.” 603.35: “blueygreyned vitroils:” McHugh identifies “blueygreyned” as “sulphates of copper and iron” and “vitriols” as French “vitrail,” “stained glass.” The former was and is used in production of the latter. Also, “-oils” in “vitroils” probably adds oil paintings to the church’s store of images. 603.36: “in feint to light:” in faint light – presumably because Catholic churches, with their stained glass windows (see previous entry) often have dim light. (And, again, the sun may not yet be completely up.) 603.36: “Phosphoron:” Phosphorus: a name for Venus, the morning star 603.36-604.1: “Peechy peechy:” besides peachy (McHugh), "pêché," French: sinned. A sin has been detected and broadcast. In I.3, it was with a woman named Peaches. Also, Digger Dialects (see 603.34 and note): "Peechi:" in a little while 604.2: “Roga’s voice!:” “Roga!:” Latin for Ask! 604.3: "The bog which puckerooed the posy:" Digger Dialects (see 603.34 and note): the boy who took the jam 604.4: “vinebranch of Heremonheber:” descended from Ireland’s founders (see McHugh) – as for instance Jesus is a “branch of Jesse.” 604.5-6: “cublic hatches endnot open yet for hourly rincers’ mess:” In addition to public houses, churches: compare Bloom’s “Lotus Eaters” view of a mass: “The priest was rinsing out the chalice.” Some Catholic churches offer(ed) hourly masses, usually starting at 7:00 or 8:00 a.m. Licensed hours for Irish pubs varied over Joyce’s lifetime. During the writing of FW, 9:00 a.m. was, at times, the opening hour. The drinkers hanging around (“Besoakers loiter on” (.8)) are presumably waiting for the doors to open, in the meantime solacing themselves with (“primilibatory solicates” (.8-9)) pre-libation substitutes such as lemon soda. See .8-9 and note. 604.7: “Malthus is yet lukked in close:” the malt house (compare 231.28, 271.9) is still locked and closed. Also, in both Ulysses (“Oxen of the Sun”) and FW (585.11), Malthus stands for contraception - specifically, in the latter case, a condom (or, again, penile cap, otherwise called a “capote”). In the FW passage we are assured that it remains intact (585.10); 574.25-8 refers to it as “washable” and seems to suggest that it has been in use a number of times. The implication would be that HCE has but one such device, usually kept locked in a closet (OED on “in close:” “in a closed place”). Possession of a condom would have been a crime in FW’s Ireland, and at 45.11 the mob accuses HCE of distributing “contraceptives,” as, in “Circe,” another mob accuses Bloom of using them. So he has only one, usually sequestered, which he washes after every use. 604.8: “alcove:” goes with “in close” and (theirinn”) therein. 604.8-9: “primilibatory solicates of limon sodias will be absorbable:” instead of alcoholic drinks, lemon soda – a teetotaling alternative - will be drunk, will be (temporarily) acceptable. See note to 453.7. 604.10-1: “not even yet the engine of the load with haled morries full of crates:” again, it’s early – too early for the usual lorries with their loads of crates to be heard going by. (Also – again – too early for the first mass of the day, with invocations to the angel of the lord, to the Virgin Mary.) “Lorry” can mean a flat horse-drawn cart, the baggage car on a train, or, later, a truck; in this passage the second meaning seems most applicable, especially considering the next entry, for .12. Compare “A Painful Case,” where Mr. Duffy, standing on Magazine Hill in Phoenix Park, watches a “goods train” “[b]eyond the river.” See next entry. 604.12: “The greek Sideral Reulthway:” The Great Southern Railway: until 1945, its trains departed from Dublin. The Dublin-Rosslare route, probably the train Duffy sees, would have gone through Chapelizod. 604.13-14: "buzzers:" a buzzer was a WW I telegraphic implement. 604.14-17: “the vialact coloured milk train on the fartykket plan run with its endless gallaxion of rotatorattlers and the smooltroon our elderens rememberem as the scream of the service, Strubry Bess:” it’s early in the morning, and milk trains ran early in the morning – in fact “milk train” became synonymous with early rising – and, because milk is heavy, required powerful engines. (See McHugh: milk theme is seconded by “vialact,” “gallaxion,” and the “-cream” in “scream..” MacArthur cites Irish "ion," as "the Sun; a circle.") “Rotatorattlers:” rattling sound caused by train’s wheels – again, indicating that it can be heard from the Mullingar House. Old people (“elderens”) can still remember when milk was brought on wagons drawn by horses, especially by their favorite horse, Strawberry Bess. In dairy journals of the time, “coloured milk” apparently refers only to milk with whitening agents added for uniformity. (Still, your annotator can remember strawberry, though not (“vialact”) violet, milk being delivered to the family’s front door.) 604.15: “endless gallaxion of rotatorattlers:” a freight train pulling what seems like an endless collection of rolling, rattling cars. Your annotator remembers such railroad-crossing experiences: velocity was at about walking-speed, and it really was agonizingly amazing how many cars one engine could drag behind it. “Endless” is absolutely the mot juste. 604.17: “everdue:” overdue 604.18-9: “Rogua or! Taceate and!:” see note to 604.2, above. In other words: Speak now, or be silent! 604.19: “Hagiographice canat Ecclesia:” perhaps this is the moment when the first church service of the day begins. In any case, the next few pages consistently reflect religious liturgy. 604.19-20: “Inattendance who is who is will play:” since 1849, one or other version of Who’s Who, a register of prominent citizens, has been in circulation. Joyce's name was first included in 1916. 604.22-26: “Oyes! Oyeses Oyesesyeses! The primace of the Gaulls, protonotorious, I yam as I yam, mitrogenerand in the free state on the air, is now aboil to blow a Gael warning. Inoperation Eyrlands Eyot, Meganesia, Habitant and the onebut thousand insels, Western and Osthern Approaches:” the big shot in attendance is introduced, and loudly proclaims his presence. Two simultaneous events may be contributing here: in June, 1932 the Irish Free State’s radio station, 2RN (“the free state on the air” (.23-4)) greatly expanded its range, to all of Ireland and beyond. The event was timed to correspond to the Universal Eucharistic Congress, held in Dublin, whose proceedings it broadcast. (See .32 and note.) The speaker here (Pope Pius XI did not attend in person, but did do a live radio broadcast from Rome) is boasting that his voice, “now aboil,” will be reaching, among other places, Melanesia and Canada. (Just to be useful while he's at itl, he is also giving a weather forecast - a gale warning - for ships.) It may be pertinent that the large-lunged John McCormack performed at the occasion. From 1922 on, radio was the first medium in history which allowed the broadcaster to proclaim that he was addressing the entire planet in real time. (Compare, during the FW years, Walter Winchell’s standard opening: “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. America, from border to border and coast to coast, and all the ships at sea.”) FW radios repeatedly reflect the exhilaration. 604.25: “Meganesia, Habitant and the onebut thousand insels:” the “999 Islands,” a.k.a. the Moluccas, Spice Islands, or Melanesia. About as far away from Dublin as possible 604.27-8: "took to the tall timber:" absconded 604.29: “dick the springy heeler:” presumably based on Springheeled Jack, Victorian urban legend whose specialty was leaping – useful for taking “to the tall timber” (.28-9). The story inspired a boxer of Joyce’s time to dub himself “Springheeled Dick.” The gist here is that since Kevin is a hermit, someone who deliberately absented himself from society (Wikipedia: “He moved to Glendalough in order to avoid the company of his followers”) in order to live in a remote and hard-to-reach place, we, “in the search” (.31) for him and his teachings, will have to make an effort. See 604.34-605.1 and note. Also, see next. 604.29: "the springy heeler:" Digger Dialects: "spring-heel:" "A man who, on joining a fighting unit, immediately finds a means of leaving it." The preceding "given to the growing grass, took to the tall timber" (.28-9) probably signifies something like "high-tailed it for the tall grass;" also, note "fearer" in "filial fearer" (.28). 604.32: “through the comprehension of the unity:” Eucharistic Congresses (see .22-6 and note) are held, says Wikipedia, “to bear witness to the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist” - bread and flesh are united in the host. See next. 604.33: “through stupefaction:” Bloom, in “Lotus Eaters,” witnessing communicants at a Latin mass: “Stupefies them.” 604.34-605.1: “shearing aside the four wethers and passing over the dainty daily dairy and dropping by the way the lapful of live coals and smoothing out Nelly Nettle and her lad of mettle, full of stings, fond of stones, friend of gnewgnawns bones:” Oxford editors have “gnewgnawnsbones.” Because he’d rather not deal with us – in fact went so far to as kill an ardent follower - seeking out Kevin is something of an obstacle course. It takes us through the sheep meadow (shearing is going on, and we’re shearing off) and the cows, those daily, milkable dairies. “Nelly Nettle” and her lad are goats, according to form eating anything (nettles and metals, stones and bones…). Along with everything else, the trek is painful, over live coals (favorite of masochistic saints), stinging nettles, and – again – stones and bones. Kevin lives in a cave, and those stones and bones recall the similar furnishings of I.1’s Mutt/Jute caveman (15.29-16.8). Still, it was worth it. Kevin is the real deal, a holy man, and, when we finally arrive, the show he puts on from 605.5 to 606.12 constitutes FW’s definitive rendering of centered sanctitude. Also, the itinerary apparently involves some delicate social negotiating: avoiding two groups, “dropping by” a third, “smoothing” relations with a difficult couple, all in order to seek out a confirmed solitary. 605.1: “gnewgnawns bones:” newly gnawed bones. (Oxford editors have one word: “gnewgnawnsbones.” ) Again, compare the “slitsucked marrogbones” of 16.3. 605.4: “Yad:” Day spelled backwards 605.4-5: “encyclical yrish archipelago:” either/both the waters surrounding (encircling) Ireland, Ireland itself as encircling its inland bodies of water. Ireland may possibly count as an archipelago if one considers it as just the largest of a group including the Arran Islands, Ireland’s Eye, etc. Also, Kevin’s ceremony will consist of alternating bodies of land and bodies of water – e.g. an “enysled lakelet yslanding a lacustrine yslet” (.20). Also, thanks to, for one thing, the tides, the two can change places: see .34-5. For instance, the Liffey has once run dry (625.29), and the Sutton Peninsula can also be called an “isthmus” (3.5-6). 605.5-6: “feast of precreated holy whiteclad angels:” Feast of the Holy Innocents (December 28) – the children killed by Herod – with Kevin as their “christener” (.6)? (For Kevin and baptism, see 606.10-2.) The idea being God that “precreated” them to become angels and die before they could do anything to decreate their sanctity. Joyce's Notebook VI.B.5.072: "faire des anges," which the editors gloss as a French expression for "Perform abortions." 606.6-7: “voluntarily poor Kevin:” according to legend, Kevin was born to wealth but chose a life of poverty. 605.9-10: “at matin chime arose:” got up when the bell rang for morning prayers. “Matins,” the first canonical hour, is from 3:00 a.m. to dawn. (Note: earlier in church history, the canonical hours had numbered nine, with “Vigil” at 2 a.m. By Joyce’s time “Vigil,” in most communions, combined with “Matins” to make eight.) 605.10-1: “alb…gold…vert:” white, gold, green: colors of Irish flag 605.17: “whereof its lake is the centrifugal principality:” because what “Ithaca” calls “waterrings” radiate from it outward 605.18: “prime:” first hour of sunlight 605.19: “Yshgafiena:” in addition to “usce fíen,” wild water, O Hehir glosses as “usce fíon,” wine water: the mixture of wine and water in the communion cup. 605.21: “with beached raft:” which he used to reach the “lacustrine yslet” (.20) 605.23: “third morn hour:” Tierce or Terce: 9:00 a.m. 605.23: “build a rubric:” compare 20.9: “rubrickredd:” both (red) bricks for building and the rubrics – literally, red letters – in some Bibles. 605.26-7: “one full fathom:” Shakespeare, The Tempest: “Full fathom five thy father lies.” A fathom is six feet. 605.30: “sextnoon:” sext is at noon. 605.33: “a lector of water levels:” tide tables, published in some local newspapers, would give high tide and low tide levels for the days or weeks ahead. 605.34-5: “letting there be water where was theretofore dry land, by him so concreated:” 1. imitation of Genesis: Let there be light, etc. – for instance “Let the dry land appear.” “Concreated” continues Real Presence thread – see 604.32 and note. 2. Psalm 95, included in the Book of Common Prayer and traditionally recited or chanted in Anglican Churches: “The sea is his, and he made it: and his hands prepared the dry land.” 606.1: “well:” probably in sense of water well – often, in this sense, a signature of ALP 606.3-4: “ninthly enthroned, in the concentric centre of the translated water:” for "concentric," Oxford editors have “interconcentric.” First, at the center of nine concentric “waterrings” (see note to 605.17) radiating from islet; second, amidst the aquatic counterpart of the nine spheres of Ptolemaic cosmology. (Dante’s map of hell is an inversion.) Also, a centripetally concentric pattern of alternating land and water (sea, Ireland, lake, lake isle, excavation in lake isle which Kevin fills with water, tub in this water, water in tub) has been proposed. Maybe, but as best I can count, the sequence doesn’t seem to add up to nine. As often with such lists, there are some question marks along the way, and the Oxford editors’ recommended substitution, at 605.31-2, of “carrying the lustral domination contained within his most portable privileged altar” for the existing text’s “carrying that privileged altar” would perhaps make up the shortfall. “Translated water:” aside from circles of water being centrifugally (McHugh) “carried across” the lake, transformed - the mass’s transubstantiation of water/wine (see note to 605.19). May be pertinent that, as in “Cyclops,” “throne” can be a euphemism for toilet, and that in “Calypso,” Mulligan’s blasphemous “The Ballad of Joking Jesus” has Jesus urinating – making water – after drinking the wine he has transformed from water. 606.4: “when violet vesper vailed:” compare the opening of Joyce’s poem “Bahnhofstrasse:” The eyes that mock me sign the way Whereto I pass at eve of day. Grey way whose violet signals are The trysting and the twining star. The (evening) “star” here is Venus (Vesper), ushering in the “violet” of dusk, the time for Vespers. Presumably it is the encroaching darkness that veils the light: in “Circe”’s “Dance of the Hours," the “twilight hours” wear “grey gauze.” 606.5: “having girded his sable cappa magna:” echoes 152.31-2: “As he set off with his father’s sword, his lancia spezzata, he was girded on.” Here, technically, also a cappa nigra, once customarily worn for warmth as well as ceremony. (Perhaps obvious: he is girding it up to his “cherubical loins” in order to lower said loins into the water.) 606.6: “cherubical:” in Dickens and elsewhere, sometimes a facetious word for plump 606.7: “whereverafter:” as in, They lived happily ever after 606.7: “handbathtub:” Joyce’s notes show “hipbathtub.” 606.7: “doctor insularis:” apparently a title made up by Joyce, ironically contrasting with “doctor universalis,” often applied to the famously learned Saint Albertus Magnus, sometimes to Aquinas 606.8: “keeper of the door:” porter 606.8: “door of meditation:” although, according to Google Books, this is not a common phrase, in devotional literature, passages like the following crop up fairly often: “Meditation’s supreme value is the door it opens into communion with God.” 606.8-9: “memory extempore proposing and intellect formally considering:” extemporaneous memory would be like the “affective memory” exemplified by Proust’s madelaine moment. As a formula for meditation – or literary composition – it resembles a scholastic version of Wordsworth’s “spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings...recollected in tranquility.” 606.12: “Yee:” as others have proposed, probably Kevin’s expression on lowering his bottom into (cold) water 606.13ff.: “Bisships:” rather - I think - disconcertingly, the Kevin sequence turns out to have been an interlude or entr'acte: it ends with “Yee,” and immediately we’re back where we were, in the business of waking up and getting bearings, literally: Bishop Rock Lighthouse, Howth’s bens (hills), and a buoy (.13-4 – see McHugh) are all navigational guides for mariners. 606.13: “Bisships, bevel to rock’s rite! Sarver buoy, extinguish!:” one server boy/acolyte’s duty is to extinguish the candles at the end of mass. The rock’s rite would be the one established by Peter, the rock on which the church, and its rites, were founded. “Bevel,” as in “Counterparts:” turning off in a particular direction 606.14: “the three Benns:” beside bens on Howth, “the Three Bens” usually refers to Bens Nevis, Lomond, and Lawers, in Scotland. 606.16: “They:” referring to rocks, bens, benns (.14, .15) 606.18: “trolly ways and elventurns:” trolley routes: Bristol had and has a tram service. Tram lines would be, for the most part, straight passages over major thoroughfares, “elventurns” probably twisty departures into more remote areas of the city. Speaking of twisty, elvers are baby eels. 606.17: “know your Bristol:” very long shot: possible but unlikely reference to Bristol’s traveller’s guide through the United States and Canada, etc., published in 1848. Fits the context, but an exceedingly obscure document 606.18-9: “that old cobbold city:” Bristol, the old cobbled city from which the invasion of Ireland was launched 606.19: “sortofficially:” sort of, superficially: general sense is that if you’ve gotten to know Bristol’s streets you’ll be qualified to write a guide, at least a sketchy one, from memory 606.20: “franklings:” Ben Franklin (McHugh) – but then what about the other two bens? Also, as elsewhere (e.g. 605.13), sense of franking mail: Franklin was America’s first Postmaster General. The subject of FW’s letter is about to come up again. 606.21-3: “The design is a whosold word and the charming details of light in dark are freshed from the feminiairity which breathes content:” gist: we’ve gotten so used to these sights that they’ve become stale, but the dawning light’s new (as Whistler put it) arrangements in gray and black (and light) allow us to see things afresh. 606.21: “probed:” proved 606.22: “freshed:” refreshed 606.22: “feminiairity:” femininity 606.23: “breathes content:” expression: silence (or silent) means consent; occurs in “Circe” 606.23: “Ah, fairypair!:” somehow, the three benns/bens (606.14) seem to have become two. 606.23-4: “The first exploder to make his ablations:” perhaps abrasions, which could be expected from an explosion. (Earlier indications in this line are remarked above in annotations to 599.25-6, 599.26-7, 600.6, 600.14, 600.15, and 600.21.) 606.25-30: “What will…talonts:” revisits story of FW’s letter being dug up by hen, with her talons: 111.4ff. (B. Franklin, with his frankings (.20), has anticipated.) 606.30: “Panniquanne:” given context, this ought to be a name for FW’s hen, with her (“talonts”) talons, digging up the letter. Pertelote/Chanticleer, with accents of “hen” and “Anne?” 606.26: “arky paper, anticidingly inked with penmark:” acid-free or anti-acid paper, being used for some publications in Joyce’s time. Also, tannic acid is/was an ingredient in ink. 606.27: “kuvertly falted:” Christiani: folded like an envelope 606.27: “stink:” compare 183.7 and 185.14-26: with its urine in the mix, Shem’s ink stinks, or did. 606.28-9: “comes out of the soil very well:” see entries on .1 and .3-4: wells come out of the soil, and Kevin is encircled by water encircled by earth. And, of course, the FW letter was unearthed. 606.29-30: “Old Toffler is to come shuffling alongsoons:” an old toff (with overtone of old duffer), the sort one would expect to shuffle along in slippers. As devil (McHugh) an “old devil” – a facetious, usually affectionate expression 606.30: “soons:” soon’s: soon as 606.32-3: “You plied that pokar, gamesy, swell as I did:” in a polka-ing (compare 607.15-6) and, certainly, phallic poker, “swell”ing). A swell is a fashionable young man – the ("Old Toffler" (.29)) old toff/ler in his youth. 606.32: “gamesy:” Jamesy. (Occurs in “Penelope,” with a likely reference to the author.) 606.33-4: “while there were flickars to the flores:” as long as the fire was still flickering – as long as there was still some life left, and you were still (“gamesy”) game 606.34: “humpy…dumpy:” both slang terms, meaning sad or saddening. Also, here, clumsy: see next entry. 606.35: “a sailor on a horse:” out of his element. See 583.8-9 and note. Gist: someone aspiring beyond his capacity or skill-set may be clumsy, but at least he shows spirit. 606.36: “him geen we gates:” compare “Oxen of the Sun:” a Scots “gang yer gates:” go your ways. McHugh and Oxford editors have “him, gee, we.” 606.36-607.1: “He brings up tofatufa and that is how we get to Missas in Massas:” see next entry. FW’s “mishe mishe to tauftauf” (3.9-10), this time around in the context of FW’s letter, which has been a presence since 606.25; “Finnegan’s Wake” (607.16) will remind us of what we already knew, that FW and the letter are often, for all intents and purposes, synonymous. A letter begins with an address to a you (Dear X) and concludes with the name of a me (Sincerely, Y). See next two entries. 607.1: “Missas in Massas:” the FW letter is a missive from Massachusetts. 607.1-3: “We veriters verity notefew demmed lustres priorly magistrite maximollient in ludubility learned:” again, reprising the scrutiny of the letter: compare 479.6-18. If “lustres” (letters) is the direct object of “learned,” the gist is: you guys sure hadn’t learned much before I showed up. (Note: Oxford editors replace “veriters verity notefew” with “veriterse veritey notafew,” which would go along with the just-the-facts tone of .3-16: very terse, just taking a few notes.) 607.2: “notefew [or “notafew;” see previous] demmed lustres:” equal-opposites: we note few (not many); we note not a few (many); “demmed” is a displaced epithet from “damned few” (“damn” was sometimes spelled “damme”);” also, “demmed lustres” = dimmed lights - possibly referring to stars fading in the dawn. 607.2: “lustres:” letters, as in man of letters 607.3-16: “Facst. Teak off…Finnegan’s Wake:” these lines continue the (re)survey of the (re)illumined landscape, as enunciated by a somewhat overbearing guide at times recalling the “we” of I.1 and of other retrospective voices, at times the Professor Jones of I.6. For the initial “Facst.” – compare the matter-of-fact voice of a previous guided tour, this one of Ireland’s “pagan ironed times” (79.14): “Fact, any human inyon you liked” would initiate sex when she felt like it (79.19-23). (Probable overtone of “First.” in sense of Begin-with-the-beginning; possible overtone of “Fascist.”) He orders someone in the group to “Teak off that wise head!” (.3 - take off that white hat, show some respect, don’t be a wisenheimer), commends the example of the ex-truant Prodigal Son (“Great sinner, good sonner” (.4)), extolls the principle of the “gloved fist” (.5), rambles a bit (again, like Professor Jones), like Stephen with his students poses an impossible riddle (“the first and last rittlerattle of the anniverse” (.11)), and, also like Stephen, gives the (completely inexplicable) answer, “Finnegan’s Wake” (.16). 607.5: “the gloved fist:” a feature of some coats of arms (although not of the (“MacCowell” (.4-5)) McDowells) 607.6: “fourth of the twelfth:” four gospels (“four horolodgeries” (.7)) and twelve “apostles” (.10). 607.7: “four horolodgeries:” lodgers; the four old men 607.9: “Messagepostumia:” Jacob (“Jakob”) fled from Esau (“Essav”) to Mesopotamia. Also, a posthumous message, delivered by post 607.9: “out his:” probably to be understood as “out of his:” a contraction similar to “next the skin” 607.10: “cymbaloosing the apostles:” McHugh notes that “cymbal” is derived from Greek for cup – and, just as there were sets of apostle spoons, like Mr. Deasy’s in “Nestor,” so there were apostle cups. A description can be found in the online Scribners, Vol XVI, p. 320. 607.10: “cymbaloosing the apostles at every hours of changeover:” compare 605.9-10 and note: cymbal-like bell-sound summons the faithful at each canonical hour. (As in 1 Corinthians 13:1, some cymbals can tinkle rather than clash.) On the other hand, to cymbal-ize – ring for – all twelve apostles would mean striking twelve at each “changeover.” The Last Judgment scenario which follows (see .17 and note) indicates that the changeover may be the final knell of time’s last midnight. 607.11: “nam:” name. When writing Work in Progress, Joyce would challenge friends to guess its real name. With one deviation, the answer is given at .16. 607.12-3: “fleshers leave their bonings:” expression: flesh and bone. Also, whereas flesh is grass, the bones of the dead tend to stick around and pile up – they will be much in play during the Last Judgment get-together beginning at .17. 607.13: “every bob and joan to fill the bumper fair:” every Darby and Joan (conventional term for happy rustic couple) to the bumpkins’ – country – fair, making for a bumper crowd (the next sentence describes the fair’s folk-dancing); as in the Moore song (see McHugh) to fill a bumper is to pour an alcoholic drink up to the rim; probable overtone of “Phil the Fluter’s Ball,” another celebration with dancing 607.14-5: “pudge the daylives:” daylights: pugilists’ slang for eyes. Boxers typically try to damage their opponents’ eyes. 607.15: “Chappielassies:” chaps and lasses, dancing 607.15: “tear a round:” tear around (in youthful exuberance); also, a dance round 607.16: “lovesoftfun:” the girls will teach the boys the soft fun of love-making. 607.17-22: “And it’s high tigh tigh. Titley hi ti ti That my dig pressed in your dag si. Gnug of old Gnig. Ni, gnid mig brawly! I bag your burden. Mees is theese knees. Thi is Mi. We have caught oneselves, Sveasmeas, in somes incontigruity coumplegs of heoponhurrish marrage from whose I must sublumbunate. A polog, my engl! Excutes. Om still so sovvy. Whyle om till ti ti:” compare “Hades,” where Bloom imagines the dead reassembling themselves at the Last Judgment: “Then every fellow mousing around for his liver and his lights and the rest of his traps.” Here: That’s my (elbow, perhaps) pressed in your back…(some mixup about knees)…These knees are mine…This is me/mine…We’ve gotten ourselves incongruously complexed together in some sort of awful conjunction from which I must try to extract myself…Apologies. Excuse. So sorry. (Also: probably, as after Stephen’s dance in “Circe,” some reorientation by the dancers after all the whirling around.) 