London

Note: The following text is that of the author’s presentation at the XXV James Joyce Symposium held in London in June 2016. The original, shorter London entry can be found here

Across the Water:
Economic and Political Implications of the Dubliners London References

Dubliners, the work through which Joyce initially sought to “betray the soul of that hemiplegia or paralysis that many consider a city” (Letters I 55), turned out to be much a more nuanced portrayal (“betrayal”) of that city by the time the last story was completed in 1907. At the time of his 1904 letter to Constantine Curran, the initial plan for Dubliners only consisted of ten stories. The following year, as Florence Walzl explains in “The Life Chronology of Dubliners,” “he had enlarged his plan for the book from ten to twelve stories” (408), and by 1906, he had completed those two additional stories and also added two more: “Two Gallants” and “A Little Cloud.” The collection now included fourteen stories, a defined “life chronology,” and a much more complicated looking glass than the one he had perhaps initially imagined. While in 1906, he still maintained Dublin was “the centre of paralysis” (Letters II 134) and that his stories about its inhabitants emitted “the odour of ashpits and old weeds and offal,” he also insisted that “the Irish [were] the most spiritual race on the face of the earth” and its people “witty” and “artistic” (Letters I 63-64). In fact, it seems that after he left Dublin in 1904, his ambivalence toward his former compatriots only intensified. By the Fall of 1906, a few months before he wrote the final story, “The Dead,” he lamented to his brother that  he feared he had “reproduced (in Dubliners at least) none of the attraction of the city,” admitting that he had never, except in Paris, been as comfortable as he had been in Dublin. He sought to rectify his omission of the virtues of “hospitality” and “insularity” when he wrote “The Dead” (Letters II 166), and  with that coda his picture of Dublin was complete.

Parallel to his critique of Dublin, though, was his critique of the capital of the British empire. If Joyce imbued Dublin with a complex ambivalence over the course of writing his stories, he also painted the city’s relationship to London as a particularly complicated montage of economic co-dependence and artistic hope and limitation. Of the six stories that reference the city of London, four do so in terms of artistic standards while the other two, both written later in Joyce’s process, emphasize and lament London’s superior and even abusive economic position in the Dubliners’ lives. It seems that even as he was attempting to redeem what was redemptive about Dublin, he was also becoming harsher in his criticism of the city across the water.

Dubliners contains nearly 200 unique geographical references. Such a focus on place, though not unsurprising in a book named for a city, demands that we consider the implications of place names. For instance, the very first reference in the very first story of the collection is to Great Britain Street. While the street is located in Dublin, its name foregrounds the presence of the British empire in every corner of the Dublin landscape and psyche. Though “The Sisters” isn’t necessarily a very political story–it doesn’t explicitly call attention to the England-Ireland binary–to imbue the geography of Dublin at the very outset with connotations of empire is to hint at the ubiquity of Britain’s grip on everything from the poor North Dublin neighborhood to the subconscious spatial awareness of the youngest Dubliners narrator. The references only become more specific and suggestive in the stories that follow “The Sisters.”

The first story to reference London directly is “The Boarding House,” one of the initial ten stories that had already been written by September 1905. In that story London is mentioned only briefly as the home city of one of the guests: “one of the music-hall artistes, a little blond Londoner, had made a rather free allusion to Polly” (68). The free allusion of the Londoner anticipates the seedier side of London that Joyce would introduce more thoroughly in “A Little Cloud.” In “The Boarding House,” though, it functions as a scene the blond artiste cannot break into, settling instead for what attentions and alms he can wring from an ostensibly less cultured and discriminating Dublin middle class.

The city is alluded to again briefly in “Counterparts,” another of the initial ten stories, as Farrington is reaching his breaking point in Mulligan’s after a night of drinking and storytelling. In the pub he keeps eyeing an attractive woman who is part of a group “out of the Tivoli” theater. The woman he is so fascinated by finally speaks to him in a London accent before leaving and never looking back:

“She glanced at him once or twice and, when the party was leaving the room, she brushed against his chair and said “O, pardon!” in a London accent. He watched her leave the room in the hope that she would look back at him, but he was disappointed. He cursed his want of money and cursed all the rounds he had stood, particularly all the whiskies and Apolinaris which he had stood to Weathers. If there was one thing that he hated it was a sponge. He was so angry that he lost count of the conversation of his friends” (95).

Part of Farrington’s frustration stems from the rejection of this exotic and esteemed Londoner, and it’s just after this exchange that he channels his rage into an arm-wrestling match, which he loses. The rejection of the London woman who is apparently out of his league sets in motion Farrington’s downward spiral of inadequacy and inferiority. Like the Londoner in “The Boarding House,” this woman is an artiste, but her association with the Tivoli sets her somewhat above the likes of the artistes who would be boarding with Mrs. Mooney. In fact, there is a suggestion in her attitude and Farrington’s bitterness at being rejected that this particular artiste is possibly even successful in the London scene, inasmuch as she is part of a touring group rather than a solitary performer like the blond Londoner or Madam Glynn in “A Mother.” Still, the Tivoli was not known for its serious dramas or operas, featuring instead burlesques, pantomimes, and farces. The artiste herself, though,  and the artiste’s lifestyle in general, is one that Farrington covets, and his frustration at not being equal in economic status, sexual prowess, or physical strength (he loses at arm wrestling to the English Weathers) all contribute to his violent outburst later that night against his son, when like many bullies, he inflicts the disdain and abuse he suffers on someone who is in turn dependent on him.

“A Mother” persists in the use of London as a measure of artistic success. The Londoner Madame Glynn, one of the singers in the program, is described as “[a]n unknown solitary woman with a pale face” (143) and later as a weak spot in the show:

“The first part of the concert was very successful except for Madam Glynn’s item. The poor lady sang Killarney in a bodiless gasping voice, with all the old-fashioned mannerisms of intonation and pronunciation which she believed lent elegance to her singing. She looked as if she had been resurrected from an old stage-wardrobe and the cheaper parts of the hall made fun of her high wailing notes” (147).

Although she is from London, where, along with Paris and Milan, Bartell D’Arcy insists all the good singers can be found, Madam Glynn is an unknown among the rather inexperienced performers, understudies, and bronze-medalists of Mr. Holohan’s rather patched-together show. Kathleen Kearney has no knowledge of her whatsoever:

“–I wonder where did they dig her up, said Kathleen to Miss Healy. I’m sure I never heard of her.

