You saved men
In Telemachus Stephen says to Mulligan, "You saved
men from drowning. I'm not a hero, however." In Eumaeus
Bloom thinks of Mulligan's "rescue of that man from certain
drowning by artificial respiration and what they call first
aid at Skerries, or Malahide
was it?" These two passages acknowledge real-life exploits of
Oliver Gogarty, and they
contribute to a recurring theme of heroism in the novel:
saving another person's life by diving into the aqueous, the
filthy, the cold, the subterranean.
According to John Francis Byrne's Silent
Years, Joyce was "a good swimmer," and in his late teens
he would, like Mulligan at the Fortyfoot, swim naked
in the ocean waters off the rocks of the Bull Wall (176).
Gogarty, however, was a swimmer of real distinction. Byrne
recalls seeing someone jump into the Liffey just west of the Butt
Bridge to save "a sturdy man who was attempting suicide"
in the river. After lugging his "reluctant and recalcitrant
freight" to the foot of some steps, "The young rescuer, seeing
that his charge was apparently in good hands, ran nimbly up
the steps and came to retrieve his coat and bicycle; and then,
having put his coat on over his dripping shirt, he immediately
jumped on his bicycle, turned into Hawkins Street, and sped
away without a word to anyone. This young man had done a deed
which was triply courageous: first in jumping into the Liffey
at a time and place where the current was swift and
treacherous, second in tackling a would-be suicide, and third
in plunging into a stretch of water which, at that time, was
just a cesspool. Indeed, when he came up out of it with his
face smeared with filth, and black muck dripping from his
clothes, I was scarcely able to recognize him as the
customarily spruce, well-groomed, and debonaire Oliver St.
John Gogarty" (176-77).
Gogarty performed such rescues at least four times between
1898 and 1901, and much later he saved himself in the same
way. In November 1922, an IRA faction that opposed the Treaty
between Ireland and Great Britain authorized the killing of
Irish Free State Senators, of whom Gogarty was one. Two months
later, on 20 January 1923, six men kidnapped him at gunpoint
from his home and took him to a house near Chapelizod
where they intended to execute him. Ulick O'Connor's Oliver
St John Gogarty recounts how he coolly made his escape:
"'I tried a number of ruses to get outside, as close to the
Liffey banks as possible, but none of them worked'. Then,
suddenly, pleading that his bowels were loosening with fright,
Gogarty doubled up and asked to be assisted out. On a second
occasion, he repeated his request, but kept his arms inside
his fur-collared overcoat, ready to slip out in a second. As
he took the coat off, he threw it over the heads of his
captors, flinging himself recklessly into the swirling Liffey
almost in the same movement. The Liffey was in flood and it
was a night of extreme cold. For a man of forty-five to have
survived the initial shock was in itself remarkable. Swept
onwards by the flood, he thought he had had a heart attack; he
found himself unable to breathe" but managed to start swimming
(211-12). After fifteen minutes in the water he staggered out,
barely able to walk or speak, and found help.
Joyce has his persona Stephen call attention to Gogarty's
aquatic heroism, and, altering the facts of his own biography,
he makes Stephen as dissimilar as can be: "You saved men
from drowning. I'm not a hero, however." Stephen does
not swim in Telemachus, and Mulligan tells Haines
that he only bathes once a month. Ithaca
defines him as "hydrophobe, hating partial contact by
immersion or total by submersion in cold water (his last bath
having taken place in the month of October of the preceding
year), disliking the aqueous substances of glass and crystal,
distrusting aquacities of thought and language." In Proteus
he confronts his cowardice: "He saved men from drowning and
you shake at a cur's yelping.... Would you do what
he did? A boat would be near, a
lifebuoy. Natürlich, put there for
you. Would you or would you not?" In Wandering Rocks
he thinks guiltily of his sister Dilly, "She is drowning.
Agenbite. Save her. Agenbite. All against us. She will drown
me with her, eyes and hair. Lank coils of seaweed hair around
me, my heart, my soul. Salt green death."
The thread of aquatic heroism associated with Mulligan finds
at least two other expressions in the novel, both of them
lightly tinged with irony. The closest analogue appears in Hades
with the reporting of another real-life story—that of Reuben J.
Dodd's son jumping into the Liffey, probably in an
attempt at suicide. Dodd rewarded the rescuer “like a hero,”
but with the un-princely sum of a florin
(two shillings). Hearing the story, Simon Dedalus remarks
“drily” that it was "One and eightpence too much.”
In Wandering Rocks Lenehan alludes to the story of Tom Rochford going down into a sewer to rescue a man overcome by gas. “— He’s a hero, he said simply.... — The act of a hero.” In this instance Joyce does not ironize the story in any way, but the real-life facts do. Robert Martin Adams describes how twelve men in succession went down the manhole, one after another becoming overcome by the methane and requiring a new rescuer to enter the fray (Surface and Symbol, 92-93). Tom Rochford was merely the third in this series of comically futile heroic actors, but Joyce liked Rochford and decided to elevate his importance. In Circe, however, Rochford's heroism is inflated to absurd proportions, when rather than attempting to save the dying he makes a Christ-like effort to save the dead. Paddy Dignam, who has become a dog, worms his way down through a hole in the ground, followed by “an obese grandfather rat” like the tomb-diving one that Bloom sees in Hades. His voice is then heard “baying under ground.” Rochford, following close behind, pauses to orate: “(A hand to his breastbone, bows.) Reuben J. A florin I find him. (He fixes the manhole with a resolute stare.) My turn now on. Follow me up to Carlow. (He executes a daredevil salmon leap in the air and is engulfed in the coalhole....)”