“We against whom you have done this thing are no petty people” – W. B. Yeats
Intra-nationalist squabbles and petty disputes are an idiosyncratic fixation of mine: Othmar Spann’s distaste for Carl Schmitt; the mutual animosity betwixt the Blueshirts and Martin Corry, the IRA’s sole proprietor of an N-Word pass; Louis Ferdinand Celine’s denigration of Charles Maurras – I derive endless joy from it.
W. B. Yeats’ relation to Maud and Iseult Gonne’s lovers is a further – and particularly pertinent given it’s Valentine’s Day – instance of this phenomenon. What follows is a shameful odyssey of a simp thrice cucked, and how it all could’ve been avoided via a careful red-pill analysis.
Cuck Me Once, Shame On You. Cuck Me Thrice…
Maud Gonne’s life is a vindication of ‘Romper Stomper’ – Australia’s eminent skinhead lumpen-trash flick of the last century. Ostensibly a tale of Aussie urban youths ‘pulling on the boots’ to bash Viet transplants with their steel toes, it’s ultimately an allegory for why political movements should exclude women.
And no woman was more worthy of banishment than Maud. From the 1880s to the close of the 19th century, Maud was engaged in a prolonged, intermittent fling with Lucien Millevoye, a French right-wing journalist with irredentist ideals.
Their bond forged by their “work together against England, she for the cause of Ireland and he for Alsace-Lorraine’s” —Maud’s claim to be Irish was tenuous at best.
They had a son together named George, who unfortunately passed away within a year of his conception; she buried him in a large memorial chapel, and separated from Millevoye that year. However, by 1893 she was back with him – and this time with an ingenious plan to bring George back. Adjacent to his tomb, she and Millevoye copulated with the aim of instantiating George’s soul in the body of their new child. Transmigration copulation, in other words.
Some may object: “Ulick, none of this proves Yeats was cucked; Maud was Millevoye’s dime-piece prior to Yeats meeting her in 1889”. Firstly, if you ever subvert my narrative again, I’ll fleece your fake Canada Goose and sell it to some bug chaser on Georges street as the bona fide article.
Secondly, that’s partially true. However, Maud was an adept socialite, more than capable of making astute inferences to work out other’s intentions. She was certainly cognizant of Yeats’ feelings, but nevertheless led him on —likely dropping crumbs to subsist his enticement.
A further point regarding my usage of the term ‘cucked’. Yeats was never, to my or other’s knowledge, cucked in its circumscribed sense —as strictly defined in dictionaries. Rather, he was cucked in its broader sense; an attempt to succinctly define this meaning of the word would either be overly inclusive or exclusive, and hence will not be provided.
Needless to say, it encapsulates a wide array of phenomena, ranging from: cuckoldry in its traditional sense (a preferred pastime of people who listen to Newstalk), spiritually prostrated journalists who fear that their wives fantasise about me (a common anxiety), and men who develop an intense fixation with their oneitis —often stretching years, and in acute cases such as Yeats’, even decades.
I can’t be too critical of Yeats, there’s a dame who’s the object of my incessant attention: Naoise Dolan.
Maud had turned down at least four of Yeats’ marriage proposals over the space of a decade; most of the proposals were co-extensive with her rocky relationship with Millevoye. Her definitive split from the latter occurred in 1901, presenting Yeats with an opening. However, by 1903 Maud had encountered a new Taurus: John MacBride. Major of the Irish Transvaal Brigade, he led them against the British in the Second Boer War.
MacBride’s marriage to Maud was rocky and mired in controversy —allegations of drunkenness and abuse were alleged against MacBride; though the latter contention is believed to be spurious. Yeats seethed as their marriage germinated. Although they had separated in 1905, his resentment persisted for over a decade —as evinced by his poem ‘Easter, 1916’, in which he stated of MacBride:
“This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart”
In 1916, after twenty years of simping for her mother, Yeats decided to try his chances with Iseult Gonne, Maud’s daughter, but she turned him down. By the beginning of the 20s she was married to the right-wing Irish nationalist, Francis Stuart. Prior to eloping with Stuart, she had a fling with Ezra Pound —Slyvia put it well: “Every woman adores a Fascist”.