Miss Healy had to smile. Mr. Holohan limped into the dressing-room at that moment and the two young ladies asked him who was the unknown woman. Mr. Holohan said that she was Madam Glynn from London” (143).

Essentially, Madam Glynn must perform in a sloppily organized Dublin show because, like the blond Londoner in “The Boarding House,” she cannot perform in London because she lacks the talent or economic means to break onto the London scene. Caruso, on the other hand, whose talent D’Arcy extols in the only reference to London in “The Dead,” has toured in London:

“–Oh, well, said Mr. Bartell D’Arcy, I presume there are as good singers today as there were then.

–Where are they? asked Mr. Browne defiantly.

–In London, Paris, Milan, said Mr. Bartell D’Arcy warmly. I suppose Caruso, for example, is quite as good, if not better than any of the men you have mentioned” (199).

“Grace,” which Joyce completed in late 1905, was at that time intended to be the closing piece in the now 12-story collection. The story’s main character, Tom Kernan, makes his living by selling tea for the London-based Pulbrook, Robertson, and Company. Although we don’t learn these specifics until Ulysses, enough of the address on his office is given to reveal that whatever company it is, it’s based in London:

“Modern business methods had spared him only so far as to allow him a little office in Crowe Street, on the window blind of which was written the name of his firm with the address—London, E. C. On the mantelpiece of this little office a little leaden battalion of canisters was drawn up and on the table before the window stood four or five china bowls which were usually half full of a black liquid. From these bowls Mr. Kernan tasted tea. He took a mouthful, drew it up, saturated his palate with it and then spat it forth into the grate. Then he paused to judge” (154).

Again, the livelihood of this Dubliner is tied to industry based in England. That Joyce reintroduces Tom Kernan in Ulysses, along with more details about his employment, suggests that his working for an English firm is a critical part of his identity. Kernan is perhaps an older, now gentler, version of Farrington, still subdued by the British economic yoke and still drinking away the insult of this. Furthermore, his two sons have left Dublin, like they must, in order to achieve a measure of success. Even still, that they venture only as far as Glasgow and Belfast, suggests that the yoke is as wide as it is inescapable.

The two stories written next, after the initial 12 were complete, go further than any of the previous pieces to emphasize Dublin’s economic stagnation at the hands of British rule. “Two Gallants,” completed in February 1906, presents a detailed geography of Dublin as Corley and Lenehan, and then Lenehan alone, wander the city’s streets. With twenty-four geographical references, all of which are in Dublin, it is second only to “The Dead” in its use of place names. And although “Two Gallants” does much to articulate nationalistic themes and Ireland’s relationship with Britain, it never directly mentions London, England, or Great Britain at all. Instead, through the many references to landmarks, streets, and even the characters’ movement patterns, Joyce infuses the story with the history of Irish-English politics, one that, as Torchiana describes it “reflects the historic pomp and grandeur of Ascendancy treacheries that cast long shadows behind the otherwise stunted posturings of Corley and Lenehan near the end of Irish enslavement” (115).

But what is left out in English geographical references in “Two Gallants” is made up exponentially in “A Little Cloud.” Completed in 1906 after “Two Gallants,” it is perhaps the most direct illustration of the economic dichotomy of opportunity and paralysis that both drives and stagnates Joyce’s Dubliners.

In fact, much of the paralysis we see in the collection stems from its characters’ vocational or financial challenges. As Joseph Kelly succinctly puts it, “First and foremost, paralysis was economic” (17).  In his examination of Joyce’s political realism, Kelly points to his essay “Fenianism” in which Joyce claims Ireland consists of

“a population which diminishes year by year with mathematical regularity, [through] the uninterrupted emigration to the United States or Europe of Irishmen for whom the economic and intellectual conditions of their native land are unbearable” (CW 190).

One of those emigrants is Little Chandler’s friend Gallaher, whom we learn left Dublin eight years before the story’s opening to make a living on the London Press. From the very beginning of “A Little Cloud,” Chandler appears to be obsessed with his old friend and his old friend’s new home:

Little Chandler’s thoughts ever since lunch-time had been of his meeting with Gallaher, of Gallaher’s invitation and of the great city London where Gallaher lived. (70)

But what really makes London a great city to Chandler? There is nothing in the description to indicate Chandler has any great desire to see the city’s streets or pubs, theaters or waterways. It is simply the great city because it is where Gallaher lives. Gallaher represents the possibilities that Chandler opted out of in favor of a quiet family life.

As we learn in Ulysses, Gallaher works for a “Chapelizod boss” (7.732), another Irish emigrant, likely the real-life Chapelizod-born  Alfred Harmsworth who started London’s Daily Mail in 1894 and Daily Mirror  in 1903.  As “a brilliant figure on the London Press” (71), Gallaher is the epitome of success, even “greatness” (72) in Little Chandler’s eyes (“Ignatius Gallaher on the London Press!” [72].) And if only Little Chandler could write some verse about the Dublin tramps at nightfall, “[p]erhaps Gallaher might be able to get it into some London paper for him” (73); if only he could accentuate the more “Irish-looking” (74) parts of his name, perhaps he too could be considered among the London literary circles. In other words, Little Chandler considers his Irishness artistic capital in an English economy.

Once Little Chandler finishes his trek from office to pub, in which “[e]very step brought him nearer to London” (73), the two men discuss “the old gang” (75). One of their old friends, O’Hara, who still lives in Dublin has apparently “gone to the dogs” while another friend, Hogan, recently visited “London and he seemed to be very flush” (76). Hogan’s success is further depicted by his position on the Land Commission, an agency that Don Gifford notes was a “notorious porkbarrel” (70). Gifford explains that “[t]he Land Purchase Bills of 1891, 1896, and 1903 provided for the tenants’ purchase of their farms from the landlords through the backing of British credit.” So even though the Irish farmers were getting to buy the land they worked and maintained, they were only enabled to do so by borrowing from Britain. Even in their supposed property-ownership, the Irish are indebted to the British bank. Thus, the Irish Hogan, though still living in Ireland, is “very flush” because his vocation involves securing Ireland’s continued indebtedness to the British financial system.

