Penguin Classics the Restored Finnegans Wake

by James Joyce

  That more than considerably unpleasant bullocky before he rang off, by way of final mocks for his grapes, drunkishly pegged a few glatt stones, all of a size, at the wicket in support of his words that he was not guilphy but, after he had so slungavollayed, reconnoitring through his semisubconscious the seriousness of what he might have done had he really polished off his terrible intentions finally caused him to change the bawling and leave downg the whole grumus of brookpebbles pangpung and, having sobered up a bit, paces his groundould diablen lionndub, the flay the flegm, the floedy fleshener (purse, purse, pursyfurse, I’ll splish the splume of them all!), this black backblocks boor bruskly put out his langwedge and quite quit the paleologic scene, telling how by his selfdenying ordnance he had left Hyland on the dissenting table, after exhorting Earwicker or, in slightly modified phraseology, Messrs or Missrs Earwicker, Seir, his feminisible name of multitude, to cocoa come outside to Mockerloo out of that for the honour of Crumlin with his broody old flishguds, Gog’s curse to thim, so as he could brianslog and burst him all dizzy, you go bail, like Potts Fracture did with Keddle Flatnose and nobodyatall with Wholyphamous and build rocks over him or, if he didn’t, for two and thirty straws, be Cacao Campbell, he didn’t know what he wouldn’t do for him nor nobody else nomore nor him, after which, batell martell, a brisha a milla a stroka a boola, so the rage of Malbruk, playing on the least change of his manjester’s voice the first heroic couplet from the fuguall tropical, Opus Elf, Thortytoe,

  My schemes into obeyance for

  This time has had to fall,

  they bit goodbyte to their thumb and, his bandol eer his solgier, dripdropdrap on pool or poldier, wishing the toff a falladelfian in the morning, proceeded with a Hubbleforth slouch in their slips backwords (Et Cur Heli!) in the directions of the duff and demb institutions about ten or eleven hundred years lurch away in the cloudletlitten gorge of Patself on the Bach. Adyoe!

  And thus, with this rochelly exetur of Bully Acre, came to close that last stage in the siegings round our archicitadel which we would like to recall, if old Nestor Alexis would wink the worth for us, as Bar-le-Duc and Dog-an-Doras and Bangen-op-Zoom.

  Yed he med leave to many a door beside of Oxmanswold for so witness his chambered cairns silent that are at browse up hill and down coombe and on eolithostroton, at Howth or at Coolock or even at Enniskerry: a theory none too rectiline of the evoluation of human society as the testament of the rocks from all the dead unto some the living. Oliver’s lambs we do call them, skatterlings of a stone, and they skall be gathered unto him, their herd and paladin, as nubilettes to cumule, in that day of Greenman Rise O (lost leaders live! the heroes return!) hwen, same the lightning lancer of Azava Arthurhonoured (some Finn, some Finn avant!), he skall wake from earthsleep in his valle of briers, haught crested elmer, and o’er dun and dale the wulverulverlord (protect us!) his mighty horn skall roll, orland, roll.

  For in those deyes his Deyus shall ask of Allprohome and call to himm: Allprohome! Allprohome! And he make answer: Add some! Nor wink nor wank. Animadiabolum, mene credidisti mortuum? Silence was in thy faustive halls, O Truiga, when thy green woods went dry but there will be sounds of manymirth on the night’s ear ringing when our pantriarch of Comestowntonobble gets the pullover on his boots.

  Liverpoor? Sot a bit of it! His braynes coolt parritch, his pelt nassy, his heart’s adrone, his bluidstreams acrawl, his puff but a piff, his extremities extremely so: Fengless, Pawmbroke, Chilblaimend and Baldowl. Humph is in his doge. Words weigh no more to him than raindrips to Rethfernhim. Which we all like. Rain. When we sleep. Drops. But wait until our sleeping. Drain. Sdops.

