Tales Told

Tales Told 1st proofs, April 1929, I.6§3 draft level 5

MS Yale 9.2 1-13 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

Eins within a space and a weary wide space it wast ere wohned a Mookse. The onesomeness wast alltolonely, archunsitslike, broady oval, so. A Mookse he would a walking go (My hood! cries Antony Romeo), so one grandsumer evening, after a great morning and his good supper of gammon and spittish, having flabelled his eyes, pilleoled his nostrils, vacticanated his ears and palliumed his throat, he put on his impermeable, seized his impugnable, harped on his crown and stepped out of his immobile De Rure Albo (socolld becauld it was chalkfull of masterplasters and had borgeously letout gardens strown with cascadas, |5carambas pintacostecas5|, horthoducts and currycombs) and set off from Ludstown 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, his lancia spezzata, he was girded on, and with that between his legs and his tarheels, our once and only Breakespeare, he clanked, to my clinking, from veetoes to threetop every inch of an immortal. He had not walked over a pentiad of parsecs when at the turning of the Shinshone Lanteran near
{f39, 153}
Saint Bowery's-without-his-Walls he came
{f10, 122}
(secunding to the one one oneth of the propecies, Amnium Limina Permanent) upon the most unconsciously boggylooking stream he ever locked his eyes with. Out of the colliens it took a rise by daubing itself Ninon. 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, bolt downright, 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 Dubville brooder-on-low so nigh to a pickle.

Adrian (that was the Mookse's restingname) stuccstill phiz-à-phiz to the Gripes in an accessit of Aurignacian. But Allmookse must to Moodend much as Allrouts|5, austereways or wastersways, in roaming5| run through |5Raum Room5|. He sor a stone and on that stone he sate his seat which it filled quite poposterously and by acclammitation to its fullest justotoryum and whereopum with his unfallable upom his alloilable, diupetriark of the wouest, and the pederect he always walked with, Deusdedit, 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 Lio the Faultyfindth.

— Good appetite us, Sir Mookse! How do you do it? cheeped the Gripes in a wherry whiggy maudelenian woice and the jackasses
{f39, 154}
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? Ney?

Think of it! A Gripes!

— Rats! bullowed the Mookse most telesphorously, the concionator, and the sissymusses and the zozzymusses quailed to hear him at all, for you cannot wake a silken noise out of a hoarse oar. Blast yourself and your anathomy infairioriboos! No, hang you for an animal rurale! I am superbly in my supremest poncif! Gather behind me, satraps! 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?
{f10, 123}

Figure it! The pining peever! To a Mookse!

— Ask my index! Mund my achilles! Swell my obolum! Woshup my nose! answered the Mookse, rapidly byturning clement, urban, eugenious and celestian in the most formose of good humours. Quote awhore? That is quite about what I came with my paladin's intentions to settle with you. Let thor be orlog. Let Pauline 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? Como? Fuert it!

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

— I was just thinking of that, swees Mookse, but, for all the rime on my raisins, if I cannow make my submission, I canoss 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 Your Honoriousness (here he near lost
{f39, 155}
his limb) whose o'cloak you ware.

Incredible? Well, hear the inevitable!

Your temple, sus in cribro! My building space in lyonine city is always to let to leonlike Men, the Mookse with immediate jurisdiction concluded. (What a crammer for the shapewrecked Gripes!) And I regret to proclaim that I cannot see my way to help you from being killed by notime (what a thrust!) as we first met each other newwhere so airly. (Poor little sowsieved subsquashed Gripes! I begin to feel contemption for him!) My side is as safe as houses, he continued, and I can seen from my holeydome what it is to be wholly sane. Parysis, tu sais, belongs to him who parises himself. I can prove that against you, mein goot enemy! I bet you this dozen of tomes.

He proved it pompifically, in a most consistorous allocution, well whoonearth
{f10, 124}
dry and drysick times to the extinction of Niklaus altogether (Niklaus Alopysius having been the Gripes's hinder nimbum), by Neuclidius and by Inexagoras, by Mumsen and by Thumpsen, by Orasmus and by Amenius, by Anacletus the Jew and by Malachy the Augurer and by the Cappon's collection and all the mummyscrips in Sick |5Bokes Bokes'5| Juncroom. And after that, with Cheekee's gelatine and Alldaybrandy's formolon, he reproved it ehrltogether|5,º
{f39, 156}
when not in that order sundering in some different order,
5| alter three thirty and a hundred times, 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 Pontius Pilax and the Chapters for the Cunning of the Chapters of the Conning Fox by Tail.

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

— In a thousand years, replied the Gripes, be the goat of MacHammud's, 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 nobily, for, by the unicum of Elelijiacks, I am in the stabulary and that is what Ruby and Roby fall for, blissim.

The Pills, the Nasal Wash (Yardly's), the Army Man Cut. As british as bond strict and as …

— 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, see the fortethurd of Elissabed, on the weightiness of my breath. Puffut!

Unsightbared embouscher, relentloose foe to social and business success! (Hourihaleine.) It might have been a happy evening but …
{f39, 157}

And they viterberated each and other, canis et coluber, with the wildest ever wielded since Tarriestinus lashed |5Pissaphaltium Pissasphaltium5|.

— Unuchorn!

— Ungulant!

— Uvuloid!

— Uskybeak!
{f10, 125}

And bullfolly answered volleyball.

Nuvoletta in her lightdress, spunn of sisteen shimmers, 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 sokaparlour 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 fore too adiaptotously farseeing) and to make the Gripes hear how coy she could be (though he was much too schystimatically 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 with intrepifide fate and bungless curiasity were conclaved with Heliogobbleus and Commodus and Enobarbarus and whatever the coordinal dickens they did as their damprauch of papyrs and buchstubs 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
{f39, 158}
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 amoosed and the Gripes was pinefully obliviscent. I see, she sighed. There are menner.

The siss of the whisp of the sigh of the softzing at the stir of the ver grose O arundo of a long one in midias reeds and 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. Metamnisia was allsoonone coloroform brune; citherior splain an eaulande, innemorous and unnumerose. 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, tung and trit, and it was neversoever so dusky of both of them. But still Moo thought of the deeps he would profound on the morrow and still Gri 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
{f10, 126}
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 thither 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, thats hights, Aquila Rapax, 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 hither 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
{f39, 159}
shieling, it is, De Rore Coeli. 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 and she was stout and struck on dancing and her muddied name was Missisliffi) there fell a tear, a singult tear, the loveliest of all tears (I mean for those who are “keen” on the pretty-pretty commonface sort of thing you meet by hopeharrods) for it was a |5leap tear leaptear5|. 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!