"My Dear Jim, These Are Surely The Last Words You Will Get From Me": Two Volumes Bring Together 2,000 Letters Of James Joyce's Correspondence

FROM MRS.

BY JOHN STANISLAUS JOYCE (Excerpt)

[Probably December 18, 1902]

[Dublin]

… at night and if you buy an alcohol stove like the one I use you could boil water for different purposes also a reading lamp that if you turn on early will take the cold out of the room's atmosphere.

I wish I was there with you to take care of you and comfort you but very soon we will be united again thank God that you are coming home even if it is only for a week.

My dear Jim, if you are disappointed with my letter and if, as always, I cannot understand what you want to explain to me, believe me, it is not for lack of desire to understand you and say the words that you want me to say because, as you often say, I am stupid and not I can understand those great thoughts that are yours no matter how much I want it.

Do not dirty your beautiful soul with tears, be as always you are brave and look forward to the future Please answer me by return mail and for God's sake take care of your health and if you buy the stove be very careful with it

Your daddy and I are upset so don't forget to write and believe me Much love from your

MOTHER

I am enclosing a letter that came from Charlie[1] the morning you left. It will be a small consolation to know all the hearts that here at home think of you.

Return it carefully because I want to keep it with my memories

'Zurich and Trieste (1915-1920)', illustration by Arturo Garrido included in 'Letters (1900-1920)', by James Joyce.

By JOHN STANISLAUS JOYCE

24 April 1907

9 Millmount Terrace, Drumcondra

Dear Jim,

Fourteen days or so ago I wrote to Stannie and have had no response since, despite the fact that I explained to him at length our miserable situation here.

I am forced to conclude that I have completely faded from your memories, but well, I am so used to all kinds of unnatural treatment since your Mother died, both from you and from those who are still here, that I have finally come, and I'm sorry to say, to the clear determination to follow your example: try to forget[2].

I don't need to tell you how your miserable mistake[3] affected my otherwise well-squashed feelings, but then more mature thoughts took the form of pity rather than anger, as I saw a life of broken promise and a future that might have been. brilliant vanish in a breath.

You already know that I did everything in my power to fulfill each of your wishes, and any money that I could obtain in a thousand ways I gave it to you without question.

So you can well understand my feelings when I find my dream so ruthlessly crushed, my hopes—my proud hopes—shattered, and now there is only before me, and hardly ever will, a few years of misery and loneliness until the day God take pity on my misfortune and decide to put an end to my unhappy existence.

My excuse for writing all this is because they will surely be the last words you will receive from me, because as things are today I feel that a great change is about to take place and I hope that before it happens you will be in possession of the facts[4].

So that you know that my future actions will henceforth be the poor result of my battered life that I am no longer able to control.

In your letter of February 9, you say: “I am horrified that you should come to the conclusion that now that I have earned a certain position for myself I do not want to know anything more about you or the girls;

on the contrary, I assure you that if you tell me what I can do for you, I will do everything in my power to do it”.

You also ask me “what is the net amount of my pension”.

Well, the pension I have left is £6 a month, of which I would have to pay £2 12s 4p a month, which leaves me £3 7s 8p to get by, or 2/3 a day!

I don't need to tell you that it's impossible – five girls, a… Charlie, myself and a

In your letter of February 9, you say: “I am horrified that you should come to the conclusion that now that I have earned a certain position for myself I do not want to know anything more about you or the girls;

on the contrary, I assure you that if you tell me what I can do for you, I will do everything in my power to do it”.

You also ask me “what is the net amount of my pension”.

Well, the pension I have left is £6 a month, of which I would have to pay £2 12s 4p a month, which leaves me £3 7s 8p to get by, or 2/3 a day!

I don't need to tell you that it's impossible – five girls, a… Charlie, myself and a

In your letter of February 9, you say: “I am horrified that you should come to the conclusion that now that I have earned a certain position for myself I do not want to know anything more about you or the girls;

on the contrary, I assure you that if you tell me what I can do for you, I will do everything in my power to do it”.

You also ask me “what is the net amount of my pension”.

Well, the pension I have left is £6 a month, of which I would have to pay £2 12s 4p a month, which leaves me £3 7s 8p to get by, or 2/3 a day!

