I was introduced to Joyce by Tom MacGreevy. He was very friendly - immediately, to the best of my recollection. I remember coming back very exhausted to the École Normale and as usual, the door was closed and I climbed over the railings. I remember that: coming back from my first meeting with Joyce. I remember walking back. And from then on we saw each other quite often.

I can still remember his telephone number. He was living near the Ecole Militaire. I used to come down sometimes in the morning from the Ecole Normale to the concierge and he used to say Monsieur Joyce a telephone et il vous demande de vous mettre en rapport avec lui. And I remember the concierge, he was a southerner. he used to say Segur quatre-vingt-quinze vingt. And it was always to do with going for a walk or going for dinner. I remember a memorable walk on the Ile des Cygnes with Joyce. And then he’d start his ‘tippling.’ And we’d have an appointment with Nora at Fouquet’s. And there was another one we used to go to at that time, not Fouquet’s. Léon’s or some such place. Not, that was later, another time. It was there I remember meeting [Ezra] Pound with Joyce in that restaurant.

I was very flattered when Joyce dropped the ‘Mister.’ Everybody was ‘Mister’. There were no Christian names, no first names. The nearest you would get to friendly name was to drop the ‘Mister’. I was never ‘Sam’. I was always Beckett at the best. We’d drink in any old pub or cafe. I don’t remember which. He was very friendly. He dictated some pages of Finnegans Wake to me at one stage. That was later on when he was living in that flat. And during the dictation, someone knocked at the door and I said something. I had to interrupt the dictation. But it had nothing to do with the text. And when I read it back with the phrase ‘Come in’ in it, he said, ‘Let it stand.’

We shared our ... [common background]. He was at the National University, of course, and I was at Trinity - but we both took degrees in French and Italian. So that was common ground. It was at his suggestion that I wrote “Dante... Bruno . Vico .. Joyce” because of my Italian. And I spent a lot of time reading Bruno and Vico in the magnificent library, the Bibliotheque of the Ecole Normale. We must have had some talk about the ‘Eternal Return’, that sort of thing. He liked the essay. But his only comment was that there wasn’t enough about Bruno; he found Bruno rather neglected. Bruno and Vico were new figures for me. I hadn’t read them. I’d worked on Dante, of course [at Trinity College, Dublin]. And we did talk about Dante. But I knew very little of them. I knew more or less what they were about. I remember I read a biography of one of them. I can’t remember which. (p.45.)

I remember going to see Joyce in the hospital. He was lying on the bed, putting drops in his operated eye. I don’t remember having read to him though. I used to go there in the evening sometimes, when he had dinner at home. It was at the later stage when he was living in the little impasse off the long street. There wasn’t a lot of conversation between us. I was a young man, very devoted to him, and he liked me. And he used to call on me if he needed something. For instance, someone to walk with him before dinner.

He was a great exploiter. Not perhaps an exploiter of his friends. In the Adrienne Monnier book, it’s told how he did the translation of ‘Anna Livia Plurabelle’, [Alfre] Péron and I. And Joyce liked it. {45} But he organised a committe of five, which used to meet in Paul Leon’s house to revise it, including Adrienne Monnier (who was quite unqualified) so that he could talk about his septante, those five and Peron and myself. Why he wanted to talk about his septante devoted to him I don’t know. I remember at Adrienne Monnier’s a reading of our fragment of ‘Anna Livia Plurabelle’, Peron’s and mine, as corrected, so-called, by the Joyce clan. But there was a reading of this with Joyce in Adrienne’s bookshop, a public reading. I remember being there and Joyce was there, Soupault read it, I think.

And I brought him home drunk one night, but I won’t go into that! [He drank a lot] but in the evenings only. I remember a party. He was a great man for anniversaries. Every year he would celebrate his father’s anniversary, “Father forsaken, forgive thy son.” On that occasion, he would give me a note, in francs. I don’t know how many francs it would be. A note. To give to some poor down-and-out in memory of his father. Towards the end of the year, in December, the date of his father’s birth was celebrated and commemorated every year and I was given on several occasions, when I was available, this note to give to some down-and-out in memory of his father. [Recites his own version of Joyce’s moving pome “Ecce Puer” on the death of Joyce’s father and the birth of his grandson, Stephen]: “New life is breathed upon the glass,” etc.

It’s a poem of Joyce’s. It’s part of a longer poem but I remember the verse, “A child is born. An old man gone.” When his father died, he was very upset.

I played the piano once at the Joyces’. I forget what I played. But he, when he had enough taken, at these ‘at home’ parties, receptions at home, with various friends, he would sit down at the piano and, accompanying himself, sing, with his marvellous remains of a tenor voice:

Bid adieu, adieu, adieu
Bid adieu to girlish days.

I remember myself accompanying Giorgio. When he was living with Helen. I remember accompanying him - in what? Ah yes. [Then he {47} sings part of Schubert’s Lieder, An die Musik]. Oh, by the way, I found the name of the street where Joyce lived when I first met him in Paris. Yes, it’s a little street off the rue de Grenelle; this goes from the Latin Quarter to the Avenue Bosquet near the Ecole Militaire. It goes through the ... And just before it comes to the end of the Rue de Grenelle near the Avenue Bosquet, before it ‘debouches’ on the Avenue Bosquet, there’ a little street on the right hand side. It was an impasse in those days. It still exists but it’s a square. The Square Robiac. I remember it as an impasse. You go in to the right off the Rue de Grenelle. It was very short. And the right-hand side was the house where Joyce had his flat.

I admired Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as A Young Man. There was something about it. The end - when he is so self-sufficient in the end. He got pompous about his vocation and his function in life. That was the improved version; he reworked it. (p.47.)

[Beckett to James Knowlson:]
It was Maurice Nadeau who said it was an influence ab contrario. I realized that Joyce had gone as far as one could in the direction of knowing more, in control of one’s material. He was always adding to it; you only have to look at his proofs to see that. I realised that my own way was impoverishment, in lack of knowledge and in taking away, subtracting rather than adding. When I first met Joyce, I didn’t intend to be a writer. That only came later when I found out that I was no good at all at teaching. When I found I simply couldn’t teach. But I do remember speaking about Joyce’s heroic achievement. I had a great admiration for him. That’s what it was: epic, heroic, what he achieved. I realized that I couldn’t go down that same road. (p.47.)

Note: Beckett later says of Lucia: ‘Joyce tried so often to get her help - he was the one who got her to see Jung at the Tavistock Clinic. It’s possible I think that Jung had her in mind at the lecture I went to in London whenhe spoke abot the “who had never really been born.”’ (p.51.)

[End]