It was the enduring enigma of Maxim Litvinov’s pre-revolutionary days as a travelling salesperson in rural Ireland that drew me to the National Library. My aim was to view an edition of Irish Slavonic Studies published in 1985.
If you’re unfamiliar with this ongoing tale, here’s a recap. Patrick Kavanagh, the primary source of information – if we can label him so – regarding Litvinov’s career in sales, has shared his youthful memories of a future minister for foreign affairs under Stalin visiting Inniskeen to peddle “haberdashery” and “sacred images”.
Interestingly, one reader was able to semi-validate these claims through the recollections of their grandfather from north Cork who could remember similar events. Furthermore, a handful of references to Litvinov’s sales days can be found in archives of Irish newspapers from the 1950s, although they often intermingle his experiences with those of his relatives through marriage, the merchant Levinsons from diverse regions of Ulster.
An article relating to this topic appeared in Irish Slavonic Studies, penned by Neil Cornwell (1942-2020). Cornwell served as a lecturer in Queens University for a decade beginning from 1973 before assuming the position of a Russian professor in Bristol. He endeavoured to uncover more about the revolutionary’s days in Ireland, reaching out to relatives who had outlived him.
Though it’s baffling how little is documented about him between the years of 1908 and 1912, Cornwell argued that Litvinov spent the initial two years living in Belfast with his sister, a Levinson through marriage. Cornwell referred to Belfast Telegraph articles from the year 1940 which portrayed Litvinov’s life there during the onset of World War I, whilst he was on stand-by for “the cue from Moscow”.
Eventually, the awaited order arrived, causing his surreptitious exit and outsmarting “Czarist police” – as the Telegraph historically inaccurately labelled the Cheka – who were keeping watch on his residence. Aside from highlighting the Levinsons’ venture in “Clones” and the soon-to-be “Border” locations, Cornwell did not discuss Litvinov’s undertakings outside of Belfast.
The accounts that typically document the life of Litvinov seem to neglect his time spent in Belfast. This absence, he proposes, might be a result of two likely elements. The first being that the personal lives of those who were part of the revolution were frequently obscured, with the revolutionary era being considered as solemn and significant as any period of authority and responsibility.
Secondly, the role of religion is reflected in Litvinov’s personal anecdotes that involve distancing from his family due to his strong atheistic and revolutionary ideologies and their potential impact on his Jewish relatives.
The initial recollections of Litvinov found in Patrick Kavanagh’s notes, specifically his stint selling haberdashery in Mucker as observed in John Ryan’s memoir of the Bohemian Dublin scene around 1950, were initially met with scepticism by those who felt that Kavanagh was too imaginative a figure to be a credible source. However, taking into account the post-Revolutionary expectations of propriety, coupled with the family dynamics of exiles, his Irish experiences might prove to be credible after all.
Speaking of John Ryan’s mysteries, there seems to be some confusion around his pub, The Bailey, being misidentified with the Burton restaurant depicted in Ulysses. I am grateful to Senan Molony, a detective in matters concerning Joyce, who traced this misconception back to 1960. Therein lies the issue in William York Tindall’s guide, ‘The Joyce Country’, where a caption misreads a picture of Duke Street as the Bailey, instead of the Burton. In fact, the Burton is to the right of Davy Byrne’s on the corner with Duke Lane. Presently though, a new Burton’s is set to open at that location.
Temporarily, the pavement markers paying tribute to Joyce, which were established during the centenary in 1982, have been correctly positioned all along. The plaque that marks Leopold Bloom’s stop at the restaurant is precisely placed, with the new “Burton Tavern” sign hanging above it in agreement.
On the other hand, the accuracy of the plaque commemorating Bloom’s later meeting with a “blind youth” at the junction of Duke and Dawson Streets can be called into question. Bloom’s dialogue etched on the plaque locates him in Dawson Street with Molesworth Street directly opposite. Nevertheless, Molesworth Street is not currently situated across from the plaque. As I deduced that the street has not been moved since 1904, I consulted another Joycean expert, Professor Sam Slote, creator of the important “Annotations” or “Slotations”. He confirmed my suspicion: the plaque is mislocated, but for a valid reason.
Robert Nicholson, who was involved in the 1982 project, informed Slote that the correct location was obstructed at that time due to construction work on the future Royal Hibernian Way. Hence, the slight adjustment in the plaque’s position. It might be that the misplaced plaque will be dug up from the pavement and relocated to its rightful place eventually.
Meanwhile, I shall cede the concluding comment on this matter to Detective Molony. Casually, he addressed me as saying “Obviously, you realise that the blind youth represents Homer?” which caught me off guard. Nonetheless, Senan was in haste to catch a flight to Washington and hence, had no opportunity for further explanation.