)
nghtJlngbangshot
mto the goal of her gullet'-and the myth is washed clean of its romantic incrustations.
re-joyce-a-burgess
?
The Man-made Mountain
who seem to represent the three Fates. When the captain comes into
the tavern for the third time, he is followed by Kersse, who greets all cheerily: 'Peiwei toptip, nankeen pO\ltdelounges. Gives fitir day. Cheroot. Cheevio! ' He has apparently been to the races, since he is asked, 'And, haikon or hurlin, who did you do at doyle today, my horsey dorksey gentryman. ' Pidgin English mingles with the tongues of the Norsemen, and, through a fug of noise and drink, we hear a
voice ofvituperation raised against 'the bugganeering wanderducken
. . . the coarsehair highsaydighsayman . . . the bloedaxe bloodooth baltxebec, that is crupping into our raw lenguage navel through the lumbsmall of his hawsehole'. The villain is evidently HCE, foreigner, invader, cheat, lecher.
And now, after a weather forecast on the radio, we hear a tale of the catching and taming of the rover. 'Birdflights', the radio assures us, 'confirm abbroaching nubtials. ' The mariner is to be made to marry the ship's husband's daughter, a confusion of Issy and ALP. 'Come Bastabasco and hippychip eggs' (HCEl 'she will make a suomease pair and singlette, jodhpur smalls and tailorless,. a copener's
cribful, leaf, bud and berry, the divlin's own little mimmykin puss (hip, hip, horatia! ) for myoid comrhade salrymar here . . . ' The 'suomease pair' is obviously the twins and the 'singlette' the daugh- ter. An Irish marriage will calm the wanderer down, stop his tricks. Soon he is 'Cawcaught. Coocaged'. There are great celebrations; somebody even sings a negro spiritual: 'He goat a berth. And she cot a manege. And wohl's gorse mundom ganna wedst. ' The mar-
riage is consummated ('if hec dont love alpy then lad you annoy
me') and, since there is an element of incestuous guilt in it all, we
hear the hundred-letter thunderclap, the fall-word in the form 'Pappappapparrassannuaragheallachnatullaghmonganmacmacmacw- hackfalltherdebblenonthedubblandaddydoodled'. The taming of the tempestuous rover is summed up in 'his loudship was converted to a landshop'.
But we cannot get away from that primal guilry act in the park,
and, as we have committed ourselves to a marine context, the park
quite naturally becomes the sea. We have gone back even further than the Garden of Eden and see man himself arising from a watery element. The theme of guilt is not developed, only mentioned, for we now have an 'enterruption'. That this is to have a strong Slav flavour is prefigured in 'Check or slowback. Dvershen. ' Kate the cleaning-woman is introduced with Czechoslovak prepositions (which, like those of Russian, are single ktters -v, s and so on). The
23 2
Mactalion ofthe Host
children are asleep, she says, and the mistress of the house is in bed.
If Earwicker is 'whishtful to licture her caudal' he can join her. The mentl? TI ofth~ b. e~roomb:ir;-gs in the. sound of the branch tapping at the wllldow- DIp. Kate IS III her gUIse as keeper of the Wellington Mus~um m Phoenix Park and tuis, far from sending HCE to join his
lady III repose, opens up the old world of imperialistic war again. A ,PIcture on the wall of the bar shows the Charge of the Light Bngade, with hunting overtones (horses, HCE as John Peel, the sound of the horn or bugle) and Earwlcker is dream-drawn to tellinrr a story about 'Arthur Duke'. Inevitably, this is full of HCE's ow~ guilt-:it was. of him, my wife and I thinks, to feel to every of the
yo~nglllg frUlts, tenderosed like an atlantic's breastswells or . . . a bnght tauth bight shimmeryshaking for the welt of his low. And where the peckadillies at his wristsends meetings be loving so lightly dovessoIld the candIdacy, me wipin eye sinks, of his softboiled bosom should be apparient even to our illicterate of nullatinenties. ' Here we are again-the two creamy roses in the park, the lobsters or
redcoats, the stuttering guilt:
Imagine twee cweamy wosen. Suppwose you get a beautiful thought and cull them sylvi. as sub silence. T~e~ inmaggin a stotterer. Suppoutre him to been one btg! ? ermaster OmmbIl. Then lustily . . . immengine up to thre~ longly lu~kmg. lobstarts . . . How do, dainty daulimbs ? So peached to pIck on you m thIS way, -prue and simple, pritt and spry! Heyday too Malster Faunagon, and hopes your hahititahiti licks the mankey nuts! '
. The pushing. of . the guilt back to the beginning, to the giant Fmnegan reposmg m the unconSCIOUS, is not to be permitted. The customers call for a television show presented by Butt and Taff (Shern and Shaun disguised as cross-talk comedians) and they are anXIOUS that they should re-enact the old story of Buckley and the
Russian general ('How Burghley shuck the rackushant Germanon'). There IS, m fact, an apocryphal tale in existence about an Irish soldIer, Buckley, who, fighting for the British in the Crimean War was in a position to shoot a Russian general when this latter had le~ d? w~ his tro~sersto defecate. But humanity and a feeling for human dlgmty prevaIled; Buckley did not fire. So the story (it was, to make
due ackoowledgements, John Joyce's story) went. Now it is changed
to fit the dream and engmeer Earwlcker's ultimate humiliation.
The Butt and Taff episode is presented in dramatic form com- plete with stage directions. This makes the battle-sounding: guilt- echomg galhmaufrey seem more lucid than it really is. The three
redcoat witnesses of Earwicker's nameless crime (which seems now
233
? ? ? The Man-made Mountain
Mactation ofthe Host
to involve defecation and innumerable sexual perversions) form a
link between the park and the battlefield. Butt is one of the soldiers; he easily changes into Buckley, making the two stories into one. The cross-talk act is interrupted for the report of a race-meeting, but even this is thick with the HCE horror-tale:
Emancipator, the Creman hunter (M;jor Hermyn C. Entwhistle) with dramatic effect reproducing the form o f famous sires on the scene o f the formers triumphs, is showing the eagle's way to Mr Whaytehayte's three buy geldings Homo Made Ink, Bailey Beacon and Ratatuohy while Furstin II and The Other Girl (Mrs 'Boss' ~l'aters, Leavybrink) too early spring dabbles,
are showing a clean paira/hids to Immensipater.
