Gemini.Finnegans.Wake.08
Then as she is on her behaviourite job of quainance bandy, fruting for firstlings and taking her tithe, we may take our review of the two mounds to see notiong of the himples here as at elsewhere, by sixes and sevens, like so many heegills and collines, sitton aroont, scentbreeched and somepotreek, in their swishasitton aroont, scentbreeched and somepotreek, in their swishawish satins and their taffetaffe tights, playing Wharton’s Folly, at a treepurty on the planko in the purk. Stand up, mickos! Make strake for minnas! By order, Nicholas Proud. We may see and hear nothing if we choose of the shortlegged bergins off Corkhill or the bergamoors of Arbourhill or the bergagambols of Summerhill or the bergincellies of Miseryhill or the countrybossed bergones of Constitutionhill though every crowd has its several tones and every trade has its clever mechanics and each harmonical has a point of its own, Olaf’s on the rise and Ivor’s on the lift and Sitric’s place’s between them. But all they are all there scraping along to sneeze out a likelihood that will solve and salve life’s robulous rebus, hopping round his middle like kippers on a griddle, O, as he lays dormont from the macroborg of Holdhard to the microbirg of Pied de Podre. Behove this sound of Irish sense. Really? Here English might be seen. Royally? One sovereign punned to petery pence. Regally? The silence speaks the scene. Fake!
As we move into Thursday night, the narrative shifts its focus. After observing the essential, practical work of the female scavenger (ALP), we now turn our attention back to the male figures and their attempts to understand the world.
The Game in the Park
The scene is set in the park (the purk), likely Phoenix Park. While ALP is busy with her behaviourite job of gathering the fragments of the past, we see a different kind of activity. A crowd of people, representing the hills of Dublin (heegills and collines), are dressed in fine satins and tights. They are idly sitting around, playing Wharton's Folly—a card game, but also a foolish endeavor.
Joyce lists several real Dublin hills—Corkhill, Arbourhill, Summerhill, Miseryhill, Constitutionhill—and invokes the city’s ancient Viking kings (Olaf, Ivor, Sitric). This grounds the scene in the city’s deep history, suggesting this activity is timeless.
Solving the Rebus
The paragraph reveals the goal of all these figures gathered in the park:
…all they are all there scraping along to sneeze out a likelihood that will solve and salve life’s robulous rebus, hopping round his middle like kippers on a griddle, O, as he lays dormont…
They are all desperately trying to solve the “round rebus” (robulous rebus) of life—the puzzle of the fallen giant, HCE, who lies sleeping dormont at their center. The image of them hopping round his middle like kippers on a griddle perfectly captures the frantic, sizzling, yet ultimately pointless nature of their intellectual efforts.
The Final Judgment
The paragraph ends with a sharp, critical voice that cuts through the scene and passes judgment on this entire intellectual game. It asks a series of questions:
- Is this “Irish sense”? Really?
- Is it “Royal”? No, grandeur (
one sovereign) has been reduced to petty cash (petery pence). - Is it “Regal”? No. The truth is not in the noise.
The silence speaks the scene.
The silent, practical work of ALP is the true answer, not the game-playing of the men. The final verdict on their attempt to solve the rebus is delivered in a single, damning word:
Fake!
Joyce suggests that the great mysteries of life and death aren’t solved by logic or intellectual games, but are addressed through the silent, constant, life-giving work of recycling and renewal.
07/08/2025, P.13.3, to be continued.