Television Kills Telephony in Brothers’ Broil

Brothers’ Broil (RFW 042.21-043.02)

Chapter I.3, the Humphriad II, of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake is an investigation into the Earwicker affair—the rise and subsequent fall of HCE. Its style and structure evoke the organs of the mainstream media that were popular in Joyce’s day: newspapers and newsreels. The opening two pages presented us with a series of obituaries, as though taken from the death notices of a newspaper. After these, attention turned to a character (the Cad, or HCE himself?) who was asked by three boys (Shem & Shaun, and the Oedipal Figure who embodies them) to recount his version of the encounter in the Phoenix Park between HCE and the Cad with a Pipe. In the present paragraph, the scene is being set for this narration.

The opening line of this paragraph is in keeping with this overarching theme. It reads like the headline of a newspaper article: Television kills telephony in brothers’ broil.

First-Draft Version

As David Hayman points out in a footnote in A First-Draft Version of Finnegans Wake, the evolution of this section was complicated and is difficult to trace. Joyce was not only adding new material but constantly reshuffling and refashioning what he had already written. From the first draft all that truly belongs to this paragraph is the following fragment, which can still be discerned in the middle of the published version (RFW 42.12-16):

In words a bit duskish he aptly described the scene ... (Hayman 70)

Daniel O’Connell

If we include some of Joyce’s earliest elaborations and the end of the previous paragraph—and engage in a bit of creative editing—we arrive at something like the following:

He rose to his feet and told of the great mythical figure in the widewinged hat, the four-in-hand cravat and the gauntlet upon the hand which had struck down Destrelle.

In befitting words a bit duskish, flavoured with a smile, seeing that his thoughts consisted of the cheery, he aptly described the scene, among other things of passing interest ... (Hayman 70)

The final version is significantly different from this, but at least we can easily discern that the narrator is referring to the infamous encounter in the Phoenix Park between HCE and the Cad with a Pipe (RFW 027.39-029.33). But who is retelling the tale? Is it HCE or the Cad? The answer is: Probably both. The melding of two or more characters into one another is a common cause of confusion in Finnegans Wake, one we have had occasion to note on numerous previous occasions. Ultimately, it reflects the fact that the story Joyce is telling is cyclical: the Oedipal Figure who confronts HCE becomes the new HCE, while HCE becomes his servant (Sackerson, S). On some level, then, HCE and the Cad are one and the same.

As usual, Joyce also added a few parenthetical remarks—just four in this case.

Margot Norris

Brothers’ Broil

The encounter in the Phoenix Park between HCE and the Cad with a Pipe was a re-enactment of the Oedipal Event. But this retelling of that event is introduced as a brothers’ broil. This refers, of course, to the sibling rivalry between HCE’s sons, Shem & Shaun. What is going on here? Are we to infer that just as HCE and the Cad are reflections of one another, so the Oedipal Event and the Sibling Rivalry are essentially one and the same struggle?

I have only come across a single commentator who has considered this possible overlap. In the introduction to The Decentered Universe of Finnegans Wake: A Structuralist Analysis, Margot Norris writes (emphasis added):

Joyce’s reference to Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams in Finnegans Wake (338.29 [RFW 261.17]) is supported by ample evidence that he read the book with care and applied the techniques of dream-work to the Wake. Virtually every one of the “typical dreams” described by Freud constitutes a major theme in Finnegans Wake. “Embarrassing Dreams of Being Naked,” which often find the subject naked before strangers, are reflected in the voyeurism of the three anonymous soldiers in the Phoenix Park incident. Freud points out that frequently the strangers in such dreams represent familiar persons: the Wake’s soldiers represent HCE’s sons, who view their father much as the sons of Noah viewed their father. Explaining dreams about the death of beloved persons, Freud discusses both sibling rivalry and the simultaneous incestuous and murderous feelings between parents and children. All of these taboos are at issue in the mysterious sin in Finnegans Wake. In fact, Freud reports a dream that contains a cluster of the elements found in the Phoenix Park incident. It shows “two boys struggling,” like the Wake’s enemy twins, with one of them fleeing for protection to a maternal woman, like ALP hiding the “lipoleums” under her skirt hoop to “sheltershock” (8.30 [RFW 007.24]) them. Freud interprets the woman as representing both an incestuous and a voyeuristic object for the boy. (Norris 6)

Sigmund Freud

Eyes and Ears

As we have seen, this chapter of Finnegans Wake is replete with journalistic devices. But another theme also runs through it: poor visibility, usually denoted by bad weather. Peering back into the mists of time and trying to separate fact from fiction is like trying to find one’s bearings in a dense fog. While writing Finnegans Wake, Joyce suffered from serious and chronic diseases of the eyes—iritis, glaucoma, and cataracts. He was in fact steadily going blind and was advised by various ophthalmologists on more than one occasion to stop working and rest his eyes (Ellmann 657-658, 663-664).