It? is, of course, horses that link the themes of battle, hunt, and racing. When we resume the Buckley story, the wizards Browne and Nolan will (we must always expect this) confuse Butt and Taff to Tuff and Batt, but the general drift remains clear. HCE, prime brute, warmonger, imperialist, is identified with the Russian general, and, in this version of the Buckley story, he is shot, even though his pants are down. 'I gave one dobblenotch', says Butt-Buckley, 'and I ups with my crozzier. Mirrdo! With my how on armer and hits leg an arrow cockshock rockrogn. Sparro! '
To match the chaos of the soldier's blow in Ulysses, we must now have the annihilation of the atom, but Joyce puts the hope of resurrection even in that: 'the abnihilisation of the etym'. From nothing-ab nihilo- the etymon, root ofttuth, ofall language, will re- emerge. And now, the tale ended, Butt and Taff melt into one person, make a moral and prophetic conclusion (this shooting of the Russian general by Buckley will happen again, recurring in a cycle, so long as the 'samuraised twimbs' are a principle of life-Shem versus Shaun, the split personality ofHCE raging in inner war. 'So till butagain budly shoots thon rising germinal let bodley chow the fatt of his anger and badley bide the toil of his tubb').
But Earwicker makes the mistake of sympathising with the Rus- sian general, while the customers approve what Butt-Buckley did. HCE says that that story is the story of all great men who fall; indeed, it is everybody's story: 'And that is at most redoubtedly an overthrew of each and ilkermann of us, I persuade myself, before Gow, gentlemen, so true as this are my kopfinpot astrode on these
~is my boardsoldereds. ' A hero is ruined because nature leads him to the exposure of his baser part. HCE, that very hero, is seen for an instant in his noblest aspect, sea-warrior coming to land, 'flying the Perseoroyal'. And now comes the crushing of the hero, the
234
mactation of the host. This is so big an undertaking that we have to
prepare for it somewhat remotely, converting it into a ritual. The radio announces, after calling for order in the voices of the three soldiers ('Attention! Stand at! ! Ease! ! ! '), the twofold song of the nightingales (the two girls), and the very leaves of the trees sing of the destruction of 'the marrer of mirth and the jangtherapper of all jocolarinas'. The customers rehearse his sins (,Has they bane re- neemed? Soothinly low'). But the brave old Adam stands up for himself, admitting his guilt but drawing his accusers into it: 'Guilry but fellows culpows! ' He has been misunderstood or 'missaunder- staid', he says. His crime was a little one. His Swiftian little loves~ 'my dears, the estelles', merge into one, then become two again, and all he did was this: 'my palmspread was gav to a parsleysprig, the curliest weedeen old ocean coils around'. The witnesses have not played cricket: 'Wickedgapers, I appeal against the light! ' He is out with it now, in a full confession: 'the lilliths oft I feldt, and, when booboob brutals and cautiouses only aims at the oggog hogs in the humand', then let him, like Caesar, be assassinated: 'thit thides or marse makes a good dayle to be shattat. Fall stuff. ' Fall staff, fall soldier's pole, he has finished. 'Here endeth chinchinatibus. '
The four old men have their say now. They are the four gospel- lers, the four Irish provinces, the four Viconian phases. They are Russia (Gregorovitch), Greece (Leonocopolos), Italy (Tarpinacci) and Ireland (Duggelduggel). Th~ir words carry weight. They state what men may not do, and what men may not do consists of what HCE is already supposed to have done, including shooting Russian generals (hardly fair) and being a 'pedestaroly'. Then they are tucked away inside an 'Omar Khayyam' stanza: 'And thus within the tavern's secret booth The wisehight ones who sip the tested sooth Bestir them as the Just has bid to jab The punch of quaram on the mug of truth. ' Six of the twelve (Mr G. B. W. Ashburner, Mr Faixgood, Mr L L Chattaway, Mr Q P. Dieudonney, Mr T. T. Erchdeakin and Mr W. K. Ferris-Fender) add a word or so: 'They had heard or had heard said or had heard said written. ' But who is anyone to accuse or judge? 'You were in the same boat of your- selves too, Getobodoff or Treamplasurin. '
From afar we hear the sound of a ballad. Hosry is at it again ('Ostia, lift it! Lift at it, Ostia1'):
Dour douchy was a sieguldson.
He cooed that loud nor he was young.
235
? ? ? ? ? The Man-made Mountain
Mactation ofthe Host
He cud bad caw nor he was gray Like wather parted from the say.
It is time to turn out the customers and lock the door. 'The hum- ming, -it's coming. Insway onsway. ' In good Norse English, HCE cries, 'Tids, genmen, plays. ' Outside the streets are filling, the mobs marching, bells are clashing out. The pub is cleared. The song comes nearer:
His bludgeon's bruk, his drum is tore. For spuds we'll keep the hat he wore And roll in clover on his clay
By wather parted from the say.
There is going to be a 'lyncheon partying'. Still, the doors are locked and only the 'for eolders' refuse to be turned out. But HCE cannot lock his ears to the voices without that proclaim his guilt to the world. His sins know no end. Some are fantasti~but one or two very privy: 'Begetting a wife which begame his niece by pouring her youngthings into skintighs'; 'You cannot make a limousine lady out of a hillman minx'; 'For a frecklesome freshcheeky sweetworded lupsqueezer. ' We hear dangerous noises: BENK and BINK and BUNK and BANK and BONK-falling noises, hitting noises. HCE's doom is nigh.
But all this is a story within a story within a dream. There will be no violence. All we have heard is part of the narrative recounted by the customers. Earwicker ends his evening not dead but de- pressed. He goes round the beery bar lapping up all the leavings- 'whatever surplus rotgut, sarra much, was left by the lazy lousers of maltknights and beerchurls'-and, in a pub that is also a ship, collapses. He is dead out. 'Farve! , farerne. Goodbark, goodbye! ' He sails into the next chapter.
ThenextchapteristhelastchapterofBookIIofFinnegans Wake, a sad little envoi. In his drunken dream, HCE says farewell to youth, but, in the imagined flesh of a son of his body, welcomes its coming. The four old men turn themselves to seagulls, 'overhoved, shrill- gleescreaming', wheeling above the ship that is the bridal-bed of Tristram and Iseult (Iseult-la-belle, Isobel, Earwicker's own daugh- ter). They mock old King Mark:
Andyou thinkyou're cock ofthe wark.
Fowls, up! Tristfs the spryyoung spark
That'll tread her and wed her and bed her and red her
Without ever winking the tail ofafeather
And that's how that chap's going to make his money and markl
Mark, whose destined bride Iseult is, lies there on the floor, a snoring sack, done, past the handling of the glory of young flesh. His son, Shaun, has taken over from him (not, of course, that the dream imputes incestuous desire to Shaun; lssy there plays any young girl who is all sex).