  As the lion in our teargarten remembers the nenuphars of his Nile (shall Ariuz forget Arioun or Boghas the baregams of the Marmarazalles from Marmeniere?) it may be, tots wearsense full a naggin in twentyg have sigilposted what in our brievingbust, that the besieged bedreamt him still and solely of those lililiths undeveiled which had undone him, gone for aye, and knew not the watchful treachers at his wake, and theirs to stay. Fooi, fooi, chamermissies! Zeepyzoepy, larcenlads! Zijnzijn zijnzijn! It may be, we moest ons hasten selves te declareer it, that he reglimmed? presaw? the fields of heat and yields of wheat where corngold Ysit? shamed and shone. It may be, we habben to upseek a bitty door our good township’s courants want we knew’t, that with his deepseeing insight (had not wishing oftbeen but good time wasted), petrified within his patriarchal shamanah, broadsteyne ’bove citie (Twillby! Twillby!), he, conscious of enemies, a kingbilly whitehorsed in a Finglas mill, prayed as he sat on anxious seat (kunt ye neat gift mey toe bout a peer saft eyballds!) during that three and a hellof hours’ agony of silence, ex profundis malorum, with unfeigned charity that his ouxtrador wordwounder, an engels to the teeth who, nomened Nash of Girahash, would go anyoldwhere in the weeping world on his mottled belly (the rab, the kreeponskneed!) for milk, music or married missusses, might, mercy to providential benevolence’s (who hates prudencies) astuteness, unfold into the first of a distinguished dynasty of his posteriors, blackfaced connemaras not of the fold but elder children of his household, his most besetting of ideas (pace his twolve predamanant passions) being the formation, as in more favoured climes, where the Meadow of Honey is guestfriendly and the Mountain of Joy receives, of a truly criminal stratum, Ham’s cribcracking yeggs, thereby at last eliminating from the oppidump much desultory delinquency from all classes and masses with directly derivative decasualisation: sigarius (sic!) vindicat urbes terrorum (sicker!): and so, to mark a lank taal she arter, the hobedience of the citizens elp the ealth of the ole.

  Now gode. Let us leave theories there and return to here’s here. Now hear. ’Tis gode again. The teak coffin, Pughglasspanelfitted, feets to the east, was to turn in handy later, and pitly patly near the porpus, materially effecting the cause. And this, liever, is the thinghowe. Any number of conservative public bodies, through a number of select and other committees having power to add to their number, before voting themselves and himself, town, port and garrison, by a fit and proper resolution, following a koorts order of the groundwet, once for all out of plotty existence, as a forescut, so you maateskippey might to you cuttinrunner on a neuw pack of klerds, made him, while his body still persisted, their present of a protem grave in Moyelta of the best Lough Neagh pattern, then as much in demand among misonesans as the Isle of Man today among limniphobes. Wacht even! It was in a fairly fishy kettlekerry after the Fianna’s foreman had taken his handful, enriched with ancient woods and dear dutchy deeplinns mid which were an old knoll and a troutbeck, vainyvain of her osiery and a chatty sally with any Wilt or Walt who would ongle her as Izaak did to the tickle of his rod and watch her waters of, her sillying waters of, and there now, brown peater everipple (may their quilt gild lightly over his somnolutent form!), Whoforyou lies his last, by the wrath of Bog, like the erst curst Hun in the bed of his treubleu Donawhu.