Famous for his pro-Hitler speeches during the war, he was initially notable for his involvement in Dublin’s literary scene. Though his works were supported by Yeats publicly, he nevertheless was an object of ire. Yeats said of Stuart’s relation with Iseult:
“A girl that knew all Dante once
Live to bear children to a dunce”
The third stroke did it for Yeats; he gave up his romantic endeavours with any woman of the Gonne line. A mere three weeks after his final rejection, he married Georgie Hyde-Lees. The oneitis spell was broken, yet Yeats’ two decades long spellbound infatuation with Gonne had cost him a portion of his life.
Certain contemporary rightists may be inclined to defend the Gonnes. “They were based and redpilled brooo”. NO! Maud was the foremost session moth of Ireland’s literary scene; a silly ho, a shank, a thot, a siren etc. Her daughter was not much better. If they were around today, they’d be operating Onlyfans accounts and live streaming video games on Twitch —their eyes betraying contempt for their male audience; their countenance consistently apathetic, but occasionally punctuated, if only momentarily, by donation-induced glee.
As stated, all of this could’ve been avoided. The following sections explain why Yeats failed to get the gal.
Face, Race, and Height: Does Yeats Pass The Incel TV Criteria?
In 1880, Friedrich Engels published ‘Socialism: Utopian and Scientific’, in which he delineates between utopian and scientific variants of socialism. The former is characterised by idealism; for utopians, societies can be re-cast along the lines of their idealistic and normative vista.
Scientific socialism recognises, in contrast, that society is not a tabula rasa upon which one can instantiate their ideal. Rather, societies are historical in nature. Communists couple the importance of the material, specifically economics, as the prime causal force with their aforesaid emphasis on history. Dialectical change —change which, as per the Marxist schema, is adversarial vis-à-vis the passé economic system— is a natural conceptual corollary of historical materialism.
Likewise, incel discourse makes the distinction between two types of analysis: utopian, which argues that man can change his predicament via volition, and scientific, emphasising genetically determined factors for why you can’t get the babes; spoiler: it’s because you’re a subcontinental manlet.
Personally, I make use of both approaches in my analysis. Although I regard genetic factors as primary, I am willing to supplement my analysis via a consideration of whether non-genetic factors are causally responsible. Utopian and scientific are somewhat clunky terms, and thus ‘redpilled’ and ‘blackpilled’ will be adopted instead.
The Karl Marx (or, if you’re really clued in, William Thompson) of inceldom is undoubtedly ‘Incel TV’. The prophet of the blackpill, his thought is characterised by a belief in genetic determinism. Face, race, and height are his analytical criteria. What follows is an analysis of Yeats based on Incel TV’s tripartite approach.
Yeats has an unusual face. People’s faces are reminiscent of animals. Yeats, at least to me, resembles an eagle —a beak like Chrissy’s from ‘The Sopranos’. A tad soft in his youth, his countenance crystalised as he aged. Certain pictures reveal a slight exasperation too. His physiognomy foretells his life as a poet or literati; this is no mere coincidence.
Is he attractive to women? Maybe to a certain portion —art hoes, one would presume— but not the entire gaggle. Twitter user @emmkick, who has a body shaped like Frank Hasssle, remarks: “Yeats was kind of a babe, right?”
Race is tricky as it only assists or limits one’s dating potential in a multicultural society. Without indulging in exaggeration, Incel TV’s analysis of the intersection between race and dating is indubitably the greatest victory for Nordicism since Hans F. K. Günther’s heyday in the 1930s. He was later cancelled by the NSDAP. A. James Gregor notes: “the last phase of National Socialist race theory was a complete rejection of Guenther’s Nordicism”.
Ireland was fortunately a rather homogenous nation in Yeats’ time – bar the brachycephalic, Uruk-hai-esque, grugs that are unfortunately sundry in the northeast of our divided nation. Consequently, it’s useless to attribute Yeats’ dearth of success to racial factors; in fact, had Ireland been multicultural, Yeats would’ve been a far more successful cooze hound.
