Penguin Classics the Restored Finnegans Wake

by James Joyce

  — But have we until now ever besought you, dear Shaun, we remembered, who it was, good boy, out of symphony to begin with, who gave you the permit?

  — Goodbye now, Shaun replied with a voice pure as a churchmode, in echo rightdainty, with a good catlick tug at his cocomoss candylock, a foretaste in time of his cabbageous brain’s curlyflower. Athiacaro! Comb his tar odd gee sing your mower O meeow? Greet thee Good! How are them columbuses? Lard have mustard on them! Fatiguing, very fatiguing. Hobos hornknees and the corveeture of my spine. Poumeerme! My heaviest crux and dairy lot it is, with a bed as hard as the thinkamuddles of the Greeks and a board as bare as a Roman altar. I’m off rabbited kitchens and relief porridgers. No later than a very few fortnichts since I was meeting on the Thinker’s Dam with a pair of men out of glasshouse whom I shuffled hands with named MacBlacks—I think their names is MacBlakes—from the Headfire Clump and they were informing me and making me beliek no five hour factory life with insufficient emollient and industrial diseases for them that day o’gratises. I have the highest gratification by anuncing how I have it from whowho but Hagios Colleenkiller’s prophecies. After suns and moons, dews and wettings, thunders and fires, comes sabotag. Solvitur palumballando! Tilvido! Adie!

  — Then, we explained, salve a tour, ambly andy, you possibly might be so by order?

  — Forgive me, Shaun repeated from his liquid lipes, not what I wants to do a strike of work but it was condemned on me premitially by Hireark Books and Chiefoverseer Cooks in their Eusebian Concordant Homilies, and there does be a power coming over me that is put upon me from on high out of the book of breedings and so as it is becoming hairydittary I have of coerce nothing in view to look forward at unless it is Swann and beating the blindquarters out of my oldfellow’s orologium oloss olorium. A bad attack of maggot it feels like. ’Tis trope, custodian said. Almost might I say of myself, while keeping out of crime, I am now becoming about fed up be going circulating about them new hikler’s highways like them nameless souls, ercked and skorned and grizzild all over, till it’s rusty October in this bleak forest and that is why I was veribally complussed by thinking of the crater of some noted volcano or the Dublin river or the catchalot trouth subsidity as a way out or to isolate i from my multiple Mes on the spits of Lumbage Island or bury meself, clogs, coolcellar and all, deep in my wineupon ponteen, unless Morrissey’s colt could help me or the gander maybe at 49, as it is a tithe fish so it is, this pig’s stomach business, and where on dearth or in the miraculous meddle of this expending umniverse to turn since it came into my hands I am hopeless off course to be doing anything concerning.

  — We expect you are, honest Shaun, we agreed, but a whisper reaches us from franking machines, limricked, that in the end it may well turn out to be you, our belated, who will bear these open letter. Speak to us of Emailia.

  — As, Shaun replied patly, with tootlepick tact too and a down of his dampers, to that I have the gumpower and, by the benison of Barbe, that is a lock to say with everything, my beloved.

  — Would you mind telling us, Shaun honey, beg little big moreboy, we proposed to such a dear youth, where mostly are you able to work? Ah, you might! Whimper and we shall.

  — Here! Shaun replied while he was fondling one of his cowheel cuffs. There’s no sabbath for nomads and I mostly was able to walk, being too soft for work proper, sixty odd eilish mires a week between three masses a morn and two chaplets at eve. I am always telling those pedestriasts, my answerers, Top, Sid and Hucky, how (and it is as veriest throth as the thieves’ rescension) it was foretold for me by brevet for my vacation in life, while possessing stout legs, to be disbarred after huily orders from unnecessary servile work of reckless walking of all sorts for the relics of my time, for otherwise by my so douching I would get into a blame there where sieves fall out. Excelsior tips the best. Weak stop work stop walk stop whoak. Go thou this island, one housesleep there, then go thou other island, two housesleep there, then catch one nightmaze, then home to dearies. Never back a woman you defend, never get quit of a friend on whom you depend, never make face to a foe till he’s rife, and never get stuck to another man’s pfife. His hungry will be done! On the continent as in Eironesia. But, believe me, in my simplicity I am awful good, I believe, so I am, at the root of me, praised be right cheek Discipline! And I can now truthfully declaret before my Geity’s Pantokreator, with my fleshfettered palums on the epizzles of the apossels, that I do my reasonabler’s best to recite my grocery beans for mummy mit dummy mot muthar mat bouzar regular, genuflections enclosed. Hek domov muy, there thou beest on the hummock, ghee up, ye dog, for your daggily broth, etc. Happy Maria and Glorious Patrick, etc., etc. In fact, always have, I believe. Greedo! Her’s me hongue! Amen, ptah!

