In many of the stories in Dubliners, Joyce portrays Dublin, Ireland as excessively conventional, morally strict, and provincial. After growing dissatisfied with his birthplace, Joyce himself left Dublin early in his life and spent the majority of his years as an expatriate in continental Europe. Like Joyce, Gallaher is an émigré and thus represents an image of success and sophistication for Little Chandler, who is stuck in Dublin. However, their meeting deflates Chandler’s idealistic view of his old friend as Gallaher appears crass, vulgar, and even morally corrupted. While Chandler assumes that moving to a more cosmopolitan place will turn a person into a more refined version of themselves, Gallaher’s characterization proves that this is not always the case. Gallaher’s emigration did not improve him—his seedy lifestyle abroad has actually exacerbated his preexisting character flaws. Through Gallaher’s portrayal, the story shows that emigration holds out a false promise of career success, escape from provincial morality, and personal sophistication—dismantling the age-old adage that “the grass is greener on the other side.” Through Gallaher, Joyce shows that while Ireland may have its problems and limitations, leaving it is not necessarily a cure-all, either.
Gallaher immigrated to London to pursue a career in journalism, and he has achieved fame. However, he seems dissatisfied with his profession, as does Chandler by the end of their meeting. Upon meeting Chandler, Gallaher playfully mocks his own aged appearance, blaming it on the stresses of his career: “It pulls you down […] Press life. Always hurry and scurry.” He grouses about journalism’s fast pace, which requires “looking for copy and sometimes not finding it: and then, always to have something new in your stuff.” He is happy to have some time off, exclaiming, “Damn proofs and printers, I say, for a few days.” Gallaher makes his career (which Chandler has imagined as glamorous and important) seem instead tiresome, petty, and frustrating. By the end of their meeting, Little Chandler feels deeply resentful over Gallaher’s success. He denigrates Gallaher’s profession as “tawdry journalism,” reflecting that “he could do something better than his friend had ever done”—if only he had the chance to leave Dublin.
In addition to being disappointed with Gallaher’s career, Chandler is let down by Gallaher’s poor manners. With his heavy drinking and vulgar, coarse way of speaking, Gallaher does not fit Chandler’s image of the sophisticated, successful expatriate. Gallaher drinks heavily throughout the meeting with Chandler and he pressures Chandler to do the same, several times saying things like, “I say Tommy, don’t make punch of that whisky: liquor up.” Moreover, Gallaher’s manners and speech disappoint Chandler. For example, when discussing Paris, Gallaher says “I’ve been to the Moulin Rouge […] and I’ve been to all the bohemian cafes. Hot stuff! Not for a pious chap like you, Tommy.” Chandler is left feeling “somewhat disillusioned” by Gallaher’s coarse manner. He reflects that “There was something vulgar in his friend which he had not observed before.” With this, Chandler begins to realize that simply leaving Dublin doesn’t make someone glamorous or cultured.
Far from being a sophisticated expatriate, Gallaher instead comes off as pleasure-seeking, morally seedy, and callous. Through this portrayal, the story shows that living abroad actually can have a corrupting influence. Chandler asks Gallaher hopefully about Paris: “is it really as beautiful as they say?” Gallaher seems confused by the question, as if he had never considered it, and he contradicts himself: “Beautiful? […] It’s not so beautiful, you know. Of course, it is beautiful.” He then shifts to talk about the Paris’s nightlife and its “gaiety, movement, excitement.” He seems uninterested in the art and culture of Paris and only interested in the opportunities it offers for sensual pleasure-seeking. Indeed, gaining knowledge of vice and immorality has been a main feature of Gallaher’s experience of travel in continental Europe. He describes to Chandler “some pictures of the corruption which was rife abroad.” He does not describe the art and culture of Europe but instead focuses on sordid gossip: “He revealed many of the secrets of religious houses on the Continent and described some of the practices which were fashionable in high society and ended by telling, with details, a story about an English duchess.” Chandler playfully teases Gallaher about marrying someday, but Gallaher dismisses the possibility crudely: “No blooming fear of that, my boy.” He takes a calculating, unromantic view of marriage. Dismissing love as “mooning and spooning about,” he insists that his future wife will “have a good fat account at the bank.” Gallaher’s vulgar, callous attitude shows through as he brags about the “thousands of rich Germans and Jews” he would have to choose from should he set his sights on marriage. Gallaher’s already-questionable morality has been corrupted by living abroad, corroding his views on life and love. Prior to leaving Dublin, Gallaher was somewhat seedy. Chandler recalls Gallaher then, remembering that “People used to say that Ignatius Gallaher was wild.” He socialized with “a rakish set of fellows […] drank freely and borrowed money on all sides.” It was rumored that he had to leave Dublin because of “some shady affair, some money transaction.” While he has achieved career success, it has merely given him the financial freedom to express his morally questionable tendencies more fully than he could in Dublin.