607.17: “And it’s high tigh tigh…Titley hi ti ti:” Audience to author: And it was high time you gave us the title! (In the previous line.) Also, again: T & I: Tristan and Iseult 607.23-33: “Dayagreening…Up.:” back to noticing the dawn 607.24-5: “A summerwint springfalls, abated:” between water and land, winds shift direction at dawn and dusk: the stabler water temperature trends toward warming land at dawn, away at dusk. These changes resemble those of the seasons; for instance, the (“regn of durknass” (.25)) reign of darkness (and of morning chill) is “snowly receassing,” receding like winter snow in spring’s warming weather. 607.27: “soon hist, soon mist:” Danish “hist” for yonder: as soon as gone, as soon as missed. Also, the morning mist, much remarked in the previous chapter, “lofting” at the beginning of this one (593.6-7). 607.28-33: “Solsking…Up:” reprises 30.12-31.33: the king – here as sun/sun-king, with (“attempted by” (.28)) his two attendants, show up at the turnpike-keeper’s door. 607.29-30: “above Tumplen Bar:” Temple Bar is almost due east from the Mullingar House. 607.31: “plussed:” back-formation from nonplussed – like “gruntled” from “disgruntled” 607.32: “a clout capped sunbubble:” in the earlier encounter, he is wearing “topee, surcingle” (30.23). 607.32-3: “anaccanponied from his bequined torse:” accompanied by his big white horse (“harse” (8.17)) 607.34: “Blanchardstown mewspeppers pleads coppyl:” Blanchardstown is and was a horse-racing site. Mews ("mews-") were city stables for (Gaelic “coppyl”s) horses. (So a mewspaper would likely be a racing form.) Newspapers please copy: compare Stephen’s sarcastic diary entry in Portrait: “John Alphonsus Mulrennan has just returned from the west of Ireland. (European and Asiatic papers please copy.)” 608.2: “moisturologist:” In Ireland, a meteorologist is, necessarily, a specialist in moisture. 608.3: “scayence:” séance. “Assorceration for the advauncement of scayence” (.2-3) evidently combines the British Association for the Advancement of Science with the Society for Psychical Research. 608.3-4: “because, my dear, mentioning of it under the breath, as in pure (what bunkum!) essenesse:” being, after all, a scientist, he thinks all this séance talk is rubbish, but can’t let the believers hear him say so. The speaker is still recognizably the facts-are-facts figure of 607.3ff. – hence (“essenesse”) essence, scholastic “esse” – what actually is, as opposed to bunkum. 608.5: “disselving:” losing their human self-like-ness, de-anthropmorphizing. Goes with this post-dream, dis-illusioning stage: what you thought were fantastical actors were really “just” (.5) ordinary things, ordinary people. 608.5-6: “just the draeper, the two drawpers assisters and the three droopers assessors:” another review of the park scenario: one man (Swift as the Draper), two girls (sisters – to some degree Swift’s two Esthers, the “sosie sesthers” (3.12) - doing something noticeable with their drawers), and three troopers, assessing the situation – some person or persons being “surprised in an indecorous position” (.11). 608.7: “cozes:” cozeners 608.7: “Uncle Arth:” “Some apt him Arth” (44.13) 608.8: “Billyhealy, Ballyhooly and Bullyhowley:” ballyhoo: extravagant puffery; similar to “bunkum” (.4); the third may include the Druid noisemaker called a bullroarer. 608.10: “Sigerson:” Dr. George Sigerson, neurologist, was Nora Barnacle’s physician in 1904. Also, in this revival of the park scandal, Sackerson, as observer and enforcer, as previously witnessing him “in an indecorous position.” 608.11: “bledprusshers:” As McHugh notes, the “Sphygmomanometer” of the previous line was for measuring blood pressure. Blood pressure typically rises about 20-30% on waking - for those with hypertension, possibly a time of concern that might require monitoring. Also, a bedpusher/bed-pusher is a wheeled hospital bed designed to be moved rapidly. 608.12: “Haventyne:” again, back to the park story: Have you the time? 608.17: “into the harms of old salaciters:” into the arms of dirty (salacious) old men 608.19: “dreamerish:” Irish dreamer. Also, OED dates expressions like “elevenish” from 1916. He’s still kind-of dreaming. 608.20: “sugay…milkee:” sugar and milk for the tea. Tea’s presumed Chinese origin promotes stage-Chinese dialect 608.21: “Nyets:” both no (nyet) and yes 608.23: “traylogged:” HCE’s E siglum, here turned over and standing on its three transverse strokes 608.23: “pelvic:” ALP’s deltic siglum 608.24: “props:” trays (including three-legged trays, which were around at the time) are propped up on the bed; perhaps coincidentally, the position of the three legs forms a triangle. (Again: he’s still somnolent – “slumbring” (.16) - not having breakfast in bed but half-dreaming of it.) See next entry. 608.24: “acutebacked angled quadrangle with a slant off:” “a slate off:” slang term meaning mentally not all there. (Compare 165.35.) Considering the nearby presence of other FW sigla (see .23, .25, and notes) probably combines the sigla of both brothers: Shem’s incomplete square and Shaun’s incomplete triangle both have one side missing; the angle(s) on the latter (but not the former) are acute. 608.25: “royalirish uppershoes among the theeckleaves:” feet go with shoes and legs go with feet: Issy’s II/ii signature, here as two legs stretching up into the treetops. (At 486.23-5 – see note – it’s arms.) With some re-orientation, resembles the siglum for the two girls, Issy and Marge. As elsewhere, Issy is depicted with the leaves of the elm tree outside her bedroom window. 608.28: “As the dayeleyves unfolden them:” as (McHugh) the tea-leaves reveal their fortunes; as the daylight unfolds the world of light. (Overtone of “enfold” brings in an opposite meaning.) 608.29: “Nattenden Sorte:” “Natten, den Sorte:” Norwegian for Night, the Black One 608.30-31: “as a wick weak woking from ennemberable Ashias unto fierce force fuming:” like an almost-spent candle wick waking from its innumerable embers/ashes to flame forth. (The phoenix (.32), bird of Arabia, is Asian.) 608.32: “tamtam:” usually spelled “tam tam” or “tam-tam:” a gong, being rung. Eastern in origin; note “Ashias” (.31) and “Phoenician” (.32). 608.33-5: “Passing. One. We are passing. Two. From sleep we are passing. Three. Into the wikeawades warld from sleep we are passing. Four. Come, hours, be ours:” compare 598.31-599.2: counting of hypnotist, again trying to bring subject back to full consciousness…but see next entry. 608.36: “But still:” he’s backsliding: he likes staying in bed. (See note to .11.) Explanation: as the Finnegan who fell and broke his skull, whose dream FW has been all along, throughout the daylight hours of Book I (but his room was shuttered), the evening-to-midnight hours of Book II, the early-morning “watches” of Book III, he’s been convalescing, following doctor’s orders to get plenty of bed rest. Book IV is supposed to be a recovery, getting up as well as waking up. So far, not quite. 609.1-23: “It was…Hymn:” gist, in a sentence, goodbye to the night. In another sentence: goodbye to FW II and III. It was fun, all so agreeable, getting everything all mixed up in the dark – black, grey and white – even in the crazy company of the four oldsters and their talking donkey. At times, perhaps, we’ll miss all that. But right now the starry sky (“house with heaven roof occupanters” (.13)) is giving way to an infinitely more glittery world of lit-up “milletestudinous windows” (.14), including the stained-glass variety, with their east-facing surfaces glinting in the dawn light, and even the stones of the church buildings they’re set in are glowing: “staneglass on stonegloss” (.15). In other words, “Every seeable a hue!” (.20). The (“Hymn” (.23)) Him we are welcoming, whose advent we will hymn during the day’s first mass, is the light of the sun. (Colors were certainly not absent, at least in some phases of the dream, but the speaker – not, mainly, the dreamer - seems to think that it’s all been in black and white, that waking up must be something like the change to Technicolor in The Wizard of Oz. Research, in Joyce’s time and ours, sometimes distinguishes between those who dream in black-white-grey and those who dream in color. This sequence adds a third category – dreaming in (“agreenable” (.1)) green, according to Joyce the color of glaucoma’s first stage, which will play a major part in the ensuing discussion of color and its perception: see 611.6 and 611.24-612.16 with notes.) 609.1: “allso:” also, all so 609.1: “in our sinegear clutchless:” driving in a car without (Latin “sine”) gears or clutch would be an extreme and probably dangerous kind of free-wheeling. (See 285 fn. 4, where the freewheeler is a bicyclist, and is having trouble. See next entry.) Here, probably describes the unregulated, rapid-fire quality of dreaming, especially before waking. 609.2-8: “mixing…Matamarulukajoni:” compare 55.21: a horsedrawn Irish jaunting car (55.24-56.19), also without gears or clutch; here as there, the sights blur and blend with one another. 609.2-3: “pettyvaughan populose with the magnumoore genstries:” the little people with the big shots 609.3: “magnumoore:” “moore” paired with “vaughan” (Gaelic: white) of “pettyvaughan:” (2.): moors are dark-complexioned. (The survey, from “pettyvaughan” to “improssable” (.2-6), is making a point of including different races and classes.) 609.4: “blookers:” blokes; perhaps also buggers 609.4: “blookers with boydskinned pigttetails:” from boots (Bluchers) to pigtails: a variant on FW’s cap-a-pie motif 609.4: “boydskinned pigttetails:” see McHugh. Yellow-skinned Chinese, with pigtails 609.10: “the Grogram Grays:” a “grey” (“gray” in America) can be an animal – horse, or here, ass – of that color; asses are typically grey. Compare “hodden grey” of “Oxen of the Sun:” as clothing, a token of rusticity 609.11: “Rosina:” as McHugh notes, the Rosina of (again, "Rosina") Rossini's The Barber of Seville. At the beginning of the opera, she is being serenaded in her upstairs balcony,. Throughout FW, Issy is positioned on the top floor, sometimes at her window, adjacent to the (Sallysill or Sillysall” (.12): elm) elm’s branches; note “Brancherds” at .16. 609.14: “milletestudinous:” McHugh: “-testudinous” = resembling a tortoiseshell. Therefore, a blotchy, patchy, differently-colored pattern, many times over. Here, seems to describe the sight of lighted stain glass windows reflecting on stone surface 609.15: “inplayn unglish:” in plain ugly English; compare “Scylla and Charybdis:” “lean unlovely English.” See next entry. 609.16-8: “Bullbeck, Oldboof, Sassondale, Jorsey Uppygard, Mundelonde, Abbeytotte, Bracqueytuitte with Hockeyvilla, Fockeyvilla, Hillewille and Wallhall:” to my ears, these place names taken from Proust have been Franglaised into something flat and clunky (e.g. “Elbeuf” to “Oldboof”) – an example of in “inplayn unglish” – ugly, plain English, heavy-handedly accentual. Note: McHugh and Oxford editors insert a comma after “Jorsey,” which would bring the total to twelve – the number of the pub’s customers. 609.18: "Hoojahoo:" Digger Dialects: slang for what's-his-name 609.19: “Obning shotly:” McHugh: opening shortly. See 604.5-6 and note: either pub or church service should be approaching opening hours. 609.19-20: “the messanger of the risen sun:” since sang is French for blood; and given venerable sun-Son connection, Christ’s blood; perhaps also incorporating Homer’s “rosy-fingered dawn” and Marlowe’s “Behold how Christ’s blood streams in the firmament.” (Digression: it has always bothered me that the Marlowe line takes place at midnight, not sunset: the latter can be red or reddish, but not the former.) 609.22-3: “we are waiting for. Hymn:” waiting for the messiah (Him); waiting for (or just now hearing) the (hymn) music to begin the church service 609.24-5: “Muta…Juva:” I.1’s Mutt and Jute appeared about thirteen pages after the beginning of the book; these two show up about eighteen pages before the end. 609.25: “Kettle puffing off the top:” put on to boil, the morning’s kettle produces steam that displaces its lid. 609.26-7: “ashamed of himself for smoking before the high host:” for smoking in church – before the consecrated host on the altar. (Given presence of tobacco, may be pertinent that, as in “The Sisters,” High Toast” is a brand of snuff.) 609.30: “Diminussed aster:” back to the dialogic misprisions, this time more intermittent, that helped define the inquisitors-Yawn exchanges of III.3 – here, a mishearing of “Dorminus master” (.29). A diminished aster is a dwindling star, being dimmed by dawn’s increasing sunlight – which is why it’s hard to (“peecieve” (.30)) it. (Oxford editors have “peercieve.”) Note, with caveat: for reasons to follow, it is the annotator’s theory that this star is really the planet Jupiter, which at 6:03 on the morning of March 22, 1938 (once again: my candidate for FW’s post-dream morning) was, from the vantage of Chapelizod, seven degrees above the horizon, 38 degrees south of the rising sun. (Whenever this was being written, Joyce would have had means – astrologers for hire, for instance - to forecast future skyscapes.) 609.30-1: “An I could peecieve amonkst the gatherings who ever they wolk in process:” again – see previous entry – Oxford editors suggest “peercieve.” Gathered or gathering clouds, veiling sun and Jupiter on the horizon. Probably the same earlier seen as fuming, puffing steam, smoke (.24, .25, .26). Also, people – “volk” – gathering for the meeting 609.31: “wolk in process:” ceremonially, royalty doesn’t merely walk: it makes a progress. Also, the waking-up, to wokeness, is still in process. 609.32: "Khubadah!:" Digger Dialects (see 603.34 and note): Look out; make way! 609.32: “Chrystanthemlander:” chrysanthemums originated in China and hold a prominent place in Japanese culture. Goes with oriental tenor of the text from here on. See next. 609.33: “pompommy:” according to the OED, the word “pompom”/”pompon” can designate a “dwarf chrysanthemum.” The pom pons associated with American cheerleaders, which resemble chrysanthemums, were around from before FW’s composition. 609.33: “pompommy plonkyplonk:” compare “plinkity plonk” (178.23). Here as there, people are picking their way carefully over wet ground – there, a blood-soaked battlefield, here, a rain-drenched lawn. (But also see note to 610.1-2.) 609.33: "ghariwallahs:" Digger Dialects (see 603.34 and note): mule-cart drivers. Apparently collecting the bodies of the "cabrattlefield of slaine" (.34), of those slain on the battlefield 609.34: “cabrattlefield:” compare Joyce’s poem “Tilly,” about a drover and cattle “above Cabra.” 609.35: “Pongo da Banza!:” Muta’s mishearing of “porters of bonzos” (.33) 610.1-2: “Bulkily: and he is fundementially theosophagusted over the whorse proceedings:” the Anglican Archbishop Lancelot Bulkely destroyed much of the property of St. Francis Church (Adam and Eve’s) in 1629, presumably because he was disgusted with the theology being preached and the liturgy being celebrated. Also, he is disgusted by the turds from the fundaments (“fundementially” (.1)) of horses (“whorse”) and other animals – the “druidful [dreadful] scatterings” (609.35-6) that were going “pompommy plonkyplonk” (609.33-4) over the (“cabrattlefield” (609.34)) field of cattle. 610.3…6: “Petrificationibus!”…Ulloverum?” FW’s dyad of stone (Latin petrus) and tree/elm (German ulme), the latter cued by (“Beleave” (.5)) leaves 610.3: “horild haraflare!:” coruscating hair-on-fire! “Horrid” originally meant bristly, as with hair, and by extension can indicate the rays shooting out from a burning or shining source, here from the rising sun. 610.3: “dickhuns:” dickens: polite word for the devil. (It preceded Charles Dickens.) 610.4: “rearrexes from undernearth the memorialorum?:” FW words resembling “memorial” usually signify the stone, juxtaposed, as here, with the elm. Also: king (“rex”) is rearising from underneath earth: the sun rising above the earth’s horizon. Can also convey Finn or Arthur, rising from sleep, or Jesus, ascending, after harrowing hell, from underground - the Patrick-Archdruid meeting is, after all, set on Easter Sunday. 610.5: “Beleave, filmly, beleave!:” Aside from an injunction to believe in the rising king, this anticipates the elm, with its leaves. (Also FW, which (compare 628.6-7) is, of course, a bound bundle of the leaves of a book.) 610.6-7: “Muta: Ulloverum? Fulgitudo ejus Rhedonum teneat! [New paragraph] Juva: Rolantlossly! Till the tipp of his ziff:” gist: the emerging sunlight is spreading all over, to the end of its rays’ extent, investing and brightening the landscape. 610: "ziff:" Digger Dialects (see 603.34 and note): beard 610.8: “savium:” as McHugh notes, the Latin just recalled (.6) is the motto of the house of Savoy. 610.9-10: “Muta: Why soly smiles the supremest with such for a leary on his rugular lips?:” again, notwithstanding the “sol” in “soly,” your annotator takes this as alluding to Jupiter, both god and planet, with its red (“rugular”) spot; see 582.31, note to 609.30. Paired with High King Leary, the last non-Christian king of Ireland, observing the (uncertain – he’s betting both ways) transition from paganism to Christianity. (The historical Leary held to his ancient faith but allowed Patrick to proselytize, thus enabling Ireland’s conversion to Christianity.) As for “soly:” Jupiter is visible because lit up by the sun. (Still, a qualification: the “rugular” lips may reflect the rose-colored dawn, and in any case the rising sun is on the verge of taking over the whole show: its “light…which daysends to us from the high” (.28-9) will be the reason that Buckley and Patrick launch into a debate about the true nature of light.) 610.9: “leary:” leer 610.11: “Eebrydimel!:” Every dime! (McHugh: he has just advised Mutt to bet his bottom dollar. So: all his dimes, too) 610.11-2: “He has help his crewn on the burkeley buy but he has holf his crown on the Eurasian Generalissimo:” perhaps coincidental, with Ireland’s King Leary a presence: Shakespeare’s King Lear (.9) directs his heirs to “part” his “coronet” – divide his crown – although into thirds, not halves. (In any case, almost certainly another allusion to the Claddagh ring, always or almost always associated with the brothers – two hands on either side of a crowned heart.) Also, with a little adjusting – given land formations, buildings, morning haze, etc., the real horizon is usually higher than the theoretical one - Jupiter may be thought of as half above the horizon, half below. See note to 609.30. Still, if so, this is his last hurrah: as king of the gods, Jupiter may have had a crown, but the sun has a corona, and from at least this point on, it’s all the sun’s (and, thanks to Patrick, the Son’s) show. Also, with betting going on (see previous entry), he has a half crown (an eighth of a pound) on each. 610.12-3: “the burkeley buy…the Eurasian Generalissimo:” Bishop Berkeley was Irish; the sun comes from the east – from Eurasia. 610.14: “Skulkasloot!:” Czech: “s kulkou:” with a bullet. (Goes with 610.12-3: Buckley (shooting) Russian General). Also: Digger Dialects (see 603.34 and note): Russian "Skulka Slot?:" How much? Since he's just been told how much, he is probably either asking to hear the amount once more or saying something like "That's a lot!" 610.16: “Juva: Ut vivat volumen sic pereat pouradosus!:” “Pouradosus” (paradise) is Juva’s response to or mishearing of “paridicynical” (.14-5). Also, anticipates the debate to come, which according to Joyce includes a defense of the “volumen” – scroll or volume, in either case FW. The Latin expression this mimics (rendered by McHugh as “that the book may live let paradise be lost”) is, apparently, Joyce’s invention, owing something to the familiar “Fiat justitia ruat caelum,” “Let justice be done though the heavens fall.” 610.17: “Muta: Haven money on stablecert?:” “Haven” (heaven) continues “paridicynical”/“pouradosus”/paradise skein. The gist may be prompted, in part, by French parier (McHugh: to bet; hence, for instance parimutuel/parimutual) in “paridicynical” (.14-5).) For “stablecert:” compare Ulysses: “dead cert” (in “Lestrygonians” and “Oxen of the Sun”), and “tip from the stable” – that is, from the horse’s mouth – in “Circe.” 610.18: “Tempt to wom:” tempting to women 610.18: “Tempt to wom Outsider:” in Ulysses, the “outsider” Throwaway wins at twenty-to-one odds. An account of a horse race will follow at 610.34-611.2. 610.21: “Ad Piabelle et Purabelle?:” he drinks (“quoffs” (.19) quaffs) to these two beautiful ladies? (Next line: yes, and also, more expansively, to wine, women, and song.) 610.30: “hordwanderbaffle:” wonderful, baffling word-hoard. (Counterpointed with “wormingpen” (.32) – spoken word vs. pen-written word.) “Word-hoard” is an ancient term – occurring in translations of Beowulf - for approximately, treasury of remembered language; Stephen is probably thinking of it in Portrait, chapter four, when he retrieves “A day of dappled seaborne clouds” from his “treasury.” Juva is impressed or – probably – pretending to be impressed by the ostentatious erudition of the pronouncement Muta just made – all those hard words. (As bottle full of hard words, see 623.29-30.) 610.31: “rubberskin:” hot water bottles (.30) are made of rubber. Also, the “Rubber Skin Man” was a circus sideshow, featuring a performer with an epidermal condition which allowed him to stretch his skin far out from his torso. 610.32: “I hope its your wormingpen, Erinmonker:” as infant, James II, Ireland’s Stuart champion, was rumored to have been smuggled into the Catholic queen’s bed in a warming pan, to replace the stillborn infant to which she had given birth. Also, “Warming Pan,” in Parliament, “someone serving “for a young fellow who was in his minority.” 610.32: “Erinmonker:” ironmonger: warming pans are made of iron. 610.33: “Shoot:” track races, though not horse races, traditionally begin with gunshot. 610.34-5: “Peredos Last…Velivision victor:” compare .16: “Ut vivat volumen sic pereat pouradosus!” This time around, Velivision has won the race and Peredos finished last. 610.35: “Velivision victor:” from early 1930’s on, RCA Victor was in the news for its work on television. (341.19-342.33 is apparently, to some degree, presented as a horse race being broadcast over television – which, to repeat, would not have been available in Ireland, or almost anywhere else, during the FW years.) Also, with the rising sun, vision is winning out over the night world. 610.35: “newstage:” restage 610.35-6: “Grand Natural…Winny Willy Widger:” again: Widger, winner of the Grand National in 1894 and 1895; see 39.11, 40.3-4, 78.31-2, and 327.8-9 and notes. 610.35-6: “turftussle:” turf: a common metonym for horse-racing and betting 610.36-611.1: “Two draws. Heliotrope leads from Harem:” McHugh glosses “draws” as drawers – women’s underpants. In the “Colours” game of II.1, Glugg repeatedly fails to ascertain that the underpants of the girls – members, at times, of a harem – are colored heliotrope. 611.1-2: “Jockey the Ropper jerks Jake the Rape:” the hangman (popularly known as Jack Ketch), a (“Ropper”) roper, hangs Jack the Ripper, the neck snapping as it jerks short at the end of the rope. (In “Circe,” a hangman “jerks the rope.”) Parallel structure indicates coinciding contraries: again, for Joyce, lawmakers and lawbreakers are often part and parcel. 611.2: “Paddrock and bookley chat:” paddock and bookie – the latter getting a tip straight from the horse’s mouth. (See note to 610.17.) Also, Bishop Berkeley and the rock (also Peter, also the petrified horse apples of “Petrificationibus” (601.3)) kicked by Samuel Johnson to “refute” him. (Stephen recalls this story while thinking of Berkeley in “Proteus.”) Also, Book Chat was a New York literary journal published at the time; the ensuing conversation, as Joyce testified, will be about Finnegans Wake. Also, remembering that books are made of leaves (see 610.3…6, 610.6, and notes), yet another pairing of stone and tree 611.4: “Tunc:” The famous “Tunc” page of the many-colored, twisty, illuminated Book of Kells (122.23) – according to Joyce, a quintessentially Irish production – introduces the Irish archdruid. 611.5: “pidgin:” the fractured syntax to follow resembles earlier FW versions of pidgin (Chinese) English. (One reason: from the east.) Also: bedazzlement from the fully-risen sun. See note to 611.6. 611.5: “fella Balkelly:” Oxford editors have “fella Luchru Balkelly;” two other passages (.25, .27) also identify “Balkelly”/Berkeley as “Luchru.” Luchru is the name of King Leary’s high priest – that is, the archdruid. 611.5: “islish chinchinjoss:” with a hard i and silent s (as in “island”), “islish” mimics stage-Chinese pronunciation of “Irish.” “Chinchinjoss” continues the strain: “Chinchin Chinaman” was a tabloid and stage caricature around the turn of the century. “Joss,” as McHugh notes, is a pidgin Chinese word for God. 611.6: “roranyellgreenblindigan:” roaring and yelling: loud colors, as in, He was wearing a loud necktie. Inaugurates a synaesthetic strand that will be present throughout the sequence. (As others have pointed out, the questionable addition of indigo to the spectrum allowed us to match its colors with the seven notes of the major scale: two kinds of chromatism, of music and sight, which will often be interchangeable during the ensuing debate.) Crucial to the reading to follow is the change advanced by both McHugh and Oxford editors, which I have followed in the spelling above, that a “b,” replacing the second “n” in "roranyellagreen," should go before “-lindigan,” as what McHugh calls a “transitional variant” that may have been lost “during the redrafting process.” Certainty is not available, but this annotator considers it highly probable that the “b” belongs, for two reasons. First, without it, this would, I believe, be the only one of FW’s many red-orange-yellow-blue-indigo-violet chords to lack the color blue. Second, “blindin:” for the ex- or semi-dreamer, the experience is not just deafening (from those loud, in fact roaring and yelling, colors) but blinding, from the sun. Three paradoxes, all important in FW, are involved here: 1. that the sun, the source of light, is blinding (and with it the venerable conceit that God and His Son, divine source of truth, cannot be faced directly: see, for instance, Donne’s “Good Friday, 1613, Riding Westward”); 2. that the spectrum is a refraction – shattering – of seemingly colorless white light; 3. that the recognition of one color is, physiologically, really a matter of selective blindness to all the others, which are (.19: “absorbere”) absorbed away. (Numbers 2. and 3. are from Newton’s Opticks.) As elsewhere in FW, Joyce’s eye ailments, especially glaucoma, are pertinent: this is, on one level, a debate between the rainbow and the color green; it was when his vision became rainbow-colored that Joyce realized he had glaucoma, and “glaucoma” derives from "glaucus,” greenish, the color of a sufferer’s afflicted eyes. Finally, it is probably pertinent that green is at the center of the seven-color spectrum. 