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Finnegans Wake
I, i. [extracts]
riverrun, past Eve and
Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius
vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.
Sir Tristram, violer d’amores, fr’over
the short sea, had passencore rearrived from North Armorica on this side
the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war:
nor had topsawyer’s rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse
to Laurens County’s gorgios while they went doublin their mumper
all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to tauftauf
thuartpeatrick not yet, though venissoon after, had a kidscad buttended
a bland old isaac: not yet, though all’s fair in vanessy, were sosie
sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a peck of pa’s malt had
Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory end to the regginbrow was to
be seen ringsome on the aquaface.
[...]
Bygmester Finnegan, of the Stuttering Hand,
freemen’s maurer, lived in the broadest way immarginable in his rushlit
toofarback for messuages before joshuan judges had given us numbers or
Helviticus committed deuteronomy (one yeastyday he sternely struxk his
tete in a tub for to watsch the future of his fates but ere he swiftly
stook it out again, by the might of moses, the very water was eviparated
and all the guenneses had met their exodus so that ought to show you what
a pentschanjeuchy chap he was!) and during mighty odd years this man of
hod, cement and edifices in Toper’s Thorp piled buildung supra buildung
pon the banks for the livers by the Soangso. He addle liddle phifie Annie
ugged the little craythur. Wither hayre in honds tuck up your part inher.
Oftwhile balbulous, mithre ahead, with goodly trowel in grasp and ivoroiled
overalls which he habitacularly fondseed, like Haroun Childeric Eggeberth
he would caligulate by multiplicables the alltitude and malltitude until
he seesaw by neatlight of the liquor wheretwin ’twas born, his roundhead
staple of other days to rise in undress maisonry upstanded (joygrantit!),
a waalworth of a skyerscape of most eyeful hoyth entowerly, erigenating
from [004] next to nothing and celescalating the himals and all, hierarchitectitiptitoploftical,
with a burning bush abob off its baubletop and with larrons o’toolers
clittering up and tombles a’buckets clottering down.
[...]
Shize? I should shee! Macool, Macool, orra
whyi deed ye diie? of a trying thirstay mournin? Sobs they sighdid at
Fillagain’s chrissormiss wake, all the hoolivans of the nation, prostrated
in their consternation and their duodisimally profusive plethora of ululation.
There was plumbs and grumes and cheriffs and citherers and raiders and
cinemen too. And the all gianed in with the shoutmost shoviality. Agog
and magog and the round of them agrog. To the continuation of that celebration
until Hanandhunigan’s extermination! Some in kinkin corass, more,
kankan keening. Belling him up and filling him down. He’s stiff but
he’s steady is Priam Olim! ’Twas he was the dacent gaylabouring
youth. Sharpen his pillowscone, tap up his bier! E’erawhere in this
whorl would ye hear sich a din again? With their deepbrow fundigs and
the dusty fidelios. They laid him brawdawn alanglast bed. With a bockalips
of finisky fore his feet. And a barrowload of guenesis hoer his head.
Tee the tootal of the fluid hang the twoddle of the fuddled, O!
[...]
So This Is Dyoublong?
Hush! Caution! Echoland!
How charmingly exquisite! It reminds you
of the outwashed engravure that we used to be blurring on the blotchwall
of his innkempt house. Used they? (I am sure that tiring chabelshoveller
with the mujikal chocolat box, Miry Mitchel, is listening) I say, the
remains of the outworn gravemure where used to be blurried the Ptollmens
of the Incabus. Used we? (He is only pretendant to be stugging at the
jubalee harp from a second existed lishener, Fiery Farrelly.) It is well
known. Lokk for himself and see the old butte new. Dbln. W. K. O. O. Hear?
By the mausolime wall. Fimfim fimfim. With a grand funferall. Fumfum fumfum.
’Tis optophone which ontophanes. List! Wheatstone’s magic lyer.
They will be tuggling foriver. They will be lichening for allof. They
will be pretumbling forover. The harpsdischord shall be theirs for ollaves.
