Tales Told

Revised pages of transition 6 (September 1927), April 1929, I.6§3 draft level 3

MS Private 1-5 Draft details

I.6§3 (FW 152.04 - 159.93)

As my explanations here are probably above your understandings I shall revert to a more expletive method which I frequently use when I have to sermo with muddleclass pupils. Imagine for my purpose that you are a squad of urchins, snifflynosed, goslingnecked, clottyheaded, tangled in your lacings, tingled in your pants etc etc. And you, Smith, take your tongue out of your inkpot! As none of you know javanese I will give you a free translation of the old fibulist's parable. Audi, Joe Peters! Audi, Fax!

the mookse and the gripes

A Mookse he would a walking go (My hood! cries Antony Romeo), so one |3grand sumer3| evening, after |3a great morning and3| his good supper of gammon and spittish, having |3drubbed flabelled3| his eyes, |3ascented |apileoled pilleoleda|3| his nostrils, |3packed up vacticanated3| his ears and |3comforted cama |acamaurroed palliumeda|3| his throat, he put on his impermeable, seized his impugnable, harped on his crown and stepped out of his immobile De Rure Albo |3(|asocold socolldºa| becauld it was chalkfull of masterplasters)3| and set off |3from Ludstown3| a spasso to see how badness was badness in the weirdest of all pensible ways. As he so set off with his father's sword he was girded on, and with that between his legs and his tarheels, our great and only Breakespeare, he clanked, to my clinking, |3from veetoes to threetopº3| every inch of an immortal. He had not walked over a |3pair pentia pentiadº3| of parsecs when at the turning of |3the wrong lane the Shinshone Lanteran3| near
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Saint |3Patrick's-without-his-Walls Bowery's-without-his-Walls3| he came
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|3(secunding to the one one oneth of the propecies, Amnium |aLimena Liminaa| Permanent)3| upon the most unconsciously boggylooking stream he ever locked his eyes on. It looked little and it smelt of brown and it thought in narrows and it talked showshallow. And as it rinn it dribbled like any lively purl-it-easy: My, my, my! Me and me! Little down dream, don't I love thee! And, I declare, what was there on the yonder bank of the stream that would be a river, parched on a limb of the olum|3, bolt downright,3| but the Gripes? And no doubt he was fit to be dried for why had he not been having the juice of his times?

His pips had been neatly all drowned on him; his polps were charging odours every older minute; he was quickly for getting the dresser's desdaign on the flyleaf of his frons; and he was quietly for giving the bailiff's distrain on to the bulkside of his cul de pompe. In all his specious heavings, as he lived by Optimus Maximus, the Mookse had never seen his |3Dubville3| brooder-on-low so nigh to a pickle.

Adrian (that was the Mookse's restingname) stuck still phiz-à-phiz to the Gripes in an outfit of Aurignacian. He sor a stone and on that stone he sate his seat which it filled |3quite poposterouslyº3| to its fullest justotoryum and whereupon with his unfallable upon his alloilable|3, diupetriark of the wouest,3| and the pederect he always walked with|3, Deusdedit,3| cheek by jowl with his fresherman's blague, Bellua Triumphans, he looked the first and last laical lakeness of Quartus the Fifth and Quintus the Sixth and Sixtus the Seventh giving allnight sitting to |3Leo Lio3| the Faultyfindth.

— Good appetite us, Sir Mookse! How do you do it? cheeped the Gripes in a wherry whiggy |3maudelenianº3| woice and the jackasses
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all within bawl laughed and brayed for his intentions for they knew their sly toad lowry now. I am blessed to see you, my dear mister. Will you not perhopes tell me everything, if you are pleased, sanity? |3Ney?3|

Think of it! A Gripes!

— Rats! |3roared bullowed3| the Mookse |3most telesphorously, the concionator,3| |3and the mice and the sissimuses and |athea| zozzymuses3| quailed to hear him at all, for you cannot wake a silken noise out of a hoarse oar. Blast yourself and your |3anathomy3| infairioriboos! No, hang you |3for an animal rurale3|! I am superbly in my supremest poncif! |3Gather behind me, satraps!3| Rot!

— I am till infinity obliged with you, bowed the Gripes, his whine having gone to his head. I am still always having a wish on all my extremities. By the watch, what is the time, pace?
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Figure it! |3The pining peever!3| To a Mookse!

