BOOK TENTH.
CHAPTER 3. LONG LIVE MIRTH.
(continued)
Here they served Jehan with his supper. As he threw
himself back on the bosom of the wench beside him,
he exclaimed,--
"By Saint Voult-de-Lucques, whom people call Saint
Goguelu, I am perfectly happy. I have before me a fool
who gazes at me with the smooth face of an archduke. Here
is one on my left whose teeth are so long that they hide his
chin. And then, I am like the Marshal de Gié at the siege
of Pontoise, I have my right resting on a hillock. Ventre-
Mahom! Comrade! you have the air of a merchant of tennis-
balls; and you come and sit yourself beside me! I am a
nobleman, my friend! Trade is incompatible with nobility.
Get out of that! Hola hé! You others, don't fight! What,
Baptiste Croque-Oison, you who have such a fine nose are
going to risk it against the big fists of that lout! Fool!
Non cuiquam datum est habere nasum--not every one is
favored with a nose. You are really divine, Jacqueline
Ronge-Oreille! 'tis a pity that you have no hair! Holà!
my name is Jehan Frollo, and my brother is an archdeacon.
May the devil fly off with him! All that I tell you is the
truth. In turning vagabond, I have gladly renounced the half
of a house situated in paradise, which my brother had promised
me. Dimidiam domum in paradiso. I quote the text. I
have a fief in the Rue Tirechappe, and all the women are in
love with me, as true as Saint Eloy was an excellent goldsmith,
and that the five trades of the good city of Paris are
the tanners, the tawers, the makers of cross-belts, the
purse-makers, and the sweaters, and that Saint Laurent was
burnt with eggshells. I swear to you, comrades.
"Que je ne beuvrai de piment,
Devant un an, si je cy ment.*
* That I will drink no spiced and honeyed wine for a year,
if I am lying now.
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