  — And it is the fullsoot of a tarabred. Yet one minute’s observation, dear dogmestic Shaun, as we point out how you have while away painted our town a wearing greenridinghued.

  — O murder mere, how did you hear? Shaun replied, smoiling the ily way up his lampsleeve (it just seemed the natural thing to do), so shy of light was he then. Well, so be it! The gloom hath rays, her lump is love. And I will confess to have, yes. Your diogneses is anonest man’s. Thrubedore I did. Inditty I did. All lay I did. Down with the Saozon ruze! From Pontoffbellek till the Kisslemerched our ledan striz will be. And I am afraid it wouldn’t be my first coat’s wasting after striding on the vampire and blazing on the focoal. See! Blazing on the focoal. As see! Blazing upon the foe. Like the regular redshank I am. Impregnable as the mule himself. Somebody may perhaps hint at an aughter impression of I was wrong. No such a thing! You never made a more freudful mistake, excuse yourself! What’s pork to you means meat to me while you behold how I be eld. But it is grandiose, by my ways of thinking, from the prophecies. New worlds for all! And they were scotographically arranged for gentlemen only by a scripchewer in Whofoundland who finds he is a relative. And it was with my extravert davy. Like glue. Be through. Moyhard’s daynoight, tomthumb. Phwum!

  — How mielodorous is thy bel chant, O songbird, and how exqueezit thine afterdraught! Buccinate in Emenia tuba insigni volumnitatis tuae. But do you mean, O phausdheen phewn, we gathered substantively, whether furniture would or verdure varnish?

  — It is a confoundyous injective so to say, Shaun, the fiery boy, shouted, naturally incensed, as he shook the red pepper out of his auricles. And another time please confine your glaring intinuations to some other mordant body. What on the physiog of this furnaced planet would I be doing besides your verjuice? That is more than I can fix, for the teom bihan anyway. So let I and you now kindly drop that, angryman! That’s not French pastry! You can take it from me. Understand me when I tell you (and I will ask you not to whisple, cry golden or quoth mecback) that under the past purcell’s office, so deeply deplored by my erstwhile elder friend, Miss Enders, poachmistress and gay receiver ever for in particular to the Scotic Poor Men’s Thousand Gallon Cow Society (I was thinking of her in sthore), allbethey blessed with twentytwo thousand sorters out of a biggest poss of twentytwo thousand, mine’s won, too much privet stationery and safty quipu was ate up larchly by those nettlesome goats out of pension greed. Colpa di Becco, buon apartita! Proceding, I will say it is also one of my avowal’s intentions at some time, pease Pod pluse murthers of gout, when I am not prepaid to say, so apt as my pen is upt to scratch, to compound quite the makings of a verdigrease savingsbook in the form of a pair of scapesheep boxing gloves surrounding this matter of the Welsfusel mascoteers and their sindybuck that saved a city for my publickers, Nolaner and Browno, Nickil Hopstout, Christcross, so long as, thanks to force of destiny, my selary as a paykelt is propaired and there is a peg under me and there is a tum till me.

  To the Very Honourable The Memory of Disgrace, the Most Noble, Sometime Sweepyard at the Service of the Writer. Salutem dicint. The just defunct Mrs Sanders who (the Loyd insure her!) I was shift and shuft too, with her shester Mrs Shunders, both mudical dauctors from highschoolhorse and aslyke as Easther’s leggs. She was the nice
liest person of a wellteached nonparty woman that I ever acquired her letters, only too fat, used to babies and tottydean verbish, this is her entertermentdags for she shuk the bottle and tuk the medascene all times a day. She was well under ninety, poor late Mrs, and had tastes of the poetics, me having stood the pilgarlick a fresh at sea when the moon also was standing in a corner of sweet Standerson my ski. P.L.M. Mevrouw von Andersen was her who gave me a mutton brooch, stakkers, for her begfirst party. Honour thy farmer and my litters. This, my tears, is my last will intesticle wrote off in the strutforit about their absent female assauciations which I, or perhaps any other person what squat on a toffette, have the honour to have had with them upon their polite sophykussens in the real presence of devouted Mrs Grumby when her skin was exposed to the air. O, what must the grief of my mund be for two little ptpt coolies worth twenty thousand quad here witnessed with both’s Maddlemass wishes to Pepette for next match from their dearly beloved Roggers, M.D.D.O.D. May doubling drop of drooght! Writing.

  — Hapsoloosely kidding you are totether with your cadenus and goat along nose how we shall complete that white paper. Two venusstas! Biggerstiff! Qweer but gaou! Be trouz and wholetrouz! Otherwise, frank Shaun, we pursued, what would be the autobiography of your softbodied fumiform?