  Best. This wastohavebeen underground heaven, or mole’s paradise, which was probably also an inversion of a phallopharos intended to foster wheat crops and to ginger up the tourist trade (its architect, Mgr Peurelachasse, having been obcaecated lest he should petrifake suchanevver while the contractors, Messrs T. A. Birketts and L. O. Tuohalls, were made invulnerably venerable), first in the west, our misterbilder, Castlevillainous, openly damned and blasted by means of a hydromine, system Sowan and Beltiny, exploded from a reinvented T.N.T. bombingpost up ahoy of eleven hundred and thirtytwo wingrests (circiter) to sternboord out of his aerial thorpeto, Auton Dynamon, contacted with the expectant minefield by tins of improved ammonia lashed to her shieldplated gunwale and fused into tripup cables, slipping through tholes and playing down from the conning tower into the ground battery fuseboxes, all differing as clocks from keys since nobody appeared to have the same time of beard, some saying by their Oorlog it was Sygstrygg’s to nine, more holding with the Ryan vogt it was Dane to pfife. He afterwards, whaanever his blaetther began to fail off him and his rough bark was wholly husky and, stoop by stoop, he neared it (wo
uld-manspare!), carefully lined the ferroconcrete result with rotproof bricks and mortar, fassed to fossed, and retired beneath the heptarchy of his towerettes, the beauchamp, byward, bell and lion, the white, the wardrobe and bloodied, so encouraging (insteppen, alls als hats beliefd!) additional useful councils public with hoofd offdealings which were welholden of ladykants te huur out such as the Breeders’ Union, the Guild of Merchants of the Staple et a.u.c. to present unto him with funebral pomp over and above that a stone slab with the usual MacPelah address of valediction, a very fairworded instance of falsemeaning adamelegy: We have done ours gohellt with you, Heer Herewhippit, overgiven it, skidoo!

  But t’house and allaboardshoops! Show coffins, winding sheets, cinerary urns, liealoud brasses, snuffchests, poteentubbs, goodbuy bierchepes, lacrimal vases, hoodendoses, reekwaterbeckers, breakmiddles, zootzaks for eatlust, including upyourhealthing rookworst and meathewersoftened forkenpootsies and for that matter, javel also, any kind of inhumationary bric au brac for the adornament of his glasstone honophreum would, met these trein of konditiens, naturally follow, halas, in the ordinary course, enabling that roundtheworlder wandelingswight, did suches pass him, to live all safeathomely the presenile days of his life of opulence, ancient ere decrepitude, late lents last lenience till stuffering stage, whaling away the whole of the while, lethelulled (hypnos chilia eonon!) between explosion and reexplosion (Donnaurwatteur! Hunderthunder!) from grosskopp to megapod, embalmed, of grand age, rich in death anticipated.

  But abide Zeit’s sumonserving, rise after fall: blueblitzbolted from Sideria, buried burrowing in Gehinnon, there, knowing the hingeworms of the hallmirks of habitationlessness, to proliferate through all his Unterwealth, seam by seam, sheol om sheol, and revisit our Uppercrust of Utilitarios, the divine one, the hoarder hidden, propagating his plutorpopular progeniem of pots and pans and pokers and puns from biddenland to boughtenland, the spearway fore the spoorway.

  The other spring offensive on the heights of Abraham may have come about all quite by accidence. Foughtarundser (for Breedabrooda had at length persuaded him to have himself to be as septuply buried as the murdered Cian in Finntown) had not been three monads in his watery grave (what vigilantes and ridings then and spuitwyne pledges with aardappel frittling!) when portrifaction, dreyfussed as ever, began to ramp, ramp, ramp, the boys are parching. A hoodenwinkle gave the signal and a blessing paper freed the flood. Why did the patrizien make him scares with his gruntens? Because the druiven were muskating at the door. From both Celtiberian camps (granting at the onset for the sake of argument that men on the two sides, in New South Ireland and Vetera Uladh, bluemin and pillfaces, during the ferment With the Pope or On the Pope, had, moors or letts, grant ideas, grunted) all conditions, poor cons and dives mor, each, of course, on the purely doffensive since the eternals were owlwise on their side every time, were drawn toowards their Bellona’s Black Bottom, once Woolwhite’s Waltz (Ohiboh, how becrimed, becursekissed and bedumbtoit!), some for want of proper feeding in youth, others already caught in the honourable act of slicing out careers for family and carvers in conjunction: and, if emaciated enough, the person garrotted may have suggested to whomever took the ham of, the plain being involved in darkness, low cirque waggery, nay, even the first old wugger of himself in the flesh, whiggissimus incarnadined, when falsesighted by the ifsuchhewas bully on the hill, a tory of the tories, for there had circulated freely fairly among his opposition the feeling that in so hibernating Massa Eewacka, who, previous to that demidetached life, had been known of barmicidal days, cook said, between soup and savoury, to get outside his own length of rainbow trout and taerts atta tarn as no man of woman born, nay, could, like the great crested grebe, devour his three score ten of roach per lifeday, ay, and as many minnow a minute (the big mix, may Gibbet choke him!), was, like the salmon of his ladderleap, all this time of totality, noctu semenipsum manducare, secretly and by suckage feeding on his own misplaced fat.

