Episode 019: Four Judges, Sin City (92:6-96:24 of Ch04)

December 4, 2025 Adam Seelig

JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKE
Episode 019:
Four Judges, Sin City

PAGE 92:6-96:24 OF CHAPTER 4 | 2025-12-4

PODCAST AUDIO

PODCAST TRANSCRIPT

[Music: Instrumental of “The Ballad of Persse O’Reilly” with Adam Seelig on piano and Brandon Bak on drums, from the film series of Finnegans Wake. Music fades out]

Adam Seelig: Welcome to James Joyce’s divine and delirious comedy, Finnegans Wake. In this episode, number 19, we’ll hear Irish-Canadian actor — and my good friend and colleague — Richard Harte performing pages 92 to 96 from Chapter 4 of Joyce’s last novel. I’m Adam Seelig, the director of the reading you’ll soon hear.

I’m happy to let you know that later this month One Little Goat Theatre Company is releasing the complete film of Finnegans Wake Chapter 3 on our website and YouTube channel. Join our email list to be the first to know.

[Music: Adam Seelig plays piano]
Adam Seelig: Finnegans Wake is a production of One Little Goat Theatre Company. For the next five years, One Little Goat will film and record all 17 chapters (roughly 30 Hours) of Joyce’s Finnegans Wake before live audiences in various locations, screening and releasing them along the way, with the aim of completing the entire book in time for its 90th birthday, May 4, 2029. One Little Goat Theatre Company is an official charity in Canada and the United States — if you’d like to support our work, please visit us online at www.OneLittleGoat.org to make a charitable donation. To get in touch, you’ll find our email address on the One Little Goat Theatre Company website and we’d love to hear from you.
[Music fades out]

Adam Seelig: Today’s excerpt features the four old men, among the most amusing characters in all of Finnegans Wake. We’ll also get a first, teasing look at what might be the contents of the famous letter by ALP that promises to exonerate her beleaguered spouse HCE.

The four old men combine—as you’d expect from Finnegans Wake—the high and the low, the sacred and profane. They are at once the four Gospels—Matthew, Mark, Luke and John—and the four drunks of the WWI drinking song that goes something like this:

Glo-ri-ous! Glo-ri-ous!
One keg of beer for the four of us!
Glory be to God that there ain’t no more of us,
The four of us could drink it all alone!

**The four Gospels as depicted in *The Book of Kells* (c.800): Matthew (top l.), Mark (lion, top r.), Luke (eagle, bottom l.), John (ox, bottom r.).**

(For those wanting a more polished version of the song, I’ve linked to it in the transcript of this episode posted on One Little Goat’s website.) ‘The four of them,’ as I simply like to call them, are often referred to as “Mamalujo,” an abbreviation for Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. They are, in fact, the first published characters of Finnegans Wake, appearing in Ford Madox Ford’s transatlantic review just over 100 years ago (and for more on that, I’ve linked in the transcript to Peter Chrisp’s terrific blog, from swerve of shore to bend of bay).

‘The four of them’ are also the four provinces of Ireland, always appearing in the novel in the same order: first is Ulster, with its capital of Belfast; next is Munster, with Cork its capital; third is Leinster and its capital, Dublin; and last is Connacht, with its capital of Galway. In that order, with Ulster north, Munster south, Leinster east and Connacht west, they form the shape of the cross. As John Gordon explains: “The usual Mamalujo order, imposed on the map of Ireland, traces the traditional Catholic sequence of crossing oneself: up, down, left, right. (In the Orthodox churches it is up, down, right, left.)”

Adeline Glasheen contends that Mamalujo also stands for James Joyce’s spouse, daughter and son: Mama (i.e. Nora Joyce), Lucia, Giorgio. Mamalujo.

And ‘the four of them’ are also the four Gaelic authors of the monumental 17th-century chronicle of Irish history known as The Annals of the Four Masters. We met them briefly back in Chapter 1:

[Richard Harte reads] Four things therefore, saith our herodotary Mammon Lujius in his grand old historiorum, wrote near Boriorum, bluest book in baile's annals, f. t. in Dyffinarsky ne'er sall fail til heathersmoke and cloudweed Eire's ile sall pall. And here now they are, the fear of um. (13:1-5)

There’s only one small problem with these four annalists: their memories are fuzzy and often more concerned with romantic reverie than factual accuracy.

In today’s excerpt they take on the role of four judges reaching a verdict on the courtroom proceedings. The four of them put their heads together on the matter, or as the text puts it, “the four justicers laid their wigs together” (92:35), and given the general haziness of these four old men, it will come as no surprise that they default to a verdict of ‘not guilty’ for Pegger Festy / Festy King, whom we encountered in our previous episode (Ep018).

**Salvador Dalí, *Sinbad the Sailor*, 1978. Source:** **Artsy**.

Soon after, they are back in their chambers talking about our protagonists Anna Livia Plurabelle and HCEarwicker, wondering what ALP could possibly see in HCE, whom they deride as “Singabob, the badfather,” (94:33) a mere thingamabob comprised of ‘sin’ and ‘badness’ — a far cry, in other words, from the heroic Sinbad of the Arabian Nights. This then eventually leads to some recollections of past romance, along with plenty of fluid argument, or as the text calls it, “contradrinking” (96:3), and finally concludes today’s excerpt—harmoniously?—with a drunken round of the most famous glass-raising song of them all, Robbie Burns’s “Auld Lang Syne.”

Today’s excerpt also provides a teaser of ALP’s letter that will, she hopes, clear HCE’s much maligned name. “The solid man saved by his sillied woman.” (94:3) We’ll visit this letter in great detail in our next chapter, Chapter 5. In the meantime, Chapter 4 gives us a sneak peak at two letters in the letter or in reaction to the letter, plus a few marks of punctuation. The letters are “A” and “O” separated by an extended ellipsis and a question and exclamation mark, with a final exclamation mark after the “O”. If you want to see it on the page, take a look on One Little Goat’s website, and here, in the spirit of sneak peaks, is Richard Harte reading it in today’s excerpt:

Now tell me, tell me, tell me then!
What was it?
A .......... !
? ..........O! (94:19-22)

From A to O, the letter might contain everything from alpha to omega. If so, the exclamation mark at the end is well warranted!

Just prior to the letter, the text reminds us of HCE’s sin, so reminiscent of Adam and Eve’s original sin (Ep018), with the fruit of sexual knowledge here appearing via the Latin word malum meaning both ‘apple’ and ‘evil’. As the text puts it, “ana mala woe is we!” This leads to HCE’s Humpty-Dumpty-like fall, or as the text describes him, “old obster lumpky pumpkin,” adding another appropriately fall fruit to the scene. And then we’re told, “And that was how framm Sin fromm Son, acity arose, finfin funfun, a sitting arrows.” (94:16-19) So we’ve lost Paradise once again, but, like our Biblical forebears, make the most of it: from sin, from sex, children; and from such multiplying, cities and civilization. It all starts with Cupid’s prick, if you will: “a sitting arrows.” Fallen humanity raises a city. What goes down must come up and down again etc. It makes Las Vegas’s nickname redundant — every metropolis is a Sin City.

Here the Wake is recirculating the Catholic concept of felix culpa, referring to the fall of Adam and Eve as fortunate because it gives humanity the opportunity to rise again, much like the phoenix of Dublin’s Phoenix Park that’s central to Finnegans Wake. Joyce has built and based his city on sin, sex, love.

For fun (and Fin) I’d like to offer a contrasting urban model offered by 19th-century Portuguese author José Maria de Eça de Quierós (1845-1900). In de Quierós’s ingenious reimagining of humanity’s origins, titled Adam and Eve in Paradise, it’s not sinful sex but cowering fear that builds our cities. Here’s an excerpt in the new translation by Margaret Jull Costa:

We, his descendants, owe our supremacy to Adam’s cowering terror. It was thanks to those bestial threats that he was obliged to climb up to the highest peaks of Humanity. The Mesopotamian poets of Genesis revealed their understanding of Man’s origins in those subtle verses in which the Serpent, that most dangerous of creatures, leads Adam, out of love for Eve, to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. If the troglodyte Lion had never roared, Man would not now be working in cities, because Civilization was born out of his desperate attempts to defend himself against both the Unfeeling and the Unthinking. Society is really the work of the wild beasts. (42)

Before we get to Richard’s reading, a quick synopsis of today’s excerpt in sequence… W.P. and Pegger Festy, the two witnesses to take the stand in the courtroom drama of our two previous episodes (Ep017 & Ep018) are presented in contrast, with W.P. appearing to attract all the women. Having reached their noncommittal verdict of ‘not guilty,’ the four justices release Pegger, who, unable to contain his excitement on his way out of court, lets out a massive fart that elicits cries of shame from the gallery. We then get a glimpse of ALP’s letter, as we just discussed, followed by ‘the four of them’ “contradrinking” each other about ALP and HCE.

**‘Sufferin’ Dufferin,’ Bus 29. Photo:** **Toronto Star**.

And one last note for the Canadian listeners out there: I hope you appreciate the prophetic reference in today’s reading to Toronto’s worst bus route, bus No.29 along Dufferin Street, popularly known as ‘Sufferin’ Dufferin’ (93:30).

Now it’s time for Richard’s performance of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake, page 92 line 6 to page 96 line 24 of Chapter 4. The performance was filmed and recorded at Type Books on Queen Street West in Toronto on January 22nd, 2024 with a live audience.

[Richard Harte reads Finnegans Wake 92:6-96:24.]
[92] The hilariohoot of Pegger's Windup cumjustled as neatly
with the tristitone of the Wet Pinter's as were they isce et ille
equals of opposites, evolved by a onesame power of nature or of
spirit, iste, as the sole condition and means of its himundher
manifestation and polarised for reunion by the symphysis of
their antipathies. Distinctly different were their duasdestinies.
Whereas the maidies of the bar, (a pairless trentene, a lunarised
score) when the eranthus myrrmyrred: Show'm the Posed:
fluttered and flattered around the willingly pressed, nominating
him for the swiney prize, complimenting him, the captivating
youth, on his having all his senses about him, stincking thyacinths
through his curls (O feen! O deur!) and bringing busses to his
cheeks, their masculine Oirisher Rose (his neece cleur!), and
legando round his nice new neck for him and pizzicagnoling his
woolywags, with their dindy dandy sugar de candy mechree me
postheen flowns courier to belive them of all his untiring young
dames and send treats in their times. Ymen. But it was not un-
observed of those presents, their worships, how, of one among
all, her deputised to defeme him by the Lunar Sisters' Celibacy
Club, a lovelooking leapgirl, all all alonely, Gentia Gemma of the
Makegiddyculling Reeks, he, wan and pale in his unmixed admir-
ation, seemed blindly, mutely, tastelessly, tactlessly, innamorate
with heruponhim in shining aminglement, the shaym of his hisu
shifting into the shimmering of her hers, (youthsy, beautsy, hee's
her chap and shey'll tell memmas when she gays whom) till the
wild wishwish of her sheeshea melted most musically mid the
dark deepdeep of his shayshaun.
And whereas distracted (for was not just this in effect which
had just caused that the effect of that which it had caused to oc-
cur?) the four justicers laid their wigs together, Untius, Mun-
cius, Punchus and Pylax but could do no worse than promulgate