  — Hooraymost! None whomsoever, Shaun replied (he had intended and was peering now rather close to the paste of his rubiny winklering), though it ought to be more or less rawcawcaw romantical. Heavenly blank! By the wag, how is Mr Fry? All of it, I might say, in ex-voto, pay and perks and wooden halfpence (some rhino, rhine, O joyoust rhine!), was handled over spondaneously by me (and bundle end to my illwishers’ Miss Anders! she woor her wraith of ruins the night she lost I left!) in the ligname of Mr van Howten of Tredcastles, Clowntalkin, timbreman, among my prodigits nabobs and navious of every subscription, entitled the Bois in the Bosco or our evicted tenemants. What I say is, and I am noen roehorn or culkilt, permit me to tell you, if uninformed. I never spont it. Nor have I the ghuest of innation on me the way to. It is my rule so. It went anyway like hot pottagebake. And this brings me to my fresh point. Quoniam I am as plain as portable enveloped, inhowmuch you will now parably receive, care of one of Mooseyears Goonness’s registered andouterthus barrels. Quick take um whiffat andrainit. Now!

  — So vi et! we responded. Song! Shaun, song! Have mood! Hold forth!

  — I apologuise, Shaun began, but I would rather spinooze you one from the grimmgests of Jacko and Esaup, fable one, feeble too. Let us here consider the casus, my dear little cousis (husstenhasstencaffincoffntussemtossemdamandamnacosaghcusaghhobixhatouxpeswchbechoscashlcarcarcaract), of

  THE ONDT AND THE GRACEHOPER

  The Gracehoper was always jigging a jog, hoppy on akkant of his joyicity (he had a partner pair of findlestilts to supplant him), or, if not, he was always making ungraceful overtures to Floh and Luse and Bienie and Vespatilla to play pupa-pupa and pulicy-pulicy and langtennas and pushpygyddyum and to commence insects with him, there mouthparts to his orefice and his gambills to there airy processes, even if only in chaste, ameng the everlistings, behold a waspering pot. He would of curse melissciously by his fore feelhers, flexors, contractors, depressors and extensors, lamely, harry me, marry me, bury me, bind me, till she was puce for shame and allso fourmish her in Spinner’s housery at the earthsbest schoppinhour so summery as his cottage, which was cald fourmillierly Tingsomingenting, groped up. Or, if he was not done doing that, improbably he was always striking up funny funereels with Besterfarther Zeuts, the Aged One, with all his wigeared corollas, albedinous and oldbuoyant, inscythe his elytrical wormcasket, and Dehlia and Peonia, his druping nymphs, bewheedling him, compound eyes on hornitosehead, and Auld Letty Plussiboots to scratch his cacumen and cackle his tramsitus, diva deborah (seven bolls of soap, a lick of lime, two spurts of fussfor, threefurts of sulph, a shake o’ shouker, doze grains of migniss and a mesfull of madcap pitchies: the whool of the whaal in the wheel of the whorl of the Boubou from Bourneum has thus come to taon!), and with tambarins and cantoridettes soturning around his eggshill rockcoach their dance McCaper in retrophœbia, beck from bulk, like fantastic disossed and jenny aprils, the ra, the ra, the ra, the ra, langsome heels and langsome toesies, attended to by a mutter and doffer duffmatt baxingmotch and a myrmidins of pszozlers pszinging Satyr’s Caudledayed Nice and Hombly, Dombly, Sod We Awhile but Ho, Time Timeagen, Wake! For if sciencium (what’s what) can mute uns nought, ’a thought, abought the Great Sommboddy within the Omniboss, perhops an artsaccord (hoot’s hoot) might sing ums tumtim abutt the Little Newbuddies that ring his panch. A high old tide for the barheated publics and the whole day as gratiis! Fudder and lighting for ally looty, any filly in a fog, for O’Cronione lags acrumbling in his sands but his sunsunsuns still tumble on. Erething above ground, as his Book of Breathings bid him, so as everwhy, sham or shunner, zeemliangly to kick time.

  Grouscious me and scarab my sahul! What a bagateller it is! Libelulous! Inzanzarity! Pou! Pschla! Ptuh! What a zeit for the goths! vented the Ondt, who, not being a sommerfool, was thothfolly making chilly spaces at hisphex affront of the icinglass of his windhame, which was cold antitopically Nixnixundnix. We shall not come to that lopp’s party, he decided possibly, for he is not on our social list. Nor to Ba’s berial nether, thon sloghard, this oldeborre’s yaar, ablong as there’s a khul on a khat. Nefersenless, when he had safely looked up his ovipository, he loftet hails and prayed: May he me no voida water! Seekit Hatup! May no he me tile pig shed on! Suckit Hotup! As broad as Beppy’s realm shall flourish my reign shall flourish! As high as Heppy’s hevn shall flurrish my haine shall hurrish! Shall grow, shall flourish! Shall hurrish! Hummum.