— Ask my index! |3Mundº my achilles! Swellº my obolum! Woshupº my nose!º3| answered the Mookse, rapidly byturning clement, urban|3, eugeniousº3| and celestian in the |3highest most formose3| of |3goodhumour good humoursº3|. Quote awhore? That is quite about what I came with my |3paladin'sº3| intentions to settle with you. Let there be orlog. Let |3here Pauline3| be Irene. Let you be Beeton. And let me be Los Angeles. Now measure your length! Now estimate my capacity! Well, sour? Is this space of our couple of hours too dimensional for you, temporiser? Will you give you up? |3Como? Fuert it!º3|

Sancta Patientia! You should have heard the voice that answered him! |3Culla vosellina.3|

— I was just thinking of that, |3noble swees3| Mookse, but|3, for all the rime on my raisins,3| |3I can never if I cannowº make my submission, I |acannos canossºa|3| give you up, the Gripes whimpered from the nethermost of his wanhope. My temple is my own. But I will never be abler to tell |3you Your Honoriousness3| (here he near lost
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his limb) whose o'cloak you ware.

Incredible? Well, hear the inevitable!

|3Your temple, sus in cribro!º3| My building space |3in lyonine city3| is always to let to |3leonlike3| Men, the Mookse |3with |x(+handyboob's+)x| immediate jurisdictionº |a(+severinely+)a|3| concluded. (What a crammer for the shapewrecked Gripes!) And I regret to (+3announce proclaim+)3| that I cannot see my way to help you from being killed by |3time notime3| (what a thrust!) as we first met each other |3never so early newwhere so airly3|. (Poor little |3squashed sowsieved subsquashed3| Gripes! I begin to feel contemption for him!) My side is as safe as houses, he continued, and I can |3see seen |afrom my holeydomea|3| what it is to be |3seen wholly sane3|. Parysis, tu sais, belongs to him who parises himself. I can prove that against you, (+3my good mein goot+)3| enemy! I bet you this dozen of tomes.

He proved it |3pompifically|a, in a |bmost consistorousb| allocution,ºa| well whoonearth
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dry and drysick times
3| to the extinction of Niklaus altogether (Niklaus Alopysius having been the Gripes's hinder nimbum), by Neuclidius and by Inexagoras, by (+3Mummsen Mumsen+)3| and by (+3Thumpson Thumpsenº+)3|, by Orasmus and by Amenius|3, byº Anacletus the Jew and by (+Malachites Malachyº+) the |aAugurman Augurera| and (+by+) the Cappon's collectionº and (+the mummiscripts all the mummyscrips+) in Sick |aBooks' Bay (+Bokes Juncroom Books Reedroom+)a|3|. And after that|3, withº Cheekee's gelatine and (+and Alldaybrandy formolounread Alldaybrandy's formolon,º+)3| he reproved it |3altogether ehrltogether |aalter three thirty and a hundred times,ºa|3| by the binomial dioram and the penic walls and the inklespill legends and the rule of the hoop and the blessons of expedience and the jugicants of (+3Puncher's Pylax Pontius Pilax+) andº the Chapters for the (+Conning Cunning+) of the Chapters of the (+Cunning unreadounread Conning Fox+) by Tail3|.

— In a thousand years, Oh Gropes, |3con my sheepskins,3| you will be blind to the world, said the Mookse.

— In a thousand years, replied the Gripes, |3be the goat of (+MacHummett MacHammud's,+)3| Ah Mookse, you may be still more bothered.

— I shall be chosen as the first of the last by the electress of Vale Hallow, said the Mookse |3nobly nobily3|, for|3,º by the unicum of Eli Elelijum Elelijiacks,º3| I am in the stabulary and |3that's what they all like best (+that's that is+) what Ruby and Roby fall for(+, blissim+)3|.

|3The Pills, the Nasal Wash |a(Yardly's)ºa|, the Army Man Cut. Asº british as bond strictº and as …º3|

— I, confessed the Gripes limply, shall not even be the last of the first, I hope, when we are visited by the veiled horror. And, he added, I am relying entirely|3, see the fortethurd of Elissabed,3| |3upon on3| the weightiness of my breath. |3(+Puffut!+)3|

|3Unsightbared embouscher, relentlooseº foe to social and business successº! |a(Hourihaleine.º)a| It might have been a happy evening but …º3|
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And they |3villainised viterberated3| each and other|3, canisº et coluber,º3| with the wildest ever wielded since Tarriestinus lashed (+3Pissasphallium Pissaphaltium+)3|.