[93] their standing verdict of Nolans Brumans whereoneafter King,
having murdered all the English he knew, picked out his pockets
and left the tribunal scotfree, trailing his Tommeylommey's tunic
in his hurry, thereinunder proudly showing off the blink pitch to
his britgits to prove himself (an't plase yous!) a rael genteel. To
the Switz bobbyguard's curial but courtlike: Commodore valley O
hairy, Arthre jennyrosy?: the firewaterloover returted with such a
vinesmelling fortytudor ages rawdownhams tanyouhide as would
the latten stomach even of a tumass equinous (we were prepared
for the chap's clap cap, the accent, but, took us as, by surprise
and now we're geshing it like gush gash from a burner!) so that all
the twofromthirty advocatesses within echo, pulling up their briefs
at the krigkry: Shun the Punman!: safely and soundly soccered
that fenemine Parish Poser, (how dare he!) umprumptu right-
oway hames, much to his thanks, gratiasagam, to all the wrong
donatrices, biss Drinkbattle's Dingy Dwellings where (for like
your true venuson Esau he was dovetimid as the dears at
Bottome) he shat in (zoo), like the muddy goalbind who he was
(dun), the chassetitties belles conclaiming: You and your gift of
your gaft of your garbage abaht our Farvver! and gaingridando:
Hon! Verg! Nau! Putor! Skam! Schams! Shames!
And so it all ended. Artha kama dharma moksa. Ask Kavya for
the kay. And so everybody heard their plaint and all listened to
their plause. The letter! The litter! And the soother the bitther!
Of eyebrow pencilled, by lipstipple penned. Borrowing a word
and begging the question and stealing tinder and slipping like
soap. From dark Rosa Lane a sigh and a weep, from Lesbia
Looshe the beam in her eye, from lone Coogan Barry his arrow
of song, from Sean Kelly's anagrim a blush at the name, from
I am the Sullivan that trumpeting tramp, from Suffering Duf-
ferin the Sit of her Style, from Kathleen May Vernon her Mebbe
fair efforts, from Fillthepot Curran his scotchlove machree-
ther, from hymn Op. 2 Phil Adolphos the weary O, the leery,
O, from Samyouwill Leaver or Damyouwell Lover thatjolly
old molly bit or that bored saunter by, from Timm Finn again's
weak tribes, loss of strenghth to his sowheel, from the wedding

[94] on the greene, agirlies, the gretnass of joyboys, from Pat Mullen,
Tom Mallon, Dan Meldon, Don Maldon a slickstick picnic made
in Moate by Muldoons. The solid man saved by his sillied woman.
Crackajolking away like a hearse on fire. The elm that whimpers
at the top told the stone that moans when stricken. Wind broke
it. Wave bore it. Reed wrote of it. Syce ran with it. Hand tore
it and wild went war. Hen trieved it and plight pledged peace.
It was folded with cunning, sealed with crime, uptied by a harlot,
undone by a child. It was life but was it fair? It was free but was
it art? The old hunks on the hill read it to perlection. It made
ma make merry and sissy so shy and rubbed some shine off Shem
and put some shame into Shaun. Yet Una and Ita spill famine
with drought and Agrippa, the propastored, spells tripulations
in his threne. Ah, furchte fruchte, timid Danaides! Ena milo melo-
mon, frai is frau and swee is too, swee is two when swoo is free,
ana mala woe is we! A pair of sycopanties with amygdaleine
eyes, one old obster lumpky pumpkin and three meddlars on
their slies. And that was how framm Sin fromm Son, acity arose,
finfin funfun, a sitting arrows. Now tell me, tell me, tell me then!
What was it?
A .......... !
? ..........O!

So there you are now there they were, when all was over
again, the four with them, setting around upin their judges'
chambers, in the muniment room, of their marshalsea, under the
suspices of Lally, around their old traditional tables of the law
like Somany Solans to talk it over rallthesameagain. Well and
druly dry. Suffering law the dring. Accourting to king's evelyns.
So help her goat and kiss the bouc. Festives and highajinks and
jintyaun and her beetyrossy bettydoaty and not to forget now
a'duna o'darnel. The four of them and thank court now there
were no more of them. So pass the push for port sake. Be it soon.
Ah ho! And do you remember, Singabob, the badfather, the
same, the great Howdoyoucallem, and his old nickname, Dirty
Daddy Pantaloons, in his monopoleums, behind the war of the
two roses, with Michael Victory, the sheemen's preester, before

[95] he caught his paper dispillsation from the poke, old Minace and
Minster York? Do I mind? I mind the gush off the mon like Bal-
lybock manure works on a tradewinds day. And the O'Moyly
gracies and the O'Briny rossies chaffing him bluchface and play-
ing him pranks. How do you do, todo, North Mister? Get into
my way! Ah dearome forsailoshe! Gone over the bays! When
ginabawdy meadabawdy! Yerra, why would he heed that old
gasometer with his hooping coppin and his dyinboosycough and
all the birds of the southside after her, Minxy Cunningham, their
dear divorcee darling, jimmies and jonnies to be her jo? Hold
hard. There's three other corners to our isle's cork float. Sure, 'tis
well I can telesmell him H2CE3 that would take a township's
breath away! Gob and I nose him too well as I do meself, heav-
ing up the Kay Wall by the 32 to 11 with his limelooking horse-
bags full of sesameseed, the Whiteside Kaffir, and his sayman's
effluvium and his scentpainted voice, puffing out his thundering
big brown cabbage! Pa! Thawt I'm glad a gull for his pawsdeen
fiunn! Goborro, sez he, Lankyshied! Gobugga ye, sez I! O
breezes! I sniffed that lad long before anyone. It was when I was
in my farfather out at the west and she and myself, the redheaded
girl, firstnighting down Sycomore Lane. Fine feelplay we had
of it mid the kissabetts frisking in the kool kurkle dusk of the
lushiness. My perfume of the pampas, says she (meaning me)
putting out her netherlights, and I'd sooner one precious sip at
your pure mountain dew than enrich my acquaintance with that
big brewer's belch.
And so they went on, the fourbottle men, the analists, ungu-
am and nunguam and lunguam again, their anschluss about her
whosebefore and his whereafters and how she was lost away
away in the fern and how he was founded deap on deep in anear,
and the rustlings and the twitterings and the raspings and the
snappings and the sighings and the paintings and the ukukuings
and the (hist!) the springapartings and the (hast!) the bybyscutt-
lings and all the scandalmunkers and the pure craigs that used to
be (up) that time living and lying and rating and riding round
Nunsbelly Square. And all the buds in the bush. And the laugh-

[96] ing jackass. Harik! Harik! Harik! The rose is white in the darik!
And Sunfella's nose has got rhinoceritis from haunting the roes
in the parik! So all rogues lean to rhyme. And contradrinking
themselves about Lillytrilly law pon hilly and Mrs Niall of the
Nine Corsages and the old markiss their besterfar, and, arrah,
sure there was never a marcus at all at all among the manlies and
dear Sir Armoury, queer Sir Rumoury, and the old house by the
churpelizod, and all the goings on so very wrong long before
when they were going on retreat, in the old gammeldags, the
four of them, in Milton's Park under lovely Father Whisperer
and making her love with his stuffstuff in the languish of flowers
and feeling to find was she mushymushy, and wasn't that very
both of them, the saucicissters, a drahereen o machree!, and (peep!)
meeting waters most improper (peepette!) ballround the garden,
trickle trickle trickle triss, please, miman, may I go flirting?
farmers gone with a groom and how they used her, mused her,
licksed her and cuddled. I differ with ye! Are you sure of your-
self now? You're a liar, excuse me! I will not and you're an-
other! And Lully holding their breach of the peace for them. Pool
loll Lolly! To give and to take! And to forego the pasht! And
all will be forgotten! Ah ho! It was too too bad to be falling
out about her kindness pet and the shape of O O O O O O O O
Ourang's time. Well, all right, Lelly. And shakeahand. And
schenkusmore. For Craig sake. Be it suck.
[End of excerpt]

Adam Seelig: That was Richard Harte reading pages 92 to 96 of Chapter 4 from Finnegans Wake, recorded live at Type Books on Queen Street West in Toronto on January 22nd, 2024.

Join us for Episode 20 in a fortnight when Richard continues Chapter 4 of Finnegans Wake. In the meantime, to be sure you don’t miss the episode, why not follow or subscribe to this podcast?

[Music: Instrumental of “Roll, Jordan, Roll” with Adam Seelig on piano and Brandon Bak on drums, from the film of Finnegans Wake Ch03.]

One Little Goat Theatre Company is a nonprofit, artist-driven, registered charity in the United States and Canada that depends on donations from individuals to make our productions, including this one, possible. If you’re able, please make a tax-deductible donation through our website, www.OneLittleGoat.org

Finnegans Wake is made possible by Friends of One Little Goat Theatre Company and the Emigrant Support Programme of the government of Ireland. Thank you for your support!

And thank you to the artists for this episode: Richard Harte; Sound by William Bembridge; Stage Management by Sandi Becker; Directed by yours truly, Adam Seelig.

A big thanks to Claire Foster and the staff and owners of Type Books, as well as to our wonderful live audience. Thank you to everyone at the Irish Consulate in Toronto. And thank you to Production Consultants Cathy Murphy, Andrew Moodie and Shai Rotbard-Seelig.

Thank you for listening!

[Music fades out]

[End of Ep019]

Mentioned: The four old men, ‘the four of them,’ four Gospels, Mamalujo, four provinces of Ireland, Annals of the Four Masters, four justices, the letter (of ALP to exonerate HCE), “A” and “O” as alpha to omega, cities and civilization founded on Adam and Eve’s fall, city from sin, Latin ‘malum’ as apple and evil, felix culpa, city from fear in Adam and Eve in Paradise by Eça de Quierós, synopsis.

Resources: Transcript for this episode, including the text of Finnegans Wake.
Finnegans Wake (1939) by James Joyce: there are many free copies of FW to read online or download, e.g. finwake.com
James Joyce Digital Archive, “Chicken Guide” to Finnegans Wake provides a ‘plain English’ paraphrase of each chapter by Danis Rose.
Richard Ellmann’s biography of James Joyce. Oxford University Press, 1982.
Edmund Epstein, A Guide through Finnegans Wake. University Press of Florida, 2009.
Adaline Glasheen, Third Census of Finnegans Wake: An Index of the Characters and Their Roles, University of California Press, 1977.
John Gordon’s annotations on his Finnegans Wake blog.
Roland McHugh, Annotations to Finnegans Wake (4th edition). Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016.
Raphael Slepon, fweet.org
William York Tindall, A Reader’s Guide to Finnegans Wake. Syracuse University Press, 1996.

Cited: José Maria de Eça de Quierós. Adam and Eve in Paradise (late 19th century). Trans. Margaret Jull Costa. New Directions, 2025.

Episode 018: Courtroom Drama & Thunderword (86:32-92:5 of Ch04)

November 20, 2025 Adam Seelig

JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKE
Episode 018:
Courtroom Drama & Thunderword

PAGE 86:32-92:5 OF CHAPTER 4 | 2025-11-20

PODCAST AUDIO

PODCAST TRANSCRIPT

[Music: Instrumental of “The Ballad of Persse O’Reilly” with Adam Seelig on piano and Brandon Bak on drums, from the film of Finnegans Wake Ch03. Music fades out]

Adam Seelig: Welcome to James Joyce’s divine and delirious comedy, Finnegans Wake. In this episode, number 18, we’ll hear Irish-Canadian actor — and my good friend and colleague — Richard Harte performing pages 86 to 92 from Chapter 4 of Joyce’s last novel. I’m Adam Seelig, the director of the reading you’ll soon hear.

