Fragments, 1917-1918, draft level 0

MS NLI.7A, 1-9 Draft details

{ms, 001}

(U84 3.271-81)

|aIn the cold domed room of the towera| They are waiting |around the tablea|, their chairs, my valise round the uncleared table. Who would clear it? Through the barbacans the shafts of light |awilla| move ever, slowly, creeping this side that side on their dial. Blue dusk, nightfall, night. He has the key. |xI carried I took up my bed and walkedx| I will not sleep there. Shut door of a silent tower entombing their sleeping bodies, dreaming, the panther tamer panthersahib and |athe other |bhis beater gamekeeper |cbeaterc|b|a|. |aCall: no answer.a| I walk in the moon's mid watches, |aabove by the path abovea| the rocks, |aabove the dark flood hearing Elsinore's tempting flooda|.


(U84 3.286-89)

|aHis eyes wandered over the strand, a bottleneck sticking up His eyes wandered over the strand, a drowned dog's carcase sticking up A bottleneck stuck up out of the sand: isle of thirst. Farther a |bdrowned bloatedb| dog's carcasea|, the gunwale of a boat, sunk in sand. Un coche ensablé Louis Veuillot calls Gautier's prose angrily. Heavy as |athe thisa| sand is all language which tide and wind have silted up, heavy |athe alla| stoneheaps of past builders where now a weasel lurks: but a fool's wrath is heavier than them both.


(U84 3.332-64)

The dog ambled about, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Looking for something he lost in a past life. Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, chasing a bird's on the sand the shadow of a lowflying gull. His masterº shrill whistle stopped his course. He turned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling legs. He halted near the verge of the tide with stiff |aforefeet forehoofsa| and seawardpointed ears. His head lifted barked against the noise of the waves. |xbrawlingx| They came nearer, shaking their crests, plashing, breaking, from farther, from far out, many,
{ms, 002}

The cocklepickers lifted their washed bags up from the water and waded out. Their dog yelped and running to them, reared up and pawed them, falling on all fours and again reared up with mute bearish efforts. Unheeded he kept on beside them as they came towards the drier sand near the rocks, a rag of red tongue hanging |asidewaysa| out |aof the sidea| of his wolf's jaws. The carcase lay on his path. He stopped, sniffed it, went round it, nosing it closer. Called to, he still went round it sniffing rapidly like a dog all points of the dead dog.

— Tatters! Here, you mongel mongrel!

The cry brought him skulking up to his master and a blunt kick sent him unscathed across a stretch of the strand, crouched in flight. He ambled again by the side of the wall, smelt a rock, |aand from under a blanka| lifted |aaa| hindleg |aanda| pissed against it. He trotted on and lifting his hindleg again, pissed for an instant against an unsmelt rock. His hindpaws then scattered the sand: |a& thena| his forepaws dabbled and delved. Looking for something he buried here. He scrat scraped in the sand, dabbling, delving, and stopped to listen to the air and scraped up again the sand with a fury of his paws, soon ceasing.


{ms, 003}

(U84 3.106-24)

Avoid him then: and read more of the |afaded(ing)a| prophecies of, Joachim Abbas in a |adusty stagnanta| bay of Marsh's Library. Descende, calve, ut ne nimium decalveris. A garland of grey scant hair on a |anaked unreadeda| |aheada| poll, he clambers down |ato the footpacea|, clutching his stolen monstrance. |aElsewhere a |bsinless spotlessb| hands lift the host on high. Divine, it can be moved heavenward by one, earthward by another in the same instant. (Occam) |xinvincible doctorx|a| Get down, baldpoll. A choir echoes words and incense |a|bgrouped assistingb| about the altar's hornsa|, the loud Latin of priests, moving burly in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the fat of kidneys of wheat


(U84 3.47-52)

My soul created even He |acannot dare nota| destroy for |aa lex eterna the lex eterna thata| overshadows His will. Is that then the divine substance wherein |athea| Father and |athea| Son are consubstantial? Ask Arius could tell me, mocking his own answer. |aPoor luckless Lucklessa| heresiarch! In a |aTurkish Greeka| watercloset he breathed his last. Dead and dirty. The ways of the Creator are not our ways.


(U84 3.370-84)

They came along with their bags. His large feet slapping out of his turned up trouserankles on the damp sand., A dull red muffler strangling his unshaven neck. With shorter steps she followed him: the bully and his strolling mort: her spoils slung in a sack over her shoulder. Loose sand and shells crusted her naked feet and loose her hair hung about her windbeaten face. She trudges behind her lord |xtrudging to Romevillex|. |aNighta| When night hides her body's flaws, calling from an archway where dogs have mired. Her |afancyman's away fancyman is drinking his earnings |bis treating |cQuigleyc|b| in O'Loughlin's of Blackpittsa|: |aher greasy a shefiend's embrace whiteness under her rancida| clothes: |xin rogues' rum lingox|

White thy fambles, red thy gan
And thy quarrons dainty is.
Couch a hogshead with me then.
In the darkmans clip and kiss.