611.7: “mantle:” archdruid’s ornamental cloak, contrasted with Patrick’s white alb 611.7: “his mister guest Patholic:” Patrick is the archdruid’s guest. Two events in Irish linguistic history are in play here: the P-K split turns “Catholic” into “Patholic;” the l-r interchange turns “Patrick” into “Patholic.” 611.8: “whose throat hum:” Patrick is doing the humming: monotone answering polyphony, as his white alb answers “bookley”’s rainbow colors. (Though uncommon, the term “white noise” was around in Joyce’s time.) His monkish voicelessness (.9-10: “speeching, yeh not speeching no man liberty is”) also answers the loud colors, with all their synaesthetic roaring and yelling (.6). His reaction is rather like chanting “Om”s to get oneself centered when in confusion or distress, also a form of self-censorship. 611.8-9: “sametime all the his cassock groaner fellas of greysfriaryfamily:” in musical sense, he is in time with the chorus (or choir) of monks, whose chanting, uncharitably described as droning groaning, accompanies his hums. (Although see note to .28, below.) Also: for a Catholic service, a cassock would be black. White alb, Grey Friars, black cassock (.8, .10, .9): no color. (The greyscale-vs-chromatism faceoff traces back at least to the transition from dream to waking: see 609.1-23 and note.) 611.9: “greysfriaryfamily:” as Franciscans, the order of Grey Friars is, obviously, anachronistic here. (Also, out of place: Oxford editors have “Italyman” before “monkafellas” (.10).) Joyce probably includes them because he wants something grey, in contrast to Balkelly’s rainbow. Pictures of Patrick himself are usually quite colorful, with an emphasis on green. 611.9: “he fast all time:” he fasts all the time 611.10-1: “speeching, yeh not speeching noh man:” Wikipedia: “the singing in Noh involves a limited tonal range, with lengthy, repetitive passages in a narrow dynamic range.” That is, it resembles the monotonous humming/chanting accompanying Patrick. 611.11: “drink up words:” like absorbing colors (.19) See note to .6. 611.11: “scilicet:” probably imitates the sound of someone “drink[ing] up” something 611.13-4: “photoprismic velamina of hueful panepiphanal world spectacurum of Lord Joss:” compare Stephen’s “Proteus” account of Bishop Berkeley’s theory: “veil of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field.” For Berkeley, the colors of the world constituted a veil of illusion implanted in the mind by God (here, “Lord Joss” – Lord Jesus doubling with Joss as Chinese deity or religious icon), to be read, rather than seen, for its inner meaning – hence “pan-epiphanal" - all-visible (McHugh) including all hues. The Epiphany was a case of religiously-ordained revelation, and according to Berkeley all understanding – all sensation, perception, knowledge – is also a revelation, by way of God. (Compare 610.35: “Velivision.”) Shorthand versions of “hueful panepiphanal” – conveying, I think, essentially the same idea – follow at .18 (“heupanepi”), .19 (“huepanwor”), and .24 (“epiwo”). 611.13: “panepiphanal:” phenomenal. Berkeley was a phenomenalist whose work anticipated twentieth-century phenomenology. Also, epiphanal (McHugh) and epiphenomenal 611.14-24: “the of which…epiwo):” gist: compare George Herbert, in “The Flower:” “We say amiss / This or that is: / Thy word is all, if we could spell.” Because of the fall (Joyce would add, also the proliferation of languages following the destruction of Babel), our ability to process reality has been drastically reduced, beginning with the fact that when we see one color we are perforce missing all the (absorbed) others. But since they are absorbed into us (our soul, our inner being) we can access those occluded “sextuple” colors - seven minus the one seen outwardly - by looking inward. 611.14: “zoantholitic:” as McHugh notes, this includes Greek roots for animal, flower, and stone – the “mineral through vegetal to animal” of the next line, and conventionally the three main divisions of observable reality. “Twenty Questions,” a popular parlor game of Joyce’s time and earlier, usually began with “Is it animal, vegetable, or mineral?” 611.17: “several iridals gradationes of solar light:” the seven graduated rainbow colors of white sunlight 611.20-1: "savvy inside:" an earlier version reads "beholding interiorly." 611.22-4: “allside showed themselves in trues coloribus resplendent with sextuple gloria of light actually retained:” as opposed to “but one photoreflection of the several iridals gradations of solar light” (.16-7). The difference is in part Platonic/Neoplatonic: your side deals with faded copies of copies, mine with the full, immediately present thing itself. Again, “retained” as in absorbed: see notes to 611.6, 611.14-24. Also again, this is Platonic/Neo-Platonic/Gnostically Christian conceit: the colors within, where the soul resides, are much truer and more vivid than anything available in mere exterior matter. 611.24-612.15: “Rumnant…Sukkot:” in a minority opinion, I suggest that the two antagonists sometimes converge in these lines – or at least that the archdruid’s argument at this point plays into Patrick’s response to come. Gist: hard-headed Patrick (he was called “Adze-head”) cannot or will not follow all of the highflown talk, but does seem to pick up on the fact that the archdruid’s claim to inner “hueful panepiphanal” vision of “sextuple gloria” (.23) is actually – incompletely - (“essixcoloured” (.35)), six-colored, leaving out green. (A notebook (VI.B.S.065) note for this passage reads “(r+o+y+b+i+v)” – Leopold Bloom’s “roygbig” – “red orange yellow green blue indigo violet” – minus, tellingly, green.) The archdruid confirms by reporting that to him everything outward looks green - it is indeed the color subtracted from his inner vision; again, Joyce’s glaucoma is pertinent - especially the King Leary who is observing the debate. The problem, giving Patrick his opportunity, is that this is, after all, Ireland, the emerald isle, where everything is green, for example the shamrock Patrick will use to clinch his case. So, as almost inevitably with Berkeley, the question of solipsism comes up: is he really perceiving the outer world as it is, or is it that, just as all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye, so all looks green to the greenish (glaucomic), not to mention Irish, eye? 611.25: “stareotypopticus:” in context: Patrick sees stereoscopically – as Ulysses would put it, parallactically: he can see things in perspective, is not a solipsistic navel-gazer. (In “Proteus,” Stephen anticipates the sequence when thoughts of Berkeley’s “veil” are immediately followed by an exercise in seeing “in stereoscope.”) As well as (McHugh) “stereotypical,” seeing with a stereopticon, the three-dimensional viewing gadget popular in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Connotatively, the two words are more different than similar. 611.25: “no catch all that preachybook:” he didn’t understand all of the archdruid’s speech. (And no wonder) 611.26: "bymby:" according to Jespersen, signifies future tense 611.25: “tomorrow recover thing even is not:” answers archdruid’s “tomorrow will recover will not” (.12). The archdruid wants everything all at once. Patrick opts for the temporal equivalent of stereoscopy: experience plotted between different points, over time – one color, then another; one musical note, then another, (“bymeby” (.26)) by and by. See entry for .28. 611.27: "topside:" Jespersen: above 611.27: "joss pidginfella:" according to Jespersen, pidgin for clergyman 611.28: “twotime hemhaltshealing:” humming; hemming and hawing, haltingly. Also: the Harvard Dictionary of Music says that one school of Gregorian chants employs “two time values.” See next entry. 611.28-30: “hemhaltshealing, with other words verbigratiagrading from murmurulentous till stridulocelerious in a hunghoranghoangoly tsinglontseng:” like the spectrum, human sound has its gradations – humming, chanting, murmuring, shrieking or creaking like an insect, singsong. McHugh is probably right to assign this sequence to the archdruid (see note to 611.24-612.15), but it may be that the two of them, one speaking, the other humming, are being heard together, in two-time rhythm. In any case, it makes Patrick’s diachronic case. (See note to .25.) Music is gradation, one sound then another sound. There will follow (611.35-612.15) a matching parallel along the color scale, with the point-by-point-ness repeatedly underscored: “other thing” (612.1), “belongahim” (612.3), “after that” (612.5), “alongsidethat” (.7), ”onthelongsidethat” (612.10), “allaroundside upinandoutdown” (612.14). 611.30-1: “comprehendurient:” I take this to mean that he is understanding with difficulty (“-dur-:” hard). This in turn would signify Patrick, the one who “no catch all that preachybook” (.25), though it may plausibly also say that the archdruid is becoming harder to understand. In any case, for both of them things are getting less clear - that is, with “diminishing claractinism” (.31). 611.31-2: “augumentationed himself in caloripeia:” worked himself up into a lather. “Caloripeia:” heat-making 611.32-612.15: “you anxioust melancholic…Sukkot?:” Buckley’s interruptions, posing objections to Patrick. 1. “you anxioust melancholic” (611.32-3): In humoral medicine, melancholy is produced by black bile; the most famous of melancholics, Hamlet (that anxious fellow), wears black. 2. 611.34-5: “niggerblonker” Negro (black), blanco (Spanish for white) – again, no colors. 3. 612.1: “voluntary mutismuser:” choosing to (see McHugh) mumble and be mute, Patrick is equally unable to comprehend (“compyhandy” (612.1)), compare “comprehendurient” (.611.30-1)) what is said as well as what is seen: again, assumed equivalence of optical and aural – mumbling/murmuring is to sound what grey is to sense. 4. 612.3: “pace negativisticists:” “pace” = pace. In spite of what some naysayers claim…negative = black, the negative of all colors. 5. 612.7-8: “if pleasesir:” an almost certainly sarcastically overemphatic “If you please, sir!” (Patrick is, after all (611.7) his guest, but is getting on his nerves.) 6. 612.8: “sowlofabishospastored:” polite, making-nice forms of address to a religious eminence - soul, bishop, pastor – veiling not-nice: son of a bitch, son of a bitch’s bastard (appears in “Wandering Rocks”). 7. 612.17: “Sukkot:” Patrick. (Patrick’s baptismal name was “Succat.”) Also: Suck it! (Compare 485.7.) These are seven insulting or exasperated interjections addressed to Patrick by the archdruid, who as McHugh notes is “going from quiet to loud” and losing his cool in the process. The essential accusation is that Patrick, what with his white alb and/or black cassock, is colorless – his monotheism, which by the way is, ridiculously and incoherently, also some kind of tritheism, for crying out loud - is the spiritual equivalent of the monotonous and the monochromatic. 611.33-4: "grassbelonghead:" As mentioned earlier (entry for 262.13-4), Otto Jespersen was, by far, the linguist whose work shows up most often in FW. This entry begins a sequence of pidgin language derivations from Jespersen's Language: Its Development and Origin, identified by Ian MacArthur and Viviana-Mirela Braslasu in Genetic Joyce Studies 21. "Grassbelonghead," according to Jespersen, signifies a bald head. 611.33-612.15: “his fiery…sennacassia:” says two opposite things, simultaneously - first, everything seen appears as part of a seriatim rainbow; second, everything seen looks green – as follows: 1. ”fiery…herbgreen” (611.33-4): Leary’s red hair looks like green herbs. 2. “saffron…spinasses” (611.36): Leary’s orange kilt looks like boiled spinach leaves. 3. “golden…curlicabbis” (612.2): Leary’s yellow torc looks like a cabbage. 4. “verdant…leaves” (612.2-5): Leary’s green raincoat looks like laurel leaves. (This is the “sextuple” outlier – the one item that actually looks the color it is.) 5. “bulopent eyes…parsley” (612.6-7): Leary’s blue, open eyes look like thyme and parsley. 6. “Indian gem…olive lentil” (612.8-10): the indigo-colored jewel in Leary’s ring looks like a green pea. 7. “violaceous…sennacassia” (612.11-5). Leary’s violet-colored bruises look like the cut (green) leaves of senna cassia. 611.33: “his fiery grassbelonghead:” see 610.3 and note. In both, Leary is fiery – red–haired - and red is on the opposite side of the color wheel, which, again, according to the archdruid’s explanation, is (grassy) green. (FW includes several earlier instances of red-green interchangeability, then and now a standard example of reversed-color afterimages – see, e.g. 99.29-30, with note.) 611.33: “grassbelonghead:” long-headed: shrewd. (Again, Patrick was called “Adze-head.”) 611.36: “pettikilt:” petticoat 612.2: “twobreasttorc look justsamelike curlicabbis:” According to Google Images, curled cabbage – still a familiar grocery item – looks not so much curled as wrinkled, on its surface, into intricate patterns; the same might reasonably be said about the fretwork on some torcs. 612.3-5: “readyrainroof…very dead…laurel leaves:” WW I casualties at the front were sometimes buried in their raincoats, in lieu of winding sheets. Also, laurel leaves – symbolizing, among other things, military prowess - are poisonous. “Very dead” “High Ober King Leary” has been awarded, and is wearing, a “superexuberabundancy plenty” of them – perhaps a greened-up version of his ribbons, medals, etc. (Compare 339.16-20: the Russian General’s chestfull of medals.) 612.3: "readyrainroof belongahim:" according to Jesperson, "belongahim" is genitive. That is, it's his - someone's - "readyrainroof." 612.6: "bulopent:" according to Jespersen, means "ornament," which in turn "is said to be nothing but the English blue paint." 612.6: “bulopent eyes:” again, blue (see McHugh) and open. Joyce’s eyes were blue. Blue eyes (see previous entry) perceived as ornamental stones. 612.9: “maledictive:” “maledictive stones” appear in “Cyclops” and feature as curse-stones in Irish lore, but given the Indian context, this “gem” is either instead or also something similar to the Hope Diamond, supposed to carry a curse with it. 612.10: “like one fellow olive lentil:” Ireland: Its Saints and Scholars, by Joseph Mary Flood: An Ollave poet “was privileged to wear the same number of colours in his clothes as a monarch.” Olive is a shade of green; olives are – well – olive, and lentils, peas, are green. 612.11: “violaceous:” violently violated – beaten up – producing violet bruises; compare 84.11-2. 612.11: “warwon:” either as bruises, etc. or medals (see note to .3-5), these have been acquired through combat – war-won. 612.12: “Cockywocky:” cock of the walk: a real or wannabe alpha male, strutting. (Preceded by cock crow, “kirikirikiring” (.11).) Also, Cockey Lockey, a character in the “Chicken Little” story 612.13: “hueglut intensely saturated one:” “saturation” measures color intensity (hence “hueglut:” glutted with one hue), defined as the degree to which it differs from white. Goes with phenomenon of color absorption: see note to 611.14-24. 612.14: “allaroundside upinandoutdown:” elaborates on “uniformly” (.13) 612: "chowchow:" Jespersen: pidgin for food 612.15: “sennacassia:” its leaves have two medicinal uses, the first of which – treatment of bruises and contusions – is clearly applicable here. The second is as a laxative, which is perhaps also at work: “chowchow” (.14) suggests he may have taken it internally, and some of 613.17-26 (“rid the bowel,” for instance) seems to record its taking effect. 612.15: “Hump cumps Ebblybally! Sukkot?:” aside from a reprise of HCE as “Here Comes Everybody” (32.18-9), both “Balkelly” (611.5) and (see McHugh) Patrick, along with (see next) all of Ireland. Again, I suggest that the preceding has been more duet than solo. 612.15: “Ebblybally!:” Eblana: ancient name for Dublin 612.16-30: “Punc…Onmen:” the paragraph is Patrick’s, but once again it can be difficult to tell the two apart; for one thing, much of it reads like a continuing tirade against Patrick himself, either – again – interjections from his antagonist, or his own sarcastic version of the archdruid’s case. (All in all, it constitutes an extreme example of the confusions that can result from Joyce’s lifelong disdain for quotation marks.) 612.16: “Punc:” yet another insult. A punk is a prostitute, male or female. Also, it’s time to put a stop – grammatically, a full point – to all this palaver. Although outrageously convoluted, the .16-30 speech will end with a grand gesture of simplification: we must submit to God, who is displayed in the weeds and the sky and…well, just everywhere…and that is that is that. 612.16: “Bigseer:” Big Sir; Big Seer, as in one who has grand or grandiose visions – again, the intent is sarcastic. 612.16: “refrects:” as McHugh says, reflects and refracts: the Newton/Berkeley question of how light works on the individual, as pondered earlier by Bloom in Ulysses (“Refracts is it?”) and Stephen in Portrait, chapter five (does he cherish some words as “prism”s of outer “coloured” world or as “mirrored” reflections of “individual emotions?”) Mainly, though, I suggest, the word behind this is “refutes:” Johnson’s “Thus I refute Berkeley.” Again, this Patrick is “Paddrock,” but with a rock-kicking argument heavily and perhaps decisively undermined by Berkeley’s point about refraction, prisms, etc. (All in all, 611.4-612.31 seem to me to be FW’s ultimate in coinciding contraries: every statement is “puraduxed” (611.19-20.) – including, of course, the word itself.) 612.16-24: “refrects…saint:” again, I read this as Patrick’s dismissive version of what the archdruid has said. 612.16: “whackling it out:” Digger Dialects (see 603.34 and note): considering deeply. Compare next entry. 612.17: "tumble to take:" "take a tumble:" "Arrive at a sudden understanding." Here, the sense is probably that he's going to give it - comprehending and responding to what he's just heard - his best shot. 612.18: “you pore shiroskuro blackinwhitepaddynger:” again, this is either Patrick, very oddly, addressing himself scornfully, or his imitation of his antagonist doing the same. 612.19: “aposterioprismically apatstrophied:” the apostles, spreading the word after the death of Jesus, were a posteriori. 612.19-20: “periparolysed:” the peripatetics, by definition, were the opposite of paralyzed. 612.20: “ruinboon:” a ruinous boon. One version of “Felix Culpa,” for which FW’s principal example is the (“ruinboon”) rainbow 612.21-4: “(for beingtime monkblinkers timeblinged completamentarily murkblankered in their neutrolysis between the possible viriditude of the sager and the probably eruberuption of the saint):” for the time being, Patrick’s entourage of monks, being – as the archdruid would point out – blinkered/blinded by, among other things, their cowls, were neutral as to who was winning the debate, sage (archdruid) or saint (Patrick). 612.24-5: “Me wipenmeselps gnosegates a handcaughtscheaf of synthetic shammyrag to hims hers:” whatever else is going on here, there is a difference between the original story, in which Patrick picks the shamrock to demonstrate the omnipresence of the Trinity, and this version, in which he wipes his arse with a (shammy/sham) handkerchief. Perhaps the handkerchief is green (recalling the Russian General’s contemptuously wiping himself with a sod of (green) turf, taken to be a symbol of Ireland) or perhaps, like many such sold in tourist shops, it is bedizened with images of shamrocks – in any case, he once again seems to be making the archdruid’s point in spite of himself, displaying not the ding an sich (611.21) but a synthesis, as in “color synthesis” – combining primary colors to make secondary ones. A handkerchief can be used as a makeshift veil. 612.24-5: “My tappropinquish to Me wipenmeselps gnosegates a handcaughtscheaf of synthetic shammyrag to hims him hers:” echoes earlier FW dialogue, spoken by one of the soldiers, referring to himself and his partner or wife, for instance 336.26: “my wife and I thinks.” “My tappropinquish” is within range of meaning “The person closest to me” – as we might say today, my significant other. 612.24: “gnosegates:” again equal-opposites: knowing something gnostically is, within Christian tradition, both a claim to absolute truth and a heresy. 612.26: “four three two agreement:” Father Robert Boyle, SJ: “The formula we seminarians bandied about in our Thomistic studies of the Trinity, was ‘four relations, three persons, two processions.’ (We went on with ‘one God, no proof’ for completeness.)” The word “procedes,” in The Apostle’s Creed, separates the eastern from the western rites. 612.27-8: “Balenoarch…Great Balenoarch…Greatest Greatest Great Balenoarch:” in context, opposite of Rainbow. A (baleful) no to the arc. Etymologically, “Balaeina,” Latin for whale, may be taken mainly with reference to Hobbes’s Leviathan: Joyce liked Saint Patrick but always thought of the Catholic Church Patrick introduced to Ireland as being in oppressively hegemonic league with Great Britain – G. B. In that context, “Noarch,” aside from sounding the ark-arch-patriach Noah, is No-Arch: Anarch – to Milton absolute chaos, to Shelley (yet again, coinciding contraries) absolute tyranny. Sequence recalls Catholic and Anglican confession, accompanied by gesture (“he kneeleths,” etc.”): “By my fault, by my own fault, by my own most grievous fault.” 612.28: “sound sense sympol:” confirms concluding section’s running parallel between musical scale and color scale 612.29: “weedwayedwold:” compare Stephen’s “Proteus” version of mystically infinite regress: “wayawayawayawayaway” 612.31-2: “bygotter…bogcotton…begad!:” given the heavily religious context, this probably refers to the “begotten, not made” of the Nicene and Apostle’s Creeds, included to confute Arius. When contemplating trinitarian dialectics, Stephen recalls the word in “Proteus” and “Scylla and Charybdis.” “Begad!” also sounds biblical “begats.” 612.31: “bogcotton:” along with bog, boycotting sounds a distinctively nativist Irish note: the word derives from an Irish tenants’ strike against Captain Boycott. Given the plexed nature of Irish politics down through history, it is notable but not surprising that the crowd is backing an outlander, Patrick, over the native-born Berkeley. Also, bog cotton is a variety of cotton, native to Ireland, used for making clothes. 612.33: “shouting down the shatton on the lamp of Jeeshees:” main meaning: he wanted to shut down the room’s shutter – recently opened - on the sun, which has been breaking through the prismatic world for which he stands. (As McHugh notes, this passage corresponds to the archdruid’s blotting-out of the sun; starting at 613.1 Patrick will make it reappear. Also, for good measure, he is demanding that Patrick put out that Paschal fire of his.) “Shatton” recalls “Oxen of the Sun:” “and a portlier and plumper bull, says he, never shit on shamrock” – Patrick’s shamrock, after all, has just been employed (.25) as toilet paper. (It is, I venture, impossible to overestimate the depth of disgust Joyce felt for the whole shamrocks-and-shillelaghs business of tourist-shop Irishness.) Also, Digger Dialects (see 603.34 and note): "Shaiton - The devil." 612.34: "throw his seven:" as in dice. perhaps either 1. with two dice, throw a lucky seven, or 2. with only one die, achieve the impossible. 612.34-5: “As he shuck his thumping fore features apt the hoyhop of his Ards:” another way of shutting out the sunlight: he stuck his head up his arse. Certainly not what he had in mind when going on about the sublime truth of inward reality (611.21-1), but it does make a kind of poetic sense. Certain sorts, in my youth, were sometimes described as having their heads up their asses/arses. 612.36: “Thud:” compare 352.15: “Hump to Dump!” Signals Patrick’s final Gordian Knot-like victory over the archdruid and echoes the parallel tumble of the Russian General, who was also (339.10-3) dressed in rainbow colors. 613.1: “Good safe firelamp! hailed the heliots:” definition of “fire lamp:” "An iron basket…in which coal is burnt to give light to miners where gas is not used.” At least in the popular imagination, coal miners could without much exaggeration be compared to helots – here “heliots” because they are hailing the (hélios) rising sun, decisively triumphant once the druid’s order that it be shuttered out (612.23) is shouted down. The “firelamp” is also the sun, as well as Patrick’s Paschal fire. Also, “Gott strafe England!:” May God punish England! (Compare 451.3.) – a German WW I slogan being combined with “God save Ireland!” by a band of anti-English Irish patriots. 613.2: “Awed:” the heliots are awed by the risen sun. 613.2-3: “trampatrampatramp. Adie:” thus inspired, they are marching off to die. They had just been singing (McHugh) the heroically suicidal “Whether on the scaffold high, or the battlefield we die,” now “Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching:” see 78.21-2, 340.23; also end of “Oxen of the Sun.” Besides “To die” (see .8 and note) “Adie” includes "Adieu." See next. 613.3: “Per ye comdoom doominoom noonstroom:” marching off in the name of (McHugh) our dear lord Jesus Christ, to our doomy-doom-doom, soon (maybe at noon?) 613.4: “Fullyhum toowhoom:” more humming 613.5: “Taawhaar?” to where (are we marching)? Follows “toowhoom” (.4). Also, echo of tar water – Berkeley’s much-ridiculed hobbyhorse – while mocking his recent defeat by Patrick 613.6: “Sants and sogs:” contrasts saints with “soggerts,” Gaelic for priests (see 174.26) and perhaps (poor) sods, at least by comparison with true saints 613.6: “cabs and cobs:” cab: a vehicle for hire, either (in Joyce’s youth) horse-drawn or (later) a motor car. A cob is a short, sturdy horse. 613.6: “kings and karls:” contrast: ME karl/carl = peasant, churl 613.6-7: “tentes and taunts:” since “tenter” = French for tempt, these two go together. 613.7: “Tis gone infarover:” It’s gone forever 613.8: “So fore now, dayleash:” Moore’s “Savournah Deelish” translates to “Faithful Sweetheart.” 613.8: “deday:” to die 613.9: “trancefixureashone:” in Transfiguration accounts in the Gospels, Jesus, standing atop Mount Tabor, was transfused with (sun) light (therefore, "-shone") and addressed as “Son” by God. The event is commemorated by Christian churches, though different communions assign different dates. See next entry. 