Television trumps the telephone. The Cad does not simply tell the three boys what happened: he sketches the scene (seene) for them, like a landscape painting or an embroidered tapestry (Arras). In perfect silence—one might hear a pin fall—he mimes and images (mimage) the event.

In Finnegans Wake, Shem, like Joyce, has a good ear but poor eyesight, while Shaun is the reverse. As one anonymous online commentator put it, this brothers’ broil is the civil war of the senses. The world of the eye and the world of the ear are very different. As Stephen mused in the Proteus episode of Ulysses:

Sandymount Strand

Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno. Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it, it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see.

Stephen closed his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. You are walking through it howsomever. I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short times of space. Five, six: the nacheinander. Exactly: and that is the ineluctable modality of the audible. Open your eyes. No. Jesus! If I fell over a cliff that beetles o’er his base, fell through the nebeneinander ineluctably. (Ulysses 37)

The ear analyzes the world in time, one thing after another—German: nacheinander, consecutively. The eye, however, takes in everything in a single Gestalt glance—German: nebeneinander, simultaneously. As a result, Shem understands the connections between things—cause and effect—and must explain them to Shaun, who inhabits a mosaic world of disconnected events. Underlying the eye|ear motif is the space|time motif (FWEET).

Wyndham Lewis (1929) and James Joyce (1926)

This conflict between television and telephony anticipates the Butt & Taff Episode in Chapter II.3, The Scene in the Public:

In the mid-1930s, when revising the sheets of transition in which episodes of Finnegans Wake had already been appearing, Joyce made an addition to the third chapter (I.3), in which television provides a gloss on the ‘ear/eye’ binary, a binary that operates throughout the book and is projected onto Shem versus Shaun, music versus painting and Joyce versus Lewis. The context for the revision is as follows:

Arthor of our doyne. Our eyes demand their turn. Let them be seen! (Joyce 1927: 34)

Before the first assertive plea here for vision (after ‘Doyne’), Joyce inserted the following sentence: ‘Television kills telephony in brothers’ broil’ (47472–229 and 52.18). This resembles a newspaper headline, enforcing our eyes’ engagement; but at the same time its alliterative form calls on the attention of our ears. Joyce seems to be prophetically conjuring a somewhat typical domestic altercation in which one brother, watching television, wants the other, who is speaking on the phone, to shut up. Either one technology gains the upper hand over the other (the conversation is cut short and the phone put back on its receiver, so watching the TV show can continue), or, through metonymy, we actually have one brother killing the other. Alternatively, reading it literally and in the context of a history of media arts, visual culture destroys aural culture. If this is the case, then our own reading—which combines ear and eye—ironically qualifies this very news. In any case, the revision is preparing the ground for a stronger link between television and conflict, which will take place in II.3 [How Buckley Shot the Russian General] and is the centrepiece of our discussion. (Fordham 44-45)

Finn Fordham in Trieste

HCE’s Laundry List

In every retelling of the Oedipal Event, HCE is depicted wearing seven items of clothing. Sometimes these garments are also associated with the seven colours of the rainbow. In Finnegans Wake, seven is the number that symbolizes the Fall and Resurrection of Man:

The First Fall of Man in the Garden of Eden is preceded by the Seven Days of Creation.
The Second Fall of Man in the Flood is followed by the appearance of the rainbow, which ushers in the Post-Diluvian World.
The Third Fall of Man was the Confusion of the Tongues at the Tower of Babel. According to many commentators, the inspiration for the Tower of Babel was Etemenanki [Chaldaean for House of the Foundation of Heaven on Earth] in Babylon, a ziggurat comprised of seven terraces.