I don't need to tell you that it's impossible – five girls, a… Charlie, myself and a

I assure you that if you tell me what I can do for you, I will do everything in my power to do it.

You also ask me “what is the net amount of my pension”.

Well, the pension I have left is £6 a month, of which I would have to pay £2 12s 4p a month, which leaves me £3 7s 8p to get by, or 2/3 a day!

I don't need to tell you that it's impossible – five girls, a… Charlie, myself and a

I assure you that if you tell me what I can do for you, I will do everything in my power to do it.

You also ask me “what is the net amount of my pension”.

Well, the pension I have left is £6 a month, of which I would have to pay £2 12s 4p a month, which leaves me £3 7s 8p to get by, or 2/3 a day!

I don't need to tell you that it's impossible – five girls, a… Charlie, myself and a

[a black (Blackie, the dog)]–.

If he had some permanent position, however small, and if the aforementioned execclesiastic had the ability and inclination to get a job that would allow him to live, by his own means, things would be different.

Now, I must dismantle this house (by the way this will not require much energy, since it is already dismantled enough) and find another place for myself.

I have spent the last two weeks trying to fit in the 3 little ones [Eva, Florrie and Mabel (“Baby”)] and for now it seems that I have been successful because I am going to be able to put them in a convent (Glasnevin) thanks to the influence from Mr. James Kavanagh for £24 a year.

He told me to write to you two to see what you could do.

If you and Stannie can afford 88 shillings a week (44 each) I'll pay the rest.

I can tell you that I hope to get a little job, £1 a week, and if I get it I won't need anything more from you[5].

Write by return mail and a letter that I can show.

So, as for Charlie, you say you can get him a position: do it, for I can't stand him another minute, and for many reasons I must get rid of him.

Well, Poppie[6] is so insolent and my life has become so unbearable because of her that she must go.

I understand that she has made some arrangements to find a place for herself, and if May and Eily want her they can stay with me – if not what?

Currently, as you can see, I barely have enough to feed and clothe myself, after dressing and feeding 3 girls.

As I am going to be evicted from here next week[7], I am looking for accommodation for myself,

but I have to fix the smaller ones first.

Now you know everything, and you see how I march with a firm step to the wall.

So whatever you hear from me (as you no doubt will, from those very respectable people[8] with whom you correspond so constantly) or wherever I am, possibly in Cork, don't forget that anything or anywhere! it will be a relief from the miserable existence I have led since August 13, 1903[9]!

For the few, I sincerely hope, in the very few years of my life that I have left I will try if I can to find some of my old friends who might be glad to see me again, or even to live among strangers, among whom I may find the affection that my children I have been denied

Perhaps in the next few years, long after my departure from this world,

You may learn to feel some of the pain I have endured, and then you will appreciate the sentiments of a Father who loved his children and had great ambitions for them, and spared no money when he could, to educate them and make them what they wished to become. , but that, when adversities came and he could no longer satisfy all his desires, he was despised, mistreated, humiliated and challenged.

Well, remembering, as I do, the great love I had for you as a child, a young man, and a man, I pray to God to free you from such ingratitude.

I would very much like to have your photograph and Georgie's, also a full account of what happened in Rome, and what your present perspectives are.

As I said, this may be the last letter you receive from me, so don't treat it as usual, reply at length and by return mail.

and then you will appreciate the sentiments of a Father who loved his children and had great ambitions for them, and spared no money when he could, to educate them and make them what they wanted to become, but when adversity came and he could no longer satisfy all his desires, he was scorned, mistreated, humiliated and challenged.

Well, remembering, as I do, the great love I had for you as a child, a young man, and a man, I pray to God to free you from such ingratitude.

I would very much like to have your photograph and Georgie's, also a full account of what happened in Rome, and what your present perspectives are.

As I said, this may be the last letter you receive from me, so don't treat it as usual, reply at length and by return mail.

and then you will appreciate the sentiments of a Father who loved his children and had great ambitions for them, and spared no money when he could, to educate them and make them what they wanted to become, but when adversity came and he could no longer satisfy all his desires, he was scorned, mistreated, humiliated and challenged.

Well, remembering, as I do, the great love I had for you as a child, a young man, and a man, I pray to God to free you from such ingratitude.