As their conversation goes on, Gallaher encourages Little Chandler to travel outside of Ireland, and suggests he “[g]o to London or Paris” (76), and as they talk, Little Chandler becomes “disillusioned” by Gallaher’s new manner, but imagines it’s only because of “living in London amid the bustle and competition of the Press  (77).” In other words, living in London makes up for the “something vulgar in his friend which he had not observed before.” Little Chandler is even envious of the worldliness that has created the new vulgarity in Gallaher. He begins appropriating London as another “moral” city on a level with Dublin, considering himself and his city, wishfully, in league with Gallaher and London against places like Paris, which he sees as immoral. Gallaher must correct him, though, insisting,

“–London! said Ignatius Gallaher. It’s six of one and half-a-dozen of the other. You ask Hogan, my boy. I showed him a bit about London when he was over there. He’d open your eye…. ” (77)

As uncomfortable as London’ potential immorality makes him, though, Little Chandler still dreams of following Gallaher. All his frustration pours out as at the end of the story as, holding his baby and questioning his marriage, he broods:

“A dull resentment against his life awoke within him. Could he not escape from his little house? Was it too late for him to try to live bravely like Gallaher? Could he go to London? There was the furniture still to be paid for” (83).

Ultimately, it’s his debt that holds him back from leaving his despised home even at the same time that the London literary industry represents a chance to escape. But like Eveline clinging to the rails of the Dublin dock while romance emigrates, Chandler is bound to familial and financial obligations. It is too late for him to seek economic prosperity because he is already under the yoke of Dublin’s dependent economy.

Walzl maintains that “a young man in economically-deprived Ireland was not likely to have reached a degree of prosperity before his mid thirties” (412). Indeed, those characters under 35 who appear or hope to be financially successful, like Frank, Jimmy Doyle, and Ignatius Gallaher are seeking or have sought their fortunes, educations, or vocations elsewhere.  Even Gabriel Conroy, a comfortable suburban Dublin resident with coin to spare for a caretaker’s daughter and a night at a hotel, is accused of being a West Briton because he writes for a unionist paper and takes his holidays on the the continent.

The initial twelve stories of the collection seem to primarily utilize London as a gauge by which to apprehend the artistic success or failure of performers. “The Dead” reprises this utilization and cements the notion that good artists are in London, not necessarily or just from London. In its final version, with the addition of “A Little Cloud,” the role London plays as a reference in Dubliners tends to be one of economic privilege in opposition to a struggling Irish middle class. Some of the Dubliners capitalize on British economic opportunities while others find the London market hopelessly impenetrable. In either case, they can only really overcome their economic paralysis by selling themselves to the empire and/or, like Joyce himself before he even wrote most of Dubliners, getting the hell out of Ireland.

 

Shelbourne Road

Inside of the Beggars Bush Barracks, photographed by Robert French between 1865 and 1914. From the National Library of Ireland's digitized Lawrence Photograph Collection.
Inside of the Beggars Bush Barracks, which was located at the corner of Shelbourne Road and Cranmer Place, photographed by Robert French between 1865 and 1914. From the National Library of Ireland’s digitized Lawrence Photograph Collection.

Shelbourne Road, located in the southeastern suburban part of Dublin, is referenced in “Counterparts” as the place where Farrington exits the tram on his way home. He has just finished his frustrating impromptu pub crawl, and now, out of money and “full of smouldering anger and revengefulness” (96), he makes his way to his home through what Don Gifford describes as “a district of lower-middle-class homes and tenements” (76).

“His tram let him down at Shelbourne Road and he steered his great body along in the shadow of the wall of the barracks. He loathed returning to his home” (97).

The tram he takes home serves the same or a similar route to the one Maria might travel in the next story to get home to Ballsbridge from her brother Joe’s house in Drumcondra. An 1883 map, a segment of which is pictured below, shows the tram routes as blue lines. Though the map omits the eastern part of the route, it appears that the tram would have turned left into Cranmer Place as it headed southeast out of the city center and then made its way back toward the city through Ballsbridge along Northumberland Road. Farrington exits at Shelbourne Road which is the first major intersection after the tram turns into Cranmer Place. He then walks southeast towards his house which, according to this map, could be located in or around Landsdowne Road.

A section of the 1883 Letts Son & Co. map of Dublin. The blue lines indicate tram routes, the red railways, and the yellow municipal boundaries. Full map available at the online David Rumsey Map Collection.
A section of the 1883 Letts Son & Co. map of Dublin. The blue lines indicate tram routes, the red railways, and the yellow municipal boundaries. Full map available at the online David Rumsey Map Collection.

Shelbourne Road is, according to C.T. M’Cready’s 1892 Dublin Street Names, Dated and Explained, one of many Dublin streets named after noblemen (vii). M’Cready explains the street was named for William Fitzmaurice, 2nd Earl of Shelburne and Marquis of Landsdowne. And prior to the tribute to the Earl of Shelburne, the street was known as Artichoke Road and Great-Britain Quay (117).

Section of pg. 117 of C.T. M'Cready's 1892 Dublin Street Names, Dated and Explained. The entire book is available online at https://ia802605.us.archive.org/32/items/dublinstreetnam00cregoog/dublinstreetnam00cregoog.pdf
Section of pg. 117 of C.T. M’Cready’s 1892 Dublin Street Names, Dated and Explained. The entire book is available online.

Farrington’s walk down Shelbourne Road takes him past the Beggars Bush Barracks, and the text does indeed acknowledge that “his great body” moves under “the shadow of the wall of the barracks” (97). Until it was transferred to Michael Collins in 1922, the barracks belonged to the British Army. There is a kind of sinister aggression connoted in the shadow of the barracks, and its implications only further fuel the aggression also building in Farrington as he gets closer to his house and the son he will eventually assault. Much of Farrington’s rage, in fact, seems a kind of subconscious response to British occupation. His economic state and position as a scrivener to a “north-of-Ireland” solicitor, his being snubbed by the attractive London woman, and his recent loss at arm wrestling to a possibly English Weathers (who complains at one point that the party’s “hospitality was too Irish” []) all contribute to Farrington’s growing frustration. The British military barracks occupying the corner of his neighborhood, on a street named after a British earl, would only add to his sense of oppression, and the story ends with him ultimately reacting in kind by bullying someone in a position of dependence upon him.

Westmoreland Street

Westmoreland St., Dublin City, Co. Dublin, photographed by Robert French. From the National Library of Ireland's Lawrence Photograph Collection. The view represents a southward look down Westmoreland Street from O'Connell (Carlisle) Bridge. To the left, stretching southeast, is D'Olier Street. Between the two streets is the "central plot directly opposite the bridge" that Christine Casey describes as "the single most conspicuous site in the city" (Casey 422).
Westmoreland St., Dublin City, Co. Dublin, photographed by Robert French between 1865 and 1914. From the National Library of Ireland’s Lawrence Photograph Collection. The view represents a southward look down Westmoreland Street from O’Connell (Carlisle) Bridge. To the left, stretching southeast, is D’Olier Street. Between the two streets is the “central plot directly opposite the bridge” that Christine Casey describes as “the single most conspicuous site in the city” (Casey 422).