To see the young lovers brings back the lovely cuddling past to the watching four. Johnny MacDougal remembers first, and among the things he remembers, strangely, is 'poor Merkin Cornyngwham, the official out of the castle on pension, when he was completely drowned off Erin Isles'. This, of course, is Martin Cunningham of Ulysses, and we are surprised to See him turned into a type of the drowned man in The Waste Land. Marcus Lyons recalls the year 1'32, the beginning of history, the Flemish armada wrecked 'off the coast of Cominghome and Saint Patrick, the anabapttst, and Samt Kevin, the lacustrian . . . and Lapoleon, the equestrian, on his whuite hourse of Hunover'; Lucas Tarpey is vaguer about dates- was it II32 or II69 or 1768 'when Carpery of the Goold Fins was in the kingship of Poolland' ? But those were the fine old Eden days when love started and nobody had fallen yet. Finally Matt Gregory comes before us, very symbol of dead time~ that were to be 'de- voured by active parlourmen, laudabiliter' (that bull again, that gave Ireland to the English). In their impotence they look on the lovers, drooling, remembering:
So that was the end. And it can't be helped. Ah,
God be good to us! Poor Andrew Martin Cunningham! Take breath! Ay! Ay!
We see the act of consummation-'Amoricas Champius, with one
aragan throust, druve the massive of virilvigtoury flshpst the both lines of forwards (Eburnea's down, boys!
) nghtJlngbangshot mto the goal of her gullet'-and the myth is washed clean of its romantic incrustations. What is Iseult? She is only
a strapping modern old ancient Irish prisscess, so and so ha! lds high, such and such paddock weight, in her madapolam smock, J? othmg under her hat but red hair and solid ivory . . . and a firstc1ass parr of bedroom eyes, of most unhomy blue, (how weak we are, one and all! ) the charm of favour's fond consentl
237
23 6
-Three quarks for Muster Mark!
Sure he hasnt got much ofa bark
And sure any he has it's all beside the mark . . .
Hohohoho, moulty Mark!
You're the rummest old rooster ever flopped out ofa Noah's ark
? ? ? ? The Man-made Mountain
The love of the fabulous operatic pair is celebrated-'Rear, 0 hear, Iseult la belle! Tristan, sad hero, hear! '-in a delightful free-verse song which fuses the bardic and the backyard:
It was of a wet good Friday too she was ironing and, as I'm now to understand, she was always mad gone ~n me. . .
Grand goosegreasing we had entirely WIth an allmght eIderdown bed
picnic to follow. . . .
By the cross of Cong, says she, rising up Saturday In the t:V1hgh; from under me, Mick, Nick the Maggot or whatever your name IS, you re the mose likable lad that's come my ways yet from the barony ofBohermore.
And so the sea<mlls finally screeching away-'Mattheehew, Markee- hew, Lukeehe;, Johnheehwheehew! '-watch the boat sail into. the future ('The way is free. Their lot is cast'). Poor Martm Cu. nmng- ham, who was something in Dublin Castle, is drowned Wlththe good days gone. On the floor-deck the ruined hero s~ores. But It IS in his dream that the rule of Shaun WIll be made mamfest.
T Shaun to Jaun to Yawn
IN CLIMBING, AS WE DO NOW IN BOOK III OF Finnegans Wake, to the bedroom of RCE to dream about the future of his sons, we are not leaving the dream-world in order to re-enter it. There are moments when the thickness clears, when we approach the verge of waking, when we even sleepily get out of bed with Earwicker and his wife, but never once do we really find ourselves in the sunlit land where we can pinch ourselves to confirm that dreaming is over. The author's dream enfolds the sleep, half-sleep and morning yawn- ingofhis hero; the sheets ofthe dream are well tucked in. The author has dreamed that RCE has dreamed that he has awakened from his drunken stupor to go up to bed to start a new dream. This new dream is about the future, the rule of the ruling son, but all is con- trolled by the father. This is still the book of Earwicker.
In the first chapter of the three devoted chiefly to Shaun and his demagogy, we start with the sound of night-bells chiming an hour of some sort, a universal hour of mixed languages. Strange shapes from the historical past appear in the dreamed bedroom, and then a voice calls: 'Shaun! Shaun! Post the post! ' And Shaun himself ap- pears, 'dressed like an earl in just the correct wear', R. M. D. (Royal Mail, Dublin) embroidered on his 'starspangled zephyr with . . . crinklydoodle'front' (he stands for the New World). He is the true politician, the popular voice, deliverer o f the word but not its origina- tor. Who is seeing all this, who is telling the story? Not one of the 'concordant wiseheads', the four old men, but their donkey. We have heard vaguely of this donkey before and marked its signifi- cance-the four feet a humbler figure of Ireland's four provinces but, in its palmy associations, perhaps . thegreat donkey-rider Christ himself. Now the donkey takes the stage, vicar of bray.
Shaun has been eating in a 'porterhouse' called Saint Lawzenge
of Toole's (back to the British conquest of Ireland) and his huge meals-'threepartite pranzipal . . . plus a collation'-are fully itemised.
239
? ? The Man-made Mountain
Shaun to Jaun to YannI
Floh and Luse and Bienie and Vespatilla (flea and louse and bee and wasp) to 'commence insects with him' (ah! ). He is the irresponsible artIst, ,wrltm~ works like Ho, Time Timeagen, Wake I, while the Ondt, not bemg a sommerfool', is more concerned with building a money-empire: 'As broad as Beppy's realm shall flourish my reign shall flounsh! ' The Gracehoper, after jingling 'through a jungle of
love and debts' and 'honng after ladybirdies', meets the Ondt 'pros- trandvorous up. on his dhrone, in his Papylonian babooshkees,
smolking a spatIal brun: ~ff! 0sanacigals'? '~sappi as a oneysucker or a baskerboy on the LIbIdo. Moreover, It IS the Ondt who is now pla~ingabout with Floh and Luse and Bienie and Vespatilla, enjoy- mg the melody that mmts the money. Ad majorem i. s. d. ' The Grace-
. hoper forgives the Ondt his laughter at his own artist's poverty and
sickness and dejection:
Teach Floh and Luse polkas, show BielZie where's sweet
And be sure Vespatilla fines fat ones to heat.
As I ~lZceplayed . the piper I must now pay the count
So satda to Moyhammlet and marhaba to your Mount 1
. . . Your /eats end enormous, your volumes immense
(May the G~acesI hopedfor singyour Ondtship song senseI), Your genus ts worldwide, your spacest sublime I
But, Holy Saltmartin, why can't you beat time?