**Actors Pip Dwyer & Richard Harte with EU Film Fest Artistic Director Jérémie Abessira (centre) at the screening of Chapter 3, Toronto 2025-11-18.**

I want to thank the Toronto European Film Festival for recently screening the “strawberry frolic” excerpt from Chapter 3 of our Finnegans Wake film series (you can hear the audio of that excerpt in Episode 14 of our podcast series). And I want to thank Kenji Hayakawa, Yuta Imazeki, and Kaori Hirashige for screening our films at their terrific event in Tokyo last month — I’m honoured and delighted to have been there for it in person. Last but not least, thank you to everyone in Toronto and Tokyo who attended these events.

[Music: Adam Seelig plays piano]

Adam Seelig: Finnegans Wake is a production of One Little Goat Theatre Company. For the next five years, One Little Goat will film and record all 17 chapters (roughly 30 Hours) of Joyce’s Finnegans Wake before live audiences in various locations, screening and releasing them along the way, with the aim of completing the entire book in time for its 90th birthday, May 4, 2029. One Little Goat Theatre Company is an official charity in Canada and the United States — if you’d like to support our work, please visit us online at www.OneLittleGoat.org to make a charitable donation. To get in touch, you’ll find our email address on the One Little Goat Theatre Company website and we’d love to hear from you.

[Music fades out]

Adam Seelig: The poster text for the 1992 American legal comedy My Cousin Vinny starring Joe Pesci and Marisa Tomei says the following: “There have been many courtroom dramas that have glorified The Great American Legal System. This is not one of them.” Likewise, today’s excerpt from Finnegans Wake is no advertisement for Ireland’s Halls of Justice. What you’re about to hear in the dream language of the Wake is more theatre than trial as the court calls unreliable witnesses in pursuit of the elusive facts of HCEarwicker’s alleged sin. And what was that sin again of Finn-again’s Wake? It was sexual in nature. Though aren’t all human beings sexual in and by nature? The evidence building against HCE adds a dark salaciousness to the sexuality: “But it oozed out in Deadman's Dark Scenery Court through crossexanimation of the casehardened testis” (87:33-34). By the sounds of it, this case will be — to borrow a favourite phrase of police procedurals — not only a hard nut to crack, but a hard nutsack.

This brings us back to the biggest sex scandal in Irish history that led to the downfall of politician Charles Stewart Parnell in the late 1800s. As I mentioned in Episode 008, the scandal of Parnell falling for Katherine (or Kitty) O’Shea, then falling from political grace, is an eminently relatable tale because, as the Wake reminds us on virtually every page, humanity fell from grace the moment Eve and Adam were swayed by the snake and ate the forbidden fruit. And as Adeline Glasheen has shown, Parnell and the trials surrounding his affair with O’Shea pervade Finnegans Wake (Ep011).

**The O'Shea-Parnell Divorce Case (1890). Source:** **National Library of Australia**.

**Portrait of Katherine O’Shea, The O'Shea-Parnell Ddivorce Case (1890). Source:** **National Library of Australia**.

As for Adam and Eve, it would be more accurate to say that it was Eve who fell for the forbidden fruit first and in turn brought Adam down with her. So the Book of Genesis, in essence, scapegoats women for man’s fall. That’s precisely what happens in the trial of today’s excerpt: prosecutor leads witness to point finger at sinful women.

We saw this scapegoating strategy before in the “strawberry frolic” of Chapter 3 (Ep014), which encourages us to cherchez la femme, that is, ‘look for the woman’ to blame. In the language of the Wake, woman merges with fire, “Cherchons la flamme!” (64:28), and also fans those flames: “Fammfamm! Fammfamm!” (64:28-29) Similarly, in today’s excerpt, the prosecutor loads his misogyny with suggestions of hellfire and the devil himself, or herself. It’s no wonder that the 100-letter thunderword with which he emphatically concludes his questioning is made up of various phonemes meaning ‘whore.’ In a moment, we’ll take a look at this thunderword, the fourth in the novel, with a recap of the three that preceded it.

We left off the previous podcast episode (Ep017) with Crown attorney P.C. Robort questioning a disheveled character named Festy King. Now a new witness takes the stand to provide “Remarkable evidence” (86:32). He is identified not merely as an eyewitness, but as “an eye, ear, nose and throat witness,” who, as you might expect of an ENT, lives in a medical district at the address “Nullnull, Medical Square”. He’s also identified by the initials “W.P.” (86:32-34). Even Adeline Glasheen, in her thorough Census of Finnegans Wake has put an asterisk by her entry for “W.P.”, and as she explains, “An asterisk means I don’t know who somebody is.” Our ENT might be a version of Joyce’s friend Oliver St. John Gogarty (the model for Buck Mulligan in Ulysses), who was, among many things, an ENT, and/or he might, as John Gordon suggests, be a reference to Oscar Wilde’s father, also an eye and ear specialist, who lived at Two Merrion Square at the centre of Dublin’s medical establishment. Our witness, W.P. has had a little to drink in the morning, not unlike Tim Finnegan of the “Finnegan’s Wake” folk song (Ep001), and he tells the court that he saw — and heard and tasted and smelled, as is his wont — a man known as Hyacinth O’Donnell committing some violence, though W.P.’s account is questionable given how late and dark it was at the time.

**Diary of the Parnell Commission (1890), John Macdonald.**

The rowdy courtroom gallery cries out for O’Donnell to take the stand, and he does. Who is O’Donnell? He’s identified as a “mixer” (87:13, 88:4) — which strikes me as a characteristically Wakean, fluid identity — and his name, as Glasheen points out, echoes that of John MacDonald, author of the account of the Parnell Commission that inspires the trial of today’s excerpt.

And the exchange between prosecutor and O’Donnell is inspired indeed as the former mines the latter for evidence that might incriminate HCE. Our prosecutor is resourceful, clever, creative, at times seeming to go easy on the witness, at others setting traps, dropping hints, talking in code, changing tac, and ultimately leading the witness with question after question. So what was HCE’s crime, his sin? Perhaps, as the Wake often suggests, it was Original Sin itself, partaking of the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. As the prosecutor asks, “In the middle of the garth, then?” To which O’Donnell responds, “That they mushn’t toucht it.” (90:14-15) From here, not unlike the OG tale of Genesis, prosecutor scapegoats women for the fall. He may not have a smoking gun for HCE, but at least our prosecutor’s got someone to blame, culminating in his rabid 100-letter thunderword.

**“Adam and Eve,” Titian, ca. 1550. Source:** **Museo del Prado**.

The ten thunderwords of Finnegans Wake are extraordinary, as is Richard Harte’s delivery of them. Here, as promised, is a recap of the three preceding 100-letter thunderwords for your listening pleasure.

This is the first one, on the opening page, built out of multilingual phonemes meaning, appropriately, thunder:

[Richard Harte reads Finnegans Wake 3:15-18.] The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed and later on life down through all christian minstrelsy. (Ep002)

Just as thunder here falls dramatically from the sky, so Tim Finnegan falls from his ladder; and just as Tim Finnegan falls, so too does Jarl van Hoother from his fortress at the conclusion of the prankquean fable, generating the second thunderword, also comprised of phonemes for thunder:

[Richard Harte reads Finnegans Wake 23:5-9.] And the duppy shot the shutter clup (Perkodhuskurunbarggruauyagokgorlayorgromgremmitghundhurthrumathunaradidillifaititillibumullunukkunun!) And they all drank free. For one man in his armour was a fat match always for any girls under shurts. (Ep005)

**Walter De Maria, “The Lightning Field” (1977), New Mexico. Source:** **Dia**.

The tale of the fall, as we discovered from the first thunderword, is retold through the ages, and indeed the second thunderword has told us again of the fall, this time of man falling to woman, male standing no chance against female — a phenomenon dating back to the mythological dawn of humanity, when Eve tempted Adam and woman perverted man.

The third thunderword, combining the crash of a fallen glass with the clap of a crowd gathered to hear Hosty’s salacious ballad with the crap the shit-talking Hosty is about to unload on HCE, adds to our protagonist’s moral fall — here the multilingual phonemes all signify ‘shit’:

[Richard Harte reads Finnegans Wake 44:13-15.] It’s cumming, it’s brumming! The clip, the clop! (All cla) Glass crash. The (klikkaklakkaklaskaklopatzklatschabattacreppycrottygraddaghsemmihsammihnouithappluddyappladdypkonpkot!). (Ep009)

And the fourth thunderword, which you’ll soon hear in today’s excerpt, leans viciously, and ludicrously, into the perceived culpability of woman in the continual fall of man.

Following the thunderword, we hear from a witness named Pegger Festy, who may be a transformation of Festy King, the first person to take the stand (in our previous episode). Like Festy King before him, Pegger Festy appears to be a disheveled mess. Pegger sounds like beggar; it’s also slang for ‘hard drinker’; and it’s also Hebrew for ‘corpse’ — perhaps Pegger likes to drink himself stiff? In any event, here he provides laughable testimony resulting in, well, laughter from the courtroom.

Now it’s time for Richard’s performance of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake, 86 line 32 to page 92 line 5 of Chapter 4. The performance was filmed and recorded at Type Books on Queen Street West in Toronto on January 22nd, 2024 with a live audience.

[Richard Harte reads Finnegans Wake 86:32-92:5.]

[86] Remarkable evidence was given, anon, by an eye, ear, nose
and throat witness, whom Wesleyan chapelgoers suspected of
being a plain clothes priest W.P., situate at Nullnull, Medical
Square, who, upon letting down his rice and peacegreen cover-
disk and having been sullenly cautioned against yawning while

[87] being grilled, smiled (he had had a onebumper at parting from
Mrs Molroe in the morning) and stated to his eliciter under his
morse mustaccents (gobbless!) that he slept with a bonafides and
that he would be there to remember the filth of November,
hatinaring, rowdy O, which, with the jiboulees of Juno and the
dates of ould lanxiety, was going, please the Rainmaker, to
decembs within the ephemerides of profane history, all one with
Tournay, Yetstoslay and Temorah, and one thing which would
pigstickularly strike a person of such sorely tried observational
powers as Sam, him and Moffat, though theirs not to reason why,
the striking thing about it was that he was patrified to see, hear,
taste and smell, as his time of night, how Hyacinth O'Donnell,
B.A., described in the calendar as a mixer and wordpainter, with
part of a sivispacem (Gaeltact for dungfork) on the fair green
at the hour of twenty-four o'clock sought (the bullycassidy of
the friedhoffer!) to sack, sock, stab and slaughter singlehanded
another two of the old kings, Gush Mac Gale and Roaring
O'Crian, Jr., both changelings, unlucalised, of no address and
in noncommunicables, between him and whom, ever since wal-
lops before the Mise of Lewes, bad blood existed on the ground
of the boer's trespass on the bull or because he firstparted his
polarbeeber hair in twoways, or because they were creepfoxed
andt grousuppers over a nippy in a noveletta, or because they
could not say meace, (mute and daft) meathe. The litigants, he
said, local congsmen and donalds, kings of the arans and the dalk-
eys, kings of mud and tory, even the goat king of Killorglin,
were egged on by their supporters in the shape of betterwomen
with bowstrung hair of Carrothagenuine ruddiness, waving crim-
son petties and screaming from Isod's towertop. There were
cries from the thicksets in court and from the macdublins on the
bohernabreen of: Mind the bank from Banagher, Mick, sir! Pro-
dooce O'Donner. Ay! Exhibit his relics! Bu! Use the tongue
mor! Give lip less! But it oozed out in Deadman's Dark Scenery
Court through crossexanimation of the casehardened testis that
when and where that knife of knifes the treepartied ambush was
laid (roughly spouting around half hours 'twixt dusk in dawn,