Etemenanki

latitudinous baver with puggaree behind a broad beaver with a puggaree at the back. A beaver is a hat made from the fur of the beaver. A puggaree, or puggree, is a strip of cloth wound around the upper portion of a hat or helmet—especially a pith helmet—and falling down behind to act as a shade for the back of the neck. John Gordon suggests that puggaree also alludes to pigtail, which explains the Chinese allusions in the following parenthesis—Kung the Tall was Confucius’ father (Gordon 52.24).
his fourinhand bow A four-in-hand cravat is a type of long necktie tied in a loose slip-knot with dangling ends (ie a regular modern business tie). A four-in-hand bow is a type of short necktie tied in a bow-knot (ie a regular modern bow-tie).
his elbaroom surtout A surtout—a man’s overcoat—with plenty of elbow room. Perhaps like the coat Napoleon wore on Elba. French: surtout: above all.
the refaced unmansionables of gingerine hue Unmentionables is a polite name for undergarments. HCE’s are orange—or are they shit-stained?
the vertebrated slate umbrella Not literally an item of clothing, but an indispensable accessory for a gentleman. Curiously, its colour—slate grey—is not one of the colours of the rainbow. The first edition reads the state slate umbrella. In one of his notebooks, VI.B.31.100a, Joyce wrote: state umbrella. Umbrellas have ribs—but vertebrae?
his gruff woolselywellesly with the finndrinny knopfs his rough linsey-woolsey with gold-silver buttons. Linsey-woolsey is a fabric woven from a mixture of linen and wool, or a garment made of this fabric. Findrinny is a precious metallic alloy of uncertain nature. Joyce, however, believed it was an alloy of gold and silver:

>A 30-year wedding should be called a ‛findrinny’ one. Findrinny is a kind of white gold mixed with silver. (Letters I, 16 October 1934)

Remember 022.23 ... 24: guldenselver ... Findrinny Fair?
German: Knopf: button.
and the gauntlet upon the hand A gauntlet is a glove, but to throw down the gauntlet is to issue a challenge to someone, or to challenge them to a duel—reminding us of the Oedipal aspect of the encounter in the Park.

Bishopscourt House

Daniel O’Connell and John Norcot D’Esterre

The following phrase alludes to an historical event:

the gauntlet upon the hand which in an hour not for him solely evil had struck down the mighthe mighthavebeen D’Esterre of whom his nation seemed almost already to be about to have need.

Daniel O’Connell, popularly known as The Liberator in recognition of his successful efforts in favour of Catholic Emancipation, was one of the most influential men in Ireland in the first half of the 19th century. A lawyer, a politician and an orator of extraordinary passion, O’Connell was a modern Pericles. In his day he was internationally recognized as one of the leading men of the age. In 1844, three years before his death, the French novelist Honoré de Balzac wrote to his future wife Ewelina Hańska:

En somme, voici le jeu que je joue, quatre hommes auront eu une vie immense : Napoléon, Cuvier, O’Connell, et je veux être le quatrième. Le premier a vécu de la vie de l’Europe ; il s’est inoculé des armes ! Le second a épousé le globe. Le troisième s’est incarné un peuple, moi, j’aurai porté une société toute entière dans ma tête.

[In short, here is the game that I play. Four men will have lived immense lives: Napoleon, Cuvier, O’Connell, and I want to be the fourth. The first lived the life of Europe; he inoculated himself with weapons! The second married the globe. The third embodied a people; as for me, I will have carried an entire society in my head.] (Balzac 374)

The Royal Exchange (City Hall, Dublin)

In his relentless campaign for Catholic Emancipation, O’Connell made many enemies. In 1815, this was to have tragic consequences for one man:

It is not surprising that his language at times exceeded the bounds of decorum. But it is difficult to understand how, except on the supposition that it had been determined by the Castle party to pick a quarrel with him, his application of such an epithet as ‛beggarly’ to the corporation of Dublin should have been construed by any member of it into a personal insult. But D’Esterre, one of the guild of merchants, regarded it in that light. After in vain trying to make O’Connell the challenger, D’Esterre sent him a message, which O’Connell accepted. On Wednesday, 1 Feb. 1816, O’Connell and D’Esterre met at Bishopscourt, near Naas, about twelve miles from Dublin. O’Connell won the choice of ground. Both parties fired almost simultaneously, D’Esterre slightly the first. O’Connell fired low, and struck D’Esterre fatally in the hip. After D’Esterre’s death the courtesy of his second, Sir Edward Stanley, relieved O’Connell from fear of legal proceedings, and he, on his part, behaved with thoughtful generosity to D’Esterre’s family. To O’Connell’s personal friends the result of the duel was highly satisfactory, especially as the patching up of a former affair of honour between him and a brother barrister had given his enemies cause to sneer at his courage. (Lee 375)

Some sources give the date as 2 February, Joyce’s birthday (albeit 67 years before he would be born).

