A potential breakthrough in the enigma of the emblem depicting “three castles burning”, associated with Dublin, has perhaps been discovered (referenced Diary, July 27th). This emblem seems to baffle even the Dublin City Council, with nobody clear on what their own symbol stands for. There are numerous interpretations available on the Council’s official website, one of which assumes, beyond the issue of fire, that the triple Dublin Castle indicates the mystical importance of the triad.
This conjecture may appear to be conjured by an admirer of Flann O’Brien, or at least of his literary work, “At Swim-two-birds”. This complex novel, which any true O’Brien fan (dubbed Flannoraks) would know, consists of three unique storylines, each having a distinctive beginning and conclusion. The final part even contemplates the obsession with numbers: “A large portion of the frantic and troubled section of mankind can be attributed to numbers… The unfortunate German who had a fascination for the number three encompassed triads in all life facets. One evening, he went to his house, consumed three cups of tea each having three sugar cubes, slashed his own neck thrice with a razor and with a weakening grip scrawled three farewells on his wife’s portrait.”
However, returning to the case of the emblem, an explanation devoid of mystical aspects has been offered by regular contactee Senan Molony, a Joyce enthusiast rather than a Flannorak. The burning castles, according to him, symbolise “the three sieges of Dublin” that occurred in the years 1171, 1534, and 1649.
The initial instance aligns with the time when Rory O’Conor, the last recognised High King of Ireland, endeavoured to wrestle control of the city from the recently settled Normans.
A part of “Silken Thomas” Fitzgerald’s rebellion consists of the second, while Irish Royalist and Confederate armies attempting to seize the city from English republicans led by Michael Jones in the War of the Three Kingdoms constituted the third; all attempts were successfully rebuffed, hence the symbolism of the three flames and castles. Senan and Ed Coghlan, another reader, have indicated the existence of a 13th-century city seal displaying a lone Dublin Castle with three turrets. Contrary to flames, the seal portrays two guards sounding their horns from the central turret while archers target the enemy from the remnant pair. However, the turrets may have been dissociated and elevated to full castle status in subsequent versions, informed by the memory of the sieges.
Senan directs his attention to this subject from the angle of an additional, literary siege in his 2022 book, ‘Helen of Joyce’. He proposes that Joyce’s ‘Ulysses’ is instilled with not just Homer’s ‘Odyssey’ but also another Homeric epic, the ‘Iliad’, and thus the Trojan War itself. He boldly proclaims in the starting sentence of the book, “Dublin is Troy”. This statement explains the frequent references to the Trojan Horse in ‘Ulysses’, including the initial page reference to Buck Mulligan’s ‘equine’ face and ‘pale oak’-like hair. A different character, Blazes Boylan, assumes the role of the wooden horse later in the book. The residence of Leopold and Molly Bloom at No 7 Eccles Street is a miniature representation of Troy. That evening, Helen, or Molly, reminiscences about her earlier adulterous meeting, designating Boylan as a ‘stallion’.
In contrast to WB Yeats’s consolidated comment about early 20th century Dublin not being a ‘Second Troy’, when he critiqued what he perceived as Maud Gonne’s misuse of her abilities. Senan further points to Dante Gabriel Rosetti’s 1863 depiction of Helen, where she is meditating upon a locket featuring a single burning castle; it’s red flames eerily resemble those now featured on Dublin lampposts and other places.
Returning to the topic of Ulysses, numerous mentions of the “City Arms” can be found in the text, attributing all instances to the erstwhile hotel, now functioning as a pub, located in the former Dublin cattle markets.
Could these repeated references possibly indicate a cryptic message referring to other city armours and their flaming fortresses? One fascinating extract that could unlock this puzzle unfolds at the Barney Kiernan’s public house. Our story teller expresses his mockery when he reports:
“Pisser Burke relayed a tale happening at the City Arms to me about an elderly lady accompanied by her simpleton nephew. Bloom endeavoured to earn her favour by engaging her in a game of bézique, with the subtle agenda of benefiting from her will…”
In the same section, shortly following the previous, another disclosure is made:
“Once, Bloom guided him on a city tour and lo and behold, he held his composure until he reached home as intoxicated as an owl simmered in liquor. This act, performed to illustrate the harmful effects of alcohol, nearly led to his roasting by three furious women – the ageing lady, Mrs O’Dowd who managed the hotel, and Bloom’s own spouse.”
Hence, we are presented with a peculiar story which commences with the City Arms and concludes with Bloom facing a heated situation similar to that of a scorching castle, stirred by rather incensed women than flaming ruins.
Although, one could speculate it be merely a matter of chance.