613.9: “Taborneccles:” as Feast of Tabernacles on Mount Tabor (see previous entry), combines Jewish and Christian festivities. 613.10: “Shamwork, be in our scheining:” moderately long shot: Shem, frequently Jewish, is here ecumenically invited to join in the celebration of Christ’s transfiguration – ("sheining") shining like the sun. See previous two entries. 613.10 “our scheining:” German “Erscheinung:” Helmut Bonheim translates as “appearance, phenomenon.” A run through Google and Google Books strongly suggests a recurring sense of uncanny or divine apparitions – rainbows, saints’ visitations, the Shroud of Turin, and sometimes Jesus Himself. 613.10-1: “And let every crisscouple be so crosscomplimentary, little eggons, youlk and meelk, in a farbiger pancosmos:” as in earlier celebrations (for instance 337.15-31, 588.35-586.3), young people are urged to dance together – partners crossing and so on – and part of the point is that they will and should romantically egg one another on, so as to eventually go forth in couples, multiply, and people the new order. (As elsewhere, newlaid eggs are a sign of fertility, rebirth, spring. At the moment it’s still Easter.) Young and (so far) meek, their colors of egg yoke (yellow/gold) and milk (white) complete, with the green shamrock (“Shamwork” (.10)), the new order’s Irish green-white-gold flag, adopted in 1922 and made official in 1937 – which new order, if only because of the legacy of the Famine, will require local repopulation. (Probably ironic that colors seem to be coming back, almost immediately after their supposed banishment.) “Youlk and meelk:” you and me – yet another instance of the ubiquitous “tauftauf” “mishe-mishe” motif 613.12: “Gudstruce!:” God’s truce: one of the Truce of God days imposed, with limited success, in the Middle Ages 613.14: “Fuitfiat!:” echoes God’s “Lux fiat” at the Creation. Given that this time around there’s nothing new (under the sun), I take it as mainly an expression of disappointment, even disgust – something like “Phooey!” “Pfft!," or “Foutu!” 613.15: “the laud of laurens now orielising:” Joyce says that this passage records the “village church” lighting up with the dawn light; Chapelizod’s village church, St. Laurence’s, is Anglican; Archbishop Laud was the major progenitor and protector of Anglican liturgy; the pun on Latin “laud” was current in his time. An oriel is a projecting window; some churches have them, but not, so far as I can determine, this one. Given Joyce’s note, “orielising” probably blends orient and rising – again, the sun rising in the east. 613.16: “saint and sage:” Patrick and druid/Berkeley; again, according to Joyce’s note, their stained-glass images are being lit up on adjacent windows of the church. 613.17-26: “A spathe…chlorid cup:” I take this paragraph to be mainly about a weak-eyed, perhaps glaucomic, individual’s difficulties with the sudden fact of sunlight, breaking in on his sight: rather than brightening, his vision darkens in reaction, at least for a while. John O’Hanlon has shown that many of the distinctive terms here are botanical, denoting a flower’s components (but, it seems, not the blossom, unless that’s the “chlorid cup” (.26)); I think the conceit is that of a morning flower both awakening to sunlight and, through its green covering, resisting it, and that the light’s influence starts from the outside and works into its anthropomorphized (“skullhullows”) insides, with every layer functioning both as graduated barrier and partially resistant conductor. (Compare first, third, and fourth notes to .17.) The pervasive (vegetative) color is green – again, an FW signature of glaucoma, and, also again, this is, after all, the Emerald Isle. See next entry. 613.17: “spathe of calyptrous glume:” see McHugh: integuments 613.17: “glume:” gloom, in sense of twilight, gloaming. The conspicuously capitalized “Amenta” (McHugh: “Amenti:” Egyptian underworld) is a gloomy place. 613.17: “involucrumines:” Latin “involucrum:” wrapper, envelope. Here, functions as a verb; compare “involucrate:” to furnish with involucre, that is with a covering or membrane – vegetal equivalent of pericardium. See next entry. 613.17: “perinanthean:” I suggest a blending of perianth (McHugh) and pericardium. Again, everything so far is about external coverings. 613.19-20: “increasing, livivorous, feelful thinkamalinks; luxuriotiating everywhencewithersoever:” despite resistance, exterior sensory data, having somehow filtered into the skull/bud, registers and connects up within the mind, via its dendritic think-links. O Hehir doubtfully proposes “livivorous” as “vivivirous,” life-eating: the brain absorbs/consumes sensory data from without, as the plant both resists and absorbs sunlight. 613.20-2: “among skullhullows and charnelcysts of a weedwastewoldwevild when Ralph the Retriever ranges to jawrode his knuts knuckles and her theas thighs:” whatever else he may be, “Ralph the Retriever” is a dog sniffing out, digging up, and swallowing down remains of the dead – hence his diet of “nauseous forere brarkfarsts” (.23). (“Brarkfarsts:” “barks,” postcenal farts.) See above entry. Compare the dog Tatters in “Proteus:” as soon as he figures out what’s what and what he’s after, Tatters proceeds towards exhuming it in order to eat it. In “Circe,” the chapter’s polymorphous dog turns into a retriever when it scents Bloom’s bundle of dead flesh and focuses on that. All in all, a version of sensory/mental/volitional dynamics; compare 18.24-32, which includes “attachment that dogs death.” Joyce disliked dogs. See next entry. 613.23-4: “oboboomaround and you’re as paint and spickspan as a rainbow:” a similar Ulysses dog, noted by McHugh, “choked up a sick and knuckly cud…and lapped it up with new zest:” this one’s first bite may have boomaranged in the same way, to return/regurgitate, spick and span, good as new. Apparent parallel with morning medicine-taker, swallowing something disgusting which will make him “paint” (Christiani: nice) and “spickspan as a rainbow,” i.e. as new. Indeed if he “wreathes the bowl” – licks it all up - he will then rid the bowel, with an entirely satisfactory morning bowel movement. 613.25: “amess in amullium:” one in a million (as in an ad for the treatment). “Amullium” suggests amelioration of the condition, brought about by the medicine. 613.26: “chlorid cup:” chloride in different combinations was and is prescribed for constipation. A claret cup was a popular cocktail. 613.27: “chalce:” as chalice, probably the same as the “chlorid cup” (.26) - here for a toast to your “Health” (.27) 613.30-1: “Murnane and Aveling are undertoken to berry that ortchert:” Neither name, Maryanne or Eveline, is prominent in FW. On the other hand, as the second Eve, the Virgin Mary could be said to have (“berry that ortchert”) buried the hatchet (McHugh) – to have put an end to the trouble stirred up by the first Eve. Also, given (“berry”) bury, “undertaken" in the sense of undertaker: they may be planning to bury something besides a hatchet. 613.30-1: “ortchert:” perhaps German “örtchen,” toilet 613.31-32: “provided that. You got to make good that breachsuit, toilermaster:” they’ll bury the hatchet provided that certain promises, going back to the Norwegian Captain episode of II.3, are kept: the tailor (“seamer” (.32)) has to make good on his contract to supply a (suitable) suit; the sailor (“toilermaster” (.32) – master of the tiller) must settle down in home sweet home, get dressed up, fit to kill (presumably with the tailor-made suit (.33)), and go through with the wedding, this time with no breach (“breachsuit” (.31)) breach of promise. As often, the two contrary principals converge: “seamer,” sewer of seams, is close to seaman, “toilermaster” to tailor-man. 613.34-6: “While for yous, Jasminia Aruna and all your likers, affinitatively must it be by you elected if Monogynes his is hers Diander, the tubous, limbersome and nectarial:” as for you, Darling Jazmine with all your male admirers buzzing around you like bees around – of course – jazmine, make up your mind. (The rest leaves me confused, but it seems relatively clear that the groom, from now one Mr. One-Woman (“Monogynes”), is being paired with the desirable “nectarial” virgin (?) Diana, whose bee-tropic nectar has heretofore made her both desirable and, because it attracted so many males, notorious.) 613.36-614.1: “owned or grazeheifer:” “grazing heifer” is a common expression, perhaps best known from Sir Walter Scott’s translation “The Wild Huntsmen,” but also showing up on various agricultural documents; “owned heifer” gets a fair number of Google hits as well. Perhaps the difference between cattle raised on one’s own pasturage and cattle allowed to graze on someone else’s for a fee? 614.1: “bonding.:” Danish “bonde,” peasant. Opposite of “ethel,” glossed by McHugh as “ædel,” Danish for nobleman. Oxford editors replace the period with a comma, a change (perhaps problematically: see previous and next entries) which would have the effect of making “ethel and bonding” one in a sequence of three paired opposites. 614.1: “Mopsus or Gracchus:” McHugh’s identification of Mopsus as the soothsayer of the Argonauts may possibly be off the mark. Another character of that name in Tasso’s Aminta, a crude and envious shepherd, is perhaps counterpart to the famously highborn, principled Gracchus (either one). If so, the pairing here would be a reverse-order repetition of “ethel or bonding” (.1). 614.2: “incessantlament:” the washerwomen of I.8 are incessantly lamenting. 614.2: “Annone:” the washing is done in the (Anna) Liffey. 614.4-5: “lathering:” compare 200.34. 614.5-6: “a dapperent roll, cuffs:” “roll-over cuffs:” a turn-of-the-century fashion in women’s clothing. Also, Eliot’s Prufrock hoped to be in style – that is, dapper – by wearing his trousers (that is, the cuffs) “rolled.” That each laundering result would come out somewhat differently accords with the comedic convention that no fashionable woman’s outfit should be identical with another’s. 614.5-6: “cuffs…chokers…kink in the pacts:” someone is getting cuffed, choked, and kicked in the pants. 614.5: “cuffs…and chokers:” cuffs and collars, laundered separately from the shirt. A sign of sartorial distinction. Compare .10 (see McHugh) and 214.29, also “Nausicaa:” “Always know a fellow courting: collars and cuffs.” 614.6: “chokers for sheek:” chic: compare 527.18. Turn-of-the-century ads on Google Books confirm that ladies’ chokers were in fashion at the time. 614.7: “Forbeer, forbear! For nought that is has bane:” a forbear/forebearer is a predecessor; to forebear is to restrain oneself; here an old-timer – probably the waker – is being dissuaded from protesting the present-day fashions, because everything that exists is really OK. Compare 24.16ff. 614.8: “mournenslaund:” morning-land - that is, now, with newly cleaned clothes from the laundry 614.9-12: “Ardor vigor forders order…Caffirs and culls and onceagain overalls, the fittest surviva lives that blued, iorn and storridge can make them:” ominously, the new day promises a new order, of a distinctively Teutonic cast. Arduous vigor will further order. Kaffirs are paired with those to be culled, not to be confused with survival-of-the-fittest, forged by Bismarck’s “blood and iron.” “Overalls” sounds “über alles” and recalls the German joke-name from “Cyclops,” “Kriegfried Ueberallgemein.” Compare 598.23-6 and note. As for the laundry, having been washed, it is now ready to be ("blued, iorn and storridge") blued, ironed, and starched, perhaps also stored. 614.9-10: “Since antient was our living is in possible to be:” compare 215.24: “Anna was, Livia is, Plurabelle’s to be.” “Antient” is distinctively Irish spelling of “ancient.” 614.10: “in possible:” aside from impossible, equally-oppositely “in posse:” having the potential to exist 614.10: “Delivered as:” follows “forders orders” – as in, awaiting further orders – phrase occurs three times in Ulysses. Here, the laundry being delivered 614.11: “onceagain overalls:” HCE is introduced in overalls, “which he habitacularly fondseed” (4.31), and wears them in other appearances. Overalls are and were appropriate attire for a gardener or outdoor laborer – a hod-carrier, for instance. Perhaps “onceagain” because he wears them habitually and because they can withstand multiple washings – see next two entries. 614.11-13: “the fittest surviva lives that blued, iorn and storridge can make them:” overalls are (usually) blue and famously durable. (Oxford editors have “survivalives,” which sounds like a brand.) Being so tough, they will win the survival-of-the-fittest race with other materials. 614.11: “blued:” laundry blue used in washing: appears in Portrait, chapter 5 614.13: “Whichus all claims:” witches, cleans: compare 287 LM 1, and “Clay” in Dubliners; as old, poor, unmarried women, laundresses would fit easily into the idea of witches; see, for instance, the Breton folk tradition of “les lavandières de la nuit.” 614.14: “Noxt Doze:” next day’s laundry - some laundry services advertised “Next-day delivery.” Also, to the man in bed, it’s still night (Nox), and he still feels like dozing. 614.14-8: “Fennsense…wons agame:” this getting-up paragraph takes on the tenor of a patriotic rally in some barracks, military or militant, beginning with a version of “Sinn Féin” and ending with “A Nation Once again” – the song the citizen of “Cyclops” breaks into when at his most jingoistic - preceded by an invocation to get marching. Again (see .9-12 and note), at times the proclaimed new order takes on an ominous cast. No wonder the former sleeper is in no hurry to get out of bed. 614.14: “Fennsense, finnsonse, aworn:” something like, Son of Finn, awake! Again, the male principal is apparently still in bed, and time is running out – ALP’s concluding monologue will take over at 615.12. “Aworn” surely has to do with the wearing of clothes. 614.14-6: “Tuck upp those wide shorts. The pink of the busket for sheer give. Peeps. Stand up to hard ware and step into style:” shorts – underpants – were whitened by bluing (.11); that they’re “wide” and notable for their “give” confirms other testimony that HCE is broad of beam. “Stand up to hard ware” signals that his outfit, his overalls in particular, will - again: see.11-3 and note - stand up to a lot of hard wear. (I can remember, as a youth, having grownups tell me that I would “get a lot of wear” out of some new article of clothing – not necessarily a picker-upper, at the time.) Also, the American equivalent of German Brown Shirts and Irish Blue Shirts were White Shirts. See .9-12 and note, 333.21 and note. 614.16: “step into style:” step-ins: slang for a kind of shoe 614.17: “newmanmaun:” expressions: clothes make the man; such and such outfit will make a new man of you. Compare 596.36-597.1. 614.19: “Begin to forget it:” the dream, that is; this and .22 (“Forget, remember!” (.24-5) about what should be and is remembered) and .26 (“Forget!”) all address the proverbial fleetingness of dream memories. See also 598.3-4 and note. 614.19-20: “It will remember itself from every sides, with all gestures, in each our words:” interchangeability of dream-state and waking. The dream was in part confected out of environing facts of the real world (the window breaking at the end of I.2, for instance); some of these, remaining or repeating, will rouse half-conscious flashbacks from the state just past, whose influence will mingle with the here-and-now. (Compare 266.20-1.) We may not remember the dream narrative for long, but parts of it will keep reasserting themselves. 614.20-1: “It will remember itself from every sides, with all gestures, in each our word:” combines Marcel Jousse with Giambattista Vico: language is gestural; words are layered repositories of past perceptions. 614.21: “Today’s truth, tomorrow’s trend:” a thumbnail version of Shelley’s “A Defence of Poetry.” 614.27-615-10: “Our wholemole…eggs:” FW’s last and most comprehensive self-summary before ALP begins her letter. It is a millwheel (.27 – therefore on a ("riverrun" (.3.1) river run); a mill-operated laundry (compare .13); as Suheil Bushui points out a printing press; a process of digestion (and, for a hen, of egg-making); a Viconian full-speed-ahead time machine (sometimes resembling a locomotive or other Steampunkish contraption); a reprise of various familiar FW motives; and breakfast, with those newlaid eggs, delivered along with the newly-printed morning paper (from that printing press). Most of all, I think, it enacts and encapsulates the morning’s mental sorting-out of the night’s dream, and as in Ulysses, the dream turns out to have had a Jungian/Yeatsian dimension, of a life and of other lives - of a family, all families, the human family. 614.28: “gazebocroticon:” compare Bloom in “Nausicaa:” the “whole ghesabo” as the structure of the universe 614.31: “smeltingworks:” mentally, abstracting or essentializing – separating significant or salient data from background 614.31-3: “(for the farmer, his son and their homely codes, known as eggburst, eggblend, eggburial and hatch-as-hatch-can):” that is, although the educated can understand the highfaluting stuff, the farm family requires something more down to earth – comparisons to eggs, for example. 614.33-4: “dialytically separated elements:” those arrived at through smelting (.31). (Echo of diet/dialysis brings in digestion as another example of selective extraction; also, see McHugh on “portal vein” (.33).) 614.33-4: “separated elements of precedent decomposition:” presumably, of the scattery dreamstuff 614.36-615.10: “transmitted by the ancient legacy of the past…herself pits hen to paper:” ALP as author of the letter, about to re-begin (615.12), about the doings of HCE 615.1: “type by tope:” compare 20.12-3. 615.1: “word at ward:” word for word 615.2: “sendence of sundance:” semblance of substance? 615.2ff: “since the days…” a somewhat jaundiced version of FW’s talismanic Quinet sentence, most transparently presented at 281.5-13. Here the sense is that “Giacinta, Pervenche and Margaret” (compare “la jacinthe..., la pervenche, and la marguerite” (281.5-6)) are less like wildflowers and more like banshees of the Kathleen ni Houlihan stamp. Stephen, encountering one example in “Circe,” and being asked, rotely, as part of an injunction to get himself killed, “You met with poor old Ireland and how does she stand?,” answers “How do I stand you?” (His finest hour.) See next entry. 615.4: “all-too-ghoulish and illyrical and innumantic:” primitive peasant ignorance of the past: foolish, illiterate, innumerate. (Perhaps also (banshee) death-worshiping (ghoulish enough), tuneless/poetry-less, and not yet evolved to the use of coinage) 615.5: “anastomosically assimilated:” anatomically. Also, converged/converging, as in a mosaic 615.5-6: “paraidiotically:” given context (see .4 and note) nested “-idiotic-” is pertinent. Also, periodically, including sense of periodic table, where the elements are identified with their original (Adamic) and fundamental (atomic) “adomic structure” (.6), including “electrons” (.7). 615.6-8: “adomic structure of our Finnius the old One, as highly charged with electrons as hophazards can effective it:” negatively charged particles, electrons are part of an atom’s structure. Although I don’t pretend to understand the first thing about quantum theory, the note of ("hophazards") haphazardness here may recall Einstein’s famous objection to it, that “God does not play dice with the universe.” 615.10: “herself pits hen to paper:” preparing for the letter that will end the book. Pen, but also hen, to paper: throughout, the marks on the paper’s letter have also been pitted – holes and gashes as from a hen’s beak, thus helping to account for the Morse dots-dashes I have been noting throughout. (In this light, one would expect some reference to braille: maybe, but not apparent to me, here or elsewhere.) In any case, the idea of letter’s pen-as-penetration has been around since “penisolate war” (3.6). 615.10: “scribings scrawled on eggs:” again, as of two pages ago, anyway, the Patrick-Archdruid face-off occurred on Easter. 615.12-3: “Dear…Reverend…majesty:” the three alternative beginnings for FW’s letter. For “Dear” compare for instance the delta outline beginning I.8, for “Reverend” compare for instance “riverrun” (3.1), for “majesty” compare for instance 111.11. 615.13: “frankly:” franked postage is free or subsidized postage, courtesy of the government. Compare, among others, 183.18, 410.22. 615.14-5: “we humbly pray:” from vernacular prayer at end of mass, beseeching protection from wicked spirits; compare Ulysses 5.445. Several echoes in FW, for instance 576.33-4 615.15: “denighted of this lights time:” with the arrival of daylight, things have been de-nighted. 615.15: “lights time:” last time 615.16-7: “Mucksrats…will come to know good:” destructive to gardens and farms, muskrats, as an invasive species, were exterminated from the British Isles during the FW years. See 78.24 and 379.36-380.1. “Know” = no 615.17-8: “Yon clouds will soon disappear looking forwards at a fine day:” again: fulfills end of last night’s weather forecast, given at 324.25-33: “missed [mist] in some parts with lucal drizzles, the outlook for tomarry…beamed brider, his ability [visibility] good.” Also, compare this, from W. G. Wills’ play A Royal Divorce, to which the text will soon allude (616.15): “How bright the sun shines…the sunshine fades, the clouds are dark.” From about this point on, ALP’s monologue frequently intersects, as it does here, with that play’s final scene, in which the Empress Josephine dies, dramatically, in sync with her beloved Napoleon, who is simultaneously dying on Saint Helena. (Not historically accurate.) Two points to keep in mind. First, to some extent it recapitulates an earlier scene, in which Napoleon, still in love despite their divorce, secretly hovers over her bed while she sleeps. On awaking, she testifies that she dreamed of his presence, and the play’s finale, in part, recalls that earlier dream-state communion. Second, at the beginning of I.2, HCE was in the balcony, viewing a performance of the play. It is, I suggest, likely pertinent that the Dublin actress most associated with the role of Josephine was Edith Cole, wife of its perennial producer, William Wallace Kelly. Your intrepid annotator has obtained a copy of the play from the Lord Chamberlain’s Office and will be noting correspondences from hereon in. 615.18-9: “honourable Master Sarmon they should be first born like he was:” in Scotland, “Master” denoted (denotes?) the first-born son and heir (see next entry); otherwise, a respectful title for a young man of the family 615.19: “first born:” firstborn. As noted earlier, James Joyce both was and was not his family’s firstborn – his older brother died soon after birth. 615.20: “between Williamstown and the Mairrion Ailesbury:” the Rock Road tramline, going north 615.21: “we…we:” royal we: the man is in the road looking up at (and chasing after) her. 615.21-2: “we think of him looking at us yet:” that is, I still remember the way he looked up at me. 615.22: “as if to pass away in a cloud:” evaporation. ALP, river, is liquid; Issy, her daughter, “Nuvoletta” (157.8), is vapor 615.22-24: “When he woke up in a sweat besidus it was to pardon him, goldylocks, me having on airth, but he daydreamsed we had a lovelyt face for a pulltomine:” when he worked up a sweat, walking/running after me on that longcar, so that he could catch up and say, Pardon me, Goldilocks, my heaven on earth, but you’d have a lovely face for the pantomime – an early 20th century equivalent of “You oughta be in pictures.” Also, at a later stage, he woke up in a sweat beside her, having dreamed of her in a pantomime. (Why “Goldilocks,” when her hair is usually described as auburn? Maybe just flattery: before he met Nora, Joyce's feminine ideal, as recorded in Chamber Music, had "yellow hair." In any event, at 617.34 her hair is back to being not gold but “copper.”) 615.24: “airth:” Irish dialect pronunciation of “earth;” compare 175.11. 615.25: “jerk of:” jerk/jack off? (Compare 563.23.) What Nora did for Joyce on their first date - and “pulltomine” (.24) may include “pull off,” meaning the same thing – see 446.33, and Molly in “Penelope:” “I pulled him off into my handkerchief.” 615.27-8: “Sneakers in the grass, keep off:” common expression (snake in the grass) for a sneaky villain. Also, “Keep off the Grass” was current (it appears in “Nausicaa”), as was “sneakers” in the sense of soft shoes. And, of course, Saint Patrick, telling the snakes where to get off 615.30: “whisperers for his accomodation, the me craws:” an “accommodation house” is a brothel; in “Nausicaa” Gerty is contemptuous of “fallen women off the accommodation walk.” FW’s Mrs McGrath is sometimes associated with prostitution or other forms of verboten sexuality. 615.31-2: “It’s margarseen oil. Thinthin thinthin:” compare 7.32: “where our maggy seen all.” Also, margarine is made from vegetable oils (.31-3). At the time it was widely considered to be a cheap and nutritionally inferior substitute for butter (and even here is to be spread extra-thin); in “Lestrygonians” Bloom, seeing an “Underfed” child, equates a diet of “potatoes and marge” with bad health induced by poverty. 615.33: “bare full sweetness against a nighboor’s wiles:” the complaints about McGrath are hard to pin down. Still, it seems reasonably clear that slander – bearing false witness – against ALP and/or her husband is near the top of the list. On the other hand, she has to caution herself not to surrender sexually, to bare all her sweet self, to the wiles of someone nearby, probably the same McGrath, and compare 584.5-6. 615.33: “nighboor’s:” a nigh boor would be an adjacent lout. 615.34: “slimes:” again, snakes – later “Wriggling reptiles” and “snigs” (616.16, 17) 615.35: “shames:” Shems 615.36: “the low:” the law 616.1: “Molloyd O’Reilly:” my lord, from a remembered era when husband and wife addressed one another as “my lady” and “my lord.” (Also, the language signals an uptick in ALP’s estimation of him – at least partly in recoil from the renewed slanders. ) One of several instances where HCE doubles or overlaps with his antagonist, Persse O’Reilly. 616.1-2: “hugglebeddy fann:” a slugabed: he’s still hugging the bed. (O Hehir glosses “fann” as “weak, languid.”) See next note. 616.1-2: “now about to get up:” that is, he still hasn’t completely arisen 616.3: “called Ervigsen by his first mate:” question: could his first mate – wife - have been Lilith/Lilly/Lilly Kinsella/Mrs. McGrath, etc? (Apocryphally, Lilith was Adam's first wife.) Again, the whole McGrath business is exceptionally murky. In any case, first mate as ship’s officer, second in command to captain. Scandinavian names (here, with overtone of Leif Ericson: compare 326.30) usually signal Viking invaders, in their dragon ships. 