Maud Gonne was an unusually lanky woman. Standing at around six foot, one inch, she towered over most of her contemporaries. Yeats, similarly, was built like a string bean. I couldn’t find Yeats’ exact height online, so I had to settle for inspecting a picture of him and Ezra Pound, who was 5’10. Yeats appears to be 2-3 inches taller than the progenitor of the Cantos.
So, Yeats was around the same height as Gonne. Women typically prefer taller men, but I doubt there were many 6’4 literati proto-fascistic occultists skulking around Dublin at the time. Furthermore, she married MacBride and Millevoye, both of whom, we can presume based on the average height, were likely shorter than her. The last of Incel TV’s criteria has been exhausted.
It is clear that genetic determinism does not suffice to explain Yeat’s unsuccessful pursuit of Gonne. Thus, a more arcane explanation is needed.
You Cope, Green Lines Don’t: Rivelino’s Criteria for Success with ‘Moids
As stated, those that abide by the redpill approach de-emphasize genetic determinism. For them, it means nothing if one is Punjabi, 5’1, gyno-ridden, and with a skull shape reminiscent of Kyriakos Grizzly’s mid-section.
Consequently, redpill circles attract, like a moth to a flame, an array of deluded proto-troons, convinced that ‘holding frame’ and the ‘mewing dark triad’ will accrue them a hot South Dublin gf.
Nevertheless, these circles are occasionally fruitful. The cream of the crop is Rivelino’s green line theory of body language. Through the use of green lines to draw attention to the couple’s posture, Rivelino purports to gauge the relationship dynamics of couples.
His theory presumes that —owing to the polarity between the sexes— women are drawn to seek protection and dominion from men. He states: “[the] feminine wants to lean into the masculine”, to become part of his world. Posture, therefore, is highly relevant when it comes to assessing a couple’s relationship. It reveals whether this polarity subsists or has been subverted by male weakness. A ‘man’ who leans into a woman has capitulated, and only the abrogation of relations or a loss of respect will follow.
Upon coming across Rivelino’s theory, I rushed to google images to find pictures of Yeats with women; I soon came across a jarring picture of Yeats adjacent to his wife, Georgie. He was holding frame and had a solid, vertical posture —she was leaning in! His face was smug and haughty.
Despair overtook me. I became convinced that I’d never uncover the cause of Yeats’ failure. The abyss became a catalyst for queries hitherto unthought. Had he visited the future? Did he know about the green line theory? Was he redpilled by Rivelino? Did Yeats spend forty-five dollars a year to join Sol Brah’s Discord server? A denizen of Jack Murphy’s ‘Liminal Order’, perhaps?
William Butler Yeats’ relation, or lack thereof, with Iseult and Maud Gonne presents a conundrum for the analytical schemas of both red-pillers and black-pillers alike. A holder of frame and possessor of a masculine posture; a lanklet with a bespoke physiognomy, perfect for reeling in art hoes —yet he was also Ireland’s greatest simp; cucked not merely once, but thrice.
The puzzle unravels when his efficacious competitors are examined. They were men of action. MacBride was a major in the Boer War, willing to duel men that disrespected his honour, and would later fight in 1916.
Siding with the anti-treaty, Stuart was involved with gun-running during the Civil War. Though, to the best of my knowledge, not a soldier, Millevoye was fiercely loyal to General Boulanger, and likely moved in martial circles.
Yeats was insular and thoughtful, bereft of those qualities necessary to successfully traverse a world both visceral and imminent. One can imagine, during their initial meeting, Yeats boring the ear off her about the occult and happenings in elitist literary circles – her mind drifts, longing for roguish Gael gunslingers; a Breen or Brugha perhaps, rather than yet another conceited Baudelaire.
Instead of moping about the esoteric or engaging in occultic sparring with Crowley, he should’ve walked up to her in a lofty and prideful manner.
The following quote by Bronze Age Pervert succinctly captures what Yeats, despite his glorification of pre-modern heroism, never managed to imbibe: “But these were men of conquest, exploration and adventure first. Aeschylus had on his tombstone engraved that he fought at Marathon, not that he wrote his plays.”