The Temptation and Fall of Eve

The reference to this event includes two other possible allusions:

in an hour not for him solely evil This has been compared to two lines from Book 9 of John Milton’s Paradise Lost (780-781), in which Eve plucks the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge and eats of it (see also 043.08 for an allusion to Paradise Regained):

So saying, her rash hand in evil hour

Forth reaching to the Fruit, she pluck’d, she eat :

of whom his nation seemed almost already to be about to have need This sounds like a typical Joycean parody of a piece of bathetic oratory—High falutin stuff—but I have not been able to source it.

China, Ireland, Australia

The following few lines have an international flavour:

And wolfbone balefires blaze the trailmost if only that Mary Nothing may burst her bibby buckshee. When they set fire then she’s got to glow so we may stand some chances of warming to what every soorkabatcha, tum or hum, would like to know.

King Yu Wang of Zhou

A number of disparate sources are relevant here. First, a historical anecdote from Carl Crow’s Master Kung: The Story of Confucius:

King Yu Wang, who came to the throne in the eighth century before Christ was hopelessly weak and sacrificed the state to please a whimsical court beauty. At her instigation he deposed his legitimate queen and dispossessed the legitimate heir. The beauty had strange and expensive tastes. She enjoyed the brittle sound of torn silk and for her pleasure the store-houses of silk sent as gifts to the king were torn to shreds. In a fit of boredom she did not smile for a week and in order to amuse her the king ordered to be lighted on the hilltops the flares of wolf bones which served as a signal to the vassal princes to rally in force to repel an attack by the barbarians. As a practical joke which brought a smile to the lips of the queen this ruse was eminently successful but it was followed by the inevitable sequel. A few months later there was an actual attack by barbarians, aided by the father of the deposed queen. The signal beacons were lit again but the princes feared another practical joke and did not respond. The king was killed and the whimsical mistress taken captive. (Crow 86-87)

Another historical anecdote, this one from early Christian Ireland:

The bitter hostility of the Druids and the relations of Loigaire to Patrick were worked up by Irish imagination into a legend which ushers in the saint upon the scene of his work with great spectacular effect. The story represents him as resolving to celebrate the first Easter after his landing in Ireland on the hill of Slane, which rises high above the left bank of the Boyne at about twelve miles from its mouth. On the night of Easter eve he and his companions lit the Paschal fire, and on that selfsame night it so chanced that the King of Ireland held a high and solemn festival in his palace at Tara where the kings and nobles of the land gathered together. It was the custom that on that night of the year no fire should be lit until a fire had been kindled with solemn ritual in the royal house. Suddenly the company assembled at Tara saw a light shining across the plain of Breg from the hill of Slane. King Loigaire, in surprise and alarm, consulted his magicians, and they said, “O king, unless this fire which you see be quenched this same night, it will never be quenched; and the kindler of it will overcome us all and seduce all the folk of your realm.” ... But afterwards [Loigaire] bade Patrick to him, purposing to slay him; but Patrick knew his thoughts, and he went before the king with his eight companions, one of whom was a boy. But as the king counted them, lo! they were no longer there, but he saw in the distance eight deer and a fawn making for the wilds. And the king returned in the morning twilight to Tara, disheartened and ashamed. (Bury 104 ... 106)

The Hill of Slane

Balefires blaze This refers primarily to the ancient Celtic festival of Beltane, which took place on the eve of 1 May:

This festival, the most important ceremony of which in later centuries was the lighting of the bonfires known as “beltane fires”, is believed to represent the Druidical worship of the sun-god. The fuel was piled on a hill-top, and at the fire the beltane cake was cooked. This was divided into pieces corresponding to the number of those present, and one piece was blackened with charcoal. For these pieces lots were drawn, and he who had the misfortune to get the black bit became cailleach bealtaine (the beltane carline—a term of great reproach. He was pelted with egg-shells, and afterwards for some weeks was spoken of as dead ... As to the derivation of the word beltane there is considerable obscurity. Following Cormac, it has been usual to regard it as representing a combination of the name of the god Bel or Baal or Bil with the Celtic teine, fire. And on this etymology theories have been erected of the connexion of the Semitic Baal with Celtic mythology, and the identification of the beltane fires with the worship of this deity. (Chisholm 712)