He is able to forgive, for he is not really able to envy. The Ondt is
welcome t~ hIS w~alth, for the Gracehoper's temperament rejects th~sort of hfe that IS needful for the attaining of it. What is the Ondt domg but fillmg up space with possessions 1 He cannot like the artist. , c~nq~ertime, the only thing worth doing. '
It IS slgmficant that Shaun sees the point of the Shem way of life (~fterall, he made up the fable). He is aware ofwhat is missing in hIS Own temperament, the nature of the split which makes each ~rother only half the man his father was. Now, being handed the
letter, earned of Shaun, son of Hek, written of Shem, brother of Shaun, uttered for Alp, mother of Shern, for Hek, father of Shaun' and asked if he can read it, he denounces it as filth and flummery a libel on his father ('How they wore two madges on the makewat~r. And why there were treefellers in the shrubrubs'-the sin in the
park). But, gently asks the audience, has not Shaun himself 'used
u. p sl~ngu~ge tun times as words as the penmarks used out in smscnpt With such hesitancy by your cerebrated brother' ? Shaun at once picks up that word 'hesitancy' and rnms it to 'HeCitEncy'- a reference to HeE's guilty stutter. 'Your words grates on my ares',
24'
All the meals in Finnegans Wake are curiously appetIsmg, and this long merging series -of menus is no exception, from the 'half o f a pint of becon with newled googs and a segment of riceplummy padding' to the 'pair of chops and thrown in from the silver grid . . . and gaulusch gravy and pumpernickel to wolp up and a gorger's bulby onion' and more, much more, with 'the best of wine avec', He is, of course, eating his father, ingesting his substance like a sacra,",: ment before taking over his office. Full, he is ready to address the people ('the voce of Shaun, vote of the Irish'), though yawning from
the sleepy feeding: 'Alo, alass, aladdin, amobus! '
He speaks humbly, admitting his unworthiness to bear 'these postoomany missive on his majesty's service', It should have been his brother, 'for he's the head and I'm an everdevoting fiend of his', but Shaun himself is 'the heart of it'. His audience interposes mild questions, calling him 'dear Shaun' and asking 'who out of sym- phony gave you the permit' to carry 'the letter or manifesto of rule. Shaun is always vague in his answers, but he has a number of plausible slogans which point his practical wisdom:
Never back a woman you defend, never get quit of a friend on whom you depend, never make face to a foe till he's rife and never get stuck to another man's pfife. Amen; ptahl His hungry will be donel On the con- tinent as in Eironesia. But believe me in my simplicity I am awfully good, I believe, so I am, at the root of me, praised be right cheek Discipline! . . . Down with the Saozon ruze! . . . Like the regular redshank I am. Im- pregnable as the mule himself.
'Bow mielodorous is thy bel chant, 0 songbird', say his listeners, and they even-after a passage about his money (where did he get it 1 What did he do with it I) and his love affairs (plenty of Swiftian or HCE guilt here)-ask him to sing them a song. He says he would rather 'spinooze' them a fable. But before he can start on the tale of the Ondt and the Gracehoper he coughs ('husstenhasstencaffincof- finrnssemtossemdamandamnacosaghcusaghhobixhatouxpeswchbech? oscashlcarcarcaract'-the word for 'cough' in many languages appears here) and we recognise the thundred-letter clap which recalls the fall. Some of his own sexual guilt has been passed from dreaming HCE to his favourite son, hinted at previously in references to Swift's father-lover love for his two Esthers (or 'two venusstas', as Shaun's audience calls them). Sexual guilt, which the artist can purge, has been the lot of so many leaders.
The fable that follows is delightful. The Gracehoper is always 'jigging ajog, hoppy on akkant of his joyicity', and always asking
240
? ? ? ? The Man-made Mountazn .
h And then he tears into absent Shem, angrily affirmmg tl~at . e says. t Shem who wrote the letter about the 'hhens of the veh t, It was no. . . d Folletta Laambe': he merely took down w at
Shaun to Jaun to Yawn
Till he returns, 'may the tussocks grow quickly under your tramp-
thickets and the daisies trip lightly Over your battercops'. But there
is something strange about this disappearing Shaun. Has he not
ceased to be a man and turned into a barrel? He has certainly eaten
enough.
But when we next meet him, in the chapter following, Shaun is
'amply altered for the brighter' and has even changed his name to Jaun, which has liverish overtones of a great lover. He is on his travels, delivering the word to the people, but he has stopped for a breather 'at the weir by Lazar's Walk'. Seated upon the 'brink- spondy' are the twenty-nine girls from 5t Bride's or 5t Bridget's or 'Benent Saint Berched's national nightschool', and Jaun gives them
greeting, turning at the same time into a priest whose hands are
speedily kissed by the maidens, 'kittering all about, rushing and
making a tremendous girIsfuss Over him pellmale, their jeune premier and his rosyposy smile, mussing his frizzy hair and the golliwog curls of him'. Among the girls he recognises (leap-year is still with us) his Own sister, called Izzy here, and it is evident that his attitude
to her is ambiguous, but honest Jaun is 'brotheroesides her benedict
godfather' and love to him is not quite what it was to his sinning father, stutterer in the park.
He addresses her fondly and then launches into a Sermon to all
the girls: 'Words taken in triumph, my sweet assistance, from the sufferant pen of OUf jacosus inkerman militant of the reed behind the ear. ' He has reviled Shem's writing but it is all he has in the way of Holy Writ. The sermon itself is shocking, full of the sly wisdom of the world masquerading as the distillation of sanctity: 'Never lose
your heart away till you win his diamond back . . . Lust, thou shalt not commix idolatry. Hip confiners help compunction. Never park your brief stays in the men's convenience . . . Collide with man, collude with money . . . Where ~rou truss be circumspiciollS and
look before you leak, dears . . . Where it is nobler in the main to Supper than the boys and errors of outrager's virtue. Give back those stolen kisses; restaure those allcotten glooves . . . Leg-before- Wicked lags-behind-Wall where here Mr Whicker whacked a great fall . . . Scenta Clauthes stiffstuffs your hose and heartsies full of temptiness . . . Slip your oval out of touch and let the paravis be
your goal. Up leather, Prunella, convert your try! . . . Dress the pussy for her nighty and follow her piggytails up their way to Winkyland . . . Love through the usual channels, cisternbrothelly . . . Deal with Nature the great greengrocer and pay regularly the
243
Nancy N! ckikes an l'
the '~ribiber' trving to make a Sw. ft of , .
hIS mother
ept squea mg,
like the decan's, fast aslo? ped I n t e mtranc~
himself-
. h '
to his polthrone-
ki his ~h;i:S! lth~issixth finger between h. s catseye:n! ~~~':~~h~~h:rdio-
hi
arne.
down to hIS vegeta o~S~~e';i~ecourse of marrimoney, under the and was warmed E t' But what is the true reason for
Helpless Corpses. nactmen ~heaudience wants to know. Shaun
Shaun's hate of h. s brother"f k me whys' And then sur-
replies: 'For
. rin
pillgrimace of Childe Hordnd'henkgro~s. ;! pt~~o~k! IcBck gav him that
1 ary he Invented un er Ie s y .
gossk 't torI And it was entirely theck latter to tooc ,. m. a .
d 'dd '1 Shem is terrible,~tforg:vableT~:;'~~h~~~IJ~sufo~~id~nt~:~~
h? 1 guage. you as . ,
IS root an d ' d a d e up out of ancient mytho-
. . 1
pnsmg y, we
loglcal. nam~s-.
who seem to represent the three Fates. When the captain comes into
the tavern for the third time, he is followed by Kersse, who greets all cheerily: 'Peiwei toptip, nankeen pO\ltdelounges. Gives fitir day. Cheroot. Cheevio! ' He has apparently been to the races, since he is asked, 'And, haikon or hurlin, who did you do at doyle today, my horsey dorksey gentryman. ' Pidgin English mingles with the tongues of the Norsemen, and, through a fug of noise and drink, we hear a
voice ofvituperation raised against 'the bugganeering wanderducken
. . . the coarsehair highsaydighsayman . . . the bloedaxe bloodooth baltxebec, that is crupping into our raw lenguage navel through the lumbsmall of his hawsehole'. The villain is evidently HCE, foreigner, invader, cheat, lecher.