616.4-5: “For a pipe of twist or a slug of Hibernia metal:” that is, for something of little value. Hibernia metal, which doesn’t exist, would presumably be even cheaper than Britannia metal, standard flatware material for would-be bourgeois households not yet able to afford silver. (Or so it is represented in “Circe.”) Further, a “slug” of said metal would be 1. bullet-sized (that is, small, inexpensive); and, more to the point, 2. a bullet. Compare next entry. 616.5-7: “we could let out and, by jings, someone would make a carpus of somebody with the greatest of pleasure by private shootings:” We would happily let fly – with, for instance, a slug – and shoot him dead. McGrath, that is. Compare Joyce, in a letter to Nora, about an imagined rival “whose heart I long to stop with the click of a revolver.” See .7-10 and note. 616.6: “by jings:” by jingo: refrain of truculent music-hall song; origin of word “jingoism” 616.7-10: “And in contravention to the constancy of chemical combinations not enough of all the slatters of him left for Peeter the Picker to make their threi sevelty filfths of a man out of:” notwithstanding the law of conservation of matter, after I was done with him the pieces of what was left wouldn’t add up to a tiny fraction of a whole human body. (Compare Stephen’s revenge fantasy in “Proteus:” “Shoot him to bloody bits with a bang shotgun, bits man spattered walls all brass buttons.”) 616.10-12: “Good wheat! How delitious for the three Sulvans of Dulkey and what a sellpriceget the two Peris of Monacheena! Sugars of lead for the chloras ashpots!:” The main idea is that, once he had been blown to bits (see previous entry), his (pretty minimal) scatterings would then be sold off for their commercial value, as food or whatever. “Carpus” (.6) like “cropse” (55.6), is to become “Good wheat” (.10) or “Sugars of lead,” a (poisonous) sweetener added to food and wine by the Romans and others; it may be pertinent that bullets (slugs) are made of lead. “Chloras ashpots:” chlorate of lime was a disinfectant for ashpits and, among other things, outdoor privies; the Gerty of “Nausicaa,” we are informed, uses it twice a month on the family outhouse. (Also, see note to 613.26.) Quite an insult, this: the minimal bits from what's left of him will be used to clean outdoor toilets. Compare Kent in King Lear II.2: "I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and daub the wall of a jakes with him." 616.11: “three Sulvans of Dulkey:” pub’s Sullivans – customers, sarcastically compared to three sultans of Turkey, matched, orientally, with two peris. There are usually twelve of them (for that matter, there’s only one sultan of Turkey), but here, they’re combined with “two Peris” to make three, two: 32 – so probably “Sulvan”/Sullivan can be taken as an echo of eleven. 1132. 616.13: “valency:” in sense of atomic structure, see McHugh’s note and compare 615.6-8 and note. 616.15: “salesladies…his real devotes:” the salesladies are his true devotées, presumably because he has money to spend. Also, as McHugh notes, A Royal Divorce. 616.17: “snigs:” sniggers: things people are saying about her. Overtone of sneaks and snakes – common epithets for ALP’s enemies. 616.18: “committee of amusance:” committal of nuisance – blanket legal term for a range of infractions. Occurs in “Circe” 616.18-9: “or could above bring under same notice:” “above” probably means abovementioned – i.e. the snaky sniggerers. (But also compare note to.15.) She could have them brought in under the charge just mentioned - committing a nuisance. 616.20ff: “About…:” as best I can tell, until about the bottom of p. 617 the female voice mixes ALP and Kate, and the male subject is sometimes HCE and sometimes McGrath. Perhaps relevant that it goes from the Workmen’s Compensation Act (.25) to the Married Women’s Property Act (617.34-5): the former would be important to employees concerned about their rights, the latter to a wife concerned about hers. 616.20-1: “coerogenal hun and his knowing the size of an eggcup:” compare 110.22: “About that original hen.” “Hun” is Danish for “she.” “Coerogenal” can accommodate co-original (sin): he and she, both Adam and Eve, Hun and hen, with the issue of ultimate blame amounting to a roundabout question of chicken or egg. 616.20: “the size of an eggcup:” a fairly common expression, like “bigger than a breadbox” or “as long as a football field,” for a vessel larger than a thimble but still quite small 616.21: “a skulksman at one time and then Cloon’s fired:” I’m not sure how it fits here, but since “skulksman,” as glossed by Petr Škrabánek, derives from Czech “s kulkou” (with a bullet), “fired” probably indicates, among other things, the firing of a gun. See .5-7 and note. 616.22-4: “Stuttutistics shows with he’s heacups of teatables the old firm’s fatspitters are most eatenly appreciated by metropolonians:” a digression, for sure, related to the pub’s business doings. The gist is a statistical assessment of which of the regular customers most like the sausages the inn serves; the answer is the metropolitan ones – that is, the bonafides out of Dublin. (A polony is a kind of sausage, popular or once popular in pubs in the British Isles.) For whatever reason – maybe just because it’s early morning - .20-.24 includes the fixings for a breakfast: eggcup (therefore, presumably, egg), tea cup (therefore, presumably, tea) sausage, tea-table eatables (“teatables”). Some pork sausages, when being fried, spit out fat. 616.25: “Wolkmans Cumsensation Act:” sexual innuendo is highly likely, especially if “Wolkmans” echoes “Womans” (compare 617.34-5). “Sensation” occurs three times in Ulysses as a synonym for orgasmic feelings, and Molly uses the word “come” in its sexual sense. (Today’s pornographic spelling, “cum,” was probably not current.) 616.29: “king’s evils:” evils caused by the king 616.30-1: “His giantstand of manunknown:” since WW I, several countries have had monuments, known as cenotaphs, to “unknown” soldiers/warriors; Britain’s is in Whitehall. See next entry. 616.31: “No brad wishy washy wathy wanted neither:” whoever we bury as the “unknown,” don’t let him be anyone wishy-washy. 616.31-3: “Once you are balladproof you are unperceable to haily, icy, and missilethroes:” recalls sequence of I.2-I.3: Pierce O’Reilly’s ballad being sung as HCE’s window is battered and shattered by hailstones, which, after they melt away, he then takes to have been real stones – that is, thrown missiles. For “balladproof” – bulletproof – compare 616.21 and note. 616.33: “Order now before we reach Ruggers’ Rush!:” a familiar advertising come-on: Order now and beat the rush! 616.33-4: “As we now must close:” in fact, it will take her a long time – arguably forever – to sign off. 616.34: “all in the best:” compare letter, 111.11: “allathome’s health well.” 616.35-6: “Mr Stores Humphreys: So you are expecting trouble, Pondups, from the domestic service questioned?” that is, from what was known as “the servant problem” – the difficulty of finding reliable servants. “Pondups:” Perhaps. Also, an employee has been questioned about some suspected misdemeanor, e.g. not knowing the business (.20-1) or giving guff to a customer (.21-2). Given context, “Stores Humphreys” is HCE as merchandiser. (Again, the Mullingar House was also a store.) 617.1: “Levia, my cheek is a compleet bleenk:” compare 185.10-13. Addressing ALP (Anna Livia): my cheek is completely (French “blanc”) pale because I don’t have anything to blush for. (Which, of course, means that he really does.) 617.3-5: “Whereapon our best again…will now concloose:” again, she’s promising to stop but doesn’t. 617.3-4: “a hundred and eleven ploose one thousand and one other blessings:” 111+1001 =1112. (Is there a 20 secreted somewhere in the neighborhood, to make another 1132? If so, I can’t find it.) In any case, incorporates Irish slogan "Cead Mille Failte" (A Hundred Thousand Welcomes) and ALP’s 111 children. (Or, read as Roman numerals, three.) Also, FW variants of “blessings” are likely to overlap with French "blesser," wound. “A thousand blessings” occurs frequently in Burton’s Arabian Nights translation and in some religious documents, both Muslim and Christian. 617.5: “epoostles to your great kindest:” (apostles’) epistles to your great kindness. Echoes I Corinthians 13.13 (an apostle’s epistle): “the greatest of these is love.” (Or “charity” – in either case, a form of kindness.) 617.5: “for all at trouble to took:” McHugh has “that trouble to take;” I would add “for all the trouble it took.” 617.6: “all at home:” again, compare letter, 111.11: “allathome’s health well.” Also, “at home:” well into the 20th century, a formal announcement that the establishment will receive visitors 617.6: “old Fintona:” compare “Finntown” (78.18, 265.28); Mink lists as a term for Dublin. 617.7-8: “whool wheel be true unto lovesend so long as we has a pockle full of brass:” we will be true to him as long as he has (and therefore we have) brass, contemporary slang for money. Equal-opposites complication: brass currency (i.e. “brass farthing”) was counterfeit and proverbially worthless. 617.7: “be true:” equal-opposite: betray. Compare 459.20-1. 617.8-9: “Impossible to remember persons:” again, dreams are quickly forgotten. 617.10: “pellow his head:” put his head down on the pillow – going to bed, here to dream and “conjure up” Finn McCool/McGrath 617.11-2: “mystery man of the pork martyrs:” Patrick Tynan, otherwise known as “Number One,” believed to have plotted the Phoenix Park murders. Contemporary accounts sometimes refer to him as “mystery man,” “a mysterious figure,” etc. 617.13-4: “changed their characticuls during their blackout:” that is, the players have changed into new roles during the blackout – theatrical term for lights-out between scenes or routines, the night’s dream. Evidently the Timothy and Lorcan characters are now both playing “Timsons.” 617.14-5: “pudge the daylives out through him:” not just (McHugh) punch the daylights out of him, but eviscerate him to the point that you can see daylight through him. See 616.7-10 and note and next entry. 617.17: “Good licks:!” successful blows in boxing – as in “a good licking” 617.17-9: “Well, this ought to weke him to make up. He’ll want all his fury gutmurdherers to redress him:” both 1. variant on: It will take all the king’s horses (here, fairy godmothers (also furies)) to put him together again; and 2. Well, that ought to finally wake him up and get him “redress”ed. Again, as Finnegan, he has been asleep, or at least out of commission, for a long time. (As Finn, even longer.) 617.18-9: “He’ll want all his fury gutmurdherers to redress him:” like (McHugh) Cinderella’s fairy godmother, dressing her up for the ball: it will take a bunch of them to get him ready. Also, it will require a binge of murdering to redress the wrongs he has suffered, presumably from McGrath etc. 617.20: “Has now stuffed last podding:” given ALP’s habit of associating McGrath with sausages: black puddings, blood sausages, boudins. Sexual innuendo certainly possible: during her last sexual encounter she was fantasizing that McGrath was her “pegger” (584.5), and, as Bloom explains in “Cyclops,” an erection is made erect by being gorged with blood – like, say, a blood sausage. 617.21: “creeps o’clock toosday:” if I am right that the primum nobile FW date is Monday, March 21, 1938, and the morning after, (“toosday") today would be (“toosday”) Tuesday. 617.21: “Kingen will commen. Allso brewbeer:” among distinguished guests, second only to the king would be Sir Arthur Guinness, brewer of beer. 617.23: “post as from Boston transcripped:” compare 111.7-8: “letterpaper originating by transhipt from Boston (Mass.)” – the newspaper from Boston as the letter from Boston 617.23-5: "Femelles will be preadaminant as from twentyeight to twelve. To hear that lovelade parson, of case, of a bawl gentlemale, pour forther moracles:” the females will be in church to hear that lovely parson (Father Michael) a born gentleman, hold forth. (“Moracles?” perhaps his homily is about miracles.) “Bawl gentlemale:” compare 93.5: “rael genteel.” The 28-to-12 ratio of females to males in church attendance: minus Issy, FW’s leap-year girls, who swooned over Mick in II.1 and Yawn in II.1-2, compared to the twelve male customers showing up, probably with reluctance. As noted before, a recurring Joyce theme: mobs of women attracted to priests, as Bloom puts it in “Nausicaa,” “like flies round treacle” – his theory being that, because celibate, priests, at least the Catholic ones, are pressurized vessels of bottled-up semen, which oozes out through their pores and envelopes them with an aura of pheromonic “mansmell” that women find irresistible. (In "Penelope," Molly keeps the handkerchief into which her first lover, Mulvey, ejaculated, "under my pillow for the smell of him.") Here, be it noted that Father Michael, gentleman or not, is “pour”ing forth, and that the women (“preadaminant”) predominate because they ("-aminant") aiment him. Also, “parson, of case” and “forther…moracles” echo two familiar formulae from FW’s letter, “present of wedding cakes” (111.13-4) and “Father Michael” (111.15). 617.27: “by eight hours shorp:” that is, by 8 a.m., sharp - right now, about an hour away 617.27: “So help us to witness to this day to hand in sleep:” sounds to me like rhetorical tags from a funeral service/sermon 617.29: “Form of Mayasdaysed:” B. P. Misra: “Dazed by silence, or made silly by illusion.” 617.30: “Well here’s lettering:” yet again, despite repeated promises to wrap things up, she’s starting all over. 617.31-2: “I wisht I wast be that dumb tyke and he’d wish it was me yonther heel:” again, threatening her enemy, if, as I wish, he was near me, he’d wish that he wasn’t. 617.32-3: “The sweetest song in the world:” as a fan of Irish music, your annotator is not inclined to argue with this assessment of the preceding (see McHugh) “I wish I was on yonder hill,” etc. 617.34: “native copper locks:” Wikipedia describes “native [unrefined] copper” as being “reddish, orangish, and/or brownish” – plausibly “Aubumn” (auburn - .36) – again, Nora’s hair. 617.35-618.1: “a correspondent paints out that the Swees Aubumn vogue is hanging down straith fitting to her innocenth eyes:” fashion note: auburn hair, cut straight to just above the eyes, is in vogue for Autumn, fashion’s main season. “Paints:” hair coloring or some kind of makeup. The fashion magazine Vogue was prominent during the FW years. Also, ALP’s hair is back to being auburn. 618.1-19: “If…mirror:” True confession: this paragraph pretty much defeats me. I don’t know if it’s my fault or hers, but trying to follow ALP’s line of thought when she’s oscillating between sentiment and spite is often, for this annotator, a bridge too far. Up to 619.19, much, if not most, of her monologue continues to be taken up with angry retorts to a bewildering array of accusations, real or imagined, against herself and her husband; then the mood changes almost completely. 618.1ff: “If all the MacCrawls…:” among their other failings, the much-execrated McGraws/McCrawls/snakes don’t know how to handle virgins/handle girls (.2, .3). Listen, guys: what you want to do is, chat us (women) up (.3). (.7-9) – even our old friend the cad with the pipe is an example. This is followed by an instance of what are always, to me, ALP’s inexplicable fugues on the subject of cured meats, after which the worm turns, again: Lilly is now the subject of (vague) scandal having to do with having had “a certain medicine” (the language is heavy with insinuation) delivered in a bottle. (Best guess: an alcoholic beverage, disguised as medicine, and the last thing a newly-respectable lady would want to have widely known, although the fact that a male figure, “the waxy” (meaning cobbler or bootmaker?) – her husband? - was the one sent to the hospital, and what’s more might never come out alive, may raise suspicions of poisoning, suspicions which have cropped up earlier throughout the book; in fact “medicine” and cognates (e.g. 24.5, 193.5, 413.11, 557.31) can be curiously ominous words in FW.) The upshot will be that if you check your mail you will read the court records about Lily, apparently no longer married (widowed?), but/because indecorously “surprised” (.16) by tabloid photographers enjoying herself amid signs of prosperity (perhaps inherited from her thankfully late husband) – sofa, grand piano, in fact “under” the grand piano (“and a lady!”: Tut tut) - to be sure, pulling a long face (.18) for a bit (probably for the camera), but all in all enjoying herself, especially when the same “kissing solicitor” (.4-5) - “solicitor,” surely, in double sense of lawyer and pimp - “walks in” (.18) “all kisses.” 618.3-7: “The cad…will now engage in attentions. Just a prinche for tonight!:” “cad” in sense of unscrupulous womanizer. He will address his attentions, as usual, to women. A prince for a night! (The morning after will doubtless be another story.) 618.11: “waxy:” slang for cobbler (probably occurs in this sense in “Aeolus”), and we do have (“leatherbox”) leather in the next line, and later learn that, however loathsome, Sully “is a rattling fine bootmaker in his profession” (.29-30). 618.20-34: “That…crispianity:” as before, ALP defends her reputation against rumors – see, e.g., next entry. 618.20-3: “That we were treated not very grand when the police and everybody is all bowing to us when we go out in all directions on Wanterlond Road with my cubarola glide?” How can anyone claim that I wasn’t treated with all respect, considering that the police and everyone else bowed down to me on my last outing? 618.22: “cubarola glide:” “The Cubanola Glide” was a dance as well as a song. 618.24: “opennine knighters:” compare “Circe:” “elected knight of nine” – that is, one of the Knights Templar 618.24-5: “we were never chained to a chair:” perhaps a response to 585.7-8: “I chained her chastemate.” “Chaise” is French for chair. Behind both, I suggest, is a feature of the bedroom: “Woman’s garments on chair” (559.8). 618.25-6: “no widower whother soever followed us about with a fork on Yankskilling Day:” compare 626.12-3. The fork may relate to HCE’s three-pronged E insignia. Oxford editors have “whiter” for whother.” 618.26: “Yankskilling Day:” Thanksgiving is a uniquely American (Yank) holiday (and of course requires killing a turkey; a “Yankskilling” turnabout would be only fair play). Joyce enjoyed celebrating it with his American friends. 618.26-30: “Meet a great civilian (proud lives to him!) who is gentle as a mushroom and a very affectable when he always sits forenenst us for his wet while Sully is a thug from all he drunk though he is a rattling fine bootmaker in his profession:” compare/contrast that rich fellow - who is so sweet (in fact, gentle as a mouse) and respectful to me when he sits down for a drink (“his wet”) – with Sully, who everyone knows is a drunk and a thug, though admittedly good at either making boots or handling wagers. (Sackerson is the inn’s “boots.”) 618.26-7: “a great civilian…mushroom:” Byron in “A Vision of Judgment:” “mushroom rich civilian” – a nouveau riche. See 543.13 and note. 618.32-3: “would be constably broken into potter’s pance:” compare Jeremiah 17:1-7, in which God threatens to destroy and abandon Israel, just as a faulty pot is discarded from the potter’s wheel: here the destroyer is ALP’s friend “sergeant Laraseny” (.31), the constable who will give Sully the third degree, breaking him into bits. 618.34: “Nollwelshian:” certainly cryptic, but according to 573.2-4 Sulla/Sully is connected with Mauritius/Magravius – the manservant, who is of Norwegian origin. (But then so, although apparently to a lesser degree, is HCE.) 618.35-619.5: “Well…parzel:” more of ALP as a self-consciously refined hostess – resuming her “polite” conversation with a real “human” (as opposed to you-know-who), a gentleman friend relaxing in her company with a few drinks and his pipe; for others she is happy to offer around cakes – only one per person, now! – while giving effusive credit to the prosperous merchant whose Christmas gift they were, and whose personal acquaintance she is happy to publicize. 619.2: “urogynal pan of cakes:” another note from the letter: compare 111.13-4: “a beautiful present of wedding cakes.” It was customary to send pieces of wedding cake to those who weren’t at the ceremony. Unmistakable overtone of urogenital (along, God help us, with “pan,” not to mention “pee” in “one piece”) doesn’t add to their appeal, especially if one remembers Shem’s favorite drink (“Fanny Urinia” (171.27)). 619.3-5: “Adam…Finnlatter…for his beautiful crossmess parzel:” at 334.31-5, Adam Findlater’s Christmas present is the pub’s almanac picture. 619.4: “grocerest churcher, as per Grippiths’ varuations:” a valuation (as Bloom uses the term) publicly available documentation of how much a certain property is worth. According to the record – says ALP - Adam Findlater is the best-grossing grocer around. (In a small way, the Mullingar House would be a competitor.) 619.5: “crossmess parzel:” again: the “Christmas letter,” often including money (or, here, a parcel), sent by Irish-Americans to their families back in the old country 619.5: “like their demb cheeks, the Rathgarries:” to say, sarcastically, that you “like” someone’s “cheek” is to say that they are being impudent – acting out of line or above their station. Because Rathgar is an upper-crust neighborhood (Joyce was born there, which going by Portrait’s status trajectory means it was his classiest dwelling during all his years in Ireland), the implication may be that the Findlaters are arrivistes, compared to her own ancient lineage. Still, it may be that this is the same “Rathgreany” that she’d like to visit before going abroad (620.11). 619.7: “wagging:” their tongues, about ALP et al. 619.7: “about around the rhythms in me amphybed:” the river sounds evoked in I.8 – but probably also the sounds, real or rumored by wagging tongues, of suspicious sounds from her bedroom 619.12: “stays under the himp of holth:” as at the beginning of I.1, Finn is buried under Howth Castle and Environs – his head under the Hill of Howth, his body stretching to Phoenix Park. Hence “Rise up, man of the hooths, you have slept so long” (.25-6). Like (see next entry), Hereward the Wake, he will someday rise again. 619.12-4: "The herewaker of our hamefame is his real namesame who will get himself up and erect, confident and heroic when but, young as of old, for my daily comfreshenall, a wee one woos:" the kernel of this statement is the legend of Hereward the Wake, a quasi-historical Anglo-Saxon strongman who like Robin Hood fought the Normans, and who like Finn and Arthur may yet return to save his people. (Compare 255.5.) Taking his side leads ALP to dismiss the competing races of Picts and Scots as “pigs and scuts” (.11), and gives her an out for any transgressions in her past: “Hence we’ve lived in two worlds” (.11) – we’ve lived two lives, one of them beneath our birthright – but in truth our real “namesame” is not Earwicker but “herewaker” – Hereward the Wake, whose reawaking we eagerly anticipate. “Daily comfreshenall:” confessional/freshening-up, but also the many preceding invocations that he should wake up. “Real namesame:” Royal Nonesuch - See 570.2 and note. Here, another token of her blue-blooded ancestral line 619.17: “P.S.” yet another way of not really ending 619.17: “Soldier Rollo’s sweetheart:” So’s your old sweetheart. For all her gestures toward reviving gentility, such language would probably be taken as vulgar. Also, Rollo's wife, Popa/Poppa 619.18: “nonsery reams:” reams of nonsense: Finnegans Wake, with which she’s (“fetted up”) fed up 619.18: “rigs:” to rig is to frolic, behave immodestly 619.19: “Rags! Worns out:” the book’s rag paper, now worn out, perhaps in part because of bookworms. Contemporary concern for the physical deterioration of books over time resulted in the development of acid-free paper. (See 606.23 and note.) 619.19: “deckhuman amber two:” document number two: the approaching second reading of FW, which will be a different document than it was the first time around. Also the man - human - in ALP’s second (ideal, heroic) world; see 619.10-4. 619.20-1: “Folty and folty all the nights have falled:” the forty days and forty nights of Noah’s flood 619.22-3: “Only a leaf, just a leaf and then leaves:” leaves of the book – there are only a few left. 619.29-30: “I am leafy, your goolden, so you called me, may me life, ye your goolden, silve me solve, exsogerraider!:” see 615.22-4 and note. With that wooer’s spontaneous exaggeration (“Pardon me, Goldilocks”) began their courtship and marriage, and here she pantomimically reaffirms it: good for you, you grand old blarneyer. Although the couple will probably not be making it to fifty years together, a “golden” wedding anniversary is something to think about. (“Silve[r]” may be more realistic.) 619.26: “Or is it only so mesleems?:” Your annotator used to think that, from this point on, the sleeper finally gets up, gets dressed, and joins ALP on a walk outdoors, heading to a picnic on Howth reminiscent of Bloom’s with Molly. Now it seems reasonably clear that this is all in ALP’s “reminiscensitive” (230.26-7) memory and imagination. She’s bucking him up by recalling old times, when, for one thing, she didn’t need to be his seeing-eye “aural eyeness” (623.18). 619.26-7: “On your pondered palm. Reclined from cape to pede:” as in a palm-reading, beginning with the life line. Compare 620.13 and note. 619.29-30: “goolden…may:” In Ulysses, Stephen’s mother’s maiden name is May Goulding. 619.30: “so drool:” so droll 619.32-3: “Stout Stokes would take you offly. So has he as bored me to slump:” the distinguished scholar of Celtic, Whitley Stokes (see McHugh), would turn your poetry into something that would, frankly, bore me to sleep. Also, “take off:” to imitate comedically. (“Taking off” twice occurs in this sense in Ulysses.) “Offly:” awfully? 619.34-5: “Here is your shirt, the day one, come back:“ again: I think that FW takes place between Monday, March 21, 1938, and Tuesday of the next day. Since Monday is (as in I.8), the traditional washing day, the next day, when the shirt is delivered, would be now, Tuesday – and see 614.14, where the laundry promises a next-day delivery. 619.35: “The stock, your collar:” stock and collar were washed and starched separately from the shirt; it makes sense that they should be delivered separately but simultaneously. 