I.6§4 (FW 159.24 - 168)
As I have now successfully explained to you my own naturalborn rations which are even in excise of my vaultybrain insure me that I am a mouth's more deserving case by genius. I'm Armory, so herald me, but he's merely the size of his shirt. The Jonases were juanisers in Lyoness before the first Schmied started to forge. For see my stitchwork! A boche beuglant in a field flam.
Motto: Twist im ann insulte! Mookse makes for Muth and his Muth makes for Mastery wile Gripes yields to Guile but his Guile'll yield the faster he is Faced in Front and Forced to acknowledge that the Roarer Rules the Knaves Leonidas!
Mookse, Mookse, Mookse! I could face a phalanx philistine! And Gripes, Gripes, Gripes! I could chor em wiv zis jor of mine! For I feel like Samsen, Hamsen and Yan Yammesen. But nevertheleast also I feel in symbathos for my ever devoted friend and halfaloafonwashed brother (darling germ! darling smallfox! I could love that man! I want him to go and live on Tristan da Cunha where he'll make Number 106 and be near Inaccessible. If I weren't a jones in myself I'd elect myself to be his dolphin in the wildsbillow) because he is such a barefooted rubber with my supersocks pulled over his face which I publicked in my bestback garden for the laetification of siderodromites and to the irony of the stars. And he wants my addition of meal, meat, bread, butter, dripping, eggs, tea and cabbage with a doorstep! I ought not to indulge on this stage still I will think he is so very allirish! You will say it is most unenglish and I shall hope to hear that you will not be wrong about it. But I further, feeling a bit husky in my truths …
Will you please come over and let us mooremoore murgessly to each's other down below our vices. i am being underheerd by old billfaust. wilsh is full of curks. the coolskittle is philip deblinite. mr wist is thereover beyeind the wantnot. wilsh and wist are as thick of thins udder as faust on
the deblinite. And from the poignt of fun where I am crying to arrive you at they are on all fore as foibleminded as you can feel they are fablebodied.
My heeders will recoil with great leisure how at the outbreak before trespassing on the space question where even
michelangelines have fooled to dread I proved to mindself as to your sotisfiction how his abject all through (the quickquid of Professor Ciondoloni's too frequently hypothecated Bettlermensch) is nothing so much more than a mere cashdime, however genteel he may want ours, if we please (I am speaking to us in the second person), to feel about it, for to this graded intellacktuals dime is cash and the cash system (you must not be allowed to forget that this is all contained, I mean the system, in the dogmarks of origen on spurios) means that I cannot now have or nothave a piece of cheeps in your pocket at the same time and with the same manners as you can now nothalf or half the cheek apiece I've in mind unless Burrus and Caseous have not or not have seemaultaneously sysentangled themselves, selldear to soldthere, once in the dairy days of buy and buy.
Burrus, let us like to imagine, is a genuine prime, the real choice, full of natural greace, the mildest of milkstoffs yet unbeaten as a risicide and, of course, obsoletely unadulterous, whereat Caseous is obversely the revise of him and in fact not an ideal choose by any meals, though the betterman of the two is meltingly addicted to the more casual side of the arrivalist's case and, let me say it at once, as zealous over him as is passably he.
The seemsame home and histry seeks and hidepence which we used to be reading for our prepurgatory (hot, Schott?) till Duddy shut the shopper op and Mutti (poor Mutti!) brought us our poor suppy (ah who! eh how!!) in Acetius and Oleosus and Sellius Volatilis and Petrus Papricus! Our Old Party quite united round the Slatbowel at Commons: Pfarrer Salamoss himself and that sprog of a Pedersill and
his Sprig of Thyme and a dozen of the Murphybuds and a score and more of the hot young Capels and Lettucia in her greensleeves and you too and me three, twinsome bibs but hansome ates, like shakespill and eggs! But there's many a split pretext bowl and jowl; and (snob screwing that cork, Schott!) to understand this as well as you can, feeling how backward you are in your down-to-the-ground
benches, I have completed the following arrangement for the coarse use of stools.
