I could twang the psaltery a bit.'That was well.Could I tell stories?' Ay, by the score.'Then,' said he, 'I hire you from this moment.' 'What to do?' said I.'Nought crooked, Sir Candour,' says he.'I will feed thee all the way and find thee work; and take half thine earnings, no more.' 'Agreed,' said I, and gave my hand on it, 'Now, servant,' said he, 'we will dine.But ye need not stand behind my chair, for two reasons - first I ha' got no chair;and next, good fellowship likes me better than state.' And out of his wallet he brought flesh, fowl, and pastry, a good dozen of spices lapped in flax paper, and wine fit for a king.Ne'er feasted I better than out of this beggar's wallet, now my master.
When we had well eaten I was for going on.'But,' said he, 'servants should not drive their masters too hard, especially after feeding, for then the body is for repose, and the mind turns to contemplation;' and he lay on his back gazing calmly at the sky, and presently wondered whether there were any beggars up there.I told him I knew but of one, called Lazarus.'Could he do the cul de jatte better than I?' said he, and looked quite jealous like.I told him nay; Lazarus was honest, though a beggar, and fed daily of the crumbs fal'n from a rich man's table, and the dogs licked his sores.'Servant,' quo' he, 'I spy a foul fault in thee.
Thou liest without discretion: now the end of lying being to gull, this is no better than fumbling with the divell's tail.I pray Heaven thou mayest prove to paint better than thou cuttest whids, or I am done out of a dinner.No beggar eats crumbs, but only the fat of the land; and dogs lick not a beggar's sores, being made with spearwort, or ratsbane, or biting acids, from all which dogs, and even pigs, abhor.My sores are made after my proper receipt;but no dog would lick e'en them twice.I have made a scurvy bargain: art a cozening knave, I doubt, as well as a nincompoop.'
I deigned no reply to this bundle of lies, which did accuse heavenly truth of falsehood for not being in a tale with him.He rose and we took the road; and presently we came to a place where were two little wayside inns, scarce a furlong apart.'Halt,' said my master.'Their armories are sore faded - all the better.Go thou in; shun the master; board the wife; and flatter her inn sky high, all but the armories, and offer to colour them dirt cheap.'
So I went in and told the wife I was a painter, and would revive her armories cheap; but she sent me away with a rebuff.I to my master.He groaned.'Ye are all fingers and no tongue,' said he;'I have made a scurvy bargain.Come and hear me patter and flatter.' Between the two inns was a high hedge.He goes behind it a minute and comes out a decent tradesman.We went on to the other inn, and then I heard him praise it so fulsome as the very wife did blush.'But,' says he, 'there is one little, little fault;your armories are dull and faded.Say but the word, and for a silver franc my apprentice here, the cunningest e'er I had, shall make them bright as ever.Whilst she hesitated, the rogue told her he had done it to a little inn hard by, and now the inn's face was like the starry firmament.'D'ye hear that, my man?' cries she, '"The Three Frogs" have been and painted up their armories; shall "The Four Hedgehogs" be outshone by them?' So I painted, and my master stood by like a lord, advising me how to do, and winking to me to heed him none, and I got a silver franc.And he took me back to 'The Three Frogs,' and on the way put me on a beard and disguised me, and flattered 'The Three Frogs,' and told them how he had adorned 'The Four Hedgehogs,' and into the net jumped the three poor ****** frogs, and I earned another silver franc.Then we went on and he found his crutches, and sent me forward, and showed his "cicatrices d'emprunt," as he called them, and all his infirmities, at 'The Four Hedgehogs,' and got both food and money.
'Come, share and share,' quoth he: so I gave him one franc.'Ihave made a good bargain,' said he.'Art a master limner, but takest too much time.' So I let him know that in matters of honest craft things could not be done quick and well.'Then do them quick,' quoth he.And he told me my name was Bon Bec; and I might call him Cul de Jatte, because that was his lay at our first meeting.And at the next town my master, Cul de Jatte, bought me a psaltery, and set himself up again by the roadside in state like him that erst judged Marsyas and Apollo, piping for vain glory.So I played a strain.'Indifferent well, harmonious Bon Bec,' said he haughtily.'Now tune thy pipes.' So I did sing a sweet strain the good monks taught me; and singing it reminded poor Bon Bec, Gerard erst, of his young days and home, and brought the water to my een.
But looking up, my master's visage was as the face of a little boy whipt soundly, or sipping foulest medicine.'Zounds, stop that bellyache blether,' quoth he, 'that will ne'er wile a stiver out o' peasants' purses; 'twill but sour the nurses' milk, and gar the kine jump into rivers to be out of earshot on't.What, false knave, did I buy thee a fine new psaltery to be minded o' my latter end withal? Hearken! these be the songs that glad the heart, and fill the minstrel's purse.' And he sung so blasphemous a stave, and eke so obscene, as I drew away from him a space that the lightning might not spoil the new psaltery.However, none came, being winter, and then I said, 'Master, the Lord is debonair.Held I the thunder, yon ribaldry had been thy last, thou foul-mouthed wretch.'
