Finnegans Wake - James Joyce [256]
— Lesten!
— Why so and speak up, do you hear me, you sir?
— Or he’s rehearsing somewan’s funeral.
— Whisht outathat! Hubba’s up!
And as they were spreading abroad on their octopuds their drifter nets, the chromous gleamy seiners’ nets and, no lie, there was word of assonance being softspoken among those quartermasters.
— Get busy, kid!
— Chirpy, come now!
— The present hospices is a good time.
— I’ll take on that chap.
file:///E|/Books/Top%20100%20Novels%20list/Finnegans%20Wake/complete.html[9/12/2007 12:21:58 PM]
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
For it was in the back of their mind’s ear, temptive lissomer, how they would be spreading in quadriliberal their azurespotted fine attractable nets, their nansen nets, from Matt Senior to the thurrible mystagogue after him and from thence to the neighbour and that way to the puisny donkeyman and his crucifer’s cauda. And in their minds years backslibris, so it was, slipping beauty, how they would be meshing that way, when he rose to it, with the planckton at play about him, the quivers of scaly silver and their clutches of chromes of the highly lucid spanishing gold whilst, as hour gave way to mazing hour, with Yawn himself keeping time with his thripthongue, to ope his blurbeous lips he would, a let out classy, the way myrrh of the moor and molten moonmist would be melding mellifond indo his mouth.
— Y?
— Before You!
— Ecko ! How sweet thee answer makes ! Afterwheres? In the land of lions’ odor?
— Friends ! First if yu don’t mind. Name yur historical grouns.
— This same prehistoric barrow ’tis, the orangery.
— I see. Very good now. It is in your orangery, I take it, you have your letters. Can you hear here me, you sir?
— Throsends. For my darling. Typette!
— So long aforetime? Can you hear better?
— Millions. For godsends. For my darling dearling one.
— Now, to come nearer zone; I would like to raise my deuterous point audibly touching this. There is this maggers. I am told by our interpreter, Hanner Esellus, that there are fully six hundred and six ragwords in your malherbal Magis landeguage in which wald wand rimes alpman and there is resin in all roots for monarch but yav hace not one pronouncable teerm that blows in all the vallums of tartallaght to signify majestate, even provisionally, nor no rheda rhoda or torpentine path or hallucinian via nor aurellian gape nor sunkin rut nor grossgrown trek nor crimeslaved cruxway and no moorhens cry or mooner’s plankgang there to lead us to hopenhaven. Is such the unde derivatur casematter messio! Frankly. Magis megis enerretur mynus hoc intelligow.
— How? C’est mal prononsable, tartagliano, perfrances. Vous n’avez pas d’o dans votre boche provenciale, mousoo. Je m’incline mais Moy jay file:///E|/Books/Top%20100%20Novels%20list/Finnegans%20Wake/complete.html[9/12/2007 12:21:58 PM]
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
trouvay la clee dang les champs. Hay sham nap poddy velour, come on!
— Hep there! Commong, sa na pa de valure? Whu’s teit dans yur jambs?
Whur’s that inclining and talkin about the messiah so cloover? A true’s to your trefling! Whure yu!
— Trinathan partnick dieudonnay. Have you seen her? Typette, my tactile O!
— Are you in your fatherick, lonely one?
— The same. Three persons. Have you seen my darling only one? I am sohohold!
— What are yu shevering about, ultramontane, like a houn? Is there cold on ye, doraphobian? Or do yu want yur primafairy schoolmam?
— The woods of fogloot! O mis padredges!
— Whisht awhile, greyleg! The duck is rising and you’ll wake that stand of plover. I know that place better than anyone. Sure, I used to be always overthere on the fourth day at my grandmother’s place, Tear-nan-Ogre, my little grey home in the west, in or about Mayo when the long dog gave tongue and they coursing the marches and they straining at the leash. Tortoiseshell for a guineagould ! Burb ! Burb ! Burb ! Follow me up Tucurlugh! That’s the place for the