Mentioned in three of the Dubliners stories, Westmoreland Street is located in Dublin city center. It runs  from O’Connell Bridge in the north  to its intersection with Grafton and Dame Streets and Trinity College gates in the south. It was built as part of the Wide Streets Commissioners’ “bold geometric plan” to “link … the new N[orth]-S[outh] artery of Upper Sackville Street [now O’Connell Street] and Carlisle Bridge [now O’Connell Bridge] to the Portico of the House of Lords and the N[orth] pavilion of Trinity College entrance front” (Casey 420). As Christine Casey describes in her book Dublin: The City within the Grand and Royal Canals and the Circular Road with the Phoenix Park,

“[The plan] resulted from an extraordinary sequence of events in 1781-2, which included the foundation of the new Custom House, the securing of funds for the long-awaited eastern bridge and the commissioning of the Lords’ extension from James Gandon. Three years laters the commissioners instructed Thomas Sherrard to consult James Wyatt on the ‘distribution of ground for building from Sackville Street to the College.’ No designs by Wyatt are recorded, but in the following year Gandon prepared unexecuted designs for Sackville Street that proposed a unified elevation with ground-floor shops. Carlisle Bridge was opened to pedestrians in 1792 and in the following year Sherrard was instructed to prepare plans for Westmoreland Street. These too were unexecuted, due to the outbreak of war with France. The situation was resolved in 1799 when the proceeds of a clubhouse tax were allocated to the Commissioners. In that year designs by Henry Aaron Baker were approved and demolition began in the area, described as ‘thickly sown with alleys and courts’. Baker initially proposed a street 60 ft (18.2 metres) wide flanked by terraces with Doric colonnades and arched shop-windows. In the eent the colonnades were omitted and the street gained 30 ft (9.1 metres) in breadth. Building began in 1799 and was complete by 1805” (420).

Casey notes that “[c]ontemporaries complained of the streets’ ‘width…bleakness…gloomy and monstrous aspect’ as compared with traditional shopping thoroughfares such as Grafton Street,” but that “these unified street facades have met with universal acclaim from historians for their functionalism and restraint, which finds parallels in contemporary Parisian commercial design and in the domestic terraces of Adam and Dance” (421). Casey’s description continues with detailed historical architectural information on each structure lining the street.

Westmoreland Street is one of many Dublin Streets named after Lords Lieutenant. The 1892 Dublin Street Names, Dated and Explained lists the street as being named in 1801 after John Fane, 10th Earl of Westmorland and Lord Lieutenant of Ireland from 1790 to 1794 (M’Cauley 141).

The first appearance of Westmoreland Street is in “Two Gallants.” Although the two young men would have walked along the street as part of their route from the north side of the city to the south, and Lenehan would have returned to retrace his steps northward along the same path, the only direct reference to the street is made by an unnamed minor character later in the story. As Lenehan stops to talk with some friends he oncounters at the corner of Dame and George’s Streets, one of them mentions Westmoreland Street, where Lenahan would have been only an hour or two previously:

“One said that he had seen Mac an hour before in Westmoreland Street. At this Lenehan said that he had been with Mac the night before in Egan’s. The young man who had seen Mac in Westmoreland Street asked was it true that Mac had won a bit over a billiard match. Lenehan did not know: he said that Holohan had stood them drinks in Egan’s” (58).

The party essentially discusses their friend Mac and his presence at two places: last night he was in Egan’s, a pub off of Sackville (now O’Connell) Street just north of the Liffey, and an hour ago he was in Westmoreland Street, which is what O’Connell Street becomes south of the Liffey. Both O’Connell and Westmoreland Street are part of Lenehan’s route though neither are actually mentioned in that context in the story.

[Cabby walking and smoking pipe outside Nos. 32-33 Westmoreland Street], photographed by J.J. Clarke between 1897 and 1904(?). From the National Library of Ireland's Clarke Photographic Collection.
[Cabby walking and smoking pipe outside Nos. 32-33 Westmoreland Street], photographed by J.J. Clarke between 1897 and 1904(?). From the National Library of Ireland’s Clarke Photographic Collection.
The street appears again in “Counterparts,” as it serves as a convenient path for Farrington’s pub crawl. Travelling from Temple Bar to Davy Byrne’s, he must take Westmoreland Street, which is the eastern border of the Temple Bar area, to Grafton Street. As he walks, we are given a description of the bustle along the route:

“In Westmoreland Street the footpaths were crowded with young men and women returning from business and ragged urchins ran here and there yelling out the names of the evening editions. The man passed through the crowd, looking on the spectacle generally with proud satisfaction and staring masterfully at the office-girls. His head was full of the noises of tram-gongs and swishing trolleys and his nose already sniffed the curling fumes of punch” (93).

At this time of day, as Farrington is leaving work, the street, which connects Temple Bar with Dame Street and Grafton Street and O’Connell Bridge, would indeed be filled with Dubliners moving between business, commercial, and residential areas of the city.

Westmoreland Street, Dublin, photographed by Robert French between 1880 and 1900. From the National Library of Ireland's Lawrence Photograph Collection.
Westmoreland Street, Dublin, photographed by Robert French between 1880 and 1900. From the National Library of Ireland’s Lawrence Photograph Collection.

The final reference to Westmoreland Street appears in “Grace,” a story that clearly contains movement from one the pub to the residence of Tom Kernan, although the route is vague and only indirectly marked by geographical indicators. As the cab carrying a drunk and bloodied Kernan moves away from the bar, it “dr[ives] off towards Westmoreland Street” (153). The bar is located somewhere off of Grafton Street and may very well be Davy Byrne’s, where Farrington has been drinking in “Counterparts.” In any case, Kernan’s northward movement along Westmoreland Street is a reversal of Farrington’s southward path as he is only just beginning his revels.

In general, Westmoreland Street serves as a link from north to south in Dubliners. It’s a bustling yet primarily utilitarian link between settings, a place to see and be seen, alive with motion and the movement of characters.

Screenshot from the map showing Westmoreland Street running north and south from the Liffey to the southern edge of Trinity College.
Screenshot from the map showing Westmoreland Street running north and south from the Liffey to the southern edge of Trinity College.