[88] by Waterhose's Meddle Europeic Time, near Stop and Think,
high chief evervirens and only abfalltree in auld the land) there
was not as much light from the widowed moon as would dim a
child's altar. The mixer, accordingly, was bluntly broached, and
in the best basel to boot, as to whether he was one of those
lucky cocks for whom the audible-visible-gnosible-edible world
existed. That he was only too cognitively conatively cogitabun-
dantly sure of it because, living, loving, breathing and sleeping
morphomelosophopancreates, as he most significantly did, when-
ever he thought he heard he saw he felt he made a bell clipper-
clipperclipperclipper. Whether he was practically sure too of his
lugs and truies names in this king and blouseman business? That
he was pediculously so. Certified? As cad could be. Be lying! Be
the lonee I will. It was Morbus O' Somebody? A'Quite. Szer-
day's Son? A satyr in weddens. And how did the greeneyed
mister arrive at the B.A.? That it was like his poll. A cross-
grained trapper with murty odd oogs, awflorated ares, inquiline
nase and a twithcherous mouph? He would be. Who could bit
you att to a tenyerdfuul when aastalled? Ballera jobbera. Some
majar bore too? Iguines. And with tumblerous legs, redipnomi-
nated Helmingham Erchenwyne Rutter Egbert Crumwall Odin
Maximus Esme Saxon Esa Vercingetorix Ethelwulf Rupprecht
Ydwalla Bentley Osmund Dysart Yggdrasselmann? Holy Saint
Eiffel, the very phoenix! It was Chudley Magnall once more
between the deffodates and the dumb scene? The two childspies
waapreesing him auza de Vologue but the renting of his rock
was from the three wicked Vuncouverers Forests bent down
awhits, arthou sure? Yubeti, Cumbilum comes! One of the ox-
men's thingabossers, hvad? And had he been refresqued by the
founts of bounty playing there — is — a — pain — aleland in
Long's gourgling barral? A loss of Lordedward and a lack of sir-
philip a surgeonet showeradown could suck more gargling
bubbles out of the five lamps in Portterand's praise. Wirrgeling
and maries? As whose wouldn't, laving his leaftime in Black-
pool. But, of course, he could call himself Tem, too, if he had
time to? You butt he could anytom. When he pleased? Win and

[89] place. A stoker temptated by evesdripping aginst the driver who
was a witness as well? Sacred avatar, how the devil did they
guess it! Two dreamyums in one dromium? Yes and no error.
And both as like as a duel of lentils? Peacisely. So he was pelted
out of the coram populo, was he? Be the powers that be he was.
The prince in principel should not expose his person? Mac-
chevuole! Rooskayman kamerad? Sooner Gallwegian he would
say. Not unintoxicated, fair witness? Drunk as a fishup. Askt to
whether she minded whither he smuked? Not if he barkst into
phlegms. Anent his ajaciulations to his Crosscann Lorne, cossa?
It was corso in cursu on coarser again. The gracious miss was
we not doubt sensible how yellowatty on the forx was altered?
That she esually was, O'Dowd me not! As to his religion, if
any? It was the see-you-Sunday sort. Exactly what he meant by
a pederast prig? Bejacob's, just a gent who prayed his lent. And
if middleclassed portavorous was a usual beast? Bynight as useful
as a vomit to a shorn man. If he had rognarised dtheir gcourts
marsheyls? Dthat nday in ndays he had. Lindendelly, coke or
skilllies spell me gart without a gate? Harlyadrope. The grazing
rights (Mrs Magistra Martinetta) expired with the expiry of the
goat's sire, if they were not mistaken? That he exactly could not
tell the worshipfuls but his mother-in-waders had the recipis for
the price of the coffin and that he was there to tell them that
herself was the velocipede that could tell them kitcat. A maun-
darin tongue in a pounderin jowl? Father ourder about the
mathers of prenanciation. Distributary endings? And we recom-
mends. Quare hircum? No answer. Unde gentium fe . . . ? No ah.
Are you not danzzling on the age of a vulcano? Siar, I am deed.
And how olld of him? He was intendant to study pulu. Which
was meant in a shirt of two shifts macoghamade or up Finn,
threehatted ladder? That a head in thighs under a bush at the
sunface would bait a serpent to a millrace through the heather.
Arm bird colour defdum ethnic fort perharps? Sure and glomsk
handy jotalpheson as well. Hokey jasons, then, in a pigeegeeses?
On a pontiff's order as ture as there's an ital on atac. As a gololy
bit to joss? Leally and tululy. But, why this hankowchaff and

[90] whence this second tone, son-yet-sun? He had the cowtaw in his
buxers flay of face. So this that Solasistras, setting odds evens at
defiance, took the laud from Labouriter? What displaced Tob,
Dilke and Halley, not been greatly in love with the game. And,
changing the venders, from the king's head to the republican's
arms, as to the pugnaxities evinxed from flagfall to antepost
during the effrays round fatherthyme's beckside and the regents
in the plantsown raining, with the skiddystars and the morkern-
windup, how they appealed to him then? That it was wildfires
night on all the bettygallaghers. Mickmichael's soords shrieking
shrecks through the wilkinses and neckanicholas' toastingforks
pricking prongs up the tunnybladders. Let there be fight? And
there was. Foght. On the site of the Angel's, you said? Guinney's
Gap, he said, between what they said and the pussykitties. In the
middle of the garth, then? That they mushn't toucht it. The de-
voted couple was or were only two disappainted solicitresses on
the job of the unfortunate class on Saturn's mountain fort? That
was about it, jah! And Camellus then said to Gemellus: I should
know you? Parfaitly. And Gemellus then said to Camellus: Yes,
your brother? Obsolutely. And if it was all about that, egregious
sir? About that and the other. If he was not alluding to the whole
in the wall? That he was when he was not eluding from the whole
of the woman. Briefly, how such beginall finally struck him now?
Like the crack that bruck the bank in Multifarnham. Whether he
fell in with what they meant? Cursed that he suppoxed he did.
Thos Thoris, Thomar's Thom? The rudacist rotter in Roebuck-
dom. Surtopical? And subhuman. If it was, in yappanoise lan-
guage, ach bad clap? Oo! Ah! Augs and ohrs with Rhian O'-
kehley to put it tertianly, we wrong? Shocking! Such as turly
pearced our really's that he might, that he might never, that he
might never that night? Treely and rurally. Bladyughfoulmoeck-
lenburgwhurawhorascortastrumpapornanennykocksapastippata -
ppatupperstrippuckputtanach, eh? You have it alright.
Meirdreach an Oincuish! But a new complexion was put upon
the matter when to the perplexedly uncondemnatory bench
(whereon punic judgeship strove with penal law) the senior

[91] king of all, Pegger Festy, as soon as the outer layer of stuccko-
muck had been removed at the request of a few live jurors,
declared in a loudburst of poesy, through his Brythonic inter-
preter on his oath, mhuith peisth mhuise as fearra bheura muirre
hriosmas, whereas take notice be the relics of the bones of the
story bouchal that was ate be Cliopatrick (the sow) princess
of parked porkers, afore God and all their honours and king's
commons that, what he would swear to the Tierney of Dundal-
gan or any other Tierney, yif live thurkells folloged him about
sure that was no steal and that, nevertheless, what was deposited
from that eyebold earbig noseknaving gutthroat, he did not fire
a stone either before or after he was born down and up to that
time. And, incidentalising that they might talk about Markarthy
or they might walk to Baalastartey or they might join the nabour
party and come on to Porterfeud this the sockdologer had the
neck to endorse with the head bowed on him over his outturned
noreaster by protesting to his lipreaders with a justbeencleaned
barefacedness, abeam of moonlight's hope, in the same trelawney
what he would impart, pleas bench, to the Llwyd Josus and the
gentlemen in Jury's and the four of Masterers who had been all
those yarns yearning for that good one about why he left
Dublin, that, amreeta beaker coddling doom, as an Inishman was
as good as any cantonnatal, if he was to parish by the market steak
before the dorming of the mawn, he skuld never ask to see sight or
light of this world or the other world or any either world, of Tyre-
nan-Og, as true as he was there in that jackabox that minute, or
wield or wind (no thanks t'yous!) the inexousthausthible wassail-
horn tot of iskybaush the hailth up the wailth of the endknown ab-
god of the fire of the moving way of the hawks with his heroes in
Warhorror if ever in all his exchequered career he up or lave a
chancery hand to take or throw the sign of a mortal stick or stone
at man, yoelamb or salvation army either before or after being
puptised down to that most holy and every blessed hour. Here,
upon the halfkneed castleknocker's attempting kithoguishly to
lilt his holymess the paws and make the sign of the Roman God-
helic faix, (Xaroshie, zdrst!— in his excitement the laddo had

[92] broken exthro Castilian into which the whole audience perse-
guired and pursuited him olla podrida) outbroke much yellach-
ters from owners in the heall (Ha!) in which, under the mollifi-
cation of methaglin, the testifighter reluctingly, but with ever so
ladylike indecorum, joined. (Ha! Ha!)
[End of excerpt]

Adam Seelig: That was Richard Harte reading pages 86 to 92 of Chapter 4 from Finnegans Wake, recorded live at Type Books on Queen Street West in Toronto on January 22nd, 2024. Join us for Episode 19 in a fortnight when Richard continues Chapter 4 of Finnegans Wake. In the meantime, to be sure you don’t miss the episode, why not follow or subscribe to this podcast?

[Music: Instrumental of “Roll, Jordan, Roll” with Adam Seelig on piano and Brandon Bak on drums, from the film of Finnegans Wake Ch03.]

For more on One Little Goat’s Finnegans Wake project, including transcripts of this podcast and the complete films of Chapters 1 and 2, visit our website at OneLittleGoat.org. And to hear about upcoming performances and screenings, join our mailing list, also on our website. One Little Goat Theatre Company is a nonprofit, artist-driven, registered charity in the United States and Canada that depends on donations from individuals to make our productions, including this one, possible. If you’re able, please make a tax-deductible donation through our website, www.OneLittleGoat.org Finnegans Wake is made possible by Friends of One Little Goat Theatre Company and the Emigrant Support Programme of the government of Ireland. Thank you for your support! And thank you to the artists for this episode: Richard Harte; Sound by William Bembridge; Stage Management by Sandi Becker; Directed by yours truly, Adam Seelig. A big thanks to Claire Foster and the staff and owners of Type Books, as well as to our wonderful live audience. Thank you to everyone at the Irish Consulate in Toronto. And thank you to Production Consultants Cathy Murphy, Andrew Moodie and Shai Rotbard-Seelig. Thank you for listening!

[Music fades out]

[End of Ep018]

Mentioned: EU Film Fest, Tokyo screening, courtroom comedy, elusive evidence on HCE’s alleged sin, Parnell and O’Shea sex scandal, Adam and Eve, Original Sin, woman as scapegoat, misogyny, new witnesses W.P. and Hyacinth O’Donnell and Pegger Festy, thunderwords 1-4, retelling the fall, synopsis.

Episode 017: Last Battle (81:12-86:31 of Ch04)

November 6, 2025 Adam Seelig

JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKE
Episode 017: LAST BATTLE

PAGE 81:12-86:31 OF CHAPTER 4 | 2025-11-06

PODCAST AUDIO

PODCAST TRANSCRIPT

[Music: Instrumental of “The Ballad of Persse O’Reilly” with Adam Seelig on piano and Brandon Bak on drums, from the film of Finnegans Wake Ch03. Music fades out]

Adam Seelig: Welcome to James Joyce’s divine and delirious comedy, Finnegans Wake. In this episode, number 17, we’ll hear Irish-Canadian actor — and my good friend and colleague — Richard Harte performing pages 81 to 86 from Chapter 4 of Joyce’s last novel. I’m Adam Seelig, the director of the reading you’ll soon hear.