The older Kaeser, become unbeurrable from
age, having been sort-of-nineknived and chewly removed the twinfreer types are billed to make their reupprearance on the deserted champ de bouteilles. I could paint you to that butter if you had some wash. Caseous may hethink himself a thought of a caviller but Burrus has the reachly roundered head that goes best with thoftthinking defensive fideism. He has the lac of wisdom under every dent in his lofter, while the other follow's blank. It was aptly and corrigidly stated (and it is royally needless for one — ex ungue Leonem — to say by whom) that his seeingscraft was that clarety as were the wholeborough of Saint Poutresbourg to be averlaunched over him pitchbatch he could still make out with his augstritch the green moat in Ireland's Eye. Let me sell you the fulltroth of Burrus when he wore a younker. Here it is, and churming too, in six by sevens! A cleanly line, by the gods! A king off duty and a jaw for ever! What brunoesque poportiums, me Ercles! And what a cheery ripe outlook, good help me Deus v Deus! If I were to speak
my whole mouthful to ariman about it you should call me the Ormuzd aliment in your midst of faime. Eat ye up, heat ye up! sings the somun in the salm. Butyrum et mel comedet ut sciat reprobare malum et eligere bonum. This, of course, also explains why we were taught to play in the childhood: Der Haensli ist ein Butterbrot, fein Butterbrot, mein Butterbrot! Und Koebi iss dein Schtinkenkot! Ja! Ja! Ja!
This, in fact, just to show you, is Caseous, the brutherscutch or puir tyron: a hole or two, the highstink aforefelt and anygo prigging wurms. Cheesugh! you complain. And Hi Hi High must say you are not Hoa Hoa Hoally in the wrong!
Thus we cannot escape our likes and mislikes, exiles or ambusheers, beggar and neighbour, and so — this is where the dimeshow advertisers advance the temporal relief plea — let us be tolerant of antipathies. Nex quovis burro num fit mercaseus? I am not hereby giving my final endorsement to the learned ignorants of the Cusanus philosophism in which old Nicholas pegs it down that the smarter the spin of the top the sounder the span of the buttom. (What the worthy old auberginiste ought to have meant was: the more stolidly immobile in space appears to me the bottom which is presented to use in time by the top primomobilisk &c.) And I shall be misunderstood if understood to give an unconditional sinequamnunc to the heroicised furibouts of the Nolanus theory, or, at any rate, of that substrate of apart from hissheory where the Theophile swoors by his Father Familiaritas and his Mother Contumelia and by the soul in his suit and the animus in his soul and the mind in his animus and the good in his mind that on principial he was the pointingstart of his odiose by comparison and that whiles eggs will fall cheapened all over the walled the Bure will be dear on the Brie.
Now, while I am not out now to be taken up as unintentionally recommending the Silkebjorg turondunamon machine for the more enocomical helixtrolysis of these amboadipates until I can find space to look into it myself a little more closely first, I shall go on with my decisions after having shown to you in good time how both products of our social stomach are mutuearly polarised. Positing, as above, too male pooles, the one the pictor of the other and the omber the σκοτια of the one, and looking wantingly around our undistributed middle between males, we feel we must waistfully woent a female to focus and on this stage there pleasantly appears the cowrymaid M (whom we shall often meet below) who introduces herself upon us at some precise hour which we shall again agree to call absolute zero or the bubblingpoint of platinism. And so like that former son of a kish who went up and out to found his farmer's ashes we come down home gently on our own turnedabout asses to meet Margareen.
We now romp through a period of pure lyricism of shamebred music evidenced by such words in distress as I cream for thee, sweet Margareen! and the more hopeful O Margareena! O Margareena! Still in the bowl is left a lump of gold! The pawnbreaking pathos of the first of these shoddy pieces reveals it as a Caseous effort. Burrus's bit is often used for a toast. Of course, the
unskilled singer continues to pervert our wiser ears by subordinating the space-element, that is to sing, the aria, to the time-factor, which ought to be killed, ill tempor. I should advise any unborn singer who may still be among my heeders to forget her temporal diaphragm at home
(the best thing that could happen to it!) and attack the roulade with a swift colpo di glottide to the lug (though Maace I will insist was reclined from overdoing this, his recovery often being slow) and then O! on the third dead beat O! to cluse her eyes and awpen her oath and see what spice I may send her.