Eustace Street

Eustace Street, Dublin City, Co. Dublin, photographed by Robert French between 1865-1914. Part of the Lawrence Photograph Collection, National Library of Ireland.
Eustace Street, Dublin City, Co. Dublin, photographed by Robert French between 1865-1914. Part of the Lawrence Photograph Collection, National Library of Ireland.

Eustace Street, which appears only in “Counterparts,” is the street where Farrington’s office is located. He is a copyist, or a scrivener, like the famous Bartleby, who, like Bartleby, has had enough of taking orders from his boss. But unlike Melville’s scrivener who simply responds to any request with “I would prefer not to,” Farrington acts out quite emotionally throughout the story in response to slight after slight. The first of these slights come from his boss, Mr. Alleyne of Crosbie & Alleyne, solicitors. (Thom’s 1904 directory lists a C.W. Alleyne at the corner of Eustace and Dame Street, though as Gifford notes, there is no Crosbie listed on the premises [Gifford 74]). Alleyne calls Farrington into the office where he reprimands him for not finishing a copy on time, giving excuses for “shirking work,” and taking too long on his lunch breaks (87).

Alleyne tells Farrington to finish the copies immediately, to which he responds “Yes, sir.” But after writing out a few words, Farrington decides to get a porter to get his motivation up. He heads to O’Neill’s shop and by the time he returns to the office,

“Darkness, accompanied by a thick fog, was gaining upon the dusk of February and the lamps in Eustace Street had been lit” (89).

Eustace connects Dame Street on the south, a busy thoroughfare containing shops, banks, and other financial establishments, with Temple Bar on the north, an area that includes places like Terry Kelly’s pawn office in Fleet Street and the employer of Jack Mooney in “The Boarding House,” who is “a hard case,” and as Gifford suggests, could be involved in the “debt-collection side of a commission agency” (Gifford 63). In other words, Eustace Street connects ideas of institutionalized money with perhaps ‘hard-got’ money.

Screenshot from the Google map showing Eustace Street and the beginning of Farrington's route.
Screenshot from the Google map showing Eustace Street and the beginning of Farrington’s route.

Eustace Street itself has an eclectic history. One report, which chronicles the history of 17 Eustace Street, explains, “Eustace Street can be considered quite unique as throughout its history it accommodated such a broad range of occupants from a Lord Mayor of Dublin, Sir Thomas Blackhall, through to merchants, goldsmiths, gunmakers and solicitors” (Somerville-Woodward & Morris 3).

One particular implication of the reference to the street, though, is political. According to one of several historical accounts of the Temple Bar area, although “Eustace Street was named after Sir Maurice Eustace, Speaker of the House of Commons and Lord Chancellor, who died in 1665 and whose house and gardens stood on the site of this street,” it was also where the Eagle Tavern was located. This tavern was the setting for “[t]he inaugural meeting on 9 November 1791 of the Dublin Society of United Irishmen … with Simon Butler as chairman and Napper Tandy as secretary.” The United Irishmen, led by Wolfe Tone was prominent in the 1798 rebellion that sought to end British rule in Ireland.

It’s possible that the street, with its republican connotations is, as a passageway, itself a kind of rebellion by Farrington against Mr. Alleyne. The narrator refers twice to Alleyne’s North of Ireland accent, which may indicate he has unionist leanings. The description appears, in fact, in the opening lines of the story as Alleyne is “furiously” calling for the scrivener:

“The bell rang furiously and, when Miss Parker went to the tube, a furious voice called out in a piercing North of Ireland accent:

–Send Farrington here!” (86)

The description appears again in the context of Farrington mocking Alleyne, which he does throughout the night to his friends:

“But they had never pulled together from the first, he and Mr. Alleyne, ever since the day Mr. Alleyne had overheard him mimicking his North of Ireland accent to amuse Higgins and Miss Parker: that had been the beginning of it” (92).

Much of the tension and frustration Farrington experiences seem to be a kind of embodiment of the frustration Ireland as a whole felt under the dictates of British rule. And indeed, later in the night, a London woman slights Farrington, another enactment of the British-Irish dichotomy symbolically fueling Farrington’s rage.

The hidden political connotations implied by the reference to Eustace Street only add depth to the story’s complex commentary of the frustrated Irish worker in a British economy.

Fleet Street

Sharing a name with the famous London locale, Fleet Street in Dublin is a busy pathway just south of the Liffey connecting Westmoreland Road with the bustling Temple Bar (another name echoing the London scene) district. In Dubliners the street appears in one story, only briefly, in reference to a character’s job and in another as the location of a business.

Modern-day Fleet Street in Dublin. By Jean Housen (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Modern-day Fleet Street in Dublin. By Jean Housen (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
The first mention of Fleet Street happens in “The Boarding House:”

“Jack Mooney, the Madam’s son, who was clerk to a commission agent in Fleet Street, had the reputation of being a hard case. He was fond of using soldiers’ obscenities: usually he came home in the small hours. When he met his friends he had always a good one to tell them and he was always sure to be on to a good thing—that is to say, a likely horse or a likely artiste. He was also handy with the mits and sang comic songs” (62).

The next occurrence of the reference is in “Counterparts” as Farrington is plotting his drinking strategy. As he is low on funds, he considers pawning his watch:

“He felt his great body again aching for the comfort of the public-house. The fog had begun to chill him and he wondered could he touch Pat in O’Neill’s. He could not touch him for more than a bob—and a bob was no use. Yet he must get money somewhere or other: he had spent his last penny for the g.p. and soon it would be too late for getting money anywhere. Suddenly, as he was fingering his watch-chain, he thought of Terry Kelly’s pawn-office in Fleet Street. That was the dart! Why didn’t he think of it sooner?” (92)

For both men, Fleet Street is a source of money. Farrington’s acquisition of that money is perhaps a bit desparate while Jack Mooney’s is occupational. Nevertheless, Jack’s vocation is tinged with a bit of the subversive as well. In his annotations, Don Gifford suggests that “[s]ince Jack Mooney is ‘a hard case,’ it may be that he is well-suited to assist in the debt-collection side of a commission agency” (63). Jack himself seems savvy on the good bets, and this knowledge or penchant would certainly be a byproduct of dealing with gamblers and money borrowers.