620.2: “brandnew green belt:” that his belt recalls the famous “green belt” (see 564.25 and note) circumscribing London confirms other indications that he is fat. 620.2-3: “Blooming in the very lotust and second to nill, Budd!:” Buddha in the lotus position. To look “blooming” is to look tip-top – here, because wearing the very latest fashion in men’s suits. (“Blooming” occurs in this sense in “Penelope,” with a pun on Leopold Bloom.) The lotus typically blooms in the spring; hence “Budd” also as “bud.” 620.4-5: “When you’re in the buckly shuit Rosensharonals near did for you:” role reversal: when you were dressed like Buckley, the Russian General almost had you killed. 620.4 “buckly suit:” given context, buckled suit, showing off his prosperous bulk, a nice way of acknowledging his girth, including the buckled belt trying to squeeze it in 620.4-5: “Fiftyseven and three cosh, with the bulge:” always hard to figure out what, at any given time, should have cost what, but 57/3 – fiftyseven shillings and threepence - seems about right for a men’s suit during the FW years. As one marker, consider Tom Kernan in “Wandering Rocks,” with his estimate of three guineas as the original price of the “stylish coat” he bought second-hand. Almost twenty-five years later, a February 15, 1929 advertisement in the Irish Times for Seales’ Department Store lists men’s suits as costing from fifty-nine and six to seventy-seven and six. 620.5-10: “Proudpurse…let us!:” More of ALP’s bucking-up routine. Along with the "Proudpurse" strain, she tells her husband how wonderful he’ll look walking beside her: people will say he’s like a prosperous Scotsman graciously escorting an impoverished Irishwoman, a fabulously wealthy sailor (Sinbad, Flying Dutchman: post III.3 regrets for having married the tailor not the sailor), or one of those (rich) stalwarts of Irish history (although on opposite sides), Patrick Sarsfeld, the Earl of Lucan, or the Duke of Wellington. Watching her walking along with her man, the women will regard her pride with covetousness and envy. 620.7: “a wonderdecker I once:” the Flying Dutchman, Van der Decken, as the romantic alternative to the homebody tailor she chose, as recorded in II.3. Compare, for instance, 327.22-3: Wagner’s Senta gazing out the window to her imagined lover. (Compare also Ellida in Ibsen’s The Lady from the Sea, Bertha at the end of Exiles, Molly at the end of “Penelope,” thinking of Mulvey, the young lover who sailed away.) 620.9-10: “Dark Countries:” “dark counties:” Evangelical term for areas not yet converted 620.11-2: “There is no school today:” Query: I wonder why not. Holiday? (Which one?) Also, if there’s no school today, why were the children doing their homework last night? My memory of schooldays was that, on the weekends, such activity was strictly limited to Sunday evening – maybe, if you were exceptionally diligent, Sunday afternoon too. Friday and Saturday nights would have been out of the question. 620.12: “does be:” generally a lower-class idiom 620.13: “Heel trouble and heal travel:” Jacob was born grasping Esau’s heel. Also, given .28-9 (see note), Achilles, who got into trouble because when his mother tried to make him immortal by dipping him into the River Styx she was holding him by the hee. Also: “He’ll travel.” Joyce was born on a Thursday, and according to the rhyme, “Thursday’s child has far to go.” Stephen, also born on a Thursday, is told this fortune in “Circe” by the palm-reading Zoe while she “traces lines on his hand.” 620.13-4: “Galliver and Gellover:” according to Brendan O Hehir, can be read as “foreigner and Irishman.” More equal-opposite 620.16: “The sehm asnuh:” compare 215.23: “The seim anew;” 226.17: “The same renew.” Here seems to include sense of “The same as now.” 620.16: “nors in soun:” noise in/and sound – that is, not very different at all. Again, equal-opposite 620.17: “’tis you all over:” one of several indications in FW that the twins embody two halves (top/bottom or front/back) of the father. 620.17-8: “No peace at all:” that is, the twins are always fighting. Nora on her children, ages ten and twelve: “in the morning before they get up its a regular game with them they have a boxing match in the bed and of course I have to pull the two of them out on the floor.” (Compare, for example, 22.25.) 620.18: “Maybe it’s those two old crony aunts:” twins or not, maybe they’re so different because the two women who baptized them were opposites (see next entry): one, speaking metamorphously, a living tree, the other a dead rock. See next two entries. 620.18: “crony aunts:” the “moirai,” “parcae,” fates – daughters or descendants of Chronos. Traditionally three in number, but here (as in “The Sisters”) Joyce cuts their number to two – “Mrs Quickenough” and “Miss Doddpebble" (.19-20), which according to Michael Begnal (I think correctly), are the names of the two washerwomen of I.8. 620.18-9: “held them out to the water front:” Mrs. Q. and Miss D. (see previous) washing the laundry along the Liffey in I.8, were literally holding it out to the waterfront. As water font, recalls the tradition that the fates would appear to a newborn at three days after birth and deliver the word on its destiny – that is, at or about the same time that a Christian child would be brought to the baptismal font. “Held out,” in my experience, fits the baptismal ceremony – the parents hold out the infant to or over the font, to be baptized by the priest. Here the idea is that their future natures will reflect their respective holders: Quickenough’s child will be Shem, “always one of the bright ones” (300.23); Doddpebble’s will be Shaun, stolid “rock oralereality” (289.3). On the other hand, raises the counterintuitive possibility that the latter is the illegitimate one, son of a "Miss," and that La Quickenough, with her suggestive Restoration Comedy name and likely affiliation to Shakespeare's Mistress Quickly, is for all that the more respectable of the two. 620.19: "Queer...odd:" at the time, virtual synonyms 620.20-1: “when them two has had a good few there isn’t much more dirty clothes to publish:” perhaps obvious: once they’ve had a few drinks, there’s not much in the way of scandalous gossip they won’t make public. (“Dirty laundry” has long been an expression for shameful personal or family secrets.) At 214.13-21, the two accused one another of public drunkenness. 620.21: “Laundersdale Minssions:” a mission laundry: a charitable organization run to supply employment for street people, prostitutes, etc. “Clay”’s “Dublin by Lamplight” laundry is an example. Spelling of “Minssions” brings in Latin “mingere;” see next entry. 620.22: “One chap googling the holyboy’s thingabib and this lad wetting his widdle:” elsewhere in FW (231.12, 265 Fn. 4, 584.9), “google” plausibly conveys the sound of water – here from the act of washing clothes, specifically the bishop’s apron of 158.30. (A “bib” can be the upper part of an apron.) “Wetting his widdle” is wetting his whistle – of the two, Shem is the drinker, Shaun the eater – but also wetting his diaper (“widdle” = German “windel” = diaper; overtone of piddle): he may just be washing the diaper, but Shem is also the incontinent one (563.5-6) – it goes with his being the below-the-belt half. 620.24-8: "But...I too.:" Lucia Joyce was born after Giorgio. ALP's memory of the night Issy was conceived, "Your wish was mewill," reflects the folk belief that at the moment of conception the mental state of the the parents, especially the mother, can affect the offspring - even, as here, determine its gender. According to Ulysses, Milly Bloom may be blond because Molly was thinking of her blond first lover, Mulvey. Here, the father told the mother he wanted a daughter, she made his "wish" ("mewill") her will, and Issy was the result. "Wish" and "mewill" include the two dotted i's which in various forms (Morse code dots, "dotter," the pupils of two eyes) signify Issy throughout FW. Lucia Joyce was named for the patron saint of those suffering from eye afflictions, for instance her father, whose "wish" may have been for something like divine intervention. "I too:" again, the Issy "I," this time capitalized, as in "Iseult," the identification of the daughter as a copy of the speaker, ALP, speaking as "I," that is the second (in Ulysses, Bloom thinks as Milly in re Molly as the "same thing, watered down") I: I, 2. Also ("too") two "I"s eyes. "Is is" (.32) will be a variant of the I-doubled theme. The memory of, apparently, his asking for a new range of sexual practices or positions ("Bidding me do this and that and the other") may reflect another folk belief, that some practices were more conducive to engendering male or female offspring. 620.27-8: “And, lo, out of a sky! The way I too:” compare 627.7-12. Since she’s talking about her daughter, “I too” probably encompasses “two i’s” – Issy’s signature. 620.29-30: “If she had only more matcher’s wit. Findlings makes runaways:” pretty clearly alludes to Lucia as “Scatterbrain” (see 99.34 and note), along with the prankquean of I.1, who three times “lit up” as with a match, and three times ran away. 620.30: “merry as the gricks:” Merry Greek: appears, among other places, in, Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida. 620.30-1: “’Twould be sore should ledden sorrow:” compare Keats’ “Ode to a Nightingale:” “Where but to think is to be full of sorrow / And leaden-eyed despairs.” 620.32: “What will be is:” as of 1928, one author described the expression “What will be will be” as a “truism.” Google confirms: even canceling “Doris,” “Day,” “che,” “sera,” and the names of various other singers and groups, the hits come to over a hundred. Joyce gives it a God-like spin (the God of “A thousand years, in thy sight, / Are as yesterday, when it is passed”), of seeing the future as already present - in other words, “Yet is no body present here which was not there before” (613.13). After all, in about eight pages, the “is” of now will begin to “be” again. See next entry. 620.32: “Is is.:” Issy. Also, emphasis of the previous point, just in case we didn’t get it 620.32: “Slops hospodch and the slusky slut too:” Sackerson and Kate. Sound here is characteristic of the former at least, for instance “Whad slags of a loughladd would retten smuttyflesks” (148.8). Perhaps pertinent that “slut” originally denoted a female slob (Kate is far from fastidious); the sexual sense of the word came later. 620.33: “He’s for thee what she’s for me:” The manservant is a version of you; Kate is a version of me. By FW standards, anyway, a pretty straightforward statement of one of the book’s main premises – that just as the children are the couple’s remembered past-as-memory and-future-as posterity, the two in-house servants, drudge and crone, embody a there-but-for-the-grace-of-God alternative version of their lives that at times can impinge and encroach on their set identities in disturbing ways. Echo of “Tea for Two” ditties, for instance “A boy for you and a girl for me,” only accentuates the point. 620.33: “Dogging you:” Sackerson’s Scandinavian origins (here, Danish, from (“cove and haven”) Copenhagen) sometimes qualify him as a Great Dane: e.g. 385.16-7. 620.34: “teaching me the perts of speech:” an underling speaking pertly – impudently – to her, which she duly resents. On the other hand, his pert words did teach her a thing or two, didn’t they? (Compare the language lessons of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.) Enough, in fact, to qualify him as a genuine educator, giving her a lesson on a language’s parts of speech. Not clear what that language was, except that it was pert – slangy, and all in all a good deal more informal than her ladylike norm. 620.17 (see note) may be an example. 620.35: “yarns:” proverbial for sailors’ (exaggerated, fanciful) tales 620.36: “cottage cake:” various recipes exist for this; it seems to have fallen from favor early in the 20th century. 620.36-621.1: “we’ll not disturb their sleeping duties:” of maid and manservant. (Again (see 620.11-2 and note) it really would be helpful to know what’s so special about this day – in particular, why there’s no school. Anyone out there with an answer?) 621.1: “let besoms be bosuns.:” Besoms – twig brooms - are previously associated (79.36, 471.32) with Kate the cleaner. 621.2: “joornee saintomichael:” Michaelmas, September 29, is the traditional beginning of autumn. Saint Michael’s Prayer (included in Ulysses and echoed several times in FW) invokes Michael as protector and victor over both winter and night – and, of course, Satan; hence his status here, now that “the lausafire [Lucifer] has lost and the book of the depth [death; the watery dream depths of III.1-3] is. Closed” (.3). French “jour” in “joornee” recognizes Michael’s day-ness; “-nee” probably includes French “né(e)” for born: his predominance is day-born. 621.2-3: “lausafire:” Glasheen lists this as Lucia Joyce, combining with (McHugh) Lucifer, bringer of light. Compare 620.29-30 and note – one of a number of hints connecting Lucia/Issy with the incendiary prankquean of I.1. 621.4: “Step out of your shell!:” earwigs hibernate and molt. 621.4: “Hold up you free fing!” Perhaps as a test of visibility: you hold up a finger or three fingers; I can see it/them clearly; therefore “We’ve light enough” to get going and won’t need “our laddy’s lampern” (.5) – the lamp/lantern that got Shaun most of the way through the darkness of Book III. See next. (The fact of the author’s near-blindness becomes increasingly present throughout the chapter.) 621.5-6: “For them four old windbags of Gustsofairy to be blowing at:” it’s just as well that we won’t need the lantern, since the winds might blow it out. (Winds usually pick up at dawn.) Mink has “Ireland” for “Gustsofairy,” presumably from (gusty) Eire, perhaps with a nod to windy Troy. (Also, possible allusion to Ethna Carbery’s popular poetry collection Four Winds of Eirinn, published 1906.) Compare 503.18; here as there the standard N-S-W-E winds, along with the four old blowhards from those points on the compass. 621.6-7: “Nor you your rucksunck:” query: why would a hunchback wear a rucksack? (Could he wear a rucksack?) Maybe throughout FW it’s been the reason he’s taken for a hunchback. After all, we’ve just heard from ALP that without it, he can “stand up tall! Straight” (620.1). 621.7: “Arctur:” again (see 549.2 and note) Arcturus: in northern latitudes, visible at dawn in the spring, although by now surely blanked out by the sun. Named a bear because of its position relative to Ursa Major. In Dublin, at 8:00 a.m. on March 22, 1938, it was almost due west, about twenty degrees above the horizon. 621.8: “Isma!:” given context, Islamic state of incorruptible innocence. Also, according to Digger Dialects, Arabic for "I say! Hello!" 621.8-9: “It is the softest morning that ever I can ever remember me. But she won’t rain showerly, our Ilma:” a “soft” morning is a misty one, that is, heavy with moisture. Nonetheless – “But” – it surely isn’t going to turn into rain. See next entry. 621.9: “she won’t rain showerly:” last night’s weather forecast was for good visibility in the morning, following the local drizzles (324.33-4). 621.11-2 “Still I’ll take me owld Finvara for my shawlders:” shawl, for the shoulders. (See McHugh for “owld Finvara” (.11).) Even though it doesn’t look like rain, she’s going to wear a wrap. 621.13: “Blugpuddels:” blood pudding, with its blood “taste” like the “tang” of urine in “Calypso’s pork sausage. A different kind of sausage (again, an ALP preoccupation) from the polony, which she apparently – like, again, Bloom in “Calypso” - likes to eat along with a cup of tea. 621.14-6: “a roost brood…all the chippy young cuppinjars cluttering round us, clottering for their creams. Crying, me:” roosting brood of children – (“cuppinjars”) Coppinger is regularly accompanied by children – like baby birds in a nest, each crying/clattering “Me!” (compare 170.15) to be fed. Also a breakfast tea set’s tea cups, wanting to be filled with cream 621.17: “Only but, there’s a but:” a formula still around today: but – and there is a but… This one is that, on this trip of theirs, he has to buy her something nice – to wit, a new girdle, at (.18-9) the market. See .20 and note. 621.18-9: “When next you got to Market Norwall:” given setting – eight pages, as the Wake turns, before “The fall” (3.15) – “Norwall” may be Humpty Dumpty’s wall. Oxford editors have “Norkwall.” 621.20: “slooped its line:” a boat (for instance a sloop) that slips its line has lost its mooring and gone adrift; a girdle, probably, has lost the elasticity which controlled the “line(s)” of the wearer’s figure. At 208.14 the washerwomen remarked on ALP’s “stout stays,” but that was a while ago. 621.20: “Mrknrk? Fy arthou! Come!:” No one seems sure as to what this consonant cluster signifies. Compare 334.18, “krk n yr nck,” an appropriately cramped “krick in your neck.” Also, compare 624.25, 625.17, 625.19 with notes – three similarly vowel-less interjections, apparently from the husband, all answered by the wife, the first two and perhaps the third as well about something he has smelled, not seen. Here, her reaction seems facetiously dismissive - on the order of, Oh fie on you! (Or, better yet, on thou!) Come on now! Maybe he either – still - doesn’t want to get out of bed, despite her repeated urgings, or is demurring on the deal she just proposed (.17), that they’ll go for a stroll if he buys her a new girdle. (After all, what man wants to be seen buying a girdle?) 621.21: “fol a miny tiny…Mineninecyhandsy:” for my – relatively, compared to your big bearspaw size - tiny (hand). More make-believe bucking-up: nothing before in FW, I’m reasonably sure, has suggested anything unusual about the size of HCE’s hands. (Joyce himself - no hulking bogtrotter, he - was proud that his were on the small side.) She’s playing up the difference in their sizes to make him feel like the protective, dominant male, e.g. 626.2-3: “Let me lean, just a lea, if you le, bowldstrong bigtider. Allgearls is wea [weak, wee]. At times.” Also, see McHugh: according to Henry Ling Roth, Marion E. Butler, and John George Garson (The Aborigines of Tasmania, 1890) Tasmanian for I is “mina” (pronounced “meena”), for you is “nina” (pronounced “neena”), and for Give me is “teany-mia-pe.” The book cites and is obviously indebted to the first Tasmanian lexicographer, Jorden Jorgensen (see next, and McHugh note). 621.22: “That’s Jorgen Jargonsen:” “jargon” in sense of some individual or group’s special language. Oxford editors insert a “my” before “Jorgen,” which would introduce a somewhat different reading: the affectionate baby-talk just reviewed (“fol a miny tiny,” etc.) is her own coining, her own personal version of aboriginal dialect. After all, it is “the languo of flows” (.21), language of not just flowers but of flowings, and she, the Liffey, is FW’s definitive flow-er. Swift-Stella’s “little language” probably figures in the mix as well. 621.25-8: “Here’s where the falskin begins. Smoos as an infams. One time you told you’d been burnt in ice. And one time it was chemicalled after you taking a lifeness. Maybe that’s why you hold your hodd as if:” something new about HCE’s history here. Once, as an amateur photographer, he took a (“lifeness”) likeness of some person or persons, apparently not ALP. In the days before flashbulbs (invented in 1929), this required using a flashlamp charged with flash powder, a highly combustible chemical compound. (Ingredients can include potassium chlorate, sulfur, lycopodium.) Something went wrong (one recalls that he was introduced as having a “Stuttering Hand” (4.18)), and one of his hands was burned, with results still visible – the slick skin of a burn wound. ALP speculates that the memory of that accident explains the (presumably, very careful) way he holds his hod – like the photographer’s apparatus, another platform on a stick - to this day. 621.25-6: ”Smoos as an infams…burnt in ice:” compare Molly in “Penelope:” “the skin underneath is much finer where it peeled off there on my finger after the burn its a pity it isnt all like that.” The burning sensation from ice-cold water is one of Bruno’s examples of coinciding contraries. (An infamous – “infame” - infant could qualify as another.) 621.28: “hodd:” hod: Finnegan as hod-carrier 621.28-9: “missed the scaffold:” both to fall as a result of missing the scaffold (314.1-8) and to “cheat the hangman”/choker (278.6) by committing suicide 621.29: “of fell design:” the exchange at 314.1ff intimates that the fall resulted from sabotage to the scaffold, which was itself of fell design. In “Cyclops,” the hangman Rumbold has “a necessary but fell office.” 621.29-31: “I’ll close me eyes So not to see. Or see only a youth in his florizel…beside a weenywhite steed:” Josephine, in A Royal Divorce: “See – his white horse!” and, “We will grow young together!” She is remembering Napoleon, who rode a white horse. (The Waterloo re-enactment of I.1 assigned it to Wellington. According to J. S. Atherton, the climactic Waterloo tableau of A Royal Divorce included a white horse alternately ridden, on different nights, by Wellington or Napoleon.) See 615.17-8, and note. 621.29: “I’ll close me yes. So not to see.” Compare 622.15 (“and me as with you in thadark”) and 626.34 (“I wisht I had better glances to peer to you”). On the one hand his seeing-eye “aural eyeness” (623.18), on the other hand ALP, out of what we are clearly to take as a distinctively female and wifely gesture of charity, affects to sympathize with, even share, his blindness. Like Ulysses, FW ends (insofar as it does end) with womanly generosity. 621.30: “in his florizel:” in his (flourishing) prime: biographical entries sometimes use “fl.,” short for “flourished,” to indicate years of highest productivity. Florizel: prince in The Winter’s Tale, in love with Perdita 621.33: “old fletch:” Old Fetch: folklore demonic figure: one’s double – its appearance can signal imminent death. Compare 85.29. 621.34: “timpul:” according to O Hehir, Gaelic for church, especially a Protestant church 621.35-6: "Or the birds start their treestirm shindy:” either as quarrel or party, a shindy is noisy. Here one is coming from the birds, singing at dawn - stirring the trees, or at least the stems of their leaves. 621.36-622.1: “Look, there are yours off, high on high! And cooshes, sweet good luck they’re cawing you, Coole!:” Leaving the trees (see previous) the birds are flying away, as usual in FW either cooing or cawing. Yet more bucking-up fantasy from ALP - obviously, they’re not really calling to him. 622.1: “Coole!:” spelling suggests Lady Gregory’s estate, site of Yeats’ “The Wild Swans at Coole.” 622.2: “white as the riven snae:” according to Ovid, the (“riven") raven, originally white, was turned black by Apollo. 622.2: “Next peaters poll:” Oxford editors insert an apostrophe after “peaters.” Probably a derisive term for Irish peasants 622.3: “elicted…elictous:” overtone of “lictor,” traditional Roman officer bearing the fasces 622.3: “elictous bribe:” election bribes; someone selected to distribute the bribes 622.3-6: “The Kinsella woman’s man will never reduce me. A MacGarath O’Cullagh O’Muirk MacFewney sookadoodling and sweepacheeping round the lodge of Fjorn na Galla of the Trumpets!:” here, at least, it seems reasonably clear that the reviled and resented Lily Kinsella is aligned with, if not married to, the reviled and resented McGrath. What isn’t clear is, which one is doing the sookadoodling and which the sweepacheeping? Still, the latter at least certainly suggests Kate the “Housesweep” (141.29). Your annotator continues to feel that FW’s hostile forces, real or imagined, have a marked tendency to congregate around Kate and Sackerson, the former a Catholic slavey in a C-of-E household, the latter a degraded descendant of the Norsemen who once ran the show. ALP’s indignant main point here, “!” included, is that it’s just ridiculous for such types to be scurrying around, sometimes with malicious intent, in the halls of authentic Irish heroes the like of Finn McCool. Of course she herself would never be reduced to such a state! – and, yes, of course she protests too much. See next entry. 622.6-7: “It’s like potting the po to shambe on the dresser or tamming Uncle Tim’s Caubeen on to the brows of a Viker Eagle:” Brenda Maddox, Nora, pp. 109-10: “Suddenly Nora picked up a chamber pot and placed it triumphantly upon the highest piece of furniture in the room.” (Maddox’s source is Arthur Power’s Conversations with James Joyce.) It’s like getting all dolled up and then wearing a chamber pot for a bonnet. Or, if you prefer, like crowning an eagle, Viking chieftain, or viceroy with a battered old hat. In both cases, the point, long a Joyce specialty, is incongruous debasement, something lowdown juxtaposed with something elevated, or supposed to be. Also, see McHugh: according to Dubliners with low opinions of Tim Healy, it was the same story when he moved into the Viceregal Lodge. 622.10-11: “It is hardly a Knut’s mile or seven:” as the crow flies, the distance to Howth is approximately eighteen miles, perhaps about ten miles more by any walkable route. Still (see next), seven-league boots might make it possible. 622.11: “mile or seven, possumbotts:” not likely a coincidence that Charles Perrault is the author of both “Seven League Boots” and “Puss in Boots” 622.12-3: “A gentle motion all around. As leisure paces:” directions on how to walk – take leisurely steps 622.13-4: “It seems so long since, ages since:” since he was awake and active 622.13: “helpyourselftoastrool:” to a stroll 622.18: “hucks:” huckleberries 622.18-9: “With you drawing out great aims to hazel me from the hummock with your sling:” according to P. W. Joyce, Duncriffan (see note to .20) is named after King Criffan, who possessed “a sling from which no erring shot was discharged.” 622.19-20: “I could lead you there and I by still by you in bed:” pretty much what’s she’s doing now 622.20: “Danegreven:” Duncriffan: tongue of land extending off southern edge of Howth; site of Bailey light; commands view of Dublin harbor; not far from last scene of Ulysses, last vista of FW 622.21-2: “Time? We have loads on our hangs:” draws on expression “Time hangs heavy on one’s hands” 622.22: “hooligan:” see 6.15 and note. Also, an Irish hooley. 622.23: “the guns:” compare 367.1-6, where the “Guns” evidently come from the customers/Sullivans: here, “hooligan”/”Sullygan” 622.23: “Sullygan eight, from left to right:” throughout the 19th century an artillery battery might consist of eight guns (the average number was six to nine), and orders of fire sometimes include the expression “left to right.” 622.24: “foxy theagues:” aside from peasant (McHugh), Gaelic for poet – here a foxy one, like the “cunning” Joyce or the Stephen of “Nestor” who imagines himself as a fox. More generally, signals a recall of the 96.26ff sequence, in which the male principal is hunted in a fox hunt. In turn, commences an extended, and final, reprise of the pub’s almanac picture; this one will go from 622.25 and start fading out at about 623.3. 