Accordingly I lifted up my left thigh as high as I could and pressed with all my might. I was going to repeat the magic words ‘Je pète’ three times but when, contrary to expectation, the immense load that came ripping out of my backside did so with a resounding blast, I was so startled I did not know what I was doing. I was as terrified as if I were standing on the gallows with the hangman about to put the noose round my neck. This sudden shock was so disconcerting that my own limbs refused to obey me. At the unexpected sound my mouth also rebelled, unwilling to allow my backside the privilege of speaking for me alone. Although born to talk and shout, it was supposed to whisper the words I wanted to say, so no one would hear, but just to spite my backside it said them out loud, yelling as if someone were about to cut my throat. The more booming the blast of wind from below, the louder ‘Je pète’ rang out from above, as if the entry and exit to my belly were vying with each other to see which could speak with the most thunderous voice.
This brought me some relief in my bowels but also an angry look from my master. The unexpected explosion fairly sobered up his guests, but I was tied to a feeding trough and given such a beating that I can still remember it today, and all because, despite my efforts, I could not hold back my wind. Those were the first blows I received as punishment since I first drew breath because my foul discharge had made that difficult for others. Incense-burners and candles were brought and the guests took out their musk-balls and pomanders, even their snuff-boxes, but the most aromatic perfumes had little effect. As a result of this scene, which I played out better than the best actor in the world, my belly was at peace, but my back throbbed from the beating, the guests had a stench in their nostrils and the servants a great deal of difficulty making the room smell sweet once more.
Chapter 32
Once more deals with nothing but the orgy of drinking and how to get rid of any priests who are there
After all this had been sorted out I had to carry on waiting at table as before. The pastor was still there and people kept urging him to drink like all the rest. He, however, refused to keep pace with all the toasts, saying he had no intention of swilling his drink like an animal. At that one of the hard drinkers there offered to prove that it was he, the pastor, who was drinking like an animal, whilst the boozer himself and all those around were drinking like human beings.
‘An animal’, he said, ‘only drinks as much as it needs, enough to quench its thirst, because it doesn’t know what is good and doesn’t like wine. We human beings, on the other hand, enjoy having a good drink and letting the noble juice of the vine slip down our throats, as our fathers did before us.’
‘That may well be’, replied the pastor, ‘but it is my duty to avoid excess. One beaker is enough for me.’
‘Let it never be said I stopped a man of honour from doing his duty’, said the other and had a huge bowl filled with wine, which he then proffered to the pastor who, however, got up and walked away, leaving the man clutching his bucket of wine.
Once he was out of the way things started to get out of hand. It began to look as if this banquet was designed as an opportunity for people to have their revenge on others by getting them drunk, bringing shame on them or playing them some trick or other. Whenever one of them, no longer able to sit, stand or walk, had to be carried out, another would shout, ‘That’s quits. You got me liquored up like this before, now you’ve had a taste of your own medicine’, and so on. The one that could hold his drink best boasted about it and thought himself no end of a hero.
Eventually they were all reeling around as if they had eaten henbane seeds; they were like the clowns in the carnival, and yet there was no one who thought it comic apart from me. One was singing,
This brought me some relief in my bowels but also an angry look from my master. The unexpected explosion fairly sobered up his guests, but I was tied to a feeding trough and given such a beating that I can still remember it today, and all because, despite my efforts, I could not hold back my wind. Those were the first blows I received as punishment since I first drew breath because my foul discharge had made that difficult for others. Incense-burners and candles were brought and the guests took out their musk-balls and pomanders, even their snuff-boxes, but the most aromatic perfumes had little effect. As a result of this scene, which I played out better than the best actor in the world, my belly was at peace, but my back throbbed from the beating, the guests had a stench in their nostrils and the servants a great deal of difficulty making the room smell sweet once more.
Chapter 32
Once more deals with nothing but the orgy of drinking and how to get rid of any priests who are there
After all this had been sorted out I had to carry on waiting at table as before. The pastor was still there and people kept urging him to drink like all the rest. He, however, refused to keep pace with all the toasts, saying he had no intention of swilling his drink like an animal. At that one of the hard drinkers there offered to prove that it was he, the pastor, who was drinking like an animal, whilst the boozer himself and all those around were drinking like human beings.
‘An animal’, he said, ‘only drinks as much as it needs, enough to quench its thirst, because it doesn’t know what is good and doesn’t like wine. We human beings, on the other hand, enjoy having a good drink and letting the noble juice of the vine slip down our throats, as our fathers did before us.’
‘That may well be’, replied the pastor, ‘but it is my duty to avoid excess. One beaker is enough for me.’
‘Let it never be said I stopped a man of honour from doing his duty’, said the other and had a huge bowl filled with wine, which he then proffered to the pastor who, however, got up and walked away, leaving the man clutching his bucket of wine.
Once he was out of the way things started to get out of hand. It began to look as if this banquet was designed as an opportunity for people to have their revenge on others by getting them drunk, bringing shame on them or playing them some trick or other. Whenever one of them, no longer able to sit, stand or walk, had to be carried out, another would shout, ‘That’s quits. You got me liquored up like this before, now you’ve had a taste of your own medicine’, and so on. The one that could hold his drink best boasted about it and thought himself no end of a hero.
Eventually they were all reeling around as if they had eaten henbane seeds; they were like the clowns in the carnival, and yet there was no one who thought it comic apart from me. One was singing,
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