The connotations in Dubliners of Fleet Street as a somewhat opportunistic money-exchange hub may be a Dublinized critique of the more prominent London Fleet Street, home to such sometimes rascals as the press and the fictional serial killer Sweeney Todd. No doubt Joyce was aware of the penny dreadful The String of Pearls: A Romance, the first story to depict the murderous barber of London’s Fleet Street. But even more interesting is John Davidson’s 1893 Fleet Street Eclogues, a written verse play in seven sections, that chronicles an intermittent year-long conversation among journalists, reviewers, and writers as they lament the death of art and poetry and nature from their Fleet Street offices. These characters recognize their own contribution as paid press workers to the decay of the arts even though they strive to publish and create on their own, outside of their official duties, works and memoirs that will survive forever. The entire Eclogues is available on the Internet Archives and is embedded below, opened to a passage in the “Good-Friday” section that captures the longing of the journalist to escape the “brilliance” of the word and return to the more natural leanings of language.

Davy Byrne’s

Front of Davy Byrne's. Photo by Jasmine Mulliken, 29 June 2014.
Front of Davy Byrne’s. Photo by Jasmine Mulliken, 29 June 2014.

Most Joyce enthusiasts, and even  many non-enthusiasts, recognize Davy Byrne’s as the place where Bloom ate a cheese sandwich and drank a glass of burgundy in Ulysses. Many a Bloomsday pilgrim has stopped into the pub over the years to experience a moment in the life of Leopold Bloom, and literary pub crawls  (including the excellent one I experienced in the summer of 2014, linked) highlight the premises as a staple in Dublin’s literary scene. Perhaps less noted is the pub’s appearance in Dubliners. It appears only once, and briefly, but it resonates in Joyce’s weblike world as an intersection of person, place, and theme.

In Dubliners, specifically “Counterparts,” it’s the first pub Farrington hits after his exchange with Mr. Alleyne, and the first time he embellishes the story of that exchange to his drinking fellows:

“–So, I just looked at him—coolly, you know, and looked at her. Then I looked back at him again—taking my time, you know. I don’t think that that’s a fair question to put to me, says I.

Nosey Flynn was sitting up in his usual corner of Davy Byrne’s and, when he heard the story, he stood Farrington a half-one, saying it was as smart a thing as ever he heard. Farrington stood a drink in his turn.” (93)

In reality, the incident with Mr. Alleyne leaves Farrington much demeaned, but as the night goes on, and Farrington tells his story to a wider audience,  he increasingly paints himself as the verbal victor over his boss and a hero for all working class Bartlebies tired of taking orders.

Interior of Davy Byrne's as photographed by the author, 30 June 2014.
Interior of Davy Byrne’s as photographed by the author, 30 June 2014.

Now “Dublin’s most famous [gastro]pub,” Davy Byrne’s was established in 1889. According to the history on the pub’s website, before Byrne opened the doors to his own business, he was manager at the Scotch House, another pub that Farrington and his crew visit during the course of the story. It’s at the Scotch House that Farrington meets Weathers, the artiste who eventually beats him at arm wrestling and ruins his night.

Interior of Davy Byrnes, photographed between 1930 and 1950. From the Valentine Photographic Collection at the National Library of Ireland.
Interior of Davy Byrnes, photographed between 1930 and 1950. From the Valentine Photographic Collection at the National Library of Ireland.

But early in the evening, before Farrington spends all his money and begins his downward spiral, he has a drink at Davy Byrne’s, courtesy of Nosey Flynn, who also appears at this locale in Ulysses. In fact, as soon as Bloom enters the “moral pub” (8.732), Nosey Flynn, apparently at work, greets him and takes his order: a glass of burgundy and a cheese sandwich. After some conversation between the two, Davy Byrne himself comes in “from the hindbar in tuckstitched shirtsleeves, cleaning his lips with two wipes of his napkin. Herring’s blush. Whose smile upon each feature plays with such and such replete. Too much fat on the parsnips” (8. 809-12). Bloom studies the counter as Byrne and Flynn talk: “Nice quiet bar. Nice piece of wood in that counter. Nicely planed. Like the way it curves there” (8.822-23).

Exterior of Davy Byrne's, as photographed between 1930 and 1950. From the Valentine Photographic Collection at the National Library of Ireland.
Exterior of Davy Byrne’s, as photographed between 1930 and 1950. From the Valentine Photographic Collection at the National Library of Ireland.

Another common figure to both stories is Paddy Leonard, who enters the scene once the main characters have already begun eating and/or drinking. In “Counterparts,” Leonard comes in with O’Halloran, and in Ulysses, he comes in with Bantam Lyons and Tom Rochford shortly before Bloom leaves.

According to the pub’s online history, fictional characters aren’t the only common links in Joyce’s Davy-Byrne’s web. Apparently, the rooms above the pub were once leased to another person named James Joyce, a fact that, as the history points out, “Joyce the author may well have been aware of when famously alluding to Davy Byrnes…This ironic detail would not have been lost on the writer, famous for carefully researching all premises and addresses used in his writings.” Thus, it might be also worth noting the implications this irony seems to highlight. Though it’s endlessly intriguing to explore the various connections between characters and places across Joyce’s works, might it also be possible that Ulysses Nosey Flynn and “Counterparts” Nosey Flynn are two completely different people?

 

Tivoli Theatre

The Tivoli Theatre on Burgh Quay, on the south bank of the Liffey. The theatre would have been a block north of Mulligan's and a block east of the Scotch House. Photographed between 1901 and 1914 by Robert French, from the National Library of Ireland's Lawrence Photograph Collection.
The Tivoli Theatre on Burgh Quay, on the south bank of the Liffey. The theatre would have been a block north of Mulligan’s and a block east of the Scotch House. Photographed between 1901 and 1914 by Robert French, from the National Library of Ireland’s Lawrence Photograph Collection.

The Tivoli Theatre is mentioned twice in “Counterparts” as the venue where Weathers is performing:

“Leonard introduced them to a young fellow named Weathers who was performing at the Tivoli as an acrobat and knockabout artiste. Farrington stood a drink all round. Weathers said he would take a small Irish and Apollinaris. Farrington, who had definite notions of what was what, asked the boys would they have an Apollinaris too; but the boys told Tim to make theirs hot. The talk became theatrical. O’Halloran stood a round and then Farrington stood another round, Weathers protesting that the hospitality was too Irish. He promised to get them in behind the scenes and introduce them to some nice girls. O’Halloran said that he and Leonard would go, but that Farrington wouldn’t go because he was a married man; and Farrington’s heavy dirty eyes leered at the company in token that he understood he was being chaffed.” (94)

When the Tivoli is first mentioned, the group is in the Scotch House, which is about a block west of the theatre, also on Burgh Quay. A block south of the Tivoli is Mulligan’s in Poolbeg Street. This entire area just south of the Liffey is the predominant setting for the story. After the group leaves the Scotch House, and re-congregates at Mulligan’s, Weathers starts drinking cheaper drinks. It’s here that Farrington lusts after the woman with the London accent, whom Weathers explains is one of the Tivoli crowd.