Finally, there are several bits of slang here, which Joyce lifted from W H Downing’s Digger Dialects: A Collection of Slang Phrases used by the Australian Soldiers on Active Service:

MARY—Woman
MARY NOTHING—A term of approbium [sic]
BURST—A flurry of fire.
BIBBY—Woman
BUCKSHEE—Alms; for nothing; ‘‘I got this Buckshee.”
SOORKABATCHA—Son of a pig
TUM—You
HUM—I; me

Walter Hubert Downing

The first two are classed as Pidgin English from Papua, the third as General, and the last five as Hindustani, as spoken by Australian Troops in Mesopotamia. They were all added to the text in 1938, just months before Finnegans Wake was published. There are a few more in the first parenthesis in this paragraph, and more than a hundred scattered throughout the rest of the book. See FWEET and MacArthur & Lernout. Raphael Slepon of FWEET, however, rejects burst as a borrowing from Downing on two unimpeachable grounds (private email):

All the other borrowings from Downing in this passage are from pages 56-60, whereas BURST is listed on page 14.
In Downing, BURST is a noun, but in this paragraph burst is a verb.

soorka- The Irish girl’s name Sorcha means bright, radiant—appropriate, given the fiery context, but hardly enlightening.

As usual, none of this actually explains what Joyce is saying here.

Dollymount Strand

Self-Parody

The closing lines of this paragraph parody a passage from Joyce’s first novel, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man:

... some seem om some dimb Arras, dumb as Mum’s mutyness, this mimage of the seventyseventh kusin of Kristansen is odable to os across the wineless Ere no oedor nor mere eerie nor liss potent of suggestion than in the tales of the tingmount. (RFW 042.39-043.02)

A veiled sunlight lit up faintly the grey sheet of water where the river was embayed. In the distance along the course of the slowflowing Liffey slender masts flecked the sky and, more distant still, the dim fabric of the city lay prone in haze. Like a scene on some vague arras, old as man's weariness, the image of the seventh city of Christendom was visible to him across the timeless air, no older nor more weary nor less patient of subjection than in the days of the thingmote. (Joyce 1916:194)

The parenthetical comment—Prigged!—is slang for stolen.

It is shortly after this passage that Stephen Dedalus experiences an epiphany when he beholds a young woman wading in the shallow water on Dollymount Strand and gazing out to sea. Filled with joy, Stephen recognizes that it is his fate to become an artist, and he embraces it.

Matinée de septembre (September Morning)

Loose Ends

Finally, let’s tie up a few loose ends.

Ancient Greek: λεγόμενα, things said, words.
German: suchen Sie das Weib, cherchez la femme, find the woman (as the root of all man’s woes, starting with Eve in the Garden of Eden).
(probable words, possibly said, of field family gleaning) Another book that makes its début here as a source for about two dozen allusions in Finnegans Wake is Édouard Trogan’s Les Mots Historiques du Pays de France:

Nous croyons, en effet, que pour avoir droit à être cité, — excusez le paradoxe! — il suffit qu’un mot historique soit non pas historiquement vrai, mais historiquement vraisemblable ... Cependant, nous n’avons pu que glaner, dans notre champ national, et nous prévoyons que nos lecteurs regretteront tel ou tel mot que nous n’avons ni oublié ni méconnu, mais simplement ajourné ... Il n’est pas de famille qui n’ait quelques souvenirs d’hier ou d’autrefois transmis aux enfants comme un précieux héritage. (Trogan 5 ... 6)

[We believe, indeed, that in order to have the right to be cited, - excuse the paradox! - it suffices that a historical word be not historically true, but historically plausible ... However, we could only glean, in our national field, and we foresee that our readers will miss such-and-such a word that we have neither forgotten nor ignored, but simply postponed ... There is no family that does not have some memories of yesterday or a former time to pass on to its children as a precious heritage.]

gleaming or gleaning The first edition of Finnegans Wake had gleaming, but Rose & O’Hanlon have restored the original gleaning.
Wildu Picturescu Obviously a nod to Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, but why the -escu, which is a common suffix of Romanian surnames?