And now, after a weather forecast on the radio, we hear a tale of the catching and taming of the rover. 'Birdflights', the radio assures us, 'confirm abbroaching nubtials. ' The mariner is to be made to marry the ship's husband's daughter, a confusion of Issy and ALP. 'Come Bastabasco and hippychip eggs' (HCEl 'she will make a suomease pair and singlette, jodhpur smalls and tailorless,. a copener's
cribful, leaf, bud and berry, the divlin's own little mimmykin puss (hip, hip, horatia! ) for myoid comrhade salrymar here . . . ' The 'suomease pair' is obviously the twins and the 'singlette' the daugh- ter. An Irish marriage will calm the wanderer down, stop his tricks. Soon he is 'Cawcaught. Coocaged'. There are great celebrations; somebody even sings a negro spiritual: 'He goat a berth. And she cot a manege. And wohl's gorse mundom ganna wedst. ' The mar-
riage is consummated ('if hec dont love alpy then lad you annoy
me') and, since there is an element of incestuous guilt in it all, we
hear the hundred-letter thunderclap, the fall-word in the form 'Pappappapparrassannuaragheallachnatullaghmonganmacmacmacw- hackfalltherdebblenonthedubblandaddydoodled'. The taming of the tempestuous rover is summed up in 'his loudship was converted to a landshop'.
But we cannot get away from that primal guilry act in the park,
and, as we have committed ourselves to a marine context, the park
quite naturally becomes the sea. We have gone back even further than the Garden of Eden and see man himself arising from a watery element. The theme of guilt is not developed, only mentioned, for we now have an 'enterruption'. That this is to have a strong Slav flavour is prefigured in 'Check or slowback. Dvershen. ' Kate the cleaning-woman is introduced with Czechoslovak prepositions (which, like those of Russian, are single ktters -v, s and so on). The
23 2
Mactalion ofthe Host
children are asleep, she says, and the mistress of the house is in bed.
If Earwicker is 'whishtful to licture her caudal' he can join her. The mentl? TI ofth~ b. e~roomb:ir;-gs in the. sound of the branch tapping at the wllldow- DIp. Kate IS III her gUIse as keeper of the Wellington Mus~um m Phoenix Park and tuis, far from sending HCE to join his
lady III repose, opens up the old world of imperialistic war again. A ,PIcture on the wall of the bar shows the Charge of the Light Bngade, with hunting overtones (horses, HCE as John Peel, the sound of the horn or bugle) and Earwlcker is dream-drawn to tellinrr a story about 'Arthur Duke'. Inevitably, this is full of HCE's ow~ guilt-:it was. of him, my wife and I thinks, to feel to every of the
yo~nglllg frUlts, tenderosed like an atlantic's breastswells or . . . a bnght tauth bight shimmeryshaking for the welt of his low. And where the peckadillies at his wristsends meetings be loving so lightly dovessoIld the candIdacy, me wipin eye sinks, of his softboiled bosom should be apparient even to our illicterate of nullatinenties. ' Here we are again-the two creamy roses in the park, the lobsters or
redcoats, the stuttering guilt:
Imagine twee cweamy wosen. Suppwose you get a beautiful thought and cull them sylvi. as sub silence. T~e~ inmaggin a stotterer. Suppoutre him to been one btg! ? ermaster OmmbIl. Then lustily . . . immengine up to thre~ longly lu~kmg. lobstarts . . . How do, dainty daulimbs ? So peached to pIck on you m thIS way, -prue and simple, pritt and spry! Heyday too Malster Faunagon, and hopes your hahititahiti licks the mankey nuts! '
. The pushing. of . the guilt back to the beginning, to the giant Fmnegan reposmg m the unconSCIOUS, is not to be permitted. The customers call for a television show presented by Butt and Taff (Shern and Shaun disguised as cross-talk comedians) and they are anXIOUS that they should re-enact the old story of Buckley and the
Russian general ('How Burghley shuck the rackushant Germanon'). There IS, m fact, an apocryphal tale in existence about an Irish soldIer, Buckley, who, fighting for the British in the Crimean War was in a position to shoot a Russian general when this latter had le~ d? w~ his tro~sersto defecate. But humanity and a feeling for human dlgmty prevaIled; Buckley did not fire. So the story (it was, to make
due ackoowledgements, John Joyce's story) went. Now it is changed
to fit the dream and engmeer Earwlcker's ultimate humiliation.
The Butt and Taff episode is presented in dramatic form com- plete with stage directions. This makes the battle-sounding: guilt- echomg galhmaufrey seem more lucid than it really is. The three
redcoat witnesses of Earwicker's nameless crime (which seems now
233
? ? ? The Man-made Mountain
Mactation ofthe Host
to involve defecation and innumerable sexual perversions) form a
link between the park and the battlefield. Butt is one of the soldiers; he easily changes into Buckley, making the two stories into one. The cross-talk act is interrupted for the report of a race-meeting, but even this is thick with the HCE horror-tale:
Emancipator, the Creman hunter (M;jor Hermyn C. Entwhistle) with dramatic effect reproducing the form o f famous sires on the scene o f the formers triumphs, is showing the eagle's way to Mr Whaytehayte's three buy geldings Homo Made Ink, Bailey Beacon and Ratatuohy while Furstin II and The Other Girl (Mrs 'Boss' ~l'aters, Leavybrink) too early spring dabbles,
are showing a clean paira/hids to Immensipater.
