This post continues the series begun here, looking at ALP’s final monologue.

It is hardly a Knut’s mile or seven, possumbotts. It is very good for the health of a morning. With Buahbuah. A gentle motion all around. As leisure paces. And the helpyourselftoastrool cure’s easy. It seems so long since, ages since. As if you had been long far away. Afartodays, afeartonights, and me as with you in thadark. You will tell me some time if I can believe its all. You know where I am bringing you? You remember? When I ran berrying after hucks and haws. With you drawing out great aims to hazel me from the hummock with your sling. Our cries. I could lead you there and I still by you in bed. Les go dutc to Danegreven, nos? Not a soul but ourselves. Time? We have loads on our hangs. Till Gilligan and Halligan call again to hooligan. And the rest of the guns. Sullygan eight, from left to right. Olobobo, ye foxy theagues! The moskors thought to ball you out. Or the Wald Unicorns Master, Bugley Captain, from the Naul, drawls up by the door with the Honourable Whilp and the Reverend Poynter and the two Lady Pagets of Tallyhaugh, Ballyhuntus, in their riddletight raiding hats for to lift a hereshealth to their robost, the Stag, evers the Carlton hart. And you needn’t host out with your duck and your duty, capapole, while they reach him the glass he never starts to finish. Clap this wis on your poll and stick this in your ear, wiggly! Beauties don’t answer and the rich never pays. If you were the enlarged they’d hue in cry you, Heathtown, Harbourstown, Snowtown, Four Knocks, Flemingtown, Bodingtown to the Ford of Fyne on Delvin. How they housed to house you after the Platonic garlens! And all because, loosed in her reflexes, she seem she seen Ericoricori coricome huntsome with his three poach dogs aleashing him. But you came safe through. Enough of that homer corner! And old mutthergoosip!

Here, she tells him how long it’s seemed, how it seemed like he was so far away during the Fall (his sleep), “Afartodays, afeartonights” — 40 days and 40 nights of far too many days and nights of fear — “and me as with you in thadark.”

That last bit is important. She was right with him there the whole time. All the horrid time of the Fall, she was right there by his side, gathering up his pieces to pass the business on.

And then she asks if he knows where she’s taking him on their walk. Back to some happy memory between them. 

“I could lead you there and I still by you in bed.” — this sort of confirms that this is all a dream (within the dream). They’re walking there but still in bed.

Then she seems to be describing a version of HCE’s encounter with the Cad, but this is the earliest version told in the book, where a turnpiker meets the king on the road while he is out catching earwigs, and so he is named Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker (I discussed this episode in this post). Then she seems to describe a version of the Fall. “But you came safe through.” We made it. We’re safe.

Mutthergoosip is the muttering gossip that convicted HCE in public opinion. But since the tales that arrived in his wake are all the stories of literary history, these are also mother goose nursery rhymes.

Next she suggests they call on the “Old Lord” (God? An older form of HCE?)

We might call on the Old Lord, what do you say? There’s something tells me. He is a fine sport. Like the score and a moighty went before him. And a proper old promnentory. His door always open. For a newera’s day. Much as your own is. You invoiced him last Eatster so he ought to give us hockockles and everything. Remember to take off your white hat, ech? When we come in the presence. And say hoothoothoo, ithmuthisthy! His is house of laws. And I’ll drop my graciast kertssey too. If the Ming Tung no go bo to me homage me hamage kow bow tow to the Mong Tang. Ceremonialness to stand lowest place be! Saying: What’ll you take to link to light a pike on porpoise, plaise? He might knight you an Armor elsor daub you the first cheap magyerstrape. Remember Bomthomanew vim vam vom Hungerig. Hoteform, chain and epolettes, botherbumbose. And I’ll be your aural eyeness. But we vain. Plain fancies. It’s in the castles air. My currant bread’s full of sillymottocraft. Aloof is anoof. We can take or leave. He’s reading his ruffs. You’ll know our way from there surely. Flura’s way. Where once we led so many car couples have follied since. Clatchka! Giving Shaughnessy’s mare the hillymount of her life. With her strulldeburgghers! Hnmn hnmn! The rollcky road adondering.