{ms, 004}

(U84 3.70-103)

Or go down to Uncle Richie |xis not farx| and pull the rusty bell: twice. And wait. They take me for a dun, peer at me from a coign of vantage.

— It's only Stephen

— Let him in. Let him in.

The bolts are drawn and young Walter pulls me |ain. by the hand.a|

— We thought you were someone else.

Uncle Richie, pillowed |a& blanketeda| in the |awide broada| bed, extends |aover |bhis theb| hill of |bhisb| kneesa| |ahis aa| white sturdy forearm. |aCleanchested. He has washed the upper moietya|

— Morrow, Stephen.

He lays aside the lapboard on which he has been |adrawing drafting his bill ofa| costs for the eyes of master Goff & master Tandy: ?cove filing a consent and common searches and a writ of Duces Tecum. His funny humming whistle brings Walter to the door.

|aYes, sir?a|

Whisky for Richie and Stephen, tell mother|a., where is she?a|
|aShe's bathing Crissie, sir.a|

— No, uncle Richie ….

|aWill you sit Call me Richie. Sita| down or will you be knocked down?

— He has nothing to sit down on, sir, Walter says, looking for a chair.

— He has nowhere to put it, you |amean mug.a| |auncle Richie says.a|

All'erta! He sings bars of the |xFerrando'sx| aria di sortita |aof Ermannoa|. The grandest |amusic numbera|, Stephen, in the whole opera. Listen. His tuneful whistle sounds again, |awith fine finelya| |ashadings shadeda| and |awitha| rushes, his fists bigdrumming on his |ablanketed paddeda| knees.


{ms, 005}

(U84 3.216-57)

|aJoe Kevina| Egan s roll his cigarettes through fingers smeared with printer's ink, drinking his green fairy. We eat together amid the hungry carmen, forking |aspiceda| beans down their throats. Un demi sétier. A jet of coffee steam from the |apolished burnisheda| caldron and around the marble slabs of tables the tangle of wined breaths and grumbling gorges. His breath breathes over over our saucestained plates, the green fairy thrusting her fang again between his slobbered lips. Of Ireland, of his home, of hopes, conspiracies. His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its necktassels at |asome scandalousa| words. Maud Gonne, Millevoye, Felix Faure, licentious men, the girls who washed and rubbed his naked body in the bath at Upsala, most licentious custom, bath a most private thing, not even my own brother, most lascivious thing. |aGreena| Eyes, I see you! Fang, I feel you! Lascivious thing. The blue |agas fusea| of his match burns deadly between his hands |aand burns cleara|. The loose shreds of his cigarettes catch fire and flame and acrid smoke light up in our dark corner his the raw facebones under his Spaniard's hat. Spurned lover. I was a strapping young fellow |athen at that timea|. I'll show you my likeness sometime. Lover, for her sake he prowled with colonel Richard Burke under and under the walls of Clerkenwell and, crouching, saw his flames of hatred hurl them upwards in the fog: shattered glass and toppling masonry. |aThe multitude of Paris hides him now In Paris's multitude he hides nowa|, unsought by any save by me, by his dim printingcase, |aby betweena| his three taverns,
{ms, 006}
in his room damascened with faded cartoons in the rue de la Goutte d'Or, where he sleeps from midnight to sunrise. Loveless, landless, wifeless, sonless. M His madam is all right without her castoff man, in with her two canaries canary and her two lodgers in the rue Gît-le-Coeur: painted bloom on her cheeks, her skirt |abrisk friskya| as a girl's. Spurned lover: his son is far away in the hills of the Ardennes, a soldier of the republic, to try his fortunes to advance. I owe him four francs. |aI owe five shillings to O'Grady.a|


(U84 3.29-44)

Theyº came down the shelving shore prudently, their flabby bodies on splayed feet sinking in the |ayielding drift of silteda| sand. One carried a bag like a midwife's, the other an umbrella with which she poked at times and turned over a shell of the beach. Like me, like Algy going down to our |agreat sweet mightya| mother. What has number one in the bag? A misbirth with a trailing navelcord hushed in |aquiet ruddya| wool. Eve like Adam, by the |away same tokena|, had no navel|a., had she?a| A belly, bulging like a buckler of |atauta| vellum skin, |aa bushel of wheat of Joppa or heaped white corna|. |aGreat mother Mother,a| womb of |aalla| sin.


(U84 3.461-69)

Under the upswelling tide the long weeds lifted reluctantly languidly and swayed reluctant arms, swaying and upturning |ain |btheb| whispering water theira| coy fronds. Day by day, night by night, lifted, floa flooded and let fall. They are weary and, whispered to, they sigh. Sigh of leaves and waves saint
{ms, 007}
Ambrose heard |avainly evera| awaiting yet the fullness of time, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. To no end gathered, vainly then released |a|bflowing forthflowingb|, wending backa|: |aloom of the world, loomworld of the moon's loom loom of the moona|. Weary too, naked and unravished, she draws her toil of waters.