The Picture of Dorian Gray

And that’s as good a place as any to beach the bark of our tale.

References

Honoré de Balzac, Lettres à Madame Hanska,Volume 2, Éditions du Delta, Paris (1968)
John Bagnell Bury, The Life of St. Patrick and His Place in History, Macmillan & Co Ltd, London (1905)
Hugh Chisholm (editor), The Encyclopædia Britannica, Eleventh Edition, Volume 3, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge (1911)
Carl Crow, Master Kung: The Story of Confucius, Tudor Publishing Company, New York (1937)
David Hayman, A First-Draft Version of Finnegans Wake, University of Texas Press, Austin, Texas (1963)
Walter Hubert Downing, Digger Dialects: A Collection of Slang Phrases Used by the Australian Soldiers on Active Service, Lothian Book Publishing Co, Melbourne and Sydney (1919)
Finn Fordham, Early Television and Joyce’s Finnegans Wake: New Technology and Flawed Power, Matthew Feldman, Henry Mead & Erik Tonning (editors), Broadcasting in the Modernist Era, Bloomsbury, London (2014)
James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, B W Huebsch, New York (1916)
James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, Faber & Faber Limited, London (1939, 1949)
James Joyce, Stuart Gilbert (editor) & Richard Ellmann (editor), The Letters of James Joyce, Volume 1, Volume 2, Volume 3, Viking Press, New York (1957, 1966)
James Joyce, James Joyce: The Complete Works, Pynch (editor), Online (2013)
Sidney Lee (editor), Dictionary of National Biography, Volume 41, Smith, Elder, & Co, London (1895)
Ian MacArthur & Geert Lernout, Joyce’s Use of ‛Digger Dialects’ in the Late Stages of Composition of Finnegans Wake, Genetic Joyce Studies, Issue 18, Centre for Manuscript Genetics, University of Antwerp, Antwerp (2018)
Margot Norris, The Decentered Universe of Finnegans Wake : A Structuralist Analysis, The Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, Maryland (1976)
Danis Rose, John O’Hanlon, The Restored Finnegans Wake, Penguin Classics, London (2012)
Édouard Trogan, Les Mots Historiques du Pays de France, Eighth Edition, Maison Alfred Mame et Fils, Tours (1916)

Image Credits

The Shooting of D’Esterre: The Irish Magazine and Monthly Asylum for Neglected Biography, Walter Cox, Dublin (1815), The Library of Trinity College Dublin, Digital Collections, Public Domain
Antique Television: Leningrad T2 Television & Radio Receiver, Sachsenwerk Radeberg VEB, Radeberg, East Germany (1952), Public Domain
Daniel O ’Connell: Anonymous Sketch (1858), Public Domain
Sigmund Freud: Max Halberstadt (photographer), Hamburg (1921), Public Domain
Wyndham Lewis: George Charles Beresford (photographer), National Portrait Gallery, London (1929), Public Domain
James Joyce: Berenice Abbott (photographer), Paris (1926), Public Domain
Etemenanki: Computer Reconstruction of the Ziggurat Etemenanki and the Temple Esagil in Babylon, Royal Ontario Museum, © Byzantium 1200, Fair Use
Bishopscourt House: Francis Orpen Morris (editor), A Series of Picturesque Views of Seats of the Noblemen and Gentlemen of Great Britain and Ireland, Volume 4, Page 19, William Mackenzie, London (1840), Public Domain
The Royal Exchange (City Hall, Dublin): The Royal Exchange, Dublin, William Henry Bartlett (artist), C I Smith (engraver), Dublin Delineated in Twenty-Six Views of the Principal Public Buildings, Page 19, G Tyrrell, Dublin (1837), Public Domain
The Temptation and Fall of Eve: William Blake (artist), Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (1808), Public Domain
King Yu Wang of Zhou: Anonymous Drawing, Public Domain
Walter Hubert Downing: The Scotch College, Public Domain
Matinée de septembre: Paul Chabas (artist), Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Public Domain
The Picture of Dorian Gray: Jacques-Émile blanche (artist), Coleridge Kennard (model), Private Collection (1904), Public Domain

Finnegans Wake - A Prescriptive Guide

09 October 2022