**Pip Dwyer and little sister Kate near Clifden County Galway, summer 1993.**

Irish-Canadian actor Pip Dwyer has joined the cast of our film/podcast series for Chapter 8 of the novel, which we recently shot at what might be the most fitting venue in all of Toronto, given that Chapter 8 is known as ‘the washerwomen’ chapter: and that is a laundromat called Ulster Coin Wash. Yes, to the Irish listeners out there, Toronto, once called ‘the Belfast of Canada,’ has a robust history of Northern Irish Protestant immigration, resulting in a downtown residential street named Ulster, where you will find, naturally, Ulster Coin Wash. We will edit and release Chapter 8 in the future, and I promise you, it’s truly something to look forward to.

[Music: Adam Seelig plays piano]

[Music fades out]

Adam Seelig: John Cage’s essay on “Experimental Music” (1957) provides a way of thinking about Joyce’s ‘Experimental Novel’ — and I’m sure in what I’m about to quote you’ll notice John Cage’s use of the verb ‘to wake’:

And what is the purpose of writing music? One is, of course, not dealing with purposes but dealing with sounds. Or the answer must take the form of paradox: a purposeful purposelessness or a purposeless play. This play, however, is an affirmation of life – not an attempt to bring order out of chaos nor to suggest improvements in creation, but simply a way of waking up to the very life we’re living… (Silence 12)

Joyce’s Finnegans Wake was a major inspiration and source text for John Cage, so I’m not surprised that the stated purpose of Cage’s playfully purposeless art, like Joyce’s, is to wake us.

Sex and violence: in Chapter 4 we get the violence first. Today’s reading opens with the fourth and final confrontation between the Cad and our protagonist, HCEarwicker.

The first confrontation occurs in chapter 2 when HCE encounters the so-called Cad. [Richard Harte reads] “he met a cad with a pipe” (35:10-11, Ep008)

The second, a variation on the first, makes a gun more explicit, and also puts a kind of English complexion on the Cad. [Harte reads] “It was after the show at Wednesbury that one tall man, humping a suspiciousparcel, when returning late amid a dense particular on his home way from the second house of the Boore and Burgess Christy Menestrels by the old spot, Roy's Corner, had a barkiss revolver placed to his faced with the words: you're shot, major: by an unknowable assailant (masked)” (62:26-33, Ep013).

That’s from Chapter 3, which later includes another variation on this confrontation, this time with the Cad appearing as a German newspaper reporter, Herr Betreffender (69:32), who attacks Earwicker with a verbal barrage of 111 insults. [Harte reads] “W.D.'s Grace, Gibbering Bayamouth of Dublin, His Farther was a Mundzucker and She had him in a Growler, Burnham and Bailey, Artist, Unworthy of the Homely Protestant Religion, Terry Cotter, You're Welcome to Waterfood…” (71:19-22, Ep015). That’s confrontation #3.

The fourth and final one, the ‘last battle,’ if you will, occurs now in Chapter 4, with the fight instigated by an “attackler” described as “a cropatkin” (81:18), making him either (or both) a Russian revolutionary (McHugh) and/or Irish anarchist (Rose). And they fight, the attacker attacking and the defender, HCE, defending. But as so often happens in the fluid, dream language of Finnegans Wake, these opposing figures become confused to the point where we can no longer tell the attacker from the attacked. Perhaps they’re ultimately one and the same; perhaps they’re both HCE himself, as Danis Rose has theorized, and the confrontations we’ve been witnessing all along are internal to the sleeping Earwicker, divided within, and at times against, himself. No wonder both assailant and assailed need to break after their brawl not merely for refreshment, but for a complete refresh of identity, or as the Wake puts it, they take a “pause for refleshmeant, the same man (or a different and younger him of the same ham)” (82:10-11).

This merging of identities, which happens throughout the novel, reminds me in particular of a phrase early in Chapter 3: “by the coincidance of their contraries reamalgamerge in that indentity of undiscernibles where the Baxters and the Fleshmans may they cease to bidivil uns…” (49:36-50:2). I love that “coincidance of their contraries”.

The “purposeful purposelessness or purposeless play” of Chapter 4 continues with some “collidabanter” between the attacker and the attacked, who appear to make up and get along before parting ways. One of them crosses a bridge, spits out his teeth—a very dream-like image—and, still bloody from the brawl, files a police report (84).

Adaline Glasheen points out that the pattern of encounter, plea, attack and counter-attack may owe something to Charles Baudelaire’s fable “Let's Beat Up the Poor!” (Assomons les pauvres !, 1865), in which the narrator randomly attacks a beggar (Glasheen, “Beggar” entry, 27). The beggar’s counter-attack, however, is so successful that the narrator ultimately acknowledges the beggar as his equal. “Monsieur, vous êtes mon égal !” (“Sir, you are my equal!”) That the Wake goes further by fusing and confusing the opposing parties might be something else Joyce learned from Baudelaire, in this case from the French poet’s most famous line of all: “Hypocrite lecteur, — mon semblable, — mon frère!” (Au Lecteur, 1857); “Hypocrite — brother — we’re the same!”

John Tenniel’s illustration of the trial in *Alice in Wonderland* (1890).

And then we’re at a trial. You’ll hear the court convened and called to order to solve “the wasnottobe crime cunundrum” of HCE (85:22), the crime conundrum being the hazy sin committed by our protagonist which the Dublin public won’t let go of since the scandal surrounding it first spread back in Chapter 2. To allege HCE of wrongdoing, let alone convict him, based on a “wasnottobe crime cunundrum” could not possibly hold up ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’ in any proper court of law. Luckily for us readers and listeners, this court is far from proper, resembling more of a show trial or kangaroo court à la Lewis Carroll’s Queen of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland or the 1992 courtroom comedy My Cousin Vinny.

A drunk prisoner, Festy King, is called to the stand, though he’s hardly a reliable witness given that he comes from “a family long and honourably associated with the tar and feather industries” (85:22-23). Crown attorney P.C. Robort attempts to dig up dirt on HCE via Festy King. And the public gallery, “convened by the Irish Angricultural and Prepostoral Ouraganisations” (86:20-21), is clearly ready to get their hate on. There’s plenty of purposeful purposelessness at play.

Now it’s time for Richard’s performance of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake, 81 line 12 to page 86 line 31 of Chapter 4.

The performance was filmed and recorded at Type Books on Queen Street West in Toronto on January 22nd, 2024 with a live audience.

[Richard Harte reads Finnegans Wake 75:1-81:11.]

[81] It was hard by the howe's there, plainly on this disoluded and a
buchan cold spot, rupestric then, resurfaced that now is, that
Luttrell sold if Lautrill bought, in the saddle of the Brennan's
(now Malpasplace?) pass, versts and versts from true civilisation,
not where his dreams top their traums halt (Beneathere! Bena-
there!) but where livland yontide meared with the wilde, saltlea
with flood, that the attackler, a cropatkin, though under medium
and between colours with truly native pluck, engaged the Adver-
sary who had more in his eye than was less to his leg but whom for
plunder sake, he mistook in the heavy rain to be Oglethorpe or
some other ginkus, Parr aparrently, to whom the headandheel-
less chickenestegg bore some Michelangiolesque resemblance,
making use of sacrilegious languages to the defect that he would
challenge their hemosphores to exterminate them but he would
cannonise the b — y b — r's life out of him and lay him out
contritely as smart as the b — r had his b — y nightprayers
said, three patrecknocksters and a couplet of hellmuirries (tout
est sacré pour un sacreur, femme à barbe ou homme-nourrice) at the
same time, so as to plugg well let the blubbywail ghoats out of
him, catching holst of an oblong bar he had and with which he
usually broke furnitures he rose the stick at him. The boarder
incident prerepeated itself. The pair (whethertheywere Nippo-
luono engaging Wei-Ling-Taou or de Razzkias trying to recon-
noistre the general Boukeleff, man may not say), struggled
apairently for some considerable time, (the cradle rocking equally

[82] to one and oppositely from the other on its law of capture and
recapture), under the All In rules around the booksafe, fighting
like purple top and tipperuhry Swede, (Secremented Servious of
the Divine Zeal!) and in the course of their tussle the toller man,
who had opened his bully bowl to beg, said to the miner who
was carrying the worm (a handy term for the portable distillery
which consisted of three vats, two jars and several bottles though
we purposely say nothing of the stiff, both parties having an
interest in the spirits): Let me go, Pautheen! I hardly knew ye.
Later on, after the solstitial pause for refleshmeant, the same
man (or a different and younger him of the same ham) asked in
the vermicular with a very oggly chew-chin-grin: Was six vic-
tolios fifteen pigeon takee offa you, tell he me, stlongfella, by
picky-pocky ten to foul months behindaside? There were some
further collidabanter and severe tries to convert for the best part
of an hour and now a woden affair in the shape of a webley (we
at once recognise our old friend Ned of so many illortemporate
letters) fell from the intruser who, as stuck as that cat to that
mouse in that tube of that christchurch organ, (did the imnage of
Girl Cloud Pensive flout above them light young charm, in
ribbons and pigtail?) whereupon became friendly and, saying not
his shirt to tear, to know wanted, joking and knobkerries all
aside laying, if his change companion who stuck still to the in-
vention of his strongbox, with a tenacity corrobberating their
mutual tenitorial rights, happened to have the loots change of
a tenpound crickler about him at the moment, addling that hap
so, he would pay him back the six vics odd, do you see, out of
that for what was taken on the man of samples last Yuni or Yuly,
do you follow me, Capn? To this the other, Billi with the Boule,
who had mummed and mauled up to that (for he was hesitency
carried to excelcism) rather amusedly replied: Woowoo would
you be grossly surprised, Hill, to learn that, as it so happens, I
honestly have not such a thing as the loo, as the least chance of
a tinpanned crackler anywhere about me at the present moho-
moment but I believe I can see my way, as you suggest, it
being Yuletide or Yuddanfest and as it's mad nuts, son, for you

[83] when it's hatter's hares, mon, for me, to advance you something
like four and sevenpence between hopping and trapping which
you might just as well have, boy baches, to buy J. J. and S. with.
There was a minute silence before memory's fire's rekindling and
then. Heart alive! Which at very first wind of gay gay and whisk-
wigs wick's ears pricked up, the starving gunman, strike him
pink, became strangely calm and forthright sware by all his lards
porsenal that the thorntree of sheol might ramify up his Sheo-
fon to the lux apointlex but he would go good to him suntime
marx my word fort, for a chip off the old Flint, (in the Nichtian
glossery which purveys aprioric roots for aposteriorious tongues
this is nat language at any sinse of the world and one might as
fairly go and kish his sprogues as fail to certify whether the
wartrophy eluded at some lives earlier was that somethink like a
jug, to what, a coctable) and remarxing in languidoily, seemingly
much more highly pleased than tongue could tell at this opening
of a lifetime and the foretaste of the Dun Bank pearlmothers
and the boy to wash down which he would feed to himself in
the Ruadh Cow at Tallaght and then into the Good Woman at
Ringsend and after her inat Conway's Inn at Blackrock and, first
to fall, cursed be all, where appetite would keenest be, atte,
funeral fare or fun fain real, Adam and Eve's in Quantity Street
by the grace of gamy queen Tailte, her will and testament: You
stunning little southdowner! I'd know you anywhere, Declaney,
let me truthfully tell you in or out of the lexinction of life and
who the hell else, be your blanche patch on the boney part!
Goalball I've struck this daylit dielate night of nights, by golly!
My hat, you have some bully German grit, sundowner! He
spud in his faust (axin); he toped the raw best (pardun); he
poked his pick (a tip is a tap): and he tucked his friend's leave. And,
with French hen or the portlifowlium of hastes and leisures, about
to continue that, the queer mixture exchanged the pax in embrace
or poghue puxy as practised between brothers of the same breast,
hillelulia, killelulia, allenalaw, and, having ratified before the
god of the day their torgantruce which belittlers have schmall-
kalled the treatyng to cognac, turning his fez menialstrait in the