(U84 3.303-09)

A school of turlehide whales stranded, spouting and flapping in the shallows: and from the cobbled starving city a horde of |a|bgreenb|a| jerkined dwarfs running, scaling, |ahacking flayinga| with their knives, and hacking |athe greena| blubbery |a|brancidb|a| flesh. Famine, plague, and slaughter. My people: their strange blood is in me, their thoughts in my waves of my brain. A |amidnighta| multitude on the frozen Liffey among |aresinousa| hissing |atorches |bbonfires resin firesb|a|. My blood: my people


(U84 3.470-84)

Flowing in fast. At one |athe thata| boatman said: high water at Dublin bar. Driving before it a loose drift of sand, |aa shoal ofa| minnows, silly shells: |aand the aa| corpse |arising risena| saltwhite from the undersea, |aborne and bobbinga| landward. |aunread Therea| it is. Hook it quick. Again. We have him |anowa|. Pull. Easy now. Up. Hauled |astiff starka| over the gunwale the drowned |abundle manbundlea|. |aSopping in foul brine |bBag of corpsegas, a quiver of minnows |cdarting |dfatfed flashingd| dartc| through the slits of his buttoned trouserfly. His leprous nosehole grins at the sun.b|a| |aBut doth He hasa| suffer|aeda| a seachange: |athe mildesta| seadeath, |athea| mildest |adeath |bdeath devised by the gods of allb|a|. |aQuite a pleasure in its way, they say. Beware of imitations. |xPrix de Parisx| |bTry it |cYou just try it Just give it a fair trialc|b|: we enjoyed ourselves immensely.a|

X X X X X X X X {!U84, 3.393 3.488}

(jews) |awesteringa| they move about the world in |awesteringa| moondrawn tides, |amoving westward,a| to the lands of evening from morning lands. They sinned against the light. Old oracle. And I? And we? Wanderers to this day.


{ms, 008}

(U84 3.393-98)

Her body too has its tides, millionislanded. A |acreature Handmaida| of the moon, ruled by the wet sign. Her She dreams him, |aspeeding to her kiss a |bpaleb| vampire,a| through storm speeding under bloodred sails, |aa man's lips moutha| to her |amouth'sa| kiss.


(U84 3.312-30)

To win their shouts I must live their lives, think, feel as they do. There is no other way: the way of |aall empires empirea|, reared on a common cowardice. He saved men from drowning and you fear a dog's bark. Eh? Like the courtiers who mocked Guido Cavalcanti he is in his own house, the house of …. We don't want your medieval abstrusiosities. Would you do as much? Perhaps there would be a boat near or a lifebuoy. |aAnd perhaps not. Ay, perhaps.a| Well, would you or would you not? That man that was drowned off the Maiden's rock last week. Eh? The truth now. I would want to. I would try. I am not a strong swimmer. If |ait was on I hada| the land |aunder my feeta|. I want his life to be saved, yes, and my own also not to be lost. He is a man. His eyes are fixed on me in horror of death. I …. With him together …. I could not save her. Waters:, bitter death: lost.


(U84 3.406-19)

He turned his back to the sun and, bending across towards a slab of rock,
{ms, 009}
scribbled the |aword wordsa|. |aSmthg he has twice forgotten or a dreama| His shadow lay dark on the rocks as he wrote., ending. Why not endless |atill the farthest stara|? I throw an ended shadow from me and call it back. Even an endless shadow would be the shadow of my shape. No, endless, it would no longer be my shape. I throw and call it back, writing these words. |aWho will read them? Who sees me? Who sees me? Who will read them?a| Tell her in your nicest voice. That a bishop of Cloyne beheld |athe world as in all spacea| coloured signs |ahatcheda| on a flat |asurface clotha|. Easy. Coloured on a flat: yes, that's right. Tell her |athat vain thea| word of Dante's souls that suffer, to be no more and to have |aonce been been oncea|: fu', io fu' Buonconte, io fu'. Tell him her with a voice |aasa| sad as their |avain greya| breath: and she will lick your ear.


(U84 3.209-15)

Paris wakensº Paris is waking rawly, crude sunlight on |aits hera| bugbrown roofs, huddled, testudoform. |aHer matin incensea| Moist pith of |atwists farlsa| of bread, the froggreen wormwood, her matin incense, rise court the air. Belluomo rises from the bed of his wife's lover's wife: the kerchiefed housewife is astir |abetimesa|, a saucer of acetic acid in her hand. |aYvonne, belated, renews her haggard beauty, In Cordelier's Yvonne |band |cEsther Madeleinec|b|, belated, refresh their tumbled beautiesa|, shattering with gold teeth |afabrics chaussonsa| of pastry|a, their mouths yellowed with the pus of flan brétona|. |aConquistadoresa| |aThe curled men pass: all neat and new.a| |aParisians Faces of the Paris mena| go by, |apleased wellpleaseda| pleasers, their curled conquistadores