Four things therefore, saith our herodotary
Mammon Lujius in his grand old historiorum, wrote near Boriorum, bluest
book in baile’s annals, f t. in Dyffinarsky ne’er sall fail
til heathersmoke and cloudweed Eire’s ile sall pall. And here now
they are,the fear of um. T. Totities! Unum. (Adar.) A bulbenboss
surmounted upon an alderman. Ay, ay! Duum. (Nizam.) A shoe on a
puir old wobban. Ah, ho! Triom. (Tamuz.) An auburn mayde, o’brine
a’bride, to be desarted. Adear, adear! Quodlibus. (Marchessvan.)
A penn no weightier nor a polepost. And so. And all. (Succoth.)
So, how idlers’ wind turning pages
on pages, as innocens with anaclete play popeye antipop, the leaves of
the living in the boke of the deeds, annals of themselves timing the cycles
of events grand and national, bring fassilwise to pass how.
1132 A.D. Men like to ants or emmets wondern
upon a groot hwide Whallfisk which lay in a Runnel. Blubby wares upat
Ublanium.
566 A.D. On Baalfire’s night of this
year after deluge a crone that [013] hadde a wickered Kish for to hale
dead tunes from the bog look it under the blay of her Kish as she ran
for to sothisfeige her cowrieosity and be me sawl but she found hersell
sackvulle of swart goody quickenshoon ant small illigant brogues, so rich
in sweat. Blurry works at Hurdlesford.
(Silent.)
566 A.D. At this time it fell out that
a brazenlockt damselgrieved (sobralasolas!) because that Puppette her
minion was ravishtof her by the ogre Puropeus Pious. Bloody wars in Ballyaughacleeaghbally.
1132. A.D. Two sons at an hour were born
until a goodman and his hag. These sons called themselves Caddy and Primas.
Primas was a santryman and drilled all decent people. Caddy went to Winehouse
and wrote o peace a farce. Blotty words for Dublin.
Somewhere, parently, in the ginnandgo gap
between antediluvious and annadominant the copyist must have fled with
his scroll. The billy flood rose or an elk charged him or the sultrup
worldwright from the excelsissimost empyrean (bolt, in sum) earthspake
or the Dannamen gallous banged pan the bliddy duran. A scribicide then
and there is led off under old’s code with some fine covered by six
marks or ninepins in metalmen for the sake of his labour’s dross
while it will be only now and again in our rear of o’er era, as an
upshoot of military and civil engagements, that a gynecure was let on
to the scuffold for taking that same fine sum covertly by meddlement with
the drawers of his neighbour’s safe.
Now after all that farfatch’d and
peragrine or dingnant or clere lift we our ears, eyes of the darkness,
from the tome of Liber Lividus and, (toh!), how paisibly eirenical,
all dimmering dunes and gloamering glades, selfstretches afore us our
fredeland’s plain! Lean neath stone pine the pastor lies with his
crook; young pricket by pricket’s sister nibbleth on returned viridities;
amaid her rocking grasses the herb trinity shams lowliness; skyup is of
evergrey. Thus, too, for donkey’s years. Since the bouts of Hebear
and Hairyman the cornflowers have been staying at Ballymun, [014] the
duskrose has choosed out Goatstown’s hedges, twolips have pressed
togatherthem by sweet Rush, townland of twinedlights, the whitethorn and
the redthorn have fairygeyed the mayvalleys of Knockmaroon, and, though
for rings round them, during a chiliad of perihelygangs, the Formoreans
have brittled the tooath of the Danes and the Oxman has been pestered
by the Firebugs and the Joynts have thrown up jerrybuilding to the Kevanses
and Little on the Green is childsfather to the City (Year! Year! And laughtears!),
these paxsealing buttonholes have quadrilled across the centuries and
whiff now whafft to us, fresh and madeofallsmiles as, on the eve of Killallwho.
The babbelers with their thangas vain have
been (confusium hold them!) they were and went; [...]
[...]