[84] direction of Moscas, he first got rid of a few mitsmillers and
hurooshoos and levanted off with tubular jurbulance at a bull's
run over the assback bridge, spitting his teeths on rooths, with the
seven and four in danegeld and their humoral hurlbat or other
uncertain weapon of lignum vitae, but so evermore rhumanasant of
a toboggan poop, picked up to keep some crowplucking ap-
pointment with some rival rialtos anywheres between Pearidge
and the Littlehorn while this poor delaney, who they left along
with the confederate fender behind and who albeit ballsbluffed,
bore up wonderfully wunder all of it with a whole number of
plumsized contusiums, plus alasalah bruised coccyx, all over him,
reported the occurance in the best way he could, to the flabber-
gaze of the whole lab, giving the Paddybanners the military
salute as for his exilicy's the O'Daffy, in justifiable hope that,
in nobiloroman review of the hugely sitisfactuary conclusium
of their negotiations and the jugglemonkysh agripment dein-
derivative, some lotion or fomentation of poppyheads would be
jennerously exhibited to the parts, at the nearest watchhouse in
Vicar Lane, the white ground of his face all covered with digon-
ally redcrossed nonfatal mammalian blood as proofpositive of the
seriousness of his character and that he was bleeding in self
defience (stanch it!) from the nostrils, lips, pavilion and palate,
while some of his hitter's hairs had been pulled off his knut's
head by Colt though otherwise his allround health appeared to
be middling along as it proved most fortunate that not one of
the two hundred and six bones and five hundred and one muscles
in his corso was a whit the whorse for her whacking. Herwho?
Nowthen, leaving clashing ash, brawn and muscle and brass-
made to oust earthernborn and rockcrystal to wreck isinglass but
wurming along gradually for our savings backtowards mother-
waters so many miles from bank and Dublin stone (olympiading
even till the eleventh dynasty to reach that thuddysickend Ham-
laugh) and to the question of boney's unlawfully obtaining a
pierced paraflamme and claptrap fireguard there crops out the
still more salient point of the politish leanings and town pursuits
of our forebeer, El Don De Dunelli, (may his ship thicked stick

[85] in the bottol of the river and all his crewsers stock locked in the
burral of the seas!) who, when within the black of your toenail,
sir, of being mistakenly ambushed by one of the uddahveddahs,
and as close as made no matter, mam, to being kayoed offhand
when the hyougono heckler with the Peter the Painter wanted
to hole him, was consistently practising the first of the primary
and imprescriptible liberties of the pacific subject by circulating
(be British, boys to your bellybone and chuck a chum a chance!)
alongst one of our umphrohibited semitary thrufahrts, open to
buggy and bike, to walk, Wellington Park road, with the curb
or quaker's quacknostrum under his auxter and his alpenstuck in
his redhand, a highly commendable exercise, or, number two of
our acta legitima plebeia, on the brink (beware to baulk a man at
his will!) of taking place upon a public seat, to what, bare by
Butt's, most easterly (but all goes west!) of blackpool bridges, as
a public protest and naturlikevice, without intent to annoy either,
being praisegood thankfully for the wrathbereaved ringdove and
the fearstung boaconstrictor and all the more right jollywell
pleased, which he was, at having other people's weather.
But to return to the atlantic and Phenitia Proper. As if that
were not to be enough for anyone but little headway, if any, was
made in solving the wasnottobe crime cunundrum when a child
of Maam, Festy King, of a family long and honourably associ-
ated with the tar and feather industries, who gave an address in
old plomansch Mayo of the Saxons in the heart of a foulfamed
potheen district, was subsequently haled up at the Old Bailey
on the calends of Mars, under an incompatibly framed indictment
of both the counts (from each equinoxious points of view, the one
fellow's fetch being the other follow's person) that is to see, flying
cushats out of his ouveralls and making fesses immodst his forces
on the field. Oyeh! Oyeh! When the prisoner, soaked in methyl-
ated, appeared in dry dock, appatently ambrosiaurealised, like
Kersse's Korduroy Karikature, wearing, besides stains, rents and
patches, his fight shirt, straw braces, souwester and a policeman's
corkscrew trowswers, all out of the true (as he had purposely torn
up all his cymtrymanx bespokes in the mamertime), deposing for

[86] his exution with all the fluors of sparse in the royal Irish vocabulary
how the whole padderjagmartin tripiezite suet and all the sulfeit
of copperas had fallen off him quatz unaccountably like the
chrystalisations of Alum on Even while he was trying for to stick
fire to himcell, (in feacht he was dripping as he found upon strip-
ping for a pipkin ofmalt as he feared the coold raine) it was
attempted by the crown (P.C. Robort) to show that King, elois
Crowbar, once known as Meleky, impersonating a climbing boy,
rubbed some pixes of any luvial peatsmoor o'er his face, plucks
and pussas, with a clanetourf as the best means of disguising him-
self and was to the middlewhite fair in Mudford of a Thoorsday,
feishts of Peeler and Pole, under the illassumed names of
Tykingfest and Rabworc picked by him and Anthony out of a
tellafun book, ellegedly with a pedigree pig (unlicensed) and a
hyacinth. They were on that sea by the plain of Ir nine hundred
and ninetynine years and they never cried crack or ceased from
regular paddlewicking till that they landed their two and a
trifling selves, amadst camel and ass, greybeard and suckling,
priest and pauper, matrmatron and merrymeg, into the meddle
of the mudstorm. The gathering, convened by the Irish Angri-
cultural and Prepostoral Ouraganisations, to help the Irish muck
to look his brother dane in the face and attended thanks to
Larry by large numbers, of christies and jew's totems, tospite of
the deluge, was distinctly of a scattery kind when the bally-
bricken he could get no good of, after cockofthewalking through
a few fancyfought mains ate some of the doorweg, the pikey
later selling the gentleman ratepayer because she, Francie's sister,
that is to say, ate a whole side of his (the animal's) sty, on a
struggle Street, Qui Sta Troia, in order to pay off, hiss or lick,
six doubloons fifteen arrears of his, the villain's not the rumbler's
rent.
[End of excerpt]

Adam Seelig: That was Richard Harte reading pages 81 to 86 of Chapter 4 from Finnegans Wake, recorded live at Type Books on Queen Street West in Toronto on January 22nd, 2024.

Join us for Episode 18 in a fortnight when Richard continues Chapter 4 of Finnegans Wake. In the meantime, to be sure you don’t miss the episode, why not follow or subscribe to this podcast?

[Music: Instrumental of “Roll, Jordan, Roll” with Adam Seelig on piano and Brandon Bak on drums, from the film of Finnegans Wake Ch03.]

Finnegans Wake is made possible by Friends of One Little Goat Theatre Company and the Emigrant Support Programme of the government of Ireland. Thank you for your support!

And thank you to the artists for this episode: Richard Harte; Sound by William Bembridge; Stage Management by Sandi Becker; Directed by yours truly, Adam Seelig.

Thank you for listening!

[Music fades out]
[End of Ep017]

Mentioned: Pip Dwyer, John Cage “Experimental Music,” “a purposeful purposelessness or a purposeless play,” the fourth and final confrontation between two men (the Cad and HCE), perhaps HCE is both attacker and attacked?, merging of identities, Charles Baudelaire’s “Let’s Beat Up the Poor,” the trial, Festy King, crown attorney P.C. Robort, synopsis.

Cited: John Cage. Silence: Lectures and Writings (50th anniversary edition). Wesleyan, 2013.
Charles Baudelaire, “Assomons les pauvres !” (1865).

Episode 016: Reality While We Sleep (75:1-81:11, Start of Ch04)

October 23, 2025 Adam Seelig

JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKE
Episode 016: REALITY WHILE WE SLEEP

PAGE 75:1-81:11 | START OF CHAPTER 4 | 2025-10-23

PODCAST AUDIO

PODCAST TRANSCRIPT

[Music: Instrumental of “The Ballad of Persse O’Reilly” with Adam Seelig on piano and Brandon Bak on drums, from the film of Finnegans Wake Ch03. Music fades out]

Adam Seelig: Welcome to James Joyce’s divine and delirious comedy, Finnegans Wake. In this episode, number 16, we’ll hear Irish-Canadian actor — and my good friend and colleague — Richard Harte performing pages 75 to 81 to begin Chapter 4 of Joyce’s last novel. I’m Adam Seelig, the director of the reading you’ll soon hear.

Thanks to all of you lovely listeners in Canada, the US, Ireland, England, Germany, Australia and beyond who have written to One Little Goat Theatre Company by email and through our YouTube channel with enthusiastic comments on our Finnegans Wake film and podcast series. We really appreciate your eyes and ears and are delighted to be with you again with this new podcast episode.

The complete films of Finnegans Wake chapters 1 & 2 are available on One Little Goat’s website and YouTube channel, and more recently we released an album of music from our film series, available through streaming services (like Spotify, Apple, etc.) under the highly descriptive title “Finnegans Wake: Music from the Film Series,” which includes “The Ballad of Persse O’Reilly” and the 19th-century folk song that gave Finnegans Wake its title.

I have good news to share that in Tokyo, Japan on October 31st I’ll be screening and discussing excerpts from One Little Goat’s film series with Japanese Joyceans Yuta Imazeki and Kaori Hirashige. The event will be in both Japanese and English and will feature excerpts from the new Japanese translation of Finnegans Wake by Dublin-based Kenji Hayakawa. Kenji has just completed his translation of Book I Chapter 2 — an accomplishment that deserves a huge mazel tov to Kenji and his editor, Yuta. For details on this event in Tokyo, please visit One Little Goat’s website at www.OneLittleGoat.org.

And some sad news: Roland McHugh, whose Annotations to Finnegans Wake is hands down the book we turn to most for this project, died on October 9. His last home was in County Wicklow, not far from the Wicklow Mountains, the very source of the River Liffey that flows throughout Finnegans Wake.

American John Gordon, whose online annotations to Finnegans Wake build on Roland McHugh’s, paid tribute to McHugh in an email he sent to me. Gordon wrote, “One thing that keeps impressing me about Roland's Annotations is how tight it is — there's virtually nothing there that is wrong, or even might be wrong. Fritz Senn says that everything ever written about Joyce, from his birth certificate to his tombstone, contains at least one error, so probably there's a wrong date or something somewhere in the book, but one definitely learns to trust it.”

Thank you, Roland McHugh, for your indispensable Annotations, without which we could not interpret Finnegans Wake as we have — this episode is dedicated to you.