The Prankquean’s riddle reappears here: ALP says she’ll ask it of the Old Lord (“What’ll you take to link to light a pike on porpoise, plaise?”) — here, it becomes modified to look forward to the rising dawn, as well as to link back to the story of HCE as a turnpiker named by a passing king.

She tells him to take off his white hat — this is a line repeated throughout the novel that refers to Finn MacCool (whose name means “white hat”) and is apparently a catchphrase of a popular minstrel duo. You can read more about that here, which discusses the one time the phrase appears in Ulysses. She ends her question with “ech”? — which is HCE reversed. Perhaps this implies that the “Old Lord” is HCE’s alternate version.

Where HCE and ALP have gone, so many other couples have fallen by folly (“follied”).

I believe the last bit here is the final reference to “The Rocky Road to Dublin” in the novel, which is a great song. My favorite performance of it is here.

The word “adondering” contains “doner,” gift. The pattern they have set up is a gift — we all inherit their sins, much as ALP gives gifts of the past to the present. 

Life is a gift, with all of its follies and falls.

We can sit us down on the heathery benn, me on you, in quolm unconsciounce. To scand the arising. Out from Drumleek. It was there Evora told me I had best. If I ever. When the moon of mourning is set and gone. Over Glinaduna. Lonu nula. Ourselves, oursouls alone. At the site of salvocean. And watch would the letter you’re wanting be coming may be. And cast ashore. That I prays for be mains of me draims. Scratching it and patching at with a prompt from a primer. And what scrips of nutsnolleges I pecked up me meself Every letter is a hard but yours sure is the hardest crux ever. Hack an axe, hook an oxe, hath an an, heth hith ences. But once done, dealt and delivered, tattat, you’re on the map. Rased on traumscrapt from Maston, Boss. After rounding his world of ancient days. Carried in a caddy or screwed and corked. On his mugisstosst surface. With a bob, bob, bottledby. Blob. When the waves give up yours the soil may for me. Sometime then, somewhere there, I wrote me hopes and buried the page when I heard Thy voice, ruddery dunner, so loud that none but, and left it to lie till a kissmiss coming. So content me now. Lss. Unbuild and be buildn our bankaloan cottage there and we’ll cohabit respectable. The Gowans, ser, for Medem, me. With acute bubel runtoer for to pippup and gopeep where the sterres be. Just to see would we hear how Jove and the peers talk. Amid the soleness. Tilltop, bigmaster! Scale the summit! You’re not so giddy any more. All your graundplotting and the little it brought! Humps, when you hised us and dumps, when you doused us! But sarra one of me cares a brambling ram, pomp porteryark! On limpidy marge I’ve made me hoom. Park and a pub for me. Only don’t start your stunts of Donachie’s yeards agoad again. I could guessp to her name who tuckt you that one, tufnut! Bold bet backwords. For the loves of sinfintins! Before the naked universe. And the bailby pleasemarm rincing his eye! One of these fine days, lewdy culler, you must redoform again. Blessed shield Martin! Softly so. I am so exquisitely pleased about the loveleavest dress I have. You will always call me Leafiest, won’t you, dowling? Wordherfhull Ohldhbhoy! And you won’t urbjunk to me parafume, oiled of kolooney, with a spot of marashy. Sm! It’s Alpine Smile from Yesthers late Yhesters. I’m in everywince nasturtls. Even in Houlth’s nose. Medeurscodeignus! Astale of astoun.

We can sit us down in the heather and watch the sun rise, she says (the rise after the Fall/scandal). The motto of Sinn Fein — “Ourselves, ourselves alone” — becomes transmuted into a sweet “Ourselves, oursouls alone.” They’ll be at the site of salvation, which is the sight of greeting (salve) the ocean, which is the great mother that is a salve for our wounds.

They’ll look out for the Letter — which is Finnegans Wake itself, which was cast into the ocean in a bottle and buried in the earth (like the Book of Kells) to be dug up by a hen (another form of ALP). A traumscrapt…a transcript containing the scraps of our collective human trauma — all the way from Boston, Mass (a place that many Irish settled in the New World). Written by the past, sent to the future, and returned to the past.