It? is, of course, horses that link the themes of battle, hunt, and racing. When we resume the Buckley story, the wizards Browne and Nolan will (we must always expect this) confuse Butt and Taff to Tuff and Batt, but the general drift remains clear. HCE, prime brute, warmonger, imperialist, is identified with the Russian general, and, in this version of the Buckley story, he is shot, even though his pants are down. 'I gave one dobblenotch', says Butt-Buckley, 'and I ups with my crozzier. Mirrdo! With my how on armer and hits leg an arrow cockshock rockrogn. Sparro! '
To match the chaos of the soldier's blow in Ulysses, we must now have the annihilation of the atom, but Joyce puts the hope of resurrection even in that: 'the abnihilisation of the etym'. From nothing-ab nihilo- the etymon, root ofttuth, ofall language, will re- emerge. And now, the tale ended, Butt and Taff melt into one person, make a moral and prophetic conclusion (this shooting of the Russian general by Buckley will happen again, recurring in a cycle, so long as the 'samuraised twimbs' are a principle of life-Shem versus Shaun, the split personality ofHCE raging in inner war. 'So till butagain budly shoots thon rising germinal let bodley chow the fatt of his anger and badley bide the toil of his tubb').
But Earwicker makes the mistake of sympathising with the Rus- sian general, while the customers approve what Butt-Buckley did. HCE says that that story is the story of all great men who fall; indeed, it is everybody's story: 'And that is at most redoubtedly an overthrew of each and ilkermann of us, I persuade myself, before Gow, gentlemen, so true as this are my kopfinpot astrode on these
~is my boardsoldereds. ' A hero is ruined because nature leads him to the exposure of his baser part. HCE, that very hero, is seen for an instant in his noblest aspect, sea-warrior coming to land, 'flying the Perseoroyal'. And now comes the crushing of the hero, the
234
mactation of the host. This is so big an undertaking that we have to
prepare for it somewhat remotely, converting it into a ritual. The radio announces, after calling for order in the voices of the three soldiers ('Attention! Stand at! ! Ease! ! ! '), the twofold song of the nightingales (the two girls), and the very leaves of the trees sing of the destruction of 'the marrer of mirth and the jangtherapper of all jocolarinas'. The customers rehearse his sins (,Has they bane re- neemed? Soothinly low'). But the brave old Adam stands up for himself, admitting his guilt but drawing his accusers into it: 'Guilry but fellows culpows! ' He has been misunderstood or 'missaunder- staid', he says. His crime was a little one. His Swiftian little loves~ 'my dears, the estelles', merge into one, then become two again, and all he did was this: 'my palmspread was gav to a parsleysprig, the curliest weedeen old ocean coils around'. The witnesses have not played cricket: 'Wickedgapers, I appeal against the light! ' He is out with it now, in a full confession: 'the lilliths oft I feldt, and, when booboob brutals and cautiouses only aims at the oggog hogs in the humand', then let him, like Caesar, be assassinated: 'thit thides or marse makes a good dayle to be shattat. Fall stuff. ' Fall staff, fall soldier's pole, he has finished. 'Here endeth chinchinatibus. '
The four old men have their say now. They are the four gospel- lers, the four Irish provinces, the four Viconian phases. They are Russia (Gregorovitch), Greece (Leonocopolos), Italy (Tarpinacci) and Ireland (Duggelduggel). Th~ir words carry weight. They state what men may not do, and what men may not do consists of what HCE is already supposed to have done, including shooting Russian generals (hardly fair) and being a 'pedestaroly'. Then they are tucked away inside an 'Omar Khayyam' stanza: 'And thus within the tavern's secret booth The wisehight ones who sip the tested sooth Bestir them as the Just has bid to jab The punch of quaram on the mug of truth. ' Six of the twelve (Mr G. B. W. Ashburner, Mr Faixgood, Mr L L Chattaway, Mr Q P. Dieudonney, Mr T. T. Erchdeakin and Mr W. K. Ferris-Fender) add a word or so: 'They had heard or had heard said or had heard said written. ' But who is anyone to accuse or judge? 'You were in the same boat of your- selves too, Getobodoff or Treamplasurin. '
From afar we hear the sound of a ballad. Hosry is at it again ('Ostia, lift it! Lift at it, Ostia1'):
Dour douchy was a sieguldson.
He cooed that loud nor he was young.
235
? ? ? ? ? The Man-made Mountain
Mactation ofthe Host
He cud bad caw nor he was gray Like wather parted from the say.
It is time to turn out the customers and lock the door. 'The hum- ming, -it's coming. Insway onsway. ' In good Norse English, HCE cries, 'Tids, genmen, plays. ' Outside the streets are filling, the mobs marching, bells are clashing out. The pub is cleared. The song comes nearer:
His bludgeon's bruk, his drum is tore. For spuds we'll keep the hat he wore And roll in clover on his clay
By wather parted from the say.
There is going to be a 'lyncheon partying'. Still, the doors are locked and only the 'for eolders' refuse to be turned out. But HCE cannot lock his ears to the voices without that proclaim his guilt to the world. His sins know no end. Some are fantasti~but one or two very privy: 'Begetting a wife which begame his niece by pouring her youngthings into skintighs'; 'You cannot make a limousine lady out of a hillman minx'; 'For a frecklesome freshcheeky sweetworded lupsqueezer. ' We hear dangerous noises: BENK and BINK and BUNK and BANK and BONK-falling noises, hitting noises. HCE's doom is nigh.
But all this is a story within a story within a dream. There will be no violence. All we have heard is part of the narrative recounted by the customers. Earwicker ends his evening not dead but de- pressed. He goes round the beery bar lapping up all the leavings- 'whatever surplus rotgut, sarra much, was left by the lazy lousers of maltknights and beerchurls'-and, in a pub that is also a ship, collapses. He is dead out. 'Farve! , farerne. Goodbark, goodbye! ' He sails into the next chapter.
ThenextchapteristhelastchapterofBookIIofFinnegans Wake, a sad little envoi. In his drunken dream, HCE says farewell to youth, but, in the imagined flesh of a son of his body, welcomes its coming. The four old men turn themselves to seagulls, 'overhoved, shrill- gleescreaming', wheeling above the ship that is the bridal-bed of Tristram and Iseult (Iseult-la-belle, Isobel, Earwicker's own daugh- ter). They mock old King Mark:
Andyou thinkyou're cock ofthe wark.
Fowls, up! Tristfs the spryyoung spark
That'll tread her and wed her and bed her and red her
Without ever winking the tail ofafeather
And that's how that chap's going to make his money and markl
Mark, whose destined bride Iseult is, lies there on the floor, a snoring sack, done, past the handling of the glory of young flesh. His son, Shaun, has taken over from him (not, of course, that the dream imputes incestuous desire to Shaun; lssy there plays any young girl who is all sex).