[Music: Adam Seelig plays piano]

Adam Seelig: Finnegans Wake is a production of One Little Goat Theatre Company. For the next five years, One Little Goat will film and record all 17 chapters (roughly 30 Hours) of Joyce’s Finnegans Wake before live audiences in various locations, screening and releasing them along along the way, with the aim of completing the entire book in time for its 90th birthday, May 4, 2029. One Little Goat Theatre Company is an official charity in Canada and the United States — if you’d like to support our work, please visit us online at www.OneLittleGoat.org to make a charitable donation. To get in touch, you’ll find our email address on the One Little Goat Theatre Company website and we’d love to hear from you.

[Music fades out]

Adam Seelig: A recent poem by Canadian Kaitlyn Perrin complements the end of Finnegans Wake Chapter 3, where we concluded our previous podcast episode (Ep015), with protagonist HCEarwicker sleeping deeply as rain falls on Dublin. The poem is titled “Rainmancer”:

Dreams are raindrops into
Other universes
And reality only leaks
While we're asleep

The fluidity of dreams not only reflects reality but, like every drop of rain, is a reality in itself. It’s as if Perrin’s poem, like Finnegans Wake, is building on William Blake’s celebrated line — “To see a world in a grain of sand” — by saying yes, and every grain of sand is a world.

Dreams mix and remix our realities, much as the dream novel that is the Wake is an extended remix of its central themes, elements and characters — hence the “recirculation” of the novel’s opening page overture.

A recent novel from Brooklynite Anna Moschovakis expands on this remixing and “recirculation” of dreams, providing us with a way of viewing Chapter 4 and the Wake as a whole. I’ll just add that it’s fitting to talk about Chapter 4 with the help of Moschovakis’s novel because I picked it up at Type Books on Queen Street West after the author’s Toronto reading and conversation with translator Claire Foster, and it’s at the very same bookstore that we filmed and recorded Chapter 4. Here’s the unnamed narrator of Moschovakis’s An Earthquake Is a Shaking of the Surface of the Earth (2024):

At some point I accepted as fact a theory I read once: it claimed that dreams take the experiences from our lives and disassemble them, then neutralize them through recombination. Through making them into new stories, like a montage of the scraps that would otherwise be left on the cutting-room floor. (I don’t know whose metaphor this is. Maybe it’s mine.)

The important thing is that the new stories don’t always displace the old ones, they just reduce their authority. They de-authorize them. By confusing the signal, the new stories can at least partially cancel the old ones out. The important thing is—according to my memory, though of course neither my memory nor the theory is sure to be trustworthy—that it doesn’t seem to matter if the new stories are, themselves, equally disturbing, or even if they are more disturbing than the experienced events they are attempting to replace. Their role isn’t to lighten things up; the work they do is only the work of dis-attachment, of insisting on multiplicity. (105-106)

Chapter 4, now deep in the dream of Finnegans Wake — and given the sleeping state of HCE, perhaps also deep in the dream of Earwicker himself — certainly insists on such multiplicity as it takes us from HCE’s surreal musings to Dublin’s Phoenix Park; to a bar brawl in which attacker and defender become hard to tell apart (the dream language fluid as ever); to a showy trial (or show trial?) complete with witnesses and cross-examination; to a brief and intriguing glance at the letter by ALP that might vindicate HCE; to a series of telecommunications about HCE where the signals certainly get confused; to a sex scene of ALP and HCE; to a closing description of Dublin’s River Liffey and invocation of the Biblical Psalm “By the rivers of Babylon.” Get ready, in other words, for some fun and fascinating stuff.

**Lions of Qasr El Nil Bridge, the oldest bridge on the Nile, Egypt.**

Chapter 4 ends with the rivers of Babylon and begins with the Nile. The opening sentence “asserts that, as the lion in the zoo may remember the waterlilies of the Nile, so the comatose HCE may have been dreaming of the temptresses of his past.” (Epstein 48) Or in the language of the Wake itself: “As the lion in our teargarten remembers the nenuphars of his Nile…” It helps to know that “Tiergarten” is German for zoo, here spelled like “tears” from one’s eyes.

Something I love in this opening paragraph is the repetition of the phrase “it may be” (75:3 & 11), firstly because it suggests that there may be other possibilities to consider, and possibility is the gateway to the multiplicity of dreams, and secondly because this is the kind of rhythmic motif we encounter on the opening page of Finnegans Wake with its repetition of the phrase “not yet” (3:10 & 11, Ep002), a phrase that similarly casts tantalizing doubt on the when and what of the narrative.

HCE imagines his posthumous reputation as a “distinguished dynasty” (75:24) and fantasizes for a moment that he is the head of a criminal family enterprise that can crack safes in addition to eggs. Somehow, though, he now finds himself in a glass-panelled coffin. A local “public [body]” (76:14) — think of them as a kind of Lions or Rotary Club — generously offers him the gift of a grave in which to bury that coffin, with HCE presumably inside. How thoughtful of them. But no, HCE blasts his way out of the unusual casket using TNT with a dynamism that would make characters known for getting into and out of tight jams, from Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner to MacGyver, proud.

We then find HCE living “all safeathomely the presenile days of his life of opulence,” (78:1-2) in solitude, surrounded by various tchotchkes.

He should get up, get out and go hunting, as survival often dictates, but instead finds himself living off “his own misplaced fat.” (79:13)

**Shiva, 11th-century India, Metropolitan Museum of Art, NY.**

Our favourite charwoman, Kate, from “the museyroom” of Chapter 1 (Ep003), makes an appearance on a pile of litter, described here as a “filthdump”, in Dublin’s Phoenix Park. Then from the mundane and low-to-the-ground we move to the metaphysical and up-on-high when voices of gods emerge — “hear Allhighest sprack” (80:20) — including cameos by Krishna and Shiva. This is the low-to-high, down-to-up kind of motion we’ve experienced throughout the Wake, especially when it comes to Phoenix Park, named after the mythical bird that rises from its own fallen ashes. Lest the narrative fly too high, it reminds us, in the Wake’s indefatigably inventive way, that we are all mortal and of this earth: “every morphyl man of us, pome by pome, falls back into this terrine” (80:22-23).

— “every morphyl man of us”: mortal man, Irishman (as in, Murphy man), ever morphing into multiplicity through reality’s dream-like fluidity.

— “pome by pome”: apple by apple, a sure way, as we know from Adam and Eve, to fall; unless these pommes are pommes de terre, that is potatoes, already down in the dirt of Phoenix Park; or perhaps they’re poems eulogizing our lives and deaths.

— “falls back into this terrine”: ashes to ashes, apple by apple, potato by potato, poem by poem, we all fall down into this terrain, this terroir, this ‘large earthenware pot’ (which is the etymology of ‘terrine’) this ‘large earthenware pot’ known as planet earth, which can be at times delicious and at others, disgusting, depending on the ingredients.

“every morphyl man of us, pome by pome, falls back into this terrine”.

It’s just one of the many evocative and irreverent lines you’re about to hear.

Now it’s time for Richard’s performance of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake, page 75 line 1 to page 81 line 11 for the beginning of Chapter 4. The performance was filmed and recorded at Type Books on Queen Street West in Toronto on January 22nd, 2024 with a live audience.

[Richard Harte reads Finnegans Wake 75:1-81:11.]

[75] As the lion in our teargarten remembers the nenuphars of his
Nile (shall Ariuz forget Arioun or Boghas the baregams of the
Marmarazalles from Marmeniere?) it may be, tots wearsense full
a naggin in twentyg have sigilposted what in our brievingbust,
the besieged bedreamt him stil and solely of those lililiths un-
deveiled which had undone him, gone for age, and knew not
the watchful treachers at his wake, and theirs to stay. Fooi, fooi,
chamermissies! Zeepyzoepy, larcenlads! Zijnzijn Zijnzijn! It may
be, we moest ons hasten selves te declareer it, that he reglimmed?
presaw? the fields of heat and yields of wheat where corngold
Ysit? shamed and shone. It may be, we habben to upseek a bitty
door our good township's courants want we knew't, that with
his deepseeing insight (had not wishing oftebeen but good time
wasted), within his patriarchal shamanah, broadsteyne 'bove citie
(Twillby! Twillby!) he conscious of enemies, a kingbilly white-
horsed in a Finglas mill, prayed, as he sat on anxious seat, (kunt
ye neat gift mey toe bout a peer saft eyballds!) during that three
and a hellof hours' agony of silence, ex profundis malorum, and
bred with unfeigned charity that his wordwounder (an engles to
the teeth who, nomened Nash of Girahash, would go anyold where
in the weeping world on his mottled belly (the rab, the kreepons-
kneed!) for milk, music or married missusses) might, mercy to
providential benevolence's who hates prudencies' astuteness, un-
fold into the first of a distinguished dynasty of his posteriors,

[76] blackfaced connemaras not of the fold but elder children of his
household, his most besetting of ideas (pace his twolve predama-
nant passions) being the formation, as in more favoured climes,
where the Meadow of Honey is guestfriendly and the Mountain
of Joy receives, of a truly criminal stratum, Ham's cribcracking
yeggs, thereby at last eliminating from all classes and masses with
directly derivative decasualisation: sigarius (sic!) vindicat urbes
terrorum (sicker!): and so, to mark a bank taal she arter, the
obedience of the citizens elp the ealth of the ole.
Now gode. Let us leave theories there and return to here's here.
Now hear. 'Tis gode again. The teak coffin, Pughglasspanelfitted,
feets to the east, was to turn in later, and pitly patly near the
porpus, materially effecting the cause. And this, liever, is the
thinghowe. Any number of conservative public bodies, through
a number of select and other committees having power to add to
their number, before voting themselves and himself, town, port
and garrison, by a fit and proper resolution, following a koorts
order of the groundwet, once for all out of plotty existence, as
a forescut, so you maateskippey might to you cuttinrunner on a
neuw pack of klerds, made him, while his body still persisted,
their present of a protem grave in Moyelta of the best Lough
Neagh pattern, then as much in demand among misonesans as
the Isle of Man today among limniphobes. Wacht even! It was
in a fairly fishy kettlekerry, after the Fianna's foreman had taken
his handful, enriched with ancient woods and dear dutchy deep-
linns mid which were an old knoll and a troutbeck, vainyvain of
her osiery and a chatty sally with any Wilt or Walt who would
ongle her as Izaak did to the tickle of his rod and watch her
waters of her sillying waters of and there now brown peater
arripple (may their quilt gild lightly over his somnolulutent
form!) Whoforyou lies his last, by the wrath of Bog, like the
erst curst Hun in the bed of his treubleu Donawhu.
Best. This wastohavebeen underground heaven, or mole's
paradise which was probably also an inversion of a phallopharos,
intended to foster wheat crops and to ginger up tourist trade
(its architecht, Mgr Peurelachasse, having been obcaecated lest