I would very much like to have your photograph and Georgie's, also a full account of what happened in Rome, and what your present perspectives are.

As I said, this may be the last letter you receive from me, so don't treat it as usual, reply at length and by return mail.

If Stannie hasn't lost all the little affection he could have had for me, I'd also be glad to hear from him, also with a photo.

Goodbye, Jim, and God protect you: is this the prayer of a father with a heart still full of love for you, although broken.

FATHER[10]

Manuscript of the first letter from James Joyce to Nora, included in the book 'Letters (1900-1920).Foam pages

By NORA BARNACLE JOYCE

July 11, 1912

4 Bowling Green, Galway

my dear jim

since I left Trieste[11] I'm only thinking about you about how you're doing without me about whether you miss me or not.

I'm terribly lonely without you I'm pretty tired of Ireland already but hey I got to Dublin Monday night your father charley Eva Florrie they were all at the Station all looking very good we all went to Finn's Hotel and stayed at the Hotel for two nights but I got really tired of Dublin it's a horrible place it's very true what you said I'd get tired of it fast,

NORA

love georgie

James Joyce illustration by Arturo Garrido.foam pages

TO EZRA POUND

April 13, 1917

Seefeldstrasse 73, III.º, Zurich VIII.º (Switzerland)

Dear Pound:

Today I saw the doctor.

He has prescribed me some glasses for long working days: right eye +6, left eye +7.

As for the cylindrical lenses, he says I can try them if I want, and I will as soon as I can afford them.

He says that in this country the American theory of astigmatism has not found acceptance, but that this issue is not the important one for me.

He assumes that an osteopath is an orthopedist, and he has given me the name of one here.

Before going to see him, however, I'll wait for your confirmation.

He insists on his opinion that the iridectomy is absolutely necessary.

He even said that now the eye is not as easy to operate as it was before.

I'm afraid there's a certain tendency to iris bombans –ay–.

The main question would be the following:

Is it possible to reduce synechia by means other than iridectomy?

He says no and that this is out of the question.

I think, however, that the rheumatic infection, which as you say is not local since I suffered it first in the deltoids and biceps and last year in the back, could be attenuated if not eliminated by some radical cure.

Do you know if the bacillus has been isolated?

I think so, by an English scientist named Paignton.

I desperately cling to the opinion that the iris would loosen its grip on the lens if the rheumatic infection could be removed.

The worst thing about iridectomy is that it is not punctual.

oh!

The doctor says that the iritis has diminished a bit,

but his opinion is that in the next attack the cohesion resulting from the exudation will be so strong that it will completely nullify the mydriatic effect of the atropine and endanger my eyesight... Devil take these fucking eyes!

At the moment I am better, and waiting to hear from your specialist in New York.

Today, for example, I had a dull sensation in my eye – not so much pain – and now it has started to rain.

In that case it would seem that cohesion (I think it is called fixation) is elastic and what can get worse can improve with the same: in theory.

I have spaced out the use of atropine.

The pupil dilated but not much.

I must also say that the top floor where I lived here was rather humid.

and waiting to hear from your specialist in New York.

Today, for example, I had a dull sensation in my eye – not so much pain – and now it has started to rain.

In that case it would seem that cohesion (I think it is called fixation) is elastic and what can get worse can improve with the same: in theory.

I have spaced out the use of atropine.

The pupil dilated but not much.

I must also say that the top floor where I lived here was rather humid.

and waiting to hear from your specialist in New York.

Today, for example, I had a dull sensation in my eye – not so much pain – and now it has started to rain.

In that case it would seem that cohesion (I think it is called fixation) is elastic and what can get worse can improve with the same: in theory.

I have spaced out the use of atropine.

The pupil dilated but not much.

I must also say that the top floor where I lived here was rather humid.

I talked to some people here about your new magazine and I hope I can get you some subscribers, when you tell me the name and where to buy it.

I hope you were not dissatisfied with my letter.

In the meantime, you can put my name on the list of future collaborators.

I'm still pulling

, but today I'm a little discouraged due to this depressing diagnosis.

It goes without saying that it is Friday and also the thirteenth.

Sincerely,

JAMES JOYCE

[1].

The Joyce brothers and sisters were, in order of birth: James, Poppie, Stanislaus, Charlie, Georgie, Eileen, May, Eva, Florrie, and Mabel.