Joyce himself was an expatriate, and in his portrayal of Gallaher, he seems to be speaking from experience. While he does portray Dublin as stagnant, conventional, and limited in its opportunities for success, he also shows that Chandler’s idealized view of living abroad—“if you wanted to succeed you had to go away”—is, in fact, a naïve oversimplification. Gallaher has achieved some career success, but he has also been coarsened and corrupted by the seedy underbelly of life on the continent. Chandler (and the reader through him) face the hard truth that while one’s current location might have a host of problems, leaving it won’t necessarily lead to personal improvement.
Related Themes from Other Texts
The Illusions of Success ThemeTracker
The Illusions of Success Quotes in A Little Cloud
Little Chandler’s thoughts ever since lunch-time had been of his meeting with Gallaher, of Gallaher’s invitation and of the great city London where Gallaher lived. He was called Little Chandler because, though he was but slightly under the average stature, he gave one the idea of being a little man. His hands were white and small, his frame was fragile, his voice was quiet and his manners were refined. He took the greatest care of his fair silken hair and moustache and used perfume discreetly on his handkerchief. The half-moons of his nails were perfect and when he smiled you caught a glimpse of a row of childish white teeth.
He had never been in Corless’s but he knew the value of the name. He knew that people went there after the theatre to eat oysters and drink liqueurs; and he had heard that the waiters there spoke French and German. Walking swiftly by at night he had seen cabs drawn up before the door and richly dressed ladies, escorted by cavaliers, alight and enter quickly. They wore noisy dresses and many wraps. Their faces were powdered and they caught up their dresses, when they touched earth, like alarmed Atalantas.
As he crossed Grattan Bridge he looked down the river towards the lower quays and pitied the poor stunted houses. They seemed to him a band of tramps, huddled together along the riverbanks, their old coats covered with dust and soot, stupefied by the panorama of sunset and waiting for the first chill of night bid them arise, shake themselves and begone. He wondered whether he could write a poem to express his idea. Perhaps Gallaher might be able to get it into some London paper for him. Could he write something original? He was not sure what idea he wished to express but the thought that a poetic moment had touched him took life within him like an infant hope. He stepped onward bravely.
The English critics, perhaps, would recognise him as one of the Celtic school by reason of the melancholy tone of his poems; besides that, he would put in allusions. He began to invent sentences and phrases from the notice which his book would get. Mr Chandler has the gift of easy and graceful verse....A wistful sadness pervades these poems…The Celtic note. It was a pity his name was not more Irish-looking. Perhaps it would be better to insert his mother’s name before the surname: Thomas Malone Chandler, or better still: T. Malone Chandler. He would speak to Gallaher about it.
He pursued his revery so ardently that he passed his street and had to turn back.
Ignatius Gallaher took off his hat and displayed a large closely cropped head. His face was heavy, pale and clean-shaven. His eyes, which were of bluish slate-colour, relieved his unhealthy pallor and shone out plainly above the vivid orange tie he wore. Between these rival features the lips appeared very long and shapeless and colourless. He bent his head and felt with two sympathetic fingers the thin hair at the crown. Little Chandler shook his head as a denial. Ignatius Gallaher put on his hat again.
—It pulls you down,” he said. Press life. Always hurry and scurry, looking for copy and sometimes not finding it: and then, always to have something new in your stuff. Damn proofs and printers, I say, for a few days.
—I’ve been to the Moulin Rouge, Ignatius Gallaher continued when the barman had removed their glasses, and I’ve been to all the Bohemian cafés. Hot stuff! Not for a pious chap like you, Tommy.
Little Chandler said nothing until the barman returned with two glasses: then he touched his friend’s glass lightly and reciprocated the former toast. He was beginning to feel somewhat disillusioned. Gallaher’s accent and way of expressing himself did not please him. There was something vulgar in his friend which he had not observed before. But perhaps it was only the result of living in London amid the bustle and competition of the Press. The old personal charm was still there under this new gaudy manner. And, after all, Gallaher had lived, he had seen the world. Little Chandler looked at his friend enviously.
—I’ll tell you my opinion, said Ignatius Gallaher, emerging after some time from the clouds of smoke in which he had taken refuge, it’s a rum world. Talk of immorality! I’ve heard of cases—what am I saying?—I’ve known them: cases of…immorality....
Ignatius Gallaher puffed thoughtfully at his cigar and then, in a calm historian’s tone, he proceeded to sketch for his friend some pictures of the corruption which was rife abroad. He summarised the vices of many capitals and seemed inclined to award the palm to Berlin. Some things he could not vouch for (his friends had told him), but of others he had had personal experience. He spared neither rank nor caste. He revealed many of the secrets of religious houses on the Continent and described some of the practices which were fashionable in high society and ended by telling, with details, a story about an English duchess—a story which he knew to be true. Little Chandler was astonished.
He felt acutely the contrast between his own life and his friend’s and it seemed to him unjust. Gallaher was his inferior in birth and education. He was sure that he could do something better than his friend had ever done, or could ever do, something higher than mere tawdry journalism if he only got the chance. What was it that stood in his way? His unfortunate timidity! He wished to vindicate himself in some way, to assert his manhood. He saw behind Gallaher’s refusal of his invitation. Gallaher was only patronising him by his friendliness just as he was patronising Ireland by his visit.