622.24: “The moskors thought to ball you out:” Verdi’s opera “Un ballo in maschera” (“A Masked Ball”). See next two entries. 622.24: “moskors:” masquers. In (McHugh) the Verdi opera, Oscar the page betrays the king. 622.24: “ball you out:” bail you out; eliminate you with the ball of a gunshot: in the Verdi opera, the king is shot. 622.24-31: “Or….finish:” reprises both 1. almanac picture (fashionable hunters on horseback, at door of inn, here named either “the Stag” or “The Carton hart” (.29), the master of the hunt, the stirrup cup proffered by a young woman, this time two of them), and 2. I.2’s story of HCE’s “nominigentilisation” (31.34): as McHugh notes, “capapole” (.30) echoes “a high perch atop of which a flowerpot was fixed” (31.2-3). Both are hunting parties; both include (see 31.11-2) a man on horseback having, or about to have, a drink. Compare notes to .28, .30, and .30-1. 622.25: “drawls:” a sign of upper-class affectation 622.28: “to lift a hereshealth:” the almanac picture’s stirrup cup, as a toast 622.30: “your duck and your duty:” “duck” in sense of ducking down in gesture of submission; for “duty,” compare similar scene at 568.25: “Me amble dooty.” Also the reception given the king, at the beginning of I.2 622.30-1: “while they reach him the glass he never starts to finish:” because, like for instance the lovers on Keats’ Grecian urn, he is fixed in one moment of time, in the almanac picture, about to drink from the cup but never quite doing it 622.31: “Clap…poll:” echoes “capapole” (.30) 622.32: “stick this in your ear:” “Stick it in your ear” was, I can testify, an insult in circulation as of the early 1960’s; the first Google Books entry is 1938. In any case, one sense here is: Listen to what I’m about to tell you. 622.32-3: “Beauties don’t answer and the rich never pays:” “Don’t answer” was slang for something like “doesn’t pay off.” Rich milords were notorious for reneging on bills to tradesmen. See next, and 623.7-8. 622.33: “If you were the enlarged they’d hue in cry you:” the legal term “enlarge,” as in “enlarge an estate.” (Very) roughly speaking, a good thing for a property-owner, and the (general) sense here is another equal-opposite: just as the rich who spurn you and stiff you would hunt you down like an animal if you were poor and at large, so they would make a show of being your friends if they thought you might be worth something to them. Again: this is the hard lesson she wants him to get through his head. 622.36: “the Platonic garlens:” McHugh identifies as Botanic Gardens, adjacent to Glasnevin Cemetery; in “Hades,” Bloom, his mind on the same gardens, speculates that corpses make the best fertilizer for their flowers. “Platonic” probably implies resurrection/reincarnation – the corpse of “cropse” (55.9) cropping back up. Gist: lie still and stay dead, dear Finnegan etc. – remember what happened to you last time you came back. 623.1-2: “she seems she seen Ericoricori coricome huntsome:” the only available antecedent to “she” is one of the “two Lady Pagets” (622.27) who, like the young woman in the almanac picture, is/are lifting the stirrup cup to the huntsman. 623.2: “dogs aleashing him:” compare 227.7: “leashes a harrier under her tongue.” Here the roles are reversed. 623.3-4: “mutthergoosip:” compare “mothers gossip” (316.11-2). “Mother Gossip” is a folklorish personification of gossip. 623.5: “the score and a moighty went before him:” the twentieth Lord of Howth is said to have been the one in the Grace O’Malley story. The family – here, a score and more of successors - has continued in its position up to the present. 623.7: “Much as your own is:” see, for instance, 54.27-8: he keeps his door(s) open as well. (The inn door of Edwin Douglas’ Mine Host appears to be ajar.) 623.7-8: “You invoiced him last Eatster:” again: besides being a publican, HCE is a merchant. Depending on which way one turns the book, last Easter may or may not have been a long time ago. ALP thinks it is: whatever she means by “hockockles and everything” (.8-9), they’re something she expects from the lord, as compensation for or acknowledgement of the fact of the unpaid bill. 623.9: “Remember to take off your white hat:” in this case, as a gesture of respect; see next two entries. 623.10: “And say hoothoothoo ithmuthisthy!:” more subservience, slurred, probably, out of nervousness and haste 623.11-4: “If the Ming Tung no go bo to me homage me hamage kow bow tow to the Mong Tang. Ceremonialness to stand lowest place be!:” by music hall (and FW) convention, acts of obeisance generate stage-oriental kowtowing and the pidgin that goes with it. 623.14: “What’ll you take to link to light a pike on porpoise:” How much will it cost for you to light our way: linkboys were paid to light the passage through dark streets – here a pike, as in turnpike; accordingly, these ought to be the imagined words of the lord (.4) – although HCE was the one introduced as a “turnpiker” (31.27). 623.15: “daub:” dismissive term for painting, here as a verb 623.16-7: “Remember Bomthomanew vim vam vom Hungerig:” the expression “from hunger” or “strictly from hunger,” meaning desperately and deservedly unsuccessful, was current during the FW years. The overall implication is that Bartholomew Vonhomrigh, Lord Mayor of Dublin, was a jumped-up arriviste (“anew”) until winning the patronage of William III (not, it should be remembered, a popular figure in most of Ireland); perhaps even the snooty “von” was manufactured. See next entry. 623.17: “Hoteform, chain and epolettes:” with mayoral chain (McHugh) and epaulettes, the fancy-dress uniform he will get to wear as a result of William’s favoring him. 623.18: “I’ll be your aural eyeness:” again, one of several indications in this sequence that the husband is losing or has lost his sight 623.19-20: “Aloof is anoof:” expression: enough (here a loaf of bread) is as good as a feast 623.20: “We can take or leave:” expression: take it or leave it 623.22-3: “Clatchka! Giving Shaughnessy’s mare the hillymount of her life:” having once climbed to the top of Howth, I can testify that the ascent is steep and wearying: the mare (pulling the “car couples” (.22)), used to flat land, would find it a hell of a trek. (McHugh glosses “Clatchka!” as Russian for “jaded nag;” no wonder. Also, I suggest, perhaps the sound of the clattering horseshoes.) See 622.20 and note, and the next six entries. 623.24: “With her strulldeburgghers!:” given context, it’s worth noting that Swift’s Struldbrugs were infinitely ancient and decrepit. The horse is not the only oldster making the trip. 623.24: “Hnmn hnmn!:” as in Gulliver’s Travels, the sound of a horse’s whinnying. 623.25: “heathery:” in “Lestrygonians,” Bloom remembers the “heather” of Howth, where he and Molly lay down together. 623.26: “Drumleek:” in the same “Lestrygonians” sequence, Bloom remembers the view of Drumleck from Howth. (Also, again in the same sequence, a nannygoat “dropping currants:” see .19.) 623.26: “To scand the arising:” scanning the horizon from their perch on Howth, looking for the letter in a bottle, which will appear at 624.1-2: “screwed and corked. On his mugisstosst surface. With a bob, bob, bottledby. Blob.” The bottle has been both screwed shut and, for good measure, corked tight, to float, “bob”bing along, on the water’s surface. “Mugisstosst” echoes the letter’s usual beginning, some form of “Majesty.” “Blob” recalls the tea stain at its bottom, also perhaps the practice of blotting letters written in ink. Having earlier mentioned my belief that FW is a letter in a bottle, I take this occasion to quote from Joyce’s notebook notes designated VI.B.16.072 and VI.B.16.073, which transcribe from an April 24, 1924 Freeman’s Journal report of a real letter in a bottle, its headline, as partially copied by Joyce, being “Romance in a Bottle / Irish Missive Reaches U.S. After Forty Years.” The missive in question read “This bottle was cast into the sea at Kingstown, in the County of Dublin, Ireland, on the 4th day of December, 1882, by Elizabeth Kinch, Pave Lane, Kingstown, age 18 years. Hope some nice boy finds and returns it to me.” Forty-two years later it was discovered on Rockaway Beach, New York, by one Frank Pick, who duly informed the sender, now sixty years old. In the ensuing eleven lines (.26-36), we hear that ALP is both the author and the recipient of the letter, intended for (“the mains of me draims” (.30-1)), the man of her dreams, that like Biddy the hen she both wrote and retrieved it, “Scratching it and patching at with a prompt from a primer” - the primer, supplementing her education in literacy in general, instructing her on how to write letters. (See .31-2, .31-3 and notes.) ALP’s last words are, always among other things, FW’s envoi; an envoi can – often does – present the volume it concludes as a book cast on the waters; the North Atlantic’s currents circulate, at different latitudes trending eastward, reversing the direction that carried Miss Kinch’s Irish letter to Mr. Pick in New York. In about six pages we will be following a “vicus of recirculation back to Howth Caste and Environs,” where the letter was just spotted, bobbing along. See also .27, .28-9, .29-30, .34, .35, 623.36-624.1, 624.2, 624.3, 624.6, and notes. 623.27: “I had best. If I ever.:” compare Molly Bloom, on losing her virginity during the Howth excursion: “well as well him as another.” 623.27: “the moon of mourning:” the mourning moon is last full moon before the winter solstice 623.28: “set and gone:” given context (“mourning”) expression: dead and gone. Also, the moon has set. 623.28-9: “site of salvocean:” the view from atop Howth overlooks harbor and ocean. 623.29-30: “And watch would the letter you’re wanting be coming may be. And cast ashore:” the letter will wash ashore, get buried, then dug up: see next entry, 624.4 and note. 623.31-3: “Scratching it and patching at with a prompt from a primer. And what scrips of nutsnolleges I pecked up meself:” I know this sounds unlikely, but the fact is that Scripps College, in Claremont, California, founded in 1926, was at the time one of the few institutions of higher learning open to women. In fact, ALP seems to be saying that it’s where she learned how to read. 623.31-2: “Scratching it and patching at with a prompt from a primer:” compare Biddy’s “scratching” at the letter (111.6-7). Also, writing it: awkward penmanship is commonly described as hen-scratchings. “Primer:” Nora’s first letter to Joyce was from a how-to “copybook.” 623.32: “pecked:” Biddy is a hen. 623.34: “Hach an axe, hook an oxe, hath an an, heth hith ences:” compare to the scrutiny of letter’s letters, beginning at 119.10. 623.35: “dealt and delivered, tattat:” postman’s double knock, as the letter is delivered. 623.36-624.1: “rounding his world of ancient days:” Jules Verne’s Around the World in Eighty Days 624.1: “caddy:” McHugh: tea caddy, that is, a small container for tea – in this case for the letter, which includes a tea stain 624.2: “mugisstosst:” again, variant of “Majesty,” with which the letter is sometimes reported to begin 624.3: “When the waves give up yours the soil may for me:” McHugh cites The Book of Common Prayer; also pertinent that the source is Revelations 20:13: “The sea gave up the dead that were in it, and death and Hades gave up the dead that were in them.” Notable that the liquid ALP will rise from the soil, the solid-earth HCE from the waves. See next entry. 624.4: “buried the page:” the letter has been/will be described as having been found in a dunghill or midden – underground. FW’s letter is either washed ashore or dug up – in some versions, both: excavated from under seaside silt. 624.6: “kissmiss coming:” “Christmas is a-coming and the geese are getting fat.” Also: again, at least sometimes the letter is the traditional Christmas Letter, usually containing money, sent from Irish-Americans (Boston (“Maston, Boss” (623.36)), sometimes called Ireland’s thirty-third county, would have been considered to be their main American city at the time) to relatives back home. Also, Sleeping Beauty, waiting for the prince’s kiss to awaken her 624.7-8: “and we’ll cohabit respectable:” respectably or not, James and Nora cohabited until getting married for legal reasons. 624.8: “The Gowans, ser, for Medem, me:” gowans: a folkish term for white flowers, especially daisies. Best known from Burns’ “Old Lang Syne.” Here, the aspirational name of the couple’s newly-purchased bungalow cottage, after the English custom of giving names like “The Larches” to their country or suburban homes. As such, a token of domestic respectability - as would be, now that they’re cohabiting respectable (see previous), the addresses “Sir” and “Madame.” Perhaps pertinent that the extra “e” in “me,” turning (“Medem”) Madam into Madame, makes the difference between a brothel procuress and a lady – another (major) move toward respectability 624.8-10: “With acute bubel runtoer for to pippup and gopeep where the sterres be:” compare 309.11-310.8. 624.9-10: “bubel runtoer for to pippup and gopeep where the sterres be:” Babylon (“bubel”) had towers which astrologers would climb to see the stars, the idea being not just to be clear of atmospheric haze but to get significantly closer to the firmament. Also: at least as of a 1932 magazine notice, Hollywood was giving guided tours of “where the stars live.” 624.10-l: “Just to see would we hear how Jove and the peers talk. Amid the soleness:” Getting closer to the stars (see previous), we would be closer to for instance Jupiter, both as god and planet (Ulysses' "Oxen of the Sun," like Gustav Holst’s The Planets, presents Mars, Jupiter, etc. both as planets and deities; see 583.8-23 and note), and might even be able to hear him talking with his fellow immortals – his peers. (A down-home Music of the Spheres.) A peer is also a member of an aristocracy. “Soleness:” along with Bygmester Solness, climbing to a new height (McHugh), it may be pertinent that Jupiter etc. and his planetary peers make up the sun's (“Sol") Solar System. 624.11-2: “You’re not so giddy any more:” compare 603.16-7: “The man was giddy on letties” – crazy for the ladies. Not being so giddy now, he has a better chance of safely making his climb. Elsewhere in FW he has been described as giddy, unsteady, fainting etc. because of drink, guilt, etc. Finnegan was feeling giddy before his fall. 624.12: “graundplotting:” grand plotting: like the Bloom remembered by Molly, he had great plans that never panned out. 624.13-4: “us…us:” royal we 624.14-5: “But sarra one of me cares a brambling ram, pomp porteryark:” Sara was the mother of Isaac, whom Abraham spared from sacrifice when a ram caught in a bramble bush was presented instead. “Porteryark:” Abraham was a patriarch. (So was Noah, who may be in play via “-ark;” so, on a different level, is ("porteryark") Porter, the family’s father, thus Porter as patriarch.) 624.15-6: “On limpidy marge I’ve made me hoom. Park and a pub for me:” for some of its length it is anything but limpid, but up as far as Chapelizod the Liffey’s water does seem reasonably clear. (According to McHugh’s note on 628.6 (“moremens”), the Irish Sea, “Muir Meann,” translates as “Limpid Sea.”) The Mulligar Inn includes a tavern and is next to Phoenix Park – “a Park and a pub,” where ALP has settled down respectably, after all the scandal and her husband’s fruitless “graundplotting.” 624.16-9: “Only don’t start your stunts of Donachie’s yeards agoad again. I could guessp to her name who tuckt you that one, tufnut! Bold bet backwords. For the loves of sinfintins! Before the naked universe. And the bailby pleasemarm rincing his eye! One of these fine days, lewdy culler, you must redoform again:” a brief interval of finger-wagging, recalling an indiscretion of his from long ago, one that was witnessed and reported to her. Maybe he’s reformed, but just in case, it’s time for a re-reform. (If she could guess the other woman’s name, backwards or forwards, I can’t.) 624.17: “guessp:” gossip. The word originally denoted a woman’s best female friend. 624.18-9: “Before the naked universe. And the bailby pleasemarm rincing his eye!:” for “naked universe,” see note to 624.9-10. Once again, the policeman was voyeuristically taking in the sight; he may have had to rinse his eye because, like Peeping Tom, who spied on Lady Godiva and went blind in the offending eye, he saw something forbidden – the canoodling couple. At 380.28, “the cop” is one of the indirect witnesses of the sexual relations occurring in the inn. 624.18-9: “the bailby pleasemarm:” a baby-ish man – what “Circe” calls “mothersmothered” – policeman or not, would naturally want to please his mom. “Schoolmarm” (“pleasemarm”) has similarly matriarchal connotations. 624.21-2: “I am so exquisitely pleased about the loveleavest dress I have:” your annotator thinks that the dress was a gift for her birthday, which like Nora’s was March 21. (So now she needs a new girdle to go with it – 621.17 and note). “Loveleavest” – leafy - because green. (Compare 200.2-3, where the dress is made of tree leaves, in fact so many of them that two birds – cardinals, to be precise - were deprived of their usual perches.) As the conclusion continues, the leaves of the dress will come to double with the leaves of a book – namely, FW. 624.23: “Wordherfhull Ohldhbhoy!:” whatever else he was, Joyce was certainly wonderfully full of words. 624.24: “parafume, oiled of kolooney:” paraffin is an oil. I can’t locate anything called “paraffin perfume,” but the two ingredients were and are often combined in cold cream and other cosmetics. 624.25: “marashy:” Paris’ fashionable Marais was and perhaps still is the perfume-shopping capital of the world, at least since 1921, when Coco Chanel began selling Chanel Number 5 from her store there. Also, and by contrast, marshy water – a fitting scent for a river-woman 624.25: “Sm!:” these and later abbreviated interjections come, I propose, from the debilitated male. Also, smile, as in “Alpine Smile” – but, as the context shows, also smell 624.25: “Thy Alpine Smile from Yesthers late Yhesters:” “The Alpine Smile” is a poem by late 18th-century writer George Hardinge. The term was in circulation in Joyce’s day. Aside from (obviously) designating a facial expression, it’s not clear to me what it means, but here it’s apparently a brand of cosmetic sold by a firm or store named “Yesthers;” “late Yhesters” means that it has since (slightly) changed its name; the “Yes-” recalls Molly’s words on a previous Howth sojourn. Presumably the brand name would appeal to a woman sometimes identified as ALP or (e.g. 209.9) Alp. Sounds appropriate for a hill-climbing expedition to Howth, although of course Howth is no alp – just as oil of Killiney (.24) is no eau de Cologne and Liffey marsh is no Marais. Also, an “all pine” smell would be refreshing; Howth’s landscape includes pines. As in I.8, ALP’s outfit is largely made out of natural materials in the vicinity. See next entry. 624.25-6: “I’m in everywince nasturtls:” I’m natural in every way. (See above entry.) Also, perhaps because of the flower’s supposed pungency, the etymology of (“nasturtis”) “nasturtium” is nose-torment – which here seems consistent with the wince in “everywince.” 624.28-30: “When that hark from the air said it was Captain Finsen makes cumhulments and was mayit pressing for his suit I said are you there here’s nobody here only me. But I near fell off the pile of samples:” again, in “The Tailor and the Sailor” (see note to 312.7), the young woman engaged to a tailor succumbs to the appeal of her first love, a sailor. In this version, she’s so smitten that she falls off the shop’s stacked samples. (Then again, this also introduces the anti-romantic possibility that she mistook what was merely his request to have his suit pressed at her father’s establishment.) See note following 312.7. 624.28: “hark from the air:” compare 115.6: “lark in clear air.” 624.29: “tinger:” in several FW cases “ting” signifies the sound of a bell being rung – here perhaps the captain ringing the shop bell. Also, tongue: she was so excited by is arrival, it felt as if his tongue was in her ear. 624.34: “losing her pentacosts:” losing her petticoats sounds like the female version of losing one’s shirt. 624.34-5: “drinking their pledges:” simultaneously taking the pledge to abstain from alcohol and breaking it – another equal-opposite 625.2: “Jermyn cousin who signs hers with exes:” in a letter Joyce refers to Hitler as the “German cousin” of some British politician; the swastika is an X with the ends twisted. FW’s letter ends with x’s. 625.3: “Pharaops you’ll play:” pharaohs routinely had beards; hence his “beardwig” (.2-3) would enable him to play one. 625.4: “Aeships:” compare 104.22. Aegypt – archaic (pharaoh-age) form of Egypt. A pharaoh is the king of Egypt. 625.5: “I will tell you all sorts of makeup things:” as a woman, she will advise the man on how to apply makeup – here, for the stage. Also, of course, making things up - as illustrated in the next few lines, one of her specialties 625.6-7: “Cadmillersfolly, Bellevenue, Wellcrom, Quid Superabit:” the names of businesses and houses, real or made up, that will be lining their path; they all post friendly messages, although the “Cromwell” nested in “Wellcrom” may tell another story, and Bellevue was a famous American lunatic asylum. “Miller’s Folly” is the name of a tower in Hagley Park, Warwickshire. 625.7: “villities valleties:” velleity: a (here, perhaps villainous) wish not acted on 625.7-8: “Change the plates for the next course of murphies!:” I can remember when some Irish restaurants had two sets of servers, one for potatoes and one for everything else. Also, possible that these are printer’s plates, about to be changed because the book is ending. “Murphy” is to Ireland what “Smith” is to Britain and America. 625.8: “Spendlove’s:” since in Joyce’s time to “spend” was to have an orgasm, this carries a sexual innuendo, as McHugh’s note confirms. 625.9: “canon:” also cannon 625.9: “Claffey’s habits endurtaking:” in “Hades” and “Circe,” the corpse of Paddy Dignam is imagined dressed in what “Circe” calls “a mortuary habit.” 625.10: “parish pomp’s:” a parish pump is what it sounds like: a public pump maintained by the parish. As a gathering place for locals, it could sometimes signify provincialism or local gossip – something like today’s proverbial office water cooler. 525.10-13: “that same four that named them is always snugging in your barsalooner, saying they’re the best relicts of Conal O’Daniel and writing Finglas since the Flood:” 1. The four old men were, at least at times, a select group from among the pub’s twelve customers. 2. They were the voices of historical memory, stored in his head, under his (“barsalooner”) hat. The Flood, of course, is Noah’s: none of their remembrances are antediluvian. In fact, in II.4, from about 387.24 on, one mass drowning or other make for their reminiscences’ points of departure. 625.11-12: “your barsalooner:” again, the male principal as pubkeeper. More personal reminiscence: I can recall when Irish pubs were divided into two parts - the pub proper, where the men drank, and the lounge, which had more comfortable seating and marginally elevated prices for the ladies. The husbands would bring the ladies lady drinks – Brandy Alexanders, for instance – and then head back to the porter-drinking source. Pertinent here that “saloon” derives from “salon.” 625.12: “saying they’re the best relicts of Conal O’Daniel:” Joyce’s father boasted that his family was related to Daniel O’Connell. 625.14: “But it’s by this route he’ll come some morrow:” probably refers to the Finn in “Finglas” (.13) – Finn is prophesied to return from the dead. Antecedent of the “he” in “he’ll” is almost certainly the “king” in “kingly” (.13) – he will return as the resurrected king of Ireland. 625.15-6: “And you’ll sing thumb:” “sing thumb:” sing dumb: to hold silence, in spite of feeling that you have something to say. Compare “Sirens:” “But Bloom sang dumb.” 625.17-8: “Snf? Only turf, wick dear! Clane turf:” again, disemvowelled words (here, “Sniff”) come from the husband, are answered by the wife. Also, another sign that he is blind, by way of conventional wisdom that loss of one sense results in the heightening of the others – here, smell. (That ALP can, Sherlock Holmes-wise, distinguish Clane turf from other kinds suggests to me that she is similarly acute. Recent research confirms that women’s smell, at least at certain stages, is superior to men’s, and Joyce was a careful observer of such differences.) Also, “Clane” is an Irish pronunciation of clean – dirty turf can smoke things up. 625.19: “Mch?:” again, the man speaking, minimally. ALP interprets this as his question about the new-grown wild mushrooms. (Which, unlike the plastic-wrapped supermarket variety, can have a distinctive smell.) See next entry. 625.19-20: “Why, them’s the muchrooms, come up during the night:” mushrooms famously grow up almost-instantaneously, especially when – as in this case – it was raining during the night. (See 583.24-5 and note.) The “much-” in “muchrooms” probably derives from “mushroom houses” (Bloom in “Lestrygonians:” “Kerwan’s mushroom houses”) and the landlord’s advertisement that his houses are exceptionally spacious, that they have much room. Compare .25-6, .26-7, 628.7 and notes. 625.20: “Look, agres of roofs in parshes:” “agres” = acres. Compare the “Aeolus” vista of Dublin from on high: “different churches…Rathmines’ blue dome:” from the sky, a dome would resemble a mushroom. 625.20-1: “Dom on dam, dim in dym:” bell sounds from the churches in the “parshes,” parishes 625.21: “And a capital part for Olympics to ply at. Steady on, Cooloosus!” Dublin has never hosted the Olympics. (It made a bid in 1936.) “Part:” port – goes with boats “ply”ing, probably in an Olympic water event. (Boats conventionally “ply” the waters.) By FW standards of associative propinquity, “Steady on, Cooloosus” probably includes overtones of stadium and colosseum. 625.21: “Steady on, Cooloosus!:” again, ALP is both guiding her blind partner and flattering him: like (“Cool-)” McCool, he’s a colossus. 625.22: “Mind your stride or you’ll knock:” presumably, being a giant and all (see previous), he has to be careful, doesn’t know his own strength. 