ALP wrote it down, buried it, and left it until Christmas coming (kissmiss — when HCE will wake up and kiss his miss, the redemption, the reconciliation, the resurrection).

“You’ll always call me Leafiest, right?” she asks. Heartbreaking, knowing the ending. “Wordherfhull” — wonderful, full of words for her, herds of words…the hull of a ship?

As I’ve noted in a previous post, I like that HCE also stands for “Hardest Crux Ever.” At once a sex joke and a reference to the cross.

Grand owld marauder! If I knew who you are! When that hark from the air said it was Captain Finsen makes cumhulments and was mayit pressing for his suit I said are you there here’s nobody here only me. But I near fell off the pile of samples. As if your tinger winged ting to me hear. Is that right what your brothermilk in Bray bes telling the district you were bragged up by Brostal because your parents would be always tumbling into his foulplace and losing her pentacosts after drinking their pledges? Howsomendeavour, you done me fine! The only man was ever known could eat the crushts of lobsters. Our native night when you twicetook me for some Marienne Sherry and then your Jermyn cousin who signs hers with exes and the beardwig I found in your Clarksome bag. Pharaops you’ll play you’re the king of Aeships. You certainly make the most royal of noises. I will tell you all sorts of makeup things, strangerous. And show you to every simple storyplace we pass. Cadmillersfolly, Bellevenue, Wellcrom, Quid Superabit, villities valleties. Change the plates for the next course of murphies! Spendlove’s still there and the canon going strong and so is Claffey’s habits endurtaking and our parish pomp’s a great warrent. But you’ll have to ask that same four that named them is always snugging in your bar-salooner, saying they’re the best relicts of Conal O’Daniel and writing Finglas since the Flood. That’ll be some kingly work in progress.

The beginning of this passage seems to rehearse their courtship, when ALP was the daughter of the tailor from whom HCE bought his suit.

Since the tailor is himself, another version of HCE, ALP is in a sense both his wife and his daughter – in the same way that their daughter Issy (the temptress[es] in the Park) is a new version of ALP, awaking the lust of the Father and fostering the competition between the sons (the aspects of HCE).

On the human level, the bloke who’s having this dream is experiencing Freudian incestuous feelings. On the deeper psychological level (Jungian), all women are aspects of a man’s Anima. On the cosmic level, the feminine principle in all of its manifestations causes the fall and puts the pieces back together again.

ALP leads him on and tells him that she’ll tell him all sorts of stories associated with every place they pass.

Everything has been going on as usual since he’s been asleep/gone (a reference to Chapter One, where the mourners tell Tim Finnegan that everything is going on as usual since he died, so he can rest easy — there’s no need for him to rise from the dead).

The four old men are still frequenting the bar he owns. They’re writing some kind of epic, which will be a fine work in progress.

Finnegans Wake was published at first in excerpts, where it was called Work in Progress.

But it’s by this route he’ll come some morrow. And I can signal you all flint and fern are rasstling as we go by. And you’ll sing thumb a bit and then wise your selmon on it. It is all so often and still the same to me. Snf? Only turf, wick dear! Clane turf. You’ve never forgodden batt on tarf, have you, at broin burroow, what? Mch? Why, them’s the muchrooms, come up during the night. Look, agres of roofs in parshes. Dom on dam, dim in dym. And a capital part for olympics to ply at. Steadyon, Cooloosus! Mind your stride or you’ll knock. While I’m dodging the dustbins. Look what I found! A lintil pea. And look at here! This cara weeseed. Pretty mites, my sweetthings, was they poorloves abandoned by wholawidey world? Neighboulotts for newtown. The Eblanamagna you behazyheld loomening up out of the dumblynass. But the still sama sitta. I’ve lapped so long. As you said. It fair takes. If I lose my breath for a minute or two don’t speak, remember! Once it happened, so it may again. Why I’m all these years within years in soffran, allbeleaved. To hide away the tear, the parted. It’s thinking of all. The brave that gave their. The fair that wore. All them that’s gunne. I’ll begin again in a jiffey. The nik of a nad. How glad you’ll be I waked you!