In the name of Anem this carl on the kopje
in pelted thongs a parth a lone who the joebiggar be he? Forshapen his
pigmaid hoagshead, shroonk his plodsfoot. He hath locktoes, this shortshins,
and, Obeold that’s pectoral, his mammamuscles most mousterious. It
is slaking nuncheon out of some thing’s brain pan. Me seemeth a dragon
man. He is almonthst on the kiep fief by here, is Comestipple Sacksoun,
be it junipery or febrewery, marracks or alebrill or the ramping riots
of pouriose and [015] froriose. What a quhare soort of a mahan. It is
evident the michindaddy. Lets we overstep his fire defences and these
kraals of slitsucked marrogbones. (Cave!) He can prapsposterus the pillory
way to Hirculos pillar. Come on, fool porterfull, hosiered women blown
monk sewer? Scuse us, chorley guy! You tollerday donsk? N. You tolkatiff
scowegian? Nn. You spigotty anglease? Nnn. You phonio saxo? Nnnn. Clear
all so! ’Tis a Jute. Let us swop hats and excheck a few strong verbs
weak oach eather yapyazzard abast the blooty creeks.
Jute.- Yutah!
Mutt.- Mukk’s pleasurad.
Jute.- Are you jeff?
Mutt.- Somehards.
Jute.- But you are not jeffmute?
Mutt.- Noho. Only an utterer.
Jute.- Whoa? Whoat is the mutter with you?
Mutt.- I became a stun a stummer.
Jute.- What a hauhauhauhaudibble thing,
to be cause! How, Mutt?
Mutt.- Aput the buttle, surd.
Jute.- Whose poddle? Wherein?
Mutt.- The Inns of Dungtarf where Used
awe to be he.
Jute.- You that side your voise are almost
inedible to me. Become a bitskin more wiseable, as if I were you.
Mutt.- Has? Has at? Hasatency? Urp, Boohooru!
Booru Usurp! I trumple from rath in mine mines when I rimimirim!
Jute.- One eyegonblack. Bisons is bisons.
Let me fore all your hasitancy cross your qualm with trink gilt. Here
have sylvan coyne, a piece of oak. Ghinees hies good for you.
Mutt.- Louee, louee! How wooden I not know
it, the intellible greytcloak of Cedric Silkyshag! Cead mealy faulty rices
for one dabblin bar. Old grilsy growlsy! He was poached on in that eggtentical
spot. Here [016] where the liveries, Monomark. There where the missers
moony, Minnikin passe.
Jute.- Simply because as Taciturn pretells,
our wrongstoryshortener, he dumptied the wholeborrow of rubbages on to
soil here.
Mutt.- Just how a puddinstone inat the
brookcells by a riverpool.
Jute.- Load Allmarshy! Wid wad for a norse
like?
Mutt.- Somular with a bull on a clompturf.
Rooks roarum rex roome! I could snore to him of the spumy horn, with his
woolseley side in, by the neck I am sutton on, did Brian d’ of Linn.
Jute.- Boildoyle and rawhoney on me when
I can beuraly forsstand a weird from sturk to finnic in such a patwhat
as your rutterdamrotter. Onheard of and umscene! Gut aftermeal! See you
doomed.
Mutt.- Quite agreem. Bussave a sec. Walk
a dun blink roundward this albutisle and you skull see how olde ye plaine
of my Elters, hunfree and ours, where wone to wail whimbrel to peewee
o’er the saltings, where wilby citie by law of isthmon, where by
a droit of signory, icefloe was from his Inn the Byggning to whose Finishthere
Punct. Let erehim ruhmuhrmuhr. Mearmerge two races, swete and brack. Morthering
rue. Hither, craching eastuards, they are in surgence: hence, cool at
ebb, they requiesce. Countlessness of livestories have netherfallen by
this plage, flick as flowflakes, litters from aloft, like a waast wizzard
all of whirlworlds. Now are all tombed to the mound, isges to isges, erde
from erde. Pride, O pride, thy prize!
Jute.- ’Stench!
Mutt.- Fiatfuit! Hereinunder lyethey. Llarge
by the smal an’ everynight life olso th’estrange, babylone the
greatgrandhotelled with tit tit tittlehouse, alp on earwig, drukn on ild,
likeas equal to anequal in this sound seemetery which iz leebez luv. [017]
Jute.- ’Zmorde!