625.22-3: “While I’m dodging the dustbins:” a fleeting glimpse of ALP as Kate the cleaner 625.23: “Look what I found. A lintil pea:” perhaps a sinister undertone here: during the Sicilian Vespers, Sicilians would hold up a chickpea (“ciciri”) and ask those suspected of being French to name it, killing anyone who mispronounced it. A fairly frequent FW story; for the first occurrence, see 21.18-9 and note; also, see next entry. (In any case, more of ALP’s play-acting, and of her playing up her relative littleness, compared to big old him.) 625.23: “A lintil pea:” remembrance of 21.4-23.14 – the prankquean episode, where, standing before his door, Grace O’Malley interrogates the Jarl on the subject of peas. 625.25: “cara weeseed:” from the pub: as “Counterparts” and “Oxen of the Sun” testify, pubs would provide caraway seeds; chewing them supposedly disguised the smell of alcohol on the breath. No surprise that she finds one on the ground, near the Mullingar's pub 625.25: “Pretty mites” etc: an example of ALP’s way with make-believe, of how she will him tell all kinds of “makeup things” (625.5) – here, like some actor in improvisational theatre, working with the minimum, a pea and a seed. 625.25-6: “Neighboulotts for newtown:” Property is apportioned in lots – here in plans for opening a new part of town. 625.26-7: “The Eblanamagna you behazyheld:” an example of his “graundplotting” (624.12; see note) – here, his vision (when he had vision, however hazy) of a renewed and enlarged city, to be called Great (or Greater) Dublin. Recalls the grand municipal ambitions of his that completed III.3, beginning at 538.18 625.27: “But the still sama sitta. I’ve lapped so long:” ALP as Liffey, “alp” rearranged to spell the river’s “lap”pings: compare 66.18, 159.16. She’s been flowing, burbling, lapping through Dublin for a long time, and despite changes, real or imagined, it’s still the same city. 525.29: “don’t speak:” he won’t. “Mch?” (.19) was the last we’ll hear from him. (Or maybe not, quite. See 628.7 and note.) 625.32-35: “I’ll begin again in a jiffey…How glad you’ll be I waked you…First we turn…turn a gate:” approaching the last page, the book is about to begin again, to turn back, to the wake which is the main subject of I.1. 625.33: “The nik of a nad:” compare: in the nick of time. 625.34: “For ever after:” another fairy-tale element: They lived happily ever after 625.35-6: "So side by side, turn agate, weddingtown, laud men of Londub!" Joyce and Nora met in Dublin, but London was their "weddingtown," where they were officially married. Also an entry in Joyce's Notebook VI.B.5058 reads "londubh Chas II." Londubh is, besides being a third settlement - a Scottish village - the title of a Jacobite song, also called "The Blackbird Set Dance," about Charles II. 625.36-626.1: “I only hope whole the heavens sees us. For I feel I could near to faint away. Into the deeps. Annamores leep:” her imagination projects to their destination, at the top of Howth, from which she can see and be seen by everything and everyone. (In “Penelope,” Molly remembers a similar experience, on the top of the Rock of Gibraltar with her first boyfriend, “in the sight of the whole world.” ) Many people, on such a height, experience an urge to jump. in “Ithaca” Bloom ruminates about reports of people “falling off” of Howth to their deaths, by accident or suicide, and a scene of the sort is enacted in “Circe.” ALP romantically imagines that such a lover’s leap would be named for her if she fainted and fell. See next. 626.2-3: “Let me lean, just a lea, if you le, bowldstrong bigtider…While you’re adamant evar:” but no: instead, she’ll lean on him, he’ll be adamant, and his big strong presence will save her. 626.2-3: “bigtider:” bigtimer (compare 37.14, 398.24) plus inrushing briny tide, frequently identified with male lover 626.3: “you’re adamant evar:” compare “Nausicaa:” “Gerty was adamant” – that is, strong, steadfast, as well as a magnet for Bloom’s desire 626.4: “that wind as if out of norewere:” whatever it’s actual origin, it feels as if it came from Norway – that is, it’s cold. See next entry. 626.4-5: “the night of the Apophanypes:” the night of the Epiphany, January 6 (see McHugh) would likely be cold. 626.5: “Jumpst shootst throbbst into me mouth:” pretty clearly fellatio (“ejaculation” derives from Latin “jaculare,” shoot); also what ALP in I.8 describes as feeling “the gay aire of my salt troublin bay and the race of the saywint up me ambushure” (201.19-20) – with French “embouchure,” river mouth. In this case that wind is cold, “as if out of” Norway. 626.6: “bogue:” kind of saltwater fish; occurs in the waters of the British Isles 626.6: “Ludegude of the Lashlanns:” Norway (see .4 and note) is, obviously, in the longitude of the Lochlanns, the Scandinavians. 626.7: “weir:” according to Mink, there is a weir just west of Island Bridge. He notes that “The Liffey is tidal to I[sland] B[ridge].” Elsewhere in FW, it has figured as the spot where fresh water and salt water meet. Here, it is where the couple first met. See next entry. 626.7-8: “island, bridge. Where you meet I:” probable echo of song “At Island Bridge I Met my Doom,” as sung by an unhappy husband weighed down with children and debts. Appears several times in FW, most extensively at 102.31-103.6. 626.7-9: “Where you meet I. The day. Remember! Why there that moment and us two only?:” as remembered in “Sirens,” Leopold and Molly Bloom were similarly doubled up together by chance in a game of musical chairs. 626.9: “tiler’s:” in Freemasonry, a tiler/tyler is the official who guards the door during lodge ceremonies. (Yet another reason, your annotator believes, that Porter – door guardian - is the family’s name) 626.9: “teen, a tiler’s dot:” again, the dot over the i in “tiler.” (Makes her – see e.g. 595.5-6) a “dotter.”) Also, it’s possible – it would be consistent with FW practice elsewhere – that the “i” in “tiler’s” and “o” in “dot” can be read as a 10, that is a (“teen”) ten. 626.10-11: “swaggerest swell:” maybe obvious: the most swaggering swell of all, with “swell” as slang for flashy upper-class male 626.11: “Shackvulle Strutt:” since Sackville Street was renamed O’Connell Street in 1924, this dates the period of his (or her father’s) eminence. 626.11-3: “And the fiercest freaky ever followed a pining child round the sloppery table with a forkful of fat:” when I was about three years old, my mother, who was an artist, asked me to sit on a stool so that she could “paint” me. This meant, I was sure, that she wanted to cover me with paint, and I fled in horror. (My own mother!) I speculate that some similar childhood memory is operating here: that he wanted to feed her from his fork, as adults do, and all she could see was the “therrble prongs” (628.5) advancing on her. HCE’s E siglum may owe something to this memory. In The Decentered Universe of Finnegans Wake, Margot Norris suggests as well that the incident is behind "Save me from those therrble prongs!" (628.4) - the dinner fork remembered as Neptune's trident. 626.13: “But the king of whistlers. Scieoula!” Google Books’ earliest mention of “wolf whistle,” in sense of lecherous intent, is 1925. I suggest that “Scieoula!” is an example. 626.13-5: “When he’d prop me atlas against his goose…the sewingmachine:” presumably just after he’d surprised her on the “pile of samples” (624.30) in her father’s tailor shop. Still, it’s hard not to read “his” as referring to both the tailor - her father, with his tailor’s goose and sewing machine - and the suitor, and we have just heard that the latter “was like to me fad,” father (.10). One of FW’s several insinuations, noted by others before me, of father-daughter incest, or fantasies of same. 626.13: “atlas:” at last 626.14: “light our two candles for our singers duohs:” again: visually, i i – the Issy signal, here accentuated by the two dots of his flashing “eyes” (.15-6), which are now, like Joyce's by the time of FW, entirely or almost entirely extinguished. Maybe this is where the whole double-dot Issy tradition began. Music teachers will sometimes use a candle flame to test the volume of a singer's breath; here, it is two candle flames, for a ("duohs") duo of singers. 626.15: “I’m sure he squirted juice:” during FW’s time, belladonna juice was a cosmetic for dilating the pupils and enhancing the eyes. Both women and men used it when they wanted to make an effect. 626.17-8: “Who’ll search for Find Me Colours now on the hillydroops:” McHugh notes Joyce’s letter about the game being played in II.1 – the point was for the boy(s) to guess the color – (“hillydroops”) heliotrope – of Issy’s drawers. 626.17-8: “hillydroops of Vikloefells?:” fells are hills or mountains; here, the origins of the Liffey are from condensed (from clouds) drops from the hills. Compare 74.19, 204.15-25, 244.23. 626.19-20: “but non so for me:” “But Not for Me:” Gershwin song of 1930 – has the same note of resigned melancholy: “They’re singing songs of love, but not for me,” etc. (As McHugh notes, the “sealskers” in the preceding “while blubles blows there’ll still be sealskers” includes the Danish for “lovers.”) Also, Josephine, in A Royal Divorce: “None to save me?” 626.24-5: “And one time you’d rush upon me, darkly roaring:” Again, Josephine, in A Royal Divorce: “I was deceived – not the roar of the cannon – it is the sea!” 626.25: “sheeny stare:” “sheeny” is a pejorative term for a Jew. Again, Joyce, who more than once identified with the Jews, was known for his hard dead-on stare. 626.27: “A princeable girl:” in pantomime, the principal girl was played by a man. 626.27-8: “And you were the pantymammy’s Vulking Corsergoth. The invision of Indelond:” More pantomime, more from A Royal Divorce. Partly because of his anticipated invasion of England, Napoleon was the number-one bogeyman in the English pantomimes and other entertainments of his time. In one 1803 pantomime, Andrew Cherry’s The Magic of British Liberty; or The Disgregation of Bonaparte (coincidentally or not, 1803 also saw the production of the Invasion of England – a Farce), he is “the vaunting Corsican” – here incorporated (along with “Viking” and perhaps “hulking”) in “Vulking Corsergoth.” Whether “vaunting” or “vaulting,” the phrase is a variant on the more common “Corsican upstart” (as in “corkedagains upstored” (FW 333.11-2). 626.28: “Corsergoth:” corsair 626.30-1: “And how you said how you’d give me the keys of me heart. And we’d be married til delth us to uspart:” to McHugh’s note that this alludes to the song “I will Give You the Keys to Heaven,” Epstein adds that the opening lyrics begin, “I will give you the keys of my heart; / And we will be married till death us do part; / Madam, will you walk? Madam, will you talk?” HCE and ALP are walking, and she at least is talking. 626.31: “delth:” given “uspart” and “espart” (.31, .32), I suggest that “dearth” goes along with death and delta. The delta is where the river ends, passing out into the sea: “I am passing out. O bitter ending!” (627.34-5) 626.31: “uspart:” German “spart:” saves 626.31: “dev:” capitalized, the nickname for Eamon deValera, not a Joyce favorite: compare “devil era” of 473.8. “Duv” and “div” of .33 are probably derivatives – especially as “div,” as short for “divide,” confirms “dev do espart” (.31-2), deValera’s regime may separate us. As a main cause of the Irish Civil War, he might plausibly be blamed with forcing his compatriots to separate and take sides. 626.32: “espart:” German “erspart:” saves up 626.34-5: “baylight’s growing:” the growing daylight is coming from the east, the direction of Dublin Bay. Also, 141.28-9 indicates that the inn has a bay window. (It doesn’t, in any pictures that have come my way. On the other hand, it has undergone several renovations in its time.) 627.2-3: “from the hills again:” compare 202.27-204.20, where Issy/ALP begins her life in the hills. 627.4: “Diveltaking on me tail:” taking or (as in “Two Gallants”) “pulling the devil by the tail:” to make one’s way haphazardly, counting to luck 627.5: “saultering:” “sauntering” was a word Joyce used to describe Nora’s walk, the first time he saw her. 627.5-9: “saultering…Saltarella come to her own…For she’ll be sweet for you as I was sweet when I came down out of me mother:” “sweet water” is fresh water, whether it comes from the inland hills (like Issy) or rain (like ALP). “Saltarella” may anticipate Issy’s meeting her mate from the sea, as ALP did before, at Island Bridge. In FW, the meeting is frequently with someone named Brian or something similar – that is the briny water of the salt sea. 627.10: “I could have stayed up there for always only:” as a cloud 627.14-5: “A hundred cares, a tithe of troubles and is there one who understands me?:” 111 is the number of ALP’s children. 627.15: “Is there one who understands me?:” Josephine, in A Royal Divorce: “Do you not know me?...O, no, Napoleon, you do not understand!” 627.17: “lothing:” perhaps obvious: a combination of losing, loving, and loathing 627.20-1: “How small it’s all! And me letting on to meself always. And lilting on all the time:” her knack for making make-believe to others – her husband, in these pages – at times became internalized: she was kidding herself, too. Now, not. Compare Bloom in the graveyard of “Hades:” “The ree the ra the ree the ra the roo. Lord, I mustn’t lilt here.” 627.22: “noblest of carriage:” “carriage” in the sense of social deportment or mien. Also, until the advent of automobiles, carriages were the definitive status symbol – first, whether you owned one or didn’t; second, how classy it was, how many horses, footmen, etc.; third, whether it bore a family crest signifying nobility, and, if it did, of what rank - “noblest” or something less. 627.24: “Home!:” as in, Home, Jeeves! 627.25: “can:” ken: know; also, can tell 627.27: “pulchrabelled:” publicly proclaimed – belled – beautiful 627.27-30: “I can seen meself among them, allaniuvia pulchrabelled. How she was handsome, the wild Amazia…And what is she weird, haughty Niluna:” truth to tell, the Liffey is not, as rivers go, all that impressive. But the Amazon and Nile are, and ALP is, like Shakespeare’s Cleopatra, having immortal longings. And, after all, there was a time (see previous) when she was called, if not grand or handsome or weird, beautiful. 627.28-9: “Amazia, when she would seize to my other breast:” tradition that Amazons cut off one breast so that they could use a bow and arrow 627.29: “weird:” since Macbeth, a word associated with witches; conveys this meaning several times through FW. 627.30: “naughty Niluna:” recalls Phoebe/Diane/Hecate, the triple goddess, in the first capacity identified with the moon, in the last with the underworld and therefore witchcraft; compare “Loonely” (.34). 627.30: “my ownest:” based on Google Book samples, a sign of enthusiastic baby talk or love talk 627.31: “Ho hang! Hang ho!:” see McHugh. The Huang Ho River was called “China’s Sorrow” because, as Glasheen puts it, “It has a nasty habit of shifting channels,” flooding the land, including one drastic instance in 1852. Glasheen finds earlier mentions at 213.5-6, 322.12, 485.28, and 611.30. 627.32: “Auravoles:” “Au revoir.” Maybe not (“Adie”) “adieu” (613.2-3) after all – we’re about to re-arrive (3.5) to where we were. 627.34: “For all their faults:” for all their faults, I’m going to miss them. 627.34: “I am passing out!:” again, Josephine, in A Royal Divorce: “It will pass!" 627.34-5: “bitter ending:” because the salt sea into which the Liffey is passing has a bitter taste. Also, on shipboard a bitter end is the last length of the anchor rope; when it is paid out the rope has been extended to the maximum. 627.35-6: “I’ll slip away before they’re up. They’ll never see. Nor know. Nor miss me:” a stretch, but I would take this as echoing the final scene of Mrs. Henry Wood’s East Lynne, a favorite of the Victorian and Edwardian stage. (The original novel is remembered by Molly in “Penelope.”) The heroine, having disgraced herself and become disfigured in a train accident, returns to her family in disguise as a nursemaid. In the finale, dying, she reveals herself to her (also) dying son. Last words: “O Joyce! Leave me to my grief! See here - my child is dead! And never knew that I was his mother! I don’t care what I’ve been. I am his mother still. O my child – my child – my heart will break – my heart will break.” (“Joyce” is a former lady’s maid who has discovered her secret.) 628.2: “I go back to you, my cold father:” William D. Jenkins suggests that this is an echo of “I will go back to the great sweet mother,” from Swinburne’s “The Triumph of Time,” quoted by Mulligan in “Telemachus.” 628.2: “my cold mad feary father:” Hugh Kenner points out that this can be read as MCM – Roman numeral for 1900 – plus German vier, four: 1904. Reason? My hypothesis: 1904 was the year that Joyce left Ireland, and with it his father – the (late) “father forsaken” of “Ecce Puer” – to whom he now imagines himself returning. 628.2: “cold:” Gulf Stream or no Gulf Stream, the waters around Ireland are cold. 628.2: “feary:” Gaelic fir, man 628.3-4: “The moyles and moyles of it, moananoaning, makes me seasiltsaltsick and I rush, my only, into your arms:” in A Royal Divorce, Josephine “moans and sobs;” then, in the ensuing ten lines: “His white horse…no white horse…the white maned waves surging…cannon drown[ing] his voice…Put your arms around me…the roar of the sea!” Stage directions: “With extended arms.” Then, “Come, come, Napoleon!” 628.4: “arms:” as in the expression (present in “Ithaca”) “arms of the sea.” Also, see entry for .8-9: A child about to be baptized is carried to the font in a parent's arms. 628.5: “therrble prongs:” 1. Thurible, from Greek Øύοç, sacrifice. “Then the priest, receiving the thurible from the deacon, who kisses it and his hand, proceeds to incense the oblata, or bread and wine of the Sacrifice:” from The Catholic Church: The Teacher of the Mind, 1905. (Compare, again, entry for .8-9: following this with a baptism would, ceremonially, be FW's next-to-last convergence of Omega with Alpha.) 2. I agree with Leo Knuth: the “prongs” are the blades of a forceps delivery – there are several such deliveries alluded to in FW, and this moment both a death and a birth - in turn partially referable to what Wikipedia calls the “forceps-like pincers” of the earwig, with which according to folklore, it can become lodged in the ear, eventually burrowing into the brain. 3. I also agree with Louis Mink, that these are the “N[orth] and S[outh] Walls, extending into Dublin Bay:” this is the Liffey, flowing to and through those walls into the “bitter” (627.35) salt sea. (It will tidally reverse to rearrive at 3.5.) 4. The father’s, HCE’s, siglum is E, the shape of the prongs at the end of a fork. ALP has a memory, to some degree traumatic, of a father who “followed us about with a fork” (618.25-6), who “followed” her, when she was a child, “round the sluppery table with a forkful of fat” (626.12-3). (Other fragmentary memories of the same event may be in evidence at 8.15, 22.31, 105.6 (HCE as “The Following Fork”), 250.23, 507.35-6, and in speculations at the end of I.5 that the punctuating punctures in FW’s letter were inflicted by a “fork” (124.9).) Probably this traces to a moment in infancy or early childhood when, at supper, her father was trying to feed her something she did not necessarily feel like eating. 628.7: “So soft this morning, ours.” Josephine, in A Royal Divorce: “Soft!” 628.7: “But one clings still:” “The Last Leaf,” by O. Henry. An ailing woman believes that she will die, during the winter, at the moment the ivy outside her window loses its last leaf. Her neighbor, an elderly artist, braves the winter weather to deceive her by painting a leaf on the ivy’s wall which remains after the others have fallen away. She survives in consequence, but because of his act he contracts pneumonia and dies. (As a confirmed Porterite, it gratifies me to note that O. Henry’s real name was William Sydney Porter. Joyce’s notes include a number of entries from O Henry’s story collection The Four Million. “The Last Leaf” comes from another volume.) 628.7: “I’ll bear it on me:” see 410.22, 458.7-8. 628.7: “Lff!:” her husband’s last utterance. Abbreviated and stifled, her name 628.8: “Yes:” surely what film criticism calls an “homage,” here to Joyce himself, to his latest last page, at the end of Ulysses 628.8-9: “Carry me along, taddy, like you done through the toy fair:” 1. To be carried on someone’s shoulders is to bob up and down. 2. A bottle, soon to “washup” (.11), carrying a letter, which is what, she says, she will “bear…on” (.7) her, will be bobbing up and down (624.2). 3. She is going out to sea; she is drowning; drowners (as Ulysses attests) are believed to have their whole life flash before their eyes; the seven-stage sequence of 3.4-14 will be that life, leading to the next. 4. In keeping with (täufer) baptist (see next entry), "taddy" combines "tad," slang for child, with "daddy." Children are carried to the baptismal font by father or mother, to be baptized by another kind of "father." 628.9: “toy fair:” Bonheim identifies this as German täufer: baptist, as in John the Baptist. (The word is pronounced "toy-fer.") If so, it is certainly at the least a neat fact that it should be appearing seven lines (and 77 words) before FW’s end, and that “tauftauf” appears ten lines (and 88 words) after its beginning. Note that at line 7 the river has just been given an abbreviated version of her last name, Liffey: "Lff!" After baptism, she is therefore entitled to think of herself as a (childish) "me:" "mememormee" (.14)! Rotating around, the "tauftauf" of 3.10 is accordingly paired with "mishemishe," a pattern that will repeat throughout FW. (The order is reversed, like "Eve and Adam's" (3.1) - after all, things have just passed ("through grass" (.12)) through Alice's looking glass.) 628.9-11: “If I seen him bearing down on me now under whitespread wings like he’d come from Arkangels, I sink I’d die down over his feet, humbly dumbly, only to washup:” Mary, the dove of the Annunciation with its wings spread out, and the Archangel Gabriel. “Humbly:” Mary’s submission: “Be it done unto me, according to thy will.” (Also, at one end of the book, Humpty Dumpty has finally been put back together, through divine intercession, just before - of course - a new fall.) Also, see previous entry: during Catholic baptism, the officiating priest traditionally wears a white alb, not always with other vestments, so this is what he might look like to a baby being baptized, looking up at him. "Sink" (a primitive version of font or basin) and "washup" would of course consort with baptism as a cleansing of original sin. Also, see next entry. 628.9-10: “I seen him bearing down on me under whitespread wings:” Josephine, in A Royal Divorce, after her evocation of “white maned waves surging” (see .3-4 and note): “Ye seabirds, lend me your wings to fly to the captive.” Your annotator further suggests that two other facts about the play are pertinent here. One (see 615.17-8 and note), in her dying soliloquy Josephine re-enacts an earlier scene when Napoleon watched over her while, half-aware of his presence, she lay sleeping. Two (again, see 615.17-8), Edith Cole, the performer most identified with the role of Josephine, was married to the producer, W. W. Kelly (32.29). 628.10-1: “from Arkangels, I sink I’d die down over his feet, humbly dumbly, only to washup:” Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Man from Archangel” gives the story of a Finn from Archangel who twice rescues his beloved from a storm on the Scottish coast, although the second time they both eventually die and are washed ashore in one another’s arms. Any weather coming from Archangel (or Scandinavia: 324.27, 626.4) would of course be cold. Archangel was for a long time a Viking stronghold. Saint Michael, intermittently present throughout FW, probably including its letter, is an archangel. 628.12: “There’s where. First:” see note to 623.27. As with Molly and Bloom, they have reached the place (or, rather, she is making believe that they have) where they fell in love. (Given the “makeup” component, it is possible that she is pointing to or pretending to point to a spot visible from their (real or imagined) height.) 628.12: “We pass through grass behush the bush:” Alice’s rabbit-hole is “under the hedge.” Joyce is probably conflating it with the looking-glass (through grass as well as through glass, with one final assist from Gaelic’s l-r interchange) of the sequel – which, since mirrors reflect reverse images, would help explain why Adam and Eve’s becomes (3.1) “Eve and Adam’s.” 628.13: “End here:” the latest but – since we’re about to start all over again – not really the last of ALP’s repeated promises to finally wind up her letter. Compare the washerwoman of 213.10-1: “I lovat a gabber.” Or, in the same region, “Ho, talk save us!” (215.34). 628.13: “A gull. Gulls:” Josephine, in A Royal Divorce: “Ye seabirds” 628.14: “Finn, again!:” In French but also in some English books, “Fin” signifies “The End.” When she was a child I would read my daughter, Sasha, stories at bedtime; she would invariably say “Again!” when I got to “The end.” At the end of the first movie I took her to, Walt Disney’s The Little Mermaid, that was what she said when the movie ended. 628.14: “mememormee!:” primal feeling of someone dying: Me! Me! More Me! (As such a bitter version of “Here’s me!” – words remembered from Joyce the young child, announcing his presence to his family.) 628.15: “Lps. The keys to:” To be expected at this point, a drastically overdetermined segment. 1. Arrah (here, Anna) na Pogue’s kiss (once again, in Joyce’s version, which as I have earlier proposed, combines the Boucicault story with Houdini’s wife (see, e.g. 271. Fn 1, 7-8)), transferring the prison key to her lover and thus freeing him. So: “Lps” = Lips. (It is at least another neat coincidence that, in Boucicault, the lover’s last name is MacCoul.) ALP’s letter always ends with kisses; this is the last one. 2. It is also, once again, at least a neat coincidence that according to Tom’s Directory for 1910, the proprietress of the Mullingar Hotel was one Mrs. Keys – probably pronounced “kays.” 3. Contrariwise, the two quays between which the river is here flowing out to sea would have been pronounced “keys.” 4. St. Peter’s two keys, at the entrance to either a new life or the afterlife. 5. The last story in Grimms’ Fairy Tales, “The Golden Key,” has a boy finding a golden key to unlock a box, but leaves the reader wondering what its contents will be. Clearly, they will be the book of stories just finished, now to be begun again. 6. My last pitch for the Porter hypothesis: a porter is a keeper of the keys; at 31.1 the figure about to be renamed as Earwicker is introduced “jingling his turnpike keys.” 7. Josephine, in A Royal Divorce: “I kiss your lips!...His lips move!” 628.15-6: “A way a lone a last a loved a long the:” Josephine, in A Royal Divorce: “Ah, my yearning grief and longing have wafted me thither at last!” Oxford editors have “a lone a lost a last.” 628.16: “the:” “thé” is French for tea. After the kisses – here, for example, the "Buss-" in “Bussoftlhee,” “Lps,” the (“keys”) key in Arra na Pogue’s kiss (.14, .15, .15) - FW’s letter ends with a tea stain.
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