To see the young lovers brings back the lovely cuddling past to the watching four. Johnny MacDougal remembers first, and among the things he remembers, strangely, is 'poor Merkin Cornyngwham, the official out of the castle on pension, when he was completely drowned off Erin Isles'. This, of course, is Martin Cunningham of Ulysses, and we are surprised to See him turned into a type of the drowned man in The Waste Land. Marcus Lyons recalls the year 1'32, the beginning of history, the Flemish armada wrecked 'off the coast of Cominghome and Saint Patrick, the anabapttst, and Samt Kevin, the lacustrian . . . and Lapoleon, the equestrian, on his whuite hourse of Hunover'; Lucas Tarpey is vaguer about dates- was it II32 or II69 or 1768 'when Carpery of the Goold Fins was in the kingship of Poolland' ? But those were the fine old Eden days when love started and nobody had fallen yet. Finally Matt Gregory comes before us, very symbol of dead time~ that were to be 'de- voured by active parlourmen, laudabiliter' (that bull again, that gave Ireland to the English). In their impotence they look on the lovers, drooling, remembering:
So that was the end. And it can't be helped. Ah,
God be good to us! Poor Andrew Martin Cunningham! Take breath! Ay! Ay!
We see the act of consummation-'Amoricas Champius, with one
aragan throust, druve the massive of virilvigtoury flshpst the both lines of forwards (Eburnea's down, boys!
) nghtJlngbangshot mto the goal of her gullet'-and the myth is washed clean of its romantic incrustations. What is Iseult? She is only
a strapping modern old ancient Irish prisscess, so and so ha! lds high, such and such paddock weight, in her madapolam smock, J? othmg under her hat but red hair and solid ivory . . . and a firstc1ass parr of bedroom eyes, of most unhomy blue, (how weak we are, one and all! ) the charm of favour's fond consentl
237
23 6
-Three quarks for Muster Mark!
Sure he hasnt got much ofa bark
And sure any he has it's all beside the mark . . .
Hohohoho, moulty Mark!
You're the rummest old rooster ever flopped out ofa Noah's ark
? ? ? ? The Man-made Mountain
The love of the fabulous operatic pair is celebrated-'Rear, 0 hear, Iseult la belle! Tristan, sad hero, hear! '-in a delightful free-verse song which fuses the bardic and the backyard:
It was of a wet good Friday too she was ironing and, as I'm now to understand, she was always mad gone ~n me. . .
Grand goosegreasing we had entirely WIth an allmght eIderdown bed
picnic to follow. . . .
By the cross of Cong, says she, rising up Saturday In the t:V1hgh; from under me, Mick, Nick the Maggot or whatever your name IS, you re the mose likable lad that's come my ways yet from the barony ofBohermore.
And so the sea<mlls finally screeching away-'Mattheehew, Markee- hew, Lukeehe;, Johnheehwheehew! '-watch the boat sail into. the future ('The way is free. Their lot is cast'). Poor Martm Cu. nmng- ham, who was something in Dublin Castle, is drowned Wlththe good days gone. On the floor-deck the ruined hero s~ores. But It IS in his dream that the rule of Shaun WIll be made mamfest.
T Shaun to Jaun to Yawn
IN CLIMBING, AS WE DO NOW IN BOOK III OF Finnegans Wake, to the bedroom of RCE to dream about the future of his sons, we are not leaving the dream-world in order to re-enter it. There are moments when the thickness clears, when we approach the verge of waking, when we even sleepily get out of bed with Earwicker and his wife, but never once do we really find ourselves in the sunlit land where we can pinch ourselves to confirm that dreaming is over. The author's dream enfolds the sleep, half-sleep and morning yawn- ingofhis hero; the sheets ofthe dream are well tucked in. The author has dreamed that RCE has dreamed that he has awakened from his drunken stupor to go up to bed to start a new dream. This new dream is about the future, the rule of the ruling son, but all is con- trolled by the father. This is still the book of Earwicker.
In the first chapter of the three devoted chiefly to Shaun and his demagogy, we start with the sound of night-bells chiming an hour of some sort, a universal hour of mixed languages. Strange shapes from the historical past appear in the dreamed bedroom, and then a voice calls: 'Shaun! Shaun! Post the post! ' And Shaun himself ap- pears, 'dressed like an earl in just the correct wear', R. M. D. (Royal Mail, Dublin) embroidered on his 'starspangled zephyr with . . . crinklydoodle'front' (he stands for the New World). He is the true politician, the popular voice, deliverer o f the word but not its origina- tor. Who is seeing all this, who is telling the story? Not one of the 'concordant wiseheads', the four old men, but their donkey. We have heard vaguely of this donkey before and marked its signifi- cance-the four feet a humbler figure of Ireland's four provinces but, in its palmy associations, perhaps . thegreat donkey-rider Christ himself. Now the donkey takes the stage, vicar of bray.
Shaun has been eating in a 'porterhouse' called Saint Lawzenge
of Toole's (back to the British conquest of Ireland) and his huge meals-'threepartite pranzipal . . . plus a collation'-are fully itemised.
239
? ? The Man-made Mountain
Shaun to Jaun to YannI
Floh and Luse and Bienie and Vespatilla (flea and louse and bee and wasp) to 'commence insects with him' (ah! ). He is the irresponsible artIst, ,wrltm~ works like Ho, Time Timeagen, Wake I, while the Ondt, not bemg a sommerfool', is more concerned with building a money-empire: 'As broad as Beppy's realm shall flourish my reign shall flounsh! ' The Gracehoper, after jingling 'through a jungle of
love and debts' and 'honng after ladybirdies', meets the Ondt 'pros- trandvorous up. on his dhrone, in his Papylonian babooshkees,
smolking a spatIal brun: ~ff! 0sanacigals'? '~sappi as a oneysucker or a baskerboy on the LIbIdo. Moreover, It IS the Ondt who is now pla~ingabout with Floh and Luse and Bienie and Vespatilla, enjoy- mg the melody that mmts the money. Ad majorem i. s. d. ' The Grace-
. hoper forgives the Ondt his laughter at his own artist's poverty and
sickness and dejection:
Teach Floh and Luse polkas, show BielZie where's sweet
And be sure Vespatilla fines fat ones to heat.
As I ~lZceplayed . the piper I must now pay the count
So satda to Moyhammlet and marhaba to your Mount 1
. . . Your /eats end enormous, your volumes immense
(May the G~acesI hopedfor singyour Ondtship song senseI), Your genus ts worldwide, your spacest sublime I
But, Holy Saltmartin, why can't you beat time?