(+3Unicorn! Unuchorn!+)3|

— Ungulant!

— Uvuloid!

— Uskybeak!
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And bullfolly answered volleyball.

Nuvoletta in her lightdress|3, spunn of sisteen shimmers,º3| was looking down on them, leaning over the bannistars and listening all she childishly could. She was alone. All her nubied compinions were asleeping with the squirrels. Their mivver, Mrs Moonan, was off in the Fuerst quarter scrubbing the backsteps of Number 28. And as for fuvver, that Skand, he was up in Norwood's |3sokaparlor sokaparlour3| eating oceans of Voking's Blemish. Nuvoletta listened as she reflected herself, though the heavenly one with his constellatria and his emanations stood between, and she tried all she tried to make the Mookse look up at her (but he was far too farseeing) and to make the Gripes hear how coy she could be (though he was much too auricular about himself to heed her) but it was all mild's vapour moist. Not even her dimmed reflection, Nuvoluccia, could they take their noses off, for their minds were |3beset conclaved3| with Heliogobbleus and Commodus and Enobarbarus and whatever |3the coordinal dickens3| they did as |3they their damprauch of papyrs and buchstubs3| said. She tried all the winsome wonsome ways her four winds had taught her. She tossed her hair like la princesse de la Petite Bretagne and she rounded her mignons arms like Mrs Cornwallis-West and she smiled over herself like the beauty of the image of the pose of the daughter of the queen of the Emperour of Irelande and she sighed after herself as were she born
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to bride with Tristis Tristior Tristissimus. But she might just as well have carried her daisy's worth to Florida. For the Mookse were not |3amused amoosed3| and the Gripes was |3painfully pinefully3| obliviscent. |3“I see,” I see,º3| she sighed. |3“There are menner.” There are menner.3|

The |3siss of the whisp of the sigh of the softzing |aof ata| the stir of the ver of the grose O arundo of a long one in midias reeds and3| shades began to glidder along the banks, dusk unto dusk, and it was as glooming as gloaming could be in the waste of all peacable wolds. |3Metamnisia was allsoononeº coloroform brune; chiter |acitheriors plain citherior splaina| an eaulande,º innemorous and unnumerose.3| The Mookse had a sound eyes right but he would not all hear. The Gripes had light ears left yet he could but ill see. So he ceased, and he ceased, |3tung and trit,3| and it was |3ever neversoever3| so dusky of both of them. But still |s3one Moos3| thought of the deeps he would profound on the morrow and still |s3the other Gris3| thought of the scrapes he would escape if he had luck enough.

O, how it was dusk! It was so dusk that the tears of night began to fall, at first by ones
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and twos, then by threes and fours, at last by fives and sixes of sevens, for the tired ones were weeping, as we weep now with them. O! O! O! Par la pluie!

Then there came down to the |3hither thither3| bank a woman of no appearance (I believe she was a Black with chills at her feet) and she gathered up the Mookse where he was spread and carried him away to her invisible dwelling|3, |athat thatsa| hights, Aquila Rapax,3| for he was the holy sacred solemn spit of her bushop's apron. So you see the Mookse he had reason as I knew and you knew and he knew all along. And there came down to the |3thither hither3| bank a woman to all important (though they say that she was comely, spite the cold in her heed) and, for he was as like it as blow it to a hawker's hank, she plucked down the Gripes from his limb and carried him away with her to her unseen
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shieling|3, it is, De Rore Coeli3|. And so the poor Gripes got wrong, for that is always how a Gripes is, always was and always will be. And it was never so thoughtful of either of them. And there were left now an only elmtree and but a stone. O, yes! And Nuvoletta, a lass.

Then Nuvoletta reflected for the last time in her little long life and she made up all her myriads of drifting minds in one. She climbed over the bannistars. She gave a childy cloudy cry: Nuée! Nuée! A lightdress fluttered. She was gone. And into the river that had been a stream (for a thousand of tears had gone on her and come on her) there fell a tear, the loveliest of all tears (I mean for those who are “keen” on the pretty-pretty sort of thing you meet by |s3Harrod's hopeharrodss3|) for it was a leap tear. But the river tripped on her by and by, lapping as though her heart was brook: Why, why, why! Weh, O weh! I'se so silly to be flowing but I no canna stay!