[2].

Stanislaus Joyce hated his father, and he will never see him again.

His 1904-5 diary is devoted to two themes: the wasteful genius of his brother and the brutal treatment of his father.

An example: "Daddy is the only child of an only child, and therefore the spoiled child of a spoiled child. His temperament was probably that of a Gascon – gallant and sentimental – and, I'm sure, he was a superficial boy without love. His monstrous narcissism must have drowned out the slightest hint of self-criticism then (if there was any). However, he is quite perceptive when it comes to judging others. Behind the scenes, he prides himself on having a very refined family "Well-educated and comfortable in position. He's a domineering, violent man, and he carries his charlatanism (so typical of Cork drunks) as his flag. It's all gotten worse since we've grown up,

Well, even keeping silent, we are a nuisance.

He only likes things when they are easy, and his only ambition in life has been to keep up appearances and be respected.

This may seem very unfair on my part, because it certainly hasn't been easy for him.

He has fought so stubbornly against his urge to be drunk all the time that it's hard for me to totally disregard him.

He is a hypocrite and a liar.

He likes to see himself as the big victim of all this.

His will is scattered and his intelligence is small.

He has become a crazy drunk.

He is spiteful and frustrated, like all drunks who cannot give themselves fully to his passion, and he is capable of inventing the most cowardly and miserable insults I have ever heard.

There is no doubt that he hastened Mother's death.

As a son he was terrible;

as husband,

little more than a thug.

With money, a reckless spender.

He has no sympathy for his children, less love.

Just a vague sense of responsibility, probably stemming from his cult of appearances.

He is full of prejudices, which he tries to instill in us, and he tries to see all our opposition as mere childishness.

He proudly boasts of being a bit of a snob.

His idea of ​​his home is a well-furnished space in which to hang out while his wife raises the children.

A place where you can continue to be obeyed and respected after coming back drunk in the middle of the night."

who tries to instill in us, and strives to see all our opposition as mere childishness.

He proudly boasts of being a bit of a snob.

His idea of ​​his home is a well-furnished space in which to hang out while his wife raises the children.

A place where you can continue to be obeyed and respected after coming back drunk in the middle of the night."

who tries to instill in us, and strives to see all our opposition as mere childishness.

He proudly boasts of being a bit of a snob.

His idea of ​​his home is a well-furnished space in which to hang out while his wife raises the children.

A place where you can continue to be obeyed and respected after coming back drunk in the middle of the night."

[3].

John Stanislaus found out about Nora when her son got on a ship with her to leave Ireland – a friend of hers caught them.

[4].

John Stanislaus will still take 24 and a half years to die, although he will not see his eldest son many more times.

[5].

In Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Joyce describes Simon Dedalus thus: "medical student, rower, tenor, amateur actor, loud politician, small landlord, small rentier, drinker, good fellow, storyteller, secretary to I don't know who, I don't know what a thing in a distillery, tax collector, broke and, at present, extolling all his past".

[6].

Margaret Joyce, who took care of the house after the death of her mother.

She will soon after leave for New Zealand and will never see a Joyce again.

There is an interview where they ask her, already very old, about her famous brother of hers, of whom she hardly knows anything.

[7].

In Stephen Hero Joyce narrates one of these many traumatic family moves.

The family carrying the portraits of their ancestors from one house to another, staying with acquaintances or waiting for the next eviction notice, stretching it as much as possible with tricks.

[8].

John Stanislaus hated the Murrays, his wife's brothers, and Aunt Josephine, whom he called the Limping Aunt.

In Ulysses he calls them "highly respectable gondoliers," "your uncle the drunken pen-pusher," "the trumpeter," and so on.

He looked a lot like his brothers-in-law.

[9].

The day of his wife's death.

[10].

Of his sons, John Stanislaus only wanted James, who was the firstborn.

In his last days he will have to make do with the voice of the author of Ulysses recorded on vinyl reading fragments of "Aeolus".

[eleven].

Nora had gone to Galway to see her family and had taken Lucia with her.

Joyce was waiting with Giorgio in Trieste, hoping that Nora's uncle, Michael Healy, would send them money to join the trip.

'Letters (1900-1920)',

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