92
PARTISAN REVIEW
He was walking through a big city and met three men who called
themselves Minos, Eaque and Rhadamante. They suddenly broke
off their conversation with him and became threatening. He had
to run to escape from their screams of obloquy. Three weeks later
I noticed a feature story in the
Paris-Soir
to the effect that the
police were looking for a crank who was sending explosives
through the mails. This fanatic signed himself: Minos, Eaque,
Rhadamante, the judges of Hell. One of Joyce's less complicated
dreams, however, caused considerable chuckling, each time he
thought of it. This was a dream the climax of which was the titanic
figure of Molly Bloom, seated on the side of a high hill. "As for
you, James Joyce, I've had enough of you," she shouted. His reply
he never remembered.
Some six months before
Work in Progress
was scheduled to
appear, there was an amusing incident in connection with its title,
then still known only to Mr. and Mrs. Joyce. Often he had chal·
lenged his friends to guess it. He even made a permanent offer to
pay 1,000 francs in cash to the-person who would guess it. We all
tried: Stuart Gilbert, Herbert Gorman, Samuel Beckett, Paul Leon,
myself, but we failed miserably. One summer night, while dining
on the terrace of Fouquet's, Joyce repeated his offer. The Riesling
was especially good that night, and we were in high spirits. Mrs.
Joyce began an Irish song about Mr. Flannigan and Mrs. Shanni·
gan. Joyce looked startled and urged her to stop. This she did,
but when he saw no harm had been done, he very distinctly, as a
singer does it, made the lip motions which seemed to indicate
F
and W. My wife's guess was
Fairy's Wake.
Joyce looked aston·
ished and said "Brava! But something is missing." For a few days
we mulled over it. One morning I knew it was
Finnegans Wake,
although it was only an intuition. That evening I suddenly threw
the words into the air. Joyce blanched. Slowly he set down the
wine-glass he held. "Ah, Jolas, you've taken something out of me,"
he said, almost sadly. When we parted that night, he embraced me,
danced a few of his intricate steps, and asked: "How would you
like to have the money?" I replied: "In sous." The following
morning, during my absence from home, he arrived with a bag
filled with ten franc pieces. He gave them to my daughters with
instructions to serve them for me at lunch. So it was
Finnegans
Wake.
All those present were sternly enjoined by Joyce not to
