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Chicot the Jester
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“Going to my assembly.”
“Without eating a piece of my carp?”
“Ah I true; you know still less of eating than drinking. M. Boutromet, what is the name of this animal?”
The innkeeper looked astonished. “A capon,” said he.
“A capon!” cried Chicot, with an air of consternation.
“Yes, and a fine one.”
“Well!” said Gorenflot, triumphantly.
“Well I it seems I was wrong, but as I wish to eat this capon, and yet not sin, be so kind, brother, as to throw a few drops of water upon it, and christen it a carp.”
“Ah! ah!”
“Yes, I pray you, save me from mortal sin.”
“So be it,” cried Gorenflot, “but there is no water.”
“Oh! the intention is all; baptize it with wine, my brother; the animal will be less Catholic but quite as good.” And Chicot refilled the monk’s glass. The first bottle was finished.
“In the name of Bacchus, Momus, and Comus, trinity of the great saint Pantagruel, I baptize thee, carp,” said Gorenflot.
“Now,” said Chicot, “to the health of the newly baptized; may it be cooked to perfection, and may M. Boutromet add to the excellent qualities which it has received from nature.”
“To his health,” cried Gorenflot, interrupting a hearty laugh to swallow his wine.
“M. Claude, put this carp at once on the spit, cover it with fresh butter, with shalots in it, and put some toast in the frying-pan, and serve it hot.” Gorenflot approved with a motion of his head.
“Now, M. Boutromet, some sardines and a tunny fish, meanwhile; it is Lent, and I wish to make a maigre dinner. And let me have two more bottles of wine.”
The smell of the cookery began to mount to the brain of the monk. Yet he made a last effort to rise.
“Then you leave me, after all?” said Chicot.
“I must,” said Gorenflot, raising his eyes to heaven.
“It is very imprudent of you to go to pronounce a discourse fasting.”
“Why?”
“Because your strength will fail you. Galen has said it. Pulmo hominis facile deficit.”
“Alas! yes.”
“You see, then?”
“Luckily, I have zeal.”
“Ah! but that is not enough; I advise you to eat some sardines, and drink a little of this nectar.”
“A single sardine, then, and one glass.” Chicot gave him the sardine, and passed him the bottle. He himself took care to keep sober.
“I feel myself less feeble,” said Gorenflot.
“Oh! you must feel quite strong before you go, and so I advise you to eat the fins of the carp.” And as they entered with the pullet, Chicot cut off a leg and thigh, which Gorenflot soon despatched.
“What a delicious fish!” said Gorenflot. Chicot cut off the other leg and gave it to Gorenflot, while he ate the wings.
“And famous wine,” said he, uncorking another bottle.
Having once commenced, Gorenflot could not stop. His appetite was enormous; he finished the bird, and then called to Boutromet. “M. Claude,” said he, “I am hungry; did you not offer me omelet just now?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, bring it.”
“In five minutes.”
“Ah!” said Gorenflot, “now I feel in force; if the omelet were here, I could eat it at a mouthful, and I swallow this wine at a gulp.” And he swallowed a quarter of the third bottle.
“Ah! you were ill before.”
“I was foolish, friend; that cursed discourse weighed on my mind; I have been thinking of it for days.”
“It ought to be magnificent.”
“Splendid.”
“Tell me some of it while we wait for the omelet.”
“No, no; not a sermon at table.”
“We have beautiful discourses at the court, I assure you.”
“About what?”
“About virtue.”
“Ah! yes, he is a very virtuous man, our King Henri III.”
“I do not know if he be virtuous; but I know that I have never seen anything there to make me blush.”
“You blush!”
At this moment M. Boutromet entered with the omelet and two more bottles.
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Классная книга. Очень многое объясняет, что скрытое реально происходит в человеке