I shall have a word to say in a few yards about the acoustic and orchidectural management of the tonehall but it will be very convenient for me for the emolument to pursue Burrus and Caseous for a rung or two up their isocelating biangle. Every admirer of my “blank manner” has seen with eyes watered my goulache of Marge which I titled The Very Picture of a Needlesswoman. The
hatboxes which compose Rhomba, Lady Trabezond (Marge in her excelsis), also comprise the climactogram up which B and C may fondly be imagined ascending and are suggestive of gentlemen's spring modes, these modes carrying us back to the superimposed claylayers of eocene and pleastoseen formation and the gradual morphological changes in our body politic which Professor Ebahi-Ahuri of
Philadespoinis (Ill) — whose bluebutterbust I have just given his coupe de grass to — neatly names a boîte à surprises. The boxes, if I may break the subject gently, are worth about fourpence pourbox but I am inventing a
more patent process after which they can be reduced to a fragment of their
true crust by even the youngest of Margees, if she will take plase to be seated and smile if I please.
Now there can be no question about it either that I, having done as much, have quite got the size of that young woman whose types may be met with in any public garden ostentatiously hemming apologetically over the briefness of some “sweet” garment or at the movies swallowing sobs and blowing bixed bixcuits over “Childe” chaplain's “latest” or on the verge of the gutter with some bobbedhair babyma's infant held hostage at armslength, teaching His Majesty how to make waters worse.
I am closely watching Master Pules, as I have regions to suspect from my post that her “little man” is a secondary schoolteacher under the boards of education, a voted disciple of Infantulus, who is being utilised thus publicly by the seducente infanta to conceal her own more mascular personality. My solotions for the proper parturience of matres and the education of micturious mites must stand over from the moment till I tackle this tickler hussy for occupying my uttentions.
Margareena she's very fond of Burrus but (alick and alack!) she velly fond of chee. (The important influence exercised on everything by this eastasian import has not been till now fully flavoured, though we can comfortably taste it in this case. I shall come back for a little more say farther on.) A cleopatrician in her own right, she at once complicates the position, while Burrus and
Caseous are contending for her misstery, by implicating herself
with an elusive antonius, a wop who would appear to hug a personal interest in refined chees of all chades at the same time as he wags an antomine art of being rude like the boor. This Antonius-Burrus-Caseous grouptriad may be said to equate the qualis equivalent with the older socalled talis on
talis one. And this is why any simple fool you like to dress may be awfully green to one side of him and fruitfully blue on the other, which will not screen him however from appealing to my gropesarching eyes as a boosted blasted bleating blatant bloaten blasphorus blesphorous idiot!
No! Twelve tabular times till now have I said it. Merus Genius to Careous Caseous! Moriture, te salutat! My unchanging Word is sacred. The Word is my Wife and may the curlews crown our nuptias! Till Breath us depart! Beware would you change with my years! Be as young as your grandmother! The ring man in the rong shop but the rite words by the rote order! Ubi lingua nuncupassit, ibi
fas! Adversus hostem semper sac! She that will not feel my fulmoon let her peel to thee as the hoyden and the impudent! That mon that hoth no moses in his sole nor is not awed by conquists
of word's law, who never with humself was fed and leaves his soil to lave his head, when his hope's in his highlows from whisking his woe, if he came to my preach, a proud pursebroken ranger, when the heavens were welling the spite of their spout, to beg for a bite in our bark Noisdanger, would meself and (4MacJeffet Jaffe Jeffetº4), four-in-hand, foot him out? — ay! — were he my own breastbrother, my doubled width love and my singlebiassed hate, were we bread by the same fire and signed with the same salt, had we tapped from the same master and robbed of the same till, were we tucked in the one bed and bit by the one flea, though it broke my heart to pray it, still I'd fear I'd hate to say …!
C 12. Sacer esto?
answer: Semus sumus!