  Ladies did not disdain those pagan ironed times of the first city (called after the ugliest Danadune) when a frond was a friend inneed to carry, as earwigs do their dead, their soil to the earthball where indeeth we shall calm decline, our legacy unknown. Venuses were gigglibly temptatrix, vulcans guffawably eruptious and the whole wives’ world frockful of fickles. Fact, any human inyan you liked any erenoon or efter would take her bare goddkin out, or an even pair of hem (lugod! lugodoo!), and prettily pray with him (or with em even), everyhe to her taste, long for luck, tapette and tape petter and take pettest of all. Tip! Wells she’d woo and wills she’d win but how the deer knowed where she’d marry her! Arbour, bucketroom, caravan, ditch? Coach, carriage, wheelbarrow, dungcart?

  Kate Strong (tip!), a widow (tiptip!)—she pulls a lane picture for us in a dreariodreama setting, glowing and very vidual, of old dumplan as she nosed it, a homelike cottage of elvanstone with droppings of biddies, stinkend pusshies, moggies’ duggies, rotten witchawubbles, festering rubbages and beggars’ bullets, if not worse, sending salmofarious germs in gleefully through the smithereen panes—Widow Strong, then, as her weaker had turned him to the wall (tiptiptip!), did most all the scavenging from good King Hamlaugh’s gulden dayne onwards, though her lean besom cleaned but sparingly, and her bare statement reads that, there being no macadamised sidetracks on those old nekropolitan nights barring a footbatter, Bryant’s Causeway, bordered with speedwell, white clover and sorrel a wood knows, which left off, being beaten, where the plaintiff was struck, she left down, as scavengers who will be scavengers must, her filthdump near the Serpentine in Phornix Park (at her time called Finewell’s Keepsacre but later tautaubapptossed Pat’s Purge), that dangerfield circling butcherswood where fireworker oh flaherty engaged a nutter of castlemallards and ah for archer stunned ’s turk, all over which fossil footprints, bootmarks, fingersigns, elbowdints, kneecaves, breechbowls a.s.o. were all successively traced of a mostenvolving description. What subtler timeplace of the weald than such wolfsbelly castrament will hide a leabhar from Thursmen’s brandihands or a loveletter, lostfully hers, that would be lust on Ma, than there where ructions ended, than here where race began: and by four hands of forethought the first babe of reconcilement is laid in its last cradle of hume sweet hume. Give over it! And no more of it! So pass the pick for child sake! O men!

  For hear Allhighest sprack for krischnians as for propagana fidies: and his nuptial eagles sharped their beaks of prey: and every murphyl man of us, pome by pome, falls back into this terrine: as it was let it be, says he! And it is as though where Agni araflammed and Mithra monished and Shiva slew as mayamutras the streamlettes of the obluvial waters of our noarchic memory withdrew, windingly goharksome, to some hastyswasty timberman torchpriest, flamenfan, the ward of the wind that lightened the fire that lay in the wood that Jove bolt, at her rude word: Posidonius O’Fluctuary! Lave that bloody stone as it is! What are you doing your dirty minx and his big treeblock way up your path? Slip around, you, by the rare of the minister’s! And, you, take that barrel back where you got it, MacShane’s, and go the way your old one went, Hatchettsbury Road! And, gish, how they gushed away, the pennyfares, a whole school for scamper, with their sashes flying sish behind them, all the little pirlypettes! Issy-la-Chapelle! Any lucans, please?