There are references at the beginning of this section to the Battle of Clontarf, whose battlefield they pass, where the Vikings were defeated by the Irish led by Brian Boru (both aspects of HCE).

The mushrooms have come up at night — mushrooms are associated with the Fall, fungus growing out of HCE’s defecation in the Park. Also, by their shape, mushrooms are the penis, the instrument LINK of both the Fall and the Redemption.

But here they’re muchrooms…there has been much room created by the Fall. The Fall is the basis for all of the development of history.

Cities all over the world — and yet it’s still the same city (sitta) that I’ve loved so long. 

She takes a break from the walk (sits? Sitta?) to catch her breath — she’s an old woman (is she aging as the passage goes on?). She’ll hide away her tear for the faithful departed. 

She remembers so much pain and “soffran.” So many have come and gone.

“How glad you’ll be I waked you!” So, he actually is still asleep. She’s just narrating all of this to his sleeping form.

How glad you’ll be I waked you! My! How well you’ll feel! For ever after. First we turn by the vagurin here and then it’s gooder. So side by side, turn agate, weddingtown, laud men of Londub! I only hope whole the heavens sees us. For I feel I could near to faint away. Into the deeps. Annamores leep. Let me lean, just a lea, if you le, bowldstrong bigtider. Allgearls is wea. At times. So. While you’re adamant evar. Wrhps, that wind as if out of norewere! As on the night of the Apophanypes. Jumpst shootst throbbst into me mouth like a bogue and arrohs! Ludegude of the Lashlanns, how he whips me cheeks! Sea, sea! Here, weir, reach, island, bridge. Where you meet I. The day. Remember! Why there that moment and us two only? I was but teen, a tiler’s dot. The swankysuits was boosting always, sure him, he was like to me fad. But the swaggerest swell off Shackvulle Strutt. And the fiercest freaky ever followed a pining child round the sluppery table with a forkful of fat. But a king of whistlers. Scieoula! When he’d prop me atlas against his goose and light our two candles for our singers duohs on the sewingmachine. I’m sure he squirted juice in his eyes to make them flash for flightening me. Still and all he was awful fond to me. Who’ll search for Find Me Colours now on the hillydroops of Vikloefells? But I read in Tobecontinued’s tale that while blubles blows there’ll still be sealskers. There’ll be others but non so for me. Yed he never knew we seen us before. Night after night. So that I longed to go to. And still with all. One time you’d stand fornenst me, fairly laughing, in your bark and tan billows of I branches for to fan me coolly. And I’d lie as quiet as a moss. And one time you’d rush upon me, darkly roaring, like a great black shadow with a sheeny stare to perce me rawly. And I’d frozen up and pray for thawe. Three times in all. I was the pet of everyone then. A princeable girl. And you were the pantymammy’s Vulking Corsergoth. The invision of Indelond. And, by Thorror, you looked it! My lips went livid for from the joy of fear. Like almost now. How? How you said how you’d give me the keys of me heart. And we’d be married till delth to uspart. And though dev do espart. O mine! 

At the beginning, she looks forward to him feeling well forever. Yet, we know that nothing is forever. Such fantasies are sure to disappoint.

She wants to lean against him — all girls are wee at times. While you’re strong and steady and adamant (strong like adamantium, but also adamant in attitude).

She’s getting older, but also younger as the passage goes on…she’s remembering her girlhood here. She takes him to the spot where they met. “Remember!” It’s not a question: she’s imploring him. It seems like others teased her that her new boyfriend was very much like her father (“he was like to me fad” — or maybe they mean he’s just a fad and she’ll get bored of him). And then in the middle bit, she seems to be recalling her father, who is another version of HCE.

And then she remembers HCE standing against her, laughing, and also rushing upon her — his stare to “perce me rawly” (Persse O’Reily, his name from Chapter Two, the persse-oreille, the French name for the “insectuous” earwig).

He said they’d be married.

Till death do us part.

And now we come to their parting. To be continued.