  The Ondt was a weltall fellow, raumybult and abelboobied, bynear saw altitudinous wee a schelling in kopfers. He was sair sair sullemn and chairmanlooking when he was not making spaces in his psyche, but (laus!) when he wore making spaces on his ikey he ware mouche mothst secred and muravyingly wisechairmanlooking. Now whim the sillybilly of a Gracehoper had jingled through a jungle of love and debts and jangled through a jumble of life in doubts afterworse, wetting with the bimblebeaks, drikking with nautonects, bilking with durrydunglecks and horing after ladybirdies (ichnehmon diagelegenaitoikon), he fell joust as sieck as a sexton and tantoo pooveroo quant a churchprince, and wheer the midges to wend hemsylph or vosch to sirch for grub for his corapusse or to find a hospes, alick, he wist gnit! Bruko dry! Fuko spint! Sultamont osa bare! And volomundo osi videvide! Nichtsnichtsundnichts! Not one pickopeck of muscowmoney to bag a tittlebits of beebread! Iomio! Iomio! Crick’s corbicule, which a plight! O moy Bog, he contrited with melanctholy, Me blizzered, him sluggered! I am heartily hungry!

  He had eaten all the whilepaper, swallowed the lustres, devoured forty flights of styearcases, chewed up all the mensas and seccles, ronged the records, made mundballs of the ephemerids and vorasioused most glutinously with the very timeplace in the ternitary—not too dusty a cicada of neuteriment for a chittinous chip so mity. But when Chrysalmas was on the bare branches, off he went from Tingsomingenting. He took a round stroll and he took a stroll round and he took a round strollagain till the grillies in his head and the leivnits in his hair made him thought he had the Tossmania. Had he twicycled the sees of the deed and trestraversed their revermer? Was he come to hevre with his engiles or gone to hull with the poop? The June snows was flocking in thuckflues on the hegelstomes, millipeeds of it and myriopoods, and a lugly whizzling tournedos, the Boraborayellers, blohablasting tegolhuts up to tetties and ruching sleets off the coppeehouses, playing ragnowrock rignewreck, with an irritant, penetrant, siphonopterous spuk. Grausssssss! Opr! Grausssssss! Opr!

  The Gracehoper, who, though blind as batflea, yet knew, not a leetle beetle, his good smetterling of entymology, asped nissunitimost lous nor liceens but promptly tossed himself in the vico, phthin and phthir, on top of his buzzer, tezzily wondering wheer would his aluck alight or boss of both appease, and the next time he makes the aquinatance of the Ondt after this
they have met theirselves, these mouschical umsummables, it shall be motylucky if he will beheld not a world of differents. Behailed His Gross the Ondt, prostrandvorous upon his dhrone, in his Papylonian babooshkees, smolking a spatial beetler brunt of Hosana cigals, with unshrinkables farfalling from his unthinkables, swarming of himself in his sunnyroom, sated before his comfortumble phullupsuppy of a plate o’ monkynous and a confucion of minthe (for he was a conformed aceticist and aristotaller), as appi as a oneysucker or a baskerboy on the Libido, with Floh biting his big thigh and Luse lugging his luff leg and Bienie bussing him under his bonnet and Vespatilla blowing cosy fond tutties up the allabroad length of the large of his smalls. As entomate as intimate could pinchably be. Emmet and demmet and be jiltses crazed and be jadeses whipt! schneezed the Gracehoper, aguepe with ptchjelasys and at his wittol’s indts, What have eyeforsight!

  The Ondt, that true and perfect host, a spiter aspinne, was making the greatest spass a body could with his queens laceswinging, for he was spizzing all over him like thingsumanything in formicolation, boundlessly blissfilled in an allallahbath of houris. He was ameising himself hugely at crabround and marypose, chasing Floh out of charity and tickling Luse, I hope too, and tackling Bienie, faith as well, and jucking Vespatilla jukely by the chimiche. Never did Dorsan from Dunshanagan dance it with more devilry! The veripatetic imago of the impossible Gracehoper on his odderkop in the myre, after his thrice ephemeral journeeys, sans mantis ne shoos, featherweighed animule, actually and presumptuably sinctifying chronic’s despair, was sufficiently and probably coocoo much for his chorous of gravitates. Let him be Artalone the Weeps with his parisites peeling off him, I’ll be Highfee the Crackasider. Flunkey Footle furloughed foul, writing off his phoney, but Conte Carme makes the melody that mints the money. Ad majorem l.s.d! Divi gloriam. A darkener of the threshold? Haru! Orimis, capsizer of his antboat, sekketh rede from Evil-it-is, lord of loaves in Amongded. Be it! So be it! Thou-who-thouart, the fleet-as-spindhrift, impfang thee of mine wideheight. Haru!