He is able to forgive, for he is not really able to envy. The Ondt is
welcome t~ hIS w~alth, for the Gracehoper's temperament rejects th~sort of hfe that IS needful for the attaining of it. What is the Ondt domg but fillmg up space with possessions 1 He cannot like the artist. , c~nq~ertime, the only thing worth doing. '
It IS slgmficant that Shaun sees the point of the Shem way of life (~fterall, he made up the fable). He is aware ofwhat is missing in hIS Own temperament, the nature of the split which makes each ~rother only half the man his father was. Now, being handed the
letter, earned of Shaun, son of Hek, written of Shem, brother of Shaun, uttered for Alp, mother of Shern, for Hek, father of Shaun' and asked if he can read it, he denounces it as filth and flummery a libel on his father ('How they wore two madges on the makewat~r. And why there were treefellers in the shrubrubs'-the sin in the
park). But, gently asks the audience, has not Shaun himself 'used
u. p sl~ngu~ge tun times as words as the penmarks used out in smscnpt With such hesitancy by your cerebrated brother' ? Shaun at once picks up that word 'hesitancy' and rnms it to 'HeCitEncy'- a reference to HeE's guilty stutter. 'Your words grates on my ares',
24'
All the meals in Finnegans Wake are curiously appetIsmg, and this long merging series -of menus is no exception, from the 'half o f a pint of becon with newled googs and a segment of riceplummy padding' to the 'pair of chops and thrown in from the silver grid . . . and gaulusch gravy and pumpernickel to wolp up and a gorger's bulby onion' and more, much more, with 'the best of wine avec', He is, of course, eating his father, ingesting his substance like a sacra,",: ment before taking over his office. Full, he is ready to address the people ('the voce of Shaun, vote of the Irish'), though yawning from
the sleepy feeding: 'Alo, alass, aladdin, amobus! '
He speaks humbly, admitting his unworthiness to bear 'these postoomany missive on his majesty's service', It should have been his brother, 'for he's the head and I'm an everdevoting fiend of his', but Shaun himself is 'the heart of it'. His audience interposes mild questions, calling him 'dear Shaun' and asking 'who out of sym- phony gave you the permit' to carry 'the letter or manifesto of rule. Shaun is always vague in his answers, but he has a number of plausible slogans which point his practical wisdom:
Never back a woman you defend, never get quit of a friend on whom you depend, never make face to a foe till he's rife and never get stuck to another man's pfife. Amen; ptahl His hungry will be donel On the con- tinent as in Eironesia. But believe me in my simplicity I am awfully good, I believe, so I am, at the root of me, praised be right cheek Discipline! . . . Down with the Saozon ruze! . . . Like the regular redshank I am. Im- pregnable as the mule himself.
'Bow mielodorous is thy bel chant, 0 songbird', say his listeners, and they even-after a passage about his money (where did he get it 1 What did he do with it I) and his love affairs (plenty of Swiftian or HCE guilt here)-ask him to sing them a song. He says he would rather 'spinooze' them a fable. But before he can start on the tale of the Ondt and the Gracehoper he coughs ('husstenhasstencaffincof- finrnssemtossemdamandamnacosaghcusaghhobixhatouxpeswchbech? oscashlcarcarcaract'-the word for 'cough' in many languages appears here) and we recognise the thundred-letter clap which recalls the fall. Some of his own sexual guilt has been passed from dreaming HCE to his favourite son, hinted at previously in references to Swift's father-lover love for his two Esthers (or 'two venusstas', as Shaun's audience calls them). Sexual guilt, which the artist can purge, has been the lot of so many leaders.
The fable that follows is delightful. The Gracehoper is always 'jigging ajog, hoppy on akkant of his joyicity', and always asking
240
? ? ? ? The Man-made Mountazn .
h And then he tears into absent Shem, angrily affirmmg tl~at . e says. t Shem who wrote the letter about the 'hhens of the veh t, It was no. . . d Folletta Laambe': he merely took down w at
Shaun to Jaun to Yawn
Till he returns, 'may the tussocks grow quickly under your tramp-
thickets and the daisies trip lightly Over your battercops'. But there
is something strange about this disappearing Shaun. Has he not
ceased to be a man and turned into a barrel? He has certainly eaten
enough.
But when we next meet him, in the chapter following, Shaun is
'amply altered for the brighter' and has even changed his name to Jaun, which has liverish overtones of a great lover. He is on his travels, delivering the word to the people, but he has stopped for a breather 'at the weir by Lazar's Walk'. Seated upon the 'brink- spondy' are the twenty-nine girls from 5t Bride's or 5t Bridget's or 'Benent Saint Berched's national nightschool', and Jaun gives them
greeting, turning at the same time into a priest whose hands are
speedily kissed by the maidens, 'kittering all about, rushing and
making a tremendous girIsfuss Over him pellmale, their jeune premier and his rosyposy smile, mussing his frizzy hair and the golliwog curls of him'. Among the girls he recognises (leap-year is still with us) his Own sister, called Izzy here, and it is evident that his attitude
to her is ambiguous, but honest Jaun is 'brotheroesides her benedict
godfather' and love to him is not quite what it was to his sinning father, stutterer in the park.
He addresses her fondly and then launches into a Sermon to all
the girls: 'Words taken in triumph, my sweet assistance, from the sufferant pen of OUf jacosus inkerman militant of the reed behind the ear. ' He has reviled Shem's writing but it is all he has in the way of Holy Writ. The sermon itself is shocking, full of the sly wisdom of the world masquerading as the distillation of sanctity: 'Never lose
your heart away till you win his diamond back . . . Lust, thou shalt not commix idolatry. Hip confiners help compunction. Never park your brief stays in the men's convenience . . . Collide with man, collude with money . . . Where ~rou truss be circumspiciollS and
look before you leak, dears . . . Where it is nobler in the main to Supper than the boys and errors of outrager's virtue. Give back those stolen kisses; restaure those allcotten glooves . . . Leg-before- Wicked lags-behind-Wall where here Mr Whicker whacked a great fall . . . Scenta Clauthes stiffstuffs your hose and heartsies full of temptiness . . . Slip your oval out of touch and let the paravis be
your goal. Up leather, Prunella, convert your try! . . . Dress the pussy for her nighty and follow her piggytails up their way to Winkyland . . . Love through the usual channels, cisternbrothelly . . . Deal with Nature the great greengrocer and pay regularly the
243
Nancy N! ckikes an l'
the '~ribiber' trving to make a Sw. ft of , .
hIS mother
ept squea mg,
like the decan's, fast aslo? ped I n t e mtranc~
himself-
. h '
to his polthrone-
ki his ~h;i:S! lth~issixth finger between h. s catseye:n! ~~~':~~h~~h:rdio-
hi
arne.
down to hIS vegeta o~S~~e';i~ecourse of marrimoney, under the and was warmed E t' But what is the true reason for
Helpless Corpses. nactmen ~heaudience wants to know. Shaun
Shaun's hate of h. s brother"f k me whys' And then sur-
replies: 'For
. rin
pillgrimace of Childe Hordnd'henkgro~s. ;! pt~~o~k! IcBck gav him that
1 ary he Invented un er Ie s y .
gossk 't torI And it was entirely theck latter to tooc ,. m. a .
d 'dd '1 Shem is terrible,~tforg:vableT~:;'~~h~~~IJ~sufo~~id~nt~:~~
h? 1 guage. you as . ,
IS root an d ' d a d e up out of ancient mytho-
. . 1
pnsmg y, we
loglcal. nam~s-.