[77] he should petrifake suchanevver while the contractors Messrs
T. A. Birkett and L. O. Tuohalls were made invulnerably vener-
able) first in the west, our misterbilder, Castlevillainous, openly
damned and blasted by means of a hydromine, system, Sowan and
Belting, exploded from a reinvented T.N.T. bombingpost up
ahoy of eleven and thirty wingrests (circiter) to sternbooard out
of his aerial thorpeto, Auton Dynamon, contacted with the ex-
pectant minefield by tins of improved ammonia lashed to her
shieldplated gunwale, and fused into tripupcables, slipping
through tholse and playing down from the conning tower into
the ground battery fuseboxes, all differing as clocks from keys
since nobody appeared to have the same time of beard, some
saying by their Oorlog it was Sygstryggs to nine, more holding
with the Ryan vogt it was Dane to pfife. He afterwards whaan-
ever his blaetther began to fail off him and his rough bark was
wholly husky and, stoop by stoop, he neared it (wouldmanspare!)
carefully lined the ferroconcrete result with rotproof bricks and
mortar, fassed to fossed, and retired beneath the heptarchy of
his towerettes, the beauchamp, byward, bull and lion, the white,
the wardrobe and bloodied, so encouraging (insteppen, alls als
hats beliefd!) additional useful councils public with hoofd off-
dealings which were welholden of ladykants te huur out such as the
Breeders' Union, the Guild of Merchants of the Staple et, a.u.c. to
present unto him with funebral pomp, over and above that, a stone
slab with the usual Mac Pelah address of velediction, a very fair-
worded instance of falsemeaning adamelegy: We have done ours
gohellt with you, Heer Herewhippit, overgiven it, skidoo!
But t'house and allaboardshoops! Show coffins, winding sheets,
goodbuy bierchepes, cinerary urns, liealoud blasses, snuffchests,
poteentubbs, lacrimal vases, hoodendoses, reekwaterbeckers,
breakmiddles, zootzaks for eatlust, including upyourhealthing
rookworst and meathewersoftened forkenpootsies and for that
matter, javel also, any kind of inhumationary bric au brac for
the adornment of his glasstone honophreum, would, met these
trein of konditiens, naturally follow, halas, in the ordinary course,
enabling that roundtheworlder wandelingswight, did suches pass

[78] him, to live all safeathomely the presenile days of his life of
opulence, ancient ere decrepitude, late lents last lenience, till
stuffering stage, whaling away the whole of the while (hypnos
chilia eonion!) lethelulled between explosion and reexplosion
(Donnaurwatteur! Hunderthunder!) from grosskopp to megapod,
embalmed, of grand age, rich in death anticipated.
But abide Zeit's sumonserving, rise afterfall. Blueblitzbolted
from there, knowing the hingeworms of the hallmirks of habita-
tionlesness, buried burrowing in Gehinnon, to proliferate through
all his Unterwealth, seam by seam, sheol om sheol, and revisit
our Uppercrust Sideria of Utilitarios, the divine one, the hoar-
der hidden propaguting his plutorpopular progeniem of pots and
pans and pokers and puns from biddenland to boughtenland, the
spearway fore the spoorway.
The other spring offensive on the heights of Abraham may
have come about all quite by accidence, Foughtarundser (for
Breedabrooda had at length presuaded him to have himself to be
as septuply buried as the murdered Cian in Finntown), had not
been three monads in his watery grave (what vigilantes and ridings
then and spuitwyne pledges with aardappel frittling!) when
portrifaction, dreyfussed as ever, began to ramp, ramp, ramp, the
boys are parching. A hoodenwinkle gave the signal and a bless-
ing paper freed the flood. Why did the patrizien make him scares
with his gruntens? Because the druiven were muskating at the
door. From both Celtiberian camps (granting at the onset for the
sake of argument that men on the two sides in New South Ire-
land and Vetera Uladh, bluemin and pillfaces, during the ferment
With the Pope or On the Pope, had, moors or letts, grant ideas,
grunted) all conditions, poor cons and dives mor, each, of course,
on the purely doffensive since the eternals were owlwise on their
side every time, were drawn toowards their Bellona's Black
Bottom, once Woolwhite's Waltz (Ohiboh, how becrimed,
becursekissed and bedumbtoit!) some for want of proper feeding
in youth, others already caught in the honourable act of slicing
careers for family and carvers in conjunction; and, if emaciated
nough, the person garrotted may have suggested to whomever he

[79] took the ham of, the plain being involved in darkness, low cirque
waggery, nay, even the first old wugger of himself in the flesh,
whiggissimus incarnadined, when falsesighted by the ifsuchhewas
bully on the hill for there had circulated freely fairly among his
opposition the feeling that in so hibernating Massa Ewacka, who,
previous to that demidetached life, had been known of barmi-
cidal days, cook said, between soups and savours, to get outside
his own length of rainbow trout and taerts atta tarn as no man
of woman born, nay could, like the great crested brebe, devour
his threescoreten of roach per lifeday, ay, and as many minnow a
minute (the big mix, may Gibbet choke him!) was, like the salmon
of his ladderleap all this time of totality secretly and by suckage
feeding on his own misplaced fat.
Ladies did not disdain those pagan ironed times of the first
city (called after the ugliest Danadune) when a frond was a friend
inneed to carry, as earwigs do their dead, their soil to the earth-
ball where indeeth we shall calm decline, our legacy unknown.
Venuses were gigglibly temptatrix, vulcans guffawably eruptious
and the whole wives' world frockful of fickles. Fact, any human
inyon you liked any erenoon or efter would take her bare godkin
out, or an even pair of hem, (lugod! lugodoo!) and prettily pray
with him (or with em even) everyhe to her taste, long for luck,
tapette and tape petter and take pettest of all. (Tip!) Wells she'd
woo and wills she's win but how the deer knowed where she'd
marry! Arbour, bucketroom, caravan, ditch? Coach, carriage,
wheelbarrow, dungcart?
Kate Strong, a widow (Tiptip!) — she pulls a lane picture for
us, in a dreariodreama setting, glowing and very vidual, of old
dumplan as she nosed it, a homelike cottage of elvanstone with
droppings of biddies, stinkend pusshies, moggies' duggies, rotten
witchawubbles, festering rubbages and beggars' bullets, if not
worse, sending salmofarious germs in gleefully through the
smithereen panes — Widow Strong, then, as her weaker had
turned him to the wall (Tiptiptip!), did most all the scavenging
from good King Hamlaugh's gulden dayne though her lean
besom cleaned but sparingly and her bare statement reads that

[80] there being no macadamised sidetracks on those old nekropolitan
nights in, barring a footbatter, Bryant's Causeway, bordered
with speedwell, white clover and sorrel a wood knows, which
left off, being beaten, where the plaintiff was struck, she
left down, as scavengers, who will be scavengers must, her
filthdump near the Serpentine in Phornix Park (at her time called
Finewell's Keepsacre but later tautaubapptossed Pat's Purge),
that dangerfield circling butcherswood where fireworker oh
flaherty engaged a nutter of castlemallards and ah for archer
stunned's turk, all over which fossil footprints, bootmarks,
fingersigns, elbowdints, breechbowls, a. s. o. were all succes-
sively traced of a most envolving description. What subtler
timeplace of the weald than such wolfsbelly castrament to will
hide a leabhar from Thursmen's brandihands or a loveletter,
lostfully hers, that would be lust on Ma, than then when ructions
ended, than here where race began: and by four hands of fore-
thought the first babe of reconcilement is laid in its last cradle
of hume sweet hume. Give over it! And no more of it! So pass
the pick for child sake! O men!
For hear Allhighest sprack for krischnians as for propagana
fidies and his nuptial eagles sharped their beaks of prey: and
every morphyl man of us, pome by pome, falls back into this
terrine: as it was let it be, says he! And it is as though where
Agni araflammed and Mithra monished and Shiva slew as maya-
mutras the obluvial waters of our noarchic memory withdrew,
windingly goharksome, to some hastyswasty timberman torch-
priest, flamenfan, the ward of the wind that lightened the fire that
lay in the wood that Jove bolt, at his rude word. Posidonius
O'Fluctuary! Lave that bloody stone as it is! What are you
doing your dirty minx and his big treeblock way up your path?
Slip around, you, by the rare of the ministers'! And, you, take
that barrel back where you got it, Mac Shane's, and go the way
your old one went, Hatchettsbury Road! And gish! how they
gushed away, the pennyfares, a whole school for scamper, with
their sashes flying sish behind them, all the little pirlypettes!
Issy-la-Chapelle! Any lucans, please?

[81] Yes, the viability of vicinals if invisible is invincible. And we
are not trespassing on his corns either. Look at all the plotsch!
Fluminian! If this was Hannibal's walk it was Hercules' work.
And a hungried thousand of the unemancipated slaved the way.
The mausoleum lies behind us (O Adgigasta, multipopulipater!)
and there are milestones in their cheadmilias faultering along
the tramestrack by Brahm and Anton Hermes! Per omnibus
secular seekalarum. Amain. But the past has made us this present
of a rhedarhoad. So more boher O'Connell! Though rainy-
hidden, you're rhinohide. And if he's not a Romeo you may
scallop your hat. Wereupunder in the fane of Saint Fiacre! Halte!
[End of excerpt]

Adam Seelig: That was Richard Harte reading the beginning of Finnegans Wake Chapter 4, recorded live at Type Books on Queen Street West in Toronto on January 22nd, 2024. Join us for Episode 17 in a fortnight when Richard continues Chapter 4 of Finnegans Wake. In the meantime, to be sure you don’t miss the episode, why not follow or subscribe to this podcast?

[Music: Instrumental of “Roll, Jordan, Roll” with Adam Seelig on piano and Brandon Bak on drums, from the film of Finnegans Wake Ch03.]

Finnegans Wake is made possible by Friends of One Little Goat Theatre Company and the Emigrant Support Programme of the government of Ireland. Thank you for your support! And thank you to the artists for this episode: Richard Harte; Sound by William Bembridge; Stage Management by Sandi Becker; Directed by yours truly, Adam Seelig. A big thanks to Claire Foster and the staff and owners of Type Books, as well as to our wonderful live audience. Thank you to everyone at the Irish Consulate in Toronto. And thank you to Production Consultants Cathy Murphy, Andrew Moodie and Shai Rotbard-Seelig.

Thank you for listening!

[Music fades out]

[End of Ep016]

Mentioned: New Japanese translation of Finnegans Wake by Kenji Hayakawa edited by Yuta Imazeki, One Little Goat Wake screening in Tokyo, Roland McHugh (1945-2025), John Gordon, Kaitlyn Perrin’s rain-and-dreams poem “Rainmancer”, dream theory of narrator in Anna Moschovakis novel, dreams yield multiplicity, overview of Chapter 4, opening sentence of Chapter 4, repetition of “it may be”, HCE’s posthumous reputation, HCE blasting out of coffin, HCE living in opulence, Kate in Phoenix Park, voices of gods, a gloss on “every morphyl man of us, pome by pome, falls back into this terrine”, synopsis.

Cited: Kaitlyn Perrin. “Rainmancer”. Calgary, The Blasted Tree, 2023.
William Blake, “Auguries of Innocence” (1863): “To see a world in a grain of sand / And a heaven in a wild flower, / Hold infinity in the palm of your hand / And eternity in an hour.” https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43650/auguries-of-innocence
Anna Moschovakis. An Earthquake Is a Shaking of the Surface of the Earth: A Novel. New York, Soft Skull, 2024.

JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKE
Episode 019:
Four Judges, Sin City

PAGE 92:6-96:24 OF CHAPTER 4 | 2025-12-4

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JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKE
Episode 018:
Courtroom Drama & Thunderword

PAGE 86:32-92:5 OF CHAPTER 4 | 2025-11-20

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JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKE
Episode 017: LAST BATTLE

PAGE 81:12-86:31 OF CHAPTER 4 | 2025-11-06

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JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKE
Episode 016: REALITY WHILE WE SLEEP

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JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKEEpisode 018:Courtroom Drama & Thunderword

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JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKEEpisode 017: LAST BATTLE

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JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKEEpisode 016: REALITY WHILE WE SLEEP

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ONE LITTLE GOAT THEATRE COMPANY IS A REGISTERED CHARITABLE ORGANIZATION

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT!

JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKE
Episode 019:
Four Judges, Sin City

JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKE
Episode 018:
Courtroom Drama & Thunderword

JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKE
Episode 017: LAST BATTLE

JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKE
Episode 016: REALITY WHILE WE SLEEP