“Presently two young women with big hats and a young man in a check suit came in and sat at a table close by. Weathers saluted them and told the company that they were out of the Tivoli.” (95)

Once again, though, Farrington is “chaffed,” denied anything more than a glance or two, a brush against his chair, and an “O, pardon!”

The Tivoli theatre, as described by John Finegan in “Dublin’s Lost Theatres,” was

“[s]ituated on Burgh Quay, on the site of the old Conciliation Hall, and opened as the Grand Lyric Hall, a concert hall, on 26 November 1897. A year later it became the Lyric Theatre of Varieties, and closed on 31 August 1901. It reopened as the Tivoli Variety Theatre on 28 October, 1901 and closed in 1928. Irish Press offices later on site.” (96-97)

Conciliation Hall on Burgh Quay. Illustration form Archiseek.
Conciliation Hall on Burgh Quay. Illustration form Archiseek.

Pictured above, the original building, Conciliation Hall, according to architectural records, was designed by Peter Martin and built in 1843 “as a meeting place for Daniel O’Connell’s Loyal National Repeal Association.” Interestingly, it seems Joyce may have chosen to reference the Tivoli, this musical-theatrical venue that also carries political connotations, as a way of possibly suggesting Farrington’s economic, sexual, and lifestyle paralysis have political origins.

The artiste’s lifestyle is one that Farrington covets, and his frustration at not being equal in economic status, sexual prowess, or physical strength (he loses at arm wrestling to Weathers) all contribute to his violent outburst later that night against his son. Though the Tivoli is simply a place reference, it embodies an entire lifestyle and occupation that Farrington can never fully access or experience. That the theatre has political origins only adds complexity to his situation.

Counterparts Route

The path Farrington travels in “Counterparts” is confined to the south side of the Liffey. Most of the story sees him wandering between pubs in the Temple Bar area. He visits places like Davy Byrne’s, The Scotch House, and Mulligan’s in Poolbeg. Once he runs out of money and drinking companions, he catches the tram at O’Connell Bridge and heads home to Shelbourne Road outside of the city center.

In all, he travels about 2.8 miles, or 4.5 kilometers. He starts at his office near O’Neill’s, a pub and shop which he visits briefly for a porter before returning to work at Crosbie & Alleyne. After he leaves the office for the evening, he makes his way to a pawn shop in Fleet Street to acquire some drinking money for the evening. From there he walks down Westmoreland Street to get to Davy Byrne’s, a pub later made famous by Bloom and his cheese sandwich and burgundy. After telling his friends various versions of his day’s events, the group separates and Farrington continues with O’Halloran and Leonard past the Ballast Office and on to the Scotch house on the south bank of the Liffey. There they meet Weathers and together close down the Scotch House and remove to Mulligan’s in Poolbeg Street. It’s there that Farrington loses his confidence as well as the arm wrestling match with Weathers. “Sullen-faced” (96), he suddenly stands alone on the O’Connlel Bridge, the closest he ever gets to the north side of Dublin, waiting for the Sandymount tram to take him home. The tram drops him in Shlebourne road where he hugs the wall of the barracks until he arrives at the side entrance to his home.

The animated approximated path Farrington takes shows a distinct shift from the bustle of the Temple Bar area to the quiet, almost monotonous landscape of his suburban neighborhood.

The route, from above, Farrington travels in "Counterparts."
Google Earth satellite view of the route Farrington travels in “Counterparts.”

 

London

The moat at the Tower of London juxtaposed with modern architecture. Photo by Jasmine Mulliken, June 2014.
The moat at the Tower of London juxtaposed with modern architecture. Photo by Jasmine Mulliken, June 2014.

Referenced in six stories, London consistently carries connotations of economic dependence or opportunity for the Dubliners who were, at the dawn of the twentieth century, experiencing rather dismal prospects in the marketplace. In fact, much of the paralysis depicted in the collection stems from characters’ vocational or financial challenges. As Joseph Kelly very clearly puts it, “First and foremost, paralysis was economic” (17).  Kelly points to the essay “Fenianism” in which Joyce claims Ireland consists of

“a population which diminishes year by year with mathematical regularity, [through] the uninterrupted emigration to the United States or Europe of Irishmen for whom the economic and intellectual conditions of their native land are unbearable.” (CW 190)

One of those emigrants is Little Chandler’s friend Gallaher. From the very opening of the story, Little Chandler is obsessed with London:

“Little Chandler’s thoughts ever since lunch-time had been of his meeting with Gallaher, of Gallaher’s invitation and of the great city London where Gallaher lived.” (70)

As we learn in Ulysses, Gallaher works for a “Chapelizod boss” (7.732), another Irish emigrant, most likely the Chapelizod-born  Alfred Harmsworth who started London’s Daily Mail in 1894 and Daily Mirror  in 1903.  As “a brilliant figure on the London Press” (71), Gallaher is the epitome of success, even “greatness” (72) in Little Chandler’s eyes (“Ignatius Gallaher on the London Press!” [72].) And if only Little Chandler could write some verse about the Dublin tramps at nightfall, “[p]erhaps Gallaher might be able to get it into some London paper for him” (73); if only he could accentuate the more “Irish-looking” (74) parts of his name, perhaps he too could be considered among the London literary circles. In other words, Little Chandler considers his Irishness artistic capital in an English economy.

Once Little Chandler finishes his trek from office to pub (“Every step brought him nearer to London” [73]),the two men discuss  “the old gang” (75). O’Hara, who still lives in Dublin has “gone to the dogs” while Hogan, who recently visited “London and he seemed to be very flush” (76), is on the Land Commission, an agency that Don Gifford notes was a “notorious porkbarrel” (70). Gifford explains that “[t]he Land Purchase Bills of 1891, 1896, and 1903 provided for the tenants’ purchase of their farms from the landlords through the backing of British credit.” So even though the Irish farmers were getting their land, they were enabled to do so by the British economy. In turn, the Irish Hogan, though still living in Ireland, is”very flush” because his vocation involves British financial backing.

