الفصل الفصل 64 · How Pantagruel met with a Li

Chapter 2.VI.

How Pantagruel met with a Limousin, who too affectedly did counterfeit the

French language.

Upon a certain day, I know not when, Pantagruel walking after supper with

some of his fellow-students without that gate of the city through which we

enter on the road to Paris, encountered with a young spruce-like scholar

that was coming upon the same very way, and, after they had saluted one

another, asked him thus, My friend, from whence comest thou now? The

scholar answered him, From the alme, inclyte, and celebrate academy, which

is vocitated Lutetia. What is the meaning of this? said Pantagruel to one

of his men. It is, answered he, from Paris. Thou comest from Paris then,

said Pantagruel; and how do you spend your time there, you my masters the

students of Paris? The scholar answered, We transfretate the Sequan at the

dilucul and crepuscul; we deambulate by the compites and quadrives of the

urb; we despumate the Latial verbocination; and, like verisimilary

amorabons, we captat the benevolence of the omnijugal, omniform and

omnigenal feminine sex. Upon certain diecules we invisat the lupanares,

and in a venerian ecstasy inculcate our veretres into the penitissime

recesses of the pudends of these amicabilissim meretricules. Then do we

cauponisate in the meritory taberns of the Pineapple, the Castle, the

Magdalene, and the Mule, goodly vervecine spatules perforaminated with

petrocile. And if by fortune there be rarity or penury of pecune in our

marsupies, and that they be exhausted of ferruginean metal, for the shot we

dimit our codices and oppignerat our vestments, whilst we prestolate the

coming of the tabellaries from the Penates and patriotic Lares. To which

Pantagruel answered, What devilish language is this? By the Lord, I think

thou art some kind of heretick. My lord, no, said the scholar; for

libentissimally, as soon as it illucesceth any minutule slice of the day, I

demigrate into one of these so well architected minsters, and there,

irrorating myself with fair lustral water, I mumble off little parcels of

some missic precation of our sacrificuls, and, submurmurating my horary

precules, I elevate and absterge my anime from its nocturnal inquinations.

I revere the Olympicols. I latrially venere the supernal Astripotent. I

dilige and redame my proxims. I observe the decalogical precepts, and,

according to the facultatule of my vires, I do not discede from them one

late unguicule. Nevertheless, it is veriform, that because Mammona doth

not supergurgitate anything in my loculs, that I am somewhat rare and lent

to supererogate the elemosynes to those egents that hostially queritate

their stipe.

Prut, tut, said Pantagruel, what doth this fool mean to say? I think he is

upon the forging of some diabolical tongue, and that enchanter-like he

would charm us. To whom one of his men said, Without doubt, sir, this

fellow would counterfeit the language of the Parisians, but he doth only

flay the Latin, imagining by so doing that he doth highly Pindarize it in

most eloquent terms, and strongly conceiteth himself to be therefore a

great orator in the French, because he disdaineth the common manner of

speaking. To which Pantagruel said, Is it true? The scholar answered, My

worshipful lord, my genie is not apt nate to that which this flagitious

nebulon saith, to excoriate the cut(ic)ule of our vernacular Gallic, but

vice-versally I gnave opere, and by veles and rames enite to locupletate it

with the Latinicome redundance. By G--, said Pantagruel, I will teach you

to speak. But first come hither, and tell me whence thou art. To this the

scholar answered, The primeval origin of my aves and ataves was indigenary

of the Lemovic regions, where requiesceth the corpor of the hagiotat St.

Martial. I understand thee very well, said Pantagruel. When all comes to

all, thou art a Limousin, and thou wilt here by thy affected speech

counterfeit the Parisians. Well now, come hither, I must show thee a new

trick, and handsomely give thee the combfeat. With this he took him by the

throat, saying to him, Thou flayest the Latin; by St. John, I will make

thee flay the fox, for I will now flay thee alive. Then began the poor

Limousin to cry, Haw, gwid maaster! haw, Laord, my halp, and St. Marshaw!

haw, I’m worried. Haw, my thropple, the bean of my cragg is bruck! Haw,

for gauad’s seck lawt my lean, mawster; waw, waw, waw. Now, said

Pantagruel, thou speakest naturally, and so let him go, for the poor

Limousin had totally bewrayed and thoroughly conshit his breeches, which

were not deep and large enough, but round straight cannioned gregs, having

in the seat a piece like a keeling’s tail, and therefore in French called,

de chausses a queue de merlus. Then, said Pantagruel, St. Alipantin, what

civet? Fie! to the devil with this turnip-eater, as he stinks! and so let

him go. But this hug of Pantagruel’s was such a terror to him all the days

of his life, and took such deep impression in his fancy, that very often,

distracted with sudden affrightments, he would startle and say that

Pantagruel held him by the neck. Besides that, it procured him a continual

drought and desire to drink, so that after some few years he died of the

death Roland, in plain English called thirst, a work of divine vengeance,

showing us that which saith the philosopher and Aulus Gellius, that it

becometh us to speak according to the common language; and that we should,

as said Octavian Augustus, strive to shun all strange and unknown terms

with as much heedfulness and circumspection as pilots of ships use to avoid

the rocks and banks in the sea.