Mutt.- Meldundleize! By the fearse wave
behoughted. Despond’s sung. And thanacestross mound have swollup
them all. This ourth of years is not save brickdust and being humus the
same roturns. He who runes may rede it on all fours. O’c’stle,
n’wc’stle, tr’c’stle, crumbling! Sell me sooth the
fare for Humblin! Humblady Fair. But speak it allsosiftly, moulder! Be
in your whisht!
Jute.- Whysht?
Mutt.- The gyant Forficules with Amni the
fay.
Jute.- Howe?
Mutt.- Here is viceking’s graab.
Jute.- Hwaad!
Mutt.- Ore you astoneaged, jute you?
Jute.- Oye am thonthorstrok, thing mud.
[...]
O foenix culprit! Ex nickylow malo comes
mickelmassed bonum. Hill, rill, ones in company, billeted, less be proud
of. Breast high and bestride! Only for that these will not breathe upon
Norronesen or Irenean the secrest of their soorcelossness. [...] He dug in and dug out by the skill of his
tilth for himself and all belonging to him and he sweated his crew beneath
his auspice for the living and he urned his dread, that dragon volant,
and he made louse for us and delivered us to boll weevils amain, that
mighty liberator, UnfruChikdaUruWukru and begad he did, our ancestor most
worshipful, till he thought of a better one in his windower’s house
with that blushmantle upon him from ears end to earsend. And would again
could whispring grassies wake him and may again when the fiery bird disembers.
And will again if so be sooth by elder to his youngers shall be said.
Have you whines for my wedding, did you bring bride and bedding, will
you whoop for my deading is a? Wake? Usqueadbaugham!
Anam muck an dhoul! Did ye drink me doornail?
Now be aisy, good Mr Finnimore, sir. And
take your laysure like a god on pension and don’t be walking abroad.
Sure you’d only lose yourself in Healiopolis now the way your roads
in Kapelavaster are that winding there after the calvary, the North Umbrian
and the Fivs Barrow and Waddlings Raid and the Bower Moore and wet your
feet maybe with the foggy dew’s abroad. Meeting some sick old bankrupt
or the Cottericks’ donkey with his shoe hanging, clankatachankata,
or a slut snoring with an impure infant on a bench. ’Twould turn
you against life, so ’twould. And the weather’s that mean too.
To part from Devlin is hard as Nugent knew, to leave the clean tanglesome
one lushier than its neighbour enfranchisable fields but let your ghost
have no grievance. You’re better off, sir, where you are, primesigned
in the full of your dress, bloodeagle waistcoat and all, remembering your
shapes and sizes on the pillow of your babycurls under your sycamore by
the keld water where the Tory’s clay will scare the varmints and
have all you want, pouch, gloves, flask, bricket, kerchief, ring and amberulla,
the whole treasure of the pyre, in the land of souls with Homin and Broin
Baroke and pole ole Lonan and Nobucketnozzler and the Guinnghis Khan.
[...]
Creator
he has created for his creatured ones a creation. White monothoid? Red
theatrocrat? And all the pinkprophets cohalething? Very much so! But however ’twas ’tis sure for one thing, what sherif Toragh voucherfors
and Mapqiq makes put out, that the man, Humme the Cheapner, Esc, overseen
as we thought him, yet a worthy of the naym, came at this timecoloured
place where we live in our paroqial fermament one tide on another, with
a bumrush in a hull of a wherry, the twin turbane dhow, The Bey for
Dybbling, this archipelago’s first visiting schooner, with a
wicklowpattern waxenwench at her prow for a figurehead, the deadsea dugong
updipdripping from his depths, and has been repreaching himself like a
fishmummer these siktyten years ever since, his shebi by his shide, adi
and aid, growing hoarish under his turban and changing cane sugar into
sethulose starch (Tuttut’s cess to him!) as also that, batin the
bulkihood he bloats about when innebbiated, our old offender was humile,
commune and ensectuous from his nature, which you may gauge after the
bynames was put under him, in lashons of languages, (honnein suit and
praisers be!) and, totalisating him, even hamissim of himashim that he,
sober serious, he is ee and no counter he who will be ultimendly respunchable
for the hubbub caused in Edenborough. [029]
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