Soon, Gallaher encourages Little Chandler to travel outside of Ireland, and suggests he “[g]o to London or Paris” (76), and as they talk, Little Chandler becomes”disillusioned” by Gallaher’s new manner, but imagines it’s only because of ” living in London amid the bustle and competition of the Press  (77).” In other words, living in London makes up for the “something vulgar in his friend which he had not observed before.” Little Chandler is even envious of the worldliness that has created the new vulgarity in Gallaher. He begins appropriating London as another “moral” city on a level with Dublin, considering himself and his city, wishfully, in league with Gallaher and London against places like Paris, which he sees as immoral. Gallaher must correct him, though, insisting,

“–London! said Ignatius Gallaher. It’s six of one and half-a-dozen of the other. You ask Hogan, my boy. I showed him a bit about London when he was over there. He’d open your eye….” (77)

As uncomfortable as London’ potential immorality makes him, Little Chandler still dreams of following Gallaher. All his frustration pours out as at the end of the story as, holding his baby and questioning his marriage, he broods:

“A dull resentment against his life awoke within him. Could he not escape from his little house? Was it too late for him to try to live bravely like Gallaher? Could he go to London? There was the furniture still to be paid for.” (83)

Ultimately, it’s his debt that holds him back from leaving his despised home even at the same time that the London literary industry represents a chance to escape.

London functions somewhat similarly in the other four stories, though it’s never as prominent as in “The Little Cloud.” In “A Boarding House,” London is mentioned only briefly as the home city of one of the guests: “one of the music-hall artistes, a little blond Londoner, had made a rather free allusion to Polly” (68). The free allusion of the Londoner anticipates the seedier side of London that Gallaher reveals to Little Chandler in the next story.

The city is alluded to again briefly in “Counterparts” as Farrington is reaching his breaking point in Mulligan’s. The woman he is so fascinated by speaks to him in a London accent before leaving and never looking back:

“She glanced at him once or twice and, when the party was leaving the room, she brushed against his chair and said “O, pardon!” in a London accent. He watched her leave the room in the hope that she would look back at him, but he was disappointed. He cursed his want of money and cursed all the rounds he had stood, particularly all the whiskies and Apolinaris which he had stood to Weathers. If there was one thing that he hated it was a sponge. He was so angry that he lost count of the conversation of his friends.” (95)

Part of Farrington’s frustration stems from the rejection of this exotic Londoner, and it’s just after this exchange that he channels his rage into an arm-wrestling match, which he loses. The rejection of the London woman who is apparently out of his league sets in motion Farrington’s downward spiral of inadequacy and inferiority.

In “Grace,” Tom Kernan makes his living by selling tea for the London-based Pulbrook, Robertson, and Company. Although we don’t learn these specifics until Ulysses, enough of the address on his office is given to reveal that whatever company it is, it’s based in London:

“Modern business methods had spared him only so far as to allow him a little office in Crowe Street, on the window blind of which was written the name of his firm with the address—London, E. C. On the mantelpiece of this little office a little leaden battalion of canisters was drawn up and on the table before the window stood four or five china bowls which were usually half full of a black liquid. From these bowls Mr. Kernan tasted tea. He took a mouthful, drew it up, saturated his palate with it and then spat it forth into the grate. Then he paused to judge.” (154)

Again, the livelihood of this Dubliner is tied to industry located in England.

“A Mother” and “The Dead” reference London in the context of its music industry. While in “A Mother,” the Londoner Madame Glynn is described as “[a]n unknown solitary woman with a pale face” (143) and not a very good singer, Bartell D’Arcy in “The Dead” insists that London, along with Paris and Milan, is where all the good singers can be found (199). Though these references may appear to argue opposite perspectives on the London music scene, it’s interesting to note that Madam Glynn is an unknown among the rather inexperienced performers, understudies, and bronze-medalists of Mr. Holohan’s rather patched-together show. Kathleen Kearney has no knowledge of her whatsoever:

“–I wonder where did they dig her up, said Kathleen to Miss Healy. I’m sure I never heard of her.

Miss Healy had to smile. Mr. Holohan limped into the dressing-room at that moment and the two young ladies asked him who was the unknown woman. Mr. Holohan said that she was Madam Glynn from London.” (143)

Essentially, Madam Glynn must perform in Dublin because, ostensibly, she cannot perform in London. Like Little Chandler, she lacks the talent or economic means to break onto the London scene. Caruso, on the other hand, whose talent D’Arcy extols in “The Dead,” had toured in London:

–Oh, well, said Mr. Bartell D’Arcy, I presume there are as good singers today as there were then.

–Where are they? asked Mr. Browne defiantly.

–In London, Paris, Milan, said Mr. Bartell D’Arcy warmly. I suppose Caruso, for example, is quite as good, if not better than any of the men you have mentioned.” (199)

Overall, the role London plays as a reference in Dubliners tends to be one of economic privilege in opposition to a struggling Irish middle class. Some of the Dubliners capitalize on British economic opportunities while others find the London market hopelessly impenetrable.

Mulligan’s in Poolbeg Street

Screenshot of Google Earth street view of Mulligan's from the map. Copyright Google 2013.
Screenshot of Google Earth street view of Mulligan’s from the map. Copyright Google 2013.

This week’s featured place is Mulligan’s, a pub in Poolbeg Street that serves as the setting for Farrington’s arm wrestling match with Weathers in “Counterparts.”

It’s also where Farrington admires the lady from London, wishing that he hadn’t already spent all his money standing drinks for Weathers. It’s the final bar of the night, after Farrington and his varying crew have left Davy Byrne’s and the Scotch House:

“Weathers made them all have just one little tincture at his expense and promised to meet them later on at Mulligan’s in Poolbeg Street” (94).

“When the Scotch House closed they went round to Mulligan’s” (95).

According to the pub’s website, it was opened at its current location in 1854. Also according to the website, though they admit that the information is rather suspect, Joyce possibly “wrote at the counter of the premises while he sipped his guinness.” Regardless of whether or not that actually happened, Joyce certainly made a historic marker of the establishment by bringing his characters in for a few rounds on that February evening.

Storymap, “a web based multimedia project that revives Ireland’s age-old tradition of storytelling,” has filmed, on location, a re-enactment of the arm-wrestling scene in the story. The film is one of many that comprise this energetic interactive map of Dublin stories.